Colors of Chaos

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  He should have saved some of the cheese he’d bought at the chandlery two days earlier. He’d been lucky to catch the owner leaving a closed shop, but he couldn’t count on that often. Should have… should have… should haves don’t matter.

  He took a deep breath and sank into the chair to take the weight off his aching feet. The blank screeing glass reflected nothing, not in the darkness of the room.

  Almost as soon as Cerryl slumped into the chair, Faltar peered in the door, and dim light from the corridor gave the room a gloomy cast.

  “Hungry?” asked the blond mage.

  Beside Faltar, Lyasa held the door but did not speak.

  “I can’t leave the Halls,” Cerryl said tiredly. “You know that.”

  “We know.” Faltar stepped into the room, followed by Lyasa. He had a full loaf of bread in one hand, the other behind his back. Lyasa carried something wrapped in cloth.

  “A half-wedge of white cheese,” she announced, setting it on the desk beside the bread Faltar deposited. Then she lit the bronze lamp with a spark of chaos. “We need a little light to get rid of the gloom.”

  Faltar set the bread beside the cheese one-handed.

  Cerryl looked at the bread and cheese, feeling his mouth water.

  Faltar grinned and produced a mug from behind his back. “And ale! Warm and a little flat, but we do what we can.”

  “Thank you. You didn’t have to do this,” Cerryl protested, smiling even as he did. “You didn’t.”

  “We did if we didn’t want you to starve. Jeslek’s been telling the serving boys not to leave anything out after dinner, and it’s hard to find any street vendors in the middle of the evening.” Faltar’s mouth twisted. “I know. I’ve had enough evening duty.”

  “They were hard on you,” said Faltar, perching on the side of one end of the bed. “After all, the boy was a peacebreaker, wasn’t he? He’d have lost a hand or his life in Certis.”

  Lyasa sat on the other end while Cerryl used his belt knife to slice a sliver of the cheese-still cool-and eat it with a chunk of bread.

  “No.” Cerryl shook his head after swallowing. “Not so hard as they could have been. I wasn’t thinking. Besides, Fairhaven isn’t Certis.” He took a sip of the ale. “Even this tastes good.”

  Faltar glanced at the stack of papers on the corner of the desk. “Surely you’re still not writing Patrol reports?”

  “No. Part of my punishment. I have to write an argument on why transgressions on the part of the individual mage are bad for the mage and the Guild.”

  Lyasa grimaced. “Jeslek’s treating you like an apprentice.”

  “Probably. But I made a mistake even an apprentice shouldn’t have made. How can I complain about the punishment?”

  “I hate to be so blunt,” Faltar said. “But if what you did was so bad, why are you still around?”

  Cerryl swallowed more of the bread and cheese before laughing harshly. “I don’t know, but I can guess. First, I only hurt and did not injure permanently a poor boy who was already a peacebreaker. Second, the Guild can blame me and give the family of a proven peacebreaker four golds as recompense-and that’s more than they probably see in years. Third, the trading situation and the problems with Spidlar, Hydlen, and Gallos are getting worse, and Jeslek is going to need every mage he can find. If I get through this, I’ll probably be going with the lancers somewhere. That will get me out of Fairhaven for long enough for everyone to forget-if I even survive.” Cerryl shrugged, then took another sip of the warm ale. “Thank you both again. I wasn’t sure how I was going to get through tonight.” It’s hard enough to write something when you feel good; it’s near impossible when you’re tired and hungry.

  “You have to finish that tonight?” asked Lyasa, pointing toward the stack of papers.

  “I’ve been working on it for the last five days. I have to give it to Kinowin in the morning-or leave it for him.”

  “As soon as you eat, we’re leaving, then.”

  Faltar looked at Cerryl, then at the papers. “I still say it’s not fair.”

  “I wasn’t really fair to the boy,” Cerryl said. “And he’ll hate the Guild forever.”

  “It won’t matter on the road crew,” Faltar answered.

  “You never know,” Cerryl temporized, not wanting to reveal Isork’s planned “adjustment.” He added after a moment, “Besides, I’ll know.”

