Colors of Chaos (99 page)

“Good day, Anya,” Cerryl repeated, watching as the leather-gloved guards wrapped the cold iron chains around the redhead.

As the door closed, he plunged his hands into the basin of cold water, taking a deep breath as the water soothed his hands.

Leyladin stepped up beside him. “With all that iron on her, she’ll die before the Guild meets.”

“I know,” Cerryl said soberly. “That is proof she could not maintain the balance necessary for a mage. It will also relieve everyone of having to make a decision… and leave the blood on my hands.”

“Sometimes… you can be cruel.”

“Sometimes a High Wizard has to be cruel. No one listens otherwise. Anya didn’t listen at the end, either.” He shivered. Will you listen? Or will you become like all the others?

“Was she right?”

Cerryl offered a harsh laugh. “Of course she was… in a way. Everything ends. Fairhaven will fall. So will Recluce. Cyador and Westwind fell. But she was wrong about what it all means. The end is always the same. That’s why what we do does matter. Good or bad, we die. If we bring some light and prosperity into the world, isn’t that better than there being less light?” He dried his hands on his trousers, ignoring the red blotches on his fingers.

“Some would say, then, that power for one’s self is all that there is.” Leyladin’s eyebrows lifted momentarily.

“Some would. I wouldn’t. Power for one’s self is hard to amass and harder to hold. Where are Jeslek? Sterol? Anya?” He shrugged. “Myral died as peacefully as he could have. Kinowin is still here. So are we.” So far…

“So far,” she repeated. “And I am with you.”

“I’m glad.”

The healer touched his hands, and the soothing darkness spread across his skin, lifting the discomfort. “She was screaming about an image.”

“I’m having her statue put up on the ledge. I did promise her that, and I keep my promises.”

“You didn’t set one up for Myral.”

“No, I didn’t. He was more than an image… much more.”

CLXXXIII

The High Wizard dismounted at the alley gate, and the pair of lancers checked the courtyard before he crossed the rain-puddled stones and entered the small common room that had once seemed so spacious.

Beside the table stood a wide-eyed boy of less than a handful of years and a woman.

“Is that you, Cerryl?” Benthann’s voice was hoarse, and the once-blonde hair was mostly gray, the blonde like streaks of sunlight against gray autumn clouds.

He nodded.

“Why did you wait so long to come back?”

“Because had I shown any affection toward you or Tellis or Beryal, my enemies would have used you. The only way I could show my gratitude was not to come.” He smiled, not concealing the twist to his lips. “I did what else I could.”

“The golds in the leather bags?”

“Yes.”

“I thought they might have come from you.”

“Your son?” He inclined his head toward the towheaded boy. “He is handsome.”

“Like I was once, I suppose.”

“Yes. I always looked at you.”

“I know.” Her eyes dropped. “You’re not here just for me.”

“I need to thank Tellis. I owe where I am to him. Because he took in a mill boy and made him a scrivener.”

“He won’t know what to do.” Her voice was low. “He’s in the workroom.”

“Where else would he be?” Cerryl looked at the boy. “If you need help…”

“Only if I really need it.”

“If you do…” He nodded and stepped through the archway.

Tellis was bent over the copying desk as Cerryl stepped into the workroom, but the scrivener’s head jerked up. “Ser? I did not see you enter. My apologies, ser, my apologies. Have you seen the latest copies of the Histories?” Abruptly the scrivener stopped, his eyes on the golden amulet. “Oh, Your Mightiness… what can this humble scrivener-”

“Tellis.” Cerryl laid a manuscript on the table. “It’s been a long time, but I’d like you to make three copies for me. If you would…”

“Of course, honored ser. Of course.”

Cerryl wanted to wince at the politeness, the servility, the near-groveling. “As I told Benthann… I owe you my life and more, and until now there was little I could do to repay it, except through purses left by stealth. I am sorry… but I do try to repay my debts.”

After a moment, Tellis looked at the manuscript. “Your letters are wide… honored ser.”

“They were not, once upon a time.” Cerryl grinned crookedly. “If you could find some of the green leather, I would appreciate that. Oh… and if you can finish them by the turn of summer, your fee will be ten golds-for each of the three I need.”

“Some, honored ser, pay their debts, and that be what a good scrivener would hope for. You’ll have your three, and all in green.”

