Colors of Chaos

CLXXXI

CERRYL SLOWLY SURVEYED those around the table-Kinowin, Redark, and Leyladin-with the new young mage Ultyr standing slightly back, beside a stool Cerryl had asked to be brought in.

“Are you ready?” Cerryl asked.

“Yes, ser.” Ultyr stepped forward and squinted.

Slowly, far more slowly than if Cerryl had sought the image, the mists in the glass parted and showed ships upon a dark blue sea. The small Black craft without masts or even a bowsprit, a craft that radiated order, drove through the low and rolling swells toward the larger ship-the White Serpent, Cerryl thought. One of the smaller war schooners downwind of the White Serpent veered to port, as if the mage on board had sensed the deadliness of the Black ship.

“Darkness, it looks evil,” murmured Redark.

The Black warcraft eased alongside the White Serpent, and the Serpent tacked, but the Black ship followed the Serpent and pulled alongside easily. A flash of light and something more streaked toward the Serpent, and the bowsprit shattered into fragments. The Serpent’s bow swung port, and the big schooner wallowed as the forward jib and the remnants of the bowsprit sagged into the gulf waters.

A series of fireballs streamed from the near-becalmed Serpent against the black iron plate of the single Black vessel, but all sprayed harmlessly from the dark metal. Three more of the black weapons struck the rear of the Serpent, and before long it had begun to list. Occasional fireballs flashed from both the Serpent and the surrounding ships, without effect, as the small ironclad continued to circle the larger schooner.

“More than a dozen vessels, and nearly as many mages, and they do nothing,” muttered Redark.

“It does not appear as though they can,” observed Kinowin. “They cannot approach closely enough for their mages to be effective, not without risking our armsmen as much as the Blacks’ men-and our ships even more.”

Abruptly grappling hooks flashed from the Black vessel, followed by a flurry of dark arrows that cleared a section of the Serpent’s deck, with black-clad armsmen swarming onto the ship. Cerryl and the others watched silently. A dark figure, smaller than the armsmen, appeared with a staff, apparently walking across the deck toward a White mage who cast firebolts that missed.

“That’s Fydel,” murmured Leyladin.

“He can’t even stop one Black,” protested Redark.

“That’s the Black mage who built the ship,” Cerryl said. “Jeslek couldn’t stop him, either.”

Several firebolts arched from the two nearest White ships, one falling short, a second splattering on the black iron ship, and a third burning through the sagging bowsprit rigging of the White Serpent.

“They can’t get close enough,” mumbled Redark.

Not with that much black iron there, reflected Cerryl silently.

What exactly happened none could see in the glass, save that in the end the Black mage struck Fydel with a staff and turned the White mage into ashes. Then the Blacks abandoned the sinking White Serpent, and the Black vessel swung toward a second White ship.

Another volley of whatever weapons the Black mage had developed turned the second war schooner into a flaming pyre upon the waters of the Gulf of Candar.

As the flames rose, more than half the White fleet turned from the Black vessel.

Cerryl continued to watch as the black iron ship approached the third vessel. Parley flags rose on a short staff on the Black craft and on the White ship. Something was passed to the White ship, and the Black craft turned and headed back toward the harbor at Southpoint.

“Ser?” Ultyr stood pale and trembling, shaking like a gray winter leaf in a storm.

“You can let the image go,” Cerryl said, feeling guilty. “Sit down.” He poured a glass of wine and extended it. “Here. You need this.”

The glass blanked.

“Thank you, ser.” The young mage took the goblet, sank onto the stool, and drank slowly.

“We can fight them again,” Redark said. “Then…perhaps we should not.” He shook his head.

Cerryl glanced at Kinowin.

“The firebolts were useless against that ship,” noted the older overmage. “They could have destroyed every one of our ships-with one vessel.”

“They didn’t,” said Leyladin.

“I don’t think the smith wanted to,” Cerryl said slowly.

“Didn’t want to destroy us? He cannot be that charitable, not after what they tried to do with their traders,” objected Redark.

“I’ve been thinking,” Cerryl mused. “It wasn’t charity. How many White mages have died in the past few years? Almost a score and a half, maybe more, and we’ve only found a bit over a third that many apprentices who have become full mages. That ship of his, and everything he makes, concentrates order. There has to be a balance. We know that. What if he did destroy another half-score of our mages?”

Kinowin nodded slowly. “He might create a truly great White mage-or several more.”

Redark frowned but did not speak.

“No, it wasn’t charity. The Blacks are not charitable.” Nor are you. After a moment, Cerryl stood. “There’s not much more we can do at the moment, is there?”

“Not at the moment,” agreed Kinowin. “The Guild will need a report.”

“And reasons, High Wizard,” suggested Redark.

Reasons? How about Anya’s scheming? “You might ask Anya how she might better have planned the attack,” suggested Cerryl blandly.

Redark frowned as both he and Kinowin rose.

Kinowin nodded and said, “The attack was indeed her idea-and Jeslek’s, I suspect, though we will not ever know that.”

“It was the will of many,” suggested Cerryl, standing and ushering them toward the door, “but not necessarily for the best of many-or Fairhaven. I will be reconsidering many things.” He smiled.

