L. Modesitt - Colors of Chaos

Lyasa shrugged helplessly. “You may be right, but I don’t see it.”

“First, take the crossbow bolts. Someone tried to kill me with a crossbow when I was in Jellico. Eliasar was killed with three at once. Now…Sverlik was supposedly killed by Lyam. Remember, he was prefect of Gallos before Syrma? It took over a dozen archers-archers, not crossbowmen.”

“What are you pointing toward?”

“Bear with me.” Cerryl turned and took a swallow of the clean but warm water in the goblet. “Axalt-Axalt controlled the direct land trade between Spidlar and Certis. Axalt is no more. Then, there is Gallos, now split in twain by those Little Easthorns raised by Jeslek, with much of the High Grasslands burned to ashes. And Hydlen, rent by struggles over who would be duke ever since the untimely death of Berofar and then his son. Of course, Ferobar might have been a strong duke, too, except I was sent to kill him and I succeeded. Spidlar-Spidlaria is the best port on the northern coast, and it had strong free traders. Diev is gone…”

Lyasa’s mouth opened. “Everything that has happened…it all helps Certis and its traders.”

“The glass would show it that way…” Cerryl paused. “Shyren…when I found the golds in his bedchamber, he said that I was just ‘his’ tool. I thought he was referring to Jeslek. I don’t think so now.”

“Rystyr?”

Cerryl nodded. “Then there’s Jiolt. Layel said something about his cousin being the largest factor in Jellico.”

“Anya’s sister is consorted to Jiolt’s son.”

“It’s all like a spiderweb. You can barely see it except if you look at it in a certain way.” Cerryl shrugged. “That may not be the proper way, either.” And sometimes you can’t even see things. You can only sense them, like the way in which Anya used her ties with Jiolt to set Kesrik after you when you were an apprentice…and there was no way to prove it and never will be .

“Best you send Kalesin to Kleth, then.”

“Kalesin?”

“Once…he and Anya…”

“Has she bedded every mage in the Guild?”

Lyasa laughed. “She’s tried every one, except the women, and she’d try that if she thought it might benefit her.”

“What about Syandar?”

“He’s not bad-like Myredin, I’d guess.”

“Then we don’t want Kalesin with him. We’ll have to be Kalesin’s keepers.”

Lyasa brushed short black hair off her left ear. “Put that way, I would agree he should stay, like it though I do not.”

“What do you think? About the whole situation here?”

“We’re losing as badly as at the beginning. We aren’t getting any golds from Spidlar. The lancers are on edge, and they feel it’s but eight-days before we lose another mage.”

“It will take years for Spidlar to recover, and Certis will benefit?”

“Gallos, too, if not so much.”

“And the Guild is already weaker.”

Lyasa nodded.

“We aren’t going to do it this way any longer.”

“What have you in mind?”

“I don’t know. Yet.” Cerryl could feel the chill in his eyes, the anger colder than chaos was hot. “But I will stop it. Without letting Anya and Sterol learn what I know.”

Lyasa shivered.

WITH THE DIM light of late twilight fading, Cerryl looked at the image of a blonde healer in the glass for a long moment, savoring the smile offered by Leyladin, wishing, once again, that they were together before letting her visage fade.

The stacks of lists and papers remained on the study desk-a set of papers larger than those left by Eliasar. Cerryl had read them, all, and, for the most part, they were just that-lists. He picked up the shorter list, the one for the evening, the one that held Lyasa’s suspected nighttime traders.

He’d already ridden by the shops earlier in the day, beside Hiser at the head of a routine patrol, marking them in his mind, trying to assess which might be the most likely. He’d not told Hiser the purpose of the ride, nor Lyasa the reason for the list. The less anyone knew about what he planned, the safer he would be. Spidlaria was far more dangerous than Kalesin could know. Or than he cares .

With a deep breath, Cerryl stood, then stepped past the massive desk and out of the study into the hallway. “Good evening, Natrey.”

“Evening, ser,” answered the lancer guard, remaining alert, his eyes on the entry hall and the front door.

“How have you found Spidlaria?”

“It be an unfriendly place, ser. Folk’d spit at you, dared they to.”

“They’ve never been that friendly, I fear.” Cerryl nodded. They’ll be less friendly before they become more so .

“Yes, ser.”

“I’m going upstairs.” Cerryl turned and walked toward the staircase until he was out of the guard’s direct line of sight and only a dozen cubits from the barred side door.

Where to? The chandlery? The reluctant arms mage turned toward the side door out of the dwelling. He eased the light-blurring shield around him-the illusion protection that caused people’s eyes to slide past him, as if he were a wall or something so commonplace that he were not even to be noticed. Then he slid the bar enough so that he could open the door and step outside.

Using the blur shield would keep Kalesin, were the other mage even around, from sensing Cerryl’s presence.

Cerryl paused in the rear courtyard, drinking in the coolness of early evening for a moment. With sunset, the breeze had quieted, but it still blew off the cooler waters of the empty harbor.

He walked quietly to the rear gateway and stepped through the archway and down along the walled passage to the street below the house. He halted in the deeper shadows of the arch that opened onto the street, one of the four that led to the harbor square.

A lancer patrol rode by, the hoofs of the four mounts clicking on the stone pavement. Once the patrol passed, with the blur shield still around him, Cerryl slipped along the side street toward the chandlery Lyasa had placed on the list.

On one side was a cooper’s and on the other was a structure without markings. All three buildings were dark. The chandlery’s door was shut and presumably barred, the shutters fastened, but Cerryl could sense order and chaos within, the order and chaos of people.

As he watched from the nearby alleyway, a woman walked quickly toward the side of the building, where she rapped on a narrow door-a cellar door-before she darted inside the door quickly opened and quickly shut.

Cerryl edged toward the low steps that led down to the cellar, remaining shadowed and shielded. He waited, and shortly the door opened and closed quickly once more. The woman scurried past Cerryl, not even sensing him behind his shield, and down the street, staying in whatever deep shadows she could find.

How long he watched and waited Cerryl was not sure, except that the next prospective purchaser did not come soon. The big man almost waddled up to the cellar door and rapped heavily. Cerryl slid up behind him, then stayed behind the other’s bulk as he lumbered into the cellar.

Once inside, Cerryl stepped to the side in the momentary darkness.

“Who you…” The man who uncovered the lamp on the table blinked and frowned. “Thought you had someone with you.”

Cerryl could smell hot and damp wool, probably from the moist cloth used to mask the lamp. He eased into the corner of the room, trying to blend with the gloom away from the single lamp set on the narrow table.

“Just me, Tyldar. Got any cheese?”

“That I do, but don’t be showing or telling it around. Be a silver for a quarter wedge.”

“Steep, that be.”

“Know anyone else has cheese?”

“Where did you get it?”