Colors of Chaos (89 page)

“For your sisters… it’s safe. For your father or you or me?” Cerryl shook his head slowly, then drew her close again, holding on tightly.

After a time, she disengaged herself. “How are you going to take on Sterol? Even Kinowin says you have to.”

“Meet with Anya tomorrow and go straight to his quarters.”

“That’s dangerous, trusting her.”

“I won’t tell her I’m here. You send a messenger asking her to meet you in the fountain courtyard, but I’ll be there.” Cerryl shrugged. “I can defeat Sterol. That’s not the problem. I don’t want anyone to know I can do it. If anyone realizes I have that kind of power, they’ll turn on me because I’m so young-and so inexperienced.”

“You’re scarcely inexperienced.”

“That’s what they think, and I don’t want to take on all the older members of the Guild. Anya needs someone to run the Guild for her. It might as well be me.”

“You’re playing a dangerous role, dear one. Trusting Anya for anything is like playing with a serpent.”

“Tell me.” He rubbed his eyes. “Except Sterol is getting worse.”

“Both Kinowin and Anya warned me about Sterol. Kinowin even suggested I stay away from the White Tower these days. I’m glad you’re back.”

“Did he… Sterol… ?”

“No… nothing like that.” Yet. Cerryl swallowed.

“Sterol is controlled by Anya.” Leyladin smiled sadly. “He doesn’t even know it. She says things so that he’ll do the opposite of what she says and not realize that’s what she wants.”

“That’s the problem with her. Do you oppose her or support her? How do you ever know quite what she intends?” Cerryl glanced toward the growing darkness outside the bedchamber windows, stifling a yawn.

“Have you eaten?”

“Not enough.”

“Not nearly enough.” Her eyes danced. “Not for tonight.”

Cerryl couldn’t help grinning.

CLXV

Cerryl waited in the shadows of the pillars beside the entrance to the Council Chamber, on the way to the fountain courtyard, where he could see the courtyard, but not where Leyladin had told Anya she would be. Because heavy dark clouds swirled over the city and no lamps had been lit in the Halls that morning, the entry foyer was dark, gloomy.

Most fitting in some ways. Cerryl glanced down the rear corridor of the foyer but could see no one nearing or in the front part of the fountain courtyard. He maintained a slight version of his blurring shield, not wanting to be seen nor to draw attention.

Two messengers in red scurried past.

“Redark… couldn’t decide if he wants… water or wine… then changes his mind.”

“Better than the High Wizard… claims wine spoils before he can drink it… blames us for bringing it.” The second creche-raised messenger glanced over her shoulder, his eyes skipping past Cerryl as if she had not even seen the mage.

“Quiet…”

Coming the other way was a student mage, one of those Cerryl didn’t know, a dark-haired young man with a wispy goatee, of the type that poor dead Bealtur had tried to cultivate. The apprentice also passed without noticing Cerryl.

A red-haired figure descended the steps from the tower, then moved silently down the center of the foyer toward the rear archway into the fountain courtyard.

Cerryl let Anya pass before stepping out of the shadows and dropping the shield. “Leyladin’s not coming. I prevailed upon her to request your presence.”

Anya turned and flashed her bright smile. “Why… Cerryl… you have grown even more cautious.”

“Coming to Fairhaven was not cautious, Anya. Best I be cautious when I can.”

“You also have skills some know little about. I sensed no one nearby.”

“That was because you sought Leyladin and not me.”

“There’s always more to you than meets the eye.”

“Thank you. I would hope so, since not that much meets the eye. When one is not physically imposing and does not swirl vast amounts of chaos around…” Cerryl shrugged, then drew her back next to the pillars, not into the shadows, for that would have alerted the suspicious, but along the side of the thoroughfare, as though their meeting were merely a conversation begun in passing. “You wish something of me?”

“I received a message.” Cerryl raised his eyebrows.

“Ah… yes. Perhaps I was precipitous. Or just wished to see if you would keep your word.” Anya’s smile faded.

“I would suggest you gather those you can trust to stand ready when we go to see Sterol.”

“He will not wish to see you.”

“You will not request that. You will bring me.”

“And if I do not?” Anya’s smile was almost coy.

Cerryl forced a shrug. “Then you will suffer through many more years of Sterol as High Wizard… until he grows tired of your taking pleasure elsewhere-if he has not already.”

