Colors of Chaos

LVII

 

 

 

After his duty, Cerryl hurried, but did not run, back to the Halls of the Mages. There he ate alone. That was because any of those he knew well enough to sit with were on duty or elsewhere and he had no desire to exchange meaningless words. He gulped down rye bread and cheese and fresh pearapples before returning to the rear Hall, where he washed. Then he made his way to the top of the White Tower, where Gostar guarded the High Wizard’s chamber.

 

“Be not here, Mage Cerryl. None of them,” offered Gostar.

 

“I guess I’ll wait.” Cerryl sat down on the bench. Despite the smooth polished oak surface and probably generations of usage, there was a faint grittiness to the wood. Cerryl looked down. Was everything around the tower slightly gritty? The effect of too much chaos? He frowned.

 

Gostar glanced around, then lowered his voice. “Begging your pardon, ser. Some say that you were removed from the Patrol for hurting a boy; some say it was because the High Wizard cares little for you…”

 

Cerryl looked at Gostar. What could he say? Finally, he answered. “The boy stole some bread. I didn’t want to send him to the road crew and I put a small brand on his forehead to warn him, but he ended up on the road crew anyway. I was wrong, and he ended up in the same place with a brand on his forehead.”

 

Gostar looked at Cerryl and nodded, apparently neither pleased nor displeased.

 

Cerryl couldn’t detect whether the guard was upset or relieved and sat on the bench, waiting for Jeslek and whatever the High Wizard wanted Cerryl to do. This time, he had to wait but a short time before Jeslek returned, trailed by Anya and Redark and Kinowin.

 

Behind the group followed one of the messengers in red from the creche, who glanced at the bench before which Cerryl stood.

 

Without speaking, Jeslek motioned for Cerryl to follow the group into his chambers. Once all were inside, after Cerryl closed the door, Jeslek handed a scroll to Cerryl. “Read it while we talk.”

 

While the four sat at the chairs around the table, Cerryl stationed himself by the wall closest to Jeslek’s right hand and began to read through the scroll, focusing on the parts that followed the flowery greeting.

 

 

 

…knowing that we of Gallos have the highest regard for the White Brotherhood of Fairhaven and for those highways which the Brotherhood has developed and maintained to ensure peace and prosperity for Fairhaven and, to a lesser but still important degree, for other lands in Candar…

 

… fair trade is considered vital to all lands, particularly those of us not so blessed as Fairhaven…

 

… yet a tax upon the craftsmen and merchants of Gallos, for that is what the tariffs levied for the use of the White highways must in all fairness be termed, such a tax falls heavily upon a land already troubled by the whims of nature… and in all fairness, we must suggest, cannot be long maintained by any ruler in Gallos even in deference for past services as great as constructing the highways that all could use to greater benefit were not tariffs levied upon the users…

 

… all know of the past power and glory of Fairhaven, and few would wish to believe that any in present-day Fairhaven would stoop to preserve unpopular and unnecessary tariffs through banditry or raids upon neighbors or neighbors of neighbors…

 

… moreover, no power in Gallos could stand against its people and their unwillingness to be taxed for that from which they see little benefit…

 

 

 

The seal and signature were those of Syrma, prefect of Gallos.

 

Great benefit from the highways, yet the people see no benefit? Cerryl puzzled over the apparent contradictions even as he continued to listen to the four around the table.

 

“It’s a veiled threat,” Kinowin observed. “He’s saying that he knows Fairhaven is behind the banditry and raids on Spidlarian traders.” His fingers touched the purple blotch on his left cheek momentarily.

 

“What are we supposed to do?” asked the ginger-bearded Redark. “Just let them take over the highways and still maintain them out of our vast treasury and generosity?” Bitterness dripped from his words.

 

“What do you-and Sterol-think, Anya?” Jeslek asked the red-haired mage. “I am certain you know the thoughts of the former and esteemed High Wizard.”

 

“You grant me too much insight, ser.” Anya smiled.

 

“Then, what do you think?”

 

“My thoughts matter little. What matters not is truth. What matters is what those with whom we must deal think. They seem to think that we have less power than in years past and that they can avoid paying their obligations. Unless we can compel them in some fashion, they will not pay.” Anya finished her statement with a brisk nod.

 

Kinowin nodded with her, but Redark frowned.

 

“Gallos is lagging,” Jeslek said. “I’ve already sent messages to Gorsuch, as regent for young Duke Uulrac, Duke Estalin, Viscount Rystryr, suggesting that it may be necessary for them to raise levies to deal with the problem of Spidlar.”

 

“They won’t do it-except for Gorsuch,” interjected Kinowin. “They all think it’s our problem.”

 

“That is very clear,” said the High Wizard. “The problem is Syrma. Rystryr will do as we suggest if given a push. Gorsuch will also.”

 

While Gorsuch would do exactly as Jeslek told him, Cerryl reflected, Gorsuch’s direct power lasted only so long as Uulrac remained alive. Pushing Gorsuch to require levies might well shorten the sickly young duke’s life span-and possibly Leyladin’s. The young mage pursed his lips and continued to listen.

 

“Syrma’s power as prefect is recent, and he must defer to others, especially to those of coins and the great factors who continue to profit from the trade with Recluce and Spidlar. So we will ask for levies, and he will demur. He will not refuse. He will say that it is early yet and that he respects Fairhaven.” Jeslek snorted. “He may say anything, but he will not post the listings.”

 

“And then what do we do?” asked Redark.

 

“We find a way to convince them all.”

 

“You wouldn’t turn Fenard into a mountain, I trust?” said Kinowin, his voice dry.

 

“Not Fenard. What would be the point? All those golds we need would be lost.” Jeslek smiled. “No. We need another more… subtle reminder for our friend Syrma. I will have to think about that.” His eyes flicked toward Cerryl, if but momentarily. “We will talk that over later, when I have a better thought of what might be required.”

 

The cold expression behind the High Wizard’s smiling mouth chilled Cerryl, but the younger mage kept on his face a look of mild interest.

 

“Now, we need to review what coins we must disburse in the next season.” Jeslek glanced at Redark. “Do you have the numbers I asked for, Redark?”

 

“Yes, ser.” From somewhere Redark produced a set of papers, placing one in front of each of the others at the table. “You see… there are the golds required to fit the last three ships and the extras for the White Lancers. Below are what must be spent on the Guild, or stipends, and support, and there are the requirements for supplies for the masons, and for the Patrol and for the sewers and aqueducts…”

 

Cerryl stifled a yawn. He had the feeling that the meeting would be getting duller.

 

 

 

 

 

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