Colors of Chaos (92 page)

“Ah… he would like to return to Fairhaven…”

“That could pose a problem. Would he rather be in Jellico? We could send Disarj to Renklaar? Or Ruzor? Shenan might be persuaded to go to Hydlen.” Cerryl smiled brightly. “What do you think, Redark?”

“I would have to consider that.”

“I’d like your thoughts on that. Perhaps we could discuss it this afternoon when you tell me about the junior mages.”

“Ah… yes.”

“Good.” Cerryl gave a broader smile. “Until then.”

He left the front Hall and crossed the fountain court before he was accosted again-this time by Broka, the thin mage who had once taught Cerryl anatomie.

“High Wizard.”

“Broka. You have a thought upon your mind?” Upon a very devious mind?

“Yes, honored Cerryl. You may recall that I asked whether you would choose caution over actions or the reverse. You responded fairly, if cautiously.” Broka bowed his head very slightly.

“I would prefer to act when the actions will have the effect we all desire,” Cerryl answered. “Acting for appearance wastes coins we do not have.”

“Like Kinowin, you are concerned over golds?”

“I am concerned for the Guild. Golds are necessary to assure the Guild’s future.” Cerryl offered a faint smile. “I would that it were otherwise, but controlling chaos does not pay lancers nor purchase grain.”

“So long as the Guild comes first…” Broka nodded.

“It does,” Cerryl affirmed. “The good of Fairhaven is uppermost in my thoughts.”

“I look forward to when your actions will bring the desired results.”

“As do I.”

Broka gave a sidelong nod and slipped away in the stealthy and angular fashion that had always made Cerryl think of him as lizardlike. Cerryl made his way toward the Meal Hall, even though the noon bells had not quite rung.

The young High Wizard surveyed the Hall. Almost as though he could sense Cerryl’s eyes, Esaak glanced up from the corner table in the Hall. Cerryl made his way through the empty tables and settled down across the round table from the older mage. “How are matters working out with Redark?”

“You may be the most mathematically inept High Wizard the Guild has ever had.” Esaak looked at Cerryl, almost blankly, before a trace of a smile appeared. “But you are not that inept.”

“Redark does not understand why we cannot raise tariffs. He will not listen to me.” Cerryl shrugged. “He will not believe matters unless they are put before him in a fashion he cannot deny. I know of no one other than you who can do so.”

“I appreciate your trust, High Wizard.” A broader smile crossed Esaak’s lined face. “I also imagine you have no objection to my sharing my calculations with anyone who is interested.” The heavyset and white-haired old mage scratched his ear.

“Not at all. I would appreciate seeing them before they are widely shared so that I know what you have calculated.”

“You know what I have calculated, I imagine. Lower tariffs in Fairhaven and broader and lower tariffs in the ports will gain the Guild more golds.” Esaak sighed, then lifted the mug of ale before him, slurping down a healthy swallow. “The difficulty is not the calculations, but the explanation of why this is so.”

“A twentieth part of fifty-score pies gives one more pies than a tenth of fivescore pies,” suggested Cerryl.

“You wish to write the explanations, High Wizard? With your gift of words… ?”

Cerryl laughed, easily. “If I wrote them, no one would believe them. You are esteemed and respected.”

“You are a dangerous flatterer, ser.” Esaak smiled broadly. “I will complete the calculations and essay to educate the overmage on pies and golds.” He nodded as Cerryl stood.

“Thank you.” With a nod, Cerryl stepped toward the serving table, where the youths in red were setting out what looked to be mutton stew-a lamb stew that had not changed since he had first come to the Halls and heard Faltar complain about it.

And you wish he were still here to complain. Cerryl’s eyes burned as he turned from the serving table and began to walk back to the White Tower. More than ever you wish that…

CLXX

Cerryl peered into the study commons, noting the three apprentices studying there, then slipped into the corridor, using his blur screen to avoid attention.

He passed back to the front Hall, where he waited a time, watching messengers in red passing, some other apprentices, and, finally, a mage he knew, if but slightly. He waited until the red-haired Kochar was almost abreast before dropping the screen. “Kochar?”

“Ah… oh, I’m so sorry, ser. I didn’t see you.” Kochar half-bowed and stepped back away from the High Wizard.

