Colors of Chaos

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “Cerryl… you can’t be so careful that you never feel.”

  “Feeling-that’s what caused the problem. If I hadn’t been feeling -..”

  “About Myral?”

  He nodded.

  “Does Leyladin know? That was what I came to ask you about.”

  “I sent her a message scroll about Myral. There wasn’t much else I could do. I wish Leyladin could use a glass.”

  “Blacks can’t-not easily-and healers especially have a hard time.”

  “I know. It sounds simple in Colors of White. ‘Screeing is the gathering of chaotic light patterned by the order of the world…’” He shook his head.

  “You’re still upset about Myral.”

  “Yes,” he admitted. “I don’t know why. I mean, I know why I’m upset, but not why I am so upset. So upset that I couldn’t even remember the rules of peacekeeping.” He laughed bitterly.

  “Because you respected him and you haven’t found many mages to respect,” suggested Lyasa.

  “That’s probably part of it. Except why did I go out and do something he wouldn’t have respected?”

  “Were you trying to break the rules?”

  “No. Yes. How can I say? I didn’t want the boy to go on the road crew. But I didn’t want to-I couldn’t-let him go. If you let one get away with stealing, with all the hunger, they’ll all be stealing.” Cerryl shook his head. “I don’t… Maybe I’m not meant to be a Patrol mage, That… demons! I probably won’t be much longer.”

  “You’re making too much out of this. You still brought him in, didn’t you? And he’ll go on the road crew?”

  “I’m sure he will.” Cerryl couldn’t tell Lyasa of the horrified look in Gyskas’s eyes or the sickening sense of despair he himself had felt. He just shook his head.

  “Then what is the problem?”

  “You don’t break the rules, not if you’re a Patrol mage. How can anyone trust the mages if we don’t keep the rules we make? Things are bad enough already, and it’s harvesttime. What will they be like by midwinter?”

  “Worse,” admitted Lyasa. “But you didn’t make them that way. You made a mistake. We all make mistakes.”

  Cerryl just shook his head. “Sometimes… sometimes, you can’t afford mistakes.” Not me… not if everyone’s watching to see if you do… hoping you will.

  She reached out and touched his shoulder. “I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do?”

  “No. Not now.” He straightened. “I did what I did. We’ll have to see what happens. I just hope it’s not too bad.” How can it not be bad when discipline is going to come from Jeslek and Redark?

  “If you need anyone to talk to, I’m around.”

  “Thank you.” He swallowed. “I mean it.” Lyasa offered a soft smile before she left. Cerryl sat down heavily, half-staring at the blank screeing glass.

  LI

  Cerryl looked up from the table-desk as Isork appeared in the doorway. As the chief Patrol mage shut the door to the duty room behind him, Cerryl stood. “Ser.”

  “Cerryl…” The chief Patrol mage’s voice was soft, almost regretful. “Gyskas reported what happened yesterday afternoon.”

  “I thought he would, ser.” Cerryl lifted a sealed message from the desk, stepped forward, and extended it. “Here is my report. I doubt they differ in any great degree.”

  Isork continued to stand as he unfolded the sheet and read it. Seemingly he read it a second time; then he handed it back to Cerryl. “I prefer Gyskas’s report, and I think you would as well. He was somewhat more charitable to you than you have been to yourself. That speaks well of you, but there is no sense in making matters worse.”

  “Yes, ser.” Cerryl folded the report into his belt.

  “Cerryl, I am sorry. But we cannot change the rules of peacekeeping.”

  “I understand that, ser. Especially now. But nothing seemed to fit. He didn’t resist taking, and he didn’t attack me. He was telling the truth. Am I supposed to put him on the road gang because he had to choose between letting his sister starve or stealing?”

  “We cannot let peacebreaking occur.” Isork offered a half-smile. “No matter what the reason. People often have good reasons to break the peace. Sometimes, as now, the Guild may even be partly at fault. It’s easy to keep the peace when times are good. It’s harder when times are bad. Yet it is even more important that Fairhaven remain calm in the troubled times.”

