Colors of Chaos

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “Zoyst, Natrey, everything all right?”

  “Yes, ser. Glad to see the sun, ser,” answered the darker Natrey.

  “So am I.” The mage stepped into the foyer, blinking for a moment as his eyes adjusted to the comparative gloom.

  “Cerryl? Is that you?” Leyladin came down the steps slowly, rubbing her eyes. “I must… have fallen asleep.”

  “You’ve been healing more than you should. Your body is telling you need the rest.”

  “So many of them are so young.”

  “So many? Is Jeslek sending out scores already?” Cerryl frowned.

  “No. There were just two, but I looked at all the others, and… many will die. One-he had a slash in his arm. The other-he took an iron shaft in the chest.”

  “Iron?”

  “It was meant for Fydel, I think. From a crossbow.”

  Iron shafts for mages? Cerryl shivered. The advance into Spidlar could prove costly.

  “You have to be careful,” she said, stopping on the next to last step, so that she was taller than Cerryl, and putting her arms around him.

  Cerryl saw the darkness in and around her eyes. “What about you? You can’t spend so much of yourself on every lancer.”

  “I know,” the healer acknowledged again. “I know. But I knew I could… this time. Was I supposed to let him die?”

  “You’ll have to let some die.” If you want to live.

  “It’s hard. I didn’t think it would be this way. I did, but I didn’t.” She squeezed Cerryl. “I wanted to be with you, and I wanted to help. Kinowin said it would be hard.”

  Cerryl returned the hug, then relaxed his hold so that he held her but loosely. “That’s why some healers can’t handle battles and wounds.”

  “I can see why.” A faint smile appeared and faded.

  “How is the lancer?” Cerryl wanted her to think about her success, not the pain.

  “He’ll be all right.”

  “But not for this season.”

  “No. He’ll have to stay in Elparta.”

  “He may be one of the lucky ones.” He squeezed her to him, again gently, then released her. “You need to rest. Have you eaten?”

  “I had some cheese and some of the bread when I got back-and some of the joint.”

  “Good.” He pointed upstairs. “You need rest, Lady Leyladin.”

  “Don’t ‘lady’ me.” She offered a mock pout.

  “Then get some rest.” He grinned.

  She started to retort, then yawned. “Light!… You might be right.”

  “I am-once in a great while.”

  Leyladin stifled the yawn, then leaned forward and brushed his cheek. “This time…” Then she touched his cheek. “I know you care.”

  He watched until she disappeared at the top of the stairs, then turned and went to his study. He stared at the glass on the polished wood of the round table.

  After a moment, he stepped forward, seeking the red-haired mage amid the silver mists of the glass. Dorrin was not in his forge, but upon the seat of a wagon, with another seated beside him-apparently a young-faced man wearing a broad-brimmed hat. In the wagon were objects wrapped in canvas, objects that radiated order even through the glass, so much that the image shimmered and wavered. After an instant, Cerryl let the picture fade.

  The smith was bringing more infernal devices somewhere-doubtless to the Black warleader. More devices to kill… and we will respond with chaos fire and lancers and more levies than the blues can raise.

  Cerryl sat down in the chair that faced the archway and the front window. His eyes ignored the glass before him on the table but did not see either the brick wall before the dwelling or green-blue sky beyond it.

  After a time, the foyer door opened, and Natrey called, “A Mage Faltar to see you, ser Cerryl!”

  “Send him in.” Cerryl rose from the table and hurried into the sitting room toward the foyer.

  At Faltar’s name, Leyladin scurried down the steps from the second bedchamber she had claimed as her work space, even though the small desk was barely wider than a three-span plank. Then, as she had that morning, she spent a good half of each day checking the worst illnesses among the lancers, when she wasn’t seeking out things like willow bark, astra, or brinn. “Faltar…”

  “Cerryl! Leyladin!” A broad smile beamed from the thin blond mage. “I’d hoped to find you together.”

  Leyladin offered a surprisingly shy smile.

  “Can I get you something to drink?” asked Cerryl.

