The White Order (46 page)

“Good day.” Cerryl waved to the merchant on the wagon seat as he eased the chestnut around the big wagon drawn by a four-horse team.

   “Good day to you, young ser.” The gray-bearded and trim man in green who held the reins in his right hand nodded pleasantly. “You think it be raining afore long?”

   The guard beside the merchant smiled.

   Cerryl glanced at the clouds overhead, dark gray, and tried to gain a sense of the weather. He could feel the churning chaos and the black order bands within the gray, so low were the heavy clouds. “Not right now, but not too long.”

   “Darkness ... hoped we could make it farther.”

   Cerryl glanced back at the covered wagon. “What have you there?”

   “Mostly carpets, but some hangings-good pieces out of Sarronnyn. Hard to come by these days. Lot easier before the prefect and those traders in Spidlar decided they knew better than all of Candar.” The trader spat to the side, behind Cerryl. “Fairhaven your home? You headed back?”

   Cerryl slowed his mount slightly out of politeness, pacing the wagon. “Yes.” Fairhaven was his home, more than any place, despite Jeslek, and the overmage's struggles with Sterol. Fairhaven was where Myral was, and Lyasa, Faltar, and Heralt, and, especially, Leyladin, all the family he really had, now that his aunt Nail and uncle Syodor were dead-for reasons he still didn't understand. Except you want Leyladin to be more than just a relative... “Fairhaven's home.”

   “Musta been an eight-day back, maybe not quite, saw a bunch of lancers and mages headed back. One of the lancers said they'd beaten a big Gallosian force. You think that was true?”

   “It was true.” Cerryl smiled. “I was there. I had to do something else before I returned.”

   “Might teach that prefect not to be so self-mighty.” The gray-bearded merchant offered an ironic smile. “Then ... some folk never learn. Well... won't be keeping you, young mage. Have a safe trip.”

   “Thank you.” Cerryl gently urged the chestnut on, on toward Fairhaven.

   The merchant's parting words echoed in his ears. “Some folk never learn... never learn ...”

   But who is to say what learning is? Cerryl had learned that all too often, when people talked about learning, they wanted you to see things their way. Except maybe Myral, or Dylert... and, he hoped, Leyladin.

Rather than take the avenue, Cerryl rode in the back streets to the stable on the west side of the Halls of the Mages. He'd also camped outside Fairhaven the night before, wanting to be more rested and also wanting Myral to be more rested. If he were to have any chance, he'd have to meet with Myral before he met with Sterol, and especially before he confronted Jeslek, not that he wanted a confrontation, but it might happen whether Cerryl wanted it or not.

   The autumn wind was chill, under partly clouded sides, but not cold, and swirled across him in gentle gusts. His eyes flicked past a bronze grate on the side of the paved road, and his lips quirked, thinking of all the time he'd spent in the sewers. As he took a deep breath, he compared Fairhaven to Fenard-and there was no comparison.

   Fenard smelled of sewers and smoke and dirt, and Fairhaven smelled of clean granite and trees and grass, and occasional clean odors of cooking and women's scents. In Fenard, buildings were dirty and crowded on top of each other. Fairhaven's stone structures were solid and clean and left enough space for people to breathe. In Fenard, there were open sewers and starving urchins and brigands. While there might be a few beggars and smugglers in Fairhaven, there were certainly far fewer ruffians and hungry folk-far fewer. And there was Leyladin. Fenard had nothing like her. Perhaps no city did.

   Cerryl squared his shoulders. Jeslek was not going to take Fairhaven away from him, either through death or exile. Whatever it took, Cerryl intended to survive and prosper. Whatever it takes ... He frowned. Yet that was exactly how Jeslek was-doing whatever was necessary. How could Cerryl survive and not be like the overmage?

   He shifted his weight in the saddle. There had to be a way. He was still frowning when he rode into the back courtyard of the Hall of the Mages that held the stable from where he had set out more than a half-season before. He dismounted slowly, bouncing slightly on his legs, legs that were sore but no longer cramping every time he rode.

   A stable boy stepped out into the courtyard, frowning momentarily as his eyes took in the disheveled Cerryl. “Ser?”

   “I'm the last of the Gallos group. The overmage asked me to do something that took longer.”

   “Your mount looks a little thin, ser.” -

   “I ran out of grain on the way back. I tried to find good grass.” Cerryl unpacked the cloak, pack, and bedroll.

   “He's just a little thin, ser. We'll take care of him.”

   “You're sure he's all right?”

   “Yes, ser.” The stable boy led the chestnut away.

   For some reason, Cerryl felt somehow disappointed, let down. Because he and the horse had been through so much together? Because he'd been dismissed by a stable boy, who cared more for the mount than the man who rode him? He wasn't sure whether to smile or sigh. So he took a deep breath, then began to walk toward the hall that held his cell and the commons.

   Cerryl looked forward to bathing, really bathing and shaving. He'd wished all along that he'd taken the bronze razor Leyladin had given him, but all that would have to wait. He needed to get to Myral-and a few others-speedily.

