L. Modesitt - Colors of Chaos

He thought about taking off his boots but, too tired to make the effort to hold off sleep, lay back on the small bit of straw left in the loft.

CERRYL BOLTED AWAKE, his head aching, his nose stuffed up, and almost unable to breathe. Outside, the light was barely gray, so he hadn’t slept that long, or it felt like he hadn’t. He shivered inside his jacket.

Below, he could hear voices, young voices.

“…why leave so friggin’ early?”

“…don’t say anything…”

The young mage rubbed his eyes, then eased toward the ladder. His stomach growled and he could feel a tightness, almost a cramping, in his guts below his stomach. His headache wasn’t the one that came with overuse of chaos, or rainstorms, but a leaden aching.

Not going to get better while you’re in Hydolar…that’s for sure . He peered below into the gloom of the stable.

The stable boys were saddling several mounts and, after each was saddled, leading it out into the courtyard. Cerryl didn’t hear voices in the courtyard.

With a deep sigh, he summoned the light shield and then felt his way down the ladder onto the main level. His feet slipped on the greasy-feeling clay of the stable floor, and he had to grab the ladder to steady himself.

The ladder squeaked as the wood slipped on the edge of the loft above.

“What was that?” One of the stable boys looked from the stall where he saddled another mount.

“Nothing. There’s no one here. None of ’em get up this early, except for Pierdum.”

“…dumb bastard.”

“Careful, he’d beat you as soon as spit.”

Cerryl walked carefully along the edge of the stalls, toward the open door, feeling his way step-by-step. The stable wasn’t clean, the way those in the Halls were, but almost rancid, and that didn’t help the cramps and churning in his gut.

He couldn’t help but wonder…why hadn’t there been any outcry from the adjoining palace? Or did the duke habitually sleep late? Or did no one wish to break down the bolted door?

The thoughts gave an urgency to Cerryl’s desire to escape the city.

“Don’t forget the ration packs, and don’t eat anything. One biscuit missing and it’s a caning for sure.” The youth led another mount past Cerryl.

Whuffff …

“Better stuff in those than the lower table in the kitchen.”

“Course…They’re officers.”

“Something’s upsetting them. The horses,” said the boy leading the mount. “Like a wild dog or something.”

“Haven’t seen none.”

“Keep a look.” The shorter stable boy tied the mount to the long hitching rail outside the stable.

Once he passed on returning to the interior, Cerryl stepped outside quickly and hurried to the corner of the building, where he lowered the full light shield into the vision-blurring screen. He studied the courtyard.

After a moment, he nodded to himself. The gate in the courtyard wall looked unguarded, and beyond the gate was Hydolar. He watched as the other stable boy tied another mount at the end of the rail.

“’Nother to go.” The youth turned back toward the stable.

“Better start mucking after that,” came from inside.

Cerryl eased toward the end mount, a chestnut. Once he was certain both stable boys were completely inside the stable, Cerryl untied the reins and scrambled into the chestnut’s saddle.

Wuuuffff …The horse seemed to back off.

Cerryl patted his shoulder firmly. “Easy, fellow…easy…” Then he urged the mount toward the open gate from the stable yard. He couldn’t hold a full light shield, not with the growing sharp pains in his gut and the leaden headache, and even keeping his blurring efforts was hard. He only hoped that, if people saw him, their vision would show nothing out of the ordinary, just a blurred image of a rider on a lancer mount.

Can’t afford to get sick…not in Hydolar …

He rode quickly across the courtyard and toward the courtyard gate.

“Who was that!”

“Took the chestnut. Not Mierkal…always late…”

“Shit!..What’ll we tell him?”

As he passed through the gate, Cerryl felt badly for the stable boys, but not badly enough to remain in Hydolar any longer than he had to, not at all.

The street leading back to the north gate of the city was far less crowded, and, thankfully, his blurring effort was working enough that not a soul of the handful of people he passed in the orange light of dawn even seemed to look in his direction. The faint mist that lay over the city, perhaps from the river, might have helped as well.

The cramping in his gut was worse, and so was the headache as he rode out through the city gates.

“…know that lancer?” came from the gatehouse.

“…can’t see him well…wants to ride out alone…that’s the duke’s problem…”

“…still.”

“…what lancer, Jiut? Didn’t see no lancer, did you?”

A tight smile crossed Cerryl’s face as the chestnut carried him down the gentle slope of the causeway to the road that would carry him back to Fairhaven. He was out of Hydolar. With two long, long days’ ride to go…or three …

He rubbed his forehead, but it helped the headache not at all. Nor the growling in his stomach and lower gut. Perhaps if he ate something from the ration pack? He turned in the saddle and fumbled out a hard biscuit, hoping some food would Recluce his shivering as well.

CERRYL YAWNED. TWILIGHT had passed into full evening, and every span of his body ached, starting with the crown of his head all the way to toes that threatened to cramp within his boots. The night was still, cool, but not yet cold, and with the stillness he could hear a few scattered insects in the dry fields flanking the road. Insects? In winter? More likely rodents .

He’d hoped to make the Great White Highway before long, but the stretch of road he traveled had no kay markers and no towns, just dark humps in the fields that were the cots and houses of peasants and herders. He wished he’d been able to ask for a detachment of lancers to wait for him, but that would have alerted the Hydlenese, and the lancers wouldn’t have kept quiet about it, either-and it was clear that Jeslek wanted mystery.

Cerryl patted the stolen horse on the shoulder. He needed to find another place somewhere to deal with his bodily necessities-again! He preferred a spot not exactly on the open road, although he had yet to see all that many travelers.

He hoped his vision-blurring skills had been good enough to ensure that those few who had seen a rider would not remember any details, except that the mount was that of a lancer of Hydlen. A disappearing duke wasn’t much good to the Guild-or Jeslek-if people noticed a White mage traveling back from Hydlen. Once he was close to the Great White Highway, it wouldn’t matter, but…until then…few should see him.

His guts twisted again-violently-and he shivered.

He glanced around. Was that a clump of bushes ahead, where he could tie the mount? Already the big beast had tried to leave him twice, and once he’d had to lunge for the reins. Clearly, the animal belonged to someone and Cerryl wasn’t that someone.

Cerryl dismounted and led the beast toward the bushes. His guts contracted, sending a wave of pain through his torso, and his fingers fumbled with the leather reins. He reached for them, and his boot caught on a root, and he sprawled on the ground, dust welling up around him, his fingers losing the leathers.

He stumbled to his feet, but the horse was trotting down the road.

“Here, fellow…” Cerryl rasped. “Here, fellow.”

The horse did not turn but kept moving back southward.