Colors of Chaos (Saga of Recluce)

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “I don’t know why.” Cerryl paused. He had been about to say that it seemed no one respected the Guild as much, but was that it? How could the other lands in Candar—and Recluce—not respect Fairhaven after the example of the enormous power demonstrated by Jeslek in creating the Little Easthorns? “I don’t know.”

  Heralt stood. “I have to go.” He grinned. “I’ll see you later.”

  “Who is she?”

  Heralt just shook his head.

  “You’re not saying? Wise man.”

  Heralt grinned, then turned.

  Cerryl finished the last of his dinner alone at the table, ignoring the chatter of the apprentices.

  Instead of going back to his room after eating, Cerryl went back through the fountain courtyard, and the cold and windblown spray, and into the front Hall. He took the steps to the lowest level of the White Tower and eased around the corridor past the guards to Kinowin’s quarters, where he knocked.

  “You can come in, Cerryl.”

  Cerryl closed the door behind him.

  Kinowin looked up. He was standing by the bookshelves and studying a volume half-open in his huge hand. “I hope this isn’t about that Patrol business. You have to talk to Isork about that, if you want to rejoin the Patrol. And it would have to be a year or more from now.”

  “No, ser. It’s not about the Patrol. Not that I know of.”

  Kinowin glanced at the pages before him, then closed the book. “Then sit down.”

  Cerryl sat, his nose twitching. Was it the dust from the old volume Kinowin held? He rubbed his nose, and the itch subsided but did not go away totally.

  Kinowin walked toward the window, his back to the purple and blue hanging, his eyes focused out through the thick glass of the window closed against the early-evening chill. “What is it?”

  “Fydel and the lancers brought in a trader, a woman trader.”

  “That bothers you?”

  “Yes,” Cerryl answered directly. “I cannot see any reason for it, not even with all the problems that the Guild faces. Fydel could discipline a trader without using a full lancer detachment.”

  “Strange, yes.” The overmage nodded without looking at Cerryl.

  The younger mage waited.

  “Overmage or not, Cerryl, I am not privy to all that is done for the High Wizard.”

  “Yes, ser.”

  “Why does a simple trader bother you?” asked Kinowin, finally turning from the window.

  How much should he tell Kinowin? He cleared his throat. “Some time ago, I overheard a remark by Anya about a female trader who was linked to the smith in Spidlar—the Black one that Jeslek is following. The one called…Dorrin, I believe.”

  Kinowin raised his bushy blonde eyebrows. “Yes?”

  Cerryl shrugged. “It’s not my task. Yet it disturbs me, and I don’t know why.”

  “Those who get involved in what is not their task…What happened with the Patrol, Cerryl?”

  Cerryl winced inwardly at the implied reprimand. “Ser, I have done nothing, nor will I. I know that when something bothers me, such as this, there is a problem. I can do nothing. But I thought you should know, if you did not already. All I can do is bring it to your attention.”

  Kinowin gave a soft laugh. “So you will make this problem mine?”

  Encouraged by the open, humorous tone of the overmage’s laugh, Cerryl gave a wry smile. “Yes, ser. I do not know where else to turn, and you are far more capable at such than I.”

  “Cerryl, that sounds like Anya. Why don’t you say what you mean?”

  Cerryl swallowed. “It bothers me. I think it will not help the Guild. I don’t know why, but I feel strongly. Who else can I let know?”

  “That’s more honest…and more disturbing.” Kinowin paced back to the other side of the room, pausing and fingering a green and silver hanging featuring interlocking triangles. “All I can say is that I will inquire, in my own fashion.” He turned and looked at Cerryl. “Is that enough?”

  Cerryl stood. “Yes, ser. That’s all I can ask.”

  “It’s more than you can ask, Cerryl, but I trust your feelings about the Guild. Now…let a poor overmage have a few moments to read.”

  Cerryl stood, a rueful smile on his face. With a bow he left, heading back to the uncertainty of his room and a screeing glass that showed more and more and revealed less and less.