  “Water is about all we have,” apologized Leyladin. “Cerryl doesn’t eat much better than his lancers.”

  Cerryl offered a shrug. “What can I say?”

  “Don’t,” suggested Faltar.

  “I’ll get the water.” Cerryl pointed across the sitting room. “Why don’t you two sit at the round table?”

  Both were seated in the small study when he returned with a pitcher and three goblets. “It’s chaos-cleaned and chilled.”

  “Almost as good as ale,” said Faltar.

  “No,” said Leyladin. “But the company is good. How was your trip?”

  “Cold, especially west of Fairhaven. So cold that even Bealtur kept his mouth shut. I really didn’t expect to be here.” Faltar grinned sheepishly. “I’ve not been that industrious since you two left. Kinowin pulled me off gate duty and sent me off with the lancers. He told me to practice raising chaos and firebolts-if I wanted to get through the war. It is a war, isn’t it? I didn’t see that much going on, but we came through Gallos. The rest of the Easthorns won’t be clear for eight-days. There were places where we still had to dig through snowdrifts.”

  “It is a war,” Cerryl answered. “We still lose a few men every eight-day. The blues use archers and traps, and there aren’t that many of them. They’re hard to find.”

  “Do you have a place to stay?” asked Leyladin.

  “Me? They put all of us mages-the three actually-in the guest house beside the High Wizard’s headquarters. Jeslek met with us for a moment. He told us not to get comfortable in Elparta.” Faltar glanced around the study and back through the archway. “It’s hard to believe you’re the city commander or Patrol chief or whatever here.”

  “Until we start the advance north,” Cerryl answered.

  “You’re going?”

  “Jeslek has been most insistent on that.”

  Leyladin nodded in agreement.

  “You, too?” Faltar turned to the healer, eyebrows raised.

  “What good is a healer where she can’t heal people?”

  “You can’t heal everyone,” protested Faltar.

  “No… but I can hold back chaos for quite a few, and that way, more will recover.”

  How many? wondered Cerryl. And for how long? “Is anything happening in Fairhaven?”

  Faltar gave a crooked smile. “Redark always says that he’ll send a message to the High Wizard. Kinowin doesn’t say much of anything, but usually he does something, quietly. The Guild raised the tariffs on traders, and one or two of the smaller ones sold off their stuff-what they could-and packed up. Piotal said he was going to Sarronnyn. I don’t know what happened to Ziant. The poorer ale is up to four coppers at The Ram, and I wouldn’t guess what it is at Furenk’s.” The blond mage spread his hands. “What else do you want to know?”

  “Who are the others who came with you?” asked Leyladin.

  “Buar and Kalesin. Bealtur, Myredin, and Ryadd are coming with the next group. Kinowin said others were coming later with Eliasar, but he’s still in Renklaar. I guess he has to set up a Patrol there and a council or something for Gorsuch to use to run the place.”

  “Gorsuch? I thought he was in Jellico.”

  “He was, but Jeslek sent Disarj to replace him there-and Lyasa as his assistant. She wasn’t too happy about that, said she’d end up doing everything.”

  Cerryl laughed. “She will, and that’s why she’s there.”

  “Having two mages around will make Rystryr more care
ful, too,” suggested Leyladin, brushing a strand of blonde hair off her forehead.

  Cerryl pursed his lips, worrying about the circles and the darkness under her eyes. Trying to heal too many…

  “Myredin’s not too pleased about being ordered to Spidlar, and you should see the new apprentice from Lydiar.”

  “Oh… ?” asked Cerryl. “I take it this apprentice is a woman.”

  “She’s a redhead, and sweet, too.”

  Cerryl had to wonder about that. Faltar had fallen for Anya, once, as well. “Anya, without the… self-centeredness?”

  “Anya was never as bad as you thought, Cerryl, but Viedra…” Faltar smiled even more broadly.

  “I hope for your sake she makes it,” offered Leyladin. “What about Heralt?”

