L. Modesitt - The White Order

AS THE DOOR opened, Cerryl and Kesrik stepped back to the wall out of deference and habit.

The ruddy-faced and rugged-looking mage with the purple blotch on his cheek smiled at Jeslek. “Greetings.” His eyes fixed on Jeslek, who seemed slender by comparison, and ignored the two student mages.

“How might I be of service?” Jeslek’s low voice was smooth, almost resonant, as he glanced at the taller mage who had just entered his chambers.

Kinowin bowed to Jeslek. His white collar bore the same golden sunburst as did Jeslek’s. Cerryl didn’t remember it from when Kinowin had brought him to the tower. Had it been granted at the last meeting of the white mages?

“With the road tariffs and the trade problems with the accursed isle, the High Wizard has asked how far the Great White Road can be used.”

“It’s somewhere beyond Tellura,” answered Jeslek. “If you will wait but a moment, I will offer a more precise reply. Not that such precision will be of great use to His Mightiness.”

“As you see fit.”

Cerryl could sense the tension between the two but didn’t fully understand it, since, according to student gossip, both shared a dislike of Sterol. Then, he’d come to understand early that people always made their lives more difficult than necessary.

“I do,” answered Jeslek. “One should be as precise as possible when serving the High Wizard, even when precision is meaningless.”

Cerryl watched, with both eyes and senses, as Jeslek stood before the table and concentrated on his screeing. Standing beside Cerryl, Kesrik looked-and felt-totally bored, as though he’d seen the process over and over.

Cerryl still watched, trying to sense how Jeslek marshaled the white of chaos and the darkness of order and focused both upon the glass. Even though he could not see the shimmering surface clearly, he could sense the image forming-the image of a stone-paved highway.

Abruptly, the image shifted, to one where swarming figures milled in a shallow gully that ended suddenly just beyond them. Then the glass blanked. Cerryl moistened his lips, trying to assimilate how the mage had gathered the images so quickly.

Jeslek lifted his eyes from the glass with a satisfied smile. “The Great White Road is well past Tellura, two days, perhaps, and the preliminary ditching is complete to a point northwest of Quessa.”

A ghost of a frown passed across Kesrik’s face.

Jeslek’s eyes flicked to Kesrik and then to Cerryl before returning to Kinowin. “Will that suffice?”

“I will tell the High Wizard.”

“Perhaps you could speed the construction,” suggested Jeslek, “with your carefully protected use of chaos.”

“Perhaps, but not so well as you,” countered Kinowin. “You are master of the earth forces.”

A faint breeze drifted through the window, bearing the faintly acrid scent of graying leaves and of fall, then vanished before cooling the room at all.

Cerryl felt sweaty within the red-tipped whites of a student mage but stood as impassively as he could.

“We go where we are called,” said Jeslek.

“True.” Kinowin bowed and departed.

As the door closed, Jeslek turned to his students, his eyes going to Kesrik. “You don’t know anything about Quessa, do you?”

“No, ser,” admitted the stocky blond.

“You have my leave to use a screeing glass and the library. The day after tomorrow, you will know everything there is to be found about Quessa.” Without pausing, the white wizard turned to Cerryl. “You don’t know where either Tellura or Quessa are, do you?”

“No, ser.”

“You were a scrivener’s apprentice?”

“Yes, ser.”

Jeslek nodded. “Good. We could use another map of Candar-a good map. You have two eight-days to draw a detailed map of eastern Candar. It will show the location of Tellura, Quessa, and all the main cities east of the Westhorns. You may obtain vellum from wherever you choose.” He fumbled at his purse and then tossed two golds at Cerryl. “If you need more, see me. If you have spare coins, return them. You might as well leave and start now. A white mage who does not know geography is useless.”

Cerryl quickly placed the golds in his purse.

“Go.” Jeslek paused. “You do not have leave to use a glass. Nor to ask any full mage.”

“Yes, ser.”

“Two eight-days, and do not stint your other studies.” His sun-gold eyes glittered.

Cerryl bowed, ignoring the glint in Kesrik’s eyes, leaving quickly. He nodded to the guard outside. “Good day.”

“Good day, young ser.”

Cerryl found his feet carrying him down the stairs and toward the library, where all the books and maps were stored, though he knew already no map would show Quessa. Jeslek wouldn’t have asked for such a map were it available.

Jeslek hadn’t really had to task Cerryl with a more onerous task than Kesrik, had he? Why had he insisted on a full map? Was it another test? Was it just to get Cerryl out of the way?

That didn’t feel right, although Cerryl didn’t know why, as with so many things. He clamped his lips together and kept walking. It didn’t matter. He had a map to draw.

THE HAZY FALL afternoon light gave the workroom an almost misty appearance. Cerryl blotted his forehead with the back of his forearm, just below the rolled-up sleeves, and took a deep breath. He looked at the map on the table and then at his hand. It was shaking.

Carefully, he set the quill in the holder and shook his hand, then rubbed it with his left, studying his work.

The outlines of the land were there, and the boundaries of each land, and the Easthorns and the Westhorns and the rivers and the coastlines. A few tiny dots marked some of the towns and cities, but most remained to be placed, and he had less than an eight-day remaining.

“Still working on that map?” Faltar stood in the doorway of the small room adjoining the library, a room Cerryl hadn’t even known existed until he had to search for a worktable on which to create his map. “Derka made me do one of Lydiar and Hydlen.”

Cerryl looked up. “Is it somewhere that I could study it?”

“It’s on the racks.”

“The new one, with the purple ink?”

Faltar nodded.

“It’s a good map.”

“Derka said so.”

Cerryl grinned. “I’ve already copied that part. Mostly, anyway. Except for naming the towns.” He corked the ink bottle and straightened and stretched, trying to loosen muscles in his back that he hadn’t even realized were stiff.

“You’re using black ink?” Faltar peered at Cerryl’s vellum.

“It’s what I know how to make.”

“I wish I’d known that. I used an old formula in the alchemical scrolls. Black would have looked better.” Faltar’s eyes went to the doorway, then to Cerryl.

“If you have to make more for something, I’ll show you.” Cerryl kept massaging his hand.

“Have you managed to locate those towns?” Faltar looked back down at the map.

“I’m fairly sure about Tellura. I don’t know where Quessa is. No one I could ask knows, and I wouldn’t ask Kesrik.”

“I cannot imagine why.” Faltar offered a grim smile. “Nor could you trust his reply.”

The younger student mage gave a short nod, then looked at the map. “There is so much left undone on this, and I’m supposed to do some anatomie drawings for Broka, too, and tomorrow I have to meet Esaak, and I know I haven’t read enough of that book he left for me.”

“He’s a crusty sort,” said Faltar. “Just listen as much as you can. He’ll eventually get around to telling you what he wants-after he’s told you how worthless all of us are, and how we appreciate little or nothing about mathematicks.”