Colors of Chaos (Saga of Recluce)

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “Why did you want us here now? You gave us little warning,” said Redark as he slumped into a seat at the table.

  Kinowin took the chair between Anya and Redark but said nothing, his eyes on the white-haired, sun-eyed High Wizard.

  “You may recall that I have been concerned that Recluce was playing a larger part in Spidlar than those in Gallos or Recluce would admit,” Jeslek said easily.

  “You have said that for several years, as I recall,” replied Kinowin. “There has been little proof.”

  “I hope that I am about to remedy that.” Jeslek nodded toward Anya and the screeing glass that still held residual chaos from the red-haired mage’s earlier efforts. “Anya has been following certain activities in Spidlar, and she tells me that it appears likely that we will be witnessing just how certain matters have escaped the notice of our neighbor the Viscount Rystryr. I have also asked Fydel to be present, since he will be involved more in Gallos.”

  Kinowin’s eyebrows flickered, Cerryl noted, but the overmage did not speak.

  “Let us watch now.” Jeslek gestured to the glass where the white-silver mists swirled away to reveal the brown fall grasses of the upland meadows somewhere north of Fenard and south of Elparta. In the center of the mirror, a trader’s wagon plodded southward. A red-haired woman drove the wagon, and a man rode beside her, hunched and shrouded in a dark cloak.

  Over the top of the hill waited another group, wearing the dark green tunics of Certis. As the wagon neared the hill crest, the riders fanned and charged toward the two traders.

  Just as quickly, the redhead halted the wagon, and two men with bows stood in the wagon bed, throwing off brown cloths and aiming their arrows at the charging raiders. A pair of swords appeared in the hands of the redhead, and from behind the raiders Spidlarian guards appeared, led by a blonde giant who strewed bodies before him.

  Not a single Certan raider survived. As the shovels appeared for grave digging, Jeslek waved his hand, and the image vanished from the mirror. “Bah…no magic at all. Just good tactics and cleverness. No one survives; no bodies are found, and the rumor spreads that the Spidlarians are using magic.”

  “It doesn’t exactly help to tell that to either the viscount or the prefect,” observed Anya from the chair closest to the window.

  “Or to admit it took more than a season and magic to figure it out,” added Fydel. “That’s hard when they claim to have lost nearly a hundred men over the last two seasons.”

  “Do we know who is responsible?” asked Cerryl deferentially, with a nod toward the High Wizard. “Beyond the obvious?” He gestured toward the blank mirror.

  “Our…sources…in Spidlar would indicate that most of the damage has been caused by one squad formed for this purpose last spring. Supposedly, the squad leader and assistant are outcasts from Recluce. Those are the big blonde warrior and the redhead who drove the wagon.”

  “Supposedly? That’s rich! They exile two people, and those two people just happen to be in the right spot to block everything. Do you really believe that, honored Jeslek?” asked Fydel.

  Jeslek did not correct Fydel’s mathematicks. “I said supposedly. There is also the Black mage who is a smith in Spidlar. You may recall his name, Fydel. Dorrin, is it not?”

  “I believe so,” Fydel replied blandly.

  Cerryl refrained from wincing.

  “What do you plan to do?” asked Redark.

  “Now…nothing.” The High Wizard held up a hand, as if to forestall objections. “I’m not playing Jenred’s waiting game. But do any of you really want a winter war? It nears the end of fall already.”

  Headshakes crossed the Tower room. A frown accompanied Kinowin’s headshake.

  “Once the roads clear in spring, I will personally direct our forces in the invasion of Spidlar. Over the winter, we should step up efforts to close off as much trade as we can—and, as possible, minimize the impact of Reduce’s meddling. The newest ships should help in this matter.” Jeslek smiled at Fydel, then at Redark. “We need to make it a hard winter indeed in Spidlar. We also need to use the winter to ensure that the other lands of eastern Candar will provide the golds that they should.”

  “Spidlar isn’t the real enemy; Recluce is,” reminded Fydel.

  “You and I know who the real enemies are.” Jeslek smiled with his mouth. “And their time will come.”

  “So clever, and so cryptic,” murmured Anya under her breath.

