Modesitt,L.E. - Recluce 08 - Colors of Chaos

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Colors of Chaos

by L. E. Modesitt, Jr.

Edited by David G. Hartwell

Jacket art by Darrell K. Sweet

Jacket design by Carol Russo

A Tor Book Published by Tom Doherty Associates, Inc.

175 Fifth Avenue New York, NY 10010

Tor® Books on the World Wide Web: http://www.tor.com

Scanner Note: Italic text was used to indicate a thought in the Hard copy of this book.

Unfortunatly this is Text only, and the italic text type is not available. A new version(2.0) of

this book might have this fixed as :a thought: he thinks.

-Pinion

From inner cover flap:

The biggest fantasy from L. E. Modesitt, Jr., to date, Colors of Chaos is the story of the

White Chaos wizard Cerryl: his education in life and love and his rise to power in the magicians'

guild of Fairhaven. This is the direct sequel to The White Order, which told of Cerryl's boyhood

and youth, and it takes place at the same time as the events in Modesitt's earlier novel The Magic

Engineer. Yet it stands alone, a portrayal of the growth and change of character and of the

strengths and weaknesses of an age-old civilization held together by the power of magic.

Cerryl, now a full mage in the White Order, must prove himself indispensable to Jeslek, the

High Wizard. Whether through assassination, effective governance of occupied territory, or the

fearless and clever direction of troops in battle, Cerryl faces many harrowing obstacles, not the

least of which is Anya, the plotting seductress who's the real power behind the scenes of the

white wizards. With his wits, his integrity, and the support of his love, the Black healer

Leyladin, he must survive long enough to claim his rightful spot within the ruling hierarchy of

the White Order.

This is a must-read for followers of the Saga of Recluce, offering a unique, sympathetic point

of view of the White Chaos wizards-the forces that throughout history have opposed the magicians

of Recluce.

In thanks and appreciation to Nesby Cornett Janes, for all she made possible for others, and

especially in thanks for her daughter

CHARACTERS

Nail- Cerryl's aunt

Syodor- Cerryl's uncle

Dylert- Sawmill master, with whom Cerryl first apprenticed

Brental- Dylert's son

Tellis- Scrivener in Fairhaven

Benthann- Tellis's mistress

Pattera- Weaver girl

MAGES

Cerryl- Mage of Fairhaven

Sterol- High Wizard of Fairhaven

Kinowin- Overmage of Fairhaven

Jeslek- Overmage of Fairhaven

Anya- Chief aide to Jeslek, niece of the factor Muneat

Broka- Master of anatomie

Derka

Disarj

Esaak- Master of mathematicks

Eliasar- Armsmaster of Fairhaven

Fydel

Gorsuch- Mage adviser in Hydolar (Hydlen)

Huroan- Assistant chief Patrol mage, Fairhaven

Isork- Chief Patrol mage, Fairhaven

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Myral- Master of sewers

Redark

Sedelos- Mage adviser in Lydiar

Shyren- Mage adviser in Jellico (Certis)

Sverlik- Mage adviser in Fenard (Gallos), killed by Prefect Lyam

Leyladin- Black healer, daughter of Layel

Bealtur- Apprentice mage

Faltar- Former apprentice mage with Cerryl

Heralt- Former apprentice mage with Cerryl

Lyasa- Former apprentice mage with Cerryl

RULERS

Berofar- Duke of Hydlen

Estalin- Duke of Lydiar

Lyam- Former prefect of Gallos, killed by Cerryl

Syrma- Prefect of Gallos

Rystryr- Viscount of Certis

FACTORS

Layel- Leyladin's father, factor and trader in scarcities

Muneat- Richest factor in Fairhaven, Anya's uncle

Jiolt- One of the five wealthiest factors in Fairhaven, son Uleas is consort of Anya's sister,

Nerya

Scerzet- One of the five wealthiest factors in Fairhaven

Chorast- One of the five wealthiest factors in Fairhaven

Felemsol- One of the five wealthiest factors in Fairhaven

Loboll- Wealthy Fairhaven trader

Part I - Colors of White

I

Cerryl shifted his weight. He stood in the west corner of the small second-level rampart of the

guardhouse before the north gates to the White City of Fairhaven. That was the only corner where

the sun touched. His white leather jacket was fastened all the way up to his neck, and even with

the heavy shirt and white wool tunic of a full mage underneath, he was cold.

He glanced out at the white granite highway that stretched north and, just beyond where he

could see, curved eastward toward Lydiar. As the day had passed, it had warmed enough that his

breath no longer formed a white cloud, but the north wind still cut through his white woolen

trousers. His eyes went down to the armsmen in red-trimmed white tunics who stamped their boots

and walked back and forth in front of the gates, waiting for travelers.