Cerryl finally nodded, knowing that to say more would not help. “Thank you. For everything.” For life, for Leyladin, for the chance to become what I have…for not making it too hard to try to repay debts… old debts.

“Thank you,” he repeated before, with another nod, he turned to head back to the
White
Tower
.

CLXXXIV

Cerryl stood before the table as Kinowin and Redark entered the High Wizard’s official apartment, which had come to serve mainly as a meeting and conference room, since Cerryl and Leyladin continued to spend evenings at her dwelling.

“Thank you both. I’ve requested your presence for the Council to meet with the last of Anya’s…” Cerryl paused, searching for a word, then added, “acolytes.”

Redark glanced to where Leyladin stood by the window.

“The healer is most helpful in discerning shades of truth,” Cerryl said politely.

“Ah… yes.” Redark cleared his throat.

“Before they arrive, you should read this.” Cerryl handed the scroll that tingled from the order that filled it to the older overmage.

“What is it?” asked Kinowin as he seated himself to Cerryl’s right. “A request for terms from the Black mage.”

“Terms? He asks us for terms?” demanded the ginger-bearded Re-dark.

“Not exactly. I’d rather you read it. Then we can talk,” said Cerryl. After a moment, his face blank, Kinowin handed the heavy parchment to Redark.

The younger overmage read the document and returned it to Cerryl. “Can we trust him?”

“Considering that he can destroy any ship upon the seas, do we have any choice?”

“As I understand this,” Kinowin said, “he is proposing that we reduce the surtax on goods from Recluce to three parts in ten but will open the new port at Southpoint to any ships from Candar that do not carry White mages onboard.”

“I took the liberty of having Esaak do some calculations,” Cerryl explained. “Our factors will do better at three parts in ten. That is high enough to protect the wool growers.”

“Why would the Blacks do that,” asked Redark, “if their ship is so mighty?”

“Like all of us, they must eat, and they cannot compel our ships to port there,” said Cerryl.

“Because they need the grains and oilseeds and they can still charge more for those cargoes in Recluce. But they have to be able to sell something in Candar. They can’t travel one way in ballast,” suggested Kinowin.

“We can tell the Guild that we have gained trading rights in Recluce and that more trade will be coming to Candar.” Cerryl smiled. Besides, it doesn’t matter now that you’re getting control of the tariff collections.

“We lost… and you’re going to claim a victory?” Redark frowned.

“We didn’t lose. The Black can’t build enough ships to stop us from blocking their traders. If this keeps up, we both lose. So they give up something, and we give up something.”

“But… most of the trading on Recluce is at
Land’s End.” Redark glanced at Kinowin.

“That will change,” predicted Cerryl. “Besides, do you have a better proposal? We only lost two ships this time. How many will we lose if we don’t agree? And how much will it cost us to keep up a blockade of the Black Isle?”

Redark shrugged. “I defer to the High Wizard.”

Cerryl wanted to sigh. Instead, he smiled. “The Guild needs to pick the battles it can win. By reinforcing our mage advisers with lancers in all the major ports we can collect more in tariff coins. That is a battle we can win, and we are winning.”

“The viscount and the prefect will protest.”

“Probably,” Cerryl admitted. “We now control Lydiar, most of Hydlen,
Sligo, and Spidlar. If we do not have to blockade Recluce or our own coasts against Black traders, we can use those ships to quarantine Ruzor and Worrak. Neither Gallos nor Certis can muster the arms to stand against us now.”

Redark wiped his forehead. “You… you planned this from the beginning.”

Cerryl nodded. “I had help from many, but… yes, I did. By controlling the roads and the ports the Guild can unite Candar, at least that part east of the Westhorns. With the use of the screeing glasses, the White highways, and mages in the major ports and trading cities we can bring down any ruler who will not pay his tariffs and trade fairly.”

“The viscount…”

“I know,” admitted the High Wizard. “We will deal with him next, but this agreement will free the ships and armsmen to do so.”

Redark glanced from Cerryl to Kinowin, then back at the parchment before him. “You have dealt with… other rulers before… to the Guild’s advantage. I must defer to that expertise.”

“Dealing with Certis will be easier than with Recluce,” confirmed Kinowin.

“Thank you, Overmages.” Cerryl nodded. “Now… let us see Anya’s acolytes.”

