Colors of Chaos

XXVI

IN THE SLANTING light of early morning, Cerryl stepped through the plain white oak door into the Patrol building. Two Patrol guards stood at each side of the entry hall, each wearing a uniform identical to those of lancers, except for a wide red belt and a short truncheon in addition to the shortsword.

“Ser?” asked the Patrol guard on the right, with a close-cut black beard shot with streaks of white.

“I’m here to see Isork, the Patrol chief.”

“Could I explain who you are to him, ser?”

“I’m Cerryl. Overmage Kinowin sent me.”

“One moment.” The patroller nodded. “I’ll let Patrol Chief Isork know.” He turned down the short and narrow hall he had guarded, rapped on a closed door, and entered.

Cerryl studied the entry hall-a rectangular and spare room only ten cubits on a side with two halls angling from the corners farthest from the entry door. Two backless oak benches were set against the side walls. A set of closed double oak doors on the back wall faced the entry. The floor was of featureless and time-polished granite that had faded to a dull gray. The only light came from the windows that flanked the door behind Cerryl.

The patroller emerged from the door at the end of the short hall. “This way, ser.”

“Thank you.” Cerryl inclined his head, then walked down the hall and entered the small room, no more than six cubits by ten. The pudgy-faced but broad-shouldered and muscular Isork sat behind a flat table-desk. A single vacant stool stood before the table, and against the wall to the left was a single four-shelf bookcase. A stack of parchmentlike papers, an inkwell and a quill holder, and a single volume were all that rested on the battered and oiled surface of the desk.

“Cerryl, to see you, ser.”

Isork looked at Cerryl, studying him for a long and uncomfortable time with flat brown eyes that revealed nothing, then motioned to the single stool. “Sit down. You’re young for Patrol duty-and slight.” The pudgy but broad-shouldered mage shook his head. His short brown hair did not move. “Kinowin says you’re an orphan. That right?”

“Yes, ser.”

“You didn’t call me ‘ser’ at the Council meeting.”

“I wasn’t to be working for you there, ser.”

The trace of a smile crossed the pudgy mage’s face. “So, off-duty, you believe you’re equal to any mage?”

“No, ser. Not at all. I’m possibly better than some and not so good as others.”

“What about me?”

“I don’t know, ser. I’d say you’d have to be better than I am, but I don’t know.” Cerryl felt that he had to be honest, no matter how uncomfortable it was.

Isork shook his head again. “Who raised you?”

“My aunt and uncle. He was a master miner before they shut the mines.”

“Where do they live?”

“They’re both dead, ser. I was a mill boy for the lumber mill in Hrisbarg.”

For the first time, Isork looked vaguely interested. “How did you get to Fairhaven, then?”

“I persuaded the mill master’s daughter to teach me my letters, and after several years the mill master sent me here to Fairhaven to be an apprentice to Tellis the scrivener.”

“And one of the mages who bought books from Tellis discovered you had the talent?”

“Yes, ser.”

“Hmmm…Kinowin says that you’re not the most powerful of the younger mages, but you’re strong enough and you have the most control of your firebolts. That true?”

“I don’t know what control others have. I can make mine go where I want them.” Cerryl paused. “Unless it’s more than a hundred cubits away. Then they don’t always hit exactly where I want.”

“When were you throwing chaos that far?”

“That was when I was a student and Jeslek took me to Gallos. We were attacked by some twenty-score Gallosian lancers.”

Isork nodded again. “You killed some?”

“About a half-score that I know of.”

“Kinowin said you’ve flamed some people on gate duty. Ever taken on a man with a blade or a spear?”

“Three, ser, when I was on sewer duty. Two had iron shields and blades. The other had a white-bronze spear.”

“All at once?” Isork’s bushy eyebrows rose.

“No, ser. The two with the iron blades at once, the one with the spear a little later.”

Isork smiled ruefully. “Any other mages know of this?”

“Myral, Sterol, and Kinowin came right afterward. Some others might know. I don’t know who they told.”

“You didn’t tell anyone?”

Cerryl frowned. “I think I told Lyasa and Faltar, but I didn’t tell them much.”

“Well…Kinowin’s got a feel for this, and he’s usually right. You just don’t look like a Patrol mage. Even to me, you don’t look like one, but you feel like one. Tight control over chaos, almost as if you don’t have any, but I can feel the shields there. You keep it away from your body, don’t you?”

“Yes, ser. Myral suggested it was better that way.”

“It is. Most won’t work hard enough to learn how. Why did you?”

“I’m not from Fairhaven.”

“And you’re not from coins or the crèche.” Isork gave a knowing look at the slender mage. “Just like Kinowin. You have to do it better.”

Cerryl waited.

“You’ll do, and, light knows, good Patrol mages are hard to find. Half those I see want to fire everyone in sight, and the other half wait until they have to.” Isork leaned back slightly. “What’s the Patrol? No one knows, and everyone thinks they know what it should be. Our job is simple and hard. We’re the bastards who keep the peace in Fairhaven, and we do whatever it takes. The basic rules are really simple. No bared blades anywhere in public in the city, and that’s any blade except a dagger at table for eating or a blade used in trade, like at the tanner’s. Some bravo has a blade out, he gets a quick warning. If he doesn’t sheathe it, he’s ash.

“No one attacks a Patrol with anything-except words-or he’s ash. We see a fight, and we try to stop it. The mage-that’s you-determines who’s at fault. You can truth-read, can’t you?” Isork looked at Cerryl.

