L. Modesitt - Colors of Chaos

Cerryl rode silently, lost in his own speculations, while a low conversation continued between Anya and Jeslek.

“He’ll send the levies…Cerryl made sure of that…”

“…over four thousand in the chest…”

“…help…for a while…so will the five thousand Rystryr will send to Fairhaven…”

“…think he will?”

Jeslek laughed, harshly, jolting Cerryl out of his reverie. “He will. I made sure that someone told him about Lyam, the former prefect of Gallos, and about the late Duke Ferobar. Rystryr will do exactly as he is told-for the next year or so. Rulers have such short memories. So we shall have to keep providing reminders.” Another laugh followed, softer than the first.

Do rulers have shorter memories, or do we just notice their faults because they are obvious? Cerryl didn’t know but strongly suspected the latter.

The sun stood clear of the eastern horizon, shedding a golden light across the green-blue sky, when the road widened slightly and Jeslek motioned for Cerryl and Fydel to ride abreast of him and Anya.

“Fydel, you and Cerryl will travel with the main body of lancers, and Anya and I will lead the van. Once we are another ten kays north on this river road, well away from Jellico, we will part. You two and Teras will care for the heavy wagons and the extra provisions. We will await you at Axalt.”

“Axalt?” asked Fydel. “We are headed through the Easthorns there?”

“That is the shortest way to Spidlar without traversing Gallos,” answered the white-haired High Wizard. “We shall assure ourselves that the road to and through Axalt will be clear for the Certan levies that will follow in another four or five eight-days, after the spring planting is complete.”

As Jeslek spoke, Cerryl glanced over his shoulder, back at the nearly vanished walls of Jellico.

“Axalt has never allowed lancers and armsmen…” Fydel’s voice trailed off as Anya’s pale eyes fixed on him from where she rode, half-turned in the saddle to follow the conversation.

“Axalt has not heeded our advice, nor paid any tariffs. Axalt has certain tariffs of its own to pay.” The High Wizard smiled. “Axalt will pay.”

Cerryl winced inwardly at Jeslek’s expression. The gray-eyed younger mage had a good idea of exactly what sort of tariffs the High Wizard meant to levy upon the mountain city.

Jeslek drew ahead of the other mages once more, momentarily, until Anya joined him, and the two rode silently in front of Cerryl and Fydel.

More than another kay passed before Cerryl eased his own gelding forward. “Who will replace Shyren in Jellico? Or has that been decided?” Cerryl finally asked the High Wizard.

Jeslek did not turn, nor answer immediately, but Cerryl continued to ride on Jeslek’s quarter until the High Wizard turned slightly in the saddle. “I have sent a summons to Gorsuch. He, at least, understands what happens when lands do not heed Fairhaven. Just as you now understand the need for rules in governing and in peacekeeping.”

Jeslek nodded curtly, then eased his mount farther ahead of Fydel and Cerryl, back beside Anya, and behind Senglat. The captain had moved up in the column and now rode behind the half-score of foreriders, not really a true vanguard, at least not yet.

Why the mention of rules and peacekeeping on an invasion force? Cerryl frowned, teasing the thoughts back and forth and finding no ready answers, finding his thoughts more on a blonde healer as he wondered how Leyladin was, half-wishing he were still in Fairhaven, and fully wishing he could talk to her and to see her laughing deep green eyes and hear her words. Instead, he took a long and slow breath and shifted his weight in the saddle.

CERRYL GUIDED THE gelding around the gray rock on the right side of the road, a pile of squarish irregular stones that was nearly to his mount’s shoulder and left but enough passage for little more than a single rider at a time. As he followed Fydel, he glanced up at the rock face to the north of the road that tracked the winding canyon cut by the river. The darker rock and the line of gray stone indicated that the rockfall was recent, and the second he and Fydel had encountered in the last kay of riding. Each time they had been required to stop while the trailing lancers removed enough rock to allow the supply wagons to pass.

The younger mage cast his chaos senses ahead, but he could find nothing he would not have expected and no sign of other riders, except for Captain Teras and the twenty-odd-score lancers and the wagons. The canyon walls were high enough that shadows cast by the not-quite-midmorning sun still covered the road. Occasionally, in sections of the road where pockets of chill remained, Cerryl’s breath steamed in the shadows.

Once past the rocks, Cerryl drew his mount alongside Fydel’s. “Those rockfalls seem large.”

“You always get rock coming loose in spring,” Fydel answered. “The ice breaks it loose. It’s worse in the Westhorns.”

Cerryl looked back and up at the cliff. He still wasn’t sure that so much rock could have been broken loose by meltwater or ice. His eyes dropped to the cold foaming water to the left of the road-high, but still within its banks and comfortably below the level of the road. Only the brush within three or four cubits of the water had been flattened by an earlier and higher stream flow. That could change with a hot rain or a series of hot days. There was still all too much snow in the higher reaches of the Easthorns that flanked the canyon area they traveled.

Rawwwkk! A black vulcrow flapped off the end of a dead pine trunk that had fallen against an older and healthier fir.

“Scavengers…” muttered Fydel.

Cerryl half-stood in the stirrups, then settled back down and tried to get more comfortable in the saddle.

Neither man spoke for another kay or so-until they reached a third and far larger rockfall in a fractionally wider section of the canyon. The rock slide had ripped trees off the canyon wall and brought down chunks of granite from the left side of the canyon, filling most of the streambed and creating a small lake that stretched upstream. The new lake’s surface had risen almost to the level of the road itself.

“We need to get through here quickly.” Fydel turned and looked at Teras.

“We’re still waiting for the supply wagons,” Teras pointed out. “The water isn’t rising that fast. There’s enough water, and it’s near enough to water the horses. We’ve the space to gather.” He pointed ahead to the right of the road and an open and cleared space that had obviously been used as a staging point or a campsite, with fire rings and clay packed by all too many hoofs. “It might be a good time to stand down.”

A frown crossed Fydel’s face, but he nodded. “So long as we can mount up quickly if needed.”

“That we can do.” Teras nodded to the herald beside him, who took out his horn and bugled a call that Cerryl had come to recognize as the stand-down signal.

After taking advantage of his position at the head of the column and watering his mount, Cerryl rode farther up the road. He was glad to be able to dismount and stretch his legs in a different way and to refill his water bottles. He was also careful to chaos-boil them, even if he had to wait before drinking the water-and it was hot even then.

Fydel joined him, dismounting easily.

“Don’t know why you bother,” said Fydel. “The water isn’t that bad up here.”

“It can’t hurt.” Cerryl shrugged, still holding the chestnut’s reins. “Besides, I don’t feel right about those rock slides. Who knows what else might have fallen into the water?”

“You’ll never be an arms mage if you worry about that sort of thing.” Fydel laughed once.