L. Modesitt - The White Order

Cerryl paused.

The older guard cleared his throat.

Cerryl understood the signal. “Thank you.” He looked at the map he held and then at the guards, nodding to both. “Best I be going. Good day.”

“Good day to you, young ser.”

Cerryl walked quickly, if slightly more deliberately, back toward Jeslek’s quarters.

The red-blond hair-it could be no one else. But what was she doing in the Halls of the Mages? Just a healer? Or something else? His thoughts went back to Benthann’s comments-sex? Was she the mistress or consort-to-be of a white mage? Of one of the older mages?

His fingers curled until his hands were almost fists, and he took a slow and silent deep breath, trying to relax. He had no claim on her. He didn’t even know her, and she certainly didn’t even know he existed. Why was he reacting so violently?

Besides, Jeslek had asked to see the map, and he dared not hasten, not after chasing the woman- Leyladin, not woman -practically to the white tower. Another test? Had Jeslek sent her past him?

He shivered but left the front foyer hall and started across the courtyard.

“Why were you in such a hurry?” Lyasa stood by the fountain, clearly waiting for him. Her olive brown eyes pinned him.

“I got flustered. .” That was certainly true enough. He inclined his head to the map. “Jeslek wants to see this, and I found myself going in the wrong direction.”

“In more ways than one.” Lyasa shook her head, adding a wry smile. “She’s an apprentice healer or some such. You’re an apprentice white. You want to kill both of you? Black and white don’t mix that way.”

“I didn’t know.” Cerryl could feel his face fall, but a sense of elation followed. Leyladin. . she probably wasn’t a test by Jeslek, at least.

“That’s obvious. It’s one of the things we have to live with.” Lyasa reached out and patted his shoulder. “At least you’re not watching Anya. . the way Faltar does.”

Cerryl didn’t know what to say.

“You understand that.” Lyasa’s tone was low and matter-of-fact. “Now. . if Jeslek wanted you, you’d better hurry. He’s not all that patient.”

“No. . he’s not.”

With an indulgent smile, Lyasa touched his shoulder again, then watched as he hurried across the courtyard and into the hall toward the steps. Again, he was breathing hard by the time he reached the back of the building.

Gostar, the guard outside Jeslek’s quarters, nodded as Cerryl approached. Cerryl stepped past the armed guard and rapped on the door. “Cerryl, ser, as you requested.”

“Come in.” Jeslek’s voice resonated through the closed white oak door.

After opening the door and closing it behind him, Cerryl bowed. “I have the map you requested, ser.”

“About time.”

“Yes, ser.” Cerryl bowed again.

“Kesrik, move the glass to the side table.” Jeslek nodded to the older student mage, then to Cerryl. “Spread it on the table.”

Once Kesrik had removed the glass, Cerryl eased the vellum onto the table, then stepped back as Jeslek studied the map, squinting and shifting his eyes from point to point.

“Tellura. . Hierna. . Quessa. . Kyphrien. . hmmm.”

At the “hmmmm,” Cerryl took a slow and deliberate breath. He’s just trying to upset you. Calm, you have to be calm .

Kesrik continued to display a broad smile as Jeslek pored over the vellum.

After what seemed like eight-days, the white mage straightened and looked at Cerryl. “It’s basically accurate. At least it’s the best one could expect from a new student, and one who was a scrivener’s apprentice.” Jeslek nodded. “You may have it put with the others in the racks in the library.”

Kesrik did not manage to conceal a smirk from where he stood by the wall.

“Yes, ser.”

“You are disturbed? You find my judgment harsh?” Jeslek’s tone was light, amused, even as Cerryl could sense the white forces building.

“You are my master, ser, and you know what is best.” Cerryl was surprised to find his words level and even, with an unseen barrier between his rage and his words and surface feelings.

“You actually believe that. My. . my. . how refreshing.” The mage paused. “And very good for you.” The sense of power dwindled. “You may go and rack your map. I will see you again tomorrow morning. Immediately after breakfast. Immediately.”

“Yes, ser.”

“Go.”

Cerryl reached forward and gently lifted the map.

Jeslek nodded to Kesrik, who turned toward the small table and the screeing glass.

Cerryl bowed and turned, glad that Jeslek had not found any overt faults in the map. He rolled up the vellum, forcing himself to remain detached and deliberate as he departed, carrying the map.

There was no sign of the blond girl-woman-or Lyasa-as he walked toward the library.

CERRYL WALKED UP to Jeslek’s door with a stride more confident than he felt within himself.

“He be expecting you,” said Gostar from beside the door, one hand casually on the hilt of the white-bronze shortsword used by the inside guards.

“Thank you.” Cerryl knocked cautiously.

“Enter.”

The student mage stepped inside and closed the heavy white oak door behind him. The mage stood by the screeing table-alone. With the considerable residue of unseen white around the table, Cerryl could sense that Jeslek had been using the glass recently. “I am here as you requested, ser.”

“Your map was good.” Jeslek watched Cerryl.

“Ser. . you did not seem pleased. I will try to do better in the future.”

“It was good,” Jeslek repeated. “Yet I did not say so. Why might that be?”

“Kesrik was here.”

Jeslek nodded. “Have I permitted you to work with chaos-fire?”

“No, ser.”

“Kesrik has been a student for nearly four years. He has been working with chaos-fire for over two years. My reasons should be clear to you, if you consider them.” Jeslek offered a perfunctory smile. “You are very bright, Cerryl. Perhaps too bright. You also do not understand in your heart what the Guild is, and why it is good for Fairhaven and Candar. With your talent, that presents a problem.”

Since Cerryl couldn’t say much to that, although he questioned whether he had that much talent, he nodded and waited.

“Sterol and I have agreed on this.”

Jeslek’s overly polite tone confirmed to Cerryl that whatever they had agreed upon was one of the few areas where the two mages had reached agreement.

“You will see Myral after you leave here. You will work with him to service the sewers until spring. . or longer, as he sees fit. I have told him to expect you,” Jeslek said mildly. “You will not have any more instruction from me until then. Nor from any other mage except Myral. . oh, and Esaak. He has told me you are terribly deficient in your calculations. Do not bother to try to see the High Wizard. . about this or anything else. He and I have already discussed this.”

“Yes, ser.” Cerryl bowed.

“You have my leave to use your abilities to handle chaos as you can, but only as directed by Myral-only Myral.”

Cerryl waited to see if any other directions were forthcoming.

“And, young Cerryl?”

“Yes, ser?”

“I know you can block your innermost feelings from any mage. So can I. It is a useful talent, but one best used sparingly. One should not have too much to hide, especially not a student.”

“Yes, ser.” What else could he say?

“Think about light while you work in the darkness of the sewers. I would suggest you think a great deal about it, and do not hesitate to ask Myral. In such matters, he is a good instructor.” Jeslek smiled another of his perfunctory smiles. “You may go. I told Myral to expect you.”