Redark cleared his throat and glanced at Kinowin once more but did not speak.

“How many of Anya’s young followers are actually left?” asked Kinowin.

“Aalkiron was on the second ship that was fired by the Black mage’s weapons. That leaves three-Muerchal, Zurchak, and Giustyl.”

“You’ll see them all at once?” Redark adjusted his chair.

“Why not? I’d rather we not spend too much time on them.” And you might not have to ash them all that way.

“You’ll pardon me, High Wizard,” said Kinowin, “if I raise some shields?”

“They will be reasonable, I am certain,” offered Redark. “How could they not be… ah… given their position?”

“What is their position?” Kinowin’s voice was smooth.

“That… they were supportive… of Anya,” admitted Redark.

“So far, they have not done anything against the Guild,” Cerryl said. “Because of their closeness to Anya, I asked them to appear before the Council.”

Leyladin had moved her chair back and closer to the wall, next to the side table, as though she wanted to be disassociated from the three Council members.

Cerryl raised his voice and called, “Send in the mages!”

The three young mages entered the chamber and stood abreast facing the table, with the bull-necked Muerchal at Cerryl’s left, Zurchak in the middle, and the rail-thin Giustyl edging even farther to the right, as if he wanted to distance himself from the two others.

“The three of you are here because there is some question of your loyalty to
Fairhaven and the Guild.” Cerryl’s voice was mild, almost conversational.

“After facing that black iron fire in the gulf?” Muerchal squared his broad shoulders, but his green eyes fixed on Redark, not on Cerryl.

“I did notice that a number of ships turned from the Black vessel long before it could have been a threat,” Cerryl pointed out.

“Mine did not,” said Giustyl quietly. “We brought back the Black’s message.”

“What did it say?” asked Muerchal, almost belligerently.

Cerryl tilted his head. “It was for the Council-a request for terms beneficial to both the Guild and the Black Isle.”

“Beneficial to you, perhaps, Your Mightiness.” Muerchal’s contempt was not even veiled.

Once again, Cerryl wanted to sigh. Muerchal was not only stubborn but stupid. “You seem to forget that you stand before the Council, Muerchal.” He kept his voice mild.

“The Council? Two dodderers and a schemer?”

Cerryl could sense the chaos rising around Muerchal and raised his own shields, extending them to protect Leyladin as well.

Whhhsttt! Fire flared around the three Council members and past them toward Leyladin, then subsided.

Redark shuddered, and sweat had beaded on gaunt Kinowin’s forehead.

Cerryl glanced at Muerchal as the burly mage began to focus more chaos. Without so much as raising his hand, the High Wizard concentrated, and a line of golden light seared through Muerchal’s shields. The young mage crumpled onto the floor, but before his body even struck the stone it had begun to shiver into fine white ash, so much chaos had Cerryl directed there.

In the silence, Cerryl studied the sullen Zurchak and the silent Giustyl. “If I were Anya, or Sterol, you would be dead beside Muerchal. I am not either, nor like them.”

“So you will chain me in cold iron to soothe your conscience?” asked Zurchak ironically. “Your Mightiness?”

“Darkness, no.” Cerryl laughed. “Did you see what happened? Could you have stood against me?”

“No… no, ser.”

“Light, no…” murmured Giustyl in a voice so low as to be almost inaudible.

“I propose sending you-Zurchak-and a score of lancers to Summerdock. You will watch the traders there; and you will send a report every eight-day. You will tell me what ships have entered the port, what have left, what cargos were loaded, what were unloaded. You will report on anything you think will harm or benefit
Fairhaven and the Guild. Several years from now, if you do well, you may be moved somewhere closer to Fairhaven-Ruzor, Worrak, perhaps Tyrhavven.”

Zurchak’s face remained impassive, but the darkness had vanished from his eyes.

“I give second chances,” Cerryl said quietly. “I do not give third chances.”

“Muerchal would be alive now,” added Leyladin from behind the Council, “had he not raised chaos against the High Wizard.”

Cerryl looked at the thin-faced Giustyl. “You will go to Biehl and do much the same.”

Giustyl nodded.

“I do not expect gratitude. I do expect obedience.” Cerryl offered a crooked smile that felt false. “If you attempt to betray the Guild, you will die, and you will never see that death approaching.”