The White Order (35 page)

Cerryl opened the door and stepped into Myral's room. The heavyset mage finished a sip of cider and pointed toward the chair. Cerryl left the door ajar, hoping Myral wouldn't mind, but he wanted the breeze that existed with the open door. He eased into the chair and waited.

   After a moment, Myral cleared his throat. “How long will it take you to finish that secondary tunnel?”

   “Two, perhaps three days.”

   “I need to inform Sterol about that.” Myral took a sip of cider. “Your meeting with him last night went well.” The older mage smiled as Cerryl raised his eyebrows. “No, I have not talked to the High Wizard. After yesterday, had it not gone well, you would not be here today. Jyantyl did tell me that you were forced to deal with Ullan, and that you handled his execution well.”

   Cerryl swallowed slightly.

   A series of coughs racked Myral, and Cerryl leaned forward in his chair.

   The balding mage raised a hand, as if to insist Cerryl remain seated, coughed several times more, then took a very small sip from his mug. “Chaos dust does not do the lungs well, but when one is a mage, the dust follows wherever one is, and I'm not one for wasting away on a breezy hilltop.” Myral snorted. “You need to keep working on whatever you're doing to keep the chaos out of your system. It's effective, it appears, but sometimes you flicker very brightly. Do you understand?”

   “I take it that flickering that way is not good?”

   “Not if you are a very young mage, it's not.”

   “I'll keep working on it.”

   “Good. I will see you again tomorrow morning.”

   Cerryl rose.

   “And, Cerryl?”

   “Yes, ser?”

   “You can close the door all the way when you leave. I'm not as hot-blooded as you are.”

   Cerryl flushed as he closed the door behind him. On the way down the steps, he took several deep breaths, then nodded to Hertyl. He went down the stairs to the foyer quickly and turned left toward the courtyard and the rear barracks, where he usually met Jyantyl.

   At the doorway to the courtyard, he saw a blonde figure in green.

   Leyladin smiled as he neared. “Good day, Cerryl.”

   “Good day, Leyladin.”

   She stopped, as if she wanted to talk. So did Cerryl.

   “Cerryl. .. ?”

   “Yes?”

   “How did you find Myral this morning?”

   Cerryl kept his pleasant smile in place. “He was in good spirits. He gets tired more quickly now, I think.”

   “More quickly than when you first began to work the sewers?”

   He nodded.

   “That has been less than three seasons.” She frowned, then smiled gently. “He is older than he looks, and I fear for him. I suppose all healers worry about those they tend.”

   Cerryl repressed the exuberant smile he felt. “He has said that you help him, but he has never said what it was that you did.”

   The young healer glanced around the foyer and lowered her voice. “All mages who handle chaos ... the chaos ages them faster, even those like Myral who are careful. I can help restore a little of the order-only a little, because too much order is worse than too little. It helps-or it did. Now I worry.”

   Cerryl could sense no one was near or watching them in a glass. “Thank you.”

   Her brows knit in puzzlement. “For what?”

   “For not mentioning that I once saw you in the glass.”

   Leyladin laughed, a warm laugh, a soft sound, and her eyes sparkled enough that Cerryl could see the amusement. “Oh ... Cerryl... I never knew you were the one. I thought... after I first saw you ... but you never said anything.”

 
 “I only tried twice,” he confessed.

   She shook her head; then her face turned calm. “I thank you, ser.”

   Cerryl nodded as he heard the footsteps, even before he saw Bealtur. “You are most welcome. May your healing continue to bring results.”

   With a quick nod, she was gone.

   Bealtur kept his eyes from meeting Cerryl's, and continued toward the tower, following Leyladin up the steps from the foyer.

   Cerryl hurried through the courtyard, glad for the brief cooling afforded by the fountain and the light breeze before he entered the rear hall on his way to the rear barracks. But most of all, he was glad he had told Leyladin. He'd hated carrying that as a secret, and her reaction had relieved him ... at least somewhat.

   Waiting outside the weathered granite building with Jyantyl were four lancers Cerryl had never seen before.

   “Good morning, ser,” offered the weathered lancer.

   “Good morning.” Cerryl's eyes took in the new guards. “What about Dientyr?” he asked quietly. “I would not-”

   “He would be glad that you thought of him.” Jyantyl gave a quick smile. “His punishment is over, and he has returned to his company. They are departing for Jellico tomorrow.”

   “Are you? You had mentioned something ...”

   Jyantyl lifted his shoulders, then dropped them. “Some day soon, but no one has said.”

