Colors of Chaos

XCIX

CERRYL STOOD IN the doorway to the one-room cot that served as meeting place, bedchamber, and rain shelter. In the dim light of the late-summer twilight he reread the scroll that had arrived earlier in the afternoon with the messenger from Jeslek.

While there may appear to be no Spidlarian forces near the road and lands you hold for Fairhaven…when the Black Isle is involved, appearances may be indeed deceiving…We should never be so deceived…

Your skills and presence are not required for the taking of Elparta, and it would be foolish for the Guild to hazard all of its brethren in Spidlar near Elparta unless such is required by events…

I remain convinced that events do not yet require the massive use of chaos against Elparta…Until summoned, you are to remain near the midpoint of that portion of the main road lying between the Easthorns and the present position of our forces…to secure it for safe usage by all those who answer to Fairhaven, and to ensure that all who use the road do answer to the White City…

An inquiry, and you get assigned another twenty kays or more of road to patrol? Cerryl glanced up from the scroll and massaged his forehead with his left hand. From what he gleaned from the lancers who had brought Jeslek’s scroll, the White Lancers and the Certan levies had advanced to within thirty kays of Elparta and the river-or closer. But they had been there for nearly three eight-days, and nothing had happened. Jeslek had not pressed an attack, nor had the arms commander of the Spidlarians.

Why not? Jeslek had never hesitated to employ force against others when it served its purpose, or his. Did he lack the levies he had been promised by the prefect of Gallos and the Duke of Hydlen?

Cerryl’s fingers went to his chin. Groups of Certan levies-and supply wagons-had passed every few eight-days, but not a single armsman from Hydlen. Gallosian levies would have come to Jeslek directly from the south-if any had.

Cerryl began to reroll the scroll as Hiser walked toward the cot. “Good evening, Hiser.”

“Evening, ser. Not trying to be too nosy, ser, but you got a scroll a bit ago.”

“From the High Wizard,” Cerryl admitted. “He wants us to keep guarding the road, even farther west now.”

“We haven’t seen a blue in two eight-days, could be longer.”

“That doesn’t mean we couldn’t. Or won’t.”

“So we’re still staying here, ser?” asked Hiser.

“For now.” Cerryl gestured vaguely with the loosely rolled scroll. “The High Wizard remains concerned that the Black Isle has some secret way to attack from his rear or to destroy all the White mages if they are in one place. So we will remain here.”

The young blonde subofficer shrugged. “It could be worse. We’re taking fewer losses than those with the High Wizard.”

“Is that what the messengers are saying?”

“The blues-or that Black warleader, they say his name is Brede or some such-are using knives you can’t see to cut lancers out of their saddles. They pose as peasants or merchants and then shoot unsuspecting lancers in the back. The men are angry.” A sad smile crossed Hiser’s face. “Ours but grumble.”

“Better grumbling than dead.” Brede…he’s causing enough trouble that even the men know his name?

“Most think that way.” Hiser nodded, then looked to the north and the lingering red in the western part of the northern sky. “Might be getting some rain.”

“The air feels damp,” Cerryl agreed. What else can you say? Besides that you don’t know what the High Wizard is doing-or why?