Cerryl offered a pleasant smile and beckoned to the redhead. “You’re on gate duty now, are you not?”

“Yes, ser. The eastern gate.” Kochar’s eyes did not quite meet Cerryl’s. “Except for today.”

“That was my first gate duty,” mused Cerryl. “You still get farmers coming through?”

“Ah…”

“Not that many?” prodded Cerryl.

“No, ser.”

“You sell many medallions?”

“Not one, ser.” Kochar paused. “I’ve only been on gate duty for a half-season, and it is winter.”

“Still,” mused Cerryl, “they must have some provisions laid by to sell somewhere. Do not some ask about medallions?”

“There was one, an older man, but when he heard it would cost five coppers, he said he’d take his chances at the square in Howlett or even Weevett.”

“What did you say?”

“Wasn’t much I could say, ser, was there?”

“Not now. We’ll be trying to change that.” Cerryl paused. “Anyone tried to bring in perfumed oils packed inside timbers? They’re hard to sense if they’re not in leaded pottery.”

“Ah… not that I know.”

“You never know what might be in a wagon.” Cerryl nodded. “I won’t keep you.”

“Yes, ser. Thank you, ser.” With a bow, Kochar backed away.

As soon as the young mage’s head turned, Cerryl concealed himself with the blur screen.

Kochar glanced back once and almost stumbled when he could not see the High Wizard. Cerryl smiled to himself. One way or another… you’ll get them thinking you can be anywhere.

Cerryl crossed the fountain courtyard, ignoring the chill wind and raw air, and then along the corridor and into the library, watching a young woman in the red-trimmed whites of an apprentice who pored over a familiar map. It took him a moment to put name to face.

“What are you trying to find?”

Her eyes widened as she saw the amulet. “Oh, ser, honored High Wizard… ah…”

“I know. You’ve been told not to seek help from any full mages and now you have the High Wizard questioning you.” He gestured toward the map stretched on the table before her. “That map is familiar… It was the first big map I did-for Jeslek, even before he became High Wizard. I had to find out where Tellura, Meltosia, Quessa, and a few other places in Gallos were. What is your task? That you can tell me.” Cerryl smiled.

“I’m to find a place called Asula and one called Telsen.”

“Who set the task?”

“Overmage Redark, ser.”

“Add two more,” Cerryl said gently. “Diev and Axalt. You may ask anyone why they are important, but not their location.”

“Yes, ser.” The tone was not quite resigned.

“What do you think about the Black Isle?”

“The Blacks are our enemies.”

“So it has been said for many years,” Cerryl answered. “It will be for years to come. Yet most arms mages have died in Candar with few Blacks nearby, and never have the Blacks sent lancers or armsmen into Candar.”

“Ser?”

“All enemies are not those who are the most convenient to name.” Cerryl smiled enigmatically. “I wish you well on the map. Diev was somewhere in Spidlar, by the way, and Axalt in the Easthorns.”

“Was?”

“Good day, Meylal.” Cerryl stepped back past the bookcase, drawing the blur shield around him, so that he would appear to have vanished.

CLXXI

Cerryl glanced around the lamp-lit and silk-hung bedchamber, so similar to the first view of Leyladin’s chamber through his glass and yet so different in ways he could not describe but only feel.

“You look tired,” Leyladin said, standing behind him and rubbing his shoulders. “Your shoulders are tight. Lie down on the bed.”

Cerryl was glad to comply, easing off his boots and stretching out on the green coverlet. The breeze coming through the shutters that were cracked but a fraction of a span was chill yet held the hint of approaching spring.

The healer’s long fingers were firm but gentle as she massaged the tight muscles between his shoulder blades and spine. “Your muscles are like iron.”

“That’s from wondering who will appear behind me every time I leave the tower.” And if they’ll see through your blurring screen.

“You don’t have to walk the Halls of the Mages that much.”

“I don’t? How else do I establish that I could know anything and be anywhere? I’m not a mighty mage like Jeslek was, or a planner and plotter like Anya is.”

“You’re getting pretty effective. Kiella drew me aside yesterday. She wanted to know if I knew how you managed to slip through walls.”

“I wish I could sometimes.” Cerryl sighed, enjoying the kneading that relaxed and loosened his shoulders.

