He took a deep breath, trying to relax. ‘
The Great White Highway seemed endless, and they had yet to reach the base of the Easthorns.
LXXXIX
Cerryl wrapped the heavy white leather jacket around him, and stood in the stirrups to try to warm up his legs. In the early morning, his breath puffed out like a cloud. Although the sky was clear and it was well past dawn, the sun had yet to clear the eastern edge of the gorge through which the Great Highway ran.
The sound of hoofs echoed through the stillness, stillness broken abruptly by the shrill ye-aah! of a vulcrow that flapped off a dead pine limb and into the middle of the artificial canyon that contained the highway.
“Amazing,” murmured Kochar, a smile upon his face, as if the cold bothered him not in the slightest.
Cerryl ignored the redhead’s comment and settled back into the saddle, rubbing one thigh, then switching the reins to his left hand and rubbing the other. The chestnut whuffed once.
In places, the gray stone of the cliffs seemed to have been peeled away as if by a mighty knife. Cerryl nodded to himself. Even he could sense the residual chaos of that effort of centuries past.
To the left of and below the wall separating the highway from the lower section of the gorge was a stream of cold and tumbling water, violent enough even in harvest season that light spray occasionally cloaked Cerryl and the chestnut, spray that felt like ice. Small patches of ice had formed during the night on the stones next to the wall, where the late afternoon sun had cast shadows the day before.
“Amazing…” mumbled Kochar once more.
“The cold or the highway?” Lyasa’s voice was sharp.
“The highway. It is made of order, yet formed by chaos…”
Even Cerryl understood that whatever was built lasted longer with greater order. Chaos had great power, but it was the power of destruction. The great whites of the past had cut the granite with chaos, but the masons had joined the stones with skill and order. While the slope of the pavement was gradual, it was continuous, and the ancient stones still held flush.
Cerryl could sense some areas of greater residual chaos, places where he suspected the highway had been repaired-or rocks that had fallen from the cliffs had been removed.
“The Guild maintains it by chaos,” said Lyasa. “Fine, but I’m still cold. I’m from Worrak. It’s not this cold in midwinter even in the Lower Easthorns.”
“Gallos will be colder than Certis,” said Fydel, turning in his saddle. “It is past the peak of harvest there-in the north where Fenard is. That’s because it’s between the Easthorns and the Westhorns.”
“Even young Cerryl knows that,” said Anya. “He created a most accurate map.”
“He doubtless needed to,” said Fydel.
“Fydel.” Anya’s voice was as cold as the ice beside the stone highway wall.
Fydel turned abruptly, his eyes on Jeslek’s back.
Lyasa coughed.
Cerryl glanced at her, catching her mouthed words: “Watch out…”
He nodded, understanding all too well. If Anya happened to be too interested in him, he needed to be careful-most careful. “It should get warmer once the sun hits the road.”
“I hope so,” answered Lyasa.
“Amazing,” whispered Kochar to himself.
Cerryl shook his head, trying to ignore the chill in his thighs and his frozen ears, hoping Anya would confine her overt attentions to others.
XC
Cerryl swayed in the saddle as the chestnut carried him up the winding trail away from the Great White Highway. Ahead rode Jeslek and the other mages, and behind followed the students, with the line of lancers stretched out after them on the narrow mountain trail for hundreds and hundreds of cubits.
A light layer of fresh-fallen snow covered the rocks and mountain grasses between the scattered junipers and low pines, but the sunlight had been strong enough to melt the snow off the trees-at least on the sunny side. The chestnut carried Cerryl by a pine leaning over the trail so low that he had to duck, a pine so twisted and buffeted by the mountain winds until only the limbs on the southern side had retained needles.
Although there was still some snow on the trail before Cerryl, he had no doubt that the way behind him was rapidly becoming sloppy, since the lancers’ mounts would churn damp earth and clay and snow into cold mud. He hoped Jeslek had another way back. He took a deep breath, but the midday was warm enough that he didn’t puff a cloud of white when he exhaled.
