Colors of Chaos

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  Heralt pursed his lips, then took a swallow of ale. “I’d not like to be in his boots.”

  “That’s because they don’t understand the order of chaos,” Cerryl said absently.

  Leyladin’s face darkened momentarily, and she quickly added, “I don’t think anyone in Hydlen understands much of anything, except the traders, and all they want is more coins.”

  “That’s what most people want,” pointed out Heralt.

  Cerryl glanced across the table toward Heralt, reaching out under the table and squeezing Leyladin’s hand.

  The four looked up as a blond figure in white made his way past the other tables toward the corner.

  Faltar pulled over another chair to join the group. “I’m sorry, but I had to pull extra duty. Fydel took Buar with him to Gallos.”

  “Fydel went to Gallos?” asked Cerryl.

  “Right after he and Anya brought Leyladin back,” Faltar confirmed. “Something’s going on. Eliasar’s back, and he’s training new lancers. A bunch of them. Some are mercenaries, I think.”

  “Most are mercenaries,” Heralt added.

  Faltar raised his arm to catch the attention of the serving girl. “The stew and some ale.”

  She nodded and kept moving.

  “Another ale,” said Heralt.

  “Another here,” added Lyasa

  “Three ales and a stew. Be a moment.” The girl did turn toward the kitchen then.

  “Don’t think Buar’s that good,” Faltar observed, looking toward the kitchen. “Hope she hurries with the ale. Buar, he’ll do whatever a senior mage wants, though.”

  “Don’t we all, right now?” asked Cerryl.

  Faltar laughed. “Right you are.”

  “You know, Cerryl,” Heralt began slowly, “we don’t really know how you ended up here in such sorry condition.”

  Cerryl took another swallow of ale before he began. “You know I went to Hydolar with Anya and Fydel to get Leyladin, and I was supposed to help Anya.”

  “You said that before. You and Anya brought down one of the towers.”

  “Nobody told me that,” interjected Faltar.

  “The east tower,” Cerryl said. “The idea was to tell the duke that he was lucky-that the Guild could bring the whole city down. Jeslek also wanted me to do something in the city. But he didn’t realize that we wouldn’t even be allowed inside the walls. That’s never happened before.” Cerryl shrugged. “I did what I was supposed to do and stole a mount to get back. But somewhere I ate some bad food and got a terrible flux. Then, when I was trying to… well… anyway…” He flushed slightly. “The horse got away, and I had to walk back to the Great White Highway, and I managed to get a trader to give me a ride the rest of the way back. Very embarrassing to admit I lost my mount.”

  Thump! Thump! Thump! “Three ales. That’s four each.”

  “Four for an ale, hard to believe,” muttered Faltar as he eased out the coppers.

  “Stew be ready next.” The server scooped up the coins and slipped off to deliver a mug to the adjoining table.

  “Ah… that’s good,” said Faltar. “Good after a dusty day.”

  Lyasa took a swallow from her second mug without commenting.

  “So… you did whatever Jeslek told you and then you lost your mount?” Heralt shook his head. “That doesn’t seem like you.”

  “He was sick,” Leyladin said. “Very sick. I don’t see how he managed it.”

  “Wait a moment,” Faltar said. “Cerryl goes to Hydolar, and then…”

  “Faltar, that’s all I can say. All right?” Cerryl’s eyes fixed the blond mage’s.

  “Oh…” Faltar swallowed, then nodded.

  For a moment there was silence around the table.

  “I’ve been gone,” Cerryl broke the silence. “What’s happened with Spidlar?”

  “Three more ships on the blockade,” Lyasa said. “I overheard Re-dark saying that banditry was rising in Spidlar, and now that the ice has closed in, the winter will be even harder than usual.”

  Cerryl frowned. For some reason, the red-haired smith flicked into his thoughts. Did Black smiths have the same problems as White mages? Somehow, he suspected the man had problems, but not the same ones.

  “You sit there in your own thoughts, Cerryl. You’re so quiet,” Lyasa observed, “but you’re the only one in the Guild who’s been the target of an assassin, been advanced and then demoted, and had to escape from two unfriendly cities.”

