Colors of Chaos

CXIII

IN THE PRIVATE study, empty while he waited for Teras, Cerryl stood over the conference table and concentrated. The silver mists of the glass swirled, then parted.

Leyladin stood in the corner of the front foyer of the Halls of the Mages in Fairhaven. With her was the dark-haired Lyasa, and the two talked, apparently quietly, for there were few gestures. Abruptly Leyladin turned her head slightly and smiled but for an instant, and Cerryl knew she had sensed his presence through the glass. Lyasa raised her eyebrows, also momentarily, and Cerryl released the image.

He left the mirror glass on the table and walked through the archway from the small study into the front sitting room and up to the window, where he opened the shutter. Cold welled off the cloudy panes, intense cold, for all that little snow had fallen upon Elparta in the past eight-day.

The avenue beyond the front wall and the personal and carriage gates was empty for the moment. Cerryl shivered, though he was not cold, thinking of the lancers who had been disciplined and the villagers who worked for a few coppers-conscripted in effect-on restoring the walls and gates of Elparta.

One instant Elparta had been a functioning city on the river, the next a ruin. Why? Because rulers disagreed…because the Guild insisted on existing and because people like Rystryr and Syrma and Estalin wanted golds more than prosperity for their people. And what of Anya and Jeslek? Are they any different, save that they seek power? Or the traders like Jiolt and Muneat?

Cerryl snorted to himself. “The snare of power is that you think you do it for prosperity for all when it is for your own benefit.”

“Ser?” asked the lancer standing inside the foyer.

“Nothing. A mage musing to himself.” As if it mattered, as if you will ever have that kind of power. He shook his head. You’re deceiving yourself. You have power, if not so much as a Jeslek. Still, he was having trouble with the limited power he had. He was trying to rebuild a city and keep order, and the lancers-at least some of them-hated him and the locals hated him because he represented Fairhaven.

And none of them really even understood Fairhaven. You think that’s surprising? Half the Guild doesn’t.

Teras stamped inside the front foyer, then closed the carved dark wooden door behind him. “Sorry being so slow, ser.”

“That’s all right.” Cerryl waited until the big lancer hung his riding jacket on one of the pegs in the foyer, then turned and walked back to the study, sitting at one of the chairs beside the conference table. He gestured for Teras to sit down as the captain passed through the archway from the sitting room.

“Thank you, ser.” Teras kept his eyes on Cerryl as he seated himself carefully, gingerly, as if he feared the chair might break under him.

“How are the quarters’ houses faring in the cold?”

“About the same as barracks anywhere. Warmer than outside and colder than most would like, except for those raised in the hills, and they say it’s too hot.” Teras offered a rueful grin.

Cerryl nodded. “How are they finding the food?”

Teras shrugged. “They complain, but they know you eat what they eat. That suits them.”

The captain had not mentioned Fydel, and Cerryl decided against bringing that question up. Fydel was using coins gained somewhere to improve the fare served at his private table, and all the officers knew that.

“It’s plain,” Cerryl said with a laugh. “I’m trying to get some dried fruit and nuts and more cheese, and coins to buy more eggs from the locals.”

“You cannot take eggs from a peasant.” Teras laughed.

Not when you couldn’t even find the chickens, you couldn’t, reflected Cerryl. “Teras? Why do you think we’re here? In Elparta?”

“That’d not be wise of a captain to guess at the reasons of the High Wizards, ser. Begging your pardon.” A grim smile crossed the hulking lancer’s face, and Cerryl understood, again, why Teras remained a captain and would always remain a captain.

“I understand.” In turn, Cerryl smiled. “From your viewpoint as a captain of lancers, after the work crews finish repairing the river walls, what should they do next?”

“Clear all the streets that yet have rubble in them. Let the locals repair dwellings as they wish or choose not to. Then if, as you say, the Guild and the lancers need to maintain a garrison here, we should have the workers build a proper barracks and stables. By the south gate, I would judge.”

“That may have to wait until after spring. I was charged with having the piers and the river wall repaired first, and work on the wall is slow,” Cerryl answered. “If I accompany the High Wizard in the spring, I will suggest the barracks to him.”

Teras nodded, as if he expected no more.

Cerryl almost frowned. Was that the answer? Spread out the members of the Guild so that their presence was accepted and understood-and backed with lancers as necessary? He wanted to laugh. While it might work, who would listen to him? All the powerful mages wanted to be in Fairhaven, where the prestige and the power seemed to lie. Is it that way in all lands?

He forced his attention back to the lancer captain and on learning what else he needed to know.