The rumbling of another set of wheels-iron ones-on the stone alerted Cerryl, and he looked up

and out along the highway to study the approaching vehicle, a high-sided wagon painted cyan and

cream, escorted by a full score of lancers in cyan livery, ten preceding and ten following the

wagon. Cyan was the color of the Duke of Lydiar.

Cerryl couldn't help but wonder what was being conveyed to Fairhaven with so many lancers:

Chests of golds owed for road taxes? Trade goods from the port at Lydiar as some sort of

repayment? The ponderous approach of the wagon and the four horses indicated the load was heavy.

Slowly, slowly, the teamster in cyan eased the wagon up to the gates and the White armsmen. The

Lydian lancers reined up on each side of the wagon and behind.

"Tariffs and goods for Fairhaven. Bound for the Wizards' Square," announced the captain of the

Lydians, a squarish black-haired and bearded figure. He extended a scroll to the man in charge of

the inspection and guard detail.

Cerryl took a deep breath and let his order/chaos senses study the wagon. Metal-coins in

chests, as he had suspected, although there were but three chests. Under the dark gray canvas were

also a dozen small barrels, more like quarter-barrels. Salt perhaps. Most salt came from Lydiar,

the closest port, for all that it was two long days or three short ones.

The head gate guard glanced up at Cerryl, his eyes questioning the mage. Two of the lancers

behind the Lydian officer followed his eyes. One swallowed as his eyes took in Cerryl's whites.

"That's what the scroll says, ser!" the detail leader called up to Cerryl.

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"It's as they say, Diborl," Cerryl answered.

"You may pass," the head guard announced.

The wagon rolled past the guardhouse, and Cerryl listened. Listening was the most interesting

part of the duty, at least usually.

"... always have a mage here?"

"Always ... Sometimes you see someone get turned to ashes ..."

"... you're jesting ..."

"No ... not something to jest at."

Cerryl hadn't had to use chaos fire on any person yet in his gate-guard duties, but he'd turned

two wagons carrying contraband-one had iron blades hidden under the wagon bed-into ashes and sent

the teamster and his assistant to the road crew, where they'd spend the rest of their lives

helping push the Great White Highway through the Westhorns.

The young mage shrugged. He doubted that either man had been the one who had planned the

smuggling-or would have benefited much-but he'd seen Fenard and Jellico and grown up in Hrisbarg

in the shadow of the played-out mines. He'd been a mill boy, a scrivener's apprentice, and a

student mage under the overmage Jeslek. All those experiences had made one thing clear. Strict as

the rules of the Guild were, harsh as the punishments could be, and sometimes as unfair as they

had been, from what he'd seen the alternatives were worse.

After stamping his white boots again, Cerryl walked across the short porch, four steps, and

turned back, hoping that keeping moving would keep him warmer. Sometimes, it did. Most times, it

didn't.

He wanted to yawn. He'd thought sewer duty had been tiring, but it hadn't been half so tiring

as being a gate guard. At least, in cleaning sewers he'd been able to perfect his control of chaos

fire. As a gate mage, mostly he just watched from the tiny rampart on top of the guardhouse just

out from the north gate. Also, the sewers were warmer in winter and cooler in summer. The sewers

did stink, he reminded himself, sometimes a great deal.

"Ser?"

Cerryl glanced down.

Diborl looked up at the young mage. "We've got two here need medallions-a cart and a hauler's

wagon."

"I'm coming down." Cerryl walked to the back of the porch area, where he descended the tiny and

narrow circular stone staircase. He came out at the back of the guardroom. From there he entered

the medallion room, where a wiry farmer with thinning brown hair stood. Behind him was a hauler in

faded gray trousers and shirt.

The farmer had just handed his five coppers across the battered wooden counter to the medallion

guard. Behind him, the hauler held a leather pouch, a pouch that could have held anywhere from

several silvers to several golds, depending on the trade and the size of the wagon. That didn't

include actual tariffs, either.

"Ser," said the guard to the farmer, "Vykay, there"-he pointed to another guard who held a

drill, a hammer, and a pouch that Cerryl knew contained soft copper rivets-"he and the mage will

attach the medallion."

"Just so as I can get going."

"It won't take but a moment," Cerryl assured the man, who looked to be close to the age of

Tellis, the scrivener with whom Cerryl had apprenticed before the Guild had found him and made him

a student mage.

The cart stood at the back of the guardhouse, a brown mule between the traces. The mule looked

at Cerryl, and Cerryl looked back, then at the baskets of potatoes in the rear.

"Medallion should go on the sideboard around here." Vykay positioned the brass plate a handspan

below the bottom of the driver's seat. "That be all right?"

"Might catch on stuff in the stable. A mite bit higher'd be better." The farmer nodded. "New

wagon. Old one not much better than a stone boat no more."