  After Cerryl had eaten what he needed-about half the cheese and the bread-and drunk most of the ale, Faltar and Lyasa stood and departed.

  In the silence and the dim light of the lamp he barely needed, Cerryl glanced at his scrawled words on the rough paper, then at the blank parchment before him.

  Finally, he began to write, sifting words from the draft and thoughts from his mind.

  After a time, he looked at the parchment and read over the words:

  Each mage holds some power to marshal chaos, and that chaos can change or even destroy the lives of others… For those with such power, to live and work together requires trust. Trust among those who can marshal chaos requires that the use of chaos power be restricted to what all have agreed is needful. Rules describe what is needful…

  Cerryl paused. That wasn’t an argument. What he had so far just said why rules were necessary. So why was exceeding the rules dangerous? Because Jeslek and the Council will destroy you unless you’re powerful enough to destroy them.

  His lips twisted crookedly. He certainly couldn’t write that out. Because if you get away with it, others will try? He picked up the quill, sharpened it with his bronze penknife, then dipped it into the inkstand.

  If a mage transgresses the rules of the Guild, he must be punished, for if he be not so disciplined, others well might follow his example, each in greater measure than the previous transgressor. Thus, a transgression of the rules must subject either the transgressor to punishment or the Guild to an example leading to greater transgression. Likewise, by transgressing, a mage places himself outside the protection of the Guild and exposes himself to possible retribution for his transgression…

  Cerryl replaced the quill in the holder. Was that really true? He rubbed his forehead, then looked at the parchment. The night would be long and the gate duty the next day longer.

  LV

  Cerryl stepped into Kinowin’s quarters, still dusty and hot from a long day on his guard duty. He was more worried about what Kinowin might decide than the three days left on his double duty assignment.

  “Sit down. You look as though you could use the rest.” Kinowin poured something from the gray pitcher into a second mug. “And something to drink.”

  “Thank you, ser.” Cerryl sat gingerly and looked at the mug.

  A single bronze lamp in a wall sconce supplied a faint illumination to the lower tower room, and a light breeze drifted through the open window and from the darkness beyond.

  “Drink it. It’s but fresh cider. Call it a tribute to Myral.” Kinowin leaned forward and lifted his own mug. After drinking, he added, “One of the few crops not damaged or destroyed this harvest.”

  Cerryl took a swallow of the cider, welcoming the cool tang on his dry and dusty throat.

  “You were asked to present an argument. The argument was why exceeding the rules was dangerous to a mage and to the Guild.” Kinowin lifted the parchment. “This is better than I expected, Cerryl. It is also far better than Redark, Esaak, or Broka thought possible. They suggested to Jeslek that, with experience, some years from now, you might be considered to offer some instruction in explaining why the Guild is important to apprentices.” Kinowin’s face crinkled into a smile. “They emphasized the part about some years in the future.” The overmage set the parchment back on the table, then stood and paced toward the window, pausing and glancing at the red and gold hanging, rather than the blue and purple one Cerryl knew he usually surveyed.

  “You thought about what you wrote. That was clear. It was so clear that one could almost ask why you broke the rules of peacekeeping. It was
clear enough to let any know you had learned from this error. I did not have to let the three see what you wrote. Beyond showing them that you had gained from your experience, why do you think I shared your words?”

  Cerryl swallowed. He had ideas, but dare he express them?

  “Go on.”

  “Because you wanted others to see my value and the value of your judgment about me?”

  Kinowin turned back to Cerryl. “You could be the greatest mage in many years. No matter how great you might be, you are but a single person. Is Jeslek a greater mage than Isork?”

  “Ah… I would judge so.”

  “How could Jeslek consider the problems in Spidlar and Gallos if he could not rely on Isork to keep the peace?”

  Cerryl could see where Kinowin’s words led.

  “Is the High Wizard a greater mage than Esaak? Certainly, but does Jeslek have time to instruct in mathematicks?” The overmage coughed to clear his throat. “My questions are simple. So simple that even an untutored peasant boy in Fenard could answer them. Yet ruler after ruler, generation after generation, is undone because he cannot or will not find others he can trust to do all the duties that hold a land together.”

