Colors of Chaos (51 page)

Shyren, who stood a good thirty cubits to the left of the two younger mages, raised his arm. “Hail to the High Wizard.” His voice was friendly and loud, pitched to reach Jeslek.

Jeslek rode forward, seemingly toward Shyren, with Anya keeping her mount abreast of the white-haired and sun-eyed mage. Then Jeslek guided his mount aside, back toward Cerryl. As he reined up, Jeslek turned to Anya. “You know what to do.” He vaulted out of the saddle and strode up to Cerryl, flinging the reins in the direction of a lancer who followed. “Come over here.”

Anya rode across in front of Shyren and Fydel, raising chaos as she did. “A moment, Shyren. Jeslek has something to deal with.”

Cerryl caught the glimpse of a smile on the heavy mage’s face before Jeslek drew Cerryl aside, under the overhang of the courtyard across from the stable entrance and away from the other three mages. “Shyren has sent a scroll saying you are a danger to the Guild and that if you are not disgraced and removed, none of the traders will continue to pay tariffs to Fairhaven. What did you do?” asked Jeslek.

Cerryl smiled. “I discovered what happened to the tariff coins.”

“And what have you discovered about the coins?” asked the High Wizard with the lazy smile that concealed anger.

“I take it that coins are getting to be a difficulty.” Cerryl forced himself to keep his voice light while keeping his emotions shielded. He also stood ready to divert any chaos Jeslek might muster. “Even after collecting a thousand golds from Hydlen.”

“Two thousand,” Jeslek corrected, with a tight smile. “I raised the cost since I had to travel there. The new duke had to lose another tower and the northern gates before he saw the wisdom of paying damages and raising the call for levies.”

“I see.” Cerryl paused, noting the further tightening in Jeslek’s jaw, then added, “Did you know that prefect has been collecting a tariff laid at the Guild’s door?”

“We’ve never been able to stop that,” the High Wizard admitted with a half-rueful smile that vanished as quickly as it had appeared. “Is that all?”

“Of 15 percent,” Cerryl added. “Since Rystryr became viscount. Roughly, anyway.”

Jeslek’s smile faded. “And?”

“I haven’t found where it all went, but there is a rather large chest filled with golds and secured with the largest chaos lock I’ve ever seen.” Cerryl offered a smile. “It’s in Shyren’s bedchamber.”

Cerryl had walked by Shyren’s quarters, earlier in the day, behind his blur shield, but the chaos locks, and the chest, remained in place, from what he could tell. He only hoped that Shyren were not more devious than he appeared, or at least that Shyren believed Cerryl comparatively inexperienced, more like a younger version of Fydel.

“You think such is still there, now that he knows you know?” Jeslek’s eyes flicked sideways in the direction of where Anya engaged Shyren, though the High Wizard’s head did not move.

“It was this morning, and I believe he thinks I am a less adept version of Fydel. He did pay some crossbowmen to kill me. I can’t prove that, though.” Cerryl shrugged.

Jeslek’s crooked smile returned. “I think you should escort me to Shyren’s quarters. Now.”

Cerryl glanced back.

“Anya will ensure Shyren is occupied for a time. She is quite good at that. Shall we go?”

Cerryl led the way.

The bronze lock on Shyren’s door remained chaos-trapped, as it had been every time before when Cerryl had checked.

“The lock is never locked but always twined with chaos,” Cerryl said as he eased the chaos out of the bronze, letting it dissipate before opening the door.

“Rather luxurious,” said Jeslek, “more so in person than through a glass.”

Cerryl stepped toward the bedchamber, his own shields still in place.

“Shields, yet. You do not trust your own High Wizard, Cerryl?” asked Jeslek.

“I have no reason to trust anyone,” Cerryl pointed out. “Here is the chest.” He gestured the white oak chest, then lifted the velvet cushion that covered the lid.

“Allow me,” Jeslek said dryly, stepping forward and bleeding away the chaos inside the chest. “A chest more than two cubits long and half as deep, all filled. This may be even more golds than we brought from Hydlen.”

Cerryl hoped so.

Abruptly the High Wizard stepped back behind the hangings of the four-poster bed as the door to the outer chamber snicked open. Cerryl found himself standing alone by the open chest as Shyren stood in the door to the bedchamber, breathing heavily, his face flushed.

