The light lance burned through Jiolt’s chest even before he had raised the thin iron throwing dagger. The dagger clanked on the stones of the floor, just before Jiolt collapsed onto it.
Kinowin, swift and graceful still in his gauntness and age, was beside the dead factor almost before the body lay still.
Senglat was on his knees by the dead factor nearly as quickly. The overcaptain rolled the factor over. “Don’t touch the blade. It’s smeared with something.”
“Poison, no doubt.” Kinowin’s voice was dry. “The blade is black iron. Nasty dagger to use on a White mage.”
Senglat glanced up at Cerryl. “Begging your pardon…High Wizard…but he had barely raised the knife…”
“He knew Cerryl would kill him,” Kinowin said, straightening. “He had to have known, once he was summoned.”
Senglat’s face clouded.
“It’s not that,” Kinowin added. “Jiolt was plotting against the Guild and the High Wizard. If he fled, then all would know he was guilty, and his golds and trading vessels and warehouses would be forfeit and his family sent into exile. He would die in any case.” A sad smile crossed the overmage’s face. “No one has ever escaped the High Wizard, and Jiolt knew that.”
“Oh…” said Leyladin. “So he forced Cerryl to kill him.”
The overcaptain’s mouth dropped open. “But…will his family…?”
“How?” asked Cerryl. “There won’t be any proof. If I act against his family now…for what he did…how will that be received? The Guild would lose all support among the factors.”
“Jiolt knew Cerryl could tell he was lying,” Leyladin interjected. “He didn’t want the High Wizard to learn more.”
Senglat shook his head, then slowly rose. “Perhaps I should leave…” He looked down at the body once more.
“No,” responded Kinowin, “not yet. You are honest, and all know it. If you are asked, you are to tell exactly what you saw.” He added after a brief pause, “It would also not hurt to mention that other traders left unharmed or with praise.”
Cerryl leaned forward, his hands on the table. “Senglat…if you would, have someone contact Jiolt’s son—Uleas, I believe. While I would prefer other…arrangements, it is best to be politic in these things. And if you would have a summons sent to the overmage Redark and the mage Esaak, I would greatly appreciate that—while the overmage, the healer, and I take a moment or two to recover.”
Kinowin nodded.
Senglat half-turned, shaking his head. “How did you know?”
“That’s the task of the High Wizard,” Kinowin answered for Cerryl. “Would you sleep better knowing what His Mightiness knows?”
The overcaptain paused and thought for a moment. “I do not think so.”
“Nor would I.” Kinowin walked to the Tower door. “Gostar! Send for the guards at the base of the Tower. And a messenger!”
Senglat lifted the dagger, using a square of cloth, careful to touch but the weapon’s hilt.
Cerryl stood back and watched, as did Leyladin.
Once Senglat had left with the guards and Jiolt’s body and the heavy door closed, Leyladin stood and put her arms around Cerryl for a moment. Then she stepped back.
“You don’t like doing this, do you?” asked Kinowin.
“No. It has to be done. I can’t have either Anya or the old factors running Fairhaven, though.” He held onto Leyladin’s hands for a moment before adding, “Anya will be here shortly.”
“Why? She wouldn’t come before…when any of her little plots failed then.” Leyladin’s puzzlement showed in every feature.
“How many other plots were there?” asked Kinowin.
“Enough,” Cerryl answered. “She will be here. That’s why I wanted Esaak and Redark. All she has left are threats.”
“For the moment. Then she’ll start with some more gullible young and old mages.” Leyladin’s laugh was short and bitter. “Unless you do something.”
“I promised,” Cerryl said heavily. “I did, and I keep my promises.”
Kinowin nodded. “Let us hope that kept promises do not bury you, Cerryl.”
“I know.” Leyladin touched his cheek with her fingers. “I won’t say more.”
Even before she lowered her hand, there was another knock on the Tower door. “The overmage Redark.”
“Send him in.”
Redark stepped into the Tower room, fingering his ginger beard, then glanced toward Kinowin. “I saw Jiolt’s body…”
“He tried to attack the High Wizard with a poisoned dagger,” Kinowin said. “We thought you should be informed.”
