“What do you want?” For once, Anya was not smiling as she turned to him. Her eyes darted to the far corner, toward the door from the main Hall.
“I’ll be but a moment. I was thinking, and I wanted to thank you.”
“I don’t know as I merit thanks.” Puzzlement and interest appeared in her pale eyes, eyes neither quite green nor blue.
“After Jeslek’s death, you offered me the amulet, in a way. I think I understand why now, and I appreciate the gesture. I’m leaving for Spidlaria in the morning to take Eliasar’s place, but I wanted you to know that I did appreciate your suggestion.”
“Thank you, Cerryl.” A faint smile appeared and vanished. “Is that all?”
“Well,” he added, “you seem to work well with Sterol. But you know where you can reach me, and Leyladin can get me a message if you need something I can provide.”
That brought a faint smile, one not quite real, but one with a hint of self-satisfaction and wistfulness, an expression that faded as she spoke. “I forget at times how young you were when you became a full mage. You continue to grow. I thank you for your offer.” The bright smile appeared. “You had best be readying yourself.”
“I will.”
Together they turned back toward the rear Hall. Once inside, Anya slipped toward the Library and Cerryl toward his quarters. He packed what he thought he might need-including two sets of whites, smallclothes, spare boots, and his ragged-edged copy of Colors of White-and set it on the narrow single bed.
Then he left, walking quickly through the Halls and up the Avenue toward the Market Square, before turning left at the side street leading to Layel’s dwelling.
Soaris opened the door, his eyes widening slightly as he beheld the White mage.
“Is Lady Leyladin here, Soaris?”
“I believe so, ser. Would you come in?”
“Thank you.” Cerryl followed the blue-vested and huge man into the sitting room.
“I will tell her you are here. It may be a moment.”
“Thank you,” Cerryl repeated. He did not sit but studied the portrait of Leyladin’s mother, studying the blue eyes that seemed to follow the beholder.
Leyladin appeared nearly immediately-wearing green trousers and a light silk shirt without a vest. Her red-gold hair was ruffled, half-disarrayed. “It’s barely afternoon.” The usually dancing green eyes were somber and fixed on Cerryl’s gray orbs. “What happened?”
“Eliasar was killed. The High Wizard is sending me back to Spidlaria to take his place. Tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?”
He nodded.
She was silent, then stepped forward and slipped her arms around him. For a time, they just embraced.
Then the healer eased back, her arms still loosely around him. “This is all a ploy to get you out of Fairhaven… and to discredit you.” Her voice was low, pitched as if to keep it from others.
“I know. Making me responsible for obtaining and collecting tariffs when there’s no trade. Why me?”
“Neither Sterol nor Anya wish you around.” She snorted. “You might actually come up with the tariff coins. No one else could, and the way we’re losing mages, you’re already one of the few really skilled ones left.”
“Recluce is winning this war, if it is a war.” He paused. “I told Anya you could get me a message if she needed one.”
“You what?” The healer stiffened.
“I worry about Kinowin’s health, and I’m not so sure about Sterol. It’s just a feeling. He’s not quite the same, and I don’t know why. Anya can be counted on to preserve herself.”
Abruptly Leyladin smiled. “You’re more devious than you let on, dear mage. You implied that she could count on you if something happens.”
“I suppose I did. Was that wrong?” Cerryl frowned.
“No. Not since you told me.” Her eyes narrowed. “But when did you tell her this?”
“Just before I came here.”
“Ah… coming from another woman to me?”
“That’s not…” He grinned as he realized she had been teasing. “You!”
“You’d best remember that.”
“I promise.”
“Now… I know you have to leave early in the morning, but you are staying here the rest of today and tonight.”
“Are you sure?” asked Cerryl, grinning in spite of himself.
“Of that I’m quite sure.”
They both smiled… bittersweet smiles.
CXLVII
The White Serpent pitched forward, riding the downside of the swell before spray cascaded over the bow. Cerryl swallowed hard, hanging onto the heavy wooden railing and glancing toward the west, wondering if his stomach would hold for the remaining two days of the voyage from Lydiar to Spidlaria.
