Kinowin bowed. The heavy white oak door clunked shut.
Brown eyes that appeared red-flecked studied Cerryl for a time.
Cerryl stood, waiting, conscious that the mage had not mustered any power to concentrate chaos-not that Cerryl could sense, in any case. The room was a personal chamber-a large personal chamber that contained a desk and matching chair, several white wooden bookcases filled with leather-bound volumes, a table in the center of which was a circular screeing glass, and four chairs around the table. At the far end of the chamber, behind the mage, was an alcove, bigger than Cerryl’s room at Tellis’s, which contained a double-width bed and a washstand. Against the stone wall at the mage’s left hand was another small table holding but a large bronze handbell.
“You will answer my questions.”
“Yes, ser.”
“Where were you born?”
“I don’t know, ser.” That was true. Cerryl had no idea where he had been born.
“Didn’t your parents tell you?” The mage glared at Cerryl as if the young man were an idiot.
“They died when I was very young. My aunt and uncle said I was born while my parents were traveling back to Hrisbarg.”
“Do you have any idea of your birthplace?”
“It had to be within several days’ journey of Hrisbarg or Lydiar, and my uncle and aunt were from Montgren.”
The mage sighed. “Kinowin says you can work the stuff of chaos Is that true?”
“I don’t know, ser. I once looked in a glass, and someone in white broke it.” That was almost true, close enough.
The gray-haired man’s forehead furrowed, and the fingers of his right hand strayed to the amulet around his neck. “You expect me to believe that?”
“It felt like the glass broke,” Cerryl corrected, “but it didn’t. My head hurt for a long time afterward.” That was true.
“You see… don’t bother to lie. It’s not worth the effort for either of us.”
“Yes, ser.”
“You know your letters, I suppose?”
“Yes, ser,” Cerryl repeated.
“Temple better than old tongue?”
“No, ser. I know the old tongue better.”
“It’s good you admit to something, though I would expect that of Tellis’s apprentice,” snorted the white mage. “You know that none but the white brethren may mold the white fires?”
“Yes, ser. That was why I didn’t want to try the glass again.”
“You didn’t know that was using chaos?” The mage’s tone was unbelieving, scornful.
“I wasn’t sure until after I did that one time,” Cerryl admitted. “I thought it might have been, but I was afraid to ask anyone. How could I?”
“That was wise of you.” Sterol nodded. “And what else have you not revealed?”
Cerryl flushed.
The gray-haired mage waited.
“I think… think… I can sometimes see something white, except that it’s not seeing, that might be chaos force.” Cerryl looked down.
“Why think you that it is chaos force?”
“I don’t know, except the glass was coated with it that one time, and the mage who brought me here had some of it around him for a moment.”
Sterol gave a short barking laugh.
Cerryl waited once more.
“You are lucky, young fellow. It pleases me to allow you the opportunity to learn.” Sterol laughed. “Besides, having an orphaned scrivener’s apprentice will teach them that they are not so mighty as they think.” The penetrating eyes fixed on Cerryl. “You will watch and remember everything and tell no one?”
“Yes, your mightiness.”
“Honored Sterol will do. One day I may ask you… about how you find the halls. Until then, keep your observations to yourself, all to yourself. Is that clear?”
“Yes, honored Sterol.”
.“I would have you remember one maxim, young fellow.”
“Yes, honored Sterol.”
“There are old white mages, and there are bold white mages, but none will you find who are old and bold.” Sterol laughed again and reached for the bronze bell on the small wall table, ringing it twice.
The door opened, and Kinowin reentered, bowing, looking toward Sterol.
“Our young friend here has remained well enough within the rules that he is suitable to be considered for instruction.” Sterol smiled, showing white teeth. “You may take him to Jeslek for instruction, and tell the mighty Jeslek that he may not administer more than minor discipline. Minor discipline.”
“Yes, Sterol.” Kinowin bowed.
Sterol glanced at Cerryl. “You may go.”
“Yes, honored Sterol.” Cerryl bowed again, waiting for a nod or a sign.
“Go.”
Cerryl turned and stepped through the door that Kinowin had opened.