“Jiolt…he is most temperate…a good man with his family…” Redark shook his head.
“That may be, but the dagger was most real,” Cerryl replied. Why do people think that loving family precludes murder and treachery?
“That…it is hard to believe…” stammered the ginger-bearded overmage.
“The dagger was poisoned,” Kinowin added. “Overcaptain Senglat saw that as well.”
“Poisoned?” Redark paled.
Esaak entered through the door that had not closed, puffing. “I hastened, High Wizard…overmages…healer.”
“Good.” Cerryl gestured. “If you all would sit…”
“The High Wizard…” mumbled Esaak.
“The High Wizard needs to stand.” Cerryl walked to the window, looking out and trying to compose himself.
Thrap! “The mage Anya,” announced Gostar.
Cerryl nodded and turned. “Have her come in.”
Anya’s boots clicked on the stones as she marched toward the conference table, ignoring the four seated at the table and staring at Cerryl, who remained before the window. “Why did you bring Jiolt here? What happened to him?”
Cerryl shrugged. “He lied to me. Then he tried to kill me with a poisoned throwing dagger. A black iron dagger. He’s dead. What do you expect?”
“He’s dead? You murdered him!” Anya’s eyes widened. “You…murdered…him…You! You miserable excuse…No, No, NO!!!!” She lurched toward Cerryl, chaos fire flaring at her fingertips.
Cerryl raised full order-chaos shields, as did the other mages.
Abruptly Anya snuffed the flames. “Not…you…not that way. Not for you, Cerryl. High Wizard,” she corrected herself as her eyes flicked to Kinowin and then to Redark. The redhead swallowed, looking at neither Esaak nor Leyladin. “You just killed him? The most powerful factor in Fairhaven? When trade is already so bad?” Her voice moderated by the end of the last question, turning cool and hard.
“If a Patrol mage can pass judgment, then so can the High Wizard,” suggested Cerryl. “I will report on what I discovered to the Guild.”
“You will report…you will report…you will discuss…you will talk…” Anya clamped her jaw shut and glared at the High Wizard, then glanced toward Redark. “And you let him do this…this abomination?”
“Ah…I came but later.”
“How terribly convenient for you all.” Her eyes went back to Cerryl. “Just how do you expect to remain as High Wizard doing this…sort of thing?”
“I may not, Anya, but I couldn’t exactly ignore it when Rystryr sent a half-company of armsmen after me in Fairhaven now, could I? Or when a factor from Fairhaven helped him?”
“I’ll have the whole Guild throw you out! You are High Wizard because—”
“Anya,” Cerryl said quietly. “Have you noticed that Broka is absent today? Or that the armsmen Rystryr sent to support Jiolt have vanished? Or that all your supporters are with Fydel on the ships? Or that both an overmage and the overcaptain of the White Lancers were there when Jiolt lifted a poisoned dagger against the High Wizard?” He paused. “Not even their worst enemies would accuse Kinowin or Senglat of lying.” After a moment, he smiled. “Oh…I expect that the fleet has reached Southpoint already—or it will shortly.”
“I hope for your sake, dear Cerryl, that it is successful.” Anya flashed a tight false smile. “Even that may
not be enough to save you.”
“You may be right, Anya, but even the weakest of High Wizards has to do what is best for Fairhaven.”
“Best for Fairhaven…?” The redhead closed her mouth and stood before the table silently for a long moment. Then, she looked straight at Cerryl. “By your leave.” As she turned and left the Tower room, Anya avoided looking anywhere even near Leyladin.
The door thudded shut and vibrated on its heavy hinges.
“Perhaps you were a bit hasty…High Wizard,” suggested Redark.
Cerryl glanced toward Esaak. “You have much experience, Esaak? What do you think?”
“I think, High Wizard, that Anya is most angry and will seek any and all to have you removed.”
“Perhaps so…” Cerryl shrugged. “Yet it remains that Anya had ties to Jiolt, and Jiolt lifted a poisoned dagger—a poisoned iron dagger—against an overmage and the High Wizard.”
“Ties, but not proof,” suggested Redark.
