L. Modesitt - Colors of Chaos

Kalesin swallowed. “They will not be pleased.”

“The High Wizard is not pleased. The Council is not pleased. The Guild is not pleased. You might suggest to those who wish to demur that Diev is no more because a mage died.” Cerryl smiled coldly. “And suggest to them that they would not like to suffer because one of their brother traders was unavailable to meet with the arms mage of Spidlar.”

“Yes, ser.” Kalesin’s words were resigned.

“You had best be going to arrange those meetings. Make sure that a full company of lancers is on duty outside here before they arrive.” Cerryl let the smile fade. You sound worse than Anya …He stood. “When you have all the arrangements made, come back and inform me. Bring a list that holds the names of all those I will see-and those you could not find. Best there not be many of the latter.”

“Yes, ser.” Kalesin backed out of the study.

Once the door closed, Cerryl sank into the armchair behind the too-ornate desk. You’re where you don’t want to really be, with an assistant who thinks he should be Eliasar’s successor and a bunch of local traders who hate Fairhaven and probably would pay to kill every mage in Spidlar if they could get away with it. And you’re supposed to come up with a way to improve trade and tariffs .

MORNING FOUND CERRYL in the study munching through cheese and hard biscuits and studying the stack of scrolls and papers Eliasar had left behind, many of them lists. Lists of shops, lists of existing provisions, lists of provisions needed, lists of names, some without even the sketchiest of explanations.

Abruptly he looked up. Lyasa! She was somewhere around, and he had yet to see her. He rang the handbell.

Kalesin peered in.

“Kalesin, where is Lyasa?”

“Ah…she’s been in charge of the patrols maintaining order in Spidlaria and on the roads.”

That made sense, from what Cerryl had seen of Kalesin so far. “Get a message to her. I’d like to see her at her convenience early this afternoon. How are we coming with the merchants?”

“The merchants and factors are waiting, ser.” Kalesin inclined his head, then handed Cerryl a sheet of rough brown paper. “Those are the ones who cannot be found.”

Cerryl glanced down the list. None of the names meant anything to him, and that would be another problem. He rolled the list and slipped it into his right hand. He stood and walked around the overornate desk. “You had the table moved? So that I can see them in the hall?”

“Yes, ser.”

Cerryl walked toward the former dining hall. Hiser and four lancers stood waiting outside the carved and polished double doors.

“Natrey and Jlen will stand by you inside, ser,” Hiser said. “Foyst and Lyant will guard the door.”

Kalesin glanced from Hiser to Cerryl, then back to the lancer captain. The mage assistant moistened his lips. “Four…?”

“I suggested six, ser, but the master arms mage convinced me four would be enough.” Hiser smiled. “With a full company outside.”

“These people…they…” Kalesin’s words trailed off.

“We’ve lost enough mages in Spidlar,” Cerryl said. “And I’m going to put a stop to it.” Just like Jeslek was going to conquer the place and like Eliasar was going to put it in order? He pushed open one of the double doors and stepped into the former dining hall, glancing at the big chair, standing alone in the long room. “I’ll need a small table here, to the side where I can write.” He could feel and sense the repressed sigh and anger from his reluctant assistant mage. “I think I mentioned that earlier, Kalesin. I would appreciate it if you would take care of it now.” You sound like Sterol-or Jeslek. Does power do that? Or is it the frustration that comes with trying to do more than you have time for or knowledge about?

Kalesin bowed and left.

After the door closed, Hiser glanced from the closed door to Cerryl.

Cerryl nodded. “I know.” He smiled wryly. “I’m guessing that you have concerns about our assistant mage.”

“Begging your pardon, ser…and it not be a captain’s place…”

“Go ahead. You’re more interested in my health than he is.”

“He is most wroth that you were picked to succeed Eliasar. The lancers are not.”

“Let us hope they continue to feel that way.” Especially since you have no real idea how to fix the mess that Spidlar has become .

Kalesin returned, followed by two lancers, one bearing a side table and the other paper and an inkwell, quill, and stand.

“Did you get that message off to Mage Lyasa?”

“Yes, ser.”

“I hope so. We’re old friends.” Cerryl offered a cold smile that he hoped showed Kalesin that Cerryl was well aware the message had not been dispatched. “I’m ready to see the first of the traders.”

Flanked by two lancers with bared blades, Cerryl sat in the chair he had once claimed for Jeslek, looking down at the thin black-haired and bearded trader who had walked in and stood a good five paces back from Cerryl. The man bowed his head deferentially, although Cerryl could sense the defiance.

“Your name?”

“Joseffal.”

“You factor what?”

“Today, ser, I factor nothing. There are no ships, and the people have no coins.”

Cerryl could sense the lies. “You mean that you report no factoring and you try to keep it hidden?”

Joseffal did not raise his eyes. “The great White wizard took the most part of what all of us had.”

“What did you factor?”

“Cloth, ser. Wools, linens, silks, velvets.”

“You didn’t factor…say…crossbows?”

The bewilderment from within the trader was clear. “No, ser.”

“Do you know any armsmen who have been in Spidlaria recently?” Cerryl persisted.

“No, ser. Except those in white.” The sweat dribbled down the side of the man’s face, but his words remained true.

Cerryl unrolled the paper Kalesin had given him. “What do you know about Yerakal?” He’d picked the name at random.

“Yerakal?” Another puzzled expression crossed Joseffal’s face. “He left long before even Kleth fell.”

“What did he factor?”

“He was a wool factor, ser. Just wools, from everywhere in the world.”

“What about Hieraltal?”

Joseffal swallowed. “Ah…he left also.”

Cerryl could sense the man’s apprehension, but his words came across as true. “And he was one of the ones who factored arms for Spidlar? Like crossbows and blades?”

“Ah…I’d be only guessing, ser, but some said he made golds on blades and bolts.”

“And he’s never returned?”

“No, ser.”

Cerryl asked about another three factors on Kalesin’s list before nodding. “We will have another talk about what you’re really factoring later, Joseffal. You may go.”

As the trader bowed and turned, Cerryl glanced at Kalesin. “A moment before the next.”

“Yes, ser.”

Cerryl dipped the quill in the inkstand and began to jot down notes about Joseffal and the “missing” factors. Then he nodded.

The second trader was burly, but he, too, kept his eyes averted as he stepped into the converted dining hall.

“Your name?” Cerryl asked.

“Aliaskar, ser wizard.” Aliaskar had a high, thin voice, surprising for such a big man.

“What do you factor?”

“Clay, ser.”

Cerryl wanted to laugh. Of course, with the need for pottery, china, and storage urns, someone had to factor clay.

“What do you know of crossbows?”

Aliaskar frowned under his lowered brow but answered, “They kill people. Beyond that, I little…”

Cerryl nodded and continued as he had with the first factor.