L. Modesitt - Colors of Chaos

“ Colors of White tells some of that.” Cerryl’s voice was neutral.

Kinowin walked to the window again, glancing out into the midafternoon light. “The idea of ‘truth’ is one of the most dangerous tools any ruler can use. The only problem is that declaring that there is no such thing as truth is even worse. Then people have no anchor and nothing to believe in.” Kinowin turned to Cerryl. “You hear my words, but you don’t understand. Not really.”

Cerryl didn’t know what to say.

“Has your healer friend talked to you about what she does besides healing?”

“No. She’s still in Certis.”

“I know that. Earlier, I meant.” Kinowin shifted his weight so that he could look out the window and still watch Cerryl.

“Some things…like inspecting the water tunnels and using sleep spells on prisoners.” Cerryl frowned. “I can’t think of anything else.”

Kinowin turned from the window to Cerryl. “Can you truth-read?”

“Truth-read?”

“‘Truth-read’ isn’t the right term, but everyone uses it. Tell when someone speaks what they believe to be the truth-or when their words do not match the chaos and order within them?”

Should he tell Kinowin? Cerryl shrugged. If Kinowin could sense what Cerryl could feel, the overmage already knew. “Most times.”

“That will do. Your skills are being wasted on gate duty, and you need to learn more of how Fairhaven truly works. Myral and I have discussed this.”

Cerryl could feel his stomach tightening.

“What do you know of the Patrol?”

“Not much. They keep the peace. They supply the prisoners for the cleanup details at the gates.”

“You need to work with the Patrol. You have the skills, and Isork could use another mage. He and Huroan have but nine other mages, and that is far from sufficient.”

“What…do I do?”

“Tomorrow will be your last day at the gates. The morning after, report to Isork. The main Patrol building is the two-story square building on the other side of The Golden Ram. He will be expecting you.”

“Yes, ser.”

Kinowin shook his head as he gestured. “You can go. I wouldn’t tell anyone about our conversation. Sterol knows how I feel-and agrees partly. Jeslek and Any a will use it against you…later. There’s nothing they can do to me.”

Cerryl understood what Kinowin had not said-that none of the junior mages would understand. He wasn’t sure he understood.

As he walked slowly down the steps to the front foyer, he took a deep breath. What he didn’t understand at all was Kinowin. Anya-he could understand her wanting power, especially as a woman in the Guild and in Fairhaven. But why was Kinowin so concerned about him? There were anywhere from five to a half-score new mages that entered the Guild each year. Is he concerned because you remind him of when he was younger? Or because he had too many unanswered questions when he was young? Unanswered questions? Why had he never answered the question of what you do when you see a vision of what will be? Because there is no answer?

Cerryl pursed his lips and kept walking.

IN THE SLANTING light of early morning, Cerryl stepped through the plain white oak door into the Patrol building. Two Patrol guards stood at each side of the entry hall, each wearing a uniform identical to those of lancers, except for a wide red belt and a short truncheon in addition to the shortsword.

“Ser?” asked the Patrol guard on the right, with a close-cut black beard shot with streaks of white.

“I’m here to see Isork, the Patrol chief.”

“Could I explain who you are to him, ser?”

“I’m Cerryl. Overmage Kinowin sent me.”

“One moment.” The patroller nodded. “I’ll let Patrol Chief Isork know.” He turned down the short and narrow hall he had guarded, rapped on a closed door, and entered.

Cerryl studied the entry hall-a rectangular and spare room only ten cubits on a side with two halls angling from the corners farthest from the entry door. Two backless oak benches were set against the side walls. A set of closed double oak doors on the back wall faced the entry. The floor was of featureless and time-polished granite that had faded to a dull gray. The only light came from the windows that flanked the door behind Cerryl.

The patroller emerged from the door at the end of the short hall. “This way, ser.”

“Thank you.” Cerryl inclined his head, then walked down the hall and entered the small room, no more than six cubits by ten. The pudgy-faced but broad-shouldered and muscular Isork sat behind a flat table-desk. A single vacant stool stood before the table, and against the wall to the left was a single four-shelf bookcase. A stack of parchmentlike papers, an inkwell and a quill holder, and a single volume were all that rested on the battered and oiled surface of the desk.

“Cerryl, to see you, ser.”

Isork looked at Cerryl, studying him for a long and uncomfortable time with flat brown eyes that revealed nothing, then motioned to the single stool. “Sit down. You’re young for Patrol duty-and slight.” The pudgy but broad-shouldered mage shook his head. His short brown hair did not move. “Kinowin says you’re an orphan. That right?”

“Yes, ser.”

“You didn’t call me ‘ser’ at the Council meeting.”

“I wasn’t to be working for you there, ser.”

The trace of a smile crossed the pudgy mage’s face. “So, off-duty, you believe you’re equal to any mage?”

“No, ser. Not at all. I’m possibly better than some and not so good as others.”

“What about me?”

“I don’t know, ser. I’d say you’d have to be better than I am, but I don’t know.” Cerryl felt that he had to be honest, no matter how uncomfortable it was.

Isork shook his head again. “Who raised you?”

“My aunt and uncle. He was a master miner before they shut the mines.”

“Where do they live?”

“They’re both dead, ser. I was a mill boy for the lumber mill in Hrisbarg.”

For the first time, Isork looked vaguely interested. “How did you get to Fairhaven, then?”

“I persuaded the mill master’s daughter to teach me my letters, and after several years the mill master sent me here to Fairhaven to be an apprentice to Tellis the scrivener.”

“And one of the mages who bought books from Tellis discovered you had the talent?”

“Yes, ser.”

“Hmmm…Kinowin says that you’re not the most powerful of the younger mages, but you’re strong enough and you have the most control of your firebolts. That true?”

“I don’t know what control others have. I can make mine go where I want them.” Cerryl paused. “Unless it’s more than a hundred cubits away. Then they don’t always hit exactly where I want.”

“When were you throwing chaos that far?”

“That was when I was a student and Jeslek took me to Gallos. We were attacked by some twenty-score Gallosian lancers.”

Isork nodded again. “You killed some?”

“About a half-score that I know of.”

“Kinowin said you’ve flamed some people on gate duty. Ever taken on a man with a blade or a spear?”

“Three, ser, when I was on sewer duty. Two had iron shields and blades. The other had a white-bronze spear.”

“All at once?” Isork’s bushy eyebrows rose.

“No, ser. The two with the iron blades at once, the one with the spear a little later.”

Isork smiled ruefully. “Any other mages know of this?”

“Myral, Sterol, and Kinowin came right afterward. Some others might know. I don’t know who they told.”

“You didn’t tell anyone?”

Cerryl frowned. “I think I told Lyasa and Faltar, but I didn’t tell them much.”