L. Modesitt - Colors of Chaos

Esaak waddled in, accompanied by Myral, whose wheezing reached even Cerryl. After them came a mage wearing a crimson and gold sash. Gorsuch? Were the sashes to signify in what lands they represented the Guild?

Shyren appeared, his shock of graying sandy hair standing out and wearing a green sash-green for Certis. Eliasar, the battle mage, walked with him but did not wear a sash.

Then came the slender red-haired figure of Anya, accompanied by Fydel. She paused at the back of the chamber and peered around.

Cerryl almost held his breath, wanting to clutch the white marble column that partly shielded him.

“He’s not here yet,” Fydel said in a whisper, barely audible to Cerryl.

“I thought I had made it clear to him.”

“That could be, but he still reports to Kinowin.”

“Kinowin and Myral won’t live forever,” Anya hissed. “He will deal with us.”

Cerryl shivered and waited. Once Anya, a puzzled expression on her face, finally walked down the aisle and seated herself beside Fydel, Cerryl let the light filter go and allowed himself to be cloaked only by shadows as the rest of the Guild entered the chamber.

“So you’re here?” Lyasa slipped up beside Cerryl. “I didn’t see you before.”

“I’ve been here. I just didn’t want to be seen at first.”

“Why are you back here?” she asked in a low voice, her eyes going around the chamber, which was almost full. “You can’t see everything from the back.”

“I have a feeling.”

“A feeling?”

“Just wait.”

“If you say so.”

For a time the two young mages stood in the shadows, watching. Then Cerryl smiled faintly as the sun-eyed and white-haired Jeslek strode into the chamber, marching up the center aisle, exuding the raw odor of chaos. “I thought so.”

“Thought what?”

“Anya told me that Jeslek wouldn’t be here and asked me to sit with her. She was looking for me earlier.”

“What did you do to her? Besides refuse her advances? And her charms?”

“Isn’t that enough?” he whispered dryly.

At the front of the chamber, Sterol stepped onto the dais, along with Kinowin and Jeslek.

“Let’s go farther up.” Cerryl slipped along the outer edge of the columns until he was within a dozen or so cubits of the gold-shot marble of the speaking dais.

“…we face most difficult times, even more difficult than I had predicted at the last meeting.” Sterol’s face could have been carved out of granite when he paused, so hard did it appear. “Guild revenues have dwindled. At the same time, we have been forced into sending more lancers into Certis.” He turned to Jeslek.

“The Great White Highway is now more protected than before, and by early fall we should have that protection completed.” Jeslek’s smile was dazzling. “Then we will bring in lancers to ensure that the prefect meets his obligations to Fairhaven.”

“Bringing the lancers to Gallos will likely cost another two thousand golds,” Sterol snapped. “Two thousand golds to enforce what we should not have to enforce.”

Kinowin and Jeslek nodded.

“Even raising mountains across the middle of Gallos has not fully convinced the prefect,” Sterol continued. “His scrolls are polite, but his golds are not forthcoming.”

“Because they are not forthcoming, the merchants and holders of Certis question why they should pay to maintain trade and highways,” Kinowin added.

“As does, in a most polite way, Duke Estalin of Lydiar,” inserted Jeslek smoothly, “though he is a longtime friend of the High Wizard. As did the late Duke Berofar, also a longtime friend of the High Wizard.”

Cerryl shifted his weight.

“Don’t say anything,” suggested the black-haired White mage.

Standing by the third column back from the speaking circle on the right side of the room, Cerryl nodded and murmured, “That is good advice, Lyasa.”

“With Sterol in the mood to incinerate anyone who disagrees, I’d wager it is.”

And with Any a watching closely for Jeslek’s interests…and her own, whatever they may be . “Unless one were to agree with the mighty High Wizard…and support him.”

“You’re too junior. They wouldn’t even recognize you.”

“It is better to be recognized.” Cerryl shrugged and added in a low voice, “Then one’s disappearance raises questions.” He eased out to the side of the pillars on the north side of the chamber toward the dais.

“That’s still dangerous.”

“Life is dangerous. Death more so.”

Kinowin raised a hand, then spoke. “Not all of us see the signs closer to Fairhaven itself, the very disturbing signs that are already appearing in our midst. You all know that I do not get around quite as I used to, but I do listen to those who do.” He gestured to Cerryl. “You may recall Cerryl. He has been serving as a gate guard, and serving observantly. He mentioned something the other day, and I’d like him to tell it in his own words.” Kinowin nodded. “Briefly, though, Cerryl.”

Cerryl swallowed. “Several eight-days ago, we started getting more farmers buying medallions. One farmer sought a medallion for his cart. The cart was older, but it had never had a medallion. That seemed odd. I checked the ledger. There have been more than a score of farmers just at the northeast guardhouse since midsummer. Last year there were five; the year before, seven.” He turned to Kinowin.

“Thank you, Cerryl.”

As Cerryl stepped down, Kinowin began to speak. “Cerryl got me thinking, and I went back over the records and ledgers. The most medallions given out from all guardhouses in a full year has been slightly over two score. This year, as of an eight-day ago, we have issued three score.”

“Farmers are getting smarter…”

“What’s the point?”

“The point, Isork, is simple. Farmers can pay five to ten coppers and make coins selling in the city. They couldn’t before. Why? Because food prices are higher-much higher. Crops will be poor this year, especially in Hydlen and Kyphros. Tariff and tax collections on trade are less, because of what the Black Isle and Spidlar are doing. With crop prices going up, people have fewer coins to buy things, and that means Guild revenues are going down-as they already have…”

Cerryl reclaimed his spot beside the column.

Lyasa leaned over and whispered in his ear, “Don’t say any more. Junior mages should be heard only on request.”

Cerryl nodded, but his nod was of acknowledgment, not of agreement.

“You’re going to get in trouble,” she predicted.

“I’ve been in trouble my whole life,” he whispered back, watching as Sterol resumed speaking.

“Recluce may have even tampered with the winds…to weaken us, and now with crops becoming scarce, they are shipping more and more goods into Spidlaria to evade the surtax. Lydiar is almost deserted at times, and so is Tyrhavven.”

“While Spidlaria and Fenard prosper,” Jeslek declaimed theatrically.

“Let them…” came a murmur from the back of the hall.

“…don’t need another war…not with the Blacks…”

Kinowin nodded.

The heavyset Myral heaved himself onto the dais, glancing around. “Those are fine words…but prosperity is not paid for with cowardice and ease. Most of you know me as the sewer mage, but we have less flux and raging fever than any city in Candar. Our people are healthy. Yet we cannot maintain sewers without masons and mages, and none of you would forgo your stipends. All that takes coins.” Myral’s eyes raked the chamber, and he coughed once, twice, clearing his throat before continuing.

“No sooner do we take action against Recluce than traitors here in Candar steal the livelihoods and the coppers from our people.” The words of the heavyset and black-haired wizard garbed in white rumbled across the chamber.