  Cerryl shrugged. “What can I say? I keep making mistakes.”

  Faltar laughed.

  Even Heralt smiled.

  “I’m not sure I accept that,” Lyasa said. “We all make mistakes. Even Jeslek makes mistakes.”

  “I don’t know,” mused Cerryl, trying to change the subject. “The High Wizard has a real problem. The Guild has been trying to make life in Candar better. Look at Fairhaven. It’s cleaner, the people are more prosperous; and there’s less peacebreaking. It’s almost as if other rulers don’t want prosperity.”

  “They don’t,” said Leyladin. “They’re not interested in prosperity for their people. Look at Jeslek’s quarters. They’re small. The Duke of Lydiar has a palace. So does the Duke of Hydolar. Even the great factors in Fairhaven do not have mansions the way they do in Lydiar or Renklaar.”

  If Leyladin considered her father’s dwelling modest, and she had seen both factors’ dwellings and palaces elsewhere, Cerryl could imagine that the mansions of factors elsewhere must be grand indeed.

  “How can a ruler not be concerned about his people?” asked Faltar.

  “Most are concerned only that the people pay their taxes.” Heralt snorted. “The Guild has a problem. People in Fairhaven don’t know how well off they are, and those outside of Fairhaven don’t know how much better off they could be under the Guild. Because we can raise chaos, people fear us, and their rulers make sure that we’re always the bad ones.” He gulped the last of his ale. “Look at Cerryl. He made a mistake on the Patrol-a little one. If a guard bashed a beggar in Fenard or Kyphrien, do you think they’d punish the guard? I demon-darkness know that they don’t. Same in Lydiar. Cerryl didn’t even do that. Yet we’re those fearsome mages who turn people into ash.”

  Cerryl nodded ever so slightly. What Heralt said made sense, but how many people saw what he’d seen? He rubbed his forehead. He was still more tired than he would have liked.

  “Cerryl needs to go,” Leyladin announced, standing and half-tugging Cerryl to his feet.

  “Still the healer,” said Heralt.

  “Someone has to take care of him,” the healer answered.

  “And you’re that someone,” Lyasa replied.

  “Who better?” Leyladin raised her eyebrows.

  “Better you than us,” said Faltar. “Good night.”

  “Good night.” Cerryl gave a smile and a nod.

  The air outside was cooler, cold enough to hint at snow-but far fresher than inside The Golden Ram. Cerryl fastened his jacket.

  They walked up the Avenue past the Halls of the Mages, a light and cooler breeze slipping around them.

  “I can walk home by myself,” Leyladin protested.

  “I know you can, but I’d feel better if I walked with you, and you don’t want me to worry, do you?”

  The blonde laughed. “You are impossible.”

  “I’m very possible.

  “You have to be careful. Jeslek will want you to do something else even more dangerous next time.” After a pause, she added, “You shouldn’t have made that comment about the order of chaos. Jeslek and Anya would use that against you.”

  Cerryl sighed. “I know. I’m still tired, and I’m not on guard as I should be.”

  “What did you mean by that? About the order of chaos?”

  “Oh… it’s obvious if you think about it. Any city, any land, has to have order within it. You can’t make a city work without it. There have to be rules, and rules are a form of order. Things like aqueducts and sewers are a form of ord
er. So is peacekeeping. But no one in Fairhaven wants to admit that we need order as much as the Blacks on Recluce do. And,” he added with a laugh, “they need chaos, at least some, as much as we do.”

  Leyladin shivered. “Don’t say that around Jeslek. He really will find something horribly dangerous for you to do. And if you do that, the next task he gives you will be even worse.”

  “He might.”

  “He will.”

  “I can take my time getting better.”

  “I already told him and Kinowin that it would take more than an eight-day. I said that you’d been poisoned and that if they pushed you too soon you wouldn’t be able to do as much. And I told Jeslek that I’d told Kinowin and some others that.” Leyladin offered a satisfied chuckle. “He wasn’t that happy about it, but right now I’m the only healer he has.”

