CXXXVIII
The most honorable Sterol-he is now in the High Wizard’s chambers.“ The guard-Gostar-glanced from Cerryl to Fydel, never looking at Anya, though she carried the amulet in the leather pouch.
The three walked up the steps.
Another guard, a young one Cerryl did not know, stood on the topmost landing. He turned and rapped on the door. “Three mages to see you, ser.” Upon hearing something, without turning, the guard opened the door for them to enter.
The High Wizard’s room remained what it had always been-a large personal chamber that contained a desk and matching chair, several white wooden bookcases filled with leather-bound volumes, a table in the center of which was a circular screeing glass, and four chairs around the table. At the far end of the chamber was an alcove, which contained a double-width bed and a washstand. Against the stone wall at Sterol’s left hand was another small table holding but a large bronze handbell and a pair of white gloves.
Cerryl wanted to shake his head at the differences between the quarters and receiving spaces of the High Wizard and those of the other rulers of lands in Candar. Instead, he studied Sterol-still broad-shouldered, if the shoulders were slightly more stooped, a head taller than Cerryl. Sterol’s hair remained iron gray, if thinner, and his neatly trimmed beard matched his thick and short-cut iron hair. His face was ruddy, almost as if sunburned.
Brown eyes that appeared red-flecked studied Cerryl for a time, then Anya, and finally Fydel. “You bring me the amulet, I presume?”
“Who else should have it in these times,” asked Anya, “save the one who held it well?” She stepped forward and extended the leather pouch.
“Thank you.” Sterol took the pouch, removed the sign of his office, and slipped it over his head. The golden amulet hung around his neck, as though it had never left. He gestured to the table but did not sit but stood over the glass with his back to the open window.
The High Wizard’s eyes fixed on Cerryl. “If you would be so kind as to call up the image of your smith’s vessel?” Sterol’s voice was smooth, so smooth that Cerryl wanted to wince.
“He is not my smith, honored Sterol, but rather Jeslek’s.” Cerryl offered a polite smile. “I will certainly try to locate the vessel.”
The large glass on the conference table silvered over, then cleared to reveal a vessel, sails furled, moored to a black stone pier. Clouds gave the image a dark cast.
“Land’s End-on Recluce,” the High Wizard said flatly. His voice lowered as he asked, “How did you incompetents ever let this happen?”
The three White mages looked at the table with the mirror, then back to the High Wizard. Cerryl wasn’t about to speak, not this time, and he waited, forcing his lips to remain shut.
Finally, Fydel spoke. “He built a ship that can run into the teeth of the wind. The White Storm went aground trying to catch him.”
Cerryl nodded in agreement, stepping back from the others ever so slightly.
“Why didn’t they at least fire his ship?”
The other two looked at Cerryl, and he had to answer. “They weren’t carrying canvas. He’d stripped the topside, and this engine thing somehow pushed or pulled them away. They skirted the sandbars all along the coast until they got to the gulf, where the winds changed. Then they lifted sail, and with the engine and sails no one could eaten up.”
“Wait an instant. You said they didn’t have sails.”
“The sails were furled,” explained Anya. Her voice was cold, cutting. “This engine device of his is as hot as chaos and bound in black iron.”
“How does it work?”
“We don’t know, exactly,” Cerryl said, “save that it requires black iron and burns coal.”
“Wonderful. Just marvelous. We now have a renegade Black wizard who can build an engine that nullifies our whole blockade of Recluce, and his ship is sitting at Land’s End.” Sterol sighed. “Well… you three and Jeslek did it. You’ll have to live with it.”
Anya raised her eyebrows.
“Really, Anya. Are you that dense? Have we ever had any success against Recluce proper?” The High Wizard smiled coldly. “You three incompetents can leave. You had better hope that the Blacks on Recluce hold the price of asylum on their fair isle as no more Black engines.”
“Or… ?” asked Anya.
“I told you. Now, all of you, please go away.” Sterol fingered the gold amulet. “So I can determine how to address this problem that you allowed the late Jeslek to create.”
