Colors of Chaos

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  The bravo flinched but remained stolid after the one reaction.

  Cerryl fixed his eyes on the wounded chandler. “Tyldar, you are to receive ten golds in damages from each of the strongboxes of these four traders. You are to use half of those golds to buy goods for sale to others. Is that clear?”

  Tyldar gulped. “Yes, ser.”

  Cerryl paused, then continued almost conversationally. “As for you four, I’m tired of dealing with people who use golds to buy life and death, without even understanding what happens to the people. I’m tired of people who will destroy their entire land to keep a few extra golds in their coffers and then claim they do it for the land they’ve ruined. And I’m especially tired of people who lie to me and to themselves. You will die by chaos at sunset.”

  He turned to Lyasa and murmured, “In the harbor square.”

  She paled. “Someone will try to kill you.”

  “It has to be public.”

  Kestrisal lunged forward, only to be felled by the flat of one of the lancer’s blades across his temple.

  Ignoring the fallen trader, Cerryl turned to Tyldar. “You may go. The golds will be sent to you.”

  Tyldar raised his eyebrows.

  “Did I lie to you before, chandler? Have I not done exactly what I said?”

  Tyldar looked down.

  “Go!”

  After the lancers had dragged off the five captives, Cerryl rose from the chair and made his way out of the reception hall, blotting his sweating forehead in the main hallway outside.

  Kalesin stepped forward. “What do you think you’re doing, dragging all these traders in here?”

  Cerryl just looked at him.

  Kalesin waited.

  “I’m getting rid of all the ones who’ve plotted to thwart the Guild and to kill Eliasar and me. Do you have a problem with that?”

  “How do you know they’re the ones?”

  “I know, Kalesin.” Cerryl forced a smile, hard as it was because of the pounding headache that had come with the extensive effort to truth-read the factors and merchants. “Don’t ever question what I know.”

  “I see, ser.” Kalesin inclined his head. “By your leave.”

  “By my leave.”

  “That one hates you,” Lyasa murmured, joining Cerryl. “This making a public execution in the harbor square could get you killed.”

  “Not if we do it right now. Someone has to order it and pay someone. That takes time. These traders won’t do it themselves. Not any of the ones still here in Spidlaria.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  So did Cerryl.

  “It will take most of the lancers…” Lyasa pointed out.

  “That’s fine. It should be worth it. I wish we’d been able to get that last one, but Sieral, was he the one who said that Byal had already fled?”

  Lyasa nodded. “I’d better make ready for the spectacle. It’s well past late afternoon. We’ll need to hurry.”

  “I’d better get a bit of rest so that it will be a spectacle.”

  They exchanged nods, and Cerryl headed back to his study to rest his voice-and for something to eat and drink.

  CLV

  As the sun touched the waters of the harbor, Cerryl looked from the makeshift platform to the four traders who stood bound in the center of the harbor square. The square and the adjoining streets were filled with every lancer Hiser and Lyasa had been able to muster. Lancers- and the few archers-watched every street and every building.

  Cerryl cleared his throat and began to speak, trying to get his voice to carry. “All the people of Spidlar were warned about deceiving the Guild and refusing to pay tariffs. You deceived the Guild and refused to pay what you owed. Two of your cities were destroyed. Your armsmen have been killed or fled. Yet after that, your predecessors still refused to pay what was owed. They died, and yet you refused to learn. The Guild wants a better life for all people in Candar-not just for a handful of greedy and selfish traders in Spidlar. But you thought you knew better. You would destroy your own people for a few more golds. My words mean nothing to you. Perhaps others will learn from them.” Cerryl paused but for a moment, then focused raw chaos on the four.

  WHHHHSTTT!!!

  The pillar of flame lit the square, flaring nearly fifty cubits into the air.

  Without even waiting for the flames to die, Cerryl hastened off the platform and through the flickering shadows cast by the fire that had succeeded the chaos. He mounted the chestnut awkwardly, but quickly, and Lyasa and Suzdyal’s guards escorted him back to his headquarters, through streets that seemed empty, save that he was all too aware of the eyes that had rested on him through shutters and darkened windows as he had passed.

