L. Modesitt - Colors of Chaos

“That doesn’t seem to bother you.” Leyladin took a swallow from her water bottle and offered it to him.

“Thank you.” He took a small swallow. “I’m bothered, and I’m not. I don’t think peasants or croppers should take attacks meant for armsmen, but I don’t like seeing our armsmen and lancers killed by nasty Black tricks because the Spidlarian traders won’t pay tariffs to support the roads that help their trade.”

“People are people,” she said tiredly. “The traders want more coins. The Guild needs to survive. The viscount and the prefect and the dukes want to stay in power and live well, and there’s not enough coin for everyone to do what they want. So they fight.”

Is it that simple? There’s not enough, and they fight? Except that leaves even less when the fighting’s done .

“You’re right,” she answered his thought. “But the winner has more, and the losers can’t do much about it. I’ll be all right. You need to find Jeslek. We can talk after that. I’ll find something for us to eat.”

“Thank you.”

She smiled, and he had to smile back, although his smile faded once he turned. As he walked toward where Jeslek’s tent was being set up, Cerryl could still sense the pain that Leyladin had felt as she had straightened and bound the lancer’s arm. Is that what it feels like? No wonder she’s exhausted all the time .

Anya stepped from under the small tree where she and Jeslek had been sitting on stools. “You were supposed to round up the peasants and hold them at the hamlet.”

“I can’t round up what isn’t there.”

“You didn’t turn up any peasants? Did you warn them off?” asked Anya.

Jeslek stood, blinking as he stepped forward into the sun. “I doubt Cerryl would do something that foolish, Anya. Would you, Cerryl?”

Cerryl ignored the High Wizard’s sarcastic tone. “Someone else warned them. Spidlarian lancers, I’d guess, from the tracks.”

“And you just turned around?” asked Anya.

“No, we checked the next hamlet and some of the cots beyond that. They were all empty.” The younger mage gave an apologetic smile he didn’t feel. “All of the hamlets and villages from here to Kleth are empty, I suspect.”

“Cerryl has a feeling for such, Anya. I am quite sure that he is correct. We will have to adjust our attack accordingly, and I am most certain Cerryl will be of great assistance.” Jeslek turned his eyes on Cerryl. “You may go. I will summon you later.”

“Yes, ser.” Cerryl turned, ignoring the coldness in Anya’s eyes and the set to her jaw.

Jeslek had always been devious and self-centered, but he appeared to be developing a streak of almost wanton cruelty. Did being High Wizard do that? Sterol had been far more direct…and trustworthy . And Cerryl hadn’t cared much for Sterol, but he cared far less for what Jeslek seemed to have become. That would get worse, too, long before they reached Spidlaria or even Kleth.

THE MIST ROSE off the edges of the River Gallos, shrouding the far bank as Cerryl squeezed Leyladin a last time.

“Remember what Kinowin said,” she whispered. “Do what you must do, but no more.” Her lips brushed his cheek as she stepped back, still holding his hands in hers.

That will be hard . “I understand, but it’s going to be hard.” He released her hands and stepped away from the shadows of the healer’s tent, walking downhill toward where the others were gathering, feeling her green eyes on his back.

Faltar nodded to Cerryl but did not speak. Cerryl nodded back, offering a smile of encouragement, one he wasn’t sure he felt.

Standing by the High Wizard’s tent, Anya surveyed the group, then turned and murmured something Cerryl could not hear. Clad in whites that shimmered in the gray of predawn, Jeslek stepped from the tent. His red-rimmed but still glittering sun-gold eyes raked across the mages assembled there. A half-pace back stood the squat Eliasar, his face impassive. Behind him was the goateed Bealtur, who glanced away as Cerryl looked toward him. On the gradual slope above and behind the mages were the captains and overcaptains, some in the green of Certis, some in purple, some in gold and red, and one in the cyan of Lydiar.

“Today, we begin the advance to take Kleth,” began the High Wizard. “The blues are gathered there, and once they have been crushed there is no other bar to our redemption of Spidlar. Eliasar or Anya or I have talked to each of you about your duties, but I will parse them out again so all know what the others’ tasks are.”

As Jeslek paused for a moment to let the words settle on the group, the faintest tinge of orange light glimmered on the eastern horizon.

“The heavy cavalry of Gallos will be the van proper…” Jeslek’s eyes flicked from the overcaptain with the broad purple sash downward to Cerryl. “Cerryl, since we have no peasants to march before the levies, you and your light lancers will patrol the road before the main part of the vanguard. Your task is to detect any Black sorcery. Buar will work with you.”

Cerryl nodded.

“Behind the van will follow the first of the heavy levies, those of Gallos, then the first section of White mages. They will burn the fields back away from the road.” Jeslek snorted. “There will be no cover and no crops. Let them suffer.” His voice rose ever so slightly. The sun-gold eyes glittered with the same intensity, despite the red that rimmed them. Chaos smoldered around the High Wizard, more chaos than ever, so much chaos that Cerryl’s own eyes wanted to twist away from Jeslek.

“Then the lancers of Certis and the Certan foot…”

Cerryl continued to listen, but his thoughts drifted from the High Wizard’s words. At times, the whole purpose of the Guild seemed fruitless. How could anyone bring prosperity to lands where rulers and greedy traders wouldn’t even pay for the roads that brought them prosperity? And how could Jeslek think that mere destruction would force them to change their minds?

“…you know your orders. Carry them out.” A line of fire sparkled upward toward the orange-tinged puffy clouds and dark green-blue sky.

Cerryl turned and began to walk toward his lancers, where dust already rose and mixed with the smell of horse droppings and cook-fire smoke.

“Lot of horse and foot out here-good thing they don’t have mages to throw firebolts,” said Ferek, looking down from the saddle.

They’ve got a Black mage who might do worse-except I don’t know what that might be . “We’ll have to make sure they don’t have something else hidden.” Cerryl turned as he saw Buar approaching.

“Do you know what we’re seeking?” asked Buar.

“No-except that it will have order surrounding it, as if it were black iron or something like that.” Cerryl finished checking the girths, which seemed tight enough, not that he was the most expert of horsemen, if far, far better than a year before. Then he mounted. “Are we ready?”

“Yes, ser.” Both Hiser and Ferek nodded as they spoke.

The dampness from the winter ice and the melted snow and ice had vanished days earlier, and the horses’ hoofs already raised dust as Cerryl’s lancers turned northward on the west river road.

“Doesn’t the road get better?” asked Buar, drawing up beside Cerryl.

“Four, five kays up, or so,” Cerryl answered, trying to get his thoughts off more distracting subjects-like Leyladin and the growing chaos around Jeslek and the shortsightedness of various Candarian rulers. “That’s where it widens.”

Two scouts rode past the column on the shoulders of the road, leaving low dust trails in the still morning air. Two scouts, Jeslek’s concession to some prudence.