  How can it remain calm when more and more people cannot find enough to eat?

  “I know you were upset by Myral’s death. Kinowin told me when I saw him early this morning. But you have to do your duty, according to the rules, no matter what you feel. I can’t have mages branding people. What were you thinking?”

  “I wasn’t thinking, ser. For a moment, I thought of just using the brand to remind him, but I realized that wouldn’t work. So I carried him back here. I should have put him on the refuse crew, I suppose, but I wasn’t thinking. It happened so quickly.”

  “No… what you should have done was send him to the south prison for transfer to the road crew. Without branding him.” Isork smiled. “Then, we could have arranged for him to escape on the way to the highway work. We will anyway, but we’ll have to make sure he doesn’t escape until he is well, well away from here, probably into Kyphros.”

  Cerryl’s mouth opened.

  “That’s the second lesson. We’re not totally unfeeling-but what we do has to look like it is totally unfeeling, totally impartial. The adjustments have to be made in a way that doesn’t appear to compromise the system.”

  “Now what do I do?” Cerryl sighed. “I’m sure the word will be out that there is a crazy Patrol mage.”

  “We could get around that, in time, after a disciplinary assignment and relocation to another section. What this points out is that you’re too young and too creative,” Isork said, “to stay as a Patrol section mage. You think too much. Sooner or later, the thinking will push you into doing something else. You’ve already made a few decisions that were a bit creative, like putting people on the refuse crew that other mages Would have sent to the road crew.” Isork shook his head. “The Patrol doesn’t air its refuse or its laundry in public. You won’t see open disciplinary hearings for Patrol mages-or patrollers. That sort of thing only undermines public trust. It’s simple. Patrol mages and patrollers are fully accountable, and all know they are.”

  Thinking about facing the three Council members, Cerryl held in a shiver. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cause you trouble.” He lifted his hands.

  “We’ll make another adjustment. I’ve talked to Kinowin, or I wouldn’t be here. The word is that you have been disciplined, and it will be passed. We will use you to point out to people that that even mages do not break the rules. You will report to the High Wizard and the overmages at noon for your disciplinary assignment.”

  Cerryl swallowed. Just for not knowing… for showing what you thought was care.

  “It’s not because you cared, Cerryl. Most of the Patrol mages care, believe it or not. It’s because you didn’t think of the consequences for others.” Isork added, almost dryly, “If you have to break the rules, don’t do it in public, and make sure it doesn’t have obvious bad public consequences that come back to you or the Guild.”

  “It was stupid.”

  “Yes, it was. But we all have done stupid things, and most of us survive them and learn from them. I trust you will, too.” Isork offered a consoling smile. “Now… you’d better get moving. The High Wizard is expecting you. I’m taking the rest of your duty.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for you…”

  “That’s part of being Patrol chief.” After a moment, the muscular older mage added, “That’s part of being in charge of anything. If things go wrong, you’re the one who has to set it right and do what’s necessary. I chose you, and I’d choose you again-except I wouldn’t have let you go back on duty right after Myral’s death, and you would have had time to learn in your heart as we
ll as in your head why the rules have to be maintained.” Isork shrugged. “So… I have to do extra duty because you seemed so good that I didn’t realize that you looked toward Myral as an uncle or other close relative. We don’t let anyone on duty after a consort or brother or a sister dies, or a parent, if patrollers or mages know their parents. It’s because things like this can happen.”

  Cerryl looked at the floor.

  “It’s always better to avoid problems than to solve them. Remember that, too.” Isork’s tone turned brisk. “Now… on your way. And don’t worry too much. Both Kinowin and I think you’ll be an asset to the Guild. You just need more seasoning. We were too eager because the Patrol is shorthanded. Now… go.”

  “Yes, ser.”

  “You can leave the door open.”

  Cerryl gave what he hoped was a formal nod and left.

