L. Modesitt - Colors of Chaos

“Isork wasn’t ever the problem.” Kinowin rose. “Rest. I’d like you at the meeting the day after tomorrow.”

“Yes, ser.”

“It won’t be that bad.”

No. It will be worse .

Kinowin rose, giving Cerryl a knowing nod, and left. The door latch clicked shut.

After a time, Cerryl closed his eyes.

AT THE KNOCK on the door and the click of the latch, Cerryl sat up straighter from where he was stretched out on the bed and set down On Peacekeeping . “Yes?”

Leyladin stepped into the room, and a cool breeze flowed from the open high window until she closed the door. “You look like you’re feeling better.”

“I am. You’re a good healer.”

“You helped.” She smiled.

For a moment Cerryl just looked at her, amazed that she was the same woman he’d seen by chance in a screeing glass when he’d been but a child.

“Let me see the arm.” Leyladin bent over Cerryl and examined his left shoulder, both with her eyes and with her senses.

He could feel the dark shafts of order, slightly uncomfortable, but not painful.

“There’s some leftover chaos there. Just hold still.”

“I am holding still.”

“There. I don’t think it will recur, but I’ll check tomorrow before you leave for the Guild meeting.” Leyladin took a slow, deep breath.

“How-”

“Because Myral told me to.” The blonde healer smiled.

“Sit down for a moment. I know healing is work.”

“Just for a moment. I still have to see Myral.” The healer eased into the straight-backed chair.

“How is he?”

Leyladin shook her head. “Not as well as I would like. Each day, the cough gets stronger, and he gets weaker, but there’s no illness. The chaos has taken its toll on him.” She shrugged. “He’s been more careful than most, at least in the recent years, but White mages don’t live that long.” Her eyes studied Cerryl.

“I’m trying. I’ve followed his advice.”

“You and Kinowin are about the only ones.”

“Jeslek almost flaunts his power. He doesn’t have to; everyone knows he’s the strongest.”

“Everyone does,” Leyladin said blandly, raising one eyebrow as she looked at Cerryl.

“You-” Cerryl paused, wondering how she knew he was avoiding displaying his own abilities.

“It’s hard to keep things from a healer.”

“I’m discovering that.” Along with many other things .

“You know,” she said quietly, “you’re not really a White mage.”

Cerryl frowned.

“You look White to most, but you’re not. There’s no core of chaos within you. That’s why that heavy iron arrowhead didn’t kill you.” Leyladin smiled. “You can handle chaos, but you can also handle order. You’re a gray mage.”

Cerryl winced. “Don’t tell anyone. You know what Jeslek and Sterol would do to me if that came out. I’ve enough difficulties anyway.”

“Myral and Kinowin already know. They won’t say anything. They’re like you. Why do you think they look out for you?”

“Because I’m not always trying to prove I’m the master of chaos,” Cerryl suggested.

“That doesn’t hurt.” Leyladin stretched, then stood. “I feel better, and I need to see Myral.” She walked to the bed, bent down, and brushed his cheek with her lips. “Just be careful.”

“I will.”

Once the door closed, Cerryl leaned back against the pillows. An iron arrowhead, a large one, and an attack against a mage. He nodded slowly to himself. If the attack succeeded, no one would trace the killer, because no one would be able to find the archer. If it failed, as it had, there wasn’t enough of the archer left to determine who had hired him. That meant some mage who knew Cerryl all too well, and Cerryl was fairly sure which one it was. But he still didn’t understand why.

After a deep breath, he picked up On Peacekeeping . So far, he hadn’t found even veiled references to smuggling and stolen goods. Since it was his third time through the book, he doubted he would, but learning more about peacekeeping couldn’t hurt. Besides, he felt guilty about someone else having to take his duty, but Leyladin and Kinowin had insisted that a few days’ recuperation would be better for everyone.

THE FIRST ORDER of this meeting is to affirm Jeslek as High Wizard,” announced Kinowin, standing alone on the polished gold-shot marble dais of the Council Chamber. “Is there any member of the Guild who wishes to propose another member as High Wizard?”

In the silence that followed, Kinowin studied the Council Chamber, his eyes covering the gold oak desks and red-cushioned gold oak seats at the front, then scanning the polished white granite columns at the sides for any mages who might be standing there under the swagged crimson hangings. Finally, he announced, “Seeing as no other candidate has been proposed, as overmage and representative of the Council, I declare that the new High Wizard is the honorable Jeslek.” The tall blonde mage gestured toward the front row, motioning Jeslek up to the dais.

Jeslek bowed, then straightened. “Thank you all for your support.” He paused and studied the chamber. “I have two matters to discuss. The first is a tribute. I would like to announce that my predecessor, Sterol, will be honored for his service to Fairhaven and the Guild by having his image added to those facing the Tower. We can do no less for a great mage.”

From his seat at the north end of the third row Cerryl watched, with Heralt to his right.

“Second, this is a time when the Guild faces great dangers,” Jeslek announced. “These dangers do not seem real to some. Yet even one of our own Guild members has been attacked-in Fairhaven, less than two blocks from the Halls of the Mages.”

Cerryl wondered if Jeslek would call him to the dais or give the impression that anyone could have been attacked by leaving the mage “victim” nameless.

“Some of you know who was attacked; some do not; but a name matters little when a full mage is attacked with iron-headed arrows in Fairhaven itself. It could have been any mage…”

Cerryl wanted to snort at that, but he kept his mouth shut and his face expressionless, his eyes on the center part of the second row where Anya and Fydel sat. Faltar probably would have been there, had he not been one of the very few not able to attend, because he had the evening gate duty.

Myral sat in the front row, forward and to the right of Anya. He seemed healthy, despite Leyladin’s concerns. At the other end of the front row, almost in front of Cerryl, sat Sterol, quietly watching Jeslek, a cold and ironic smile on his face.

“Why doesn’t he name you?” whispered Heralt to Cerryl.

“More effective if he doesn’t,” Cerryl answered.

“Why is this occurring?” demanded the new High Wizard. “It has happened because those in Recluce have never respected Fairhaven and because the traders of Spidlar would listen to the Black angels in hopes of filling their wallets with golds they deserve not.”

“How do we know this had anything to do with Spidlar?” asked Disarj.

Cerryl’s eyes went farther back in the chamber, settling on Isork, who nodded very slightly at the question raised by the frizzy-haired mage.

“Nothing is certain,” Anya said, rising slowly from where she had been sitting in the second row of the Council Chamber. “But a fragment of a blue cloak was found, as was a bow of the type used by Spidlarian mercenaries. One of those mercenaries entered the city not long before Cerryl was attacked.” She shrugged.

“…was Cerryl…was it?”

“…why him?”

A fleeting expression of annoyance crossed Jeslek’s face but vanished even more quickly. Cerryl wondered why Anya had named him, then nodded. By giving his name she had subtly linked him to an attack by Spidlar and strengthened the impression that Spidlar had been the absolute cause of the attack-even though Cerryl knew that was not the case, even if he had no way of proving otherwise.