   More and more lancers heading west, reflected Cerryl as the group of six started southward and out to the avenue. Something was definitely happening.

   The light breeze ruffled Cerryl's fine hair, and he brushed it off his forehead, glancing up at the morning sky. The faintest haze of high clouds tinted the green-blue sky, imparting a slightly bluer cast to the heavens.

   Cerryl walked in silence, conscious of the heavy tread of the lancers' boots as they turned onto the avenue and continued southward.

   As they passed the row of inns that catered to the richer travelers, he glanced down the side avenue that led to the traders' square to the southwest. Was it less crowded?

   Ahead on the paved sidewalk, two women eased toddlers into a shop-a wine cooper's shop.

   Cerryl frowned. Why would they go there? He tried to catch the sense of the words from the women and the cooper's assistant gathered under the overhang of the shop entrance.

   “Student mage or not... red stripe ... still kill a man as look at him...”

   “... not so much as a reason ... threw Kelwin and his folk out of the city ...”

   “... chaos ... dirty way to fight... not like a blade or a lance... them's clean at least...”

   Cerryl wanted to answer all of them, but he kept a smile plastered . his face as he strode toward the last sewer grate. He hoped the grate on was the last, and the collector the last he had to scour, but he supposed he could be like Kinowin had been, spending more than a year beneath the streets of Fairhaven.

   He repressed a shudder. I hope not. I hope not.

Cerryl slipped into the chair across from Myral, blotting his forehead from the warmth that would certainly intensify as the late summer day went on. Somehow, it was still hard to believe that another summer had nearly passed, and that he had been in Fairhaven almost a year and a half.

   “I went back as you said, and checked everything yesterday. The runnel is clean.” Cerryl paused. “They haven't bricked up that door yet.”

   “I know. Your successor, young Faltar, will take care of that.”

   “My successor?”

   “I have talked it over with Sterol. You have cleaned elaborately and well two secondary sewer tunnels, and you have proved that you have the minimal ability to use chaos to defend yourself. There's nothing more you need learn about the sewers or the use of chaos-fire to clean them.” Myral smiled blandly. “Jeslek has summoned you. You are to replace Kesrik as his assistant.”

   “I thought Bealtur or Kochar ...”

   “Neither is as accomplished nor as far along as you are.”

   “I do not understand. I don't think Jeslek even likes me.”

   “Nor should he. You respect his ability, but you do not worship the ground on which he treads.” Myral's tone was dry. “Respect will suffice for now, but never forget to respect the overmage. Remember that.”

   Cerryl nodded.

   After a sip of cool cider and a silence that the creaking of a noisy wagon on the avenue broke, Myral turned back to Cerryl. “Cerryl... times are getting... interesting.” The older mage coughed, the same racking cough, despite the warmth of the room, covering his mouth with a grayish cloth.

   “Are you all right?”

   “As well... as possible.” Myral folded the cloth.

   “Ser, if you would explain why times are interesting... I did not have the privilege of growing up in the creche.”

   “I'd not call it a privilege.” Myral laughed, a laugh that turned into another racking cough. The older mage blotted his mouth once more “Are you sure you are all right, ser?”

   “Nothing wrong with me but age... and the ills that brines mage.” Myral took a sip from the mug on the table. “You know about Gallos, do you not? It stretches from where the rivers join in the north all the way south to Ruzor. The distance is vast enough that it has never been measured accurately, Esaak notwithstanding, but Gallos extends well over eight hundred kays, perhaps a thousand from north to south and it is a rich land.”

   “Yes ... I have heard such.”

   “Too rich. The prefect is another descendant of Fenardre the Great who would emulate his ancestor. He is young, and he is cunning, and he does not like the road taxes or the traders' guild or us. He toys with Sverlik.”

   Sverlik-Cerryl had heard the name somewhere. “Sverlik is the mage who represents Fairhaven in Fenard. He's close to my age, and he can't last forever, either. This young prefect-Lyam is his name-he wants to take over Certis and Spidlar. The Spidlarian Council of Traders, and all Spidlarians are traders of one sort or another, those who are not mercenaries ... where was I? Oh, the Spidlarians are turning to more trade with Sarronnyn and Recluce, and Gallos is buying most of that. The traders think it is greed on Lyam's part, but greed is only the beginning....” Myral coughed again and fell silent. “Ser ... does that mean the lancers must go to Gallos?”