  Jeslek’s eyes fell on her, and her lips closed. His eyes glittered, and she shivered. Fydel swallowed, and Cerryl looked out the Tower window, wishing that he had not spoken at all, though he did have leave to ask a question and that had been his first in more than three eight-days.

  “Are there others from Recluce in Spidlar?” asked Kinowin.

  “We do not know of others, but the number of Austran traders carrying goods from Recluce has increased. We need to close off the ports until the winter ice appears. Then we need to make sure that those traders do not begin to use Ruzor.”

  “You do not trust the prefect?” asked Redark.

  “Would you?” Jeslek smiled broadly.

  From the one time Cerryl had observed Prefect Syrma, he had to agree with the High Wizard.

  “I would not impose further upon you.” Jeslek gestured toward the overmage Redark. “You have seen what there was to see.”

  Redark lifted himself from the chair. “Would that the prefect had seen that. It would help more than us seeing it.”

  “The prefect will see what he needs to see, I am certain.” Jeslek turned to Fydel. “You may go, Fydel, Anya.”

  “Yes, ser.”

  “And you also, Cerryl. A word with you, Kinowin.”

  Cerryl nodded and followed Redark, Fydel, and Anya out of the Tower chambers.

  Redark clumped down the steps alone.

  Fydel glanced at Anya. “That Black blade was good.”

  The chamber guard remained impassive, but the blonde messenger on the bench listened, wide-eyed.

  “I worry more about his ideas than his blade,” Anya said. “Too many Certans are dead for it to be luck.”

  Cerryl agreed with that as well. With a nod to the pair, he started down the stone steps. His feet hurt from an already-long day, and his stomach was growling.

  Even though his feet hurt, he had to frown. Once again, the smith who was a Black had come up—and had been dismissed. But why was Jeslek not worried about the smith? Or did the High Wizard have something else in mind?

  Cerryl shook his head.

  LIX

  GRATEFUL FOR THE cool breeze that had finally brought more comfort to Fairhaven and the Halls of the Mages, after the unseasonably hot days following harvest, Cerryl walked slowly up the steps toward Jeslek’s chambers.

  For once, Cerryl was allowed inside immediately, and Jeslek sat at the table alone, sipping wine from a goblet, rather than a mug. A scroll lay on the table, one with ribbons, and fragments from a broken wax seal lay on the wood beside the scroll.

  “Good day, Cerryl.”

  “Good day, High Wizard.” Cerryl stationed himself in his normal position by the wall.

  “You have been in Fairhaven now without traveling for well over a year now, well over a year. Is that not so?”

  “Yes, ser.”

  “Yes…I think some travel would be good for you.”

  The younger mage waited.

  “Cerryl. You removed Lyam rather effectively, as I recall.” Jeslek’s sun-gold orbs met Cerryl’s pale gray eyes.

  “Yes, ser. At your command, ser.”

  “Ah, yes…I recall something about that.” Jeslek straightened, then sat back in the chair. “No matter.” He lifted the scroll that lay before him. A fragment of green wax skittered off the table. “I have just received word that young Uulrac suffered a seizure and died in his bath—rather suddenly and tragically.”

  Cerryl swallowed.

  “You foresaw that, did you not? I saw your face when we discussed the impudent scr
oll from Syrma.”

  “I had feared such would occur, ser. But I did not know, and I was cautioned only to observe.”

  “Wise of you, very wise. I like the fact that you do listen, Cerryl. There still may be a future in the Guild for you. Now…one Ferobar, a cousin of Uulrac’s, has proclaimed himself Duke of Hydlen. Do you know of him?”

  “No, ser.”

  “His origins lie in Renklaar, and his allegiances appear to lie with the traders of that port. In fact, those allegiances may well be the reason for poor Uulrac’s untimely death.” Jeslek raised his eyebrows. “I see you understand.”

  “I have listened.”

  “You are known to be fond of the Lady Leyladin, are you not? Well…she remains in Hydolar. Duke Ferobar has declared her under protective guard. I doubt he values her that highly, but to anger one of the leading factors of Candar would not be wise. Nor would killing a healer set well even with his own folk.” Jeslek took a sip of the wine he had not offered to Cerryl, his lips curling ever so slightly, as if the wine were sour. “Gorsuch barely escaped with his life and has returned to Fairhaven, for the time. I will be sending Fydel and Anya—and you—to Hydolar to escort the valued healer Lady Leyladin back to Fairhaven.” Jeslek smiled. “I will also be sending tenscore White Lancers.”

