Colors of Chaos

LXVIII

CERRYL TOOK A long and slow sip of the ale, enjoying it as if he’d hadn’t expected to ever taste it again. That’s a bit of self-pity. With a wry smile, his eyes flicked toward the entry of The Golden Ram, where he could see Myredin and Bealtur leaving. He did not wave to the pair. “This tastes good.”

“You should not drink too much,” Leyladin said from where she sat at the circular table beside Cerryl.

“Always the healer,” added Heralt, his dark eyes smiling.

“Someone has to be.”

Cerryl finished the last of his stew, mopping it up with a chunk of bread, glad that both headaches and the poison-induced flux had faded away. He was still weak, he’d discovered, but was getting stronger.

“The words around the tower are that the Duke of Hydlen vanished,” Heralt offered. “Has anyone heard who might be the new duke?”

“No one stepped forward this time,” Lyasa pointed out.

“What do you think?” Cerryl turned to Leyladin. “You’ve spent more time in Hydolar than anyone.”

The blonde healer lifted her shoulders and smiled shyly. “No one talked to me that much.”

“I’ll bet you listened.” Cerryl grinned.

“Out with it, Leyladin,” demanded Lyasa, pushing a lock of jet-black hair off her forehead.

“No one wants to be duke,” the blonde finally said. “The traders control both Hydolar and Renklaar, and they don’t like our taxes. The High Wizard has demanded immediate payment of the tariffs and a thousand golds in damages. Whoever is duke will have to collect those taxes or face disappearing. He’ll also have to rebuild the Tower that Anya destroyed, and that will take more coins.”

Heralt pursed his lips, then took a swallow of ale. “I’d not like to be in his boots.”

“That’s because they don’t understand the order of chaos,” Cerryl said absently.

Leyladin’s face darkened momentarily, and she quickly added, “I don’t think anyone in Hydlen understands much of anything, except the traders, and all they want is more coins.”

“That’s what most people want,” pointed out Heralt.

Cerryl glanced across the table toward Heralt, reaching out under the table and squeezing Leyladin’s hand.

The four looked up as a blonde figure in white made his way past the other tables toward the corner.

Faltar pulled over another chair to join the group. “I’m sorry, but I had to pull extra duty. Fydel took Buar with him to Gallos.”

“Fydel went to Gallos?” asked Cerryl.

“Right after he and Anya brought Leyladin back,” Faltar confirmed. “Something’s going on. Eliasar’s back, and he’s training new lancers. A bunch of them. Some are mercenaries, I think.”

“Most are mercenaries,” Heralt added.

Faltar raised his arm to catch the attention of the serving girl. “The stew and some ale.”

She nodded and kept moving.

“Another ale,” said Heralt.

“Another here,” added Lyasa.

“Three ales and a stew. Be a moment.” The girl did turn toward the kitchen then.

“Don’t think Búar’s that good,” Faltar observed, looking toward the kitchen. “Hope she hurries with the ale. Buar, he’ll do whatever a senior mage wants, though.”

“Don’t we all, right now?” asked Cerryl.

Faltar laughed. “Right you are.”

“You know, Cerryl,” Heralt began slowly, “we don’t really know how you ended up here in such sorry condition.”

Cerryl took another swallow of ale before he began. “You know I went to Hydolar with Anya and Fydel to get Leyladin, and I was supposed to help Anya.”

“You said that before. You and Anya brought down one of the Towers.”

“Nobody told me that,” interjected Faltar.

“The east Tower,” Cerryl said. “The idea was to tell the duke that he was lucky-that the Guild could bring the whole city down. Jeslek also wanted me to do something in the city. But he didn’t realize that we wouldn’t even be allowed inside the walls. That’s never happened before.” Cerryl shrugged. “I did what I was supposed to do and stole a mount to get back. But somewhere I ate some bad food and got a terrible flux. Then, when I was trying to…well…anyway…” He flushed slightly. “The horse got away, and I had to walk back to the Great White Highway, and I managed to get a trader to give me a ride the rest of the way back. Very embarrassing to admit I lost my mount.”

Thump! Thump! Thump! “Three ales. That’s four each.”

“Four for an ale, hard to believe,” muttered Faltar as he eased out the coppers.

“Stew be ready next.” The server scooped up the coins and slipped off to deliver a mug to the adjoining table.

“Ah…that’s good,” said Faltar. “Good after a dusty day.”

Lyasa took a swallow from her second mug without commenting.

“So…you did whatever Jeslek told you and then you lost your mount?” Heralt shook his head. “That doesn’t seem like you.”

“He was sick,” Leyladin said. “Very sick. I don’t see how he managed it.”

“Wait a moment,” Faltar said. “Cerryl goes to Hydolar, and then…”

“Faltar, that’s all I can say. All right?” Cerryl’s eyes fixed the blonde mage’s.

“Oh…” Faltar swallowed, then nodded.

For a moment there was silence around the table.

“I’ve been gone,” Cerryl broke the silence. “What’s happened with Spidlar?”

“Three more ships on the blockade,” Lyasa said. “I overheard Redark saying that banditry was rising in Spidlar, and now that the ice has closed in, the winter will be even harder than usual.”