  He’s almost as upset with himself as with me… because…he didn’t see enough? Despite his own fears, Cerryl wanted to shake his head.

  LII

  Cerryl stood on the topmost landing of the White Tower, imperceptibly shifting his weight from one foot to the other and trying not to look at the closed white oak door or at Cerryl. “You may send in the mage Cerryl.”

  Straightening his shoulders, Cerryl walked into the High Wizard’s chambers.

  There was one empty chair at the table around which sat the High Wizard and the two overmages. Jeslek gestured to the empty place. Cerryl sat down gingerly. Absently, he realized that the black iron toy windmill had vanished. Because its order warped things too much even for Jeslek?

  “We had thought of you to take Myral’s place in monitoring the sewers, for a time,” Jeslek began, “before you attempted to remake the rules for peacekeeping by yourself.”

  Cerryl nodded impassively. There was no point in confessing he just hadn’t thought; that was probably considered worse than being too free with the rules. The less he tried to defend his stupidity the better, and he was only beginning to understand the enormity of that stupidity. “The Patrol is already short of mages,” Kinowin said, “and you do have various talents. The problem facing the Council is how to use those talents without giving the impression of rewarding you for stupidity. Extreme stupidity.”

  Cerryl wanted to wince.

  “I had thought of assigning you to one of the blockade ships, but ships are even more disciplined than the Patrol, and you would be too free to be… creative there,” added Jeslek.

  Blockade ships? Cerryl tried to keep his mouth in place. Redark merely nodded, as if that were expected of him. “So you will be assigned to the west gate, for double duty, both duties, for the next two eight-days. That should reduce the time you have to offer creative solutions to problems we do not have. After that, the Council will consider how you might best serve the Guild.” Jeslek’s smile was not particularly cruel but almost dispassionate. “And you will keep a report of every single vehicle that enters and leaves the gates, with its general cargo, and you will not delay any wagon or cart.

  You will also abide strictly by the rules of gatekeeping. Do you understand?“

  “Yes, ser.” Cerryl almost wanted to sigh in relief.

  “Also, you will receive no stipend for those two eight-days, and your stipend thereafter will be reduced to the minimum for a full mage.”

  “Your golds for this past eight-day, and the minimum you would have received for the next two eight-days, will go to the family of the boy you branded,” Kinowin added. “If they cannot be found, then the coins will be used to purchase bread for the poor and distributed by the patrollers of the southeast section.”

  Cerryl almost nodded in agreement.

  “Do you find that equitable?” asked Redark.

  “Yes, ser.”

  “We thought you would,” said Jeslek. “Also, for the next two eight-days you are to remain within the Halls when you are not on duty or going to and from duty.”

  “Yes, ser.”

  “Finally, you are to write a fully reasoned statement on why exceeding the rules is dangerous to both the Guild and the individual mage, and you will present it to Overmage Kinowin for his review and for his later examination of you,” added Redark. “You have an eight-day to compose the argument. You will present yourself for the examination at his leisure after he has read your argument.”

  Cerryl nodded.

  “What your future may be in the Guild and whether you have a future depend entirely upon your conduct over the next eight-days,” added Jeslek.

  That, that Cerryl had understood from Jeslek’s opening words. Cerryl also understood he had been fortunate to have any real chance at redeeming himself. Isork had made the rules clear enough at the beginning, and Cerryl had lived in Fairhaven and in the Halls long enough to know that overtly breaking rules was scarcely wise and often not survived-as in Kesrik’s unfortunate case.

  LIII

  Cerryl shifted his weight on the stool and squinted into the setting sun, shading his eyes as he studied the White highway that headed west for perhaps five kays before it split, one branch going west-northwest to Weevett and on to Vergren while the main road proceeded westward through southern Certis toward the Easthorns.

  After only three days, his feet hurt, and his head ached from duty that lasted from before dawn until the midevening bell. His eyes went to the sheets of paper roughly bound in twine that served as his record of wagons and carts. He’d never realized how many went through the west gate even in slow times, not until he’d had to write down each one.