Once the heavy door had closed after the departing overmages and Ultyr, Cerryl turned to Leyladin. “Now I have to deal with Rystryr. He’s begun to mass lancers and foot. This will make matters worse because he will take the sea battle against the Blacks as an indication of weakness.”

“You haven’t let his acts be known,” Leyladin pointed out.

“No. Kinowin knows. For the others, I had to wait until the Recluce matter was settled.”

“Is it settled?”

Cerryl shrugged. “For all but Anya and a handful. Dealing with her and her followers comes next. Then I will have to alert Redark and the Guild about the dangers of Certis. We will use some of Esaak’s calculations…”

“Do you really think Rystryr will try to take Sligo?”

“If he can get away with it-or thinks he can.” Cerryl rubbed his forehead. “And eventually, that will mean more meetings and efforts to persuade others of the danger.”

Leyladin stood and stretched. “I’m sorry. I don’t know how many meetings I’ll be able to observe. My lips will be bloodied.”

“It’s hard for you not to speak.”

“Only when people are being stupid.”

“All meetings bring out stupidity. So do…It doesn’t matter.” Cerryl shook his head.

“What were you going to say about Certis?” prompted Leyladin.

“Rystryr will try to take Sligo, if he can. The glass has already shown that Disarj has convinced Rystryr that this is the time to act, when the Guild is the weakest. Or maybe Disarj let Rystryr convince him. Rystryr is beginning to mass forces at Rytel. So I’ve already sent a scroll asking Disarj to go to Tyrhavven to confer with Heralt.”

“Will he do that? With Rystryr thinking about invading Sligo? Disarj, I mean?” Leyladin squinted as she glanced out the Tower window into the bright light of the clear winter day.

“Disarj would not come to Fairhaven-not now-he would find an endless well of excuses. Besides, Rystryr has doubtless prevailed upon Disarj to go to Tyrhavven. If Disarj thinks he can overpower Heralt, then…perhaps armsmen would not be needed, except…”

“To help the Sligan Council keep ‘order’?” Leyladin’s tone turned ironic.

“Of course. That way Certis would regain a port to avoid the tariffs and more golds to stand against the Guild.”

“What will stop him?” Leyladin raised her eyebrows.

“I will.” Cerryl laughed, harshly. “Then we will destroy his forces-if we must.”

“You sound like Jeslek.”

“No. I tell you, and only you. Jeslek told the world. I will tell everyone that I’m going to Tyrhavven to review the trade and tariff problems and to confer with Heralt. Everyone will think I’m displeased with him. I will claim that I hope to work out something. As my critics have said, I will speak many, many words.”

“Convincing everyone that you do not intend to act,” predicted the healer.

“I’ve dispatched Kochar and Kiella to Tyrhavven to support Heralt, and also told them to be very polite to Disarj should he arrive earlier than expected.”

“The Guild-some of the older mages will say you’re just using this…Black Order thing…as an excuse not to fight Recluce,” said Leyladin.

“Some will,” Cerryl admitted. “Most of those remaining will say so most quietly. I will listen and talk to them-privately. After I deal with Anya.”

“What will you tell them?”

“What will make them happy. I will not tell them that all prosperous lands are based on a combination of acceptance and force. Fairhaven and Recluce are no different.”

“We’re no different from Recluce? Darkness forbid that the High Wizard of the White City admit such.” A lazy smile crossed her full lips. “Surely you must be jesting.”

Cerryl returned the smile. “Each person wants in his heart for everyone to believe the way he does, but everyone has different beliefs. Some form of force is necessary to ensure lands do not fall apart. Recluce uses the force of order; we use the force of chaos. Both are force.” He shrugged. “They exile those who will not accept their way-unless, as in the case of this Black engineer, the exiles have enough force to change things. We allow people to think as they will, unlike the Blacks. We only force those who do not keep the peace to flee-or we kill them. The Blacks exile those who even think the wrong way and let others do the killing. It’s still death, one way or the other. But we’re more forgiving and more honest about it, I think.”

“What of those who can accept neither your rules nor those of the Blacks?” Leyladin frowned.

“Each man and woman wants rules that are suited for them. Can we have a thousand sets of rules in a town of a thousand? Even fifty sets of rules in a village? It’s better to have a few absolute rules than many that attempt to deal with all that may befall people.”

“A few simple rules?” Her eyebrows arched.

“The Patrol rules are a good start. We need to bring the idea of patrollers elsewhere. More patrollers and fewer lancers, especially in Fairhaven.”

“You don’t intend to keep that many lancers in Fairhaven?” asked Leyladin, eyes twinkling as though she already knew the answer.

“Why?” Cerryl inclined his head. “If we need more than fifty score to defend the city, we will already have lost any war. If we cannot hold together Candar east of the Westhorns, then we cannot hold Fairhaven. Life must get better for the people beyond Fairhaven. They must be our responsibility-”

“Why are they the Guild’s? Some will surely ask that.”

“Because their own rulers will not do what is best. We will.”

“The Guild would not. You will,” said Leyladin. “Just as you will deal with Anya-now that you have undermined much of her support.”

“Not much…but enough.” You hope…Cerryl turned to the window, where, from outside the White Tower, came the faint wail of the late-winter wind.

“Let us hope.” Leyladin took his hand.

Both looked into the clear and cold afternoon.