The guard raised the medallion and glanced at Cerryl.

"That's fine."

With quick motions, the guard used a grease stick to mark the wood, then took out the hand

drill and began to drill the holes for the rivets.

"Can remember when it was only three coppers," the farmer said to Cerryl. "Before your time,

young mage." He offered a wintry smile. "Not be complaining, though. Do no good, and 'sides, I'd

rather be using the White highways than those muddy cow paths they call roads."

Cerryl nodded, his eyes straying to the medallion Vykay had laid on the wagon seat-simple

enough, just a rectangular plate with the outline of the White Tower stamped on it and the numeral

1, for winter, and the year.

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Just about ready, ser," Vykay announced, straightening, placing the medallion on the sideboard,

and slipping the rivets/pins through the holes in the medallion and in the cart sideboard. Then

came the offset clamps and two quick blows with the hammer. The guard glanced at Cerryl.

The White mage nodded and concentrated, raising a touch of chaos and infusing the medallion and

rivets. He could feel the heat in his forehead, not enough to raise a sweat, but noticeable to

him. "There." Cerryl turned to the farmer. "Your cart is allowed on all White highways for another

year, ser. I must warn you that if anyone tampers with the medallion, you will need another. And

... they could get hurt."

"I'd be knowing that, but I thank you." The farmer offered a brusque nod and took the leads to

the mule, flicking them and leading the cart away, walking beside the mule, rather than riding.

Cerryl glanced at the second vehicle-a long and high gray wagon with bronze trim. The painted

emblem on the side read: "Kyrest and Fyult, Grain Factors."

The hauler stood by the wagon. "If you could just replace ..."

Vykay nodded and looked at Cerryl.

Cerryl extended his senses and bled away the remaining chaos, although there was so little left

that no one would have been hurt, even if Vykay had removed the old medallion.

Vykay produced a chisel and, with two quick snaps, removed the old medallion and then replaced

it with the new.

Cerryl added the chaos lock, then looked at the guard. "Is that all for now?"

"Yes, ser."

With a smile, Cerryl slipped away and back up to his perch on the second level of the

guardhouse. He glanced back northward over the highway, momentarily empty near the gates, though

he thought he saw another wagon in the distance making its way through the gray-leaved hills

toward Fairhaven. Because of the alignment of the city, he found it strange that the north gate

actually controlled the travelers from Hrisbarg and Lydiar and the far east of Candar. It was also

strange, as he reflected upon it, how much straighter the Great White Highway was in Gallos and

western Certis than near Fairhaven itself-yet Fairhaven was the home of the Guild and the mages

who had labored centuries to build the great highways of eastern Candar.

Stamping his feet again, he walked back and forth on the walkway behind the rampart several

more times, but his feet remained cold, almost numb.

The bell rang, its clear sound echoing on the rampart, but Cerryl had already stepped forward

with the sound of wheels on stone once more.

A farm wagon stood before the guards. Three men in rough browns stood by the wagon. Three and a

driver?

"What have you in the wagon?"

"Just our packs. We're headed to Junuy's to pick up some grain for the mill in Lavah."

Cerryl frowned. Lavah was on the north side of the Great North Bay, a long ways to go for

grain. His senses went down and out to the wagon, and he nodded to himself, marshaling chaos for

what would come, knowing it would happen, and wishing vainly that it would not. "There's something

in the space beneath the seat. Oils, I'd guess."

The driver grabbed an iron blade from beneath the wagon seat, and the gate guards brought up

their shortswords automatically but stepped back.

Cerryl focused chaos on the driver, holding back for a moment, hoping the driver would drop the

blade, but the man started to swing it forward.

Whhhsttt! The firebolt spewed over the figure so quickly he did not even scream. The blade

clunked dully on the white granite paving stones beside the wagon. White ashes drifted across the

charred wagon seat. The other three men did not move as the guards shackled them and led them into

the barred holding room to wait for the Patrol wagon. The patrol would hold them until they were

sent out on road duty.

Cerryl was glad they hadn't raised weapons. Killing the driver had been bad enough, and he

wished the man had not raised the blade, but raising weapons against gate guards or mages was

strictly forbidden, and rules were rules-even for mages.

Two other guards began to inspect the wagon, then pulled open a door.

"Good screeing, ser. Almost a score of scented oils-Hamorian, I'd say!" Diborl called up to the

young mage.

Cerryl managed a nod. His head ached, throbbed. Myral had warned him about the backlash of

using chaos against cold iron, but he'd not had that much choice if he wanted to ensure none of

the guards were hurt. Absently, he had to wonder about his ability to sense the oils. No smuggler

expected to get caught, and the hidden wagon compartment had been prepared well in advance,

perhaps even used before. Did that mean other gate guards were less able, or lazy? Or looked the

other way?

