White Order
LVII
A woman in green crossed the hall and started toward the courtyard and the front building as Cerryl stepped out of the library workroom with his map in hand-a woman in green with red-blonde hair...a young woman.
Cerryl looked for a moment, just looked. Could it be the girl from his glass? She was definitely a woman now.
He glanced toward the steps to Jeslek's quarters, then in the direction she had gone, pursing his lips. After a moment, he turned toward the courtyard. Even with that momentary delay, by the time he passed the fountain and reached the end of the foyer of the front building, she had turned and was headed up the steps to the tower.
Cerryl walked more quickly, holding the map high so that he wouldn't trip or drag it along the polished stones. He dodged around Lyasa, who gave him a questioning look, and offered a harried look that he hoped would cover his action.
Lyasa raised both eyebrows but said nothing.
By the time Cerryl reached the pair of guards at the base of the tower, breathing slightly harder than he would have liked, the young woman in green had vanished. No sound of feet echoed down the steps to the higher levels, either.
He looked at the guard standing on the right. “Hertyl... the woman who just went up the steps ... do you know her?”
“Young ser, it be not my business to know any like her.”
Cerryl caught the twinkle in the young guard's eye and grinned. “Nor I... but you might know her name.”
“I've heard that it be Leyladin. She is a merchant's daughter, but some say she also be a healer.” Hertyl nodded toward the steps. “I do not ask where she visits.”
Cerryl paused.
The older guard cleared his throat.
Cerryl understood the signal. “Thank you.” He looked at the map he held and then at the guards, nodding to both. “Best I be going. Good day.”
“Good day to you, young ser.”
Cerryl walked quickly, if slightly more deliberately, back toward Jeslek's quarters.
The red-blonde hair-it could be no one else. But what was she doing in the Halls of the Mages? Just a healer? Or something else? His thoughts went back to Benthann's comments-sex? Was she the mistress or consort-to-be of a white mage? Of one of the older mages?
His fingers curled until his hands were almost fists, and he took a slow and silent deep breath, trying to relax. He had no claim on her. He didn't even know her, and she certainly didn't even know he existed. Why was he reacting so violently?
Besides, Jeslek had asked to see the map, and he dared not hasten, not after chasing the woman-Leyladin, not woman-practically to the white tower. Another test? Had Jeslek sent her past him?
He shivered but left the front foyer hall and started across the courtyard.
“Why were you in such a hurry?” Lyasa stood by the fountain, clearly waiting for him. Her olive brown eyes pinned him.
“I got flustered ...” That was certainly true enough. He inclined his head to the map. “Jeslek wants to see this, and I found myself going in the wrong direction.”
“In more ways than one.” Lyasa shook her head, adding a wry smile. “She's an apprentice healer or some such. You're an apprentice white. You want to kill both of you? Black and white don't mix that way.”
“I didn't know.” Cerryl could feel his face fall, but a sense of elation followed. Leyladin ... she probably wasn't a test by Jeslek, at least.
“That's obvious. It's one of the things we have to live with.” Lyasa reached out and patted his shoulder. “At least you're not watching Anya ... the way Faltar does.”
Cerryl didn't know what to say.
“You understand that.” Lyasa's tone was low and matter-of-fact. “Now... if Jeslek wanted you, you'd better hurry. He's not all that patient.”
“No ... he's not.”
With an indulgent smile, Lyasa touched his shoulder again, then watched as he hurried across the courtyard and into the hall toward the steps. Again, he was breathing hard by the time he reached the back of the building.
Gostar, the guard outside Jeslek's quarters, nodded as Cerryl approached. Cerryl stepped past the armed guard and rapped on the door. “Cerryl, ser, as you requested.”
“Come in.” Jeslek's voice resonated through the closed white oak door.
After opening the door and closing it behind him, Cerryl bowed. “I have the map you requested, ser.”
“About time.”
“Yes, ser.” Cerryl bowed again.
“Kesrik, move the glass to the side table.” Jeslek nodded to the older student mage, then to Cerryl. “Spread it on the table.”
Once Kesrik had removed the glass, Cerryl eased the vellum onto the table, then stepped back as Jeslek studied the map, squinting and shifting his eyes from point to point.
“Tellura ... Hierna ... Quessa ... Kyphrien ... hmmm.”
At the “hmmmm,” Cerryl took a slow and deliberate breath. He's just trying to upset you. Calm, you have to be calm.
Kesrik continued to display a broad smile as Jeslek pored over the vellum.
After what seemed like eight-days, the white mage straightened and looked at Cerryl. “It's basically accurate. At least it's the best one could expect from a new student, and one who was a scrivener's apprentice.” Jeslek nodded. “You may have it put with the others in the racks in the library.”
Kesrik did not manage to conceal a smirk from where he stood by the wall.
“Yes, ser.”
“You are disturbed? You find my judgment harsh?” Jeslek's tone was light, amused, even as Cerryl could sense the white forces building.
“You are my master, ser, and you know what is best.” Cerryl was surprised to find his words level and even, with an unseen barrier between his rage and his words and surface feelings.
“You actually believe that. My... my... how refreshing.” The mage paused. “And very good for you.” The sense of power dwindled. “You may go and rack your map. I will see you again tomorrow morning. Immediately after breakfast. Immediately.”
“Yes, ser.”
“Go.”
Cerryl reached forward and gently lifted the map. Jeslek nodded to Kesrik, who turned toward the small table and the screeing glass.
Cerryl bowed and turned, glad that Jeslek had not found any overt faults in the map. He rolled up the vellum, forcing himself to remain detached and deliberate as he departed, carrying the map.
There was no sign of the blonde girl-woman-or Lyasa-as he walked toward the library.