  He glanced at the latest entries.

  …Muneat and Sons, factors, blue wagon, bearing hard wheat flour from Certis to Fairhaven, medallion in place…

  Sekis, spice merchant, cart, from Hydlen, bearing spices and herbs, applied for medallion…

  His face was salty from the sweat that had dried on his face, salt that mixed with continuing sweat in the late-afternoon heat. While the farmers might be glad of the dry and warm weather for their harvest, it made the second level of the guardhouse hot-far hotter than the second level at the north guardhouse, he’d decided. The area around Fairhaven had been spared the devastating rains that had ruined so much of Hydlen’s crops, but the local crops couldn’t make up for the losses elsewhere in Candar. The year before had brought drought, but too much rain had followed the year and a half of dryness, with equally disastrous results.

  His eyes turned west again. The road arrowed toward the guardhouse, a line of blinding pinkish white in the last of the full afternoon light.

  Somewhere out on the road he could see a shape through the glare, another wagon, or cart, headed in toward the White City. He strained eyes and perceptions, but all he could sense was something moving. After a time, he could hear the faint rumble of iron wheels, and that meant a heavy wagon.

  Reluctantly Cerryl stood so that he had a better view, leaning forward and resting one hand on the stone wall of the rampart, waiting as the wagon rumbled northward toward the gate.

  Two guards rode before the wagon, drawn by four horses. The wagon itself was of oiled wood, not painted, and filled with barrels roped in place behind the driver and a third guard who sat beside the teamster.

  Cerryl extended his senses, but the barrels seemed to be filled with flour, or meal, and the chaos lock around the medallion remained tight, strong enough that it was less than a season old.

  The driver flicked the leads, and the team slowed, rumbling to a halt before the guardhouse.

  The lead guard stepped toward the driver.

  “I be the trader Hytul, bound from Rytel, with flour for the factor Jiolt.”

  The lead guard-Besolar-glanced toward the guardhouse rampart and Cerryl.

  “Nothing but flour in the barrels,” Cerryl confirmed. “Nothing under the seat. The medallion is fine.”

  The two guards beside Besolar looked into the wagon bed and underneath the seat, as if to confirm what Cerryl had said. They nodded at Besolar.

  As the wagon rolled past and through the g
ate, Cerryl sat down on the stool and picked up his list, adding yet another entry:

  …Hytul, trader, oiled wagon, four-horse team, bearing soft cake flour from Rytel (Certis) to Fairhaven, for the factor Jiolt, medallion in place…

  After he finished writing, he leaned back slightly, his eyes closing almost inadvertently. He jerked upright, stifling a yawn. Dark demons, he was tired, and he still had another bell to go before the gate closed to wagons and carts.

  Afraid he’d fall asleep on the stool, he stood once more, wincing as he put weight on his feet, and walked to the edge of the rampart, looking out to where the sun had begun to drop below the low hills to the west of the White highway.

  Three days, and you have more than an eight-day and a half to go. He turned and looked toward Fairhaven. Darkness! How quickly life could change, and unpredictably. Except you could predict that stupidity does lead to problems. He stifled another yawn and began to walk back and forth across the short stretch of the guardhouse rampart.

  LIV

  Cerryl walked tiredly down the corridor and into his room, glancing around. One eight-day almost done-one more day-and one to go, but he still had to finish the written argument for Kinowin. His stomach growled.

  There hadn’t been any food left out at the Meal Hall, and he hadn’t seen any street vendors or even an open chandlery on the way back from the south gate. That had been the way things had been going lately-ever since Myral’s death.

  But you didn’t cause his death. How could there be any connection? Or was the connection that, with Myral’s death, there was no one to offer subtle advice to counterbalance the scheming that pervaded the Halls? He turned back and closed the open door. Wondering wasn’t going to get the last of his writing done. His stomach growled again.