   “I cannot say what Jeslek and Sterol will decide. They will decide something. Jeslek has hinted that he might be able to develop another course of action. He has not said what that might be. You will be there to assist him.”

   “Ah ... when do I see him?”

   “Now. You might as well get on your way. I have little enough else to teach you, though I doubt I have taught you so much as you have taught yourself.” A brief smile flitted across the lined round face. “Ser, you have taught me much.”

   “Don't protest too much.” Myral waved toward the door. “On your way, young Cerryl, old as you are beyond your years. On your way.”

   Cerryl rose. “Yes, ser.”

   “And do close the door. There's nothing more susceptible to chill than an old and tired mage.”

   “You're not that old and tired.”

   “You're kind but inaccurate. Best you get off to serve Jeslek... an Cerryl?”

   “Yes, ser.”

   “He will be High Wizard one day. So be most careful.”

   Cerryl nodded. He had no intention of ever being other than most careful where Jeslek and Sterol-and Anya and Kinowin-were involved. He closed the door firmly, but not hard, and took a deep breath. What would being Jeslek's assistant involve? After a moment, he shrugged and started down the tower steps.

   The foyer was empty, except for the tower guards. Was it his imagination, or were all the Halls of the Mages more deserted? Just because mages wanted out of the summer heat? Or because of the troubles that Myral had mentioned?

   Cerryl paused in the courtyard, beside the fountain, and blotted his forehead, lingering in the fountain's spray to cool off before he marched toward the rear hall.

   At the upstairs rear of the hall that contained his own cell, Cerryl paused at the door where the guard, a lancer in white he did not know, rapped on the white oak.

   “Send Cerryl in.”

   Cerryl stepped into Jeslek's quarters. The white mage seemed to blaze with power.

   Cerryl halted, not even closing the door.

   “You can close it.”

   Cerryl complied.

   “I will not cross words with you, young Cerryl.” Jeslek's golden eye glittered. “You are here as Sterol's tool to watch over me as much as assist me. You know that, and I know that.”

   “The honored Sterol did not tell me such, ser.”

   Jeslek snorted. “He does not have to tell you such. How can you not answer his questions?”

   “He is the High Wizard, ser.” Cerryl felt as though he walked the edge of a cliff.

   “You would pay such allegiance to any who might be High Wizard?” A slow smile crossed Jeslek's face.

   “Would I have any choice, ser?”

   Jeslek laughed. “I said I would not cross words with you, and yet you cross words with me. For a student mage, you are dangerous, young Cerryl.”

   Cerryl waited, feeling silence was his only response.

   “I know you can wield more chaos than you manifest. How much more, that I do not know, save that it is nowhere near what I could bring to bear upon you. Do you understand that?”

   “Yes, ser.”

   “And I can tell that is a truthful answer. That will suffice.” Jeslek Pointed to the chair beside the scrying table. “As my first assistant, you may sit. Kochar will be taking your place, and he, like you did, has much to learn.” The white-haired wizard seated himself.

   Cerryl sat as well, but slightly forward on the chair.

   “Sterol should have told you about the intolerable situation in Gallos. Has he?”

   “He and Myral told me about the new prefect, and about how the traders of Spidlar are taking goods from Recluce.”

   Jeslek nodded. “And you know that we have sent close to four thousand lancers to Certis to support the viscount, and to move them closer to Gallos?”

   “I knew that most from the southern barracks had been sent, but not how many.”

   “I am glad Sterol has informed you somewhat.” Jeslek pulled at his chin. “We will be going to Gallos, but not for a handful of eight-days. We will be addressing the prefect's problems.” A grim smile followed. “Not in exactly the way he would prefer. In the meantime, we have some last chores to consider, including cleaning the aqueduct.” Jeslek stood. “You will certainly handle some of the work, but I will be supervising as well. It matters not if sewage isn't perfectly clean, but water is something else.”

   Jeslek pointed to the glass. “Can you call up an image?”

   “I have not tried since I came, ser.”

   “We won't spend time on your experimenting here. You have my leave to practice, but you are not to observe through the glass any full mages. I would strongly suggest you attempt to use the glass to locate places along the Great White Highway in Certis and Gallos.”

   “Yes, ser.”

   “You may take a glass from the storeroom and practice in your cell until you are proficient. Meet me here tomorrow right after breakfast.” Jeslek stood.

   So did Cerryl. Then he bowed and left, closing the door quietly behind him. He had leave to use the glass-really for the first time. A smile crossed his face as he started down the corridor.