Colors of Chaos

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “No. Wascot was sick, and I had to take the first part of his afternoon duty. Isork took the second part one night, and Huroan did last night, but it was late when I got back.” He paused. “You have something to tell me? What’s wrong?”

  “It’s not that bad. The High Wizard has requested I go back to Hydlen. The young duke is ailing, and Gorsuch suspects all is not well.”

  Cerryl frowned. “That sounds like a different turn on an old tale.”

  “I think as much, also.”

  Neither needed to spell it out. The old Duke, Berofar, had died just after Leyladin had been there to care for his son Uulrac, and both Cerryl and Leyladin had suspected Gorsuch, as the Guild representative to Hydlen, had not been uninvolved. Yet now Gorsuch was practically demanding Leyladin return.

  Cerryl nodded. Of course, an underage ruler needed a regent. If the boy died, then one of his older cousins would become duke and Gorsuch would return to being an adviser, if that, and Jeslek would have to contend with a more independent duke who probably had no love of Fairhaven. “Uulrac’s six?”

  “Something like that.”

  “When do you leave?”

  “Tomorrow morning.”

  That didn’t surprise Cerryl much, either. “Perhaps you should move to Hydolar and I should petition to become Gorsuch’s assistant.”

  “You have to stay here.”

  “Why? Myral’s visions?” Why does she keep bringing them up?… I’m no Jeslek, or even a Kinowin.

  “And other things,” she replied obliquely. “Can you join me and Father for an early dinner?”

  “I’d be happy to, and even happier were you able to invite me for tomorrow.”

  “Perhaps you could come as soon as you wash up. Then we could talk.”

  “I will hurry.” Cerryl bowed.

  “So will I.” She squeezed his hand.

  Cerryl strode quickly to his room, where he stripped to little more than smallclothes, and marched to the bathing room. The cold water felt good, even for shaving.

  Back in his quarters, still stripped to the waist as he dried and changed, Cerryl’s eyes went to the scar across his shoulder-barely a thin white line, yet it had been a wide red welt. Had it healed so well because of Leyladin’s continual presence?

  And now she was headed off, just as matters seemed to be getting worse throughout Candar. Hydolar… again?

  He shook his head and donned a clean white shirt, then a crimson-trimmed sleeveless white tunic and the red patroller’s belt. Some of the Patrol mages didn’t wear the red belts, but the belt felt right to Cerryl.

  He hurried down the corridor and out of the Halls, nodding to a few that he passed-Myredin and Bealtur and Disarj. He saw Redark from behind, but since the overmage didn’t turn, Cerryl didn’t feel as though he had to acknowledge the High Council member.

  After stopping for a moment on the shaded walk outside Leyladin’s to catch his breath and to cool off, Cerryl knocked firmly. Soaris opened the carved and polished door for Cerryl and bowed. “Good afternoon, ser Cerryl.”

  “Good afternoon, Soaris.” Cerryl found the coolness of the house was refreshing as he stepped through the foyer and into the marble-tiled entry hall.

  “I’m in here, Cerryl.” Leyladin waited, on the settee before the portrait of her mother.

  Cerryl’s eyes went from daughter to mother and back again before he sat down beside the blonde healer. “How are you feeling? You look very serious.”

  “I talked to Myral this morning.”

  Cerryl waited.

  “He doesn’t think he’ll see the end of the troubles ahead.”

  “We’re likely to have troubles for many years,” Cerryl pointed out. “That’s what I see, and that could be a long time. He could be around for years.”

  “Cerryl. He’s getting weaker.”

  “You’re worried that if you go… but if you stayed… ?”

  She nodded. “He might survive, and I don’t know that’s what Jeslek wants.”

  “Jeslek has a problem. If Uulrac dies, things can’t help but get worse in Hydlen. If Myral dies, some will say that Jeslek invented Uulrac’s illness.” He paused. “Do you think… ?”

  “No. Jeslek is worried about the boy. But he also doesn’t care much for Myral. If Myral dies, who will speak out?”

  “I will.”

  “You do already, but the older mages don’t listen, except for Kinowin and a few of the Patrol types.”

  Cerryl patted Leyladin on the knee, mostly because he had no idea what he could do or say.