   Once he entered the hall, he moved quickly, dumping his pack and gear in the corner of the commons. He'd thought about using the light shield, but that could have been construed as an admission of guilt and allowed Jeslek, should Cerryl have run into the overmage, to attack immediately.

   Heralt stopped Cerryl outside the commons as he headed toward the fountain courtyard. “Cerryl... I heard you'd disappeared ...”

   “No. That was what Jeslek wanted everyone to think. He sent me on a special task.” Cerryl pointed toward the courtyard. “I have to report. If you want to walk with me ...”

   Heralt eased beside him as Cerryl crossed the courtyard. The wind whipped chill spray over both students.

   “I had to go to Fenard... the Gallosians managed to kill most of my escort, and it took a while to get back. I was supposed to give Sverlik a hand, but the perfect killed him before I got there.” Cerryl glanced at Heralt. “Please don't tell anyone this-except Sterol, if he asks.”

   “I can live with that.” Heralt smiled. “I'd better let you tell him.” The curly-haired student stopped at the archway to the front hall and the foyer that led to the mages' tower.

 
 Cerryl stepped inside. The foyer was empty, and he crossed it and went up the steps to the bottom level of the tower. He marched past the guards, and the messenger from the creche in red, not even looking at them, and up the steps toward Myral's quarters. He'd figured that Jeslek wouldn't have told the guards anything, particularly since they reported to Sterol-or maybe Kinowin. He wasn't totally sure, but he doubted he'd find Jeslek in the tower.

   Panting heavily after his quick climb, he rapped on Myral's door. There was no response. He rapped again.

   “Cerryl?”

   “Yes, ser.” Cerryl stepped inside without waiting for an invitation, closing the door behind him.

   Myral looked up, his round face annoyed. He sat by the table, stripped to the waist, and Leyladin was massaging his shoulders. “You could have waited ...” The older mage cleared his throat. “Cerryl... I had not heard that you had returned ...”

   “You are the first to know. Jeslek gave me a test.”

   “He said you vanished.”

   “I am not surprised.” Cerryl snorted. “I thought that might be the case.” The younger man glanced at Leyladin, his eyes meeting her green orbs. He swallowed, almost feeling as though he were falling into her eyes, then pulled himself more erect.

   Myral laughed. “The great Jeslek is always doing things his way.” He pulled his shirt and tunic back into place. “Leyladin told me you had set out to become an assistant to Sverlik. How did that go?”

   “I didn't tell Lyasa the whole story. Jeslek instructed me to become Sverlik's assistant so that I could kill the prefect. He said it was a test I needed to pass before I became a full mage.” Cerryl's smile was bitter. “One that would prove my devotion to Fairhaven.”

   “You believed him?”

   “No. I believed I had no choice. And after briefly overhearing Lyam, I have to admit that the overmage was right about the prefect.”

   Leyladin watched Cerryl intently, concern in her green eyes.

   Myral sat up straight and scratched his head, then looked at Cerryl. “And the prefect?”

   “He's dead. I killed him with chaos-fire, as Jeslek instructed me. But he-the prefect-had Sverlik killed before I reached Fenard. After I left my escort, the Gallosians killed them, too.” Cerryl worried at his upper lip with his teeth. “I didn't expect... so much death.”

   “Where Jeslek is concerned, that seems to occur.” Myral coughed, and Leyladin leaned forward intently. After several not-quite-racking coughs, the older mage straightened. “Age and chaos ... not good for the health. Nor surprises.”

   “I'm sorry. It wasn't my idea. I mean, coming to you was, but it was Jeslek's idea to have me kill the prefect.”

   “How would you deal with this?” asked Myral, his tone even, not judgmental.

   “I would like you to see if we could meet with Sterol. Jeslek, I hope, doesn't know I'm back yet.”

   “You didn't walk through-”

   “I took some precautions, but I didn't see him. I couldn't very well stop him from screeing me, if he chose to do that.”

   “No... you couldn't, but you're probably well beneath his sight. Now ... I wasn't clear, and I want to be sure. This test of Jeslek's-that was... ?”

   “To remove the prefect of Gallos.”

   “Oh, dear. He actually said that was the test? And you were successful?”

   Cerryl nodded.

   “That will cause problems-but not so much as your surviving.” Myral heaved himself to his feet, then glanced at Leyladin. “Best you go your way for a while, young lady. My shoulders are better, and this young fellow doesn't need to be distracted by your presence.” The older mage laughed. “Don't think I don't see things when they're right before my eyes. Black and white ... bah .. . it's not that simple, not that I'd be telling either the High Wizard or that overbearing clod Jeslek.”

   Cerryl swallowed.

   “You think I don't know.” A wry smile crossed Myral's face. “I can tell you what I think now. You'll either be accepted as a full mage before the day is out, or we'll both be dead. Makes no difference either way.”

   Leyladin opened her mouth and then closed it.

 
 “Off with you, young lady.”

   “Yes, Myral.”

   “Dear Leyladin,” Myral said mildly, “I don't intend for us to be dead. Jeslek might, but Sterol trusts me, and probably Cerryl, far more than he does Jeslek.”