The ship was a faster way to get to Spidlaria, but not terribly comfortable, especially in the heavy swells.
“How ye be, mage?” The ship’s second stood at Cerryl’s elbow, standing there without holding onto anything.
“Fine.” Cerryl forced a grin. “Except I don’t seem to be able to walk anywhere without holding on.”
“Must be a storm to the northwest… a mite unseasonable this far north in summer. Hope the Black ones haven’t been calling their storm mages.” The second gestured off the starboard bow quarter, almost into the sun that beat down out of a green-blue sky that held but the faintest hint of high, hazy clouds. “Don’t ye worry. We’ll have ye ashore afore the worst reaches this far south.”
“Good.” Cerryl paused. “Did you see the Black ship-the one that needed no sails?”
The second’s face clouded. “Aye. Demon-driven it was, and the Black one skirted the reefs and left us near becalmed. The mages’ fire-it washed over the ship, scarce touching it. Evil as anything I ever saw upon the deep, that it was.”
“It’s anchored off Recluce,” Cerryl volunteered.
“I’d wish it were anchored twenty-score cubits deep.” The second laughed. “Not that chaos listens to a poor sailor.” With a nod, the man turned back aft.
If the Black ship worked, Cerryl knew, there would be more on the Eastern Ocean, just as there had been more chaos mages once the ancients had unleashed the White power, just as Recluce had become inevitable after the fall of Westwind.
He glanced to his left, in the general direction of Fairhaven. He hoped Leyladin would be all right. Once at sea, with the swirls of order and chaos, he couldn’t use his glass, even in the times when the ocean was calmer.
Kinowin would watch out for her, and Anya wouldn’t seek her harm, scheming as the redhead was, because Anya wouldn’t want to upset Cerryl, not while she still had uses for him.
The reluctant arms mage’s lips quirked. You’d almost rather deal with the Black smith than with Anya-except that you have no choice.
The White Serpent pitched again, and his fingers tightened on the railing.
CXLVIII
In the early-afternoon sun, Cerryl set the two packs down beside the railing where three crewman wrestled the gangway into place. He inclined his head to the dark-bearded master of the White Serpent. “Thank you, Captain.”
“My duty, mage.”
“I appreciate it.” Cerryl offered a smile.
“You be one of the few who do.” A wintry smile crossed the man’s face. “These days.”
“We’ll try to change that.”
“You do, and we’ll all be pleased.”
Cerryl gave a nod and reclaimed his packs.
A stocky mage with sandy blond hair-a man about Cerryl’s age or even slightly older-stood on the wharf. On the stone pavement at the foot of the wharf waited a detachment of White Lancers-mounted in formation. Cerryl thought he recognized Hiser as the subofficer leading them.
The mage stepped forward as Cerryl carried his two packs down the plank to the heavy-planked wharf.
“Mage Cerryl? I’m Kalesin. Are you here… ?”
“The High Wizard sent me to replace Eliasar.”
A momentary expression
of dismay crossed the other mage’s face.
Cerryl extended the scroll. “As sealed by Sterol.”
“The High Wizard commands.” Kalesin took the scroll.
“Inspect the seal and open it,” Cerryl said.
“Here?” Kalesin glanced to the White Serpent, then to Cerryl.
Cerryl began to muster both chaos and shields.
Kalesin swallowed and looked at the red seal. He fumbled open the scroll, and fragments of red wax sprayed across the planks of the wharf. His eyes went to the signature first, then to the words. He read the words twice. “You are the arms mage of Spidlar. But there is no mention of a mage adviser.”
“Right now, there is no one to advise,” Cerryl pointed out.
“The Traders’ Council…”
“Yes… I’ll need to see them. One at a time. Then the traders who have remained-and any who have come from Diev or Elparta or Kleth.” Cerryl gestured toward the lancers. “Shall we go?”
“Ah… yes, ser.”
Cerryl could tell the words were bitter in the other mage’s mouth and stopped. Kalesin took two steps, then turned and halted.
