Colors of Chaos

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “You were honest with Myral. You’re honest with Kinowin.”

  “I never lied. I’ve misled them both with partial truths.” Cerryl’s mouth twisted. “In that way, Jeslek is honest. He doesn’t pretend to be listening. He can afford that. You can, you know, when you’re the most powerful White wizard in recorded history.”

  “What about the ancient Whites?”

  “I don’t trust legends. In any case, that knowledge has mostly been lost.” Cerryl finished the last of his beef and pearapples and then wiped up the sauce with a scrap of bread. “That was outstanding. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. Now you understand why I like to come here.”

  “I do.” He frowned.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Oh, nothing. You said I’d understand, and I do, but most people don’t. People talk about understanding,” the gray-eyed wizard mused. “What they mean is that they want you to understand what they want or believe enough so that you’ll change. Understanding itself doesn’t change anything.”

  “You are cynical.”

  “Truth isn’t cynical, Leyladin.”

  “Enough of truth or cynicism. We don’t have that much time left.” She gestured toward the server, who had peered into the rear dining area, then waited for the woman to approach.

  “Yes, lady?”

  “What of sweets?”

  “We have a honey cake and an egg custard glazed with the rare raw sugar of Hamor.”

  “The egg custard,” Leyladin ordered.

  “I’d like that also.” Cerryl nodded in agreement.

  With a smile, the server turned. Cerryl refilled both their goblets, emptying the bottle. “I’ve enjoyed the meal… and the company.”

  “I liked the company, too. But not another word about the Guild.”

  “Yes, lady.” He smiled at her.

  “What was your uncle like? You’ve never said, except that he was a master miner.”

  “He was a miner. His words were rough, and his heart was good. He believed in doing his best in working. Dylert-the mill master- once said that he admired him above all the other craft masters. I didn’t know he was a master crafter until after I’d left the mines.”

  “Did he know you’d be a mage?”

  “He and Aunt Nail both knew I had the talent. They tried to keep glasses away from me when I was young.”

  “Wise of them.”

  “I didn’t think so at the time.” Cerryl laughed, then paused as the server arrived with the egg custards, each in a circular dish covered with a hard and dark brown glaze.

  Leyladin raised her eyebrows at the server and mouthed something.

  “Seven and five, lady.”

  “Thank you.” The healer turned to Cerryl and smiled. “Go ahead. Try it.”

  The glaze was powerfully sweet, sweeter even than honey, contrasting with the subdued richness of the custard.

  “Rich… but good,” he finally said, looking at the empty dish.

  “I take it you like rich but good?”

  Cerryl flushed.

  “I like it when you do that.” She giggled.

  “I’m glad you do.” He could feel that he was still red.

  She reached across the table and touched his hand. She was still smiling. “Let me enjoy this… now.”

  He had to smile back. “I guess I do like rich… and good.”

  She giggled again.

  Cerryl tried not to wince as Leyladin left eight silvers on the table for the server-almost his stipend for an entire eight-day. Instead, after they donned the jackets that the server had returned to them, he offered his arm as they left the rear dining area and walked through the half-filled front area.

  “Lady Leyladin… He’s a mage… don’t know his name… Patrollers say he’s one not to anger…”

  “… fair… though…”

  “… her father… almost as many coins as Jiolt…”

  Cerryl wondered if he’d ever get used to the whispers and the speculations that seemed to trail him. As they stepped out into the dark and chill, he bent toward Leyladin. “Thank you again. It was wonderful ”

  “I’m glad.” For a moment she leaned her head against his, and he could smell the faint floral scent and the scent of the woman he loved- and wondered if he would ever have, except as a friend.

  They walked slowly back up the Avenue and then westward toward Leyladin’s house. The wind was colder, wet, raw, promising another winter storm before long.

  Leyladin took Cerryl’s hand. “Promise me that you’ll follow Kinowin’s advice for now. Not always-just for the next year or so.”

  “You have visions, too?” He smiled gently, squeezing her fingers gently.

