L. Modesitt: Colors of Chaos

It told Cerryl a great deal-and nothing at all. Traders were always unhappy when someone else could sell cheaper, unless they were the ones who had the cheaper goods. Certainly Syrma would be in a hard position in Gallos. He’d become prefect because the Guild had effectively announced-through Cerryl’s assassination of Lyam-that it was most unhappy with the Gallosians’ use of the White highways without paying the tariffs. Jeslek’s use of chaos to destroy one small Gallosian army had also pointed out that Gallos would have trouble using armsmen to defy Fairhaven. At the same time, the traders and merchants of Gallos were doubtless displeased with the thought of paying tariffs-and Lyam’s family certainly wouldn’t be in the best of humors.

“The situation isn’t good and may not get better,” Cerryl finally temporized. “What about the Viscount of Certis?”

“The viscount cares little about any mining or metals, or the wool. His concerns are oils, and right now his merchants can sell more oil than they can harvest and press. It costs the Certans about the same whether they get wool from Montgren or from Recluce through either Tyrhavven or Spidlaria.”

Cerryl thought, half-wondering at the idea that he-an orphan raised by a disabled miner-would be worrying about merchants and traders and rulers as a member of the White Order of Fairhaven. Finally, he glanced at Kinowin. “I am only guessing, ser. Much of what supports the Guild and ties Candar together are the White highways. What you say tells me that if the prefect of Gallos supports us, he may be replaced. The Viscount of Certis does not care, and does not wish to offend, but may find it difficult to encourage his overcaptains to support us against Gallos.” He paused. “What of the Duke of Hydlen?”

“Duke Berofar is old, and tired.”

Cerryl swallowed. “War, then? Sooner or later?”

A grim smile crossed the overmage’s face. “Although Jeslek and Sterol and I agree on little…we all fear such. And you are not to tell anyone that.” Kinowin sat back in his chair, as if to let Cerryl digest what he had just said. After a moment, he continued. “You were with Jeslek when he used chaos to destroy the Gallosian lancers, were you not? How did Jeslek look after the battle?”

“It took all six of us, ser,” Cerryl said carefully. “Jeslek did much more than anyone else.”

“But you might not have won without all of you?”

“It would have been in much greater doubt,” Cerryl admitted.

Kinowin laughed. “Well said, and with great care.” The big mage stood and wandered to the window, looking into the shadows that fell across the Avenue to the east of the White Tower. “How many Gallosians were there?”

“Around twenty score.”

“The prefect of Gallos can raise nearly twenty times that in lancers, if need be.” Kinowin turned and faced the seated Cerryl. “The Viscount of Certis cannot match that, though he might come within fifty score. I doubt the Duke of Lydiar, for all his boasts, can raise more than one hundred score-trained lancers, that is. We have somewhere over two-hundred-fifty-score lancers and another hundred score of other armsmen and archers. Do you have any idea how many coins that takes each year?”

“No, ser.”

“Were the pay chests for the year put together, just the pay chests, I would guess the total would easily exceed five-hundred-score golds.”

Cerryl swallowed. The thought of that many golds, just for armsmen, left him speechless.

An ironic smile crossed Kinowin’s face. “How many lancers did you kill in Gallos? You?”

“I didn’t count, ser. I’d say a half-score, perhaps a few more.”

“In one battle you killed more than some lancers do in years. You also clean sewers and water aqueducts. The other day you killed a man, kept some guards from being injured, and saved the Guild from being cheated on taxes and tariffs. Your stipend is more than ten times that of a senior lancer-because the Guild expects more than ten times as much from you.” Kinowin paused. “There is a problem with that. Do you know what it is?”

Cerryl frowned. “The Guild isn’t that big?”

The overmage nodded. “Yes, and Gallos as it is now is too large and too powerful, and all the tariffs and all the taxes will barely pay for our mages and our lancers. Yet we must ensure that Gallos pays its road taxes or soon none will do so. That is why Jeslek sent you to kill Lyam and why he is raising mountains. And why Sterol must allow it.”

Cerryl licked his lips. He had known that Jeslek had needed to raise the Little Easthorns for more than a vain show of power.

“I would not be overly surprised if we must send Eliasar and the White Lancers to Gallos before long. There must be someone to replace Sverlik, and that wizard must have enough force behind him to convince Syrma to treat with him.”

“There must be a reason, ser, but can you tell me why we cannot raise the taxes and tariffs?”

“Cerryl…think…What did I tell you when you sat down?” Kinowin’s face was expressionless.

The thin-faced and slender junior mage tried to recollect what the overmage had said. “Oh…because higher tariffs make the prices higher and people won’t use the roads and pay any taxes?”

Kinowin nodded. “Roads are more costly than shipping, especially when the Blacks can call the winds to their beck.”

Cerryl thought some more. “There are a lot of things you can’t get from Recluce or by ship. Carpets from Sarronnyn and olives from Kyphros and brimstone from Hydlen.”

“People forget the gains from the roads; they only think of the costs.” Kinowin cleared his throat. “You need to think about those things. You can talk all you want to your friends about trade and tariffs.” The overmage smiled. “Even to a certain blonde healer, but not a word about the pay chests or any thought of war. And not a word outside the Halls of the Mages.”

“Yes, ser.” Cerryl couldn’t quite keep from flushing at the reference to Leyladin.

“Go get something to eat. Your guts are growling.”

Cerryl rose and slipped out the door, noting that Kinowin had turned back to the window, hands clasped behind his back.

CERRYL GLANCED UP as he started up the steps from the front foyer of the Halls of the Mages, his eyes going to the full-body stone images on the ledge just below the top of the wall-the images of the great mages, he guessed. He knew the stocky figure that was the second from the far left was Hartor, the High Wizard who had restructured the Guild to oppose Recluce. As if it had done much good .

He paused on the stone landing just outside the White Tower’s first level. Did he hear a set of boots on the stone steps? He stepped into the lower level, where one of the guards he did know, Gostar, was talking to the boy in the red tunic of a messenger who sat on the stool behind the guards, waiting for a summons from one of the higher mages in the Tower.

“Doesn’t always take so long, lad.” Gostar’s eyes went to Cerryl. “The mage Cerryl here. He was a student mage for but two years.”

The black-haired boy from the crèche looked away from Cerryl.

“It’s true,” Cerryl said. “Sometimes it’s easier if it takes longer, though.” His friend Faltar had taken nearly four years, but Faltar hadn’t had to fight brigands in Fenard and sneak across a hostile land…or deal with Jeslek day in and day out. Cerryl frowned. Faltar also hadn’t gotten a half-score of lancers killed, either.

“You see there, lad. All in the way you look at it,” said Gostar heartily.

The messenger kept his eyes on the white granite floor tiles.

At the sound of boots coming down the Tower steps, Cerryl glanced through the archway, and a broad smile filled his face as Leyladin descended the last few steps from the upper levels, wearing her green shirt, tunic, and trousers-even dark green boots. Her blond hair, with the faintest of red highlights, had been cut shorter and was almost level with her chin.