“You are very lucky, young Cerryl,” said Kinowin as they headed down the steps.
“Yes, ser. I know, ser.”
“What did you say to Sterol?” A note of curiosity entered Kinowin’s rough voice.
“I told him the truth, ser.” As much as I dared.
Kinowin laughed, an almost jolly note that echoed up and down the stone enclosed steps, incongruous between the stark white walls. “You might grow up to be dangerous, Cerryl. The truth! Ha!” He laughed again.
Cerryl shivered within his tunic but continued down the steps to where the two armsmen in white guarded the entrance to the tower. Beside them, on a stool, sat a boy in a red tunic. Neither the guards nor the boy seemed to pay that much attention to Cerryl or the mage.
“Jeslek could have quarters within the tower but prefers to live in the older building behind the main hall.” Kinowin walked quickly down the wide steps from the tower entrance into the foyer, turning left and down the hallway they had not taken when they had first entered the building. “He is very knowledgeable and very powerful.”
Cerryl got the hint behind the words-Jeslek was dangerous and a rival of Sterol’s. “All mages seem powerful to me.”
“Some are far more powerful than others.”
From the end of the hallway, Kinowin led Cerryl through another squared series of arches and then crossed an open courtyard with a fountain. The fountain was a simple jet of water spraying from an oval-shaped stone in the middle of a circular pool.
Jeslek’s quarters were on the second level at the rear of the older building-also of stone, even whiter than that of the tower itself, and about as far as possible from those of Sterol, Cerryl calculated.
A single guard in white stood by the door. “The honorable Jeslekhas requested he not be disturbed.”
“I am here from the High Wizard,” said Kinowin. “We will wait.” He motioned to the bench across the hall from the white oak doorway, then sat.
After a moment, so did Cerryl.
“Do you have any questions?” asked Kinowin, in a gentler tone seemingly at odds with his rugged appearance.
“This has been sudden…” Cerryl shook his head. “It’s hard to believe I’m here.”
“That’s what happens to most students,” said the mage, a warmer tone in his voice. “The talent often comes suddenly, about your age, and we try to find it before it turns dangerous.” After a moment of silence, he added, “If you don’t learn how to use it properly, it can destroy you and everyone around you. Some people think that we’re too harsh.” He faced Cerryl, and the purple blotch was more pronounced. “Have you ever seen a renegade white?”
“Once. He threw firebolts. Another white mage was chasing him.”
Kinowin nodded. “That’s what many people see. Others see us destroy some young man who was their neighbor. What they do not see, is the twisted destruction within the man-or the deaths that follow uncontrolled use of the power.” He gave a quick dismissive headshake.
Cerryl found himself surprised at the concern in the man’s voice and the momentary bleakness in Kinowin’s eyes.
“To survive your talent, Cerryl, y
ou must be absolutely obedient until you fully understand both your powers and your limits. Otherwise…” Kinowin coughed and cleared his throat. “Otherwise, you will destroy yourself, if the Guild does not destroy you first.”
Cerryl was the one to shiver.
Abruptly, the door opened, and a white-haired mage stood there, gazing past the guard toward the two on the bench. “You might as well come in, Kinowin. How can I concentrate with you smoldering outside my chambers? Come on in.” He turned and walked into the single room.
Kinowin stood, and Cerryl scrambled erect as quickly as he could, following the blond mage. The guard closed the door behind them.
“Your guard said you did not wish to be disturbed, yet Sterol insisted that I come and await your pleasure to deliver my charge.” Kinowin bowed and gestured to Cerryl.
Jeslek’s white tunic and trousers and boots shimmered. Cerryl swallowed, then quickly closed his mouth. The mage bore the face of a young man, but his hair was white and glistened. Like Sterol, Jeslek wore a golden sunburst on his collar. Unlike Sterol, he wore no amulet. Sun-gold eyes turned from Kinowin to Cerryl and then back to the rugged blond mage. “You come from the honorable Sterol today?”
Another figure in white, with the red slash across the tunic sleeves, stood silently by the table bearing the screeing glass.