“Kalesin.”
“Yes?”
“Perhaps you should remember a few things. I am here with the blessing of the High Wizard and of the Council. I also have the support of Anya, the assistant to the High Wizard. I’m better with chaos and order than you are, and I’ve had more experience as an arms mage.” Cerryl softened his voice. “And I strongly doubt that I will remain here after I’ve returned Spidlar to prosperity. I suspect that is why the High Wizard wished you to remain.”
“Ah… yes, ser.”
Cerryl forced a smile. “I did not wish to come here, and you did not wish me here in this position. But I doubt it will be long, and it would be best that we work together so that I complete what needs to be done.”
“As you wish, ser.”
Cerryl wanted to blast the other but only smiled again. “We have much to do.” He resumed walking toward the waiting lancers.
After a moment, Kalesin scurried to catch up with Cerryl. When the two mages reached the stone seawall from which the wharf projected, Kalesin looked up at the lancer officer. “Captain Hiser, Mage Cerryl has returned as arms mage to continue the work of Eliasar.”
“Welcome back, ser.” Hiser’s smile was warm, almost one of relief.
That worried Cerryl. “It’s good to see you. I’m glad you’re a captain now.”
“A mount for the arms mage.” Hiser gestured, and a young lancer guided a chestnut mare forward.
Cerryl fastened both packs in place before mounting, then swung into the saddle. “I presume Eliasar took over the mansion that Jeslek used.”
“That he did, ser,” answered Hiser quickly.
“Then I’ll follow his example.”
“Forward!” snapped Hiser.
Cerryl studied the harbor square as they passed along the east side-the shops bordering the square open, but only a few passersby visible. A sense of hush, of expectation, hung over the area. Cerryl liked that feeling not at all. “Has it been like this since Eliasar was killed?”
“Yes, ser. Too quiet, if you be asking me,” answered Hiser.
“I don’t want any of the men traveling anywhere in groups of less than four.”
“Yes, ser.” Riser nodded grimly. “I’ll be letting the other captains know.”
“Teras? Senglat?”
“Teras be here. Senglat serves the mage Syandar in Kleth.”
“What about Ferek?”
“He be a subofficer under Senglat now.”
Cerryl kept the nod to himself. Eliasar had been smart. Then, the scarred arms mage had been smart about most things, and his death worried Cerryl. Worried him more than a little with the feel he was getting for Spidlaria.
A half-score of lancers guarded the walled mansion on the low hill that overlooked the harbor. A pair stood by the double doors as Cerryl dismounted and neared.
“Good day, ser,” said the one on the left.
“Good day to you-” Cerryl struggled and recalled the man’s name. “Natrey. Is Zoyst here, too?”
“Yes, ser. He be my replacement.”
“I know I’m in good hands. The High Wizard sent me back to carry on what Eliasar started.” Cerryl offered a smile and a nod, then stepped into the two-story entry hall, still half-amazed at the wealth of the traders outside Fairhaven.
“His study,” Cerryl suggested.
Kalesin turned down the hallway to the left of the marble staircase, stopping at a small door some fifteen cubits to the left of the double doors to the dining hall. “Eliasar used the dining hall for meetings but the study here for his own working space.”
Cerryl opened the door and stepped inside, noting the scrolls still stacked under a stone paperweight shaped like a mountain cat. The side walls were wooden shelves filled with leather-bound volumes, and a wide window behind the desk offered a view of the harbor. The study was so warm that Cerryl had begun to sweat, and he stepped past the desk and opened the paired windows. Then, turning, he studied the ancient desk, polished wood, adorned with various bronze protrusions-an elaborate and ugly piece of good workmanship. “Sit down.”
Kalesin took the single armless chair on the other side of the desk.
“Tell me exactly how Eliasar was killed. Exactly.”
“It wasn’t anything special.” Kalesin shrugged. “I mean the way it was set up. Eliasar inspected the barracks, the ones we took over from the blues, every six-day. He was riding over there, and someone put three iron bolts in him.”