  Not until Cerryl was back in the headquarters dwelling and into his study did Lyasa take a deep breath. “You can’t keep appearing like that.”

  “I can’t hide. That will make them think they can drive us out.” Cerryl sank into his chair, massaging his neck.

  “If anything happens to you, they will drive us out. Oh, the High Wizard won’t call it that, and the new Council of Traders will pay some token golds, and things will return to the way they were.”

  “It can’t happen like that.” Cerryl’s voice was tight.

  “Why not? You’re not the first mage who’s tried to change things. It’s never worked. Look what happened to Jeslek.”

  “I have to try.” You don’t have any choice… because if you return to Fairhaven as a failure, you’re dead… sooner or later.

  “You’re stubborn.”

  “Probably.”

  Lyasa slumped into the straight-backed chair with a sigh sounding of both relief and exasperation. “Cerryl… I’ve never seen anyone use a truth-read like that before.”

  He rubbed his forehead. “It’s demon work. My head’s splitting.”

  “You don’t take compliments easily, either.”

  “I’m sorry. I’ve mistrusted them for a long time, especially after working with Jeslek,” he added. “All I have is water. Would you like some?”

  “Please.”

  “You could do what I did. All you do is set up the questions so that they have to deny what you think is the truth. Untrue denials are easier to read. It’s not evidence, really, and I’d get in trouble if I were in the Patrol in Fairhaven for acting just on truth-reading. Here… I have to do something.”

  “Will it work?”

  He shrugged. “They either change or get killed, or I get killed. But if I remove enough of them-always from the top-some of the more common merchants and the people in the street may get the idea that the Guild’s not after them.”

  “You grant them vision they do not have.”

  “We’ll have to give it to them.” Somehow… someway… He kept massaging his forehead, hoping the force of the needles that stabbed at his eyes would at least lessen.

  Lyasa poured a mug of water and sipped it, and the two sat in the darkness, neither looking toward the embers in the center of the harbor square.

  CLVI

  The stocky blond mage stood on the other side of the study desk from Cerryl, a separation for which Cerryl was more than glad. “I don’t understand. You killed a bunch of traders, and now the people are back in the streets.” Puzzlement crossed Kalesin’s face.

  “I didn’t kill many average people. I didn’t kill the bravos, except for those who tried to kill me. I didn’t kill the chandler.” Cerryl shrugged. “After a while, even stupid people get the message.” Except for you, Kalesin.

  “There aren’t any ships in the harbor,” Kalesin pointed out almost smugly.

  “It takes some time for word to get out.” Cerryl smiled gently. “There was a coaster yesterday, and we did collect a few golds. That’s more than anyone else has collected.” He stood and glanced out the unshuttered and open window into the cool and clear early-fall day. “I need to take another inspection ride.”

  “You do a lot of that, but you don’t drill the troops the way Eliasar did.
”

  “I can’t. I don’t know how. I’d waste my time and theirs.” Cerryl gestured for Kalesin to leave the study before him. “So I let Riser and Teras do it. They know their tasks.”

  “You’re supposed to be an arms mage,” said Kalesin as he stepped outside into the hall.

  “That’s true.” Cerryl frowned for a moment. “If I get the task done, no one is going to question whether I drilled lancers. If I don’t succeed, they won’t praise me for drilling them, either.” He nodded to Kalesin. “I’ll expect your report on the sawmills tomorrow. Then, you can start on what we discussed about the wool growers.”

  “Yes, ser.”

  Cerryl walked briskly toward the courtyard, leaving Kalesin in the hallway.

  CLVII

  Cerryl reined up outside the long one-story timbered building and dismounted. Two of the score of lancers did also. While the arms mage disliked the continual guard, he couldn’t argue with Lyasa, Riser, Teras, and Suzdyal about the necessity of the precaution. Not yet, anyway.