Lyasa rode before Cerryl and Kochar behind him. Jeslek disappeared as his dusky-white mount carried him out of sight and down from the ridgetop that Cerryl’s and Lyasa’s mounts still climbed.
Cerryl sniffed the breeze, detecting a faint odor of brimstone that strengthened as the gelding carried him over the ridge and downward. Below, in the small valley steamed a small lake, surrounded by greenish blue ponds, from which also rose steam.
“Here lies the key to our future in Gallos.” From where he had reined up his mount on a hillock overlooking the lake and hot springs, Jeslek gestured toward them.
Cerryl had to work to keep from wrinkling his nose at the odor of brimstone. He glanced over his shoulder, back along the winding trail.
“Smells,” murmured Kochar, reining up beside Cerryl and Lyasa.
“Of course it does. It’s a chaos spring,” answered Lyasa from where she had reined up beside Cerryl.
“Chaos spring?” asked Kochar, brushing ice crystals off his red hair.
“The water flows up from where chaos has gathered closer to the top of the ground. Haven’t you read your books?”
“Oh… yes… I never thought of that here.” Kochar bobbed his head.
According to Colors of White, the entire center of the world was filled with chaos, just like the sun. Cerryl nodded to himself as he recalled what he had read. It made sense that some of that chaos might be closer to the surface of the ground.
“Cerryl,” Jeslek called, “you should be able to trace the fire of chaos that feeds the springs. You also, Lyasa.”
“Yes, ser.” Cerryl straightened himself in the saddle, trying to ignore the chill that burrowed through the white leather jacket as he attempted to let his senses flow into the rock and heat beneath the ground.
“And, Kochar… try to follow what they’re doing.”
“Yes, ser.”
Cerryl let his senses flow across the small pond less than fifty cubits downhill, picking up a diffuse and wavering line of… something. Letting his senses follow the unseen reddish white line, he could feel a darker and deeper whiteness that oozed around the rocks below the pond, and beneath the greenish blue of the larger lake to the west.
Another probe-one more like a huge battering ram-rumbled by his and arrowed toward the depths. Cerryl felt like a fly brushed aside by a diving vulcrow, shivering as he sat astride the chestnut.
Kochar shook like a gray winter leaf in a gale. Even Lyasa swallowed.
Cerryl wiped his forehead, suddenly damp despite the chill. Beneath him, he could sense Jeslek’s powers rearranging the vague patterns of darkness and reddish chaos that lay beneath the earth rearranging them so that a fountain of reddish white bubbled through the spaces between the rocks and oozed up underneath the spring to the south of the lake.
The ground trembled again.
From his mount Jeslek smiled… smiled as steam geysered from the spring into a plume that rose nearly a hundred cubits into the green-blue sky of Candar.
Rain, hot rain, cascaded down across the greenish blue lake, and then droplets fell on Cerryl and the others, and even on the lancers farther up the trail.
“That! That is but the beginning,” said Jeslek as the plume subsided into a three-cubit-high fountain of boiling water. “How…” murmured Kochar under his breath. Beside Jeslek, overcaptain Klybel’s eyebrows rose momentarily. Jeslek smiled. “You all doubt, but there will be no doubt. The very earth will break Gallos, and you will see.” His hand jabbed at Anya and
Fydel. “Put down your shields and protect the ground beneath you. For I will lift the chaos under you and fry you if you do not.”
“Jeslek…” Anya’s voice was calm.
“I will do this, and you cannot stop me. Even Sterol could not. Now… do as I say.”
“As you wish, overmage,” conceded Anya. “As you wish,” echoed Fydel.
Cerryl watched with eyes and senses as the unseen darkness concentrated in the rocks beneath the two full mages and as the reddish whiteness rose from the depths, rose and spread around them-one tendril seemingly drifting sideways, uphill toward the stone underneath the students.
Without a word, Cerryl began to create his own shields. As he did, he could feel another presence beneath the ground, and his eyes went sideways. Lyasa nodded. Neither spoke.
A sense of heat built up around him, and the chestnut gelding sidestepped, tossing his head slightly and whuffing twice. Cerryl absently patted his mount’s neck. “Easy… easy.”
