L. Modesitt - Colors of Chaos

Faltar-Faltar shouldn’t have been killed by the Black mage’s trap.

“Now what, ser?” asked Hiser.

Cerryl didn’t have an answer, and his eyes went to the messenger that galloped toward him, one doubtless ordering a reforming of the attack force.

The messenger kept trotting along the road when, spying Cerryl, he eased his mount toward the mage. “The High Wizard…ser…camp at the bend in the river…to the east there. Already scouted, ser.”

“Thank you,” Cerryl rasped.

“About time,” Hiser muttered. “No sense in milling around here. Blues are gone.”

Cerryl’s eyes went back, but nothing moved. The white banner that had flown so freely lay broken across the eastern low stone wall of the road. Just a broken banner…explosions…and a broken banner…and Faltar was gone .

The trumpet signals confirmed the orders, and Cerryl nodded to Hiser.

“Off the road, to the east!” the subofficer relayed.

Cerryl rode slowly beside the subofficer. He looked but scarcely saw the two kays of the side road to the campsite, where, doubtless, Jeslek and Eliasar would re-form the force.

Once there, Cerryl went through the motions of ensuring the two companies were organized and stood down but found himself standing stock-still, apart from his men and subofficers, in the middle of men and mounts and tents and wagons, almost without thoughts.

At the sharp sounds of a mallet striking a hard surface, Cerryl jerked his head toward where a pair of lancers erected the white tent of the High Wizard. Beyond the tent, Jeslek dismounted, handing his mount’s reins to a lancer.

With a deep breath, Cerryl finally stepped toward Jeslek, barely remembering to hold his shields in readiness, although a part of him didn’t care.

“Ah…Cerryl…” Jeslek just looked at the younger mage. “Your failure was costly. Six young mages…because you could not discern the trap of this Black mage-even after all your warnings of his cleverness.”

What can you say? That you tried…that he couldn’t have done better? You still failed, and people-including Faltar-died . Cerryl looked blankly at the High Wizard. “I know.”

“Is that all you can offer?”

What else could Cerryl say?

From behind the partly erected tent Anya stepped toward the two mages, a cold smile on her face, a chill and half-satisfied expression.

“The peasants might have been more effective,” suggested the white-haired mage, eyes glittering.

“Yes, ser.” Cerryl felt numb. Why couldn’t you find that black iron or whatever it was? Why not?

“Finding those devices was your responsibility,” Anya added. “You failed on the river, and you have failed here.”

“I failed here,” Cerryl admitted. Not on the river .

“And what will you do about it?” asked Anya. “That will not cost us any more mages?”

Cerryl wanted to shrug but didn’t.

“I am certain Cerryl will be most happy to lead the vanguard all the way to Kleth,” Jeslek said. “Will you not?”

“I will do my best.” Cerryl’s voice was flat, and he lacked the energy to make it more convincing. Faltar…how…? How could you have failed Faltar so miserably?

“You will do what is necessary,” Jeslek said coldly, turning. “I will talk with you more later, when you have had time to reflect on the seriousness of your failings.”

“They were grievous failings,” Anya murmured to him. “You have much to atone for.”

Not to Anya…but for Faltar and those who relied on you .

Cerryl stood alone in the late-afternoon sun, looking toward the river he did not see, still half-dazed, half-wondering.

“I heard,” Leyladin offered quietly.

Cerryl wondered how long she had stood behind him.

“I was supposed to discover those devices.” He turned, then swallowed. The healer could barely stand, so drained was she-from trying to heal those injured by the explosions he had failed to prevent. He took her arm. “You need some rest…something to eat.”

Not only had he failed Faltar, but his failure had put greater demands on Leyladin. His lips tight, he guided her toward where the cook fires were being set up. They’ll have something for a healer…they will. They must .

THE STARS, PINPOINTS of light in a black-purple sky tinged with green, began to fade as gray seeped from the horizon. A few insects rustled and chirped in the short spring grass. Cerryl stood in the shadows of a tree he did not recognize, looking out almost sightlessly from the low bluff overlooking the gray waters of the River Gallos.

“You got up early,” said Leyladin, slipping through the darkness to stand behind him, encircling his waist with her arms.

“I couldn’t sleep. I was supposed to find whatever traps the smith laid. I didn’t. Faltar, Ryadd, Myredin, Bealtur…the others with them, some I didn’t even know, they’re all dead.”

“You’ve found most of his traps.”

“I didn’t find the ones on the river, and I didn’t find whatever he put under the road. Jeslek and Anya were not kind in their words. I cannot blame them.” Cerryl took a deep breath.

“Do not be too kind to Jeslek. He put you out there to trigger such traps.” Leyladin snorted softly. “In that, he failed as much as you, and for that I am most grateful. Anya only looks for ways to show you have failed, whether you have indeed or not.”

But you did fail…and Faltar, your first true friend…he died . Cerryl shook his head. You can’t bring him back . “The smith used the order of the paving stones…the order of the darkness-damned paving stones…”

“You told me that,” Leyladin said softly. “Going over it won’t help. What could you do differently?”

“If the levies and the mounts traveled the shoulder of the road, I could sense anything in the ground itself. It was the paving stones…something about them.”

“Then tell Jeslek that.”

“It won’t help Faltar.”

“No, it won’t,” she agreed. “You did the best you knew how then.” The healer paused. “Sometimes, our best isn’t enough. Even for mages and healers. It’s hard to accept that.”

Sometimes our best isn’t enough …“Yes…” The word dragged out. But it should be .

“You’re a better mage than most, Cerryl. Better than any, I think. You’re still a man. Even the ancient White demons failed at times, and so did the dark angels.” The healer tightened her arms around him, letting the warmth of her dark order enfold him.

Cerryl kept looking at the dark gray waters of the river, flowing northward to the cold Northern Ocean. “I’m not a demon or an angel. I’m a mage.”

“They lost friends, too, I’m sure. They were people, too. They hoped; they dreamed; and they failed and conquered.”

Cerryl swallowed. “I haven’t been that much help on this…whatever it is.”

“What good will it do if you turn your back on all this now? Would you leave Anya and Jeslek to their devices?”

“They’ll do as they please.” He pursed his lips.

“Someone’s coming,” she whispered.

They stood in the dimness by the tree as two other figures walked the path below them.

“I don’t understand, Jeslek. You raised those mountains, you brought Axalt down into rubble, yet you won’t use chaos against these worthless traders.” Anya’s sharp voice carried uphill. “You were too gentle on Cerryl…for his failures.”

“I do not have to justify what I do. But, to please you, dear Anya, I will.” Jeslek’s voice oozed irony.

Cerryl winced. Didn’t Anya understand?

“She still thinks she brought down Sterol,” Leyladin whispered in his ear.