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He pursed his lips, disliking all of the possibilities and understanding that he knew too

little to determine which, if any, might be the most likely answer.

Below, the guards carried the jars of oil, probably glazed with a lead pigment, into the

storage room. The confiscated goods were auctioned every eight-day, with the high bidder required

to pay the taxes and tariffs-on top of the final bid. The golds raised went into road building and

maintenance, or so Kinowin had told Cerryl.

Even if some smuggling succeeded, Cerryl still didn't understand why people tried to smuggle

things past the gates-at least things made of metal. Cerryl knew his senses couldn't always

distinguish spices from a wagon's wood or cloth. Leyladin, the blonde gray/Black mage who was the

Hall's healer, might have been able to do that, but most White mages couldn't. But even the least

talented White mage could sense metal through a cubit of solid wood.

He shook his head, fearing he knew the answer. The Guild kept its secrets, kept them well.

Cerryl still recalled the fugitive who'd been turned to ashes by a Guild mage when Cerryl had been

a mill boy for Dylert, watching through a slit in a closed lumber barn door.

As Diborl supervised, another guard brought out the two prisoners on cleanup detail to sweep

away the ashes that remained of the wagon. Every morning one of the duty patrols brought out

prisoners for cleanup detail, usually men who'd broken the peace somehow, but not enough to

warrant road duty.

Cerryl rubbed his forehead, then turned and glanced at the western horizon. The sun was well

above the low hills, well above, and the gates didn't close until full dark. Luckily, it was

winter, and sunset came earlier. He couldn't imagine how long the duty day must be in the summer,

and he wasn't looking forward to it.

The overmage Kinowin had told him that he would do gate duty, on and off, for a season or two

every year for the first several years he was a full mage, perhaps longer-unless the Guild had

another need for him. But what other need might the Guild have? Or what other skills could he

develop? He definitely had no skills with arms or with the depths of the earth, as did Kinowin and

Eliasar and Jeslek. And he wasn't a chaos healer, like Broka. The Guild didn't need mage

scriveners, his only real skill.

So he could look forward to two or three years of watching wagons, to see who was trying to

avoid paying road duties? Or trying to smuggle iron weapons or fine cloth or spices into the city?

He turned and paced back across the walkway, then returned, hoping the sun would set sooner

than was likely. His eyes flickered toward the empty and cold highway, a highway that would have

seemed warmer, much warmer, had Leyladin been anywhere nearer.

Yet even thinking of Leyladin didn't always help. She was a healer, and he was a White mage,

and Black and White didn't always work out. Some Whites couldn't even touch Blacks without

physical pain for both. He'd held her hands, but that was all. Would that be all?

He paced back across the porch again, almost angrily.

II

...In time, as the winds shifted, and as the rains fell less upon Candar, and as the fair

grasslands of Kyphros turned into high desert, and as the Stone Hills came to resemble the

furnaces wherein metal is forged, others in the rest of the world came also to understand the

dangers posed by the Black Isle.

Even the Emperor of far Hamor dispatched his fleets unto the Gulf of Candar, seeking the

talismans of dark order borne by Creslin the Black so that they might be destroyed, lest the world

suffer once more the same cataclysms as befell ancient Cyador.

Though warned by the those of the Guild of the great storms raised by the evil Creslin, the

Emperor of Hamor thought that he alone would seize the talismans of order and thus raise Hamor to

become first among all lands.

In his greed and arrogance, the emperor sent more than a score of vessels, all filled with

armsmen and weapons of every type and size, and those ships sailed into the port known as Land's

End and attacked the small keep therein, for Creslin was seeking the high and great winds far

away.

Yet, even in Creslin's absence, Megaera the black-hearted raised mighty fires and turned many

of the emperor's ships into funeral pyres for sailors and armsmen alike.

Creslin returned, with both his killing blade and the great winds, and all but a single ship

perished, and all but a score of all those thousands of men who had sought the talismans of order

perished as well.

The single ship that remained Creslin rebuilt and refitted, as the beginning to the Black

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fleets....

Colors of White

(Manual of the Guild at Fairhaven)

Preface

III

Cerryl nodded to the tower guards on duty, although he didn't know either by name, as he passed on

his way to report to the overmage Kinowin.

"Good day, ser," the older guard returned.

Cerryl smiled politely, glad that this day was drawing to a close, although it hadn't been that

eventful, unlike the time with the oil smugglers several eight-days before. Most days were quiet-

and long.

Kinowin's quarters were on the lowest level of the tower-and the door was around the corner to

the left from the guard station-Derka's door was the other way, not that Cerryl had been there,

but Faltar had told him.