Cerryl frowned. For some reason, the red-haired smith flicked into his thoughts. Did Black smiths have the same problems as White mages? Somehow, he suspected the man had problems, but not the same ones.

“You sit there in your own thoughts, Cerryl. You’re so quiet,” Lyasa observed, “but you’re the only one in the Guild who’s been the target of an assassin, been advanced and then demoted, and had to escape from two unfriendly cities.”

Cerryl shrugged. “What can I say? I keep making mistakes.”

Faltar laughed.

Even Heralt smiled.

“I’m not sure I accept that,” Lyasa said. “We all make mistakes. Even Jeslek makes mistakes.”

“I don’t know,” mused Cerryl, trying to change the subject. “The High Wizard has a real problem. The Guild has been trying to make life in Candar better. Look at Fairhaven. It’s cleaner, the people are more prosperous; and there’s less peacebreaking. It’s almost as if other rulers don’t want prosperity.”

“They don’t,” said Leyladin. “They’re not interested in prosperity for their people. Look at Jeslek’s quarters. They’re small. The Duke of Lydiar has a palace. So does the Duke of Hydolar. Even the great factors in Fairhaven do not have mansions the way they do in Lydiar or Renklaar.”

If Leyladin considered her father’s dwelling modest, and she had seen both factors’ dwellings and palaces elsewhere, Cerryl could imagine that the mansions of factors elsewhere must be grand indeed.

“How can a ruler not be concerned about his people?” asked Faltar.

“Most are concerned only that the people pay their taxes.” Heralt snorted. “The Guild has a problem. People in Fairhaven don’t know how well off they are, and those outside of Fairhaven don’t know how much better off they could be under the Guild. Because we can raise chaos, people fear us, and their rulers make sure that we’re always the bad ones.” He gulped the last of his ale. “Look at Cerryl. He made a mistake on the Patrol-a little one. If a guard bashed a beggar in Fenard or Kyphrien, do you think they’d punish the guard? I demon-darkness know that they don’t. Same in Lydiar. Cerryl didn’t even do that. Yet we’re those fearsome mages who turn people into ash.”

Cerryl nodded ever so slightly. What Heralt said made sense, but how many people saw what he’d seen? He rubbed his forehead. He was still more tired than he would have liked.

“Cerryl needs to go,” Leyladin announced, standing and half-tugging Cerryl to his feet.

“Still the healer,” said Heralt.

“Someone has to take care of him,” the healer answered.

“And you’re that someone,” Lyasa replied.

“Who better?” Leyladin raised her eyebrows.

“Better you than us,” said Faltar. “Good night.”

“Good night.” Cerryl gave a smile and a nod.

The air outside was cooler, cold enough to hint at snow-but far fresher than inside The Golden Ram. Cerryl fastened his jacket.

They walked up the Avenue past the Halls of the Mages, a light and cooler breeze slipping around them.

“I can walk home by myself,” Leyladin protested.

“I know you can, but I’d feel better if I walked with you, and you don’t want me to worry, do you?”

The blonde laughed. “You are impossible.”

“I’m very possible.”

“You have to be careful. Jeslek will want you to do something else even more dangerous next time.” After a pause, she added, “You shouldn’t have made that comment about the order of chaos. Jeslek and Anya would use that against you.”

Cerryl sighed. “I know, I’m still tired, and I’m not on guard as I should be.”

“What did you mean by that? About the order of chaos?”

“Oh…it’s obvious if you think about it. Any city, any land, has to have order within it. You can’t make a city work without it. There have to be rules, and rules are a form of order. Things like aqueducts and sewers are a form of order. So is peacekeeping. But no one in Fairhaven wants to admit that we need order as much as the Blacks on Recluce do. And,” he added with a laugh, “they need chaos, at least some, as much as we do.”

Leyladin shivered. “Don’t say that around Jeslek. He really will find something horribly dangerous for you to do. And if you do that, the next task he gives you will be even worse.”

“He might.”

“He will.”

“I can take my time getting better.”

“I already told him and Kinowin that it would take more than an eight-day. I said that you’d been poisoned and that if they pushed you too soon you wouldn’t be able to do as much. And I told Jeslek that I’d told Kinowin and some others that.” Leyladin offered a satisfied chuckle. “He wasn’t that happy about it, but right now I’m the only healer he has.”

“That was wicked.” Cerryl squeezed her hand. “I’m grateful that you did.”

They turned onto the street leading to Leyladin’s dwelling. Modest dwelling?

“You meant it about the big houses of the factors in Lydiar?”

“Oh, yes. Kiriol’s house is easily three times the size of ours, and his is far from the largest.”

Cerryl’s lips quirked into a crooked smile lost in the darkness as they walked up the stones to the door.

After Leyladin hugged him and gave him a single warm kiss, Cerryl walked slowly back toward the Halls of the Mages, noting that the warmth of the past few days had faded and that the wind was getting chill again.

Jeslek-what, if anything, could Cerryl do about the High Wizard? Jeslek faced a hard situation as High Wizard, and with that Cerryl sympathized. But you don’t want to get killed to solve his problems.

He shook his head. All he could do was watch and be patient and try to survive. And hope and be ready if you get the chance.