“We?” sputtered Fydel.
“I certainly had nothing to do with it, and I have ensured that the Guild well knows that. Good day.”
Cerryl turned with the others, stepping out onto the landing. Whom could he talk to? Leyladin was still in Lydiar.
“Now what?” asked Fydel as Sterol’s door closed behind them.
“I’m getting cleaned up,” Anya said. “I’m certainly not waiting for Sterol to find some disagreeable chore for me.”
“Just like him,” mumbled Fydel.
Slowly, Cerryl walked down the stairs behind them, letting them get farther and farther ahead. Once he was on the White Tower’s lowest level, he turned to the right and made his way back to Kinowin’s door.
He knocked.
“Come in, Cerryl.” The overmage’s voice was strong.
Cerryl opened the door and stepped into the room-so different from that of Sterol or from what Myral’s had been. Myral’s quarters had been filled with books and Sterol’s bare of all but essentials. Kinowin’s walls were filled with the purple-oriented colored hangings, and his books remained limited to a single four-shelf case on the wall beside the sole window. Even the table that held his screeing glass was covered with the green-trimmed purple cloth.
A gaunt, almost emaciated white-haired figure sat in the chair behind the table. Cerryl forced himself to smile. “That’s a new hanging, isn’t it?”
“Yes, Shenan sent it to me from Ruzor. She misses her brother, but she was wise not to return.” A painful smile crossed the once-powerful figure’s face. “You don’t have to force the smile. I know seeing me like this must be a shock.”
“It is,” Cerryl said quietly. “Leyladin said you were nearly as old as Myral, but I didn’t really see it.”
“I’m not quite that old, but my years are limited.” The overmage paused. “I used more chaos than Myral when younger.”
“Are you sure you’re all right?”
“I get tired more easily, but I don’t have a cough like Myral did, and my bones are still solid, and they say my tongue has gotten sharper.” Kinowin smiled crookedly. “Did you see Leyladin?”
“She’s in Lydiar. I took a ship with Anya and Fydel, and…” Cerryl shrugged. “… I really didn’t want to go charging into the duke’s hold”
“Good.” Kinowin nodded. “She’s fine, but it’s better that Estalin and Sedelos not know about you yet.”
“Sedelos?”
“Sedelos has been the Guild adviser to Estalin since the turn of last year. If you showed up, he’d have had a scroll back to Sterol within days, and you don’t want anything like that going to Sterol right now.”
The younger mage frowned.
“Cerryl-best you be careful. With Jeslek gone, there is no one to brook Sterol, and he needs you not as a foil to Jeslek. While you could best Sterol in wielding chaos, you would have little support from the older members of the Guild-save me and Esaak. We count for much less these days.”
“You’re the overmage.”
“It’s an honor, not a power.”
After the momentary silence that followed, Cerryl asked, “What do you think I should do now?”
“You don’t really need this old mage’s thoughts. Just keep doing what you are. Do what Sterol asks in a way that won’t hurt you or Leyladin or the Guild-and wait. Never trust Anya or Fydel or put yourself in their power. Don’t make any more enemies in the Guild. Oh… and pay all the debts you owe. Even those you’ve forgotten.”
>
“That’s all?”
“You’ll find that doing those things will take all the skill you possess for the next few years, especially remembering the forgotten debts. After that, it will get easier.” Kinowin’s face sobered. “One more thing…”
“Yes?”
“Find me a unique purple hanging somewhere.”
They both laughed.
“Now… you need to eat and let everyone know you’re back-the way you want to tell them.”
Cerryl rose.
“Don’t forget to draw the golds you are due. You also get double pay for the time you were in Spidlar.”
“I didn’t know that.”
Kinowin’s eyes twinkled. “There are still a few things I can tell you. Not many, but some.”
“More than you think.”
“Less than I think,” corrected the overmage. “Now… go.”