   “Be careful... please ... both of you.” Leyladin offered a smile after her words.

   Cerryl noted, though, that the smile was for him, and he smiled back as she slipped out. He fancied he could hear her boots on the stone stairs of the tower.

   Myral waddled toward the door. “Sterol is yet up in the High Wizard's quarters, and so we will make our way there.”

   A single guard stood outside the High Wizard's quarters. “Myral and Cerryl to see the High Wizard, and it is important.”

   The guard knocked on the door, then announced, “Myral and Cerryl to see you. The mage Myral states his call is important.”

   The door opened, and a thin, red-haired apprentice mage-barely more than a girl, and one Cerryl did not know-scurried out and down the steps, followed by Bealtur.

   “Come in.” Sterol's voice was cold and formal. Once the door had closed, he turned to Myral. “Is the return of this deserting apprentice so important?” His eyes fixed on Cerryl. “Have you come cowering back ... to beg mercy?”

   “No, ser. I never left. Jeslek set me a task in Gallos. I did it, and I returned-as he told me. After all I have seen, honored Sterol, I would not desert Fairhaven and then return.”

   “A task, you say?” Sterol's eyebrows lifted.

   “You say, young Cerryl, that Jeslek told you this task was a test?” Myral asked yet again, as though Cerryl had said nothing previously.

   “Yes, ser. One that I had to pass to become a full mage.” Cerryl left his shields down, including the barrier that would have kept Sterol from sensing whether he told the truth.

   “Jeslek told you this, and you believed him?”

   “Yes, ser ... that is, he told me such. I did not fully believe him, but he had sent Fydel and Anya out scouting, and he raised chaos and was ready to destroy me if I questioned him.”

   “If you doubted him, why did you undertake the task?” asked Sterol, his voice still cold.

   “How could I defy him?” Cerryl asked. “Also, after the actions of the prefect's troops, it appeared as though the removal of the prefect might indeed be the will of the Council.”

   “The prefect's removal? You have said nothing of that.”

   “That was the task. I was sent to become Sverlik's assistant and then to assassinate Lyam. That didn't work because the prefect had already had Sverlik killed.”

   “How? He was a strong mage.” Sterol's brow furrowed.

   “I heard a conversation ... they used iron bolts. Sverlik still killed half the bowmen. That was what the subprefect said.”

   “And you let him live?”

   “High Wizard,” Cerryl said carefully, “Jeslek told me to do only that with which I was tasked, and my task was to be Sverlik's assistant, to remove the prefect, and to return to Fairhaven. I could not serve as Sverlik's assistant because he was dead before I arrived. I sneaked into the palace and killed the prefect with chaos-fire-the overmage was most insistent that I use chaos-fire. Then I sneaked out and rode home.”

   “And no one even chased you?”

   “They sealed the palace, and they had guards running everywhere, but I climbed over a gate no one was watching closely enough. I did dress as a bravo to ride out of Fenard. I even kept the blade and trousers and cloak I used. They're in my pack.”

   Sterol bobbed his head up and down, and the gray hair glinted in the dull light that came through the window from the cloudy day outside. “You have taken pains to reach me undetected. What if I just removed you?”

   “Not totally undetected.” Cerryl swallowed, thinking that the High Wizard would have no compunctions about removing witnesses. “I doubt it would be in your interest to remove me and those few who know. It is clear that I have followed your directions. Others have not. You told me to report to you, and I have.”

   Sterol laughed, a braying laugh that ended abruptly.

   “He tells the truth,” Myral added.

   “I know. That is the most disturbing of all.” Sterol nodded once more. “I think we should call the great Jeslek-after we summon Kinowin and Derka.” Sterol nodded. “It would be best if you both waited here with me.”

   Cerryl walked to the window while Sterol rang the bell he carried to the door. A misting rain was beginning to drift across Fairhaven, bringing with it the twinge of an incipient headache for Cerryl.

   One of the youngsters from the creche, attired solely in red, appeared and stepped into the High Wizard's quarters. “Honored ser?”

   “Have the overmage Kinowin and the mage Derka attend me here. Immediately. Then return.”

   “Yes, High Wizard.” The brown-haired youth bowed, then scurried down the steps.

   “Young Cerryl... I am curious about a few details.”

   “Yes, High Wizard.”

   “'Ser' will do. I doubt that you were particularly well coined for this venture, nor heavily provisioned.”

   “No, ser. I had two silvers and some coppers. I stole the cloak from a drunkard in the street at night. Then a pair of brigands attacked me in Fenard. I had to use chaos-fire, but no one saw, and I took their purses, and a blade and some clothes.” Cerryl licked his lips, feeling as though he were treading on the edge of a cliff.

   “Wait...” Sterol moved to the door and motioned Kinowin into the room. “Continue.”

   Kinowin offered a faint smile, an ironic expression, as he saw Cerryl and Myral.

   “What I took really wasn't enough. I haven't eaten much in the last few days, and the stable boy said the chestnut was thin. He's all right, but...”