  She sighed. “Usually there have been more than one or two Black healers in Fairhaven, but the numbers are fewer and fewer.”

  “They go to Recluce?” Cerryl frowned. “There was a Black healer that came through here last year.”

  “One of their exiles or pilgrims? Even if we could find him, he couldn’t take Fairhaven. Sometimes I even get headaches so bad that I can’t see, and I was born here.”

  “You haven’t told me that… I’ve never sensed…”

  “I’ve not let anyone see that.” She turned directly to him. “How could I let any word of that get to Jeslek?”

  “Maybe it’s better for you to go to Hydolar.”

  “It’s not better for Myral or you.”

  “I’ll be fine. I can look in on Myral.”

  “You will, won’t you?”

  “I promise. I’m not a healer, but I’ll let you know by messenger if you’re needed.”

  “If he gets really sick, and Uulrac’s not too bad…”

  Cerryl nodded, not knowing for what he hoped.

  “So how are the two not-quite lovers?” boomed Layel from the entry hall.

  “Just talking, Father.” Leyladin’s voice was cheerful, with a forced spirit Cerryl could sense was painful.

  “Are you two ready to eat? Been a long day at the Exchange, and I’m starved.”

  “If you would tell Meridis, Father, we’ll be right there.”

  “That I can do, Daughter. That I can.” With a loud chuckle, Layel left the entry hall.

  “You have to be careful, Cerryl. More cautious than ever before.”

  “I know.”

  Leyladin stood. “Father will be calling again if we don’t get to the dining hall.” She grinned. “Food is almost as important as trade to him.”

  “Almost?” Cerryl raised his eyebrows as he took Leyladin’s arm.

  “Sometimes, it’s more important.”

  They walked from the sitting room to the dining hall, where Layel stood behind the head chair.

  “Good! We can eat.” The factor seated himself, as did the others, Cerryl waiting slightly for Leyladin.

  No sooner than the three were seated did Meridis appear with a large steep-sided china bowl that she set before Layel.

  “Meridis? What might this be?”

  “Fowl casserole, ser.”

  “Fowl casserole? That be a dinner?” Layel glanced at Meridis.

  “Begging your pardon, Master Layel, but all the beef is tough and stringy, and so are the fowl in the market. Stewed and with wine and spices and cheese, and even the broad mushrooms…”

  Layel lifted his hands. “You did the best you could, and for that I am grateful.”

  Meridis returned to the kitchen and came back with another platter, which she set before Layel. “Quilla, as you wished.”

  “That is better.” A broad smile crossed the factor’s face.

  Standing behind Layel, Meridis rolled her eyes, then set the bread platter before Leyladin, before again retreating to the kitchen.

  “You said it was a long day at the Exchange?” Cerryl said as he poured the white wine from the clear bottle into the factor’s goblet.

  “Yes… ah, thank you.”

  “Why might it have been so long?” Leyladin asked, her eyes twinkling.

  “Grain prices… they go up, and then down a little, and then up…Recluse is buying more grain in Sarronnyn. That means-” Layel eased half th
e quilla on the platter onto his own plate, then glanced at Leyladin. “You won’t be eating this, I know.”

  “Recluce is buying more grain,” Cerryl prompted.

  “There isn’t enough left to ship to Hydlen at the old price, and that means that grain prices, and the prices of flour and bread, will rise all through the fall and winter, even until next harvest, perchance. Ah… would that I had seen it earlier. Saw it early enough for a modest gain, but, oh, had I seen it far earlier.” The factor shook his head and spooned out a moderate helping of the casserole, his nose wrinkling slightly.

  After Leyladin served herself, Cerryl took a modest helping, as well as bread and but a small serving of quilla, a serving he hoped he could eat without merely choking it down. He started with the casserole and found himself taking another bite. “This is good.”

  “Meridis makes a good casserole… when Father lets her.”

  “A man’s food is meat untainted with all such delicacies, or where such delicacies add to the flavor and do not bury it,” Layel mumbled through a mouthful of quilla.

  “I often prefer the delicacies,” Leyladin said.

  “I like both,” Cerryl confessed-truthfully, since he’d had little enough of either growing up.

  “Spoken like a mage.” Layel laughed.