  Cerryl nodded. “That is also why there must be rules. So that all can work together.”

  “You have great skills, Cerryl,” Kinowin continued, looking out the window, rather than at the younger mage. “As I know too well, possession of skills others do not have usually leads to equally great mistakes. Sometimes, such mistakes are not discovered because they are so large that no one realizes matters could have been otherwise. Other times, they seem very stupid because others do not understand the thoughts behind them.”

  “Mine was stupid,” Cerryl admitted.

  “You were worried about being more than a Patrol mage, were you not? About people going hungry? About the unfairness of sending a boy much as you might have been to the road crew? All for trying to feed a sick sister?”

  “I did think about that.”

  “In being a mage, you must always balance what must be done now with where that will lead. If you do not survive what you do now, you will not reach the future. If you do not think now about where you go, you will have precious few choices when you reach next year or the years after. But… at your age, you have to survive.” Kinowin laughed gently. “Survive long enough, and few will gainsay your dreams.”

  Cerryl knew that Kinowin was saying far more than his words and that the overmage did not expect a direct answer. “I thank you for sharing your wisdom.”

  “Wisdom? I doubt that.”

  “What happens now?” Cerryl asked carefully.

  “For the moment, after you finish your double duty, you will remain as a gate guard, but only the morning duty. In the afternoons, once you have eaten, you will present yourself to the High Wizard. You will be serving as his assistant. You will not receive any additional stipend for that. Not now. The moment you finish your last double duty, the restriction on remaining in the Halls is lifted-but not until then.”

  “Yes, ser. Do you know what the High Wizard expects?”

  “Outside of reminding you of your place? And me of my lack of judgment in recommending you for the Patrol?” Kinowin’s tone was dry. “For all his faults, Jeslek takes his position most seriously. He sincerely believes that the trade difficulties with Spidlar and Recluce represent a basic problem that Fairhaven must address, and soon. He has continued Sterol’s policy of opening the Guild to all with possible talent, but that is making things worse right now.”

  “Lack of coins?”

  “The Treasury is being depleted, and the road tariff payments from other lands are arriving later and later.” Kinowin turned back toward the window and the scattered points of light beyond. “For what the Guild does we have never had enough mages of great talent, and each one that we lose…” He shook his head. “Myral was a great, great loss, though most will not understand why. Too many think that a great chaos wielder is a great mage.” Kinowin’s eyes fixed on Cerryl. “Jeslek is more than a mage who can unleash great amounts of chaos. I do not always agree with him, but he thinks as much of Fairhaven as himself.”

  “I will do my best for him.”

  “Good.” Kinowin pivoted on one foot to face Cerryl. “Do your best and watch all corners, from the moment you leave here.” Kinowin’s lips offered his crooked smile, or one that seemed so because of the blotch on his cheek. “All mages need to watch all shadows in the years to come. Now go get some sleep.”

  Cerryl rose from the chair. “Thank you.”

  “You’ll thank me-and Myral-well enough by surviving, thank you.” Kinowin walked toward the door. “You have a few years to learn. Use them.”

  Cerryl nodded again.

  What Kinowin had said, and not said, echoed through Cerryl’s mind as he headed down the main steps from the White Tower to the front entry foyer. In effect, the overmage had told him, in several different ways, to do Jeslek’s bidding and to survive. And to learn. The last reference to Myral had not been accidental or sentimental, not at all.

  Cerryl shivered. What had Myral seen and passed on to Kinowin? How could Cerryl believe that he would do great things, as Kinowin had vaguely suggested, or become High Wizard, as Myral had told Leyladin? How… when he could not see the simplest things necessary to survive?

  He shook his head. Do what you have to do and survive. He looked toward the empty foyer, extending his perceptions, but the Hall was empty for the moment. You’d better get back into the habit of studying everything again.

  He smiled. At least, he had a future to look out for-if he made no more stupid mistakes. If…

  LVI

  After gulping down some leftover bread and cheese from the Meal Hall and washing up quickly, Cerryl hurried up the steps to the upper level of the White Tower, glad that his gate-guard duty was only a normal duty period, rather than two.

