Recluce - Colors Of Chaos Part 34

"To divide Gallos," Cerryl continued, as if he had not heard Jeslek's comment.

"It's too big to hold together with a mountain range down the middle."

"Have you seen the Market Square, Cerryl? Each eight-day there are fewer traders there. Do you know why? Because goods are short, and they can obtain more in Hydlen or Kyphros, and they do not have to pay the road taxes. After years of benefiting from our roads and efforts, they turn away, and the rulers in some other lands encourage them. Some would change the rulers in other lands."

"As in Hydlen?"

"Or Gallos. Even after my visit with Eliasar and the creation of the chaos mountains, the Gallosian merchants bridle. They would forget the years they benefited from the White highways and reject their just debts."

"That will happen, ser," Cerryl suggested, "unless they are compelled otherwise."

"What do you suggest, then, O wise young mage?"

"You have far greater experience. I cannot suggest. I only know that most men respond to swords or silvers or chaos, not to words. We cannot raise enough golds, not now."

Jeslek's sun-gold eyes meet the pale gray ones of the younger mage, surveying him deliberately. "Did you know that matters in Spidlar are getting worse? I understand that brigands ride every back road."

"I had not heard that. I cannot say I am surprised. It would be to our interest that brigands be found there."

"Do you know that, since Spidlar refuses to act, the Viscount of Certis sent forces to control them?"

I take it that his efforts have been less than totally successful."

Jeslek's eyes glittered more intently, and Cerryl wondered if he had Presumed too much.

Probably...but you can't back down. "You could be dangerous, Cerryl, if you weren't a disciple of Myral's"

"You know I don't have the kind of chaos power you do."

"I know that you have never raised such power. I know that you do not wish to do so." Jeslek raised his eyebrows. "You avoid using chaos more than you have to.

That is wise, a.s.suming you retain the ability to wield it when you have no choice.

Ah, yes, young Cerryl there will be a time when you have no alternative but to raise chaos in force." A twisted smile crossed the High Wizard's face, and his fingers touched the amulet that hung around his neck. "That is where Myral and even Kinowin are mistaken. But you need not listen to me. Just watch."

"I will," Cerryl said quietly.

"I know you will." With another smile, Jeslek rose. "I trust you will continue your hard work with the Patrol."

"I plan to, ser."

"No mock politeness, Cerryl."

"You are the High Wizard." And the office deserves respect.

"You are wise to remember that." Jeslek gestured toward the door. "I will see you again when the time is ready. It may not be that long. You do have certain ...

skills ... the Guild may need."

"I stand ready to a.s.sist the Guild."

"Good."

Cerryl inclined his head, then turned and left, his senses and s.h.i.+elds ready.

Outside, when Hertyl closed the door, Cerryl took a silent but slow, deep breath.

What did he want? To tell me he knew I could withstand his chaos? To warn me?

To test me? And why did he ask about the smith?

Cerryl wanted to shake his head as he went down the steps. Jeslek was very different from Sterol, very different, but then he'd known that since he had been an apprentice mage. Cerryl only wished he understood more of what he knew existed but could not see.

Outside, the rain splattered on the Tower, and on the steps Cerryl rubbed his aching head. His eyes flicked southward, in the general direction of Hydolar, and he took a deep breath and continued down the stone steps toward the entry Hall.

XLVI.

Cerryl was trudging the last few cubits toward his room when a blond figure appeared in the corridor.

"I'm going to eat in. Do you want to join me?" asked Faltar.

"Eating in?" Cerryl raised his eyebrows. "Have I heard your words?"

"The Golden Ram-everywhere-the prices are higher, and my stipend is but a gold an eight-day. I had to get new boots, and I couldn't believe how much more they cost this time..." Faltar shook his head.

Cerryl glanced down. "They look good. Where did you get them?"

"From Beykr, down on the Way of the Tanners."

The smaller mage laughed. "I get mine from Miern. He's a block farther east.

The boot soles and heels are thicker and a good two silvers cheaper, maybe more.

I've been told they fit better, too."

"Now you tell me."

"You didn't ask." Cerryl grinned. "I'll go with you. Leyladin's still in Hydolar, and my stipend doesn't go so far, either. I wear out boots faster on Patrol duty."

"You still walking the streets?"

"I don't know the city well enough, not by far. I wasn't born here, remember.

Wait a moment, and let me wash up."

Faltar leaned against the stone wall of the corridor. "Try to hurry. I'm hungry and I might lose the courage to face the Meal Hall."

"Courage doesn't matter if you have no coins to eat elsewhere. I'll hurry." Since his own gut was growling, Cerryl washed quickly.

Faltar was still leaning against the wall when Cerryl emerged from his room.

"Good."

The two walked down the steps to the main level and across the rear courtyard.

"How's gate duty going?"

