Colors of Chaos (Saga of Recluce)

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “Yes, ser.”

  Kinowin shook his head as he gestured. “You can go. I wouldn’t tell anyone about our conversation. Sterol knows how I feel—and agrees partly. Jeslek and Any a will use it against you…later. There’s nothing they can do to me.”

  Cerryl understood what Kinowin had not said—that none of the junior mages would understand. He wasn’t sure he understood.

  As he walked slowly down the steps to the front foyer, he took a deep breath. What he didn’t understand at all was Kinowin. Anya—he could understand her wanting power, especially as a woman in the Guild and in Fairhaven. But why was Kinowin so concerned about him? There were anywhere from five to a half-score new mages that entered the Guild each year. Is he concerned because you remind him of when he was younger? Or because he had too many unanswered questions when he was young? Unanswered questions? Why had he never answered the question of what you do when you see a vision of what will be? Because there is no answer?

  Cerryl pursed his lips and kept walking.

  XXVI

  IN THE SLANTING light of early morning, Cerryl stepped through the plain white oak door into the Patrol building. Two Patrol guards stood at each side of the entry hall, each wearing a uniform identical to those of lancers, except for a wide red belt and a short truncheon in addition to the shortsword.

  “Ser?” asked the Patrol guard on the right, with a close-cut black beard shot with streaks of white.

  “I’m here to see Isork, the Patrol chief.”

  “Could I explain who you are to him, ser?”

  “I’m Cerryl. Overmage Kinowin sent me.”

  “One moment.” The patroller nodded. “I’ll let Patrol Chief Isork know.” He turned down the short and narrow hall he had guarded, rapped on a closed door, and entered.

  Cerryl studied the entry hall—a rectangular and spare room only ten cubits on a side with two halls angling from the corners farthest from the entry door. Two backless oak benches were set against the side walls. A set of closed double oak doors on the back wall faced the entry. The floor was of featureless and time-polished granite that had faded to a dull gray. The only light came from the windows that flanked the door behind Cerryl.

  The patroller emerged from the door at the end of the short hall. “This way, ser.”

  “Thank you.” Cerryl inclined his head, then walked down the hall and entered the small room, no more than six cubits by ten. The pudgy-faced but broad-shouldered and muscular Isork sat behind a flat table-desk. A single vacant stool stood before the table, and against the wall to the left was a single four-shelf bookcase. A stack of parchmentlike papers, an inkwell and a quill holder, and a single volume were all that rested on the battered and oiled surface of the desk.

  “Cerryl, to see you, ser.”

  Isork looked at Cerryl, studying him for a long and uncomfortable time with flat brown eyes that revealed nothing, then motioned to the single stool. “Sit down. You’re young for Patrol duty—and slight.” The pudgy but broad-shouldered mage shook his head. His short brown hair did not move. “Kinowin says you’re an orphan. That right?”

  “Yes, ser.”

  “You didn’t call me ‘ser’ at the Council meeting.”

  “I wasn’t to be working for you there, ser.”

  The trace of a smile crossed the pudgy mage’s face. “So, off-duty, you believe you’re equal to any mage?”

  “No, ser. Not at all. I’m possibly better than some and not so good as others.”

  “What about me?”

  “I don’t know, ser. I’d say you’d have to be better than I am, but I don’t know.” Cerryl felt that he had to be honest, no matter how uncomfortable it was.

  Isork shook his head again. “Who raised you?”

  “My aunt and uncle. He was a master miner before they shut the mines.”

  “Where do they live?”

  “They’re both dead, ser. I was a mill boy for the lumber mill in Hrisbarg.”

  For the first time, Isork looked vaguely interested. “How did you get to Fairhaven, then?”

  “I persuaded the mill master’s daughter to teach me my letters, and after several years the mill master sent me here to Fairhaven to be an apprentice to Tellis the scrivener.”

  “And one of the mages who bought books from Tellis discovered you had the talent?”

  “Yes, ser.”

  “Hmmm…Kinowin says that you’re not the most powerful of the younger mages, but you’re strong enough and you have the most control of your firebolts. That true?”