  The cold rain continued to fall around him as he stepped under the overhanging eaves that sheltered the crude plank door. Cerryl knocked and waited until the door opened.

  The burly bearded factor stepped back away from the door, back into the long room with the huge vats. “Ser mage… I have done nothing… nothing wrong.” His voice was thinner and higher than Cerryl recalled.

  Beside the second vat stood a younger man, also bearded, watching Cerryl with wide eyes.

  “I know,” Cerryl said gently, not pressing into the building. “Unlike many factors and traders I have encountered in Spidlar. And Certis,” he added with a slight emphasis. “You are an honest man.”

  “Factoring clay and fuller’s earth, one must be honest,” admitted Aliaskar.

  “Might I come in?”

  “Of course.” Aliaskar backed away another few cubits.

  The two lancers followed Cerryl in but stepped to the side.

  The mage blotted the dampness off his forehead, taking in the odor of earth and clay, then looked at the clay factor. “You have noticed that the lancers have not bothered you or the other merchants who have continued to work their businesses?”

  “That is what folk say,” Aliaskar replied cautiously.

  “Have they bothered you?”

  “No, ser mage.”

  “So long as I am here, and so long as you pay any tariffs you may owe, they will not bother you, or any who follow your example.”

  “Those are fair words…”

  “But you doubt them. I would also were I standing where you stand,” Cerryl admitted. “You can choose to believe me or not. Trade is what holds Candar together, and trade travels the seas, the rivers, and the roads. Without good roads, trade is less and more costly. It takes more time to reach those places without river ports or seaports.”

  “That be true, mostly.”

  “Fairhaven built the roads, and many have used them, but many of the wealthier traders of Certis, Spidlar, and Gallos did not wish to pay for their use of the White highways.”

  “I’ve heard that some were not allowed to use those highways.”

  Cerryl frowned, thinking of the lady trader who was apparently the consort of the smith Dorrin. “That also might have been true. I do not think it is so now.” Not if I can do anything about it. “That meant that the traders of Fairhaven paid more and could often not match the prices of traders who did not pay.”

  Aliaskar nodded that he had heard what Cerryl said, not necessarily that he agreed.

  “Yet when the Guild asked these traders of Spidlar and Certis and Gallos to pay tariffs, we were ignored or mocked. We asked again and were ignored. We tried to warn folk without killing many.”

  “Like as the mountains the old wizard raised in Gallos?”

  Cerryl nodded. “That encouraged the prefect of Gallos to ensure we received the tariffs. But not the Traders’ Council of Spidlar. They bought goods cheaply from the Black isle and then used the roads we built to sell those goods without even paying the tariff.” He shrugged. “In the end, we had to fight. We would rather not, and so long as the tariffs are paid there will be no fighting.”

  “Your words make sense, yet many would claim that the tariffs go for luxuries of the White City.”

  Cerryl laughed, harshly. “You can believe me or not, but the High Wizard of Fairhaven lives in one large room at the top of a tower. In Fairhaven, the richest merchant’s dwelling is a quarter part the size of Reylerk’s mansion. Yet we have no beggars, nor do people starve in the streets. You or anyone can travel there and see.” He paused, then added, “I was an orphan apprenticed to a scrivener, and the mages took me in. The mage Lyasa comes from no wealth or position. Nor does the overmage Kinowin.”

  Aliaskar frowned, then studied Cerryl and the lancers. “I do not know. You have done what you said you would do. You have not lied- not that I know. Yet…”

  Cerryl nodded. “I am not asking anything except that you think about what I have said. There is one thing more you should know. I have encouraged some of the larger factors from eastern Candar to come here and to set up their warehouses.” One-so far-but he doesn’t have to know that.

  “You expect them to be more loyal?”

  “No. I expect them to understand that all of eastern Candar must abide by the same tariffs and rules for trade. If this does not occur, in the end Candar will suffer.” Cerryl smiled crookedly. “Of course, that means that the factors can’t line their purses with golds that should have gone to build roads to help traders large and small.”

  “I must think, ser mage,” Aliaskar said.