“Exactly,” suggested Cerryl. “Did I do other than listen? Did I threaten?”
A faint smile crossed Esaak’s face. “You were most patient. Even Sterol would have turned her to ash.”
“I do wonder how Rystryr’s lancers found their way to the healer’s dwelling in a storm. Especially now.” Cerryl shrugged. “That is all we know, and you all have been helpful. I will summon you when it appears as though our fleet will engage the Black forces. For now…I would like some quiet.”
“I would suggest that as well,” said Kinowin, standing and moving toward the doorway. “By your leave?”
Esaak and Redark rose as well.
Once the overmages and Esaak had left and the heavy door had thudded shut, Leyladin turned to Cerryl. “Why did you have them present when she accused you? What did you gain?”
“Now…none of them can tell each other that Anya has done nothing.” And since three cannot keep a secret, word will spread, and not in the way Anya would like.
“You should have locked her away,” Leyladin said. “She and Jiolt were lovers. They had to be. She was truly upset. I’ve never seen her react that way. She’ll try to kill you, as soon as she can.”
“She can’t best me directly,” Cerryl pointed out, “and there’s no one left she can lure into trying. Besides, if she does it now, all will know, and she’ll lose any support she may have left.” He shrugged slowly. “I can’t tell you why, but I know I cannot remove her at this moment, not without being distrusted by all.” You need the story to spread, first…and it will. “There is no proof that Jiolt and Anya were conspiring, nothing beyond what you and I or Kinowin could sense by truth-reading, and who would believe that?”
Leyladin sighed. “She’ll find someone else to poison against you.”
“Not before the attack on Recluce.” Cerryl shrugged wearily and added, “If she can, then they’re the sort I’d like to know about before sending them out into Candar.”
“You’re still serious about that, aren’t you? About spreading the Guild all over Candar?”
“Most serious. There’s too much plotting and too little use of the Guild’s power with most of the Brotherhood here.”
“More will die.”
“Probably,” Cerryl admitted. “They’ll die for the good of Candar and Fairhaven, though, instead of dying in Hall plots and schemes.”
“You have to stay, High Wizard. You cannot if plots such as these continue. And what if the fleet fails?”
“I will be most surprised—pleasantly so, but most surprised—if any fleet should succeed in inflicting any real damage upon Southpoint or the smith’s vessel.” Cerryl slowly turned toward the window, stretching tense muscles.
“And you let it go?”
“How else could I prove to the Guild the futility of attacking Recluce?” How else indeed…and how many will die to prove that? Cerryl swallowed and took a deep breath. He turned and looked out across the snow-covered city—indeed a White City. Truly a cold white city, with a cold White High Wizard.
CLXXXI
CERRYL SLOWLY SURVEYED those around the table—Kinowin, Redark, and Leyladin—with the new young mage Ultyr standing slightly back, beside a stool Cerryl had asked to be brought in.
“Are you ready?” Cerryl asked.
“Yes, ser.” Ultyr stepped forward and squinted.
Slowly, far more slowly than if Cerryl had sought the image, the mists in the glass parted and showed ships upon a dark blue sea. The small Black craft without masts or even a bowsprit, a craft that radiated order, drove through the low and rolling swells toward the larger ship—the White Serpent, Cerryl thought. One of the smaller war schooners downwind of the White Serpent veered to port, as if the mage on board had sensed the deadliness of the Black ship.
“Darkness, it looks evil,” murmured Redark.
The Black warcraft eased alongside the White Serpent, and the Serpent tacked, but the Black ship followed the Serpent and pulled alongside easily. A flash of light and something more streaked toward the Serpent, and the bowsprit shattered into fragments. The Serpent’s bow swung port, and the big schooner wallowed as the forward jib and the remnants of the bowsprit sagged into the gulf waters.
A series of fireballs streamed from the near-becalmed Serpent against the black iron plate of the single Black vessel, but all sprayed harmlessly from the dark metal. Three more of the black weapons struck the rear of the Serpent, and before long it had begun to list. Occasional fireballs flashed from both the Serpent and the surrounding ships, without effect, as the small ironclad continued to circle the larger schooner.