Trying to hold an order shield was never easy, and doing so on horseback while the earth rumbled was even more difficult, but Cerryl had no doubts that Jeslek was either testing them-or trying to set up an “accident” to remove one student mage. Either way, it didn’t matter.
He focused on channeling order around them and chaos back toward the massive concentration that Jeslek raised from deep beneath the ground, so far down that Cerryl could not even sense from where Jeslek gathered such forces.
Rrrrrrrrrr…
The chestnut whickered and tossed his head, stepping sideways once more, toward Anya’s mount, a black mare that bared her teeth at the gelding.
“Easy…” murmured Cerryl. “Easy.”
“Darkness…” whispered Kochar. “Darkness on us all.”
“Chaos, more likely,” replied Lyasa tartly. “Keep working on your shields if you don’t want to roast.”
Slowly, the underground chaos concentration shifted westward, away from the lake, and the fountain in the spring dropped to mere seething bubbles, even as the concentration itself swelled. Cerryl’s head was throbbing, yet he dared not release the shields, not with all the power raised by Jeslek.
He darted a glance sideways, catching sight of sweat streaming down Lyasa’s face, and a grim expression on Anya’s more distant face.
Gurrrr… rrrrr…
Cerryl’s mouth opened as the ground trembled, and then trembled again. His eyes went beyond the immediate hillside to the west of the lake toward the lands of Gallos-except a line of hills seemed to be rising more than a kay away. Were they actually rising? Rising above the once-higher nearer hills?
He swallowed. The ground was rising, and steam billowed from cracks in the rocks wide enough to swallow a mount and rider.
His senses went full back to the shields, now an intertwined effort of both full mages and the three students. The more distant line of hills continued to rise, and the ground around the lake began to ripple ever so slightly.
Another geyser spurted skyward from the center of the lake below, then collapsed as suddenly as it had risen. A sickening, sucking gulp followed, with a curtain of steam clouding the lake momentarily. More hot rain cascaded around Cerryl, then dispersed, as did the mist, to show an empty and steaming lake bed-rent by a fissure a half-dozen cubits wide.
Still the hills to the west continued to rise, groaning, trembling, thrust up skyward by the welling of chaos from beneath, that chaos loosed and chevied earthward by the overmage.
Jeslek and his mount were like a statue, a statue frozen by the power of the forces welling from and around the white-clad and white-haired mage.
Rivulets began to gurgle down the hillside to the north of Cerryl rivulets formed from the quick-melted snow. The ground rumbled once more, and to the south, the misted hills lurched upward.
Cerryl drew from the chaos that flowed away from the central tap drew and channeled it around him and the others, funneling it back toward the overmage in an effort to push chaos away from the order shield that he and the others-mostly Anya and Lyasa-held.
The Highway trembled ever so slightly, as the hills to the north of them shuddered upward, as chaos and steam twisted together and wreathed the new mountains-to-be.
The late afternoon sun was almost touching the tops of those steam-shrouded hills before the shaking of the earth subsided to a mere grumbling.
Cerryl’s head ached, and stars flashed before his eyes, half from the effort of holding shields and half from struggling with his mount. Not that he blamed the chestnut, not as scared as he had been, wondering whether he would see another sunrise.
“Eat something from your pack, you idiot,” hissed Lyasa, “before you fall out of your saddle.” Her face was pale.
“You better do the same,” he answered in a raspy voice, grasping for the small ration pack.
The hard cheese and dried bread helped-after he moistened his mouth and lips enough to be able to swallow. The. flashing stars before his eyes slowly vanished, but he was conscious of being light-headed, and the food didn’t remove that sensation.
Jeslek, who had remained almost like a statue, abruptly turned his mount as though no time at all had passed. “You see, Anya, Fydel- it’s not all that difficult to raise chaos through the ground, and mountains with it. Still… we must protect the highway-and that will be your task-and that of the students.” Jeslek’s sun-gold eyes flashed at the three younger mages. “For a first try, your shields were not bad, but you’ll all have to do better than that.” Jeslek turned to Klybel. “Now, overcaptain, let’s return to the Highway. We will proceed into Gallos.”