  “I don’t know what control others have. I can make mine go where I want them.” Cerryl paused. “Unless it’s more than a hundred cubits away. Then they don’t always hit exactly where I want.”

  “When were you throwing chaos that far?”

  “That was when I was a student and Jeslek took me to Gallos. We were attacked by some twenty-score Gallosian lancers.”

  Isork nodded again. “You killed some?”

  “About a half-score that I know of.”

  “Kinowin said you’ve flamed some people on gate duty. Ever taken on a man with a blade or a spear?”

  “Three, ser, when I was on sewer duty. Two had iron shields and blades. The other had a white-bronze spear.”

  “All at once?” Isork’s bushy eyebrows rose.

  “No, ser. The two with the iron blades at once, the one with the spear a little later.”

  Isork smiled ruefully. “Any other mages know of this?”

  “Myral, Sterol, and Kinowin came right afterward. Some others might know. I don’t know who they told.”

  “You didn’t tell anyone?”

  Cerryl frowned. “I think I told Lyasa and Faltar, but I didn’t tell them much.”

  “Well…Kinowin’s got a feel for this, and he’s usually right. You just don’t look like a Patrol mage. Even to me, you don’t look like one, but you feel like one. Tight control over chaos, almost as if you don’t have any, but I can feel the shields there. You keep it away from your body, don’t you?”

  “Yes, ser. Myral suggested it was better that way.”

  “It is. Most won’t work hard enough to learn how. Why did you?”

  “I’m not from Fairhaven.”

  “And you’re not from coins or the crèche.” Isork gave a knowing look at the slender mage. “Just like Kinowin. You have to do it better.”

  Cerryl waited.

  “You’ll do, and, light knows, good Patrol mages are hard to find. Half those I see want to fire everyone in sight, and the other half wait until they have to.” Isork leaned back slightly. “What’s the Patrol? No one knows, and everyone thinks they know what it should be. Our job is simple and hard. We’re the bastards who keep the peace in Fairhaven, and we do whatever it takes. The basic rules are really simple. No bared blades anywhere in public in the city, and that’s any blade except a dagger at table for eating or a blade used in trade, like at the tanner’s. Some bravo has a blade out, he gets a quick warning. If he doesn’t sheathe it, he’s ash.

  “No one attacks a Patrol with anything—except words—or he’s ash. We see a fight, and we try to stop it. The mage—that’s you—determines who’s at fault. You can truth-read, can’t you?” Isork looked at Cerryl.

  “I can usually feel whether someone’s words are true.”

  “Good. If there’s any question, especially at first, you can summon me or Huroan. Most times, there’s no question. Biggest problem is when some fellow starts beating his consort in public. If you fire him or stop him and send him on the road, the family can suffer. If you don’t, like as not, sooner or later, he’ll kill her or one of the kids. Or maim ’em so bad he might as well have killed ’em.”

  Cerryl raised his eyebrows.

  “We bend the rules a little there. That’s where we get the prisoners for the refuse wagons and the gate cleanup details. We try to get the idea across that rules are rules.”

  “Does it work?”

  “From what I’ve seen…more th
an half the times, and that’s better than anything else. If a fellow doesn’t learn, well…sometimes the family can hold on without him, and at least they’re alive.”

  “The other thing the Patrol does is judge things—the little things. That’s what that chamber is for.” Isork gestured to the white oak door to his left. “Folks sometimes disagree. So they come and ask me or Huroan to listen. We truth-read and try to sort it out. Most times, people just believe different things—no lies. When they find that out, and I’m sitting there, they can usually figure out an answer.” A crooked smile crossed the Patrol chief’s face. “We don’t get many liars—usually those are from outside of Fairhaven.”

  “What do you do with the liars?”

  “If they admit it…and make good…nothing. If they insist…well…they go on the road crew.”

  “Even wealthy merchants?”

  A look of disgust crossed Isork’s face. “They can offer a hundred golds in bond; then the High Wizard has to review it. Most times, that means they get out of Fairhaven.” A smile reappeared. “But…see, if they don’t come back and get judged by the High Wizard within a season, they lose the coins, and then, if they show up again and we find them, it’s the road crew, and not even the High Wizard steps in then.”

