L. Modesitt - Colors of Chaos

“What’s the trouble?” she asked.

“Jeslek wants me to do something. It’s not hard, but I can’t do it.”

“You? The one who’s figured out all sorts of new things?”

“I’ve never had much luck with this. He wants me to use the glass to scree out how Rystryr is taking road tariff coins for his own use. Or how his people are.”

“You could do that,” Leyladin affirmed.

“I don’t even know how to use the glass to find matters that don’t have chaos and order-”

“Cerryl,” Leyladin corrected, “everything is order and chaos. It’s only different combinations. You have to think of it like that.”

Cerryl rubbed his forehead, then pushed back the fine brown hair that was getting too long. “I understand that, but how do I do it?”

“You practice until you figure out how.” She smiled. “Like everything else. If others can do it, so can you. The opposite isn’t true, for which you should be grateful.”

He nodded slowly.

“You’re tired, but you can do it. Do you want me to come with you?”

“No. I suspect Lyasa will be back, and I don’t have much to say, right now.”

“And you worried that you can’t do this perfectly, the way you want to do everything.”

Cerryl gave a wry nod.

“You can.” Her smile was warm. “You will.”

He walked slowly back to his quarters, holding onto her words of support. He was tired, but…he had to learn something else. Is life just always learning something else? He paused as the answer came unbidden: It is if you want to survive and prosper . He took a deep breath and started up the steps, his thoughts scattered. How could he discover whom to follow in the glass? If he began with those who concentrated chaos…

Shyren-the Guild mage in Jellico. Surely the man had enough chaos around him for Cerryl to use the glass to find him. Shyren had to meet with other people, and, with effort, perhaps Cerryl could call up their images once he had seen them with Shyren. Perhaps …

THE FIGURE CERRYL watched in the screeing glass strode down a narrow stone-walled corridor, lit dimly by scattered lamps, then quickly crossed a courtyard through a rain that blurred the image in the glass, before entering yet another building and climbing a wide staircase into the ornate dining hall that Cerryl recognized. He took a deep breath and let go of the image, not looking as the image of the mage in white faded, as did the silver mists surrounding Shyren. Fascinating as the searching was getting, Cerryl’s head ached, and he needed to eat.

Half-amazed at the growing darkness in his room, Cerryl rubbed his forehead. Was it already after sunset? That meant he was too late for the evening repast in the Meal Hall. He pushed back the chair from the table, whose polished wood felt gritty to his touch. Then he stood and walked to the window. His stomach growled, reminding him more emphatically that he needed to find something to eat.

He wished he’d been able to see Leyladin, but, again, she was off to Lydiar because Duke Estalin was worried about his son once more-another bout of something. Cerryl understood why Jeslek wanted her there, especially with the continuing mess in Hydolar and all Jeslek’s concerns about Spidlar, but the younger mage wasn’t totally pleased with her absence.

His stomach growled again, and he turned and pulled his white cold-weather jacket out of his wardrobe. He looked down and wiggled his toes in the new boots that had almost depleted his purse. He still had enough for a bite at The Ram, and tomorrow he could draw his stipend.

At the door, his eyes went back to the glass.

He could keep following Shyren, although he was certain the mage knew he was being tracked by the glass, but Cerryl had to wonder if there weren’t a better way to see if he could discover what was happening with the golds of the Certan road duties. He shook his head. He wanted to find out who handled the golds, but he couldn’t exactly call up images of coins. Coins weren’t really composed of active order or chaos, the way people were. Of course, they often created chaos.

He frowned. They created chaos. Could he use the glass or his senses to find lines or concentrations of chaos, the kind that might be created by those who had coins?

Chaos…the glass was still easier to use when chaos was involved, unless the concentration of order was strong-as with the redheaded smith in Diev. Something about the smith bothered Cerryl, but he couldn’t say what. His looks at the smith had shown that Dorrin had built his own smithy and a barn. Clearly, the smith planned to stay in Spidlar, yet the house and smithy weren’t built like they were outposts for more Blacks to follow. Were they built for the lady trader? But he had yet to scree the woman. Where was she?

Cerryl massaged the back of his neck. Woolgathering about the smith wasn’t going to get him fed. He closed the door and walked along the corridor toward the steps down to the main level and the rear courtyard. The ongoing chill of winter had seeped into the building, and he fastened his jacket as he walked.

THE DWELLING IN the screeing glass before Cerryl was three stories tall, built of timber and stone, with diamond-shaped leaded glass panes in the long and narrow windows. At the mounting block before the dwelling was a carriage drawn by two matched grays. A man in a dark gray cloak trimmed in silver brocade stepped from the carriage and under the archway.

Cerryl glanced up at the rap on his door.

“Ser?” The high voice had to be that of a messenger.

With a sigh, one of those he was issuing all too often lately, Cerryl rose from his table-desk, letting the image lapse, and walked to the door, opening it.

“Ser, the High Wizard requests your presence as soon as you can be there.” The lad in red bowed twice, his eyes avoiding Cerryl’s.

“I’ll be right there.”

“Thank you, ser.” The messenger scurried back down the corridor.

Cerryl straightened his shirt, tunic, and belt, then left his quarters and walked quickly through the Halls of the Mages. He could hear the mumble of apprentices in the commons and in the library, but he did not peer in as he passed. The corridors and courtyards were empty, except for one mage-Elsinot. The two nodded to each other as they passed in the front foyer. Then Cerryl started up to the White Tower.

The duty guard was one Cerryl did not know. “Ser?”

“The mage Cerryl. The High Wizard requested my presence.”

“One moment, ser.” The guard rapped on the door and announced, “The mage Cerryl, at your request, High Wizard.”

“Bid him enter.”

“You may enter.” The guard held the door.

Cerryl closed the door firmly, careful not to slam it. Jeslek, seated at the table, did not rise but pointed to the chair across the polished wood from him.

“You summoned me?” said Cerryl as he seated himself.

“I did. What have you discovered? About the road coins? Have you found anything?”

How could Cerryl explain?

“Ah…yes…and no, ser.” He pursed his lips, then frowned. Finally, he plunged in. “I have seen things in the glass that would suggest road taxes in Certis are not going where they should, but I could not say for certain that such is so. I could not tell you how many coins are not reaching either the viscount or the Guild.”

“Go on.” Jeslek sounded almost bored or as if he had expected something of the sort.

“The man who seems to be the finance minister, he lives in a house that could be a palace. Two of those who seem to work for him, they also live in houses larger than those of the grandest of factors here in Fairhaven…”