Cerryl nodded, even as he again wanted to shake Kalesin. “Three bolts? Did they strike him all at once?”
“Pretty much, it seemed. He was ashes before long, before I got there.”
Cerryl turned his eyes full on the sandy-haired mage. “Did you have any thought that something like this might happen?” He concentrated on applying his truth-reading skills to the other.
“No, ser. I mean… we knew the traders were not pleased with the edict that all sea trading had to be carried out here and inspected by me.”
“Three crossbow bolts-and they all hit at once. What does that tell you?”
“There were three crossbowmen.”
“How good were they?”
“They had to be good.”
“Doesn’t that seem strange in a land where most armsmen were killed or had fled?”
“Ah… when you put it that way, ser. Ah, yes.”
“Was there any reaction from the traders?”
“No one said anything.”
“Did you talk to them?”
“Not about Eliasar’s death, except to tell them that nothing had changed.”
But it had… From what Cerryl could tell, Kalesin was telling the truth, and that meant that whoever had planned Eliasar’s death had understood both the Guild and Kalesin’s obvious limitations. That meant Cerryl had to act immediately.
“Kalesin… I wish to see every factor in Spidlaria, and every trader. I also want a listing of the assistants to each of those traders. Not all the assistants, but the ones who are important, who might take over each factor’s house if the factor died. Oh, and I want to see them starting tomorrow. Make sure Reylerk is here, but not the first one I see.”
Kalesin swallowed. “They will not be pleased.”
“The High Wizard is not pleased. The Council is not pleased. The Guild is not pleased. You might suggest to those who wish to demur that Diev is no more because a mage died.” Cerryl smiled coldly. “And suggest to them that they would not like to suffer because one of their brother traders was unavailable to meet with the arms mage of Spidlar.”
“Yes, ser.” Kalesin’s words were resigned.
“You had best be going to arrange those meetings. Make sure that a full company of lancers is on duty outside here before they arrive.” Cerryl let the smile fade. You sound worse than Anya… He stood. “When you have all the arrangements made, com
e back and inform me. Bring a list that holds the names of all those I will see-and those you could not find. Best there not be many of the latter.”
“Yes, ser.” Kalesin backed out of the study.
Once the door closed, Cerryl sank into the armchair behind the too-ornate desk. You’re where you don’t want to really be, with an assistant who thinks he should be Eliasar’s successor and a bunch of local traders who hate Fairhaven and probably would pay to kill every mage in Spidlar if they could get away with it. And you’re supposed to come up with a way to improve trade and tariffs.
CXLIX
Morning found Cerryl in the study munching through cheese and hard biscuits and studying the stack of scrolls and papers Eliasar had left behind, many of them lists. Lists of shops, lists of existing provisions, lists of provisions needed, lists of names, some without even the sketchiest of explanations.
Abruptly he looked up. Lyasa! She was somewhere around, and he had yet to see her. He rang the handbell.
Kalesin peered in.
“Kalesin, where is Lyasa?”
“Ah… she’s been in charge of the patrols maintaining order in Spidlaria and on the roads.”
That made sense, from what Cerryl had seen of Kalesin so far. “Get a message to her. I’d like to see her at her convenience early this afternoon. How are we coming with the merchants?”
“The merchants and factors are waiting, ser.” Kalesin inclined his head, then handed Cerryl a sheet of rough brown paper. “Those are the ones who cannot be found.”
Cerryl glanced down the list. None of the names meant anything to him, and that would be another problem. He rolled the list and slipped it into his right hand. He stood and walked around the overornate desk. “You had the table moved? So that I can see them in the hall?”
“Yes, ser.”
Cerryl walked toward the former dining hall. Hiser and four lancers stood waiting outside the carved and polished double doors.
“Natrey and Jlen will stand by you inside, ser,” Hiser said. “Foyst and Lyant will guard the door.”
Kalesin glanced from Hiser to Cerryl, then back to the lancer captain. The mage assistant moistened his lips. “Four… ?”
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