As Cerryl walked down the steps to the main foyer of the entrance Hall, his thoughts returned to the golds-near on three years’ pay in golds. That was hard to believe. Kinowin had also mentioned debts- forgotten debts-and Cerryl had a few of those. Ones you’d rather forget…
He kept walking, back toward his dusty room.
CXXXIX
The shadows of the fast-moving clouds cooled the air and brought a hint of fall to Fairhaven as Cerryl walked down the Avenue toward the main Patrol building. Debts to pay-even forgotten ones, and those that involved no coins-he had more than he’d thought, but Kinowin had never steered him onto a false course.
A single horse clopped along past The Golden Ram, pulling an empty farm wagon. It could have been his imagination or poor recollections, but the streets of Fairhaven seemed less busy than when he had left for Spidlar, and he still wasn’t quite sure whether he recalled more bustle than had been the case or whether the war and the trading from Recluce had, in fact, reduced the traffic.
He turned south and walked swiftly, enjoying the cooler breeze.
The Patrol building was unchanged, and Cerryl paused momentarily in the rectangular and spare entry hall, taking in the two halls angling from the corners farthest from the entry, the backless oak benches, and the closed double oak doors on the back wall. The featureless and time-polished granite floor was still dull gray, and the only light came from the windows that flanked the entry door.
One of the two guards glanced at Cerryl.
“Cerryl to see Patrol Chief Isork, if he’s in.”
“I’ll see, ser.”
The patroller walked down the short hall, spoke through the open door, and then returned. “He’ll see you, ser.”
“Thank you.” Cerryl made his way to the familiar small room, no larger than six cubits by ten.
Isork, pudgy-faced and muscular, glanced up from the flat table desk on which rested a stack of parchmentlike papers, an inkwell, and a quill holder, and a single volume. “What brings you here, Cerryl?”
“I just got back from Spidlar a few days ago.” Cerryl forced what he hoped was an easy-looking smile. “I had some time to think. So I came back to thank you.”
Isork frowned. “For what? Throwing you off the Patrol?”
“No. For giving me the chance in the first place and for only throwing me off the Patrol.” Cerryl grinned. “You were most generous under the circumstances.”
“Well… word is you did a good job of running Elparta. You must have learned something here.” Isork’s voice remained neutral.
“I learned a great deal. I just didn’t learn to apply it fast enough. I did want to let you know that.” He added quickly, “I’m not asking to be brought back. I think I could do the job now, but that would set a very bad example for the future.”
Isork smiled wryly. “You have learned. It shows all over you, and it’s a shame, but I hope the Patrol will be with you whatever you do for the Guild. Do you think you’ll stay an arms mage?”
Cerryl almost shook his head. Surprisingly, he’d really never thought of himself as an arms mage, though that was clearly what he’d become. “I don’t know. For now, I’ll do what the High Wizard and the Guild wish of me.” Especially since I have little real choice.
“None of us have that much choice in the colors of White we wear.” Isork stood. “I wish you well, and I hope you’ll come back from time to time.”
“I will.” As he left, Cerryl understood something else. Isork had not asked more because the Patrol chief was waiting to see if Cerryl would come back again. One done, and more than a few to do.
CXL
Cerryl sat at the freshly polished flat desk in his room, a room that seemed far smaller than when he had left it.
“After having a mansion as your headquarters in Elparta,” he murmured with a self-deprecating smile, “your perceptions might just change.” Quite a change from an orphan happy to have a closet to himself.
He looked at the glass, then concentrated until the image of a coach filled the glass, and from what he could tell, the coach was well past the turnoff for Howlett and not all that far from Fairhaven.
Cerryl set aside the glass with a half-smile. Leyladin was indeed on her way back to Fairhaven, and with the clear roads she should be at her father’s mansion before evening. Cerryl glanced out at the late mid-afternoon sun, then stood and stretched.
He paced across the narrow confines of his quarters. Sterol had sent a messenger ordering Cerryl to stand ready to attend the High Wizard. He couldn’t very well leave the Halls, and he had to wonder what the High Wizard wanted, especially after Kinowin’s warning nearly an eight-day earlier. Yet, until now, nothing had happened, and he’d been left to himself.