  The guard outside the High Wizard’s chambers was neither Gostar nor Hertyl, but a grizzle-bearded veteran unfamiliar to Cerryl, who studied Cerryl suspiciously, his hand on the short iron blade. “Ser?”

  “Cerryl. I’m here as directed by Overmage Kinowin.” Cerryl stood there, conscious that he no longer wore the wide red belt of a Patrol mage and was no more than a very junior mage-once again. He was also conscious that the guard wore an iron shortsword, not one of white bronze, and that, he thought, was new. Why? Does Jeslek fear attack from other mages? A single guard with an iron blade would not stop most mages. Cerryl repressed a frown.

  The guard stepped to the door and rapped once. “A Mage Cerryl is here, ser. He says the overmage Kinowin sent him.”

  “He’s expected, but have him wait out there.”

  “Yes, ser.” The guard nodded and gestured to the bench. “If you would like a seat, ser?”

  “Thank you.” Cerryl dropped onto the seat. His feet were still sore. He wondered if they’d ever recover.

  After a time, Redark left the chamber, glancing briefly at Cerryl but saying nothing. Then Anya departed, offering a dazzling smile but no words, leaving a faint scent of sandalwood lingering around the upper landing.

  The guard didn’t speak, and Cerryl didn’t feel like trying to make conversation. What does Jeslek want from you? Why would you be his personal assistant, especially after Sterol used you against him? So he can watch you closely? That didn’t seem to make sense, but Cerryl wasn’t sure what did-except Kinowin’s words about doing what was necessary to survive.

  In time, perhaps midafternoon, Jeslek opened the door. “You may come in, Cerryl.”

  A red-haired student mage-Kochar-stood by the table as Cerryl entered.

  “Kochar… you may go. I will see you in the morning.” Jeslek gave a perfunctory nod to the apprentice mage.

  “Yes, ser.”

  After the door closed, the High Wizard turned to Cerryl. “Kochar will be starting sewer duty in the next few days. He is getting more and more able,” Jeslek announced as he glanced at the tab
le and the blank glass. “For a brief time Esaak has agreed to take over those duties that Myral had held.”

  Cerryl waited.

  “For the moment, Cerryl, I have little enough for you. You may have the rest of the afternoon to do as you please. I would like you here every afternoon after your morning duty. You will listen. You will observe. You will not speak of what you see or hear here. You will offer no statements, no advice, no words whatsoever, unless you are asked. You may ask an occasional question. Choose it carefully.” Jeslek’s smile was hard and bright. “Do you understand?”

  “Yes, ser.”

  “Good. I will see you tomorrow.”

  Cerryl bowed slightly, then turned, his shields ready, though he knew Jeslek had raised no chaos, and slipped from the High Wizard’s chambers and back toward his own quarters.

  He needed to rest-and think.

  LVII

  After his duty, Cerryl hurried, but did not run, back to the Halls of the Mages. There he ate alone. That was because any of those he knew well enough to sit with were on duty or elsewhere and he had no desire to exchange meaningless words. He gulped down rye bread and cheese and fresh pearapples before returning to the rear Hall, where he washed. Then he made his way to the top of the White Tower, where Gostar guarded the High Wizard’s chamber.

  “Be not here, Mage Cerryl. None of them,” offered Gostar.

  “I guess I’ll wait.” Cerryl sat down on the bench. Despite the smooth polished oak surface and probably generations of usage, there was a faint grittiness to the wood. Cerryl looked down. Was everything around the tower slightly gritty? The effect of too much chaos? He frowned.

  Gostar glanced around, then lowered his voice. “Begging your pardon, ser. Some say that you were removed from the Patrol for hurting a boy; some say it was because the High Wizard cares little for you…”

  Cerryl looked at Gostar. What could he say? Finally, he answered. “The boy stole some bread. I didn’t want to send him to the road crew and I put a small brand on his forehead to warn him, but he ended up on the road crew anyway. I was wrong, and he ended up in the same place with a brand on his forehead.”