“I do understand. The time to act will come. That is why you and Kinowin will explain to the Guild at the next meeting why we are not recalling any of the White Lancers or mages from Spidlar.”
Redark frowned. “We are not? They have been there for near on four years. They should be gathered for the attack on Recluce.”
Cerryl forced a broader and more winning smile, then nodded toward Kinowin. “I am but following the path laid out by my esteemed predecessors and by you and Kinowin. All of you foresaw the need for Fairhaven to gain control of the northern traders. That was to assure that the shipping tariffs and the surtax were paid. I continue to defer to your expertise. We have, of course, finally managed to do something about Tyrhavven, so that the viscount has not been able to use that port and the Sligan traders to evade his tariff responsibilities, as he once did. But Rystryr will not continue to pay those duties unless we keep the lancers to support Heralt and his assistants.”
“Ah… I had talked with young Anya,” Redark went on in a modulated voice. “She is of the opinion that Recluce remains the greatest danger facing the Guild.”
“She is indeed quite knowledgeable,” Cerryl said smoothly. “She continues to be most concerned about Recluce and the threat which the Black Isle poses.”
“As are we all,” Cerryl agreed.
“There are a number of mages who feel this must be addressed above all,” Redark continued, leaning forward. “I fear you do not appreciate the intensity of feeling.”
An amused smile flitted across Kinowin’s face, vanishing before Re-dark straightened to await Cerryl’s response.
“I understand that, and we are working on plans to do so. This effort to gain greater control of trade is part of that plan. It will enable us to raise the resources to deal with Recluce.”
“Would you be so kind as to explain, ser?” Redark’s brow furrowed. “I had thought Sterol and Jeslek would have been more forthcoming,” Cerryl said, “but they had much with which to occupy their talents. We now have nearly a score of ships upon the Northern and Eastern Oceans, enforcing the tariff rules. Is that not so?”
“Ah… somewhat slightly less than that.”
“And if we remove these ships and place them in a fleet to attack Recluce? What happens to the golds we have been collecting?”
“Ah… are you suggesting that they might not be collected? That they would defy the High Wizard?”
“I have noticed that in the past the Guild has had trouble collecting golds anywhere that we did not have several mages and detachments of lancers. That was true even when Jeslek was High Wizard, and he was the most powerful chaos wielder in many generations.” Cerryl smiled apologetically. “I cannot see why that would change unless we changed something else.”
“What do you propose changing?” Kinowin asked, as if to forestall any objection Redark might have.
“By using friendly traders, detachments of lancers, and junior mages with knowledge to ensure all ships that port in Eastern Candar pay their just tariffs, we have begun to do two things. You see that, of course.” Cerryl favored the ginger-bearded overmage with a smile. “We can free the older and more experienced mages for service against Recluce, and we can free the ships we have been using to enforce the tariffs for an action to blockade Recluce itself, to strike at the heart of the problem.”
Redark frowned.
“But… you know all this.” Cerryl smiled. “It has taken me some time and study to comprehend the brilliance of what you all had devised, and for that I beg your indulgence. I am now working to complete the plan so that we may have enough warships free of tariff-collecting duties to assemble a true fleet.”
“How long might this take?”
“I doubt that any would wish to serve on the ships of a fleet too small for the task at hand. Still, I would suspect that we should be ready to assemble a fleet by summer’s end.”
“Might I tell Anya of this?”
Cerryl forced a cold and bright smile. “It might be best if Anya were to speak to me directly. I would hate to have something I said taken falsely, and so would you, Overmage.” He paused. “Would you not?”
“Ah… yes. I can see that.” Redark did not quite stammer. “What might I convey, then?”
“That I share your concerns, and hers, and that I look forward to meeting with her about just those concerns.” Cerryl rose, to signify the end of the meeting.
“Might I trouble you for a personal matter, ser?” asked Kinowin quietly. His eyes went to Redark.
“By your leave?” said the younger overmage.
“By my leave. If you have other thoughts on how we might speed the assembly against Recluce, I would be most glad to hear them over the next eight-day or so.” Cerryl fingered his chin as if thinking. “Oh… you might tell Anya that I am working on something, but that I said she should hear it from me, given her interest and expertise.”
“Ah… that I will.”
Cerryl maintained the smile until the white oak door shut.
“You are getting dangerous, Cerryl.” Kinowin shook his head. “But words won’t stop Anya and the older mages who wish to sit in Fairhaven and collect their stipends.”
“I know.” Cerryl’s voice was bleak. “I know.”
“You also play a dangerous game in admitting to an attack on Recluce. Even Sterol knew such would be foredoomed.”
“The attack will fail,” Cerryl admitted, “no matter how many ships are used.” The crooked smile that he found coming more often appeared. “That is why the fleet must carry some of the more experienced and older mages.”
“That, too, might be fraught with risk.”
“Life is fraught with risk.” Cerryl shrugged. “I am but a young High Wizard who will do his poor best to restore the luster of the Guild.”
“You’d better practice the humility more,” Kinowin suggested.
They both laughed.
