L. Modesitt - Colors of Chaos

Leyladin sighed. “She’ll find someone else to poison against you.”

“Not before the attack on Recluce.” Cerryl shrugged wearily and added, “If she can, then they’re the sort I’d like to know about before sending them out into Candar.”

“You’re still serious about that, aren’t you? About spreading the Guild all over Candar?”

“Most serious. There’s too much plotting and too little use of the Guild’s power with most of the Brotherhood here.”

“More will die.”

“Probably,” Cerryl admitted. “They’ll die for the good of Candar and Fairhaven, though, instead of dying in Hall plots and schemes.”

“You have to stay, High Wizard. You cannot if plots such as these continue. And what if the fleet fails?”

“I will be most surprised-pleasantly so, but most surprised-if any fleet should succeed in inflicting any real damage upon Southpoint or the smith’s vessel.” Cerryl slowly turned toward the window, stretching tense muscles.

“And you let it go?”

“How else could I prove to the Guild the futility of attacking Recluce?” How else indeed…and how many will die to prove that? Cerryl swallowed and took a deep breath. He turned and looked out across the snow-covered city-indeed a White City. Truly a cold white city, with a cold White High Wizard.

CERRYL SLOWLY SURVEYED those around the table-Kinowin, Redark, and Leyladin-with the new young mage Ultyr standing slightly back, beside a stool Cerryl had asked to be brought in.

“Are you ready?” Cerryl asked.

“Yes, ser.” Ultyr stepped forward and squinted.

Slowly, far more slowly than if Cerryl had sought the image, the mists in the glass parted and showed ships upon a dark blue sea. The small Black craft without masts or even a bowsprit, a craft that radiated order, drove through the low and rolling swells toward the larger ship-the White Serpent , Cerryl thought. One of the smaller war schooners downwind of the White Serpent veered to port, as if the mage on board had sensed the deadliness of the Black ship.

“Darkness, it looks evil,” murmured Redark.

The Black warcraft eased alongside the White Serpent , and the Serpent tacked, but the Black ship followed the Serpent and pulled alongside easily. A flash of light and something more streaked toward the Serpent , and the bowsprit shattered into fragments. The Serpent ’s bow swung port, and the big schooner wallowed as the forward jib and the remnants of the bowsprit sagged into the gulf waters.

A series of fireballs streamed from the near-becalmed Serpent against the black iron plate of the single Black vessel, but all sprayed harmlessly from the dark metal. Three more of the black weapons struck the rear of the Serpent , and before long it had begun to list. Occasional fireballs flashed from both the Serpent and the surrounding ships, without effect, as the small ironclad continued to circle the larger schooner.

“More than a dozen vessels, and nearly as many mages, and they do nothing,” muttered Redark.

“It does not appear as though they can,” observed Kinowin. “They cannot approach closely enough for their mages to be effective, not without risking our armsmen as much as the Blacks’ men-and our ships even more.”

Abruptly grappling hooks flashed from the Black vessel, followed by a flurry of dark arrows that cleared a section of the Serpent ’s deck, with black-clad armsmen swarming onto the ship. Cerryl and the others watched silently. A dark figure, smaller than the armsmen, appeared with a staff, apparently walking across the deck toward a White mage who cast firebolts that missed.

“That’s Fydel,” murmured Leyladin.

“He can’t even stop one Black,” protested Redark.

“That’s the Black mage who built the ship,” Cerryl said. “Jeslek couldn’t stop him, either.”

Several firebolts arched from the two nearest White ships, one falling short, a second splattering on the black iron ship, and a third burning through the sagging bowsprit rigging of the White Serpent .

“They can’t get close enough,” mumbled Redark.

Not with that much black iron there , reflected Cerryl silently.

What exactly happened none could see in the glass, save that in the end the Black mage struck Fydel with a staff and turned the White mage into ashes. Then the Blacks abandoned the sinking White Serpent , and the Black vessel swung toward a second White ship.

Another volley of whatever weapons the Black mage had developed turned the second war schooner into a flaming pyre upon the waters of the Gulf of Candar.

As the flames rose, more than half the White fleet turned from the Black vessel.

Cerryl continued to watch as the black iron ship approached the third vessel. Parley flags rose on a short staff on the Black craft and on the White ship. Something was passed to the White ship, and the Black craft turned and headed back toward the harbor at Southpoint.

“Ser?” Ultyr stood pale and trembling, shaking like a gray winter leaf in a storm.

“You can let the image go,” Cerryl said, feeling guilty. “Sit down.” He poured a glass of wine and extended it. “Here. You need this.”

The glass blanked.

“Thank you, ser.” The young mage took the goblet, sank onto the stool, and drank slowly.

“We can fight them again,” Redark said. “Then…perhaps we should not.” He shook his head.

Cerryl glanced at Kinowin.

“The firebolts were useless against that ship,” noted the older overmage. “They could have destroyed every one of our ships-with one vessel.”

“They didn’t,” said Leyladin.

“I don’t think the smith wanted to,” Cerryl said slowly.

“Didn’t want to destroy us? He cannot be that charitable, not after what they tried to do with their traders,” objected Redark.

“I’ve been thinking,” Cerryl mused. “It wasn’t charity. How many White mages have died in the past few years? Almost a score and a half, maybe more, and we’ve only found a bit over a third that many apprentices who have become full mages. That ship of his, and everything he makes, concentrates order. There has to be a balance. We know that. What if he did destroy another half-score of our mages?”

Kinowin nodded slowly. “He might create a truly great White mage-or several more.”

Redark frowned but did not speak.

“No, it wasn’t charity. The Blacks are not charitable.” Nor are you . After a moment, Cerryl stood. “There’s not much more we can do at the moment, is there?”

“Not at the moment,” agreed Kinowin. “The Guild will need a report.”

“And reasons, High Wizard,” suggested Redark.

Reasons? How about Anya’s scheming? “You might ask Anya how she might better have planned the attack,” suggested Cerryl blandly.

Redark frowned as both he and Kinowin rose.

Kinowin nodded and said, “The attack was indeed her idea-and Jeslek’s, I suspect, though we will not ever know that.”

“It was the will of many,” suggested Cerryl, standing and ushering them toward the door, “but not necessarily for the best of many-or Fairhaven. I will be reconsidering many things.” He smiled.

Once the heavy door had closed after the departing overmages and Ultyr, Cerryl turned to Leyladin. “Now I have to deal with Rystryr. He’s begun to mass lancers and foot. This will make matters worse because he will take the sea battle against the Blacks as an indication of weakness.”

“You haven’t let his acts be known,” Leyladin pointed out.

“No. Kinowin knows. For the others, I had to wait until the Recluce matter was settled.”