“Do not be so coarse, Cerryl. It does not become you.” Anya arched her eyebrows. “How would you be any different? I assume that is what you want?”

“I have Leyladin, and that leaves you free to pursue… what you wish, besides power, of course.”

“There is a certain attraction to that-but that assumes you can defeat Sterol.”

“If I cannot, well, then you and Sterol are well rid of me, and you can claim I forced you to bring me to the White Tower. Sterol will believe that of a female mage.”

“You are getting more devious as you age, Cerryl.”

“I have watched you, Anya, to learn what I can. Why did you really summon me?”

“Because this time the amulet has poisoned him.” Anya lowered her voice to a murmur, and her bright and false smile dimmed into something sadder-and truer.

“His scrolls seem the same to me,” Cerryl said mildly. “Impatient and self-centered.”

“Do you believe that? Truly?” asked the redhead. “Once he talked, as you have, of making Fairhaven great again. Now he demands golds and berates the rulers of other lands, and we must send lancers to protect the mage advisers-or recall them. He does nothing about the Black demon smith who fled to Recluce.”

“Where is Gorsuch? Still in Renklaar?”

“Where else? He can control the port there, and there’s less danger than in Hydolar. Duke Afabar is even more unpredictable than his predecessors, but he’s Asulan, and they’re known for that.”

“Disarj is in Jellico?” Lining his purse as Shyren did, no doubt.

“You know that already, Cerryl.”

“So… what else has Sterol done that shows this… poisoning?”

“He’s turned a messenger to ashes because the lad brought him sour wine. He’s done the same to two apprentices.” She paused. “One might have merited it, but even Broka was aghast at the second. Esaak remonstrated with Sterol, and the High Wizard threatened to send Esaak, at his age, to Naclos. Then he asked him to report on the sewer runnels from the Halls.” Anya paused.

“And what of the problem of the smith and Recluce?”

“The Guild asks for action, and he will not act. I have asked, and he will not act.”

So Anya does want to act against the smith. She really does. “He does not listen to anyone?”

“Has he ever? Need I say more?”

Cerryl nodded slowly. From what he could tell, every word Anya spoke, she had believed. Some he even believed. “No. Who can you call upon… today?”

“Today we could summon but Fydel, dear faithful Fydel, and two of the younger mages-Isepell and Rospor. You did not chose the best of days.”

Cerryl inclined his head. “Shall we go? Fydel must be somewhere near.”

“We might as well.”

They passed no one Cerryl knew on the way to the rear Hall that held Fydel’s quarters, but that was because there were few indeed left in the Halls that Cerryl knew-Kinowin, Esaak, Broka, Redark, and Kiella, now that the apprentice had been made a full mage. All the others Cerryl had known were either in the peacekeeping Patrol-and not in the Halls-scattered across Candar or dead. Which is why you need Anya.

Fydel’s mouth opened, then closed as Anya and Cerryl stepped into his quarters.

“Cerryl has returned to put things to rights with Sterol,” Anya said briskly, without her usual smile. “We need to move quickly.”

“Now,” added Cerryl.

“I like this not.” Fydel paced back and forth across his narrow room. “If Cerryl cannot defeat Sterol, we are dead.”

“If Sterol remains High Wizard, you are dead,” Cerryl said bluntly. “He already knows Anya would rather spend her time with you than with him. He only waits for a way to assign you some impossible task, such as becoming the new mage adviser to Duke Afabar.”

Fydel fingered his beard. “I will stand ready, but I don’t wish to be in the meeting.”

“You would not be there for this,” Anya said quietly. “I must ask him to act on the Guild’s wishes, and he must refuse. There must be a reason.”

“He will not act against Recluce,” Fydel said.

“Then that would be best. We can claim that we will.” Cerryl smiled. “Now… you could do one favor before that?”

“I like that less yet.”

“Gather Isepell and Rospor to stand with you.”

“Why me? They’re Anya’s supporters.”

“Exactly,” offered Cerryl. “Should anyone see Anya gathering them… whereas if you do…” Of course, that’s not your reason. You don’t want Anya out of sight until the deed is done, but they don’t have to know that.

“Ah.” After a moment, the square-bearded mage asked, “Then what?”

“Bring guards with iron chains. Tell them that the High Wizard needs them for a problem.”

“Sterol won’t submit,” Anya said.

