Colors of Chaos

XLII

THE THIN DRESSING on his arm felt like it bulged even under the loose shirt. Cerryl glanced at his shoulder and the white tunic and shirt that revealed nothing, then studied the flat desk. Even though he’d been out an eight-day, the desk looked the same as ever-the two empty wooden boxes, the inkwell and quill stand, the lamp, and a stack of rough paper.

Zubal peered into the duty room. “You all right now, ser?”

“I’m fine,” he told the messenger. “I’ll spend a little time patrolling, with Nuryl, this morning, I think.”

“Yes, ser.” Zubal bobbed his head and withdrew.

After another look at the empty desk, Cerryl shifted his weight, put his white Patrol jacket back on, and then walked through the predawn gloom to the assembly room.

“He’s back…”

“…told you wouldn’t be long.”

Cerryl beckoned to Nuryl.

The area Patrol leader slipped away from his men and over to Cerryl. “You’re going with us, ser?” Nuryl’s eyes went to Cerryl’s shoulder.

“It’s not as though I have to swing a blade,” Cerryl pointed out. “Besides, you’re all out there every day.” He grinned.

After a moment, Nuryl smiled back, then nodded, and returned to his men. “Let’s go.”

Cerryl listened to the comments from Fystl’s and Sheffl’s men, the only groups that remained, as he walked out of the assembly room beside Nuryl.

“…wouldn’t go out after taking a war arrow…not that soon.”

“…why they get the coins…”

“…told you he was a tough little bastard.”

Somehow Cerryl didn’t think of himself as tough in the way someone like Eliasar was, or even as Kinowin must have been in his younger days, both men physically imposing and appearing able to break smaller figures in pieces. Even Jeslek was fairly imposing, at least compared to Cerryl.

Outside, the streets were still damp with water from the storm of the previous night, glistening almost silver in the gray light just before dawn.