  “Not visions, feelings.”

  “I trust them, and I’ll do my best.”

  “Don’t humor me.”

  “I’m not. Sometimes… I can’t always do what I want. I didn’t want to deal with either the prefect or Duke Ferobar. I didn’t get that much of a choice.”

  She squeezed his hand, and they walked up the stone walk toward the door of the house she considered modest-compared to those of factors in other cities.

  LXXVI

  Cerryl settled into the chair uneasily, waiting for Jeslek to speak, his eyes half on the heavy flakes of wet late-winter snow that plummeted past the windows of the White Tower.

  “Overmage Kinowin has already told you that I’ll like you to accompany the expedition against Spidlar.” Jeslek smiled tightly, seeming almost coiled like a serpent in his chair, for all that he appeared to be sitting normally across his table from Cerryl. “Anya has also told me that you have discovered on your own the order strength of the young smith Dorrin-and that you have concerns that he may act against the Guild.”

  Cerryl forced a shrug. What can you say? After a moment, he answered, his words deliberate. “The smith left Recluce, and he forges items embodying great order. I found that out in trying to find out where the road coins were going.”

  “So? They are still only toys and implements for crafters.” Jeslek raised his eyebrows.

  “He has built a home and a smithy and a barn. I doubt that he wishes to return to Recluce. Perhaps, with what he has forged, he cannot.” Cerryl hoped he was as correct as his words sounded.

  “That is most likely the case.”

  “Well, he carries a great deal of order, and if he has nowhere else to turn, and if the Guild attacks where he lives, he might feel compelled to act against us.”

  “That is also true-but he is an order smith. He cannot even make edged weapons. I doubt he will be more than a nuisance. I worry far more about the two who have become officers. They have already done much damage.” Jeslek frowned briefly. “Have you made any more discoveries about the misdirected road tariffs?”

  “I’ve found a few more people in the viscount’s court that seem to have prospered more than there is any way to find through a glass. It’s hard from here, and not knowing much about them,” Cerryl admitted, shifting his weight on the hard chair.

  “We will be gathering levies in Jellico, and you can continue your efforts there as well, since you will have little else to do until we actually begin the campaign against Spidlar.” The High Wizard’s sun-gold eyes glittered, and for a moment Cerryl thought he could smell chaos and brimstone in the tower.

  “When do we leave, ser?”

  “You and Fydel will leave in an eight-day. I need to attend to some matters in Hydolar-such as the missing road tariffs and the thousand golds for damages. Nonetheless, I intend to have everyone in Jellico before the turn of spring-except for the last group of White Lancers Eliasar is training.”

  “You are going?”

  “Of course. The rulers of other lands do not seem to fear a High Wizard who remains in Fairhaven. This time, it will be different. Much different. As the traders of Hydolar will discover first-to their peril.” The sun-gold eyes glittered.

  “Yes, ser.”

  “You may go and
begin to prepare, Cerryl.”

  The younger mage nodded.

  “Cerryl… best you recall that all has saved you is your devotion to Fairhaven. That devotion should remain most firm.”

  “It will, High Wizard. It will.”

  “I thought as much. Good day, Cerryl.”

  LXXVII

  Cerryl and Leyladin stood in the entry foyer of her house. Outside, a cold drizzle fell through the darkness, the mist rising from the stone walks and roads thick enough to blot out the lamps from the adjoining houses.

  “I enjoyed dinner, and being here… again.” Cerryl dropped his hand from the door and took her hands. Her fingers were cool in his.

  “Father talked too much…” A wry smile flashed across her lips and vanished.

  “It was all right. He doesn’t have too many people to talk to, I wouldn’t imagine. Not besides you.”

  Leyladin frowned.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Sometimes…” She offered a small sigh, taking her hands back, but not moving away. “Sometimes, I’m not good at being patient, either. I wish I were.”

  “You could come. Jeslek wouldn’t mind having a healer.”