  “That was wicked.” Cerryl squeezed her hand. “I’m grateful that you did.”

  They turned onto the street leading to Leyladin’s dwelling. Modest dwelling?

  “You meant it about the big houses of the factors in Lydiar?”

  “Oh, yes. Kiriol’s house is easily three times the size of ours, and his is far from the largest.”

  Cerryl’s lips quirked into a crooked smile lost in the darkness as they walked up the stones to the door.

  After Leyladin hugged him and gave him a single warm kiss, Cerryl walked slowly back toward the Halls of the Mages, noting that the warmth of the past few days had faded and that the wind was getting chill again.

  Jeslek-what if anything, could Cerryl do about the High Wizard? Jeslek faced a hard situation as High Wizard, and with that Cerryl sympathized. But you don’t want to get killed to solve his problems.

  He shook his head. All he could do was watch and be patient and try to survive. And hope and be ready if you get the chance.

  LXIX

  Cerryl sat down at the table across from the High Wizard and waited for Jeslek to speak. His fingers brushed the wood of the seat, feeling the slightly gritty white dust that never left the tower, no matter how often it was swept and mopped. Outside the White Tower, as he watched, the light sleet that had been falling, pattering against the glass, stopped, and the indirect sunlight bathing the city brightened.

  The white-haired and sun-eyed High Wizard studied Cerryl silently before speaking. “Cerryl, the healer Leyladin has told me that you should have a few more days’ respite from heavy physical effort, but that you are capable of doing less taxing things.”

  “I feel better,” Cerryl said firmly, not wanting to admit too much weakness but knowing that he wasn’t yet up to another of Jeslek’s special tasks.

  “Good.” Jeslek smiled. “I have a duty that will not tax your body much, but it will help the Guild. You should be interested in it, since you were one of those who brought the matter to my ear. I would like you to use the screeing glass as best you can to see what you can discover about the handling of road taxes and tariffs in Certis. The matters of which you spoke earlier.”

  Cerryl concealed a swallow. “Yes, ser.”

  “Even if you discover little, you should become more proficient with the glass. It is a most useful tool, as you will find.” Jeslek rubbed his chin. “I would expect you would learn something. You have learned so much in other ways.” Jeslek flashed a smile, then stood. “I will not tire you more.”

  Cerryl stood as well and glanced out the window, noting that the sun had come out again.

  “When you find something, let me know.”

  “Yes, ser.” Cerryl gave a small bow before he turned and departed.

  Going down the steps was far easier than climbing them had been.

  He found Leyladin and Lyasa standing in a sunlit corner in the rear courtyard, in a spot where the cold breeze did not penetrate, although the floor tiles were moist and the courtyard smelled damp, not quite musty.

  Lyasa glanced from Cerryl to Leyladin and back to Cerryl. “I need to be going.”

  “You don’t have to go,” Cerryl said.

  “I really do.” Lyasa smiled at Leyladin. “I’ll talk to you later, or tomorrow.”

  Cerryl had the feeling he was missing things, but he was still tired and not ready to puzzle them out. After the black-haired mage left, he sat down on the bench beside Leyladin.

  “What’s the trouble?” she asked.

  “Jeslek wants me to do something. It’s not hard, but I can’t do it.”

  “You? The one who’s figured out all sorts of new things?”

  “I’ve never had much luck with this. He wants me to use the glass to scree out how Rystryr is taking road tariff coins for his own use. Or how his people are.”

  “You could do that,” Leyladin affirmed.

  “I don’t even know how to use the glass to find matters that don’t have chaos and order-”

  “Cerryl,” Leyladin corrected, “everything is order and chaos. It’s only different combinations. You have to think of it like that.”

  Cerryl rubbed his forehead, then pushed back the fine brown hair that was getting too long. “I understand that, but how do I do it?”

  “You practice until you figure out how.” She smiled. “Like everything else. If others can do it, so can you. The opposite isn’t true, for which you should be grateful.”

  He nodded slowly.

  “You’re tired, but you can do it. Do you want me to come with you?”

  “No. I suspect Lyasa will be back, and I don’t have much to say, right now.”

