L. Modesitt - Colors of Chaos

Cerryl eased over to the heavyset older man and extended an arm.

Myral took it and levered himself from the chair. “Thank you.” He took several steps and lowered himself onto the edge of the single bed in the corner. “Time was…didn’t need an arm.”

“Thank you for your advice.” Cerryl wished he could do more, but he could sense that Myral just wished to be left alone. Cerryl closed the door, gently but firmly, and started down the stairs, passing one of the red-clad messengers at the first landing. The lad was headed up and gave Cerryl a tentative smile. Cerryl returned the smile.

On the way out of the Tower, Cerryl nodded as he passed Gostar. The older guard nodded back but said nothing. Cerryl caught a few words between the two guards before he reached the bottom of the steps into the entry Hall.

“…leastwise…recognizes that some of us…more than bodies with blades.”

“…ought to have more that didn’t come from coins…”

Cerryl wondered about that as he crossed the entry Hall. Faltar had come from coins in a way, and so did Leyladin, and they were people who recognized that nonmages had worth and were people.

Once he was back in his room, Cerryl glanced out the window at the gathering clouds. While the land needed the rain, he hoped there weren’t too many thunderstorms. Those hurt more than the gentle rains, though either would give him a headache.

He took a deep breath as he took the slim volume from his bookcase and opened it. He could read some before he left for Leyladin’s house. He was fortunate enough that it would still be another season before he had afternoon duty. In the meantime, he really needed to reread On Peacekeeping . He’d hurried through it the first time, knowing he’d missed things. He tried to focus on the words.

…peacekeeping is based upon keeping harmony among people…yet people though they look similar may not react in the same fashion when confronted by a patroller…or especially a Patrol mage…

That was true enough. He’d felt that himself. He continued to read, nodding as he went over passages that he recognized in some fashion.

…no man may encroach upon the person or the property of another save with the express permission of the Council unless some person has been observed breaking the peace and flees…nor may any patroller enter the dwelling of any family, save as invited, or in pursuit of an observed peacebreaker or with the permission of the Council…

Cerryl frowned. Was that another reason why smugglers used the sewer tunnels? He wanted to shake his head. Being a Patrol mage wasn’t turning out quite the way he had envisioned, and he’d barely begun. In fact, he hadn’t. He would still be walking around the southeast section for another two days. He forced his eyes back to the pages before him.

…a patroller or a Patrol mage who breaks the peace will be judged by the Council…

The book didn’t give any penalties for peacebreaking, and that meant, from what Isork had said, that once someone had been found guilty of breaking the peace, judgment was in Isork’s hands-or those of the Council. Cerryl shivered, despite the warmth of his room. He didn’t know that he had a better answer, but he also knew he’d rather not have his fate in the hands of Sterol, Jeslek, and Kinowin.

Cerryl finally closed the book and rubbed his eyes, then stretched, and glanced out the window. The first evening bells would be ringing soon, and that meant he could leave for Leyladin’s house-or mansion, more properly.

He washed up again, chaos-brushed his whites to remove any soil, concentrating on keeping the actual chaos from himself, and then stepped into the corridor outside his apartment-almost running into the black-haired Lyasa.

“Oh…I’m sorry.”

“I know where you’re going.” Lyasa grinned at him. “That silly smile says it all.” Her face sobered. “Be careful, Cerryl. You’re both treading the edge, and I like you both.”

“I know…We’ve been careful.” As if I had any choice …

She glanced along the corridor, then lowered her voice. “Speaking of being careful, Jeslek is on his way back. Eliasar told me. He sounded worried.”

“I thought he and Jeslek were close.”

“Neither cares much for the High Wizard. That’s no secret, but whoever’s High Wizard no one cares much for.” Lyasa shrugged. “Anya’s been scuttling up to the High Wizard’s apartment like a rat ferreting out a granary. She thinks her shields hide her, but who else wears that much scent?”

Cerryl almost choked but coughed instead.

“Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. I’m fine.”

“It’s true,” hissed Lyasa. “Before long she’ll be using red henna to hide the gray hair that her scheming brings.”

“She can do that with chaos manipulation, I think,” Cerryl replied in a low voice. “She may be already.”

“Since she manipulates everything else,” Lyasa raised both eyebrows, “that would be easy enough.”

“You be careful,” Cerryl suggested.

“I only speak such when I know she’s on her back.”

This time, Cerryl did choke, then had to cough his throat clear.

“About some things, Cerryl, you are still innocent.”

“Not about them ,” he countered. “ Speaking about them.”

“I’ll have to tell Leyladin that.”

“I’m sure you will.”

“You had better be moving. I wouldn’t want you to be late.” With a smile and a wink, she turned.

When Cerryl hurried into the fountain courtyard on his way to the front Hall and the Avenue, Bealtur was talking with Elsinot by the fountain.

Cerryl nodded as he passed and, after a moment, received nods in return. He could feel both sets of eyes on his back as he entered the front building of the Halls of the Mages.

The Market Square was nearly empty when he turned west off the Avenue toward the healer’s dwelling. Most of the colorful carts were already packed, or close to it, and many had already left. Cerryl didn’t recall the merchants and farmers packing up so early in previous summers, but then he hadn’t been out of the Halls so much, either.

Again, as happened every time he approached Leyladin’s house, he found his eyes taking in the four large arched windows across the front of the imposing dwelling, each window comprised of dozens of diamond-shaped glass panes set in lead, each pane sparkling. He didn’t have to knock. Before he could lift the bronze knocker, the door opened.

“I’m glad you’re here.” The blonde healer smiled.

Cerryl smiled back. “So am I.” He followed her through the silk-hung entry hall, through the orange-scented air of the long sitting room past the portrait of Leyladin’s mother, and back into the red oak paneled study where Cerryl had first met Leyladin’s father.

Layel stood up behind his desk as Cerryl entered. “Good evening, Cerryl. And a good evening it is this day.”

“Yes, it is.” Cerryl’s eyes slipped toward Leyladin.

“Well…best we eat.” Layel gestured, and the three headed into the adjoining dining hall.

Again the long white golden oak table that could have easily contained a score was set but for the three at the end nearest the door to the kitchen. The lamps were already lit, although the orange light of sunset still filled the room.

“Meridis…”

“I be here, and so is the soup.” The gray-haired cook and server carried a white porcelain tureen out and set it on the corner of the table. “Now be seating yourself afore this gets cold.”

Layel gestured and waited for Leyladin to sit. He and Cerryl sat nearly simultaneously.

Then, as Meridis ladled soup into the white china bowls, Layel poured a clear white wine from the big bottle into the three fluted crystal goblets.