  “No. If I come, then you can’t do what you must. You won’t look out for yourself, and then we’ll have no chance at all.” Her words were firm. “I don’t like it. But I know.”

  Cerryl wanted to shake his head. “Know what?”

  “You’re leaving tomorrow. How do you feel about that?” Leyladin asked.

  “Worried. You didn’t answer my question.”

  “Worried about what?” Her deep green eyes glinted.

  “Leaving you, of course.”

  “Ha! You said that because I expected it.”

  Cerryl forced an enigmatic smile.

  “Don’t do that.” She frowned. “I can’t tell if you’re teasing or if you’re still giving me that order-cursed smile because you don’t want to disagree with me.”

  Cerryl grinned. “You’re beautiful when your eyes flash like that.”

  “They will flash. I know Anya’s going with Jeslek, after they deal with Hydolar, but you’ll end up in Spidlar together-or close enough-She’s still pure poison, especially for you. She may smile, but she hates you, partly because you don’t manipulate easily and partly because of me. She can’t stand the thought that a White mage could love-and touch-a Black.”

  “I can see that… Is that why you can’t come?”

  “Partly. Kinowin also asked that I not go.”

  Cerryl concealed a swallow. At times, it seemed as though he were still the mill boy or the apprentice and everyone else knew what was happening and and he could only catch glimpses. Even when he asked and searched, he got no answers or answers that weren’t answers at all. “Did he say why?”

  “He said it would be a war, a war that Candar had not seen the like of and would not again until Fairhaven fell, and that would be many more generations. Many more.”

  From anyone but Kinowin… “He said that?”

  “He told me that my going wouldn’t be good for me or for you. He was most firm.” Her eyes glinted with anger, anger Cerryl could feel before it faded. “Most firm.”

  Leyladin smiled sadly and put her arms around Cerryl. “He also said you had much to do and to learn… if Myral’s visions were to come to pass.”

  “What about us?”

  “If they don’t…” Her eyes misted in the dim light.

  Cerryl hugged her to him, even more tightly, so tightly he almost felt that black and white, or black and gray, twisted around each other in the dimness. Their lips met, and there was no hesitation, not for either.

  Part III

  Colors of Candar

  LXXVIII

  Standing in the stable courtyard at the far rear of the Halls of the Mages, Cerryl looked at the mount and at the white and red livery. He’d never been that comfortable on a horse, probably because he’d never been in the saddle until he’d become a student mage. His last effort on horseback had resulted in a long, long walk.

  Finally, he mounted and eased his mount over beside Fydel’s, dreading the ride ahead. At least the gelding seemed more tractable than the beast he’d stolen in Hydolar.

  Although the dawn wind blew out of the northeast, damp and cold, but not strong, his jacket kept him warm. So far… He looked around. A half-score of lancers sat mounted by the gate from the courtyard.

  Fydel glanced at Cerryl, then toward the small group of lancers. “Best we be going now.”

  “Where are all the lancers?” Cerryl asked.

  “Most of them are at the South Barracks. We’ll meet them there.”

  “Fifty score?”

  “Half that. The others will come with the High Wizard when he deems it necessary.” Fydel urged his mount forward.

  Cerryl flicked the gelding’s reins to catch up to the older mage. He hadn’t missed the tinge of bitterness in the square-bearded mage’s voice. “After he takes them to Hydolar?”

  “After he takes them to Hydolar and brings down another tower to prove his mightiness-and takes the coins necessary to wage this war. It has been too long since the powers of chaos were unleashed.” Fydel shrugged as he turned his mount onto the Avenue. “In generations, only Gallos has felt them-when we were last there.” He snorted. “For all that, for the destruction of near on twenty-score lancers, the prefect yet ignores Fairhaven when he thinks he can do so, and less than two years have passed. The viscount bows in perfect obeisance and does as he pleases. We have twice removed the Dukes of Hydolar, and yet the Merchants believe not our power.” Another snort followed.

  Are all rulers moved only by considering which forces are the greatest? Cerryl felt as bleak as the gray morning.

