L. Modesitt - Colors of Chaos

“I have seen him, but I don’t possess that kind of power…”

“Remember”-Esaak raised his hand-“it must be practical as well as interesting. Best you think about it. You have time, but do not waste it.” Esaak lumbered to his feet. “And I must instruct yet another untutored apprentice who thinks that numbers are but for counting coins. Good day, young Cerryl.”

“Good day, ser.” Cerryl waited until the older mage was on his way out of the hall before he sat down at the round table in the center, aware that Esaak had left and that, outside of the serving boys in red, he was alone.

He ate quickly, his thoughts flitting. Light…how can that be practical, except for killing? No, letting the Guild know about his skill with the light lances and daggers wasn’t terribly appealing…or safe. His past experiences with Anya and Jeslek had taught him all too well that, according to the written and unspoken rules for jockeying for power-or survival-what had saved Cerryl was his mastery of skills the others had not known about and still did not know that he possessed.

The problem with hidden skills, though, was that he could end up being a gate guard forever, which was what Esaak had suggested would happen if he didn’t show another useful talent. So how much talent and skill should he reveal, and how? What would be a safe yet useful skill?

After he swallowed the last of the bread and conserves, he left the Meal Hall and wandered along the corridor, glancing into the student common, where he used to study-empty except for the goateed Bealtur, who glanced up at Cerryl, offered a polite smile, and returned to the tome before him.

Bealtur had been so certain he would be made a full mage before Cerryl, and he hadn’t been. So had Kesrik, before Kesrik had been maneuvered into trying to trap Cerryl in a terrible mistake. Instead, Kesrik had been found out and destroyed in a blaze of fire by the High Wizard. Except…Cerryl knew full well that while Kesrik had probably tried to poison Cerryl, the brigands that had attacked Cerryl when he was on sewer duty had been sent by Anya, disguised as Kesrik. Cerryl still had no idea why the redheaded mage had tried that, but he watched her as closely as he could and avoided her as circumspectly as possible.

What else could he do? Most mages were restrained by the fact that the High Wizard, the two overmages, and a few others had the power to “truth-read” and discover plots. But Anya was under Jeslek’s protection, and he was not only overmage but also possibly the most powerful chaos wielder in centuries. Cerryl’s most reliable protection, until he mastered more chaos skills, was concealment, but developing skills and keeping them hidden could only get harder.

He crossed the courtyard to the last Hall, the one with the smallest rooms, and went up the steps to his own quarters, nearly all the way to the back. Once inside his room, he took a deep breath and extracted Colors of White from the bookcase. He had most of the day. Perhaps he could find some ideas there.

Perhaps…

CERRYL WALKED PAST the fountain in the courtyard between the main Hall and the rear Hall. His feet ached, and his head throbbed-the former because he’d walked across the guardhouse ramparts too much during the day and the latter because he’d practiced using the light/invisibility cloak too much. Kinowin had been perfunctory in his questions, as though the overmage’s mind had been elsewhere, and Cerryl hadn’t mentioned his aches, knowing that Kinowin wouldn’t have been terribly sympathetic.

Despite the deep dusk, the courtyard was hot, and the fountain spray across Cerryl’s face felt welcome.

“Hello there.”

He looked up to see blonde hair and a green short-sleeved shirt and armless tunic of darker green-and another mage. Lyasa and Leyladin stood in a corner, also enjoying the cool of the fountain court. Cerryl turned and joined them, the immediacy of his various aches subsiding. “When did you get back?”

“I’ve been here all along.” Lyasa grinned.

“This afternoon, a little past midday.” Leyladin offered a warm smile. “I came in the southwest gate.”

“Leyladin, Cerryl,” Lyasa interjected, “I need to go. Anya has requested my presence for supper.”

Cerryl winced.

“Her preferences don’t run that way,” said Lyasa lightly, “but it will be interesting to see what she wants.”

“Be careful.” Cerryl worried about anything involving Anya.

“I always have to be careful. That’s the everyday rule for women…and Blacks.” Lyasa nodded to Leyladin. “I hope we can talk before-”

“Tomorrow morning?”

“I can do that. It’s my last free morning before I take over duty on the west gate.” Lyasa grimaced.

“You’re going on gate duty?” asked Cerryl.

“Don’t all new mages? Kinowin was just waiting for Elsinot to finish a reasonable tour.”

“Elsinot?” Another mage Cerryl didn’t know, at least by name.

“Blocky, brown-haired-he seems nice enough. He’ll take the relief duties now. You’re lucky. You’ll probably get morning duty in the summer.”

Cerryl wasn’t sure if that would be luck, to get up even earlier than he was now.

“I do have to go. I’d rather not give the esteemed Anya an excuse to be upset.” Lyasa gave a half-wave as she stepped away from the pair.

“Have you eaten yet?” Cerryl studied the dancing green eyes, sparkling even in the gloom of the courtyard, and the wide mouth he thought of as kind. “We could go over to The Golden Ram.”

“How about Furenk’s?”

“Ah…all right.”

“I have some silvers. That way you won’t have to go back to your quarters. I’m hungry. Lyasa and I got to talking…and then it was dark.”

“Your father’s not expecting you?”

“No. He’s in Vergren, and I told Meridis not to fix anything tonight.” Leyladin smiled. “I was afraid she’d fix so much that I wouldn’t be able to walk. She does that when I’ve been away.” She turned toward the archway that led to the front Hall that fronted on the Wizards’ Square.

Cerryl stepped up beside her. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you, too. It was interesting, but”-the blonde shrugged-“it’s good to be back.” A faint frown crossed her face and vanished.

The Avenue was dark as they crossed the square and headed east.

“You don’t sound happy about it.”

“I’m happy to be back. I wish Father had been here, but he had to go…something about problems with the lambing in Montgren.”

“I thought he was a trader.”

“He is, but the lambs born this year will affect wool in the years ahead. Also the price of grain and cattle…many things…”

Cerryl held back a sigh. Did the entire world revolve around coins and trade? The more he learned, the more it seemed as though it did. “How long will he be gone?”

“Soaris told me he left yesterday. That means an eight-day before he’s back.”

No signboard proclaimed Furenk’s. Letters carved in a marble plaque beside the door to the two-story pink granite edifice stated: “The Inn at Fairhaven.”

The two climbed the two wide pink marble steps and stepped inside. Cerryl glanced around, but before he could determine even where to go, a tall functionary in a pale blue cotton shirt and a dark blue vest appeared. “This way, Lady Leyladin, and you, ser.” The man in blue turned and led the way to a table for two in the back dining room. He seated Leyladin.

Cerryl sat down across from her. The back dining room was empty, except for them.

“It’s early,” Leyladin said quietly.

“They obviously know you.” Cerryl glanced around the room, which held only ten tables. Unlike the front room, where the polished tables were bare, all the tables in the rear dining area bore pale blue linen and full sets of cutlery. The rear dining area emphasized that Furenk’s was the most expensive inn in Fairhaven, where all the wealthy factors stayed, and where Cerryl had dined once-with Faltar, for a dinner that had cost him three silvers, with a single goblet of wine and no real extras. That had been a dinner in the front room-not that Cerryl had even known about the rear dining area. A lighted small polished bronze lamp rested in the middle of each table, the ten the only illumination, giving the room a low and discreet illumination.