  LXXII

  CERRYL LOOKED AT the chaos swirling across the glass, disrupting his search for Leyladin. Maybe he needed a moment of rest. He stood and paced back and forth across his room. Then he took a sip of water from the mug on the desk.

  Finally, he reseated himself before the glass, but he could sense strong patterns of chaos, far closer than Lydiar—or Certis. Something was wrong in Fairhaven, perhaps even in the Halls…subtly wrong, and wrong at the moment. But what? Do you really want to know?

  He looked down at the silvered mirror on the desk, hoping to trace out the wrongness through the glass. The mists parted, and Cerryl’s mouth opened as he saw the image in the glass.

  Cracckkkk! The White Guard continued to lash the figure strapped facedown on the long table, and a line of red slashed across the legs.

  A white-haired White wizard’s hands moved, as if to fight back something. The mage’s forehead shimmered with sweat, and he glanced at a mirror on a small table, tilted toward him.

  Cerryl frowned, but he could not make out the image in the mirror. He could discern that the White wizard was Jeslek and that Anya stood beside him. The lash cut across the bare shoulders of the figure strapped on the table, and the prisoner shuddered.

  The wizard frowned, glanced at Anya.

  She shook her head and spoke briefly.

  Instead of responding, Jeslek took a sip from a mug. His face tightened in concentration, and he nodded to the guard. The whip snapped across the woman’s bare back.

  Jeslek wiped his forehead and nodded once more to the guard.

  Another lash cracked across the woman’s back.

  The smile on Anya’s face turned Cerryl’s guts, and he swallowed. By the time he looked again, the guard had unstrapped the unconscious woman and lifted her over his shoulders like a sack. The guard followed Fydel from the lower Tower room.

  Cerryl quickly let the image lapse, hoping that Jeslek and Anya had been too preoccupied to notice or, if they had, too much so to determine which mage had been observing. Despite the chill in his room, sweat beaded across his forehead, and his guts still threatened to rise into his throat.

  What can you do? You’ve told Kinowin, and if Jeslek finds out that you’re spying on him…

  For a time Cerryl sat before the blank glass. Then he stood, squared his shoulders, and walked to the window, looking out as fluffy flakes of snow drifted down past the heavy glass.

  After a time, he turned, wiped his forehead, and walked to his door, heading toward the fountain court. He stood by the archway for some time, knowing that Anya would come—should come—sooner or later.

  At last, he sensed the wave of chaos that accompanied Anya as she crossed the front foyer of the Halls of the Mages and headed toward the fountain court.

  Looking worried and as if he were not paying attention, he started across the courtyard at an angle, ignoring the snow that fluttered down and melted on the stones.

  “Cerryl! Watch where you’re going. You almost ran into me.” Anya looked at Cerryl intently. “You meant to catch my attention.”

  “Of course.” Cerryl grinned. “I couldn’t keep that from you.” The scent of sandalwood and trilia was almost overpowering, but he couldn’t let that distract him.

  “But why?” Anya seemed genuinely curious.

  “Do you have a moment?” He pointed toward the bench beyond the fountain before he realized, belatedly, it was wet. He stopped short of sitting as he drew her toward it.

  “You intrigue me, Cerryl. A moment only.” Still, she followed him, and they both stood beside the bench.

  The gray-eyed mage l
ooked directly at Anya. “War or conflict takes force. If you kill the trader woman, you will force that Black smith, whatever his name may be—”

  “Dorrin,” Anya said with an amused smile. “Dorrin.”

  “To attack Fairhaven. Can’t you sense just how much order he embodies? He carries as much order as Jeslek does chaos.”

  “Cerryl…you can see much, but there is a great deal which you do not see.” Anya flashed the bright and false smile. “Of course, the smith embodies great order. But you always did have a soft spot for victims. That was what caused you trouble with the Patrol. Let me assure you that the trader lady will return to her smith, and she will survive.”

  “Then why did you have Jeslek torture her?”