"Boring," admitted Faltar. "Always the same. Most of the owners of the wagons and carts are honest, but there's always someone who thinks we can't find oils or spices or silver. I don't understand. The cost of a full-trade medallion isn't that high."

"The problem's not here, I think," mused Cerryl. "Fairhaven isn't the only land- or city-that levies taxes, and you can't remove a medallion and then replace it.

Not without the gate mages sensing it."

"Oh... that means two wagons and a place to keep them?"

"More than that. The big factors do that all the time. Why do you think the wagons we see here are always so clean? The carpet merchants, on the other hand, they apply for a new medallion every time they come."

Faltar nodded. "I knew that, but I hadn't thought about why."

"They only come once or twice a year, and an extra two golds is Reaper than two wagons." Cerryl frowned. Do they wait when they remove the medallions, or does someone get hurt?

Faltar sniffed as they entered the Meal Hall. "It's not lamb. I can smell that."

"Stew-with dried beef." Cerryl stepped toward the serving table. "Sorry, ser." An apprentice scuttled out of the way. "Go ahead." Cerryl laughed, gesturing to the table. "We've time."

"Thank you, ser." The apprentice scurried to ladle stew across the bread on his platter, then grabbed another chunk, before pouring a mug of ale from the battered gray pitcher.

"Not much better than sauced mutton."

"I'd prefer the mutton," Cerryl said, ladling the lumpy brownish mixture across a chunk of bread. "Never," said Faltar.

Cerryl half-smiled and poured a mug of the ale, then made his way to one of the smaller side tables. In the corner he saw Kochar and Kiella both redheads eating slowly and talking. Before long, Kochar would be a full mage, Cerryl thought, if he didn't do something at the last moment to upset Jeslek. He couldn't say that he knew the handful of other student mages-there seemed to be fewer than when he and Faltar had been students.

"... say he's a Patrol mage ..."

"... don't know the other one ..."

The words drifted from one of the circular center tables. Cerryl smiled to himself. As a student, he'd never known by name the younger full mages. He wouldn't be responsible for an apprentice for years, if ever, and he ate at the Meal Hall infrequently and quickly. It might be more often if the costs of food in Fairhaven kept increasing, though.

Faltar slid into the chair across from Cerryl and took a mouthful of stew. He frowned. "You might be right. I never thought lamb could be better than anything."

"You see fewer traders through the gates now?" Cerryl took a mouthful of the tough rye bread, then finally tried the stew. His mouth puckered with the saltiness, and he reached for the ale.

"I don't see as many as last year, even in the winter. There aren't as many people on the roads, except for lancers. More are headed west."

"Gallos?"

Faltar shook his head, his mouth full. After swallowing, he answered, "Certis."

That made sense, in a way, because Jeslek had more control over Viscount Rystryr. "Jeslek saw me yesterday."

"What did he want? You're not his favorite."

"To make sure I wouldn't cross him."

"Why do you worry him?" asked Faltar, making a face at the mouthful of stew he swallowed. "Bitter ... too salty."

"He's worried about Spidlar," answered Cerryl, ignoring the thrust of Faltar's question. "That's what he told me. He as much as said that the viscount is raiding Spidlar and losing armsmen. He thinks Spidlar is getting support from Recluce."

"That won't set well with the Guild. It sounds like the viscount wants Spidlar for himself. What is our High Wizard going to do?"

"He didn't say, except it didn't matter for a Patrol mage. Not yet. "Good of him,"

mumbled Faltar. "This isn't stew. It's swill."

"It's better than that. I know."

"Don't remind me. I'm glad I didn't have to find the Guild the way you did."

Faltar spooned in another mouthful. "I'd be careful. That 'not yet' sounds like he's thinking up something special for you. He's never liked you since you forced Sterol to override him and let you become a full mage."

"You're in a hurry," Cerryl observed. "You have plans for this evening?"

"Maybe." Faltar flushed.

"A certain redheaded mage?"

"No more than you're interested in a certain blonde healer."

Cerryl laughed. "There may be more compatibility between two Whites."

"Is that still a problem?"

"I understand it's always been a problem, unless approached carefully. Leyladin is very careful, and I cannot say I fault her."

"Cerryl the methodical."

Cerryl shrugged.

Faltar swallowed the last of his stew, then chewed a final mouthful of bread, was.h.i.+ng it down with a swig of ale. "You don't mind if I go...?"

"Go. I've no one to get ready for, and I'd rather not gulp this down."

With a nod, Faltar rose and slipped away.

Cerryl looked across the now mostly empty Meal Hall. He liked Faltar, but he was so besotted with Anya that what Cerryl could mention to him was limited.

Cerryl took another small mouthful of bread, wondering how Leyladin was doing, hoping she had been successful in healing young Uulrac and that she would be back before too long. Somehow, he doubted it would be either simple or quick.