Cerryl prepared himself.

“What are you doing here?” Shyren raised chaos as he spoke. “You’re just his tool, Cerryl. You don’t understand. No, you’re a meddler in things you don’t understand. You will not meddle longer, and I will not be swept aside by an arrogant upstart!”

Whhstt! Chaos flame sheeted around Cerryl’s shields. Behind him, the satin hangings of the big bed began to char, then to smolder.

“Oh… you actually know shields.” Shyren flung a larger firebolt that slammed toward Cerryl.

The younger mage smiled and let his shields catch the chaos energy before adding his own power, turning the force, and narrowing the fires into a bolt of concentrated chaos that drove through the older mage’s shields as if they did not exist.

“Ohhh…” The brief murmur of surprise was cut off as Shyren’s form flared in chaos flame, then fell in fine white dust. All that remained on the stone floor was a white-bronze dagger, glowing.

Anya stepped into the room. “He insisted. You did tell me not to destroy him.”

Cerryl turned, not lowering his shields, to see Jeslek’s reaction as the High Wizard stepped out from behind the bed.

“Cerryl managed well enough. Better than I would have thought, actually.”

“He has that habit,” returned the red-haired mage, almost as if Cerryl were not present. She moved easily toward the chest at the foot of the bedstead.

“I might ask what these are doing here,” said Jeslek, gesturing toward golds lying in the chest he had opened, “save I fear we all know. There must be 3,000 golds there.” The High Wizard straightened and favored Cerryl with a smile. “We will proceed to the viscount. You will agree with everything I say. It will be better that way.” His eyes went to Anya. “You will remain here to ensure that no others succeed in lightening the Guild’s purses.”

“So long as I’m not blamed for this mess,” Cerryl agreed warily.

“No… poor Shyren. He forgot that gold is not power.” Jeslek glanced at the chest, ignoring Anya, then back at Cerryl. “Who else might have some more golds?”

“The finance minister, Dursus, and his assistant Pullid. Pullid actually collects the taxes. I found that out from a local trader. Shyren found I’d talked to the trader and killed him and burned part of his warehouse.” Cerryl had his doubts about who had killed Freidr, but it was clearly better to place the blame on Shyren than on the other suspect.

“You have been diligent,” observed Jeslek. “That is definitely one of your virtues.” He gave a brisk nod. “We should visit the viscount. Come, Cerryl.”

The two walked down the corridor from Shyren’s chambers, down another set of steps, then across a high-ceilinged vaulted circular hall and through a set of pillars past two guards in green and gold.

Another fifty cubits down the lamp-lit hall, Jeslek paused before a set of double doors, where two more guards blocked the way.

One of the guards took in the two mages in white and the amulet around Jeslek’s neck then offered, “His Mightiness requested he not be disturbed.”

“Tell him the High Wizard of Fairhaven would like to see him. Now.” Although Jeslek’s tone was mild, the words almost steamed with the power of chaos.

The guard inched back. “He did say…”

Jeslek smiled, and a tongue of flame leapt from the floor before the guard. “Tell him.”

The other guard, without speaking, turned and rapped on the heavy door. After a moment, he bellowed, “The High Wizard seeks the viscount immediately!”

After another pause, the guard opened the door.

As the two mages passed, Cerryl noticed the dampness on the foreheads of both guards. He would not have wanted to be in their boots.

The viscount rose from the gilt chair set behind a broad gilt table, setting down a scroll as he did. “My dear High Wizard, I had expected to see you at dinner. You and your red-haired assistant.”

Jeslek stepped forward while Cerryl closed the study door behind them, then eased up almost even with the High Wizard.

“My dear viscount, perhaps you have seen one of my mages. This is Cerryl. He was sent here not only to help prepare for the invasion of Spidlar, but to resolve some… irregularities… in the handling of road tariff golds.” Jeslek flashed his brilliant smile at the blond and burly viscount.

At each corner of the table stood a guard with an iron blade, and both watched Jeslek.

“Irregularities, you say?” Rystryr’s voice was thoughtful, barely rumbling in the confines of the private study.

“Yes. Apparently, Shyren entered into an agreement with your finance minister, one Dursus, I believe, and perhaps his assistant.” Jeslek turned to Cerryl. “What was his name?”