  “Cerryl…do you know what Jeslek would do to you if I mentioned this?”

  The younger mage forced a smile, blocking his true feelings as he had learned to do so long before in order to survive. “Anya…I would tell him that you told me, and he would believe me.”

  Anya’s smile faded. “You surprise me, Cerryl. What is the trader woman to you?”

  “Nothing. I’ve never met her. I’m worried about Fairhaven.”

  For a time the redhead studied Cerryl. Finally, a half-smile crossed her lips. “You really do. You really are like Jeslek. I never would have expected it.”

  Cerryl distrusted the second smile, even more than the first.

  “She will go back to her smith. Never fear. And nothing more need be said. Do you understand?”

  Cerryl understood that he could not trust Anya, but that she told the truth so far as the lady trader’s return went. There was more there, but he didn’t know what else to ask or how to follow up on what he had learned. So he nodded.

  “Good.” Anya turned and left him standing there.

  Once she had left the court, Cerryl took a deep breath. What else could he have done? He couldn’t have approached Jeslek or Kinowin again, and certainly not Fydel. Only Anya was devious enough that she had enough to hide from Jeslek. You hope…

  Slowly…he turned and started back to his room.

  LXXIII

  CERRYL STEPPED UP to the door, but it opened before he could lift the knocker, and Leyladin was in his arms. He held on for a long time.

  Finally, she stepped back. “It’s cold out. You could come in.”

  “I came as soon as I got your message.”

  “I can see that.” She smiled, with a warmth that made him forget the chill and the slush in the streets through which he’d walked, then stepped back.

  They walked into the sitting room to the right of the entry hall. A fire had been laid in the hearth, and the warmth was welcome to Cerryl. A faintly aromatic smell from the fire filled the air, not quite pine, but something resinous.

  Leyladin settled onto the settee, and Cerryl sat beside her.

  “It’s gotten cold and stayed that way.”

  “It’s winter,” Cerryl suggested with a laugh.

  “The weather is colder than usual.”

  “The whole year’s been strange.” Cerryl turned on the settee. “When will your father be home?”

  “Not for a bit.” Leyladin paused. “You almost don’t seem glad to see me, not after the first few moments.”

  “It’s not that.” Cerryl looked past the healer, toward the painting of her mother, and the image’s blue eyes seemed to bore into him.

  “You’re upset. More troubles with Jeslek?”

  “Not exactly…” He pursed his lips.

  “What don’t you want to tell me?”

  “It’s not that.” He paused. “You can’t tell anyone, not even Lyasa.”

  “I won’t.” A smile danced across her lips. “Not even Lyasa.”

  “Fydel captured a woman trader and brought her back…” Cerryl detailed all that he knew. “…and when they whipped her, Jeslek was twisting chaos…I could sense it, so much that I almost couldn’t scree at the time. I couldn’t go to Kinowin again, and I couldn’t exactly question the High Wizard. So I confronted Anya. She told me that the woman was being returned to the smith. She is on her way back. I checked.” Cerryl shook his head. “I don’t understand any of this. I’ve told Kinowin, but I can’t press him on it, not after the mess I made of the Patrol.”

  “And you can’t let Jeslek know you saw him torture this woman.”

  “I don’t see how; do you?”

  “Not in your position, Cerryl.” Leyladin shook her head.

  Cerryl glanced at the image of the healer’s mother, but the eyes remained bleak blue and fixed upon him.

  “Jeslek tortured the smith’s woman,” Leyladin said slowly. “It doesn’t make Jeslek look very good.”

  “No, it doesn’t.”

  “That doesn’t further your order of chaos.”

  Cerryl took a deep breath. What could he say?

  “You could say that he will pay for it,” suggested the blonde.

  “He may.”

  “You could say that you could do nothing.”

  “For now, I fear I have done what I can. I may have made matters worse, both for her and for me. I did not know until the torture was almost over. I couldn’t even have run there fast enough to shorten what they did.” Cerryl shrugged despondently. “Her torture will enrage this Dorrin. He appears to be a man who will find an answer, no matter what the cost. I hope I am not too near when he does.”