CLXXIII
Cerryl looked at the weaver. The man’s lined face was haggard, and two children looked up from the corner beyond the floor loom. Despite the open shutters, little breeze flowed into the hot room.
“I’ve come to pay a debt,” the mage said.
“I do not recall, ser.” The man kept his eyes downcast, away from the mage’s whites and away from the golden amulet that hung around Cerryl’s neck.
“Are you the consort of Pattera?” asked Cerryl gently.
“She is dead, honored ser.”
“I had heard.” Cerryl extended the leather purse. “Once, when we were children,” he lied, “she gave me what coin she had, and those coins made all the difference. I’ve been away, and I would that I could have repaid her. These are for her children.”
The man looked up, warily, not taking the purse.
“I have not seen her in years,” said Cerryl, setting the purse on the edge of the worktable, “but a White mage must pay his debts, for better or worse. I would that I could have repaid this debt earlier. Much earlier.” And in person…
“Who might you be, honored ser?” asked the weaver, his voice barely audible.
“My name is Cerryl. I was once an apprentice to Tellis the scrivener, when Pattera and her sister lived off the Square of the Artisans.”
“You are among the mighty…”
“And I bother to repay a debt?” Cerryl shook his head. “This acknowledges the debt. I owed Pattera that debt, and that can never be repaid.” He paused, studying the single hanging on the wall, a small rug of red and green. “Did you do that?”
“Yes, ser.”
“Could you do one in white, purple, and some shades of blue and maroon? With the same type of design?”
“I could, ser.”
“How much?”
“I could not charge a high mage…”
“You cannot afford not to charge one.” Cerryl gave a short laugh. “What would you get for that one?”
“Two silvers, ser.”
Cerryl could sense the truth of the answer. “Fine.
” He fumbled in his belt wallet before extracting a gold and extending it. “I would like a hanging like the one on the wall, with the finest wool you can obtain here in Fairhaven, in purple, maroon, white, and blue. The most striking color should be the purple.”
The weaver swallowed.
“It is to repay in small part another debt.” The High Wizard nodded. “In three eight-days?”
“Yes, ser… Your Mightiness. It will be ready. Yes, ser.”
“Thank you.” You still have to find a way to repay the debt to Brental and Dylert… somehow. After a nod, Cerryl walked out to the waiting lancers, his eyes and senses scanning the area. Will you ever be able to walk or ride the streets of Fairhaven openly without a guard?
He swallowed, wishing he had been able to find Pattera earlier, wishing… “What use is wishing?”
“Ser?” asked the lancer subofficer who held the reins to Cerryl’s mount.
“Nothing. Just the musings of a mage.” One who continues to find that not all dreams are quite what he dreamed they would be.
CLXXIV
Redark suggested that I should see you, Cerryl, dear, and here I am.“ Anya brushed back a strand of near-perfect red hair as she settled down across the round table. ”Would you pour me some of the wine?“
“I would be most happy to.” Cerryl filled her goblet half-full but set that pitcher down and refilled his own with water.
“You know, your wine does not turn so quickly as did Jeslek’s.” With her words drifted the heavy scent of sandalwood.
“I have less chaos to swirl about me.” Cerryl shrugged. “I suspect it makes a difference.”
“Almost a season has passed, and you have made no moves against the Blacks or against that smith who cost us so dearly.” Anya’s voice was level, not quite throaty, as she looked across the table at Cerryl. “And you sent a message through Redark, rather than to me.”
“I am sure you understand, Anya. Redark is one of the overmages. Would you like to be one?”
“Overmage… that does sound intriguing. I will have to keep that in mind, dear Cerryl. After you keep your promise to deal with the Black Isle.”
“What would you suggest?” Cerryl’s tone was mild, inquisitive. He looked toward the tower window that was but ajar, observing the painted wooden rose that did not move with the cool breeze that passed it.
“You cannot let such acts go unpunished, you know.”
“We razed Diev, and neither the city nor the harbor remains. The old cities of Kleth and Elparta are no more but rebuilt as we wished. Spidlaria does whatever we wish-willingly. In the last year, we have added another half-dozen ships to the trade blockade of Recluce.” The High Wizard smiled politely.
“Sterol did much for the blockade.”
“I have released ships from station off Spidlaria to assist those in the Eastern Ocean.”
“So you have, dear Cerryl.” Anya took a languid sip of wine. “So you have.”
“I take it you believe that more should be done?”
“You are so unfailingly polite and attentive, Cerryl. It’s one of your charms.”
“I am so glad you find it so. Are you suggesting that an expedition against the Black Isle or at least Southpoint is in order? A fleet, perhaps a firing of the new city being built by the smith?”
“It is so refreshing not to have to outline the details. Sterol was so dense about it.”
“I know.” Cerryl’s voice was dry. “Would you like me to propose this officially in the next Guild meeting and appoint you to develop the plan-under my direction, of course?”
“Of course.” Anya leaned forward and touched his cheek. “You are so understanding, Cerryl. So understanding.”
“We do try, Anya. We do try.”
“You will need a good commander.” Anya smiled again. “I would do it, but you know how sailors feel about women on board their ships. So I will have to do what I can from Fairhaven.”
