L. Modesitt - Colors of Chaos

“Thank you.”

“Got to take care of those who pay in these days.” Miern smiled.

“Is it that bad for you? Someone told me that leather is getting cheaper,” Cerryl ventured.

“Cow leather,” Miern affirmed. “I make my boots, the sturdy ones, from bull leather. Don’t care for that cheap leather from Hydlen. One thing that Beykr and I agree on.”

The Patrol mage had to grin. “I didn’t know as you agreed on anything.”

“Precious little, ser mage. Precious little.”

“Thank you, Miern,” Cerryl said again.

“Thanks be to you, ser mage.”

Cerryl stepped out onto the walk that flanked the Way of the Tanners and turned westward, toward the White Tower and the Halls of the Mages.

Ahead of him, he could see clouds building and darkening. He hoped the storms weren’t too bad. With harvest hardly begun, a heavy storm could ruin much of the wheat corn, and that would only lead to higher prices, prices that had continued to rise since the previous winter, driving up the price of bread and, unhappily for him, the amount of small theft, even if other forms of peacebreaking seemed to be declining in his section.

Leyladin was waiting in the fountain court at the Halls of the Mages, as she did when she could.

Cerryl couldn’t help smiling, and smiling more broadly when she smiled back. “You still make me smile.”

“Good. You weren’t here yesterday or the day before. I was afraid I’d done something.”

“No. Wascot was sick, and I had to take the first part of his afternoon duty. Isork took the second part one night, and Huroan did last night, but it was late when I got back.” He paused. “You have something to tell me? What’s wrong?”

“It’s not that bad. The High Wizard has requested I go back to Hydlen. The young duke is ailing, and Gorsuch suspects all is not well.”

Cerryl frowned. “That sounds like a different turn on an old tale.”

“I think as much, also.”

Neither needed to spell it out. The old Duke, Berofar, had died just after Leyladin had been there to care for his son Uulrac, and both Cerryl and Leyladin had suspected Gorsuch, as the Guild representative to Hydlen, had not been uninvolved. Yet now Gorsuch was practically demanding Leyladin return.

Cerryl nodded. Of course, an underage ruler needed a regent. If the boy died, then one of his older cousins would become duke and Gorsuch would return to being an adviser, if that, and Jeslek would have to contend with a more independent duke who probably had no love of Fairhaven. “Uulrac’s six?”

“Something like that.”

“When do you leave?”

“Tomorrow morning.”

That didn’t surprise Cerryl much, either. “Perhaps you should move to Hydolar and I should petition to become Gorsuch’s assistant.”

“You have to stay here.”

“Why? Myral’s visions?” Why does she keep bringing them up?…I’m no Jeslek, or even a Kinowin .

“And other things,” she replied obliquely. “Can you join me and Father for an early dinner?”

“I’d be happy to, and even happier were you able to invite me for tomorrow.”

“Perhaps you could come as soon as you wash up. Then we could talk.”

“I will hurry.” Cerryl bowed.

“So will I.” She squeezed his hand.

Cerryl strode quickly to his room, where he stripped to little more than smallclothes, and marched to the bathing room. The cold water felt good, even for shaving.

Back in his quarters, still stripped to the waist as he dried and changed, Cerryl’s eyes went to the scar across his shoulder-barely a thin white line, yet it had been a wide red welt. Had it healed so well because of Leyladin’s continual presence?

And now she was headed off, just as matters seemed to be getting worse throughout Candar. Hydolar…again?

He shook his head and donned a clean white shirt, then a crimson-trimmed sleeveless white tunic and the red patroller’s belt. Some of the Patrol mages didn’t wear the red belts, but the belt felt right to Cerryl.

He hurried down the corridor and out of the Halls, nodding to a few that he passed-Myredin and Bealtur and Disarj. He saw Redark from behind, but since the overmage didn’t turn, Cerryl didn’t feel as though he had to acknowledge the High Council member.

After stopping for a moment on the shaded walk outside Leyladin’s to catch his breath and to cool off, Cerryl knocked firmly.

Soaris opened the carved and polished door for Cerryl and bowed. “Good afternoon, ser Cerryl.”

“Good afternoon, Soaris.” Cerryl found the coolness of the house was refreshing as he stepped through the foyer and into the marble-tiled entry hall.

“I’m in here, Cerryl.” Leyladin waited, on the settee before the portrait of her mother.

Cerryl’s eyes went from daughter to mother and back again before he sat down beside the blonde healer. “How are you feeling? You look very serious.”

“I talked to Myral this morning.”

Cerryl waited.

“He doesn’t think he’ll see the end of the troubles ahead.”

“We’re likely to have troubles for many years,” Cerryl pointed out. “That’s what I see, and that could be a long time. He could be around for years.”

“Cerryl. He’s getting weaker.”

“You’re worried that if you go…but if you stayed…?”

She nodded. “He might survive, and I don’t know that’s what Jeslek wants.”

“Jeslek has a problem. If Uulrac dies, things can’t help but get worse in Hydlen. If Myral dies, some will say that Jeslek invented Uulrac’s illness.” He paused. “Do you think…?”

“No. Jeslek is worried about the boy. But he also doesn’t care much for Myral. If Myral dies, who will speak out?”

“I will.”

“You do already, but the older mages don’t listen, except for Kinowin and a few of the Patrol types.”

Cerryl patted Leyladin on the knee, mostly because he had no idea what he could do or say.

She sighed. “Usually there have been more than one or two Black healers in Fairhaven, but the numbers are fewer and fewer.”

“They go to Recluce?” Cerryl frowned. “There was a Black healer that came through here last year.”

“One of their exiles or pilgrims? Even if we could find him, he couldn’t take Fairhaven. Sometimes I even get headaches so bad that I can’t see, and I was born here.”

“You haven’t told me that…I’ve never sensed…”

“I’ve not let anyone see that.” She turned directly to him. “How could I let any word of that get to Jeslek?”

“Maybe it’s better for you to go to Hydolar.”

“It’s not better for Myral or you.”

“I’ll be fine. I can look in on Myral.”

“You will, won’t you?”

“I promise. I’m not a healer, but I’ll let you know by messenger if you’re needed.”

“If he gets really sick, and Uulrac’s not too bad…”

Cerryl nodded, not knowing for what he hoped.

“So how are the two not-quite lovers?” boomed Layel from the entry hall.

“Just talking, Father.” Leyladin’s voice was cheerful, with a forced spirit Cerryl could sense was painful.

“Are you two ready to eat? Been a long day at the Exchange, and I’m starved.”

“If you would tell Meridis, Father, we’ll be right there.”

“That I can do, Daughter. That I can.” With a loud chuckle, Layel left the entry hall.

“You have to be careful, Cerryl. More cautious than ever before.”

“I know.”

Leyladin stood. “Father will be calling again if we don’t get to the dining hall.” She grinned. “Food is almost as important as trade to him.”

“Almost?” Cerryl raised his eyebrows as he took Leyladin’s arm.

“Sometimes, it’s more important.”