“He’s not going to raise more mountains, is he?” asked Kochar.
Both Lyasa and Cerryl stared at the redhead.
Kochar swallowed and looked down at his mount’s neck and mane.
Cerryl glanced around. To the north and east, all seemed as it had been, but to the west… low mountains that had not been there before stretched a dozen kays or more toward the horizon.
Yet, the Great White Highway remained-untouched, if dwarfed by the new heights.
Had Jeslek called forth chaos-and shielded the highway? Why? With such power, surely he could have used the stuff of chaos to cut a new passage through the uprisen rock. Cerryl scratched his head, aware suddenly that his face felt flushed, almost burned.
Then… was not chaos like the light of the sun? He glanced at Lyasa as she turned her mount. The black-haired student’s face seemed more olive-tanned than before. Kochar’s cheeks and forehead were bright red.
Cerryl turned the chestnut, aware that his thighs were close to cramping once again.
“Back to the Highway!” Klybel’s order rang out over the hissing created by steaming rocks and the places where the meltwater ran into the heated lake bottom and spring.
Standing momentarily in the stirrups helped relieve the incipient cramping, but Cerryl was all too aware of the stiffness and soreness that would not be relieved.
XCI
In the dimness, away from the cookfire, Cerryl pulled off his white leather boots, coated in chaos dust but free from mud, and stretched out on his bedroll, his eyes on the white silk tent where Jeslek reclined on a cot. “Ohhhh… darkness…”
To the east, a faint glow lighted the horizon, the red-limned light from the scattered lines of molten rock that had burst from the ground with the hills Jeslek had raised into small mountains.
Cerryl took another long breath.
“Even the ground feels better than a saddle,” Lyasa said wryly.
“It’s hard,” complained Kochar, sitting disconsolately on his bedroll, his boots still on. “Too hard to sleep on.”
“Try it,” suggested Lyasa.
“I’m going back to the fire. I’m cold.” Kochar stood and ambled back in the direction of the silk tent, its white sides an orange from the light of the slowly dying cookfire.
The rustling murmur of lancers preparing their bedrolls and the muted talking they did conveyed a sense of the summ
er that had already passed in Gallos, a sense of summer dispersed by the chill breeze out of the northwest, a breeze bringing the odor of damp and decaying grass.
Lyasa eased her bedroll closer to Cerryl’s, then removed her boots and pulled her blanket up to her shoulders. “This way we can talk, and no one will think anything.”
I’m sure they’ll think something. “I doubt that.” Cerryl shivered, despite his double blankets. Feeling guilty, he eased the edge of the top blanket over Lyasa.
“That’s even better. And warmer.” The black-haired woman laughed softly. With her lips less than a span from Cerryl’s face, the laugh tickled his left ear. “They will think but of two apprentices taking comfort where they may. Jeslek and Anya both are used to such, as both couple like hares, given the chance.”
“You know this?”
“I have been spared, saved only that I am beneath him. None are beneath Anya, not if it will serve her.”
“I know.” Cerryl thought of poor Faltar, who saw nothing but Anya’s beauty and wonderful and false smile. “I know.” After a moment, he added, “Why are you telling me this?”
“Who else dare I tell? I am a student mage also, and any full mage who wishes me… I cannot leave…”
Cerryl’s throat tightened. “I’m sorry. I didn’t… I thought I was the only one… like that.”
Lyasa offered another soft laugh, half-sweet, half-bitter. “I know that as well. We are alike, you because you have no family, and I because I am a woman with a talent for chaos. As for you…” Lyasa’s voice held a regretful shrug. “I was wrong. I would be your friend. I would always be your friend, and I will give you my body, if you wish it.”
“I do not understand. I have not asked…” Cerryl swallowed.
“No. Nor will you, and you and I both know the reason.”
Cerryl was afraid he did. Leyladin. Yet he had never done more than speak with the green-eyed gray mage. “You said…”
The White Order Page 39