  “He’s gone to Ruzor to help Myral’s sister. You knew that Shenan was the Guild trade representative there, didn’t you?”

  “I’d heard something like that…”

  “Jeslek doubled the representatives in the ports where there happened to be just one mage.”

  “Has anyone heard what Sterol is doing?”

  “He stays to himself on the lower level of the White Tower. It’s like he waits for something to happen.”

  For Jeslek to fail? So he can claim the amulet again? Cerryl refilled the goblets. He had much to learn about what had happened in Fairhaven, and Faltar would report what happened as it had. Except for redheaded woman.

  CXXII

  Around the circular table in the private library sat three White mages, a Black healer, and the High Wizard of Fairhaven. A low fire nearly guttered out in the hearth, sending thin intermittent trails of grayish smoke into the room.

  Jeslek rose from his chair at one side of the table. Despite nearly two eight-days spent recovering from his trip from Fairhaven, dark circles rimmed the sun-gold eyes, but those eyes retained their flaring intensity as he surveyed the room.

  “The plan is simple enough.” Jeslek pointed to the map pinned to the easel, a map redrawn to combine Cerryl’s screeing maps and older ones. “The combined lancers will sweep the two river roads. Once they have cleared the roads, or when they contact any massed enemy forces, we will use the river barges to transport the levies downstream to attack.”

  “What about all those traps the blues use?” asked Fydel.

  “Those are road traps.” The High Wizard smiled. “That is Cerryl’s charge on the west river road, and Buar’s and Faltar’s on the east. We will not subject the bulk of our forces to such devices and stratagems. Cerryl has some considerable skill in detecting Black devices. He and his light lancers will scout in advance of the main body of lancers. Cerryl is not there to fight. He is there to discover traps and stratagems. If large blue lancer forces are present, he is to call up the full lancer forces under Captain Teras and under Gallosian overcaptain Grestalk. For now. Shortly Eliasar will be joining us to act as field commander.”

  Jeslek turned to Fydel. “You will command the lancer forces on the eastern bank and support Buar and Faltar as Teras will support Cerryl.”

  Fydel nodded slowly. “They are not so skilled as Cerryl.”

  “That is why I have put all three of you on the east bank. Lady Leyladin will remain with me and the bulk of the forces. Anya will begin with us, but she will handle the fast cavalry reserves, for anything unforeseen.” Jeslek cleared his throat. “Have you any further questions?”

  “How soon will we begin?” asked Cerryl.

  “Three days from tomorrow morning. All should be ready tomorrow, but it will not be.” Jeslek gave a knowing smile.

  “Do the blues expect us to move now?” asked Fydel.

  “They do not seem prepared,” answered Anya. “Most of their forces remain near Kleth, except for the few patrols that harass us here.”

  “Their commander may have something else in mind,” Cerryl volunteered. “So far, he has not been caught unprepared.”

  “Do you have any idea what that might be, Cerryl?” The momentary look of irritation on Jeslek’s face faded into an ironic smile. “While this Brede is a good commander, he is young, and he must defer to his superiors, the traders. They do not wish to hazard their few remaining forces far from Spidlaria.”

  “He is not that good,” mumbled Fydel under his breath.

  “We have moved more ships into the Northern Ocean,” added Jeslek, “to keep them from getting blades or supplies once their stocks run low. Their crops were not good last year, and they’re short on mounts for their lancers and light cavalry.”

  “Have you discovered more about the smith?” Anya asked Cerryl.

  “He has made some devices of black iron and carted them to Kleth, as I told the High Wizard an eight-day ago.” Cerryl paused to swallow. “I cannot tell what the devices are, except that they hold great order. They feel like the one you recovered last year, so far as I can tell.”

  “That is why we will scout all the roads first,” emphasized Jeslek. “Even our scouting forces should outnumber any Spidlarian horse you might encounter. This year, this year… we already have enough armsmen and horse to put them to flight, and we have more marching to support us.”

  You said something like that last year.

  Leyladin’s eyes widened, and Cerryl could tell she had understood the feeling behind his thought. He hoped no one else had.