Outside of the time when Jeslek had tried to insist that Cerryl had not succeeded in

accomplishing his magely task-or rather when Jeslek had insisted that he had not set such a task-

and the High Wizard Sterol had brought in Kinowin, Myral, and Derka to judge the situation, Cerryl

had never really had much conversation or contact with the stooped, silver-haired Derka. Then...

Cerryl had seen how much power the kindly voice and stooped posture concealed.

Jeslek, thank the light, had been forced to admit he had set a magely task for Cerryl, whether

he had so intended or not, and Sterol and the others had agreed that Cerryl was fit to be a full

mage.

Cerryl snorted as he thought about it. If sneaking into a strange city and killing the ruler

with chaos fire and escaping unseen didn't make for a magely task, he wasn't certain what did.

Then, because he was an orphan from a suspect background, he'd been held to a more difficult

standard in many ways-except for one thing. Sterol had known that Cerryl had used chaos fire

before the Guild had found Cerryl, and the High Wizard had let that pass. Cerryl's father hadn't

been so fortunate-which was why Cerryl had ended up an orphan almost right after he was born.

"Cerryl, ser," he announced as he rapped on the white oak door. He didn't mind reporting to

Kinowin, the other Guild overmage that he knew of besides Jeslek, but that was because the big

overmage had also surmounted poverty-and far more disciplinary actions than Cerryl-in becoming a

mage.

"Come in," Kinowin's voice rumbled.

Cerryl eased into the room-so different from that of Myral or Jeslek. Myral's quarters were

filled with books and Jeslek's almost bare of all but essentials. Kinowin's walls were filled with

colored hangings of different types and styles, but all of them featuring shades of purple,

accented with other colors. His books were limited to a single four-shelf case on the wall beside

the sole window. Even the table that held his screeing glass was covered with a purple cloth-

trimmed with green.

"I take it that nothing untoward happened today." Kinowin's lips curled into a friendly but

sardonic smile, lifting slightly the purple blotch on his left cheek.

"No, ser. Not a thing. There weren't many wagons, and only the coach from Lydiar. Just two

passengers, a grain merchant from Worrak and one from Ruzor."

"Wasn't there an olive merchant from Kyphros the other day?"

"Ah... two days ago, I think."

"Not much trade coming to Fairhaven at all, is there?" Kinowin nodded to the chair across from

him. "We need to talk."

Cerryl's stomach tightened.

"No ... you haven't done anything wrong, and the great Jeslek has been quiet so far as you are

concerned. He's still out in Gallos raising more mountains. To protect the Great White Highway, he

says ..."

Cerryl wondered. Jeslek claimed that such a use of chaos was to show the force of the Guild to

the prefect of Gallos, but Cerryl doubted such was the sole reason.

"... also," continued Kinowin, "Jeslek's been reporting cattle theft in the northern part of

Kyphros. His scrolls indicate that the locals are complaining that the thieves are being allowed

to steal Analerian cattle and take them to Fenard for slaughter. He's sent a scroll to the new

prefect-your 'friend' Syrma-suggesting that Gallos could use more evenhanded justice."

"Syrma won't like that, not from the little I saw."

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"No, he won't, but Jeslek is convinced that Fairhaven must apply a stronger hand. Both Sterol

and I agree ... about the need for a greater presence." Kinowin offered a short laugh. "That

brings up what we need to talk about.... Sterol and I were talking the other day, and we decided

that some of the junior mages need to know more about what is happening. But... we're telling you

each individually. I'd like you to keep this to yourself. You may discuss it with me, with Myral,

with Sterol-and with Jeslek, of course. You may also talk with other junior mages, but only about

things which have in fact already happened." Kinowin cocked his big head slightly to one side. "Do

you understand?"

"Yes, ser." Cerryl frowned. "I think so. People are talking, but it's not always right what

they're saying, and you need to make sure we understand what's really happening. But you don't

want it spread all over the place, and there are some people who won't be told everything because

they-" Cerryl stopped as he saw the glimmer in Kinowin's eyes. "I'm sorry, ser. Maybe I don't

understand."

Kinowin laughed and shook his head. "You understand. You even understand the intrigue. No

wonder Jeslek worries about you. Just don't share something like you just said with anyone but me

or Myral."

Cerryl nodded slowly. He noted that the overmage had not mentioned the High Wizard Sterol or

the overmage Jeslek.

Kinowin squared himself in his chair, put both elbows on the table, and leaned forward. "You

know that Syrma is now the prefect of Gallos. Lyam's family-they are largely wool factors and

timber merchants- is not pleased with the situation. Nor are the overcaptains of the Gallosian

forces, especially a fellow by the name of Taynet. He's the most senior of the overcaptains. What

this means for the Guild is that we really can't press Syrma for payment of all the golds that

Lyam owed Fairhaven from when he was prefect."

Cerryl wasn't sure how the intrigue of Gallos had anything at all to do with him or the Guild,

but Kinowin wasn't one for idle gossip.

