L. Modesitt - Colors of Chaos

Kinowin stepped forward and onto the dais, followed by Redark.

“Now that the business of Recluce has been handled for now,” Cerryl said, more warmly, “let us bring in the new mages.”

Cerryl waited on the dais, Kinowin to his right, Redark to his left, as Esaak escorted the three figures in the tunics of student mages forward and down the center aisle of the chamber.

“High Wizard, I present the candidates for induction as full mages and members of the Guild.” Esaak’s voice rumbled, and he barely managed to avoid coughing before stepping to the side.

Cerryl stepped forward, looking down at the three student mages he’d scarcely known. They’d come from the crèche and gone through training while he’d been in Elparta working for Jeslek and then in Spidlar for the better part of three years. After a short silence, he nodded, calling forth the names, “Eidlen, Dumal, Ultyr…you are here because you have studied, because you have learned the basic skills of magery, and because you have proved you understand the importance of the Guild to the future of all Candar…”

Cerryl wondered if they really did, if any of the Guild members in Fairhaven itself-except Kinowin-truly understood what Fairhaven and the Guild offered for the future of Candar. “…we hold a special trust for all mages, to bring a better life to those who follow the White way, to further peace and prosperity, and to ensure that all our talents are used for the greater good, both of those in Fairhaven and of those throughout Candar.” Cerryl paused.

“Do you, of your own free will, promise to use your talents for the good of the Guild and for the good of Fairhaven, and of all Candar?”

“Yes,” answered the squat and bushy-haired Eidlen.

“Yes.” Dumal squared his painfully thin shoulders.

“Yes.” Ultyr was a small blonde girl/woman with the same dark green eyes as Leyladin had.

“And do you faithfully promise to hold to the rules of the Guild, even when those rules may conflict with your personal and private desires?”

“Yes,” answered the three, nearly simultaneously.

“Do you promise that you will do your personal best to ensure that chaos is never raised against the helpless and always to benefit the greater good?”

“Yes.”

“And finally, do you promise that you will always stand by those in the Guild to ensure that mastery of the forces of chaos-and order-is limited to those who will use such abilities for good and not for personal gain and benefit?”

“Yes.”

“Therefore, in the powers of chaos and in the sight of the Guild, you are each a full mage of the White Order of Fairhaven…”

Cerryl raised that shimmering touch of chaos to brush the sleeves of the three-and the red stripes were gone, as if they had never been, as had been the case when he had become a full mage.

“Welcome, Eidlen, Dumal, and Ultyr…” Cerryl smiled at the three and then studied the mages behind them. “Now that we have welcomed our newest mages, our business is over. All may greet them.”

Murmurs, and then conversation, broke out across the chamber. Cerryl’s eyes took in Anya, leaning to one side and whispering to Fydel. He forced his smile to remain in place and stepped off the dais toward the three young mages, each of whom carried a half-bewildered expression.

Dealing with Anya could wait. For the moment…only for the moment .

AS SOON AS she seated herself at the table in the High Wizard’s quarters, Anya raised her eyebrows. “Come. Show us what your precious smith has done now, Cerryl.”

“I would be most happy to show you what Jeslek’s precious smith has done,” answered the High Wizard, pausing to blot sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. He concentrated, and the silver mists formed, then parted.

A small schooner with sails was tied at a sturdy stone pier. The ship’s sails were furled, and a black pipe protruded from the main deck. Beside the schooner was a small two-masted fishing boat and, on the other side, another ship, jet-black, without masts, but with a slant-sided deckhouse, an open cylinder behind it, and smooth, curved hull lines. Workers attached black metal plates to the rear of the Black ship’s deckhouse. The three White wizards studied the scene in the mirror.

“What in darkness is it?” asked Fydel.

“Do we really want to find out?” Cerryl’s voice was sardonic. “You can sense the order he has poured into the iron.”

“Cerryl dear, you are so cautious. Look at the hillside. Those are tents beyond the first houses. Clearly, this…settlement is scarcely begun.”

Fydel raised his eyebrows. “The stone buildings appear rather solid, Anya.”

“As do the piers,” added Cerryl.

“You…men! If you can call yourselves that. We need to stop this before the Black Council decides this smith should build more such vessels. Right now, all he has is two small ships and a fishing boat and a few buildings. We wait much longer, and it gets that much harder.”

Cerryl cleared his throat. “Anya, we are not in the Council Chamber. The Guild has agreed to your plan. The southern fleet is already gathering in the Great North Bay. Within the next two eight-days, depending on the winds, it will be ready to set forth-exactly according to your plans.” He offered the redhead a broad smile. “What else would you have us do?”

“You are too accommodating, Cerryl.” Anya’s voice was smooth. “But I appreciate your thoughtfulness. I do trust that the fleet’s departure will be as you have projected and that there will be sufficient troop support to level this Black settlement.”

“You wish to prove to the Blacks that we can strike even upon their beloved isle?”

“It would aid our effort, would it not?” asked the redheaded wizard.

“If you so believe, then I bow to your wisdom, and I will make certain that all understand your words and observations.” Cerryl inclined his head. “I will ensure that the fleet leaves as you have planned. With some lancer detachments aboard.”

“Thank you.” Anya stepped back and inclined her head. “By your leave, Highest of High Wizards?”

“Of course.” Cerryl inclined his head in return, standing and watching as she left, waiting until she was outside his apartments.

Fydel waited impassively until the door shut. “You push her too much, Cerryl. With all her supporters, she could have your head tomorrow.”

“Perhaps. But would you want this position? Now, particularly?” The High Wizard looked down at the amulet, then turned and glanced out the window into the hot late-summer day, where the white-orange sun burned through the green-blue sky. Too bad you cannot remove her as you did Lyam and the others…but too many in the Guild know of your skills that way, and all would turn on you…now, anyway .

Fydel shook his head.

“Only the young bulls like Muerchal would want to be High Wizard.” Cerryl laughed and turned back to Fydel. “Mages like Disarj, Gorsuch-even Heralt and Lyasa-would have him turning in circles within days. Old and cautious as Kinowin and Redark are, either would be a far better High Wizard.”

“They don’t wish to be,” suggested Fydel. “It takes strength and skill, and cunning. You and Anya are the only ones left with such, save Gorsuch and Disarj, and both of them are rock lizards.” Fydel stood.

“You have your strengths,” Cerryl pointed out. “I would like you to consider being the fleet commander.”

“Me? If all is not well with the ships…”

“Anya will blame me, and then you.” Cerryl frowned, then added, “You have seen me. You know I do not lay my failures on others.”

The square-bearded mage shook his head. “You do not, but Anya would.”