  “And you worried that you can’t do this perfectly, the way you want to do everything.”

  Cerryl gave a wry nod.

  “You can.” Her smile was warm. “You will.”

  He walked slowly back to his quarters, holding onto her words of support. He was tired, but… he had to learn something else. Is life just always learning something else? He paused as the answer came unbidden: It is if you want to survive and prosper. He took a deep breath and started up the steps, his thoughts scattered. How could he discover whom to follow in the glass? If he began with those who concentrated chaos…

  Shyren-the Guild mage in Jellico. Surely the man had enough chaos around him for Cerryl to use the glass to find him. Shyren had to meet with other people, and, with effort, perhaps Cerryl could call up their images once he had seen them with Shyren. Perhaps…

  LXX

  The figure Cerryl watched in the screeing glass strode down a narrow stone-walled corridor, lit dimly by scattered lamps, then quickly crossed a courtyard through a rain that blurred the image in the glass, before entering yet another building and climbing a wide staircase into the ornate dining hall that Cerryl recognized. He took a deep breath and let go of the image, not looking as the image of the mage in white faded, as did the silver mists surrounding Shyren. Fascinating as the searching was getting, Cerryl’s head ached, and he needed to eat.

  Half-amazed at the growing darkness in his room, Cerryl rubbed his forehead. Was it already after sunset? That meant he was too late for the evening repast in the Meal Hall. He pushed back the chair from the table, whose polished wood felt gritty to his touch. Then he stood and walked to the window. His stomach growled, reminding him more emphatically that he needed to find something to eat.

  He wished he’d been able to see Leyladin, but, again, she was off to Lydiar because Duke Estalin was worried about his son once more- another bout of something. Cerryl understood why Jeslek wanted her there, especially with the continuing mess in Hydolar and all Jeslek’s concerns about Spidlar, but the younger mage wasn’t totally pleased with her absence.

  His stomach growled again, and he turned and pulled his white cold-weather jacket out of his wardrobe. He looked down and wiggled his toes in the new boots that had almost depleted his purse. He still had enough for a bite at The Ram, and tomorrow he could draw his stipend.

  At the door, his eyes went back to the glass.

  He could keep following Shyren, although he was certain the mage knew he was being tracked by the gla
ss, but Cerryl had to wonder if there weren’t a better way to see if he could discover what was happening with the golds of the Certan road duties. He shook his head. He wanted to find out who handled the golds, but he couldn’t exactly call up images of coins. Coins weren’t really composed of active order or chaos, the way people were. Of course, they often created chaos.

  He frowned. They created chaos. Could he use the glass or his senses to find lines or concentrations of chaos, the kind that might be created by those who had coins?

  Chaos… the glass was still easier to use when chaos was involved, unless the concentration of order was strong-as with the redheaded smith in Diev. Something about the smith bothered Cerryl, but he couldn’t say what. His looks at the smith had shown that Dorrin had built his own smithy and a barn. Clearly, the smith planned to stay in Spidlar, yet the house and smithy weren’t built like they were outposts for more Blacks to follow. Were they built for the lady trader? But he had yet to scree the woman. Where was she?

  Cerryl massaged the back of his neck. Woolgathering about the smith wasn’t going to get him fed. He closed the door and walked along the corridor toward the steps down to the main level and the rear courtyard. The ongoing chill of winter had seeped into the building, and he fastened his jacket as he walked.

  LXXI

  The dwelling in the screeing glass before Cerryl was three stories tall, built of timber and stone, with diamond-shaped leaded glass panes in the long and narrow windows. At the mounting block before the dwelling was a carriage drawn by two matched grays. A man in a dark gray cloak trimmed in silver brocade stepped from the carriage and under the archway.

  Cerryl glanced up at the rap on his door.

  “Ser?” The high voice had to be that of a messenger.

  With a sigh, one of those he was issuing all too often lately, Cerryl rose from his table-desk, letting the image lapse, and walked to the door, opening it.

  “Ser, the High Wizard requests your presence as soon as you can be there.” The lad in red bowed twice, his eyes avoiding Cerryl’s.