“Pullid.” Cerryl kept his eyes on the guards and his order-chaos senses on the crossbowman hidden behind the lattice to the right.

“And what of Shyren? Should he not be here to address such… irregularities? I do not see him.” Rystryr raised his bushy eyebrows.

“And you will not,” said Jeslek. “Those of the Guild who line their chests at the cost of the Guild usually do not survive.”

“Ah… yes. I could see how that would not set well with the Guild.” Rystryr nodded blandly.

Cerryl could sense both dismay and concern behind the words, though the viscount’s voice remained dispassionate.

“No, it does not. The Guild acts for the good of all of Candar, not for the good of a single man or a single land. Some find it difficult to understand such,” added Jeslek in a tone that seemed almost musing. “Until they act against the Guild, thinking that we do not see or understand.” The bright and false smile followed. “Unlike you, Rystryr. I am most certain you understand.”

“Of course I understand. How could I do otherwise? You and the lovely Anya have made that most clear.”

“We are most glad of that.” Jeslek frowned. “You will, of course, seize the golds taken by this Dursus and his assistant and return them to Fairhaven. I would judge you should be able to find 5,000, at the very least, before releasing such brigands to the mercy of chaos.” Another smile appeared on the white-haired wizard’s face. “Five thousand, at least.”

“That might be difficult.”

“Oh… I am most certain that you will find a way to trace such coins and return them. Most certain. And I do look forward to seeing the posting of all of the spring levy notices in the next few days,” Jeslek said mildly. “Under the circumstances, I think that would be wise, do you not agree?”

“We but awaited your arrival, High Wizard, and we will let all know that both Certis and Fairhaven are opposed to the troubles created by the Spidlarian Council of Traders.” Rystryr smiled back.

He’s going to make sure everyone in Certis knows he was pushed, Cerryl reflected. Is that wise? The younger mage wasn’t sure but wondered if admitting you bowed to a stronger neighbor might not create even more discontent.

“That will suffice.” Jeslek smiled even more broadly.

“We look forward to seeing you all this evening.” Rystryr nodded politely.

“And we you, my dear viscount.” Jeslek turned.

Cerryl followed his lead but his senses on the concealed crossbowman until they were out of the study and well down the corridor headed back toward Shyren’s chamber.

“The viscount was part of it, wasn’t he?” Cerryl asked.

“If I suggested directly that he had been part of this,” Jeslek shrugged, “then we would need a new viscount-and now is not the time for that. He has been warned in a way that will keep him honest for a time. But only for a time. No ruler stays honest.”

Cerryl was inwardly amused at that. There’s no difference between honesty over power and honesty over coins.

“We will need to exercise more control over those such as the viscount, especially after we deal with Spidlar. Especially then.”

Cerryl kept pace with the taller High Wizard.

“We leave tomorrow, and not a word of this, not that I should have to tell you such.”

“Yes, ser.”

Jeslek’s long strides across the stone tiles of the courtyard were noiseless, and only Cerryl’s boots clumped in the late-afternoon grayness.

LXXXV

Cerryl found himself beside Fydel and behind Anya and Jeslek as the White force rode out from the north gates of Jellico with the sun barely rising over the eastern walls. The flat fields beyond the causeway and flanking the road were damp and brown, with furrows that showed seed to have been planted, seed that had perhaps an eight-day before it would show green against the rich dark brown of the tilled bottomland. The road itself was damp packed clay, not the smooth stone of a White highway, and rutted from wagons and carts.

The High Wizard turned in the saddle, again and again, until all the lancers and the wagons were more than five kays beyond the causeway and well onto the road that followed the western bank of the River Jellicor. Even then, Jeslek continued to glance back every so often.

At the head of the first block of lancers, directly behind the mages, rode Captain Senglat. Somewhere near the middle of the column, by the second white and crimson banner, rode Teras, the other captain.

At least the spring rains meant that there was little dust, reflected Cerryl. Then, the softer clay might well slow the wagons at the rear of the column. Farther north, too, the river might be flowing higher with the meltwaters from the Easthorns and the run off from the rains, perhaps high enough to flood the road and create additional delays. The scattered trees that bordered the river had begun to show new leaves and the gray winter leaves had begun to green, giving the trees a mottled appearance.

Cerryl rode silently, lost in his own speculations, while a low conversation continued between Anya and Jeslek.