L. Modesitt - The White Order

Myral heaved himself to his feet. “Yes, High Wizard.” Myral gestured into the darkness toward the two bodies. “Young Cerryl dispatched these two malefactors. I would request that you examine the bodies for yourself.”

Sterol nodded. Kinowin’s face was blank.

“You might also note the side tunnel beyond the bodies. There is a door painted to look like bricks.”

Sterol stepped past the two, and followed by Kinowin, he marched down the tunnel. Cerryl noted that while Sterol did not blaze chaos energy the way Jeslek did, he definitely radiated chaos-as did the rugged Kinowin, if to a lesser degree.

The High Wizard stopped by the bodies and bent over. After a moment, Sterol straightened. “I see what you mean.” With a gesture, he pointed toward the figures, and the tunnel filled with blinding light.

Cerryl blinked. When the stars cleared from his eyes, all that remained were white dust, two iron shields, and two blades.

Wearing heavy white gloves he had pulled from somewhere, Kinowin lifted both shields and handed them to one of the lancers. Then he lifted the blades and carried them toward the steps with the lancers, leaving Sterol with Cerryl and Myral.

“Also,” said Myral, “one of the lancers guarding young Cerryl fled somewhere into the tunnels.” The older mage glanced to Cerryl.

“Ullan,” Cerryl supplied.

“Ullan is doubtless hiding somewhere in the sewer. You have leave to destroy him.” Sterol’s eyes flashed as he looked at Cerryl. “In fact, you are to destroy him immediately-without mercy. You have the power to do so.” Sterol glanced around the tunnel. “Do you understand?”

Cerryl nodded.

“Good.” The High Wizard turned to Myral. “We have some work to do.” Then he turned back to Cerryl. “Continue to seek Ullan and carry out my orders. We will not expect to see you before the evening meal. If you find him, do what else you can here. If you cannot find him-or if you do-see me after you eat.”

“Yes, ser.”

“You had only two guards, did you not, young Cerryl? Down here with you?”

“Yes, honored Sterol. I sent Dientyr to fetch Myral; Ullan disappeared when I was struggling with the. . malefactors.”

“You remained here?”

“Yes, ser.”

“Good. Better and better.” Sterol gestured. “Luyar, pick enough guards to watch all the grates on the secondary and the western main tunnel. If they catch Ullan, have them hold him for Cerryl.”

The lancer leader nodded and walked back up the steps to the street above.

“If the lancers find him first. . you will be notified, and your task will be to execute the deserter with chaos-fire-right where he stands when you find him.”

“Yes, ser.”

Sterol nodded in a peremptory fashion, turned, and started up the sewer steps. Myral puffed up behind the High Wizard.

Cerryl looked down the tunnel, past the stairs and away from where the bodies had been, then shrugged. Ullan had gone away from where Cerryl had fought the armsmen, and the entrance, and the lancer hadn’t gone up the steps.

After a moment, Cerryl started down the tunnel slowly, heading back through the area he had scoured earlier, watching his feet nonetheless.

Behind him followed the pair of lancers. Were they watching him as much as guarding him?

He passed one set of steps, dappled with light from the grate overhead, then a second, and finally a third. The tunnel was silent except for the muted gurgle of sewer water in the drainage way and the sound of boots on damp brick.

Close to the fourth access steps, Cerryl paused, listening, looking into the darkness, letting his senses pick up something. . someone. . hiding in the darkness behind the stairs.

He turned to the guard with the light, whispering, “I think he’s up ahead. Stay back here a bit. I can’t follow him and worry about you.”

Surprisingly, the guard nodded.

Cerryl eased along the edge of the tunnel, knowing that the back and upper sleeve of his tunic were hopelessly stained with slime.

A set of boots scraped on the bricks. . as did a spear.

Cerryl waited, gathering chaos energy from around him. “Ullan. .”

Only the sewer water in the drainage way burbled.

“There’s nowhere to go.”

The indistinct figure of the lancer slid along the side of the steps, lifting the white-bronze spear.

Cerryl focused the chaos energy-the white-golden lance.

Whhsttt! The chaos bolt shivered the spear and turned it into flame. Ullan dropped it. . his hand and lower arm also a mass of flame.

The lancer reached for the shortsword at his belt.

With almost a sigh, Cerryl loosed another targeted firebolt, one that caught Ullan in the midsection. The lancer staggered, seeming to fold before sliding onto the bricks.

Cerryl stepped forward. “Who set it up?”

Ullan lay sprawled on the slimed bricks, his midsection blackened, eyes avoiding Cerryl.

Cerryl focused another chaos bolt on the lancer’s foot, then let it fly. The odor of burning flesh rose over the smells of sewage and mold.

“Aeeei. . no. . no. .”

“Who told you to keep tapping that spear?”

“Don’t know, ser. . swear I don’t. . Someone in white. . short. . never saw his face. . soft voice. . slim. . wore scent.”

Cerryl let a blaze of fire glimmer from his fingertips.

“Honest. . honest. . ser. . threatened to kill me if I told. .”

Cerryl could sense the truth, and the despair. For a moment, he hesitated, then let the fire flare across Ullan.

He swallowed, trying to hold in the nausea-and succeeding, barely.

After a time, he turned away from the white ash that sifted across the walkway.

The two lancers waited, their lamp a puddle of light in the darkness. Cerryl walked past them silently, back toward the unfinished cleaning of the secondary tunnel.

EVERY EYE LOOKED at Cerryl as he stepped into the meal hall, then looked away, almost in relief, it seemed to the thinfaced student mage. He was late, later than he should have been because, even with chaos, cleaning the grime off his tunic had taken longer than he had expected. Surprisingly, he’d even managed to deal with the dark grease that he’d thought had burned the white cloth.

Bealtur and Kochar kept their eyes down, fixed on the polished white oak of the table. The meal hall was silent, students looking at the entrance archway every so often. Unlike at most meals, no full mages were in the hall.

Cerryl walked through the silence to the serving table and helped himself to the mint burkha and noodles, to a healthy chunk of bread, and poured a full mug of the light ale, carrying it all over to the table where Faltar and Lyasa sat.

“You missed everything,” Faltar whispered.

“I have sewer duty. I miss a lot,” Cerryl said dryly. He sniffed. Did his tunic still carry the faint odor of sewage? “What happened?”

“You don’t know?” asked Lyasa.

“I was told specifically to stay in the sewers until mealtime,” said Cerryl. “The orders came from the High Wizard. In person. I wasn’t about to do otherwise.”

The black-haired Lyasa’s mouth formed an O.

“Sterol came into the common with some guards.” Faltar lowered his voice to almost a whisper. “They had iron shields. You know that’s trouble. Iron deflects chaos, you know?”

“I have learned that.”

“Sterol had Kinowin and Fydel with him, and even Myral.”

Cerryl took a bite of the bread, trying to quiet his empty stomach. “For what?”

“You should have seen Kesrik.” Faltar glanced toward the table where Kochar and Bealtur sat. “Sterol threw an iron shield-he had to wear heavy leather gloves, but he did throw it-right at Kesrik, and he asked him something about recognizing it. . about maker’s marks and authorized traders with Gallos.”