Kinowin bowed yet again. “Honored Jeslek, the High Wizard bade me to convey young Cerryl here to you. You are to instruct him.” Kinowin smiled blandly.
“And… what else? You have more to say, Kinowin?” asked Jeslek. “You act as dutiful aide only when it suits you.”
“I was bidden to inform you that you are limited to minor discipline.” The words were flat and bland.
A broad and false smile crossed Jeslek’s face. Cerryl wanted to climb under the stone floor tiles on which he stood. “Ah… I see. The honored Sterol is too engrossed to instruct his own apprentices.” After a pause, another smile followed. “You may tell the High Wizard, when his onerous and laborious duties permit him to receive you again, that I will give his apprentice every advantage that I allow my own students, and that I will treat this young man as any other.”
“I will tell him, honored Jeslek.” Kinowin bowed once more before he turned and walked quickly from the chamber.
Jeslek waited until the door opened and closed. Then the sun-gold eyes fixed on the former scrivener’s apprentice. “Cerryl. Is that your name?”
“Yes, ser.”
“What did you do before you were brought to the tower?”
“I was an apprentice to Tellis the scrivener.”
“Then you know your letters?”
“Yes, ser.”
“And the old tongue?”
“Yes, ser.”
“Do you have any other skills?”
“I know something about woods, ser. I once worked for a sawmill master.”
“Good. You have worked with your hands.” A fainter smile crossed Jeslek’s face. “Now you are a student mage, an apprentice mage, if you will. No matter what you may have done, or not done, you are not to attempt to work with chaos, or order, unless you are instructed to do so. If you disobey-and are caught-your mind will be bound, and you will work until you die on the white road. Do you understand?”
“Yes, ser.”
“By the way, I can tell if you have used chaos within the last eight-day, and longer. You have been careful, I can see, but the traces are there.” All hints of a smile vanished.
“Ser?” Cerryl swallowed.
“Yes?” Jeslek’s voice was cold.
“Sometimes I can see when chaos has been used. Does trying to see that count as using it?”
“No. Merely looking does not leave traces, either. I do encourage all my students to watch and study. But only watch and study, except when I tell you otherwise.”
“Yes, ser.” Cerryl bowed, waiting.
“No other questions?”
“Ser… outside of what I asked… I don’t know enough to ask more,” Cerryl admitted, knowing he was running a slight risk but feeling it was necessary.
“Ha! I see one reason why Sterol accepted you.” Jeslek turned to the youth who stood by the table, wearing the white tunic with the red-slashed sleeves. “Kesrik, you make sure Cerryl here gets quarters with the other students, a set of the proper tunics and trousers and white boots. His look sturdy; see if you can change them. Just once. And make sure he gets his own copy of Colors in the next eight-day.”
Kesrik bowed, his square face impassive, his blue eyes cold.
“Go with Kesrik.” Jeslek’s sun-gold eyes glittered cold.
“Follow me.” Kesrik turned and left. Cerryl found himself scrambling to follow.
XLVII
Outside the window, the sudden warm rain pelted down on Fairhaven, the first in the handful of days since Cerryl had arrived in the halls of the mages. The rain hissed as it struck sun-warmed stone, and moister air seeped through the louvers of the closed shutters. Inside, Cerryl sat on the edge of the chair across the table from Jeslek, aware of the growing pounding inside his skull, a sensation that had not been there before the storm had fallen across the city.
Jeslek studied Cerryl for a time, and Cerryl had the feeling that the mage used more than his eyes.
Finally, Jeslek gave a crooked smile. “What do you think being a mage is all about?”
“I don’t really know what mages do, ser.”
“Tell me what you think we do.”
Cerryl moistened his lips. “Mages rule Fairhaven. They can use chaos powers. They study many things.”
“How do you know we study-” Jeslek laughed and broke off the question. “You were a scrivener’s apprentice. I forgot. Well, you’ll be studying more than you ever thought possible. And there will be tests along the way. Some you may not even recognize as such.” The white-haired mage with the golden eyes paused. “Why do you think mages study so many things?”
“To rule better?” guessed Cerryl.