“No,” Cerryl admitted, “but the guards and chains will keep others from asking why three mages wait outside Sterol’s quarters.”

Fydel nodded. “And we can be totally innocent if this fails. Not that I expect either of you to fail, but…”

“You would rather not fail with us.” Anya did offer the bright smile.

“Let us make our way to see the High Wizard,” Cerryl said, offering his own bright and false smile. “Fydel will gather the others and follow. Will you not, Fydel?”

“Your wishes-both of yours-are my command.”

Anya and Cerryl left Fydel’s small quarters and began to walk back toward the front Hall and the White Tower.

“You know, Cerryl, Fydel is most pleased that you have an arrangement with the healer. It does make matters… easier.”

“It does,” Cerryl agreed, “and that will not change.”

“Fydel will be pleased.”

As they left the second Hall and stepped into the fountain courtyard, Esaak appeared, saw Cerryl, and stepped away hurriedly, but not toward the front Hall.

“Best we not delay,” Cerryl said.

“You’ve said that before.” Anya’s voice was testy.

Two apprentices backed away as Anya and Cerryl crossed the foyer toward the steps up to the tower, though Cerryl knew neither.

At the topmost landing, outside the High Wizard’s apartments, the guard Gostar’s eyes widened as they went from Anya to Cerryl and back to Anya. “Sers? He… said he did not wish…”

“Is he alone?” asked Anya.

“Yes, Mage Anya.”

“Then he will see us. And there will be several other mages following with guards to take care of Sterol’s needs.” Anya stepped forward and opened the door. “Sterol! I have a surprise for you, a rather unforeseen and pleasant one.”

Cerryl followed Anya, closing the door.

Sterol rose from behind the table, chaos building and billowing around him. “A surprise? Cerryl? So… you have brought our recalcitrant mage home to the High Wizard for judgment?”

“I thought you might like to see him. You may deal with him after you answer the question that Redark and Kinowin prevailed upon me to ask.” Anya’s tone was languid, almost insolent.

“After? Who tells me what I should deal with and when? Are they so weak they would not trouble themselves to ask?” Chaos crackled around the iron-haired High Wizard, so much that Cerryl wondered how the man had not already aged into dust.

“The Council wants to know what you intend to do.” Anya’s eyes dropped to the blank mirror upon the table. “They are getting restless.”

“They wish? Do they know what they wish?” Sterol gestured, and the white mists appeared and vanished. A view appeared in the glass, so solid that it might have been painted there, a view of a black ship moored at a pier in the narrow inlet, with five black stone buildings on the hillside above. “Look. Have you ever seen anything so clear?”

“No.”

Cerryl, standing well back, almost to the window, shook his head ever so slightly, but his eyes did not leave the High Wizard as he quietly and slowly raised his shields, without raising chaos. Yet.

“I haven’t either. What aspect of the Balance created that monster I don’t know…” His eyes flicked to Cerryl. “Save that you let him escape.”

Cerryl did not answer.

“The Council is worried,” Anya persisted. “They want you to do something.”

“Fine! What am I supposed to do? Send a fleet out against Recluce? What good will it do?” Sterol snorted and looked at the image in the mirror on the table. “The old Black ones won’t respond. Should we attack the island? Do you know what black iron swords do to our White Guards? Do you want one of those things he built blowing you into shreds? Like the great Jeslek?”

“The Blacks are divided,” said Anya quietly. “They want this Dorrin to disappear as much as we do.”

“That may be, but how does that explain all the people helping build this new town? He didn’t carry them all on that little ship. And they’re all still Blacks. That means he isn’t creating any chaos on Recluce, the demons know why…” Sterol rubbed his forehead.

“Why can’t you send a fleet? Recluce doesn’t even have a half-score of warships, if that. They don’t like fighting. And most of those ships are spread across the oceans.”

Sterol massaged his forehead again, then touched the amulet that rested against his chest. “Haven’t you heard a word I’ve said?”

“The Council wants some action, Sterol.” Anya’s voice was sharp. The hint of a frown crossed Cerryl’s forehead. “With what do they wish for me to pay for such action?” Sterol’s eyes went to Cerryl. “We receive no golds from Spidlar. Disarj sends scrolls but fewer golds than did Shyren.”

“The Guild members mutter. They say nothing when you are around, but they mutter.”