  Cerryl had the sinking feeling he knew what was coming next.

  “You will be going as Fydel’s assistant, as will Anya, and that should leave you somewhat free…to be creative.” Another smile followed. “The Guild would certainly benefit by the disappearance of Duke Ferobar.”

  “Ser…High Wizard?”

  “Yes, Mage Cerryl?”

  “If you as High Wizard feel that Duke Ferobar is a danger to Fairhaven, and if you order me to remove Duke Ferobar, I will do all in my power to do so. I understand why you would not wish such an effort to be made public, but I would appreciate it greatly if the two other members of the High Council were so informed.” Cerryl stiffened, ready to raise his shields if Jeslek decided to lift chaos.

  A lazy smile crossed Jeslek’s face. “You do learn, Cerryl. I must grant you that. And you do not challenge my authority as High Wizard. Very well, I so order you, and I will inform both Redark and Kinowin. You may discuss this with Kinowin; he may have ideas, and I know you will feel less unhappy if you can discuss it with him. All of you will leave tomorrow morning at first light. You have the remainder of the day to prepare.” The High Wizard paused. “Anya will also have a special charge, and you are to assist her as she sees fit, except when it might hamper your duties to me. You may also request her aid, provided it does not hamper her charge. I have already told her such.”

  “Yes, ser.”

  “Send in the messenger as you depart.”

  “Yes, ser.” Cerryl bowed, then turned.

  Outside, he nodded to the brown-haired and stocky young messenger in red. “The High Wizard desires a messenger.”

  “Yes, ser.”

  Cerryl walked straight down the steps to Kinowin’s chambers, hoping the overmage might be in. Luckily for Cerryl, he was.

  “You look like twisted chaos, Cerryl,” Kinowin greeted Cerryl as the younger mage stepped into his chamber.

  “I have the High Wizard’s leave to discuss something with you.”

  “Something that disturbs you, I can see.” The right corner of the overmage’s mouth lifted ironically.

  “Duke Uulrac died. Jeslek suspects it was murder.”

  “How could it be anything else these days?” Kinowin’s lips twisted more fully, then smoothed into a faint smile. He gestured to the chair on the other side of the table. “Sit down. What you have to say will doubtless take a bit.”

  “You recall what Jeslek required of me in Fenard? With the old Prefect Lyam? He has ordered me to undertake a similar task in Hydolar…” Cerryl continued to detail his assignment. “…and since Jeslek thought your advice might be beneficial—”

  “You are here.” Kinowin’s lips tightened. “I cannot say that any of this surprises me. Nor can I fault Jeslek’s desire to remove Ferobar without the use of armsmen. Such a removal will send a message to his successor—and to Syrma. For a time, at least, and Jeslek must have time to gather more golds.”

  “If I can remove Ferobar.”

  Kinowin laughed. “You can do that easily enough. What you must do is remove him after you have already left Hydolar.”

  “After I have left Hydolar?”

  “You would not wish your fellow mages to be attacked, would you? Nor the Lady Leyladin?”

  “No. Of course not.”

  “Also…few will suspect danger after three White mages have left Hydolar.”

  Cerryl nodded. “An illusion?”

  “Yes. Anya is quite good at them, and she will relish doing you a favor in Jeslek’s service. Also…you must make sure that no trace of Ferobar remains, except perhaps ashes.”

  “Confusion?”

  “If none are sure if or when he died, your escape will be far easier. There are enough factions in Hydlen that none dare attempt to impersonate him. Finally,” Kinowin added with a shrug, “disappearance upsets rulers and would-be rulers far more than death, which most expect to claim them sooner or later.”

  Cerryl nodded. The overmage’s words made great sense.

  “When do you leave? Tomorrow?”

  “First light.”

  “You’d better prepare.” Kinowin rose. “You might wish to take a warm jacket with winter hovering on the horizon.”

  Cerryl stood and replied. “Thank you.”

