L. Modesitt - Colors of Chaos

“You were wrong. Eliasar was wrong. Follow the river.”

“How?” asked Cerryl. “If I take a force through that underbrush without a road, the blues will take out most of my lancers before I can even see or sense them.”

“You have an answer for everything.”

You wish you did…at least for her . After a moment of silence, Cerryl said, “I don’t pretend to have answers I don’t know. There weren’t any blues on that part of the river when we passed where the road turns west.”

“Of course not. They waited until you passed.”

“If you know so much, Anya,” said Faltar tiredly, “why weren’t you there? Jeslek said you were in charge of reserves and supposed to take care of things like that.”

Cerryl’s eyes almost popped out with Faltar’s words, words he’d never thought he’d hear. Maybe young Viedra was good for Faltar.

Anya’s pale eyes turned icy gray. “You’d best concentrate on the east river road, Faltar.”

“I will, Anya.” Faltar smiled tiredly. “It’s my task, and I do my best at my tasks. I don’t have time to do others.”

Buar’s eyes had traveled back and forth between Anya and Faltar, getting wider as the conversation went on.

Anya turned full toward Faltar, and Cerryl couldn’t help but smile as he watched Jeslek approach from behind the redheaded mage.

“Both of you will learn-”

“I’m certain we have all learned a great deal, Anya,” said Jeslek smoothly. “Tomorrow, you will patrol the riverbank ahead of the boats in those areas where the road swings away from the water.” The High Wizard paused. “Unless you would rather take over Cerryl’s duties and have him patrol the banks?”

Anya’s face was blank for a moment before the broad and false smile reappeared. “I would be most happy to patrol the banks. Now…if you would excuse me.” She turned and walked uphill, more to the north and away from the horses and the wounded men.

“We should have watched the river area more closely,” Jeslek said mildly. “Try to think of anything else unusual, and let me know, if you would.” The High Wizard turned toward the white silk tent.

That’s as much of an admission that he should have heeded your warnings as you’ll ever get . Cerryl’s mouth slipped into a crooked and cynical smile that immediately faded as Leyladin slipped out of the growing dusk to stand beside Cerryl.

She touched his arm gently, and her eyes were rimmed with blackness. “I did…what I could. He…I think…if he’s still here in the morning.”

The gray-eyed mage put an arm around her. “Are you all right?”

“I’m all right.” She took a slow and deep breath before the deep green eyes fixed on him. “I can’t…heal all of them…just try to keep the chaos out of their wounds.” She sighed.

“All of those I saw?”

A slight sob escaped her. “So many…”

“You need to eat. You need the strength.”

“We’ve got rations over there,” suggested Faltar. “We had some earlier. Mostly bread and cheese, some mutton, could be cold by now.”

“Cold or not…” Cerryl guided Leyladin toward the cook fire and the lancer standing there.

“Lady healer…here.” The lancer extended a slab of mutton on a half-loaf of dark bread. “There’s cheese here, too. Whatever you need.” After a moment, he seemed to see Cerryl. “Ah…you, too, ser.”

“Thank you,” Cerryl said.

The two accepted the fare and stepped away to sit on a fallen log that had been dragged to one side of the cook fire.

“I can see who the lancers value,” Cerryl added with a laugh, brushing away a large mosquito, once, and then again.

“They value you,” Leyladin mumbled, “in a different way.”

Maybe . Cerryl ate slowly, and Leyladin finished her meat and bread before he was half through his fare. He looked up. “Go get some of the cheese. There were some dried apples, I think.”

“I didn’t know I was that hungry.”

“Healing is hard work,” he pointed out. “Any use of order or chaos is.”

Leyladin slowly stood and walked toward the makeshift serving table, a plank between two forked posts, where she sliced off a chunk of white cheese and took a handful of dried apples.

“Anything else you’d like?” asked the lancer cook. “More mutton?”

“No…thank you. I’m feeling better.” She offered a smile. “Thank you.”

Cerryl stood and joined her, cutting himself some cheese. “A little more than an eight-day and still more than thirty kays before we see Kleth.”

“Then another hundred-fifty kays or more to Spidlaria?”

“More or less.” Cerryl brushed away another hungry mosquito, circling through the growing darkness toward him. “You worry about the killing? Going on and on?” How could anyone not worry about it?

“I do.” Leyladin waved at another mosquito. “The old books talk about Black being ordered and healing.” She shook her head. “How is order any different from chaos when it’s used to kill? They killed more of us today than…I don’t know. Does it matter?”

Cerryl finished his chunk of cheese and put his arm around her. “The goals matter. They have to.” Because power can be abused, by either Black or White? How do you ever know that you’re not deceiving yourself and abusing power? Are we doing the right thing?

“We think so. I suppose they do as well.” Leyladin took another deep breath. “I need to lie down. I don’t know if I’ll sleep, but I can’t stand up much longer.”

“I left my bedroll by the mages’ fire.”

“I can offer to share my quilted ground cloth with you, ser.”

Even through the darkness, Cerryl could sense the smile. “Those are the best words I’ve heard today. I would be most grateful to accept.”

They walked slowly uphill.

WITH THE GROWING warmth of the day and the white-orange sun pouring down through the clear green-blue sky, Cerryl unfastened his jacket, shifting his weight in the saddle as he did. He rode slowly, letting the gelding walk another hundred cubits or so before he reined up. The lancers before him reined up as well, their eyes searching the spring green of the bushes beside the road and the damp clay of the road itself for fresh tracks.

Cerryl tried to extend his senses, searching for any trace of black iron or chaos of some sort, wishing in some ways that Leyladin were alongside him. Her senses of order would have been useful. Then, she was safer with the reserves, especially with the scattered arrows that arched over trees-or from across gullies-anywhere there was no possibility of quick pursuit.

The light breeze out of the north still bore a trace of chill along with the smell of damp soil and new growth. The higher parts of the ruts in the road had turned a lighter brown where they had begun to dry, but much of the road was the darker brown of damp soil and clay.

Cerryl glanced toward the shoots in the fields to the west of the road, wiped the sweat off his forehead, and nodded to Hiser. “Another two hundred cubits-or three if it seems clear.” He glanced toward the woods that began somewhere short of a kay ahead on the left side of the road, then toward the thin line of trees perhaps 150 cubits downhill on the eastern side of the road. The trees stood a dozen cubits above the River Gallos.

“Yes, ser.” Hiser flicked his mount’s reins.

Cerryl did the same, and the two rode slowly northward.

Patrolling the roads, again, and after almost two eight-days of plodding down the road to the west of the River Gallos, Cerryl had discovered nothing, not a single black iron trap.

Of course, the moment you don’t, there will be something .