L. Modesitt - Colors of Chaos

“I did what I thought best,” Cerryl replied with a bow, his voice also pitched to carry beyond the pillars.

Myral coughed and covered a smile as the young mage bowed again and turned, walking back along the pillars.

“Cerryl? Have you a moment?” The words arrived with the impact of the trilia and sandalwood fragrance used by Anya.

Cerryl offered a head bow to the red-haired mage. “For you, Anya, I always have time.”

“Obvious but gracious, Cerryl, and I thank you for the effort.”

“When one is young and unskilled as I, what else can I do?” He offered a shrug. “How might I help?”

“I was curious, just curious, mind you, about your encounter with the old woman. Were you given any instructions for situations such as that?”

“No. No one ever mentioned that I’d ever deal with old farm people. I was told about traders and haulers, and how to set up the medallions, and the general rates for wagon and cart sizes.” Cerryl looked guilelessly at Anya, which was not difficult, since he spoke the truth.

“Why did you wish to warn off the old woman?”

“I didn’t see any sense in destroying her cart and taking her baskets. They would add little to the treasury and would create bad feelings.”

Anya nodded. “Yet you would judge when to break the rules?”

“I was not aware of breaking the rules.” Cerryl could feel that Anya’s questions were far from idle curiosity. “Anyone may bring a cart to the guardhouse to get a medallion, and gate guards are not allowed to destroy carts without medallions that do not come to the gates.”

Anya laughed. “You could be more dangerous than Jeslek.”

Cerryl bowed again. “I fear that I lack the mass of chaos that Jeslek can bring to bear upon all who would oppose him. Thus, I must think as best I can before I act.”

Anya touched his shoulder. “Just keep thinking, Cerryl, and there will always be a place in the Guild for you.” She flashed her brilliantly insincere smile, touched his shoulder again, warmly, and ducked away.

Cerryl wanted to wipe his forehead but didn’t. The implication of Anya’s remarks was certainly clear enough. He had thought that his life would get easier once he was a full mage, but he was beginning to have doubts about that, especially with all the undercurrents within the Guild.

And then to find out that Kinowin was far older than Jeslek-perhaps nearly so old as Myral? That was hard to believe, but Myral’s words had held the feel and ring of truth, and that worried Cerryl.

AS CERRYL CROSSED the courtyard in the early afternoon, his eyes went to the blonde-haired figure in green in the shadows behind the fountain.

“Leyladin!” He hurried over to her. “When did you get back?”

“Late last night.” Her smile warmed him. “I slept for a while. I knew you were on duty early. Myral said you’d be here sometime after midday.”

“I have to report to Kinowin for the first few days on summer duty. That’s where I was. Tomorrow will be the last day of that.”

“Have you seen him? Today?”

Cerryl grinned. “Just left his quarters.”

“Could I entice you into something to eat at the house?” The green eyes danced.

“You could.” You could entice me into more than that …“I haven’t eaten much today.”

“I’m ravenous. Let’s go.” Her eyebrows arched. “Don’t expect me to be enticing in that way.” A playful smile followed.

Even as Cerryl flushed, he wondered if his thoughts had been that obvious.

They walked past the fountain and its cooling spray and through the entry foyer of the front Hall and out onto the Avenue, turning north. As they passed the square, Cerryl glanced westward where white clouds were beginning to pile into the sky. “We might have some rain this afternoon.”

“It rained almost every afternoon in Lydiar. There was mold everywhere.” Leyladin shuddered. “It’s a dirty place.”

“Compared to Fairhaven, everywhere I’ve been is dirty.”

A city patrol appeared ahead on the eastern side of the square, three guards in lancerlike uniforms, followed by a mage Cerryl didn’t know, escorting a man in chains along a side street away from the Avenue.

“You don’t see that very often,” Leyladin said.

“The patrols? No. That’s only the second or third time I’ve seen them since I’ve been in Fairhaven.”

“Sometimes you forget there are patrols.”

“Well…they do supply the prisoners who clean up the stable at the gate and the ashes if we have to destroy a wagon or cart.”

“They do? I didn’t know that.”

Cerryl glanced sideways at her, but Leyladin seemed perfectly sincere. “You’ve lived here all your life.”

“People here know the rules.”

The White mage reflected. For the most part, people did know the rules and abided by them. They put their refuse in the rubbish wagons, their chamber pots in the sewage catches, and there were no brawls or fights in the streets. There were seldom any brigands, and no beggars or homeless urchins-not that he’d seen. He frowned. “What happens to the really poor people?”

“Most of them live on the southwest side of Fairhaven.”

“I meant the ones without homes.” In his almost five years in the city, Cerryl had been so busy he’d never really thought about the homeless. In the mine and farm country where he’d grown up people and children worked or died, and he’d never had the time to really explore Fairhaven.

“The Patrol sends them out of the city. If they come back, they go on the road crew, except for infants or small children. They go to the other crèche. When they get older, they get apprenticed somewhere.” Leyladin made a vague gesture.

The road crew? For life, like all the others? He moistened his lips but concentrated on her words and offered a response. “Probably to the tanners and the renderers and trades like that.”

“It’s better than dying. It’s a trade and a living.”

Cerryl contained a wince. He could have been one of those children, but Leyladin was right. Even the road crew was better than dying, and not that much worse than grubbing in the fields for life-or working for a renderer.

“It’s a pretty day, much nicer than in Lydiar.”

“I’m sure,” he answered.

South of the Market Square, Leyladin turned left, and they walked the block to her house. There the blonde healer took out a large brass key and inserted it in the lock. “Soaris is off today, and Father is back in Vergren again. Then he’s going to Tyrhavven.”

“He was in Vergren the last time I talked to you.”

“He’s worried about something, but he hasn’t said much about it. I think it’s timber this time. That’s why he has to go to Sligo.” Leyladin opened the door and held it open.

Inside was cooler than in the afternoon sun, much cooler, and Cerryl blotted away the dampness on his forehead, hoping he would cool inside the granite dwelling.

“Meridis!” The blonde walked through the foyer into the silk-hung entry hall and then through another door.

Cerryl followed her into the kitchen.

The gray-haired Meridis, wearing a pale blue shirt and no overtunic, looked up from the worktable where she was rolling out something. “Lady, I did not expect you so soon.”

“We need something to eat. Nothing fancy. Fruit, cheese, some bread…”

“Aye, those I can do.” Meridis wiped her hands on the weathered gray apron cinched around her. “Go and sit down. Be but a bit. Even have some cool redberry. Now…you sit down.”

Feeling almost shooed from the kitchen, Cerryl followed Leyladin into a small room where a golden oak table with four chairs sat halfway into a hexagonal room, the outer three walls comprised of floor-to-ceiling windows facing north. Leyladin plopped down in a chair on one side of the table, her back to the windows.