“I can usually feel whether someone’s words are true.”

“Good. If there’s any question, especially at first, you can summon me or Huroan. Most times, there’s no question. Biggest problem is when some fellow starts beating his consort in public. If you fire him or stop him and send him on the road, the family can suffer. If you don’t, like as not, sooner or later, he’ll kill her or one of the kids. Or maim ’em so bad he might as well have killed ’em.”

Cerryl raised his eyebrows.

“We bend the rules a little there. That’s where we get the prisoners for the refuse wagons and the gate cleanup details. We try to get the idea across that rules are rules.”

“Does it work?”

“From what I’ve seen…more than half the times, and that’s better than anything else. If a fellow doesn’t learn, well…sometimes the family can hold on without him, and at least they’re alive.”

“The other thing the Patrol does is judge things-the little things. That’s what that chamber is for.” Isork gestured to the white oak door to his left. “Folks sometimes disagree. So they come and ask me or Huroan to listen. We truth-read and try to sort it out. Most times, people just believe different things-no lies. When they find that out, and I’m sitting there, they can usually figure out an answer.” A crooked smile crossed the Patrol chief’s face. “We don’t get many liars-usually those are from outside of Fairhaven.”

“What do you do with the liars?”

“If they admit it…and make good…nothing. If they insist…well…they go on the road crew.”

“Even wealthy merchants?”

A look of disgust crossed Isork’s face. “They can offer a hundred golds in bond; then the High Wizard has to review it. Most times, that means they get out of Fairhaven.” A smile reappeared. “But…see, if they don’t come back and get judged by the High Wizard within a season, they lose the coins, and then, if they show up again and we find them, it’s the road crew, and not even the High Wizard steps in then.”

Cerryl nodded. And the road crew is usually life at hard labor building the White highways. He knew that much.

“We can’t control what people do in their dwellings, but shops, squares, streets, places of business, inns, stables-those are public places as far as the Patrol goes.

“For the first couple of eight-days you’ll be walking the streets with the best lead patroller we’ve got. That’s Duarrl. Only one rule-if he asks you to flame someone…do it. He won’t ask unless there’s a good reason.” Isork smiled. “It doesn’t happen often, but I want you to understand. Also, the Patrol never argues in public. Do you understand that? So try not to order anything stupid. Your patrollers won’t argue. They might suggest. Listen.”

“Yes, ser.”

“We don’t take young lancers as patrollers. There’s not a single patroller who’s not at least a score and five. That means you’re the youngest man in the Patrol. That bother you?”

“No, ser. I hope it doesn’t bother too many patrollers.”

“There’s one other thing. There are rules for peacekeeping and for patrollers and Patrol mages. They’re in here.” Isork held up a slim volume, then set it down. “If Huroan or I decide that a Patrol mage has broken any of them, then the Council decides on discipline. Do you understand that?”

Cerryl nodded. He certainly didn’t want to break any rules, not with Sterol and Jeslek able to discipline him.

“Good.” Isork nodded, then lifted the slim volume from the desk once again and extended it to Cerryl. “Read as much of this as you can today. Be here tomorrow at dawn. First two eight-days, you’ll go with Duarrl on the morning patrol. That’s mostly quiet, and that way you can learn where everything is in your section of the city-you’ll get the southeast. That’s where most things happen.”

As he took the thin book, Cerryl wondered about why he would be given a section where the most things happened but said nothing.

“You wonder why the southeast?” Another crooked smile crossed Isork’s lips. “That’s where the low trades are, the poorer folk. More fights, but they respect the Patrol. They haven’t got coins. Up in the northwest…well…best not to have a Patrol mage in a section where he has to deal with slick traders until he’s got some experience under his belt.”

“Do Patrol mages walk the streets all the time?” Cerryl couldn’t recall ever seeing a mage with the patrols.

“No. Once you know your section, you’ll be staying in your little room, just like I stay here. That way, your patrols can find you. You’ll have ten patrols of four men reporting to you-except you’re really there to back them up and protect them. Don’t forget it. You’ll have a set of guards, like here-and a messenger to find me in real trouble. Or to find you on the nights when you have the call.”

“The call?”

“Oh…guess I forgot that. When you get the afternoon duty-that’s really from midafternoon until midevening-you also have call. That means the messenger has to know where you’re sleeping…or eating…wherever you are. Most nights nothing happens after midevening, but you’d best be where you say you are.” Isork laughed. “In the Patrol, no one cares where that is or who you’re with-just so long as the messenger can find you quick. Means you don’t leave the city, and it’s better if you’re close to your section. Most mages just show the messenger their quarters, and that’s where they are.”

Cerryl nodded, feeling as though he were doing that far too often.

“One other thing…and I’ll wager Kinowin didn’t mention it. You get another gold an eight-day-and you’ll earn every copper.” Isork rose. “Tomorrow here at dawn.”

“Yes, ser.”

“You call me, Huroan, the overmages, and the High Wizard ‘ser.’ No one else in the Guild. And you call every person you meet on duty ‘ser.’ Strange world, isn’t it?” The crooked smile faded. “Tomorrow.”

Cerryl kept his face emotionless as he left the Patrol building and walked slowly toward the Wizards’ Square. Once he was well away from the building, he opened the book and read the front page-“On Peacekeeping.”

Another book like Myral’s on sewage? Or philosophy like Colors of White? Or did it really have firm rules? Did the Guild have a manual for everything?

He closed the book and took a deep breath.