"The traders in Gallos have been bringing in goods from Recluce through Spidlar-wool, spices,

even copper. The Black traders have also been bringing in Austran cotton and linen-and it's

cheaper than what comes from Hydlen. They're shipping that copper from Southport to Spidlaria

cheaper than our traders can cart it across the Westhorns." Kinowin paused, cocking his head

again, as if uncertain as to what else to say. "And they're using the profit to buy our grains and

tubers. They can raise grain on Recluce, but not enough."

The junior mage waited.

"The Duke of Lydiar is beginning to expand the copper mines south of Hrisbarg... and might be

persuaded to reopen the old iron mines. He's not happy about the cheaper copper... or the iron."

Kinowin stopped. "Does this tell you anything?"

It told Cerryl a great deal-and nothing at all. Traders were always unhappy when someone else

could sell cheaper, unless they were the ones who had the cheaper goods. Certainly Syrma would be

in a hard position in Gallos. He'd become prefect because the Guild had effectively announced-

through Cerryl's assassination of Lyam-that it was most unhappy with the Gallosians' use of the

White highways without paying the tariffs. Jeslek's use of chaos to destroy one small Gallosian

army had also pointed out that Gallos would have trouble using armsmen to defy Fairhaven. At the

same time, the traders and merchants of Gallos were doubtless displeased with the thought of

paying tariffs-and Lyam's family certainly wouldn't be in the best of humors.

"The situation isn't good and may not get better," Cerryl finally temporized. "What about the

Viscount of Certis?"

"The viscount cares little about any mining or metals, or the wool. His concerns are oils, and

right now his merchants can sell more oil than they can harvest and press. It costs the Certans

about the same whether they get wool from Montgren or from Recluce through either Tyrhavven or

Spidlaria."

Cerryl thought, half-wondering at the idea that he-an orphan raised by a disabled miner-would

be worrying about merchants and traders and rulers as a member of the White Order of Fairhaven.

Finally, he glanced at Kinowin. "I am only guessing, ser. Much of what supports the Guild and ties

Candar together are the White highways. What you say tells me that if the prefect of Gallos

supports us, he may be replaced. The Viscount of Certis does not care, and does not wish to

offend, but may find it difficult to encourage his overcaptains to support us against Gallos." He

paused. "What of the Duke of Hydlen?"

"Duke Berofar is old, and tired."

Cerryl swallowed. "War, then? Sooner or later?"

A grim smile crossed the overmage's face. "Although Jeslek and Sterol and I agree on little ...

we all fear such. And you are not to tell anyone that." Kinowin sat back in his chair, as if to

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let Cerryl digest what he had just said. After a moment, he continued. "You were with Jeslek when

he used chaos to destroy the Gallosian lancers, were you not? How did Jeslek look after the

battle?"

"It took all six of us, ser," Cerryl said carefully. "Jeslek did much more than anyone else."

"But you might not have won without all of you?"

"It would have been in much greater doubt," Cerryl admitted.

Kinowin laughed. "Well said, and with great care." The big mage stood and wandered to the

window, looking into the shadows that fell across the Avenue to the east of the White Tower. "How

many Gallosians were there?"

"Around twenty score."

"The prefect of Gallos can raise nearly twenty times that in lancers, if need be." Kinowin

turned and faced the seated Cerryl. "The Viscount of Certis cannot match that, though he might

come within fifty score. I doubt the Duke of Lydiar, for all his boasts, can raise more than one

hundred score-trained lancers, that is. We have somewhere over two-hundred-fifty-score lancers and

another hundred score of other armsmen and archers. Do you have any idea how many coins that takes

each year?"

"No, ser."

"Were the pay chests for the year put together, just the pay chests, I would guess the total

would easily exceed five-hundred-score golds."

Cerryl swallowed. The thought of that many golds, just for armsmen, left him speechless.

An ironic smile crossed Kinowin's face. "How many lancers did you kill in Gallos? You?"

"I didn't count, ser. I'd say a half-score, perhaps a few more."

"In one battle you killed more than some lancers do in years. You also clean sewers and water

aqueducts. The other day you killed a man, kept some guards from being injured, and saved the

Guild from being cheated on taxes and tariffs. Your stipend is more than ten times that of a

senior lancer-because the Guild expects more than ten times as much from you." Kinowin paused.

"There is a problem with that. Do you know what it is?"

Cerryl frowned. "The Guild isn't that big?"

The overmage nodded. "Yes, and Gallos as it is now is too large and too powerful, and all the

tariffs and all the taxes will barely pay for our mages and our lancers. Yet we must ensure that

Gallos pays its road taxes or soon none will do so. That is why Jeslek set you to kill Lyam and

why he is raising mountains. And why Sterol must allow it." Cerryl licked his lips. He had known

that Jeslek had needed to raise the Little Easthorns for more than a vain show of power.