“She also said that someone had told her that you had removed all the traders in Spidlar. No one had seen you do it, nor knew how you had, not even to this day.” The healer’s fingers moved down his back.

“That feels good.” After a moment, he added, “I’m not getting respected but feared? Is that it?”

Leyladin laughed. “Both, I would say. That’s not too bad for a mage almost no one knew a season ago.”

“From nothingness to High Wizard in a single season.”

“Better that than the other way around.”

Facedown on the soft bed, Cerryl closed his eyes. He wanted to shake his head.

“You can’t have as much power as the High Wizard has and expect to be loved,” she said quietly. “Except by me and a few others who really know you.” After a moment, she added, “That’s true for everyone, really.”

“I suppose so. Sad, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but we won’t change that.”

Not if you want to change Candar, we won’t. He let his breath out slowly and tried to concentrate on the firm and gentle touch that had begun to relax a body all too tight.

CLXXII

Cerryl glanced at the scroll sent from Heralt.

… now that the ice is out across the entire Northern Ocean, the wagons have begun to roll in from Certis. I have stationed a full company of lancers at the harbor with one of the apprentices there all the time. Otherwise, cargoes would be loaded and unloaded without tariffs being paid…

… with this should come a small chest of golds, nearly 400, to follow the 200 sent three eight-days ago…

There is a certain sullenness… yet acceptance when we mention your name to the Certans… as though they know of you by more than name… as though they now know that the full surtax will be collected… Records here show that such was not so last fall… still concerned that the viscount may attempt something…

… have seen no Black traders…

Cerryl let the scroll roll shut. He stood and walked to the open window, looking out at the white and green of Fairhaven, thinking about Heralt and the continued tariff and trade problems. His use of the glass showed no movement of Certan troops, and the tariff collections sent from Jellico by Disarj had increased somewhat over the previous year, but not to the amount Cerryl suspected was truly due. Sooner or later, he’d have to deal with both Rystryr and Disarj, but that problem would have to wait.

His eyes went to the pile of scrolls. So far matters had continued to improve in Spidlaria and Lydiar, and despite complaining, Gorsuch remained dutiful in Renklaar. The Duke Afabar continued to send obedient scrolls-and golds-from Hydolar. Shenan confirmed that more trade was appearing in Ruzor, but without more mages or lancers she could not ensure that all the tariffs were being recorded and paid,

“How long that will last…” Cerryl twisted his lips in a private and wry smile.

Thrap! “Overmage Redark.”

“Have him come in.” Cerryl turned from the window and the warm breeze.

“Greetings, High Wizard.” Redark bowed after he entered the High Wizard’s apartment. The pale green eyes peered at Cerryl above the ginger beard as the overmage seated himself across the table. “You are often seen around the Halls, or so I am told. Yet you are like a shadow.”

“The High Wizard must cast a long shadow… don’t you think?”

“I had not thought of it in quite that way.”

“The overmage Kinowin,” announced Gostar from beyond the white oak door to the chamber.

“Have him join us,” Cerryl answered, raising his voice.

Kinowin walked in, with no sign of the stiffness Cerryl knew the older overmage felt, and sat to Redark’s right. “Greetings, High Wizard, Redark.”

“Greetings,” Redark answered, not quite dourly.

Cerryl glanced from the white - and - blond - haired Kinowin to Redark. “You requested this meeting, Overmage. Perhaps you should begin.” He took a sip of water from the goblet, then poured water for both overmages.

“Ah… yes, ser.” Redark took a sip from the goblet before him. “There is no doubt, ser, no doubt at all, that you are the most powerful mage-in a quiet sort of way, you understand. But not all understand your power, and you are young…”

Cerryl smiled. “I understand.”

“At first… well… every High Wizard must take some time.” Re-dark shrugged. “It has been more than a season since you assumed the amulet, and spring has turned, and summer is upon us.”

“And?” asked Cerryl politely.

“Recluce… the Black Isle remains aloof. Their traders ply the Eastern Ocean, and they carry cargoes that should be from Candar. You have spoken well and often-”

“Their traders, or those receiving goods in Candar, now pay the full surtax,” Cerryl answered mildly.

“Those ships are few,” protested Redark, his voice rising slightly. “Many feel that the time to act has long passed. Were it not for having had three High Wizards in near as many years…”