  The gelding’s hoofs clopped dully on the white stone of the Avenue, a stone that seemed lifeless in the gray before dawn.

  LXXIX

  Beyond the wide stone bridge that spanned the River Jellicor, trails of white and gray smoke rose over the walls of Jellico, walls set less than half a kay north of the bridge. The gray sky, the walls that seemed like smeared charcoal in the fading light, and the smoke all imparted an air of gloom to the walled city. The smooth stone ramparts rose more than forty cubits above the causeway that ran to the gates.

  Cerryl glanced down at the river from the big gelding as the column crossed the bridge. Even the water was gray. On the far shore, the western shore, they turned almost northeast for a few hundred cubits before the road turned again and ran straight west toward the granite walls. The gates-red oak and ironbound-were open, but the well-oiled iron grooves testified to their ability to be closed quickly. A half-score of armsmen clad in gray and brown leathers and with armless green overtunics waited by the gates. One of them was a woman, looking as hardened as the men.

  Cerryl’s eyes widened as a White Guard appeared behind the squad, surveying the arrivals, then bowing slightly to Fydel as the senior mage reined up. Fydel inclined his head, and Cerryl followed his example, wondering why he’d not seen White Guards on his earlier trip. Or had he just not noticed?

  “The mages Fydel and Cerryl, preceding the High Wizard Jeslek on his visit to the viscount,” rumbled Fydel.

  The guard apparently in charge looked from the pair of mages to the long column of lancers that reached back nearly to the bridge. Then he looked back to Fydel. “Ah… you are most welcome, noble mages. You know your way to the palace barracks?”

  “We have been there before,” replied Fydel with a smile.

  As they started through the gates, Cerryl looked up. As on his last visit, archers in green with bows watched the column of riders from the ramparts on the walls above. One looked away quickly as Cerryl’s eyes surveyed him.

  Even narrower and meaner were the houses and shops of Jellico than Cerryl remembered, barely wide enough for three or four mounts abreast, if the riders and horses on each side scraped the fired brick walls. Under the late-afternoon gray sky, the three-story structures appe
ared to loom higher than they were, pressing in on Cerryl. A wagon stood before a shop on the right and Fydel and Cerryl had to pass it single file. A handful of men and women stood on the far side of the wagon, and their eyes went to the white jackets of the mages and then to the uniforms of the lancers who followed.

  “… more of those Whites.”

  “… leave well enough alone.”

  “… tariffs and taxes… all they want.”

  “… hush! They can hear you, and find you…”

  Cerryl wanted to laugh, if bitterly, at the last remarks, suspecting that all too many of the taxes the locals paid were collected in the name of the Guild but went to the prefect and his establishment. Suspecting it and proving it are two very different mounts.

  Jellico had an odor, more muted than on his last visit, but still holding the smells from the open sewers running beside the buildings on the right of the street and burned grease, tanning acids, and mold, plus others Cerryl could not identify-and did not wish to try. He shifted his weight in the saddle, glad he did not have to remain on horseback that much longer.

  The odors shifted to a mixture more pleasant when the column wound its way around the north side of the Market Square, where the scent of roast fowl mixed with scented oils and incense, almost drowning out the less aromatic odors of the streets. It was late enough, Cerryl saw, that many of the peddlers had already left, and most of those remaining in the square were packing bags and a few carts.

  The small hill on the west end of Jellico held the sprawling buildings of the viscount’s palace and the associated buildings, barracks and stables, all surrounded by another set of granite walls smoother and more polished than those of the city.

  Fydel nodded to the guards standing by the archway holding the open lower gates, ignoring the squad of crossbowmen on the false rampart above. Once inside the long tunnel-like archway, Cerryl could feel as well as hear the echoes of hoofs.

  Within the courtyard, the heavyset Shyren waited, clearly having used his glass to determine their arrival. The gray light made the pasty complexion of the Guild’s representative to Certis even whiter, and his hair, sandy blond mixed with white, appeared nearly all white.