"I would not be overly surprised if we must send Eliasar and the White Lancers to Gallos before

long. There must be someone to replace Sverlik, and that wizard must have enough force behind him

to convince Syrma to treat with him."

"There must be a reason, ser, but can you tell me why we cannot raise the taxes and tariffs?"

"Cerryl... think ... What did I tell you when you sat down?" Kinowin's face was expressionless.

The thin-faced and slender junior mage tried to recollect what the overmage had said. "Oh...

because higher tariffs make the prices higher and people won't use the roads and pay any taxes?"

Kinowin nodded. "Roads are more costly than shipping, especially when the Blacks can call the

winds to their beck."

Cerryl thought some more. "There are a lot of things you can't get from Recluce or by ship.

Carpets from Sarronnyn and olives from Kyphros and brimstone from Hydlen."

"People forget the gains from the roads; they only think of the costs." Kinowin cleared his

throat. "You need to think about those things. You can talk all you want to your friends about

trade and tariffs." The overmage smiled. "Even to a certain blonde healer, but not a word about

the pay chests or any thought of war. And not a word outside the Halls of the Mages."

"Yes, ser." Cerryl couldn't quite keep from flushing at the reference to Leyladin.

"Go get something to eat. Your guts are growling."

Cerryl rose and slipped out the door, noting that Kinowin had turned back to the window, hands

clasped behind his back.

IV

Cerryl glanced up as he started up the steps from the front foyer of the Halls of the Mages, his

eyes going to the full-body stone images on the ledge just below the top of the wall-the images of

the great mages, he guessed. He knew the stocky figure that was the second from the far left was

Hartor, the High Wizard who had restructured the Guild to oppose Recluce. As if it had done much

good.

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He paused on the stone landing just outside the White Tower's first level. Did he hear a set of

boots on the stone steps? He stepped into the lower level, where one of the guards he did know,

Gostar, was talking to the boy in the red tunic of a messenger who sat on the stool behind the

guards, waiting for a summons from one of the higher mages in the tower.

"Doesn't always take so long, lad." Gostar's eyes went to Cerryl. "The mage Cerryl here. He was

a student mage for but two years."

The black-haired boy from the creche looked away from Cerryl.

"It's true," Cerryl said. "Sometimes it's easier if it takes longer, though." His friend Faltar

had taken nearly four years, but Faltar hadn't had to fight brigands in Fenard and sneak across a

hostile land ... or deal with Jeslek day in and day out. Cerryl frowned. Faltar also hadn't gotten

a half-score of lancers killed, either.

"You see there, lad. All in the way you look at it," said Gostar heartily.

The messenger kept his eyes on the white granite floor tiles.

At the sound of boots coming down the tower steps, Cerryl glanced through the archway, and a

broad smile filled his face as Leyladin descended the last few steps from the upper levels,

wearing her green shirt, tunic, and trousers-even dark green boots. Her blonde hair, with the

faintest of red highlights, had been cut shorter and was almost level with her chin.

"How is Myral?" asked Cerryl, not knowing quite what to say.

"Better today." After a moment of silence, Leyladin offered a smile, somehow both shy and

friendly. "Can you come to dinner? Tonight?"

"I'd like that." Cerryl paused. "If you can wait a bit. I have to meet with Kinowin first. For

the first season I do gate duty I have to talk to him after I finish. It shouldn't take that

long."

A mischievous smile crossed her lips. "Father can wait that long."

"Your father?" Cerryl's throat felt thick.

"I've talked about you so much that he says he must meet you."

Lucky me ... He could sense a chuckle from Gostar.

"I'll wait here with Gostar."

Cerryl nodded. "I hope it won't be long." He went to the left, past the guards and the still-

mute young messenger.

"Lady mage ... true he killed the prefect of Gallos all by himself?"

"It's said to be true." Leyladin's voice drifted after Cerryl.

"He looks ... too nice ..."

"... a quiet mage . .."

Appearances-was one of his problems that he looked like a polite young scrivener and not a mage

who would upset the world. They said that the Black mage Creslin had been small. Was that why he'd

killed- or had to kill-so many? Cerryl squared his shoulders as he stepped up to the overmage's

door.

At the first thrap on the door, Kinowin replied, "Wait a moment, if you would, Cerryl."

"Yes, ser." Cerryl settled onto the bench outside the white oak door. Even if he hadn't done

that much, it had been a long day, a very long day. The gates opened to wagons at sunrise. His

eyes closed ...

"Cerryl?"

He jerked awake and bolted upright. "Oh ... I'm sorry."

Kinowin laughed once, gently. "That's all right. Being a gate mage is more tiring than most

realize. That's why we give it to you younger mages. I wouldn't want to do it."

