L. Modesitt - Colors of Chaos

“You are a dangerous mage,” Lyasa said, almost straight-faced.

“Can you think of anyone else?”

“Not that the Guild-and you-could trust.” Lyasa paused, then added, “If he will do it, your redheaded friend will not be pleased.”

“Because she’s Muneat’s niece, you mean?”

“She’s very close to some of the traders, one in particular.”

“And every other man with something to offer,” Cerryl added dryly.

The black-haired mage laughed.

Cerryl paused, realizing Lyasa knew more than he did. “Which one is she so close to?”

Lyasa raised her eyebrows. “It’s only been said…”

“I understand.”

“The one who is father to her sister’s consort.”

Cerryl nodded. Jiolt…again .

After dismounting in the headquarters courtyard, Cerryl hurried back to the study and began to write. He needed a good trader-and one he could trust. Will Layel see it that way? Will he consider it worth his while?

Who knew? All Cerryl could do was offer the opportunity.

When he was finished, he had one of the guards summon Hiser.

The blonde captain inclined his head as he entered the study. “Yes, ser? I understand you had some trouble earlier. I’m sorry I wasn’t here.”

Cerryl shook his head. “Subofficer Suzdyal handled it well, and you can’t do everything.”

Hiser looked relieved.

“I do have a small task I’d like to entrust you with.” Cerryl extended the small sealed scroll. “I need this to go to the factor Layel in Fairhaven. I do not wish Kalesin to be troubled with it.”

“I imagine we could send it with our courier, ser.” Hiser grinned. “I can make sure it’s the last scroll he gets, as he’s leaving.”

“That would be good. I’m hoping that the trader Layel might be able to help us settle Spidlaria. It would be better if none knew this.” Cerryl shrugged. “He might not wish to do so, and that could cause problems. Or he might, and that would cause other problems.”

“I understand, ser.” Hiser paused. “I’m glad it was Suzdyal. Prytyr would have done well, also. The others…some I don’t know as well as I should.”

“Others you do,” replied Cerryl. “I’m glad I got a good one.” He paused. “And thank you.”

Hiser inclined his head, then turned.

Cerryl looked at the stacks of paper and scrolls, then stood and stretched. He was hungry, and the papers would be there later.

CERRYL CLOSED THE door of his study on his way to one of his frequent but irregular and unscheduled rides through Spidlaria. He hadn’t done a noon ride in a while, nor one in the rain. He hoped the headache that the light rain gave him wouldn’t get worse, but he couldn’t afford not to keep inspecting the city, and he couldn’t do it only in good weather.

“Cerryl!” Lyasa’s voice carried an urgency as she marched toward him, her whites as spotless as ever, despite the early-fall rain that had come and gone all morning.

“Yes?”

“Suzdyal’s lancers caught a man running from the chandlery-the one where you made them sell their goods.”

The way Lyasa spoke, Cerryl had the feeling he wasn’t going to like what came next. “And?”

“The chandler-Tyldar-he said nothing was the matter, but he had blood on his apron and a freshly bound wound on his arm. He kept insisting that he’d cut his arm himself.”

“He’s afraid to talk.” Cerryl sighed. “All right. Where’s the man who ran?”

Lyasa smiled. “He and the chandler are in the reception hall-with lancer guards.”

“You know me too well,” Cerryl complained.

“Not as well as Leyladin, but well enough for this.”

“Wait a moment. I need a list.” He turned back to the study.

“A list?”

“Of the larger traders still alive and in Spidlar. Kalesin’s effort, the one you cross-checked.”

“You think one of them is behind this?”

“If it happened to be planned…yes.” Cerryl opened the door and retrieved the list, then closed the door and nodded to the lancer guard. “I don’t know how long I’ll be, Foyst. Don’t let anyone in-unless I send Mage Lyasa back.”

“Yes, ser.”

As they walked toward the reception/meeting hall that had once been a dining hall, Lyasa added, “I wouldn’t have thought of that so quickly. We don’t have a Patrol here. You’re really the only one with Patrol experience.”

“We do need a Patrol, but it won’t work if Fairhaven supplies the patrollers.”

“It won’t work if we don’t control it.”

“We’ll talk after I see these two.”

Outside the reception hall were a score of lancers. Cerryl raised his eyebrows.

“I thought it better to be safe,” she answered.

“I do hope it’s not that bad.” He opened the door and stepped inside to find another half-score of lancers, two with barred blades flanking the chair set behind a flat table.

Cerryl took the chair and looked out across the empty table at the man the lancers had caught-burly, short-haired, and with a flatness to his eyes. While the arms mage was certain he hadn’t seen the man before, the accused peacebreaker was of the same type as the disguised armsmen hired by the five traders Cerryl had turned to ash.

Lyasa eased up behind Cerryl’s left shoulder.

“Would you care to give your name?” Cerryl didn’t care if the man did or not.

“Hystryr.”

Not too bright…a clear Certan name …“What were you doing at the chandlery?”

“I wasn’t there.”

“That’s your first lie,” Cerryl said quietly. “Did someone point out Tyldar-the chandler? Did someone point him out to you?”

“I wasn’t there,” the man repeated.

“That is your second lie. Was it a trader who paid you to harm the chandler?”

Hystryr’s eyes flicked to the lancers with barred blades flanking Cerryl and to Lyasa. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Cerryl pulled out the list he had thrust into his belt. “Was it Nussal?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Querialt…Yurtal…Kestrisal…”

Cerryl stopped and turned to Lyasa. “Go with Hiser or Suzdyal and a full company of lancers to bring in trader Kestrisal.” He beckoned her nearer and added in a low voice, “As soon as you have the trader, bind his hands immediately , and don’t let him put anything near his mouth.”

“Yes, ser.” A grim smile appeared on Lyasa’s face as she straightened, then turned and left the reception hall.

The color drained out of Tyldar’s face. Hystryr looked dumbly at Cerryl, his eyes avoiding the chandler.

Cerryl smiled. “You don’t understand, do you? You’ve seen but a fragment of the power of the Guild.” His eyes went to Hystryr again. “While we’re waiting for trader Kestrisal, you can answer a few more questions.”

The bravo straightened slightly. “I don’t know nothing.”

“Were you promised gold by the viscount’s officers…?

“Did you do other…work…for Kestrisal…?

“For other traders…?”

Cerryl plodded through a long series of questions, the reactions of the bravo providing greater certainty that Rystryr had indeed been attempting to subvert the Guild’s hold on Spidlar, but the bravo showed no reaction to other names.

As Cerryl questioned the bravo, the chandler’s expression varied between fear and horrified interest.

Cerryl broke off the questions when the reception hall door opened. The bound trader who had to be Kestrisal struggled as the lancers set him on the stone tiles a good dozen cubits back from the table.

Cerryl mustered the slightest chaos flame, letting it elongate toward the angular trader. “I suggest you stand there quietly.”