The sharp knock echoed through the room.
“Yes.” He took two steps and opened the door.
The messenger in red peered up at him, almost fearfully.
“Mage… Cerryl, the High Wizard would see you now.”
“I’ll be right behind you.”
“Yes, ser.” The messenger looked decidedly unhappy with that phrase.
“Go on. I’ll be there.”
Without a word, the youth raced back toward the stairs and the White Tower. Cerryl walked quickly, but not enough to raise too much of a sweat in the muggy heat.
Still, Sterol glared as Cerryl entered the High Wizard’s chambers. “You took long enough.” Although the High Wizard was seated behind the conference table, he did not gesture for Cerryl to sit.
“I came immediately. I did not run because I wished to be ready to do your bidding.” Cerryl could smell the scent of trilia and sandalwood, but Anya was not in the chamber.
“You do little bidding but your own, Cerryl, from what I can tell.” Under the iron-gray hair, Sterol’s red-rimmed eyes were unblinking as they studied the younger mage. “So… what is the Guild to do with you? You are an arms mage who is hopeless with weapons. You are a Patrol mage who cannot return to the Patrol. You are yet too young to train apprentices in the sewers and too experienced to continue as a simple gate guard.”
Cerryl frowned, as if in thought. “I could assist one of the overmages. Or I could continue to follow what the smith does in Recluce and what he plans. Or I could help supervise the younger gate guards.”
Sterol smiled. “Perhaps you should do all three. Report to Kinowin and tell him that he is responsible for your accomplishing all three duties successfully. He is in charge of the gate details, in any case. Should the smith do something that merits my attention, you will first tell the overmage. You are not to disturb me without his approval. Do you understand?”
“Yes, honored Sterol.”
“Go find Kinowin and inform him.”
“Yes, ser.”
“I do not wish to see you, or hear of you, except as Kinowin sees fit. You are far too full of yourself for one so relatively inexperienced.”
“Yes, ser.”
“Don’t think you’re deceiving me with your politeness, either.”
“What do you wish?” Cerryl asked. “The High Wizard merits courtesy.”
Cerryl nodded and turned, ready to lift his order/chaos shields at the slightest hint of chaos from Sterol, but he left the topmost level of the White Tower without either chaos or more words from the High Wizard.
Kinowin was in his quarters, much as Myral had been, as if he had been waiting for Cerryl and his orders from Sterol.
Cerryl immediately repeated his conversation with the High Wizard, concluding, “… so I am your charge.”
“The High Wizard wants you kept well away from him… well away. That is as much Anya’s doing as his.”
“She had been in his chamber before me.”
“She is there most often, far more than merely to pleasure Sterol or herself. Leave that aside. There is little either of us can do about that at the moment. In order to please Sterol, we will follow this pattern. Report to me either before noon or before the evening bell each day on what the smith has done. On the even days you are to visit and inspect, unseen, the gate guards in whatever order you see fit. At the evening bell, report anything that needs addressing. On the odd days, see me after breakfast for anything I may need help with. The evenings are yours, and I hope you spend little of them in the Halls.” Kinowin smiled. “Use what days you have; the life of a mage is short enough.”
“Ah… thank you.”
“Go. You can start tomorrow.” The older mage cocked his head and smiled. “She should almost be at her father’s, and you might wish to greet her. The flower sellers are still on the square.”
Cerryl stood. “By your leave?”
“By my command, if necessary.”
Cerryl fled, hiding the smile.
CXLI
Cerryl paused at the end of the walk, wondering if he looked like some fop or schoolboy, with the fragrant white roses wrapped in green ribbon.
The carved front door opened, and Layel stepped onto the stoop and gestured to the mage. “Cerryl… I take it from your presence that Leyladin is coming home.”
“That’s what the glass shows. Her coach was just beyond the north gates when I left the Halls.”
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