Colors of Chaos

CLIX

AS THE FIRST ship eased toward the wharves, Cerryl dismounted and walked to the seawall, watching. His guards eased their mounts behind him but did not dismount. The fall wind blowing off the Northern Ocean carried the odor of salt and a chill that foreshadowed a cold winter.

Cerryl kept his jaw in place as the two ocean traders were tied to the wharves, both bearing the green and gold banners of Layel’s trading house. The two heavy-laden cargo ships were the first trading vessels so large that he had seen in Spidlaria since his return.

A balding blonde figure in blue, flanked by a pair of guards in green, stood near the bow of the inshore vessel and gave a single wave to Cerryl. The arms mage and administrator of Spidlar walked down the wharf to where the gangway was being wrestled into place, conscious that his guards had dismounted and followed him, weapons at the ready.

Layel stood on the deck by the top of the gangway. “I see you have guards now-just like the High Wizard. You’ve come up in the world, Cerryl.” The factor laughed.

“If having enemies is a sign of position, it’s one I could do without.”

“If you would join me in my cabin-or the one I took from the master?”

“The ships are both yours?”

“Aye. There are two others that sail out of Lydiar, but Wertel manages them, and well, too.”

Cerryl hopped onto the plank and then onto the deck. The guards followed as the mage and factor walked to the rear deckhouse.

Layel opened the narrow door and gestured to Natrey. “You can look in.”

The guard nodded and made a brief inspection, but both guards remained in the passageway outside the cabin when Layel shut the door. Cerryl sat in one of the chairs around the gold oak table that was bolted to the polished plank floor.

“Trust my ship more than anywhere else,” said Layel.

“More than most places,” Cerryl agreed.

“Both my daughter and the overmage pushed me here-against my initial judgment,” said Layel.

“I agree with them,” Cerryl said.

“I do as well, from what I’ve since learned. Fairhaven is no place for an honest trader, not while Sterol is High Wizard and Anya sits by his side.”

“What happened?”

“Scerzet…did Leyladin tell you of him?”

Cerryl shook his head.

“He died-sudden-like-and Muneat and Jiolt ended up with his warehouses and stock, settled with his heirs. Folk said that the Council suggested that there were too many traders in Fairhaven.” Layel gave a wry smile. “About that time, your offer looked more tempting.”

“That I had not heard of.”

“I doubt many folk have, but it happened all the same.” Layel cleared his throat. “Be hard starting here, even with the ships and the golds.”

“Perhaps not so hard as you think.” Cerryl offered a smile. “In return for your help in restoring trade in Spidlar I am giving you the dwelling, the warehouses, and the lands of the leading factor in Spidlar.”

“What befell him that he has no need of such?”

“He plotted to kill Eliasar, and then me. And lied about it. When I questioned him, he took poison. I executed ten others who were part of the plot. Things have run better since then, but we need some larger traders, with ships like yours.”

“And you would hand over his lands and facilities for me to do what I would do anyway?”

“I have a condition,” Cerryl admitted.

“Just one?” Layel raised his eyebrows.

“Two, I suppose. I want you to be loyal to Fairhaven-not to the High Wizard, whoever that may be-and I want you to set up trading here as if Spidlaria were Fairhaven, except with lower tariffs, say a twentieth part, except for the surtax on goods from Recluce. The mage Lyasa is serving as the mage in charge of the lancers who will make sure the tariffs are collected.”

“Do you intend to send all the tariffs to Fairhaven?”

“We are setting aside some to pay our lancers here.” Cerryl offered a lopsided smile. “And for a few other matters-such as repairs to the wharves and the harbor.”

“Sterol won’t like that you are charging lower tariffs. Or not sending every last gold back to the White Tower.”

“The only ones who know that are you and the traders, and me and Lyasa. Lyasa won’t tell, and I can’t see traders complaining that their tariff levels have been lowered.”

“Ha! That you have the right of, even here. No trader worth his coins would mention a word of such, even in this cold place.” Layel glanced toward the closed porthole. “It can get terrible cold here.”

“Better cold than dead, and you would be if you had remained in Fairhaven too much longer. You are Leyladin’s father and Muneat’s and Jiolt’s rival.”

“And,” Layel raised his eyebrows, “the father of your consort. You and I know that’s so, for all the words saying Whites have no consorts.” He waved aside Cerryl’s protest. “None of those are good to be at this moment, that is true.” Layel fingered his chin. “Yet I wonder about her.”

“They need her skills, and, since she can muster no chaos, she is seen as no threat.”

“My head says you are right, but my heart is troubled.”

“I do worry.”

“She frets over you, she does, and fears that you need return afore long.”

“I doubt Anya or the High Wizard wish my return.”

“What the High Wizard may wish may not be best for you or the lands.” Layel shrugged.

“True.” Cerryl stood. “Do you wish to see what you will work with before you decide on what to do with your cargoes and coins?”

“Always in a hurry, you young folk are.” Layel rose with a grin.

“I’d like to see a certain healer, and I can’t until I get this land back on its boots.” Cerryl opened the cabin door.

“Like I said.” Layel’s grin broadened.