L. Modesitt - Colors of Chaos

“Never,” said Faltar. “I couldn’t imagine walking all over the city. My feet ache enough after guard duty.”

“So does my head,” admitted Heralt.

“Speaking of headaches.” Lyasa turned to Cerryl. “Did you hear about Jeslek?”

“Besides his making mountains all over the middle of Gallos?”

“No. He’s going to be High Wizard. We just heard.”

Cerryl nearly choked and ended up covering his mouth to contain his coughs.

“You got a reaction there.” Faltar grinned. “One of the few times I’ve seen Cerryl surprised.”

Cerryl finished coughing and cleared his throat with a small swallow of ale. “I’m not surprised that he’s High Wizard. I always thought he would be; but not nearly this soon.”

“He marched up to Sterol’s quarters and came down with the amulet,” Faltar said.

“Kinowin has to approve it-and all the Guild,” pointed out Heralt.

The other three looked at the curly-haired mage.

“I know. No one will oppose him,” Heralt admitted.

“He’s already wearing the amulet,” pointed out Lyasa.

You mean Anya is . Cerryl shook his head at the vagrant thought. Why had he thought that? Jeslek was far more powerful than Anya, as strong as she was in chaos handling.

“I don’t understand it,” Faltar said quietly. “Derka says he’s going back to Hydlen. Hydolar, actually.”

“Derka’s leaving Fairhaven?” asked Cerryl.

“Sterol’s moving into Derka’s chambers, too,” Lyasa said. “That’s what Kiella told me.”

“I don’t understand,” added Heralt. “When Sterol was High Wizard, Jeslek kept his quarters as far from the Tower as possible. Now Sterol’s going to be right under Jeslek.”

Cerryl lifted a mug of the hall ale, definitely flat in comparison to that of The Golden Ram, and took a sip, then another.

“Three floors of solid stone,” said Lyasa.

“Nothing compared to mountains,” countered Faltar.

“Jeslek won’t be there that much anyway,” suggested Heralt. “He’ll have to do something about Gallos and Spidlar.”

“That’s probably why Sterol let him have the amulet,” suggested the black-haired Lyasa.

“But who will be the other overmage, to take Jeslek’s place?” asked Faltar. “Does anyone know?”

“Anya would love that,” offered Lyasa.

“I haven’t heard,” said Heralt. “Would Sterol take it?”

“No. He’d have to support Jeslek,” Faltar said quickly.

Cerryl’s eyes went to Faltar. That hadn’t been Faltar’s idea, he suspected, but said nothing.

“Cerryl? You aren’t saying anything.”

“What is there to say? Jeslek returns from Gallos, where he has created an entire range of chaos mountains. Suddenly, the honored Sterol relinquishes the amulet and recommends that the Guild approve Jeslek as High Wizard. No one knows who will be the new overmage, except that it’s unlikely to be Sterol. What can a lowly mage such as I add to that?”

“I think you just did,” said Lyasa.

Cerryl shook his head. “I said earlier that I always thought he’d be High Wizard. He just got there sooner than I thought.”

“Like you,” suggested Lyasa. “They say you’re the youngest Patrol mage in generations.”

Probably all waiting for me to fail…could that be it? Could Jeslek have agreed to it to see if I’d fail? Cerryl wanted to shiver. It certainly fit the way Jeslek operated. The new High Wizard set impossible tasks for mages he didn’t like and then punished them when they failed, if they didn’t die at the task. All the while, he quietly supported those less able who backed him. Seldom was there overt fighting among the White Order, just positioning to cause others to fail or to be killed in ways not traceable to any mage. “That’s only talk,” Cerryl protested. “Besides, I have to stay a Patrol mage.” That’s going to be the hard part .

“You’ll do fine on the Patrol,” said Lyasa.

Cerryl hoped so. He stood.

“Where are you going?” asked Lyasa, grinning. “To a certain trader’s home?”

“No. I have some reports to write and some things to read.”

“Work, work, work…” Faltar’s tone was light.

“Sometimes,” Cerryl admitted. “Sometimes.” He didn’t look forward to reading more of On Peacekeeping , but he needed to finish it and learn it before real trouble arrived. With Jeslek back in Fairhaven, that could happen any time. Any time.

A LARGE FLY buzzed slowly around the open doorway of the duty room, then settled through the grayness of dawn onto the dull-polished stone of the wall in the corner of the room by the single high and barred window. The faint breeze from the open window bore a chill that hinted at the approaching winter.

Cerryl stood and looked down at the flat desk-table, then at the unlit lamp, before calling, “Zubal!”

The thin messenger boy in red appeared in the doorway and bowed. “Yes, ser?”

“If anything comes up, I’ll be spending the early part of the morning with Kesal’s patrol. You know the area they’ll be patrolling the next two eight-days?” According to Patrol rules, no patrol could spend more than three eight-days in a patrol area or return to that area until it had been rotated through the other nine areas in the section. Each year half the patrols in each section were rotated into another of the four geographical sectors of the city.

“Yes, ser. That’s the potters and the tanneries and the masons.”

“Good. You’ll know where to find me if any of the other patrols need me.”

Zubal’s dark brown eyes dropped to the floor as he bowed. “Yes, ser.” He eased out into the corridor to wait by the messenger’s stool.