  “He is a mage, a very good mage.” Leyladin took a sip of wine.

  “I work at it.”

  “Everything takes work. Trading does.”

  “How did you get started being a factor?” Cerryl asked.

  “Long time ago… my father, he was a cloth merchant, one step above a weaver, and I asked myself, ‘If Da is a merchant, why can’t I be a factor?’ I went to the Market Square and watched what people bought and what they paid… and when they bought, and I saved every copper until I could go to the weavers in the late spring, for that is when times were the worst, and buy all that I could, and I saved it until after harvest…”

  Cerryl and Leyladin listened as Layel spun out his tale of rising from the son of a cloth merchant to a powerful factor. Layel barely paused when Meridis cleared the empty dishes and returned with three cups of egg custard.

  “Egg custard?”

  “You told me to take care with the honey and the molasses, that they would be hard to come by in the seasons ahead,” answered the cook.

  “So I did. So I did. Egg custard. There’s worse. There’s no custard, and no eggs,” mused Layel. “And, you know, there were times like that. Bought my first coaster… and lost her on the second voyage… Folk said I was failed. They were wrong…”

  Leyladin smiled at Cerryl.

  He smiled back.

  “… wrong ‘cause I had coins saved, not enough for another ship, not then, but I took a share in an Austran spice trader that ran the Black Isle leg-can’t do that now… no, you can’t. Can’t do this, and can’t do that… world’s not the same now, not by a long bolt…”

  Later, when the lamps cast all the light in the house and in the front foyer, Leyladin and Cerryl stood by the door.

  “I’m sorry it’s so late,” Leyladin apologized. “Father, he was so pleased to be able to tell someone how he got to be a factor. You have to get up early.”

  “So do you. I don’t have to ride to Hydolar.” Cerryl wrapped his arms around Leyladin, ignoring her wish for an almost chaste hug for just a moment before releasing her. “Be careful, very careful.” Myral doesn’t have any visions about you, Leyladin. He concealed a wince at the thought that he might be accepting what Myral had said.

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “Make sure that you are,” he insisted.

  “You take care of yourself, and watch out for Jeslek and Anya.” For the first time, her lips met his, warm-and loving. “And keep doing what Myral told you… I want to be able to kiss you again.”

  So do I. Cerryl held her for a long time, without speaking.

  XLV

  Cerryl paused at the top landing of the White Tower, wondering again why, after more than a year of ignoring Cerryl, Jeslek had summoned him.

  Hertyl was the guard outside the High Wizard’s chamber, and he nodded at Cerryl, then opened the door. Cerryl nodded back and stepped into the chambers of the High Wizard. Behind him, the door closed with an ominous thud.

  Jeslek’s white hair shimmered, and his sun-gold eyes yet glittered out of the youthful face. He gestured to the chair by the table that held the screeing glass, a glass that had been recently used, Cerryl knew, from the residual chaos that swirled unseen around it. “Please have a seat, Cerryl.”

  “Thank you, ser.” Cerryl noted the rain running down the thick glass of the tower windows, a warm rain, but still unwelcome for the steam that would cloak the city later-and his headache.

  “Mock politeness does not become you or any mage, Cerryl, except upon ceremonial occasions.” Jeslek took the chair across the table. His eyes bored into the younger mage. “There is little point in wasting time with evasions and maneuvers. I do not care for, shall we say, your careful approach to handling chaos. You do not care for my use of chaos on a massive scale. We both, however, wish that Fairhaven prosper.” The High Wizard paused. “That is true.”

  “You cannot, or will not, raise chaos in huge measure. You have shields strong enough to withstand that amount of chaos. Thus, I cannot destroy you with chaos, nor you me. You cannot lead Fairhaven, but, young as you are, you could keep it from being led.”

  Cerryl detected a certain amount of untruth in Jeslek’s words but merely nodded that he had heard what the High Wizard said. Cerryl glanced in the direction of the toy on the shelf, a detailed miniature of a windmill with a small black iron crank. His eyes opened-black iron, bursting with order. Yet the toy, or model, or whatever it was, had been finely detailed, so finely that it looked as though it could pump water.

  “Oh, that? A small part of the problem in Spidlar, one you as a Patrol mage need not concern yourself with. Not at present.” Jeslek flashed a smile.