As Cerryl followed, still groggy, and closed the heavy door behind him, Kinowin walked to the

window and looked out at the dark clouds looming to the east. Even the purple wall hanging seemed

gloomy rather than striking.

Cerryl stood by the table, not wanting to sit down.

"Go ahead. Sit down." Kinowin did not turn from the window. "It's storming to the east." After

a moment, he turned. "How did your day go?"

"It was quiet. I've seen farm wagons and even a stone wagon, but not many other kinds. There

are more passengers on the coaches, and they look like factors."

"That should not surprise you."

Cerryl couldn't say he was surprised, but he also could not have said why he was not surprised.

"Do you know how the exchanges work?"

"Not very well. The factors make agreements to buy or sell goods in future seasons, sometimes

for things that haven't even been grown or mined."

Kinowin stepped toward the table, then leaned forward and put his hands on the back of the

chair. "The exchanges help smooth trade. I'd judge that is as good an explanation as any. The

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factors use the exchange in hopes of making coins or, when times are lean, to avoid losing too

many coins. So... when things are unsettled, long before others realize there may be trouble, the

factors are buying and selling those future goods. Will there be a famine in Certis or Southwind?

The price of wheat corn two seasons from now goes up. The price of cattle goes down."

"Ah... the price of cattle goes down?"

Kinowin shrugged. "If the fields are brown and bare and grain is dear, the farmers and the

holders must sell."

Cerryl wanted to shake his head. He'd never even considered such matters.

Kinowin flashed a sardonic smile. "To the blade's edge, Cerryl. To the blade's edge. The

exchanges have been most busy lately. The price of future timber is going up. Do you know why?"

Cerryl looked at the overmage helplessly.

"Ships-it takes timber to build them, and they require the older, heavier oak and the long pole

firs."

Cerryl understood.

"You see? Then tell me what that means."

"Well... if someone is building ships, but not so many traders are coming to Fairhaven, then

they aren't building trading ships, but warships ..."

"Both Recluce and Spidlar are building more ships. I'd say for trade. Others ... are building

ships because they are losing trade."

"Are we building ships? In Sligo?"

"Let me just say that I would be most surprised if the High Wizard had not contracted with the

Sligan shipwrights for a few more vessels. That is something I would not mention to anyone."

"Yes, ser."

"Myral said you worked very hard to master a wide range of skills." Kinowin looked hard at

Cerryl. "In the times we are living in, I would suggest you continue to work hard. Being a gate

guard offers some time and opportunities for practice. You might see if you could master the

illusion of not appearing where you stand. Although I have some suspicions you know something

about that." Kinowin's eyes twinkled. "You might see if you could refine your chaos senses even

more-see if you can determine by sense alone every item in an incoming wagon. I won't offer too

many suggestions, but any skill you improve will improve others." The big mage straightened and

let go of the chair.

"Yes, ser."

"I will see you tomorrow." Kinowin turned back to the window and the still-darkening clouds. A

rumble of distant thunder muttered over Fairhaven.

Cerryl closed the door behind him.

"... heard the door. Like as he won't be long, lady mage. Your words are kind ..."

"Just remember. .." Leyladin straightened from her conversation with the young messenger.

Gostar was no longer one of the duty guards and had been replaced by a White Guard Cerryl

didn't know, a man with an angular face and a short-trimmed beard.

"Shall we go?" the blonde healer asked. "I'm hungry."

"So am I."

Leyladin turned and bestowed a parting smile on the messenger, getting a shy and faint one in

return.

"You've made another friend." Cerryl glanced across the entry foyer of the front Hall as they

descended the steps side by side.

"Most of them are lonely."

Cerryl wondered. The children of the mages in the creche had each other. He'd never even really

talked to another child near his own age until he'd been apprenticed to Dylert. Erhana had been

snobbish, but she'd helped him learn his letters, and without that, he never would have become

Tellis's apprentice-or been accepted into the Guild. Faltar had befriended Cerryl and become his

first real friend, when Cerryl had first come to the Halls. That had been before Faltar had been

seduced by Anya, but Faltar remained his friend. Friends were too hard to come by.

"You're quiet." Leyladin glanced at him. "Your childhood was lonelier, I know, but they're

still lonely."

Cerryl almost stopped as he stepped off the last riser of the staircase and onto the polished

stone floor tiles of the foyer floor but managed not to miss the step.

"That bothered you. Why?"

After a moment, he answered, "I just hadn't thought of it quite that way."

"I suppose I've had the luxury of being able to look at things without struggling for coins and

food." The blonde shivered as they went down the steps to the walk beside the Avenue. "It's gotten

colder."

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Modesitt, L.E. - Recluce 08 - Colors of Chaos

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