“More than a dozen vessels, and nearly as many mages, and they do nothing,” muttered Redark.
“It does not appear as though they can,” observed Kinowin. “They cannot approach closely enough for their mages to be effective, not without risking our armsmen as much as the Blacks’ men—and our ships even more.”
Abruptly grappling hooks flashed from the Black vessel, followed by a flurry of dark arrows that cleared a section of the Serpent’s deck, with black-clad armsmen swarming onto the ship. Cerryl and the others watched silently. A dark figure, smaller than the armsmen, appeared with a staff, apparently walking across the deck toward a White mage who cast firebolts that missed.
“That’s Fydel,” murmured Leyladin.
“He can’t even stop one Black,” protested Redark.
“That’s the Black mage who built the ship,” Cerryl said. “Jeslek couldn’t stop him, either.”
Several firebolts arched from the two nearest White ships, one falling short, a second splattering on the black iron ship, and a third burning through the sagging bowsprit rigging of the White Serpent.
“They can’t get close enough,” mumbled Redark.
Not with that much black iron there, reflected Cerryl silently.
What exactly happened none could see in the glass, save that in the end the Black mage struck Fydel with a staff and turned the White mage into ashes. Then the Blacks abandoned the sinking White Serpent, and the Black vessel swung toward a second White ship.
Another volley of whatever weapons the Black mage had developed turned the second war schooner into a flaming pyre upon the waters of the Gulf of Candar.
As the flames rose, more than half the White fleet turned from the Black vessel.
Cerryl continued to watch as the black iron ship approached the third vessel. Parley flags rose on a short staff on the Black craft and on the White ship. Something was passed to the White ship, and the Black craft turned and headed back toward the harbor at Southpoint.
“Ser?” Ultyr stood pale and trembling, shaking like a gray winter leaf in a storm.
“You can let the image go,” Cerryl said, feeling guilty. “Sit down.” He poured a glass of wine and extended it. “Here. You need this.”
The glass blanked.
“Thank you, ser.” The young mage took the goblet, sank onto the stool, and drank slowly.
“We can fight them again,” Redark said. �
��Then…perhaps we should not.” He shook his head.
Cerryl glanced at Kinowin.
“The firebolts were useless against that ship,” noted the older overmage. “They could have destroyed every one of our ships—with one vessel.”
“They didn’t,” said Leyladin.
“I don’t think the smith wanted to,” Cerryl said slowly.
“Didn’t want to destroy us? He cannot be that charitable, not after what they tried to do with their traders,” objected Redark.
“I’ve been thinking,” Cerryl mused. “It wasn’t charity. How many White mages have died in the past few years? Almost a score and a half, maybe more, and we’ve only found a bit over a third that many apprentices who have become full mages. That ship of his, and everything he makes, concentrates order. There has to be a balance. We know that. What if he did destroy another half-score of our mages?”
Kinowin nodded slowly. “He might create a truly great White mage—or several more.”
Redark frowned but did not speak.
“No, it wasn’t charity. The Blacks are not charitable.” Nor are you. After a moment, Cerryl stood. “There’s not much more we can do at the moment, is there?”
“Not at the moment,” agreed Kinowin. “The Guild will need a report.”
“And reasons, High Wizard,” suggested Redark.
Reasons? How about Anya’s scheming? “You might ask Anya how she might better have planned the attack,” suggested Cerryl blandly.
Redark frowned as both he and Kinowin rose.
Kinowin nodded and said, “The attack was indeed her idea—and Jeslek’s, I suspect, though we will not ever know that.”
“It was the will of many,” suggested Cerryl, standing and ushering them toward the door, “but not necessarily for the best of many—or Fairhaven. I will be reconsidering many things.” He smiled.
Once the heavy door had closed after the departing overmages and Ultyr, Cerryl turned to Leyladin. “Now I have to deal with Rystryr. He’s begun to mass lancers and foot. This will make matters worse because he will take the sea battle against the Blacks as an indication of weakness.”
“You haven’t let his acts be known,” Leyladin pointed out.
Colors of Chaos (Saga of Recluce) Page 81