  “That is all I ask.” Cerryl nodded a last time. “I will trouble you no more.” He inclined his head. “Good day.”

  “Good day, ser mage.”

  As the door closed, Cerryl caught a few words.

  “… most strange, Ziersar.”

  The arms mage hoped so.

  After he walked through the cold drizzle and remounted, Cerryl pulled out his list, studied it, and then replaced it inside the oiled white leather jacket.

  “Viskarl-charcoal factor.” Darkness… how many days will this take? Too many, but he had to convince a good portion of the remaining factors and merchants that he and Fairhaven were halfway human and not White demons, at least not all the time.

  CLVIII

  Cerryl had finally given up and had another chair brought into the study, and both Lyasa and Kalesin sat across the ancient desk from him in the gloom of another gray and cloudy fall morning.

  “We have another twenty golds from tariff collections,” Lyasa announced. “We’re nearing a hundred for this season.”

  “Twenty golds. Sterol will not find that adequate,” prophesied Kalesin. “Nor even five score or ten score. Not after a mere three and a half score for the summer.”

  “He won’t,” Cerryl agreed amiably. “But another coaster from Suthya entered the harbor yesterday, and Tyldar told me that yet another was sailing here out of Quend.”

  “Still…” murmured Kalesin.

  Gloomy as Kalesin was, Cerryl knew the stocky mage was right Both Sterol and Anya would find his performance inadequate. They probably already had and doubtless would have sent his replacement, save for the fact that there wasn’t anyone any better to send. Not yet.

  “Another coaster will help,” Lyasa said.

  Now… if Lay el would only arrive-or send someone-or Wertel. “A full trader from Hamor or Sarronnyn would help more,” Cerryl admitted. “But we have more than half the fall remaining.”

  Thrap!

  “Come in.”

  Subofficer Suzdyal peered in, holding a pair of scrolls. “For you, ser.”

  “Thank you.” Cerryl rose.

  Lyasa took them and handed them to him. Kalesin eyed the scroll with the crimson ribbons speculatively.

  Cerryl ignored the look. “I haven’t seen your wool factor report.”

  “I have two other factors to visit.”
<
br />   “Perhaps you should.”

  “One remains in Kleth.”

  “Then visit the first and complete the report. The other might remain in Kleth for seasons.”

  “Let us go, Kalesin.” Lyasa rose from her chair. “The arms mage has much to do, and so do we. I do, I know.”

  After the two mages had left, Cerryl eased open the first scroll, glad that Teras or Hiser had made sure it came directly to him. The High Wizard’s seal crumbled away, as though it had been invested with far too much chaos.

  Cerryl, greetings-

  The three-and-a-half-score golds which you sent were, the Council finds, most disappointing for one of your skills. As arms mage of Spidlar you are expected to regain all those golds unpaid by the traitors…

  Cerryl wanted to grit his teeth. Four parts out of five of the old traders’ fortunes had been taken by Jeslek and sent to Fairhaven even before Eliasar had taken over from Jeslek. By the time Cerryl had arrived, every stray gold had fled or been hidden who knew where. He forced himself to continue reading.

  … greater efforts will be required in Hydlen, and Spidlar must be brought into line and speedily, so that at least half of the lancers there can be returned to Fairhaven and mustered for the spring campaigns…

  Campaigns? In Haydlen and where else?

  We look forward to at least a thousand golds before the turn of the year… Our wishes and those of the Council for your success in carrying out your duties…

  The scroll was not even signed by Sterol but by Anya, “at the direction of the High Wizard, His Mightiness Sterol.”

  “His Mightiness?” Cerryl took a deep breath. What did Sterol expect? Or Anya? It had taken over two years to destroy Spidlar, and now the High Wizard expected great flows of golds in less than two full seasons? After Jeslek had plundered the great fortunes? Except for that onetime rape of Spidlar, Cerryl doubted Fairhaven had ever collected 4,000 golds in a year from Spidlar-or a thousand in a full year. That was the problem, though.