L. Modesitt - Colors of Chaos

Cerryl stepped from behind the table, his eyes taking in the wooden document boxes, the stacks of paper, and the quill holder. Then he headed for the assembly room, passing the silent Zubal, who stood by his stool in the corridor.

One patrol-the one headed by the wide-mustached Fystl-was already filing out of the assembly room.

“Good day, ser,” Fystl said with a nod.

“Good day, Fystl.” Cerryl stepped into the assembly room, where the conversations-or briefings-dropped off, and glanced toward the patrol standing by the speaking stones. “Kesal? Might I have a word with you?”

“Yes, ser.” The wiry patrol leader crossed the room and joined Cerryl in the corridor, his brown eyes meeting Cerryl’s, questioning.

Cerryl took in the clean and smooth white uniform, the crimson patroller’s belt, the brown hair sprinkled with gray, the carefully trimmed beard, and the rectangular and honestlooking face. “I’ll be accompanying you for a time this morning. Zubal’s the messenger, and he knows that.”

“Accompanying us, ser?”

Behind Kesal, the other patrol leaders and their patrols filed out into the dawn.

Cerryl shrugged. “I can’t learn the section sitting in the building, and the people can’t learn about me, either.”

“Ah…yes, ser.”

“Kesal, I’m not here to do your job. I’m not here to look over your shoulder and tell you what to do. I am here to support you, and to let people know that I do.” He nodded toward the assembly room. “Introduce me to your patrol.”

Kesal nodded, clearly uncertain about a young Patrol mage who wanted to accompany a working patrol, then turned and walked through the open double doors of the assembly room toward the four men who remained in the room.

“Mage Cerryl will be accompanying us this morning,” Kesal said blandly. “This is Chulk.” The brown-haired and young-faced patroller nodded. Cerryl noted the wide red scar across the back of his large left hand.

“Bleren.” Bleren was squat and white-skinned, with wispy strawberry blonde hair and a gap-toothed smile.

“Olbel.” The swarthy, olive-skinned patroller nodded, the curly black mustache waxed firmly in place, black eyes sparkling under coarse black hair.

“Pikek.” The last man in the patrol-short-cut mahogany hair and square sideburns-favored Cerryl with an unvarying smile that did not include his pale gray-green eyes.

Cerryl didn’t know quite what to say. He’d met all the patrollers in his duty section once, but briefly, and he’d learned the names from the duty rosters, but only a handful of faces fit with names, and none were in Kesal’s patrol. After a moment, he said, “On and off, I’ll be going with every patrol for a time.” Then he nodded to Kesal, deciding against any more explanation.

“Let’s go.” Kesal stood aside.

So did Cerryl.

The four patrollers filed out of the room and the building, followed by Kesal. Then Cerryl walked beside Kesal as the patrol turned eastward, along the south side of the cross street from the avenue-the Way of the Tanners, a street Cerryl had traveled more than a few times as an apprentice to Tellis the scrivener. Although Arkos had been the only tanner Tellis had used, Arkos had competitors-Murkad, Viot, and Sieck-as well as others farther out the street to the east where Cerryl had not gone back then.

Chulk walked down the north side of the street while Olbel trailed Kesal and Cerryl. Pikek and Bleren were out of sight, checking the alley to the south of the street, mainly to ensure it was clean and clear of rubbish.

“How did you get to be patroller?” Cerryl asked.

“I was a lancer, but I got tired of riding all over Candar. That’s a young man’s game. I heard that the Patrol needed men, and I walked in on my home leave and asked. Mage Huroan said I could try, and I’ve been with the Patrol ever since. I know I’ll get fed. Get to sleep in my own bed and sure live longer.”

“Do all the patrollers come from the lancers?” Cerryl crossed the next side street, glancing southward along the row of still-closed doors as the orange glow of dawn sifted out of the east and over the city. The next block of the Way of the Tanners held various leatherworking shops-that much he recalled, although his memory was prompted by the faint scents of leather and tanning reagents.

Kesal rubbed his nose before answering. “No. They have to have had some duty, though. Infantry, gate guard, that sort of thing. We’ve even got a couple of mercs. The hard thing is learning the city. That’s always hard, ser, at first, for the younger patrollers.” Kesal smiled. “After ten years, now, doesn’t matter where I patrol, I know people. Not all of them, but enough know me. That’s good because when they rotate patrol leaders people with problems can still come to me.”

Cerryl wasn’t sure that Kesal’s familiarity was necessarily that good. Then, how could any patrol system be perfect? If the patrollers became too attached to a patrol area, then they’d probably excuse too much because they liked people and wanted to be liked. If they weren’t familiar enough with an area, then while little would happen in view of the patrollers, they’d also never find out the worst of the peacebreaking that happened in alleys and behind blank stone walls. “You can’t be too friendly, and you can’t be too distant?”

Kesal nodded. “When they get to know you, folks’ll tell you things that they don’t want happening around their dwellings. That’s if you don’t try to be their friend. Don’t want the Patrol knowing too much, you know.”

Cerryl could understand that. Yes, he could. He’d certainly avoided the patrols, even as an apprentice. Then, as a chaos wielder who was the son of a renegade killed by the Guild, he’d had good reason. He suppressed a smile, one of rue and pain. It almost makes no sense, that you are a White mage, when they killed your father…except those who did had no choice…except that you never knew him…except that he wanted to be a White mage…except that the only way to survive was to become a mage. And now you understand why what you feared must be . After a moment, he added to himself, Mostly .

“Morning, Beykr.” Kesal nodded to the stooped white-haired man who had propped open the door to a small shop graced with a wooden boot above the doorway. The walls beside the door were windowless.

“A good morning it is, Patroller Kesal.” Beykr paused, then added, “And to you, too, ser mage.”

“Thank you,” Cerryl answered. “I hope it brings coins to you as well.”

Beykr nodded politely before reentering the apparently dark shop.

“Makes good boots, I hear tell, but too rich for me.” Kesal gestured eastward. “Miern-he’s in the next block-makes mine. Sturdy, with heavy heels and thick soles. Fits me, too. One thing you don’t go too cheap on is boots. Tell all the new men to set aside a few coppers every payday, more if they can, for boots.”

After another block of closed doors, including Miern’s, they paused as Pikek and Bleren approached from the south side street.

“Yes?” Kesal’s voice was neutral.

“Ah…ser, there’s a cart, and a dead horse.” Bleren’s voice was raspy. “Don’t know why it was left there, not the cart anyway.”

Kesal grinned. “Lucky we are that the section mage be with us, then.”

Cerryl nodded wryly. He’d probably have to destroy the dead animal. There was no telling what sort of chaos it harbored.

“Chulk, Olbel…wait here.”

Chulk crossed the empty street to wait at the corner with the dark-skinned Olbel while Cerryl and Kesal followed the other two patrollers.

Halfway up the alleyway, a horse lay tangled in the leather harness and across the left cart lead, just as the gap-toothed and squat Bleren had said. Cerryl frowned, letting his senses range over the horse. No real sense of chaos beyond that of a dead animal, but there was a residual sense of chaos on the cart seat. He stepped closer to the cart, its sides painted bright purple, with yellow trim. Dark reddish stains covered the wooden seat. Cerryl glanced at Kesal.