  “Thank me when you return.”

  LX

  ANYA AND FYDEL, already mounted, looked at Cerryl in the orange light of dawn. Cerryl glanced at the big chestnut gelding and the red and white livery. Finally, he swallowed and pulled himself into the saddle. He shifted his weight, but the saddle was as hard and as unyielding as he had recalled.

  Fydel nodded to the lancer officer on the bay beside him. “Let us depart, Captain Reaz. We have a long-enough ride ahead.”

  A cold breeze out of the north blew at Cerryl’s back as he urged the gelding after the other two Whites. Kinowin had been right; winter was on its way. Behind him, he could hear the sound of lancers riding nearly in unison as the column left the stable courtyards and turned onto the Avenue south of the Halls of the Mages.

  Cerryl found himself riding beside Anya.

  They had almost reached the south gate to Fairhaven before either spoke.

  “Whatever you may be doing for Jeslek,” Anya said quietly, “I do suggest that you do it with great success and devotion.”

  “I intend to,” Cerryl answered as quietly.

  “And I would not let your feelings for the Lady Leyladin interfere. After all, Cerryl, there’s no real future between a Black and a White.”

  “I’ve been told that,” Cerryl answered. “Right now, she is a friend.” Because that’s all she’ll let it be.

  “Blacks who are friends can be useful, so long as you do not turn your back for too long. Also, Blacks who are linked to great factors can be even more useful, if you use your head and not your heart.”

  The sound of hoofs echoed down the Avenue as the column rode toward the south gate, the one Cerryl had spent guarding for too long. Even after making his maps of Candar as an apprentice—a time that felt more and more distant—it felt strange to be riding west to reach Hydolar, west for a time on the Great White Highway and then southwest on one of the lesser White highways until they reached the Ohyde River and Hydolar.

  “Have you thought more about Myral’s great visions?” asked Anya, in a normal tone. “You can see where they led him.”

  “I don’t know anyone who has escaped dying,” Cerryl pointed out. “Myral lived longer than most mages. His knowledge was useful for that.”

  “A few years. Someday…someday, a strong White mage will be able to live longer, far longer.”

  The cold certainty of Anya’s words bothered Cerryl. “I suppose that’s poss
ible. I suppose it’s also possible that a strong Black healer might manage the same.”

  A strange expression, one Cerryl couldn’t define, flitted across the redhead’s face, so quickly Cerryl almost missed it.

  “That might be so, but you are a White, and you should follow your own path. Especially now.” She smiled, overly sweetly. “Jeslek expects you to bring honor to the Guild.”

  Honor? Power perhaps, but hardly honor. Then, he reflected, Fairhaven needed more power. The Guild—

  “What are you thinking?” Anya asked.

  “About power,” he answered truthfully. “About how the Guild needs power more than honor. If we were stronger, then we wouldn’t have to worry about having Guild representatives killed or chased out of other lands. We could suggest trade policies that would benefit all Candar and not have to argue and send lancers and wizards back and forth across Candar.”

  Anya laughed. “You sound just like Jeslek. Perhaps he did pick better than he knew.”

  “It’s true,” Cerryl said stubbornly, wondering why he felt he had to defend his ideas against Anya.

  “Oh…Cerryl, you and Jeslek will struggle and dream, and nothing will change. We can only change that close around us for comfort or personal triumph. The world will be what it will be.”

  Was there a trace of something else in her sardonic words? Envy? Pity? Cerryl couldn’t tell.

  Instead he shifted his weight in the saddle, trying not to think about just how sore he would be by the end of the day.

  LXI

  EVEN BY MIDMORNING of the second day, Cerryl’s legs ached and his thighs burned. He’d never ridden before becoming a student mage, and outside of his one trip to and from Fenard as an apprentice, he’d never spent much time on horseback.

  Fairhaven had faded into the low fall-golden hills behind them early on the first day, and since then they had ridden through low hills and valleys, and more low hills and valleys, each browner than the one before, as though drought and the coming winter had taken their toll. The heavy fall rains that had washed out so many crops, especially in Hydlen, had come—briefly—and gone, too late to help the land and too early for the next growing season, and the dryness had returned.