  Cerryl nodded. And the road crew is usually life at hard labor building the White highways. He knew that much.

  “We can’t control what people do in their dwellings, but shops, squares, streets, places of business, inns, stables—those are public places as far as the Patrol goes.

  “For the first couple of eight-days you’ll be walking the streets with the best lead patroller we’ve got. That’s Duarrl. Only one rule—if he asks you to flame someone…do it. He won’t ask unless there’s a good reason.” Isork smiled. “It doesn’t happen often, but I want you to understand. Also, the Patrol never argues in public. Do you understand that? So try not to order anything stupid. Your patrollers won’t argue. They might suggest. Listen.”

  “Yes, ser.”

  “We don’t take young lancers as patrollers. There’s not a single patroller who’s not at least a score and five. That means you’re the youngest man in the Patrol. That bother you?”

  “No, ser. I hope it doesn’t bother too many patrollers.”

  “There’s one other thing. There are rules for peacekeeping and for patrollers and Patrol mages. They’re in here.” Isork held up a slim volume, then set it down. “If Huroan or I decide that a Patrol mage has broken any of them, then the Council decides on discipline. Do you understand that?”

  Cerryl nodded. He certainly didn’t want to break any rules, not with Sterol and Jeslek able to discipline him.

  “Good.” Isork nodded, then lifted the slim volume from the desk once again and extended it to Cerryl. “Read as much of this as you can today. Be here tomorrow at dawn. First two eight-days, you’ll go with Duarrl on the morning patrol. That’s mostly quiet, and that way you can learn where everything is in your section of the city—you’ll get the southeast. That’s where most things happen.”

  As he took the thin book, Cerryl wondered about why he would be given a section where the most things happened but said nothing.

  “You wonder why the southeast?” Another crooked smile crossed Isork’s lips. “That’s where the low trades are, the poorer folk. More fights, but they respect the Patrol. They haven’t got coins. Up in the northwest…well…best not to have a Patrol mage in a section where he has to deal with slick traders until he’s got some experience under his belt.”

  “Do Patrol mages walk the streets all the time?” Cerryl couldn’t recall ever seeing a mage with the patrols.

  “No. Once you know your section, you’ll be staying in your little room, just like I stay here. That way, your patrols can find you. You’ll have ten patrols of four men reporting to you—except you’re really there to back them up and protect them. Don’t forget it. You’ll have a set of guards, like here—and a messenger to find me in real trouble. Or to find you on the nights when you have the call.”

  “The call?”

  “Oh…guess I forgot that. When you get the afternoon duty—that’s really from midafternoon until midevening—you also have call. That means the messenger has to know where you’re sleeping…or eating…wherever you are. Most nights nothing happens after midevening, but you’d best be where you say you are.” Isork laughed. “In the Patrol, no one cares where that is or who you’re with—just so long as the messenger can find you quick. Means you don’t leave the city, and it’s better if you’re close to your section. Most mages just show the messenger their quarters, and that’s where they are.”

  Cerryl nodded, feeling as though he were doing that far too often.

  “One other thing…and I’ll wager Kinowin didn’t mention it. You get another gold an eight-day—and you’ll earn every copper.” Isork rose. “Tomorrow here at dawn.”

  “Yes, ser.”

  “You call me, Huroan, the overmages, and the High Wizard ‘ser.’ No one else in the Guild. And you call every person you meet on duty ‘ser.’ Strange world, isn’t it?” The crooked smile faded. “Tomorrow.”

  Cerryl kept his face emotionless as he left the Patrol building and walked slowly toward the Wizards’ Square. Once he was well away from the building, he opened the book and read the front page—“On Peacekeeping.”

  Another book like Myral’s on sewage? Or philosophy like Colors of White? Or did it really have firm rules? Did the Guild have a manual for everything?

  He closed the book and took a deep breath.