  “Black mages in Spidlar?”

  “As of now, there are three Blacks in Spidlar, Cerryl, a smith and two armsmen. There may be a Black healer as well. It is strange. We have all this difficulty with Spidlar, and there are all these Blacks there. It’s not your concern, but it will be discussed at the next Guild meeting.” Jeslek smiled. “The smith’s name is Dorrin, not that it should concern you, but… I will satisfy your curiosity. This time.”

  “Yes, ser.” Cerryl took his eyes from the model, but the amount of order concentrated in it bothered him, disturbing him almost as much as had there been an equal amount of chaos focused there. A smith named Dorrin? A Black smith? Why had Jeslek mentioned the name? To see if Cerryl knew?

  “You do not know this smith’s name?”

  “No, ser.” Cerryl repressed a frown.

  “That, at least, is to your benefit.” Jeslek paused. “Now… do you wish to stand in my way?”

  “No. I still have much to learn.”

  “Ah… you remain the honest mage.” Jeslek laughed. “And you have avoided Anya’s bed.”

  “That seemed best, given my youth.”

  “How do you find the Patrol?”

  “I continue to learn, especially about Fairhaven, and I find that good, for I was not raised here.”

  “That is good for any mage, even those raised here.” Jeslek’s eyes glittered momentarily. “You follow Myral too closely, Cerryl.”

  “Myral? I respect his understanding.”

  “His understanding-with that I have no quibble.” The High Wizard smiled lazily. “Few mages have understood so much as Myral. Yet few have been so frozen into inaction by such understanding. Myral is too cautious. There is a time to strike and a time to wait. Myral would always wait.”

  “He is cautious,” Cerryl temporized. “You feel it is time to strike.”

  Jeslek nodded abruptly. “If we do not show that Fairhaven is to be feared, and not just respected, the rulers of eastern Candar will ignore every White mage in their courts.”<
br />
  “Is that really why you raised the Little Easthorns?”

  “Is that what they’re calling them? Diminishing me by calling them little?”

  “To divide Gallos,” Cerryl continued, as if he had not heard Jeslek’s comment. “It’s too big to hold together with a mountain range down the middle.”

  “Have you seen the Market Square, Cerryl? Each eight-day there are fewer traders there. Do you know why? Because goods are short, and they can obtain more in Hydlen or Kyphros, and they do not have to pay the road taxes. After years of benefiting from our roads and efforts, they turn away, and the rulers in some other lands encourage them. Some would change the rulers in other lands.”

  “As in Hydlen?”

  “Or Gallos. Even after my visit with Eliasar and the creation of the chaos mountains, the Gallosian merchants bridle. They would forget the years they benefited from the White highways and reject their just debts.”

  “That will happen, ser,” Cerryl suggested, “unless they are compelled otherwise.”

  “What do you suggest, then, O wise young mage?”

  “You have far greater experience. I cannot suggest. I only know that most men respond to swords or silvers or chaos, not to words. We cannot raise enough golds, not now.”

  Jeslek’s sun-gold eyes meet the pale gray ones of the younger mage, surveying him deliberately. “Did you know that matters in Spidlar are getting worse? I understand that brigands ride every back road.”

  “I had not heard that. I cannot say I am surprised. It would be to our interest that brigands be found there.”

  “Do you know that, since Spidlar refuses to act, the Viscount of Certis sent forces to control them?”

  I take it that his efforts have been less than totally successful.“

  Jeslek’s eyes glittered more intently, and Cerryl wondered if he had Presumed too much.

  Probably…but you can’t back down. “You could be dangerous, Cerryl, if you weren’t a disciple of Myral’s”

  “You know I don’t have the kind of chaos power you do.”

  “I know that you have never raised such power. I know that you do not wish to do so.” Jeslek raised his eyebrows. “You avoid using chaos more than you have to. That is wise, assuming you retain the ability to wield it when you have no choice. Ah, yes, young Cerryl there will be a time when you have no alternative but to raise chaos in force.” A twisted smile crossed the High Wizard’s face, and his fingers touched the amulet that hung around his neck. “That is where Myral and even Kinowin are mistaken. But you need not listen to me. Just watch.”