“You have done a great deal already.” Cerryl temporized.
“The only thing… Cerryl…”
“Yes?”
“It would have been nice to tell me first.”
The High Wizard returned her smile with one equally false. “I did, Anya. Neither Redark nor Kinowin knows the details we have just discussed. After all, I had thought it would be something you would be most interested in, and I would not have wished to discuss details with another first.”
“You do so understand, Cerryl. My friends will be pleased.” She took another sip of the wine. “All my many friends in the Guild.”
“I would hope so. I would also hope that they-and your friends among the traders-understand such expeditions do require golds for their support.”
The flicker of a frown crossed Anya’s face at the mention of traders but vanished nearly instantly. “Golds-golds are gone tomorrow. No one will recall how you gathered the golds, Cerryl. They will remember but what you did with them.” Anya rose. “I will not trouble you longer.”
Not at the moment. Cerryl stood.
After the redhead had departed, he turned back to the window, studying the White City. Was it always that way? No one considered the cost laid on the laborer, the crafter, or the factor-or the men and women who died-just the great and glorious deeds, where all who took part were either great heroes or equally great villains. “Of course… people change but little.”
The heavy tower door opened, then closed after Leyladin slipped inside.
“I can smell your friend. I would have come earlier, but I wanted to retain what I’d eaten.”
“I’ve had only water,” Cerryl said.
“I can stand her less and less.” Leyladin’s lips were tight.
“I know.” Cerryl sighed. “I know. I’m doing the best I can.”
“Are you putting her on the flagship?”
“She’s made it clear that she won’t go and that her many friends support her in that. I’ll put Fydel there and a few supporters on the other ships. If I could put Disarj there as well, or…”
“It would have been better if she went,” Leyladin said, “but, as you always say, you can do what you can do and no more.”
“That doesn’t mean I do not hope for more.”
“Myral did, and much good it did him.” Her tight expression softened. “Though you have already done more than he had wished.”
“Less, I think.”
“You will… once you can deal with Anya.” The healer took Cerryl’s hands, squeezing them gently with cool fingers.
If I can deal with Anya and her many supporters…
CLXXV
In the late-summer twilight, Cerryl walked quietly along the Avenue, his form half-shielded by the blur screen, a slight headache remaining from the afternoon thundershower. At the steps to The Golden Ram, he turned and entered the inn, slipping along the wall and up the steps to the second level of The Golden Ram and through the half-ajar door into a private room.
Five mages sat around the table, two on each side of Anya, the space across from her empty.
Anya frowned. “I thought I heard someone.”
The four men glanced around, their eyes sliding across Cerryl as though he were not there.
“Close the door.”
A thin-faced and brown - goateed mage rose quickly to comply.
Cerryl smiled to himself. Always someone else is there to do her bidding. Cloaked and blurred in the shadows, he listened.
“We have to act soon. The High Wizard-the younger mages claim he is everywhere and that he must be older and wiser than he is, that he hides his true appearance.”
“Zurchak… Zurchak…” Anya shook her head disapprovingly. “Do not believe every word you hear on the wind. The High Wizard has but two strengths, and both are formidable. He can raise shields strong enough to stop any order or chaos forces known to any but perhaps the great Jeslek. He also can sense where the golds and silvers flow. Other than those traits; he is a normal mage. He does not drift through walls. He does
not hear his name murmured on the wind. For darkness’ sake, he sleeps with a Black healer, and he could scarce do that if he bore mighty chaos within him.”
In his cloaked and shadowed corner, Cerryl nodded to himself.
“Cerryl the cautious. He does nothing unless he has calculated and planned.”
“Caution is not always without merit, Muerchal,” observed Anya, the tip of her tongue touching her lips after she spoke. “He is High Wizard, and the Guild has more golds than when he took the amulet.”
“Golds… golds are not glory. They don’t bring the Guild or us power or respect.” Muerchal snorted.
“They do pay our stipends,” added the goateed mage. “There is much to be said for that.”
“If Cerryl the cautious were bolder, the Guild would be more greatly respected, and the golds would flow in,” retorted Muerchal.
“Perhaps… perhaps when you are High Wizard, you can make that happen,” suggested Anya, smiling broadly.
“I will. Even as overmage, I could do more than doddering old Kinowin or Redark the repeater.”
“Muerchal-you talk so much now, but when you get in the chamber we won’t hear so much as a whisper.”
“You will. You will, Aalkiron.”
“We’ll see.” The goateed Aalkiron snickered.
“What about you, Aalkiron?”
“I’ll leave the words to you, Muerchal.”
“Enough… enough,” Anya said. “The High Wizard has promised that there will be an attack upon Recluce. Should he fail to address that, we must question his resolve.”
“He will address it, at great length, and with many words,” suggested Zurchak. “If the words mean anything new, that is another question.”
Cerryl’s unseen smile was crooked. Your time is getting short, shorter than you would like.
“Others-older mages-will listen with care as well,” Anya replied. “They have been more patient, but they will take it amiss if nothing definite is promised.”
“They will take it amiss?” Muerchal laughed. “And then what? Will they ask for more and more words?”
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