  XXVII

  DUARRL WAS A head taller than Cerryl and half again as broad, clean-shaven with brown and gray hair and thin eyebrows that joined over his nose. Despite a bulk that threatened to burst out of the white tunic and crimson belt of a patroller, his face was long and narrow. He and Cerryl stood beside each other in Isork’s office, while Isork stood behind the desk that contained little beside the quill and inkstand and another pile of paper and scrolls.

  “Duarrl, this is Mage Cerryl,” Isork began. “He’s a bit young. Kinowin says he’s talented. He killed those smugglers in the sewer last fall, the ones that had iron blades and shields.”

  Duarrl offered a minimal head bow. “Good. Mage who can’t handle iron’s not much use to the Patrol.”

  “He’s also been in a full battle in Gallos—killed close to a score of purple lancers.”

  “Never liked those folk much,” Duarrl grunted.

  “I told you—he’ll be taking the mornings from Fylker. Move him to the afternoon so Huroan and I aren’t down there all the time.”

  “Be good.” Duarrl smiled. “That way all of us can find you.”

  Isork spread a parchment map on the desk. “Like a sewer map. I’m sure you’re familiar with those.”

  Cerryl nodded, then bent over, noting that red lines split the city in quarters. The north-south line was effectively the Avenue, and the east and west line ran outward from the Wizards’ Square in each direction.

  “You will have to find another inn to eat at.” Isork grinned. “Least while you’re on duty. The Golden Ram is just across the Avenue, but it’s out of your section. Here’s the section Patrol building.” He pointed.

  From what Cerryl could see, it was perhaps two blocks south and five blocks east of where Arkos the tanner had his shop.

  “Your section has most of the tanners, some tinsmiths and coppersmiths, and some of about everything else except for big houses of wealthy factors. You should get to know it like the back of your forearm. Wouldn’t hurt to spend some time screeing it as well. Use your glass before you have to.” Isork turned to Duarrl. “Anything you’d like to add?”

  “Well…like as a lot of hotheads in the southeast section …we try to yell first, give ’em a moment to understand we’re Patrol. Makes it easier on all of us.”

  “They respect the Patrol, but it takes a moment for them to realize that they could be in trouble?” asked Cerryl.

&nb
sp; “Right as light, ser. And, the boys, well…no sense in slicing up someone or forcing you to ash ’em, not if it not be needed.”

  In short, look and think before you start throwing firebolts. Cerryl nodded.

  “Cerryl…a word while Duarrl talks to the Patrol.” Isork cleared his throat and glanced at Duarrl. “Might tell ’em about him…what you think necessary.”

  “Yes, ser.” Duarrl straightened.

  Isork rolled up the map. As Duarrl closed the door, the Patrol chief offered a smile. “Not much to say. The reason you’re here is so he can tell the patrollers what I told him to tell them. About you. They need to know that you’ve faced an iron blade and been in battle. Makes them feel better. Wouldn’t be quite so necessary if…”

  “If I looked more like you or Kinowin?”

  Isork nodded. “True you faced down Jeslek?” The Patrol chief offered a wry smile. “It’s not known to many…but I have talked to Kinowin.”

  After a momentary hesitation, Cerryl nodded. “I’d rather it not be known…unless you think it important.”

  “No one here but me needs to know that.” Isork stood. “There was one other thing I didn’t mention. Shouldn’t be a problem, though, seeing you were a scrivener. The Patrol mage is the one who writes down the daily report. You have to finish that before you leave your shift and send it here by messenger. You don’t start writing until you take over the morning duty, though. Next two eight-days, I want you learning everything you can about the southeast section—every inn, every spirit shop, every stable, and every warehouse. Any sewer tunnel you don’t know.”

  “Yes, ser.”

  After a moment, Isork cocked his head to the side. “Let’s go meet this morning’s Patrol group. I don’t expect you to remember all the names at once, but make an effort. Patrol mage is supposed to know every patroller by name and face.”

  “Ah…eight score?”

  “About nine score, with the wagon drivers and everyone. We should have ten score, but…” Isork shrugged. “It’s hard to get patrollers, too.”