Colors of Chaos

LXI

EVEN BY MIDMORNING of the second day, Cerryl’s legs ached and his thighs burned. He’d never ridden before becoming a student mage, and outside of his one trip to and from Fenard as an apprentice, he’d never spent much time on horseback.

Fairhaven had faded into the low fall-golden hills behind them early on the first day, and since then they had ridden through low hills and valleys, and more low hills and valleys, each browner than the one before, as though drought and the coming winter had taken their toll. The heavy fall rains that had washed out so many crops, especially in Hydlen, had come-briefly-and gone, too late to help the land and too early for the next growing season, and the dryness had returned.

Cerryl could hear Captain Reaz talking to Fydel.

“…used to be greener here, far greener…

“…demon-damned Blacks meddling with the weather again.”

Cerryl had his doubts. More likely something about the mountains Jeslek had created in Gallos had as much to do with the unseasonable weather in Candar, and in Hydlen, as did anything the Blacks had done. Then, that wasn’t exactly something he dared say.

“…meddle with everything…just ought to stay on their accursed isle.”

Cerryl glanced from the two ahead of him to Anya, riding in silence beside him, her jaw-length red hair disarrayed by the light and warm breeze that now blew from the south. After a moment, he cleared his throat. “Jeslek told you that I had a task to do for him in Hydolar.”

“He did.” Anya nodded briskly, from where she rode beside him, as though her thoughts were elsewhere. She turned to him, and her eyes focused on the younger mage. “He also said that I could call upon you.”

“He did,” Cerryl agreed. “So long as it did not hinder my ability to complete my charge to him.”

“He did say that.”

“I would like to request your assistance, Anya,” Cerryl said, careful to keep his words formal, for reasons he could not say but felt nonetheless.

“With what?”

“A seeming of myself…when the time is ready. That’s all.”

“A seeming of you? Even Fydel could do that.” Anya laughed. “I will ask the same of you…in time. A favor, that is. To help me shift the ground slightly. Far less than in Gallos.”

Cerryl nodded.

“Have you thought more about the future?” An amused smile crossed Anya’s lips.

“I have been advised to think most strongly about the present. By several,” he added after a moment. “I might not see any future if I don’t.”

She laughed again, softly and ironically. “It is strange how a few seasons can change a man.”

“We learn,” Cerryl said, blocking his annoyance from Anya’s possible truth-reading.

“That doesn’t matter, either. Not most of the time.”

“Why?” asked Cerryl, intrigued in spite of himself. Besides, it is a long ride.

“Learning affects only what you do. If you teach others, you change others. That was what Myral believed.” Anya’s face grew distant, her eyes elsewhere. “That doesn’t work, I’ve found. People only learn what they want to learn, or what they will accept. So most of that learning is wasted. Most of life is wasted if you try to help others. They take and do not appreciate. They reject the knowledge that you have struggled to gain, and they will walk on you or kill you for a silver-or less.” After her words came the bright smile. “Just watch closely, Cerryl. You’ll see what I mean. If you dare to look.” Her eyes swept to the road ahead, as if to signify that she had said what she would say.

Despite the sun that fell across him, Cerryl suddenly felt cold, even before the wind picked up, and very alone, even though tenscore lancers rode behind him.