Colors of Chaos

CXXV

AFTER RUBBING DOWN the gelding, Cerryl walked slowly to the canvas awning-not really a full tent-under which the wounded lay. Leyladin was bending over another lancer he did not recognize. Even from where Cerryl stood a dozen cubits away, the light of the low afternoon sun on his back, he could sense the order she mustered.

He wanted to tell her that she couldn’t heal them all. No healer could. Instead, he waited until she straightened.

She walked toward him as if she had sensed him, a gentle smile in place. “I felt you riding in.”

“You felt me?”

“If you can find me in a glass, can’t I sense you when you’re near?”

He reached out and squeezed her hand. “I’m supposed to meet with Jeslek and the others…”

“The other Whites?” Her eyebrows lifted in a query.

“That’s not my choice.”

“I know. Sometimes, it’s hard.” Her eyes swept the area under the awning.

“Because we create death and you attempt to heal?”

“No.” The blonde cocked her head slightly to the side. “The Blacks are killing more than we are right now. The Guild needs order as much as chaos, and the old parts of Colors of White-they don’t say it in quite that way, but it’s there. These days, with Recluce the enemy…”

“No one seems to understand that order also belongs in Fairhaven…” Cerryl’s eyes flicked toward the white silk tent set on a level grassy bench farther down the slope toward the gray water of the River Gallos.

“You have to go. I know.”

“I’m sorry. I wanted to see you.”

A trace of a smile reappeared. “I’ll see you later.”

He squeezed her fingers a last time before he turned and headed downhill, taking a deep breath.

The smell of burning wood was everywhere-faint but omnipresent. He rubbed his eyes gently as he neared the tent-guarded by a pair of lancers.

One nodded slightly. “Mage Cerryl?”

Cerryl returned the nod and eased under the flap held up by poles as an awning. Anya looked up as Cerryl stepped into the tent. Fydel, Anya, and Jeslek sat around the camp table on stools. Cerryl took the last stool, across from Jeslek and between Anya and Fydel.

“Good that you could join us,” said Jeslek.

“It was a long day, ser. I just got back.”

“How many more did you lose?” asked Anya.

“None today.” After a moment, he added, “That worries me. I wonder what else they plan.”

“They will indeed plan something else. The traders have told their field commander, Brede, the young giant from Recluce, to hold Kleth,” Jeslek announced quietly. The tent billowed overhead.

Fydel nodded. Anya smiled brightly, and Cerryl smiled politely, with a deferential inclination of his head to the High Wizard.

“Where is Sterol?” Anya’s smile suggested to Cerryl that she well knew the answer but raised the former High Wizard’s name for some scheming point.

“In Fairhaven, I presume, which is fine with me. We really don’t need another set of schemers.” The High Wizard paused. “Your refusal of terms from the Council was brilliant, Fydel, even if you didn’t mean it that way.”

“I’m so glad you found it so.” Fydel smiled.

“It forced them to decide on an early defense, in order to plan their escape if it failed. Traders would always rather run than fight. This Brede of theirs is better than they deserve, young as he is, and they’ll squander his talent-and him. It’s a pity.”

“A pity? You intend to spare him?” asked Anya, her tone almost idle.

“Demon-light, no. After what he’s done to the levies…and the lancers from Hydlen and Gallos? Politically…that’s not wise.”

“What about your elusive smith? Hasn’t he cost you even more than their commander?” Anya added, “Drawing wire…much good it will do…”

“It cost us less than fourscore levies to get through his river traps, and we control the river all the way to Kleth. Brede is more dangerous.”

“He’s only a soldier, no matter how good,” reflected Cerryl. “Your smith may have more tricks planned. He has carted some more black iron devices to Kleth.”

“Perhaps…but they will not save Spidlar.” Jeslek smiled again. “We could lose nine of ten levies and still outnumber the blues. We should not have to spend anywhere near that number-but we could.”

“The smith might cost us that,” suggested Cerryl.

“How? You are losing but a handful of lancers for every ten kays of road you clear,” Jeslek observed. “I expect Eliasar on the morrow, and we are less than twenty kays from Kleth.”

The last twenty could be the costliest, for both lancers and mages. “And almost two hundred from Spidlaria.”

“Spidlaria does not matter, not now,” said Jeslek. “Once Kleth falls, we will have Spidlaria within a pair of eight-days-or sooner.”

Anya’s smile was bright, hard, and particularly false. As Cerryl saw it, Anya reminded him of a viper or the drawings he had seen of the stun lizards of ancient Cyador.