L. Modesitt - Colors of Chaos

“I will do my best for him.”

“Good.” Kinowin pivoted on one foot to face Cerryl. “Do your best and watch all corners, from the moment you leave here.” Kinowin’s lips offered his crooked smile, or one that seemed so because of the blotch on his cheek. “All mages need to watch all shadows in the years to come. Now go get some sleep.”

Cerryl rose from the chair. “Thank you.”

“You’ll thank me-and Myral-well enough by surviving, thank you.” Kinowin walked toward the door. “You have a few years to learn. Use them.”

Cerryl nodded again.

What Kinowin had said, and not said, echoed through Cerryl’s mind as he headed down the main steps from the White Tower to the front entry foyer. In effect, the overmage had told him, in several different ways, to do Jeslek’s bidding and to survive. And to learn. The last reference to Myral had not been accidental or sentimental, not at all.

Cerryl shivered. What had Myral seen and passed on to Kinowin? How could Cerryl believe that he would do great things, as Kinowin had vaguely suggested, or become High Wizard, as Myral had told Leyladin? How…when he could not see the simplest things necessary to survive?

He shook his head. Do what you have to do and survive . He looked toward the empty foyer, extending his perceptions, but the Hall was empty for the moment. You’d better get back into the habit of studying everything again .

He smiled. At least, he had a future to look out for-if he made no more stupid mistakes. If …

AFTER GULPING DOWN some leftover bread and cheese from the Meal Hall and washing up quickly, Cerryl hurried up the steps to the upper level of the White Tower, glad that his gate-guard duty was only a normal duty period, rather than two.

The guard outside the High Wizard’s chambers was neither Gostar nor Hertyl, but a grizzle-bearded veteran unfamiliar to Cerryl, who studied Cerryl suspiciously, his hand on the short iron blade. “Ser?”

“Cerryl. I’m here as directed by Overmage Kinowin.” Cerryl stood there, conscious that he no longer wore the wide red belt of a Patrol mage and was no more than a very junior mage-once again. He was also conscious that the guard wore an iron shortsword, not one of white bronze, and that, he thought, was new. Why? Does Jeslek fear attack from other mages? A single guard with an iron blade would not stop most mages. Cerryl repressed a frown.

The guard stepped to the door and rapped once. “A Mage Cerryl is here, ser. He says the overmage Kinowin sent him.”

“He’s expected, but have him wait out there.”

“Yes, ser.” The guard nodded and gestured to the bench. “If you would like a seat, ser?”

“Thank you.” Cerryl dropped onto the seat. His feet were still sore. He wondered if they’d ever recover.

After a time, Redark left the chamber, glancing briefly at Cerryl but saying nothing. Then Anya departed, offering a dazzling smile but no words, leaving a faint scent of sandalwood lingering around the upper landing.

The guard didn’t speak, and Cerryl didn’t feel like trying to make conversation. What does Jeslek want from you? Why would you be his personal assistant, especially after Sterol used you against him? So he can watch you closely? That didn’t seem to make sense, but Cerryl wasn’t sure what did-except Kinowin’s words about doing what was necessary to survive.

In time, perhaps midafternoon, Jeslek opened the door. “You may come in, Cerryl.”

A red-haired student mage-Kochar-stood by the table as Cerryl entered.

“Kochar…you may go. I will see you in the morning.” Jeslek gave a perfunctory nod to the apprentice mage.

“Yes, ser.”

After the door closed, the High Wizard turned to Cerryl. “Kochar will be starting sewer duty in the next few days. He is getting more and more able,” Jeslek announced as he glanced at the table and the blank glass. “For a brief time Esaak has agreed to take over those duties that Myral had held.”

Cerryl waited.

“For the moment, Cerryl, I have little enough for you. You may have the rest of the afternoon to do as you please. I would like you here every afternoon after your morning duty. You will listen. You will observe. You will not speak of what you see or hear here. You will offer no statements, no advice, no words whatsoever, unless you are asked. You may ask an occasional question. Choose it carefully.” Jeslek’s smile was hard and bright. “Do you understand?”

“Yes, ser.”

“Good. I will see you tomorrow.”

Cerryl bowed slightly, then turned, his shields ready, though he knew Jeslek had raised no chaos, and slipped from the High Wizard’s chambers and back toward his own quarters.

He needed to rest-and think.

AFTER HIS DUTY, Cerryl hurried, but did not run, back to the Halls of the Mages. There he ate alone. That was because any of those he knew well enough to sit with were on duty or elsewhere and he had no desire to exchange meaningless words. He gulped down rye bread and cheese and fresh pearapples before returning to the rear Hall, where he washed. Then he made his way to the top of the White Tower, where Gostar guarded the High Wizard’s chamber.

“Be not here, Mage Cerryl. None of them,” offered Gostar.

“I guess I’ll wait.” Cerryl sat down on the bench. Despite the smooth polished oak surface and probably generations of usage, there was a faint grittiness to the wood. Cerryl looked down. Was everything around the Tower slightly gritty? The effect of too much chaos? He frowned.

Gostar glanced around, then lowered his voice. “Begging your pardon, ser. Some say that you were removed from the Patrol for hurting a boy; some say it was because the High Wizard cares little for you…”

Cerryl looked at Gostar. What could he say? Finally, he answered. “The boy stole some bread. I didn’t want to send him to the road crew and I put a small brand on his forehead to warn him, but he ended up on the road crew anyway. I was wrong, and he ended up in the same place with a brand on his forehead.”

Gostar looked at Cerryl and nodded, apparently neither pleased nor displeased.

Cerryl couldn’t detect whether the guard was upset or relieved and sat on the bench, waiting for Jeslek and whatever the High Wizard wanted Cerryl to do. This time, he had to wait but a short time before Jeslek returned, trailed by Anya and Redark and Kinowin.

Behind the group followed one of the messengers in red from the crèche, who glanced at the bench before which Cerryl stood.

Without speaking, Jeslek motioned for Cerryl to follow the group into his chambers. Once all were inside, after Cerryl closed the door, Jeslek handed a scroll to Cerryl. “Read it while we talk.”

While the four sat at the chairs around the table, Cerryl stationed himself by the wall closest to Jeslek’s right hand and began to read through the scroll, focusing on the parts that followed the flowery greeting.

…knowing that we of Gallos have the highest regard for the White Brotherhood of Fairhaven and for those highways which the Brotherhood has developed and maintained to ensure peace and prosperity for Fairhaven and, to a lesser but still important degree, for other lands in Candar…

…fair trade is considered vital to all lands, particularly those of us not so blessed as Fairhaven…

…yet a tax upon the craftsmen and merchants of Gallos, for that is what the tariffs levied for the use of the White highways must in all fairness be termed, such a tax falls heavily upon a land already troubled by the whims of nature…and in all fairness, we must suggest, cannot be long maintained by any ruler in Gallos even in deference for past services as great as constructing the highways that all could use to greater benefit were not tariffs levied upon the users…