L. Modesitt - The White Order

“I hope he doesn’t.”

“I doubt he will. Even if there are smugglers around, they know to avoid another student mage right now.”

“You think there are others?”

Myral laughed. “Cerryl, we impose tariffs and road duties. Goods are not made with tariffs attached to them, like wool to a sheep. So there will always be those who would avoid taxes and tariffs, even in Fairhaven. Not all the chaos-fire you or even the great Jeslek can cast will stop those who live for silver and gold.” He pointed to the door. “Go and get what you need, and you can tell Yubni, for what it’s worth, that both Jeslek and I think you ought to be well prepared for your journey.”

“Thank you.”

“It be little enough.” Myral coughed, but only once, and smiled briefly.

Cerryl eased down the tower steps slowly, hoping he would be able to follow Myral’s suggestions, carrying the box of ointment back toward his cell.

Bealtur nodded as the two passed in the corridor by the commons, but the goateed student mage did not speak, and Cerryl didn’t feel like always being the one to offer greetings first.

Cerryl eased down the corridor and slipped into his cell, still feeling somewhat stiff and wondering how long before he’d really get used to riding. He stepped over to the desktop.

A soft gray leather case lay there. With a frown, he opened it, then began to smile as he lifted out the white-bronze razor. Then he laughed. “She does care.” And she has a sense of humor in making her points . . He laughed softly again as he replaced the razor in the case.

A light wind blew out of the northwest, right into Cerryl’s face, carrying faint bits of dust and grit raised by the riders in front of him. He shifted his weight in the saddle, wishing he could get more comfortable on the big chestnut, then glanced westward.

Jeslek rode at the front of the column, bareheaded, his white hair almost glistening in the late morning sun. Beside him rode the lanky Klybel, the white lancer captain. Behind them rode the red-haired Anya, and beside her, the square-bearded Fydel. Behind the two mages rode the three students-Cerryl, Kochar, and Lyasa. Following the mages was a detachment of white lancers-more than fourscore, Cerryl thought, although he hadn’t tried to count them.

The only sounds were the breathing of the horses and the clopping of hoofs on stone. Again, Cerryl shifted his weight in the saddle in an effort to get less uncomfortable. Riding he could do without, save that it was faster and easier than walking.

The wind that blew out of the clear green-blue north-western sky carried a chill that suggested the coming winter, though the sun was warm, warm enough that Cerryl was still sweating slightly.

Abruptly, Jeslek leaned toward Klybel, then lifted his arm.

Klybel turned his mount out to the raised shoulder of the road and ordered, “Lancers. . HALT!”

Cerryl found himself reining back the chestnut, then almost lurching forward in the saddle into his mount’s mane.

Jeslek then circled around Anya and Fydel and eased his mount up beside the apprentice mages. “You see the road?”

“Yes, ser,” answered Kochar and Cerryl. Lyasa nodded.

“Do you not think it is somewhat. . exposed?” A smile crossed Jeslek’s thin lips.

“Anyone can see it,” offered Kochar quickly.

Lyasa remained silent. Cerryl nodded, barely.

“You do not agree, Cerryl?”

“It is exposed, ser. I do not know if that is good or bad. It is good for someone who wishes to avoid brigands, but it could be bad for other reasons.”

“You are cautious. Why?”

“Because I do not know. I have not lived in Fairhaven all my life, and I have not studied all that you and the other mages have.”

“At least you know your limits. Unlike some.” Jeslek laughed, then turned to Kochar. “You think the road would be better were it less exposed?”

Kochar tried to conceal a frown. “If it were less exposed, the white lancers could move without all Candar knowing where they went.”

“That is true.” Jeslek smiled. “Yet we are within a dozen kays of Fairhaven, and here it scarcely matters.”

Kochar’s face became stolid.

“On the other hand, beyond the Easthorns, where the road stretches across the plains of Gallos-that is another question. And that is why we may be headed there.” His smile faded. “In the meantime, I want you to use your senses to understand how the road is built and how it is held together. How a road feels is as important as all the calculations Esaak would have you make.”

Gallos?

They had yet to reach Certis, and Jeslek was talking about Gallos?

“Stop scaring them,” said Anya with a laugh as Jeslek turned his mount around and rode past the other two mages.

“You would do well to study the roads as well, Anya. Given your. . inclinations,” suggested Jeslek with a smile. “You as well, Fydel. We will have much to do.” He eased his mount past the other two mages and rejoined the lancer captain. Klybel raised his arm again, and he and Jeslek resumed riding as if nothing had happened.

“We’re going to Gallos?” whispered Kochar.

“It would seem so,” suggested Lyasa.

Cerryl frowned, wondering why Jeslek had stopped the column. The white mage could have made his suggestion without halting the lancers, yet had made a point to do so, and to offer barbed comments to Anya and Fydel.

Belatedly, Cerryl flicked the reins and lurched in the saddle as the chestnut started up again.

AS THE COLUMN rode across the wide stone bridge that spanned the River Jellicor, Cerryl’s eyes went to the walls that lay less than half a kay north of the bridge. Jellico was a walled city-a well-walled city with smooth stone ramparts that rose at least forty cubits above the level of the road that led to the gates.

On the western shore, the highway turned almost northeast for a few hundred cubits before arrowing straight toward the walls. The huge red oak and ironbound gates were open, but well-oiled iron grooves showed that they could be closed rapidly.

Armsmen in gray-and-brown leathers and with armless green overtunics were stationed by the gate. Jeslek and Klybel halted, as did the three students and the lancers who followed.

“The overmage Jeslek, to visit the viscount,” announced Klybel in a deep voice that echoed off the granite walls of the city.

The head armsman glanced nervously from Jeslek to the next two mages, then to the students, and then at the column of white lancers.

“Ah. . you are most welcome, overmage. You know your way to the palace?”

Jeslek nodded. “I am sure we will find it.”

Cerryl looked up. Archers in green with bows-some strung and some unstrung-watched from the ramparts above, but none seemed terribly interested in raising their weapons.

“The viscount is particular about who he lets enter, but not about us,” suggested Anya.

Cerryl wasn’t sure he cared that much. The inside of his thighs felt raw, and every muscle in his legs seemed ready to cramp.

“Most rulers in Candar are,” said Fydel in a low voice that barely carried to Cerryl.

A messenger in green mounted a gray and quick-trotted down the avenue before them, vanishing from sight even as Jeslek nodded again to the guards and urged his mount through the archway and inside the walls of Jellico.

Houses and shops of fired brick lined the street, wide enough for perhaps four mounts but far narrower than the avenues of Fairhaven. The buildings were higher, often three stories, and seemingly older and less kempt.

Two shaggy brown dogs ran out of a side alley to the right, in front of Jeslek and Klybel, and disappeared into the alley on the left.