  “He is similar to you, then.” Leyladin laughed, flirtatiously yet distantly.

  Cerryl looked at the floor.

  “How do you feel about this…torture?”

  “It was wrong.”

  “No…what does it make you feel?”

  “What difference does that make? I don’t exactly have the power to do anything.”

  “Fear, rage, anger, despair—they’re like chaos within you. You keep what you feel about everything to yourself. Sooner or later, Cerryl, you’ll have to trust someone.”

  “I trust you.”

  “You trust me with what has happened, but I have to pull out of you what you feel.”

  “That’s hard for me.”

  “I know.” The blonde healer slipped an arm around him and hugged him for but a moment. “You’ve never had anyone to share with, have you?”

  “No.”

  “You need to learn.”

  “We are already.”

  Leyladin frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “A while back, I was thinking something, but I never said it. You answered what I was thinking.”

  “It must have been obvious.” She gave a soft and humorous laugh.

  “Perhaps it was.” Cerryl wasn’t sure but forbore saying more as the front door thudded against the foyer wall.

  “Cold as a winter road out there, it is!” Layel called as he stamped his feet in the entry foyer. Then he stepped into the sitting room and strode past the two on the settee and stood before the hearth. “Nothing like a warm hearth after a cold ride.”

  “Where were you riding from?” asked Cerryl.

  “Just from Muneat’s warehouse. It’s on the far northwest, but the wind has picked up, and I fear cold and more snow. He had some brocade, goodly stuff, but a goodly price as well.”

  “You didn’t buy any,” Leyladin said with a laugh.

  “I buy as little as I can when the price is dear, no matter how someone tells me it will become dearer.” The balding blonde trader shook his head. “If it becomes dearer, all too often, none have the coins to purchase. So I buy what I can that others will have coins for.” He turned so his backside was warmed by the hearth. “Little enough of that, these days. What a world! Still there is no duke in Hydolar, and brigands are everywhere on the roads out of and into Spidlar. One of the best traders I know, fine fellow, Willum was, always had goods of a differing streak—he’s dead, killed by brigands. Never been to his warehouse, some small port in Spidlar—Diev, that’s it. Met him in Elparta or Axum, handful of times, and he’s gone.”

  Cerryl frowned. He’d h
eard the name somewhere, but he couldn’t recall where.

  “You know him?” asked Layel.

  “No, ser. I’ve heard the name, but I can’t remember where.”

  “Then there’s Freidr…factor in Jellico, sent me a scroll wanting to know why your Guild was insisting all warehouses in Jellico be inspected.” Layel raised his eyebrows.

  “I didn’t know anything about that,” Cerryl confessed.

  “No matter. I’m warmer. Is dinner ready?” the factor asked his daughter.

  “Let me check with Meridis.” Leyladin rose and headed for the kitchen.

  “You looked most shocked, young Cerryl, when I spoke of inspections.”

  “I was, ser. I’d never heard of that before.”

  “Neither had I; neither had I. Sorry place the world be getting to. Would that those Black angels on Recluce leave us well enough alone.”

  Cerryl refrained from commenting that he wasn’t certain all the problem lay with Recluce.

  Leyladin reappeared, standing in the archway by the hearth. “Meridis is more than ready. She wanted to know what took you.” The healer grinned at her father.

  “Blasted woman. What took me? Gaining the coins to pay for the food and her stipend—that’s what took me…” Layel broke off as he saw the twinkle in Leyladin’s eyes. “Daughter, you will order me to death.”

  “Not me.”

  Layel glanced at Cerryl. “Daughters! Let us eat.”

  Leyladin and Cerryl exchanged glances, their mouths offering amused smiles beneath momentarily laughing eyes.

  LXXIV

  WONDERING WHY KINOWIN had summoned him, Cerryl rapped on the overmage’s door. Has he discovered something about the woman trader? Or the smith?