  “If you have no other inquiries, you may go and prepare for our departure.” Jeslek nodded.

  Once outside the headquarters mansion, Cerryl and Leyladin mounted and rode slowly through the warm misting rain, back to the quarters they would soon be leaving.

  “Jeslek’s not as well as he could be,” murmured the healer.

  “Too much chaos?”

  “I don’t know, but I would judge so. He could still muster enough power to bring down Kleth and Spidlaria.” Leyladin eased her mount closer to Cerryl’s gelding. “He does not seem quite so close to Anya. Did you notice that?”

  “No,” Cerryl admitted. “He still turns to her.”

  “It is not the same.”

  Cerryl wanted to roll his eyes but refrained.

  “I felt that.” Leyladin laughed. “You think I’m silly, but I’m not.

  You need to watch her even more.“

  That-that Cerryl could definitely accept.

  CXXIII

  The shadows of the trees to the west fell across the river road, covering the low brush and open ground between the road and the woods. In places, green sprouted through the few patches of dirty snow remaining from the long winter.

  For nearly two kays the road curved back toward the river and the higher wooded hills that separated the packed clay from the water. Cerryl studied the hills alongside the river, frowning. His head throbbed from a day in which he had struggled to extend eyes and senses out around the patrol, not always successfully. Something about the hills bothered him and had from the moment his patrol had followed the road away from the river. Yet some of the Gallosian levies had been following the river road, since not all the levies could be transported on the barges and flatboats Jeslek had commandeered.

  Cerryl glanced back over his shoulder. He hoped the forward pickets-half his force-didn’t have too much trouble during the night, but what use was clearing a road if you let the enemy return to it? Even so, the blues might circle the road. Cerryl shook his head. The ground was too soggy and the undergrowth too thick for much of that.

  His eyes dropped to the young lancer riding beside Hiser, who struggled to remain in the saddle, blood oozing through the shoulder dressing, his head lolling, then jerking into awareness-and pain. Hiser tried to wave away the circling flies.

  “… wish Leyladin or camp or something were closer…” Cerryl’s eyes studied the empty road. Still no sign of the camp.

  “He’s still with us, ser,” Hiser said. “Not too much farther…”

  Cerryl didn’t look back at the other saddle, the one onto which a body was strapped.

  The river ran to Cerryl’s left-eas
tward as his patrols retraced their steps back south toward where he hoped to find the day’s encampment. The advance had slowed. After making nearly fifty kays in the first eight-day, they had covered less than fifteen kays over the past three days. And lost four men already.

  Several thin lines of smoke appeared above the trees to the left, around another curve and apparently beside the river.

  “Can see the camp… not too much farther,” Hiser repeated.

  Cerryl turned to the lancer beside him. “Dyent, ride ahead and see if you can find the healer. Tell her that we have a lancer with a deep shoulder and chest wound.”

  “Yes, ser.” Dyent urged his mount away from the main body.

  Hope she’s not too exhausted… Is it fair to ask?

  Cerryl stood in the stirrups momentarily, trying to stretch his legs, to shift the soreness. He hadn’t ridden so much in seasons. One season, but it had been a long winter.

  Leyladin was waiting as Cerryl’s lancers rode in toward the fires. “Here! Bring him here.”

  The raggedness in her voice tore at him. “Can you help him?” he whispered as he swung out of the saddle, stumbling when his boots hit the not-quite-even ground. Please don’t do too much…

  “I won’t.” Her eyes and senses went to the dark-haired and pale young lancer that Hiser lifted out of the saddle and onto the pallet Leyladin had waiting-on the edge of an area holding more than a score of other pallets.

  What happened?

  “Too much.” She touched his hand and then stepped over and knelt beside the lancer.

  Hiser hovered over the pallet.

  Cerryl straightened. He couldn’t help either Leyladin or the lancer. Neither could Hiser. “Hiser, the healer will do her best for him. We need to get the men set up and the mounts watered and fed-and rubbed down.”

  “Ah… yes, ser.”