L. Modesitt - Colors of Chaos

“No one would ever question your father’s judgment, lady. We hope to see you both more often.” Dassaor bowed.

Cerryl inclined his head ever so slightly. “Thank you, Dassaor.”

Once they were outside and headed toward the Wizards’ Square, Cerryl glanced at the blonde healer. “You never told me your father thought highly of me.”

“He does. He’s amazed at you, particularly at how well you speak.”

“I’ve worked hard at it. I didn’t want to sound as though I’d just come from the mines.”

“You’ve done more than that. Kinowin speaks well, but there’s a roughness around his words. Yours are polished. You should feel pleased. Not because my father is amazed, but because of what you’ve made of yourself.”

What have I made of myself? A junior mage who must still watch his back and every hint of intrigue? A man who cannot even pay for the dinner of the woman he loves? “I don’t know that I’ve made that much of myself.”

She laughed, gently. “You are hard in judging yourself.”

The square was empty as they turned north on the Avenue.

“I guess I have to be. Whose judgment dare I trust?”

“You’re wise there. I would not trust any other than Myral, and he is old and fading.”

“You worry about him, don’t you?”

“He’s like an uncle of sorts…the only one I could talk to about the things a healer feels.”

“You understand trade and your father, and you love him, but he doesn’t really understand you?”

“He tries, but…no.”

They turned west a long block below the Market Square, and Cerryl could see the lamps blazing in the windows of Layel’s house.

“Will you let me know when you return? Do you know how long?”

“I will. I don’t think it should be more than two eight-days. That’s if it’s the flux.”

They both understood. If she could not help the boy heal, another two weeks of flux might well kill the child.

Leyladin turned at the door, taking Cerryl’s hands, leaning forward, and brushing his cheek with her lips. “I enjoyed tonight.”

“So did I.”

He waited until the heavy door closed before he turned and began to walk back to the Halls of the Mages.

CERRYL STOOD BESIDE one of the pillars at the rear and to the left side of the Council Chamber. He looked across the expanse of white tunics and robes, though the robes were generally preferred by older mages, such as Esaak and Myral. Each of the circular pillars that flanked the sides of the Council Chamber was of white granite, fluted, and flawless, except for flecks of gold. From the top of each pillar were draped red hangings, swagged from one pillar to the next. The base of each pillar was a cube of a shimmering gold stone. Polished white marble tiles, filled with golden swirls, comprised the chamber floor. Gold oak desks and their accompanying gold oak chairs flanked the center aisle. Despite the summer heat that baked Fairhaven outside the Halls of the Mages, the chamber remained comfortable.

The High Wizard Sterol stood on the golden-shot marble dais at the eastern end of the chamber, and flanking him were the two overmages-Jeslek and Kinowin-the High Council, except that the three were always called the Council from what Cerryl could determine.

Sterol was speaking. “…Since last we assembled, many of our concerns have proved to be justified…particularly about the predatory nature of those plying trade from the Black Isle…

“Therefore, we are recommending to the Dukes of Lydiar and Hydlen, to the Council of Sligo, the Viscount of Certis, and the prefect of Gallos that they impose an additional surtax of 20 percent on goods arriving in ships bearing the flag of Hamor or the dark isle.”

“Your pardon, High Wizard,” puffed Esaak, rising from a desk in the second row. “How will that improve the revenues for the Guild?”

Sterol gestured toward his left. “Overmage Kinowin can better explain that.”

“This surtax is not the best answer,” admitted Kinowin, standing at the end of the first row. “At the moment, it is the only means we have to address the problem. As all of you know, highways are costlier to build and repair than the oceans and a few ports. What has been happening more and more is that importers in Candar, especially the Sligan and Spidlarian Councils, have been taking advantage of our roads and traders. The Black Isle and occasionally Hamorian merchants have been shipping goods to ports in Candar close to our roads. They sell these goods more cheaply because they do not bear the delivery costs in full. The Guild has almost eliminated brigands in eastern Candar, at least those who prey on the highways. At times, it costs less to ship wool from Land’s End on Recluce to Lydiar than to carry it by wagon from Montgren. So…any good that must be grown, produced, or collected away from the highways…”

“Wait…you were just saying that our highways were being used against us, and now-”

“Patience, Broka…patience,” said Kinowin tiredly. “Trade is complex. Let me explain. Those who buy goods are those who have coins. Those who have coins live in the cities. The cities are either ports or connected to ports by the White highways. Recluce is a much smaller place than Candar, and the Blacks use their arts to increase production of many goods, especially wool, oilseeds, and some fruits they dry. They also produce luxury goods that would otherwise come from across the Eastern Ocean. Their weather mages see the storms upon the seas, and they lose fewer ships. For all these reasons, many of their goods are much cheaper.”

Cerryl wanted to rub his forehead. Never had he thought he would hear discussions on costs of trade in a meeting of the White mages. He turned toward the middle section of desks and caught a glimpse of Anya’s red hair. Seated to her left was Faltar, his white-blonde hair standing out even more than the red of Anya’s. On Anya’s right was the dark-bearded Fydel.

Mutterings began to rise around the chamber.

“…can’t he make it simple…”

“…just send a fleet…if it’s that much trouble…”

“…send the lancers to Spidlaria and clean out their demon-damned Council…”

“Why do we even have to do anything about Recluce? All the Blacks do is sit on their island and cultivate order. Anyone who causes trouble gets thrown out-usually to our benefit.” That came from a thin gray-haired woman in the middle of the chamber, one of the many that Cerryl did not recognize.

“We’re not talking about an arms action now,” Jeslek said mildly from where he stood beside Kinowin. “Aren’t you tired of our gold going to Recluce so that the Blacks can use it to buy Bristan and Hamorian goods?”

“Their spices and wines are better and cheaper,” a heavy voice rumbled from the back.

“So is some of their cabinetry,” added another voice.

“And their wool-”

“If you can wear it, Myral!”

Abruptly the white-haired and sun-eyed Jeslek strode to the front of the dais beside Sterol. “Silence!” His eyes roved the room, chaos rising around him.

A faint smile played across Sterol’s face as he slipped off the side of the dais and down the far side of the chamber behind the pillars.

“What Kinowin is saying is,” Jeslek announced loudly, “that if we let people buy cheaper goods from Recluce traders, too many peasants and artisans in Candar will go hungry, and they won’t pay their taxes, and we’ll have trouble supporting the Guild and maintaining the highways.”

“So…what are you proposing, Jeslek?”

“Nothing major. Exactly what the High Wizard proposed. Just a 30 percent surtax on goods from Recluce.”

“Thirty percent? He said 20. I’d rather drink that red swill from Kyphros,” rumbled the bass voice.