Colors of Chaos

XLV

CERRYL PAUSED AT the top landing of the White Tower, wondering again why, after more than a year of ignoring Cerryl, Jeslek had summoned him.

Hertyl was the guard outside the High Wizard’s chamber, and he nodded at Cerryl, then opened the door. Cerryl nodded back and stepped into the chambers of the High Wizard. Behind him, the door closed with an ominous thud.

Jeslek’s white hair shimmered, and his sun-gold eyes yet glittered out of the youthful face. He gestured to the chair by the table that held the screeing glass, a glass that had been recently used, Cerryl knew, from the residual chaos that swirled unseen around it.

“Please have a seat, Cerryl.”

“Thank you, ser.” Cerryl noted the rain running down the thick glass of the Tower windows, a warm rain, but still unwelcome for the steam that would cloak the city later-and his headache.

“Mock politeness does not become you or any mage, Cerryl, except upon ceremonial occasions.” Jeslek took the chair across the table. His eyes bored into the younger mage. “There is little point in wasting time with evasions and maneuvers. I do not care for, shall we say, your careful approach to handling chaos. You do not care for my use of chaos on a massive scale. We both, however, wish that Fairhaven prosper.” The High Wizard paused.

“That is true.”

“You cannot, or will not, raise chaos in huge measure. You have shields strong enough to withstand that amount of chaos. Thus, I cannot destroy you with chaos, nor you me. You cannot lead Fairhaven, but, young as you are, you could keep it from being led.”

Cerryl detected a certain amount of untruth in Jeslek’s words but merely nodded that he had heard what the High Wizard said. Cerryl glanced in the direction of the toy on the shelf, a detailed miniature of a windmill with a small black iron crank. His eyes opened-black iron, bursting with order. Yet the toy, or model, or whatever it was, had been finely detailed, so finely that it looked as though it could pump water.

“Oh, that? A small part of the problem in Spidlar, one you as a Patrol mage need not concern yourself with. Not at present.” Jeslek flashed a smile.

“Black mages in Spidlar?”

“As of now, there are three Blacks in Spidlar, Cerryl, a smith and two armsmen. There may be a Black healer as well. It is strange. We have all this difficulty with Spidlar, and there are all these Blacks there. It’s not your concern, but it will be discussed at the next Guild meeting.” Jeslek smiled. “The smith’s name is Dorrin, not that it should concern you, but…I will satisfy your curiosity. This time.”

“Yes, ser.” Cerryl took his eyes from the model, but the amount of order concentrated in it bothered him, disturbing him almost as much as had there been an equal amount of chaos focused there. A smith named Dorrin? A Black smith? Why had Jeslek mentioned the name? To see if Cerryl knew?

“You do not know this smith’s name?”

“No, ser.” Cerryl repressed a frown.

“That, at least, is to your benefit.” Jeslek paused. “Now…do you wish to stand in my way?”

“No. I still have much to learn.”

“Ah…you remain the honest mage.” Jeslek laughed. “And you have avoided Anya’s bed.”

“That seemed best, given my youth.”

“How do you find the Patrol?”

“I continue to learn, especially about Fairhaven, and I find that good, for I was not raised here.”

“That is good for any mage, even those raised here.” Jeslek’s eyes glittered momentarily. “You follow Myral too closely, Cerryl.”

“Myral? I respect his understanding.”

“His understanding-with that I have no quibble.” The High Wizard smiled lazily. “Few mages have understood so much as Myral. Yet few have been so frozen into inaction by such understanding. Myral is too cautious. There is a time to strike and a time to wait. Myral would always wait.”

“He is cautious,” Cerryl temporized. “You feel it is time to strike.”

Jeslek nodded abruptly. “If we do not show that Fairhaven is to be feared, and not just respected, the rulers of eastern Candar will ignore every White mage in their courts.”

“Is that really why you raised the Little Easthorns?”

“Is that what they’re calling them? Diminishing me by calling them little?”

“To divide Gallos,” Cerryl continued, as if he had not heard Jeslek’s comment. “It’s too big to hold together with a mountain range down the middle.”

“Have you seen the Market Square, Cerryl? Each eight-day there are fewer traders there. Do you know why? Because goods are short, and they can obtain more in Hydlen or Kyphros, and they do not have to pay the road taxes. After years of benefiting from our roads and efforts, they turn away, and the rulers in some other lands encourage them. Some would change the rulers in other lands.”

“As in Hydlen?”

“Or Gallos. Even after my visit with Eliasar and the creation of the chaos mountains, the Gallosian merchants bridle. They would forget the years they benefited from the White highways and reject their just debts.”

“That will happen, ser,” Cerryl suggested, “unless they are compelled otherwise.”

“What do you suggest, then, O wise young mage?”

“You have far greater experience. I cannot suggest. I only know that most men respond to swords or silvers or chaos, not to words. We cannot raise enough golds, not now.”

Jeslek’s sun-gold eyes met the pale gray ones of the younger mage, surveying him deliberately. “Did you know that matters in Spidlar are getting worse? I understand that brigands ride every back road.”

“I had not heard that. I cannot say I am surprised. It would be to our interest that brigands be found there.”

“Do you know that, since Spidlar refuses to act, the viscount of Certis sent forces to control them?”

“I take it that his efforts have been less than totally successful.”

Jeslek’s eyes glittered more intently, and Cerryl wondered if he had presumed too much.

Probably…but you can’t back down.

“You could be dangerous, Cerryl, if you weren’t a disciple of Myral’s.”

“You know I don’t have the kind of chaos power you do.”

“I know that you have never raised such power. I know that you do not wish to do so.” Jeslek raised his eyebrows. “You avoid using chaos more than you have to. That is wise, assuming you retain the ability to wield it when you have no choice. Ah, yes, young Cerryl, there will be a time when you have no alternative but to raise chaos in force.” A twisted smile crossed the High Wizard’s face, and his fingers touched the amulet that hung around his neck. “That is where Myral and even Kinowin are mistaken. But you need not listen to me. Just watch.”

“I will,” Cerryl said quietly.

“I know you will.” With another smile, Jeslek rose. “I trust you will continue your hard work with the Patrol.”

“I plan to, ser.”

“No mock politeness, Cerryl.”

“You are the High Wizard.” And the office deserves respect.

“You are wise to remember that.” Jeslek gestured toward the door. “I will see you again when the time is ready. It may not be that long. You do have certain…skills…the Guild may need.”

“I stand ready to assist the Guild.”

“Good.”

Cerryl inclined his head, then turned and left, his senses and shields ready. Outside, when Hertyl closed the door, Cerryl took a silent but slow, deep breath. What did he want? To tell me he knew I could withstand his chaos? To warn me? To test me? And why did he ask about the smith?

Cerryl wanted to shake his head as he went down the steps. Jeslek was very different from Sterol, very different, but then he’d known that since he had been an apprentice mage. Cerryl only wished he understood more of what he knew existed but could not see.

Outside, the rain splattered on the Tower, and on the steps Cerryl rubbed his aching head. His eyes flicked southward, in the general direction of Hydolar, and he took a deep breath and continued down the stone steps toward the entry Hall.