L. Modesitt: The White Order

“Enough!” snapped Sterol. “Enough of this charade.”

Cerryl wanted to protest that Jeslek’s chaos had not been a charade but a last-moment effort to destroy him. Instead, he waited.

“I said enough, Jeslek.” An aura of menace and dark red chaos enfolded Sterol-and Kinowin and Derka, and even Myral. “He has shields enough to stop your incidental rage, and that’s more than most of the young mages. You have just proved that he belongs in the Brotherhood. Again.”

Jeslek’s eyes hardened, even as he bowed.

Cerryl couldn’t escape the feeling that in some way Sterol had set him as a weapon against Jeslek. Maybe that’s what you’ve been all along .

“For once, Jeslek-you have gone too far. Cerryl may indeed be deficient in his mathematicks, as you have alleged. And he may not be the most powerful of the younger mages with chaos. But he can stand up to you for at least a while, and his actions prove he has ability and he is loyal to Fairhaven-and, unlike some, he has never lied.” Sterol laughed. “It would not hurt to have a young mage you cannot intimidate. Not at all.”

Jeslek’s sun-gold eyes raked across the group. Then he laughed.

Cerryl’s eyes crossed Jeslek’s, and at that moment Cerryl knew that Jeslek had known Cerryl had succeeded, and would return to Fairhaven.

“Ah. . loyalty over ability,” Jeslek said. “Was it ever thus with you, Sterol. Still. . you are the High Wizard, and you are supported.”

“Yes. I am.” Sterol’s smile was full and cold. “Cerryl will be inducted as a full mage at the next meeting, and so far as I’m concerned already has those privileges. The rest of us will discuss how to proceed to salvage the situation in Gallos.” Sterol glanced toward Cerryl. “You may go. You could use some food and some cleaning.”

Cerryl inclined his head. “Thank you, honored Sterol. And you, Myral.”

Jeslek’s eyes glittered. “Good day, mage Cerryl.”

“Good day, overmage Jeslek.” Cerryl smiled faintly. “I thank you for all that you have taught me.”

“Good day.”

Cerryl bowed to the older mages and slipped out through the ironbound oak door and onto the landing. His legs were not quite shaking as he made his way down the stairs.

Leyladin and Lyasa found him in the commons, where he was gathering himself together.

“When did you get back? What happened?” demanded Lyasa.

Leyladin merely smiled gently.

“Please sit down.” Cerryl gestured to the empty chairs across from him. “It’s almost impossible to explain.” He smiled. “Thank you both for getting word to Myral. Without that, things might have been. . more complicated. .”

“You still haven’t told me what happened.”

How much should he tell? Finally, he began, just as Lyasa opened her mouth to prompt him once more. “You know that I was supposed to be Sverlik’s assistant and then do something, and that it was a test.”

“You told me that in Gallos.”

“What I didn’t tell you was that the task was to kill the prefect of Gallos.”

“You? Why you?”

“I don’t know. I can guess, but I don’t know.”

Lyasa turned her head to Leyladin. Leyladin smiled briefly at Cerryl.

“You did it, of course.” Lyasa’s voice was matter-of-fact.

“The prefect had Sverlik killed, and a detachment of our lancers, and you were there when he sent an entire force against us.”

“I heard about that,” Leyladin said quietly.

Bealtur stopped dead in the archway to the commons, on his face an expression of alarm and consternation.

“I suppose you heard I had left,” Cerryl called to the goateed student. “That was just a story to cover the task Jeslek set for me.” He offered a broad smile.

Bealtur bobbed his head. “I am glad to see you have returned.”

“So am I. The last eight-days have been hard.” Cerryl smothered a grin as he glanced at Lyasa.

“Ah. .”

“Don’t worry, Bealtur. I won’t be too much of a problem.” Cerryl grinned.

Bealtur bobbed his head, then turned.

“No,” said Lyasa. “They’ll have to make you a full mage.”

“That’s what I’m hoping for,” Cerryl admitted, deciding that he should not reveal too much.

“That’s all?” asked Lyasa. “You just killed the prefect and walked away?”

Cerryl sighed. “No. I sneaked in and out of Fenard. I ran out of coins. Most of the Gallosian guards were after me.” His stomach twinged at the exaggeration, and he added, “Those around the palace, anyway. The stable folk complained that I let the horse get too thin, and Jeslek wanted to say that the test wasn’t enough because. . just because.”

Lyasa nodded. “He doesn’t like you.”

“He doesn’t like anyone who doesn’t think he’s really the High Wizard,” suggested Leyladin, “and that’s most of the students and mages.”

Lyasa stood. “I have to meet with Esaak. He’s not pleased with my mathematicks. Again.”

“Good luck,” said Cerryl. “He was never pleased with mine, either. He still isn’t.”

“Lucky you.” The black-haired student walked away.

From across the table, Leyladin looked directly at Cerryl.

Cerryl took a deep breath. “It has been a long few eight-days. Very long.” His eyes went to Leyladin’s, and he just looked into their depths for a time.

“You’ve learned a great deal,” Leyladin said quietly. One hand reached across the table and covered his. “I wasn’t sure you could. Or that you’d want to.”

“I had some encouragement. I can’t tell you how much encouragement.” He grinned, then glanced down. His trousers were filthy, and his boots needed work. He didn’t even want to think about how he looked. “I need to clean up and then get something to eat.”

Leyladin slid a leather pouch across the table. Cerryl’s eyebrows rose as he recognized it. He peered inside to check. The white-bronze razor glittered against the dark leather. “Is this a hint?”

“No. It is a strong suggestion.”

They both laughed.

Cerryl fingered his clean-shaven chin, then glanced across the front foyer, wondering why the Council was taking so long. Or was it just that it seemed long to him?

“I can’t believe this,” said Faltar, his eyes on the archway to the Council Chamber.

“You can’t believe it?” asked Lyasa.

A heavyset figure waddled through the archway and across the polished stone tiles of the foyer. “Well, you three,” said Myral, a wide smile on his round face, “are you ready?”

The three exchanged glances.

“We’re ready,” Cerryl finally answered.

“So am I. Just follow me, and do what Sterol says.” Myral turned back toward the archway. “It’s a good idea, anyway.” After a pause, he added, “That’s a joke.”

Cerryl and Lyasa followed Myral; Faltar followed them. All four walked through the archway and under the pillars that flanked the sides of the Council Chamber. Each circular pillar was gold-shot white granite, fluted, and apparently flawless. Red hangings swept from the top of one pillar to the next, in effect cloaking the capital of each. The base of each was a cube of a shimmering gold stone Cerryl did not recognize.

The floor of the chamber was comprised of polished white marble tiles that held golden swirls. An aisle led up the center of the chamber. On each side of the aisle were gold oak desks, each with a gold oak chair. Each chair had a red velvet cushion. At the eastern end of the chamber was a low dais, a mere cubit above the floor of the chamber. The dais was of the same gold-shot marble, and totally bare.

Sterol stood in the center of the dais. To the right of the High Wizard, and two steps back, were Jeslek and Kinowin, standing side by side. Cerryl caught a glimpse of Anya’s red hair somewhere among all the white robes and tunics in the seats to the left of the aisle that the three student mages walked down. Even in a crowd, she stood out-and still made him wary.