“That’s a guess, young Cerryl, but it’s partly right. We study the better to govern. Governing is not ruling. Governing is more like guiding or counseling. Someone like the Emperor of Hamor, or the Duke of Lydiar or the Viscount of Certis-they rule. The Guild governs. Yes, we make rules, but most of the rules are more of a code of common sense. Waste breeds a sort of scattered chaos that leads to sickness. So we make sure waste stays out of the city. Beggars and other parasites bring sick-ness and theft. We keep them from Fairhaven. If coins alone rule, then the city will fall to those with more coins. For that reason, we check those who think of little but coins. Clean water keeps sickness away, and we make sure the water for the city is clean. There’s nothing magical about any of that.” Jeslek smiled brightly-and emptily.
Cerryl waited, not knowing what he could say.
“Every great once in a while, someone sees a mage cast chaos-fire and then everyone thinks that’s all a mage does. If that happened to be all the Guild were-a group of wizards throwing fire-Fairhaven would have fallen generations and generations ago.”
“Yes, ser.”
“I know you want to be respectful, but you don’t have to say that every time I pause. A polite silence will do.” Jeslek stood. “You need to understand more about what the Guild is and why it is necessary.” The white mage lifted the volume on the table and extended it to Cerryl. The cover was worn and scratched, and infused with the unseen white of chaos. “Read this. You can read?”
“Yes, ser. There are some words I probably don’t know.” Cerryl followed his instructor’s lead and stood quickly, his eyes still on the white-haired and sun-eyed wizard.
“Ask Kesrik or one of the other students. Ask me if you can’t find anyone who does know.”
“Yes, ser.” Cerryl wouldn’t have asked Jeslek in any case, and definitely not after that statement.
“You have two eight-days to finish the first half of the manual. But start today, and I’ll question you on what you’ve read at your next lesson.”
Jeslek gestured toward the door. “Kesrik is waiting. I will see you tomorrow.”
Cerryl bowed and turned.
As Jeslek had said, Kesrik stood waiting outside by the guard.
“Good day, Kesrik.” Cerryl offered a head bow as he passed.
“It’s raining.” Kesrik inclined his head infinitesimally as he stepped by Cerryl and through the door, closing it behind him.
Cerryl paused, wondering again about the strangeness of the Halls of the Mages, where so little was really said, and where his instruction seemed so minimal-where he spent more time waiting for Jeslek than listening or learning. Or had that just been to give him some time to adjust? If so, what was next?
He looked down at the leather-bound volume in his hands, then back at the closed white oak door. Before he headed down to the common, or the library, or his room-he wasn’t sure where he should start reading-he opened the cover to the title page-Colors of White: the Manual of the Guild at Fairhaven.
He almost wanted to laugh. After hiding a copy of half the book for years, and stealing time to read parts of the one that Tellis had been engaged to copy, he had his own copy-and was ordered to read it.
He shook his head, thinking about the books still hidden in Tellis’s house-and the broken amulet. He missed the amulet most.
Cerryl closed the cover of Colors of White and started down the steps.
Once downstairs, he glanced into the library, looking for Faltar, but the room was empty except for two mages at the table in the far corner - Fydel and Esaak. The brown-haired and square-bearded Fydel was gesturing, almost drawing something in the air. Apparently impassive, Esaak sat with his back to Cerryl.
Cerryl tiptoed toward the common. That way, if Faltar appeared, he could ask him what, if anything, he should look out for in the book. His steps were silent as he walked down the corridor, wondering if he would discover any new truths in the book he had found difficult and boring when he had read it before.
He hoped so, but his lips pursed as he thought about what he had read before in Colors of White.
XLVIII
Despite the breeze from the open windows of the study common, sweat beaded in his hair, even cut as short as it was, and oozed onto his forehead and down the back of his neck. Cerryl ignored it and flipped to the next page of Colors of White, forcing himself to read each word and to fit the thoughts together, wondering how any of them related to the histories Tellis had forced on him, the mill work he had done for Dylert, or the reality that was Fairhaven, which included both chaos-fire and the vast golds of those like Muneat… or even why his father had been hunted and he had been spared.
The White Order Page 21
