White Order
LVIII
Cerryl walked up to Jeslek's door with a stride more confident than he felt within himself.
“He be expecting you,” said Gostar from beside the door, one hand casually on the hilt of the white-bronze shortsword used by the inside guards.
“Thank you.” Cerryl knocked cautiously.
“Enter.”
The student mage stepped inside and closed the heavy white oak door behind him. The mage stood by the screeing table-alone. With the considerable residue of unseen white around the table, Cerryl could sense that Jeslek had been using the glass recently. “I am here as you requested, ser.”
“Your map was good.” Jeslek watched Cerryl.
“Ser... you did not seem pleased. I will try to do better in the future.”
“It was good,” Jeslek repeated. “Yet I did not say so. Why might that be?”
“Kesrik was here.”
Jeslek nodded. “Have I permitted you to work with chaos-fire?”
“No, ser.”
“Kesrik has been a student for nearly four years. He has been working with chaos-fire for over two years. My reasons should be clear to you, if you consider them.” Jeslek offered a perfunctory smile. “You are very bright, Cerryl. Perhaps too bright. You also do not understand in your heart what the Guild is, and why it is good for Fairhaven and Candar. With your talent, that presents a problem.”
Since Cerryl couldn't say much to that, although he questioned whether he had that much talent, he nodded and waited.
“Sterol and I have agreed on this.”
Jeslek's overly polite tone confirmed to Cerryl that whatever they had agreed upon was one of the few areas where the two mages had bached agreement.
“You will see Myral after you leave here. You will work with him to service the sewers until spring ... or longer, as he sees fit. I have told him to expect you,” Jeslek said mildly. “You will not have any more instruction from me until then. Nor from any other mage except Myral ... oh, and Esaak. He has told me you are terribly deficient in your calculations. Do not bother to try to see the High Wizard ... about this or anything else. He and I have already discussed this.”
“Yes, ser.” Cerryl bowed.
“You have my leave to use your abilities to handle chaos as you can, but only as directed by Myral-only Myral.”
Cerryl waited to see if any other directions were forthcoming.
“And, young Cerryl?”
“Yes, ser?”
“I know you can block your innermost feelings from any mage. So can I. It is a useful talent, but one best used sparingly. One should not have too much to hide, especially not a student.”
“Yes, ser.” What else could he say?
“Think about light while you work in the darkness of the sewers. I would suggest you think a great deal about it, and do not hesitate to ask Myral. In such matters, he is a good instructor.” Jeslek smiled another of his perfunctory smiles. “You may go. I told Myral to expect you.”
“Thank you, ser.”
“You are welcome, and some day you may understand exactly how much. Good day, Cerryl.”
Cerryl bowed again before he left.
Almost every time he had met with Jeslek for nearly two seasons, the mage had unsettled him, and his words this time were no less unsettling. Cerryl walked down the steps and then out of the rear hall into the courtyard and past the fountain. The wind whipped spray across him, and it felt like ice on his face.
First, Jeslek had suggested that Kesrik would have used chaos-fire on Cerryl. Why? Because Cerryl wasn't mage-born? Or from wealthy parentage? Or for some other reason? Then, Jeslek had implied that Myral was a good instructor, but not terribly good at other things. But at what was the balding mage lacking? And finally, Jeslek had flatly stated that Cerryl owed Jeslek great thanks. For letting Cerryl survive?
The thin-faced young man took a deep breath as he entered the rear of the front foyer, and several more before he reached the second level of the white tower.
“Jeslek said to expect you.” The older and rotund mage with the thinning and wispy black hair opened the door before Cerryl could knock, and gestured for the young man to enter the room.
Myral's quarters were smaller than either Jeslek's or Sterol's, and one entire wall of the single squarish room was filled with books-' perhaps as many as a third of what was contained in the entire library. Practically underneath the shuttered windows was a narrow bed, wide enough for one person, unlike the spacious beds favored by both Sterol and Jeslek. Through the window, Cerryl could see the avenue angling toward the artisans' square.
The wall opposite the bookshelves held two desks and a round table with a screeing glass and four chairs. One of the chairs was occupied- the one on the far side of the screeing glass-by a woman in pale green with red-blonde hair. A large tome lay open before her. Cerryl froze for a moment.
“Ah, you must have seen Leyladin around the halls.” Myral made a sweeping gesture from Cerryl to Leyladin as he turned to the young woman. “This is Cerryl. Like you, he does not come from the creche or a magely parent. He was a scrivener's apprentice.” The mage smiled, a smile that took in both mouth and eyes. “Now I have to teach him about sewers and wastes.”
“It's good to see you here.” Leyladin stood, her gaze meeting Cerryl's, a faint and amused smile upon her lips, the hint of a glimmer in her dark green eyes.
“I'm glad to meet you.” As he bowed, Cerryl felt she saw right through him, that she knew he'd once screed her through his glass, the glass probably still hidden in the wall at Tellis's place.
“I should go,” she said to Myral, stepping away from the table. “Before they-”
“No. This will take but a moment.” Myral smiled and turned to Cerryl. “Pay attention to me, if you will, not the young lady.”
Cerryl flushed.
“I'm not nearly so gentle to look upon, young Cerryl, but we have work to prepare for.”
“Yes, ser.”
“Fairhaven has its name for a reason.” Myral's voice was high, almost squeaky, and he steepled his fingers, then gestured vaguely in the direction of the door-or the square. “If you travel to most places, they dump their night soil and everything else in the streets, and they stink.” The mage wrinkled his nose. “Fairhaven is fair, and one of the tasks before us is to keep it fair ...”
Myral half-turned toward the books, and Cerryl's eyes strayed again to Leyladin.
Her eyes were so green, like a deep ocean. She pointed to Myral, as if to suggest that Cerryl had best listen.
“. . . and we have to work to keep Fairhaven clean. You probably don't know how much work that is. Everyone who has lived here knows some things about keeping a city clean-sewer catches and clean walks-jakes here in the hall's and in the greater homes. No rubbish in the streets. The big waste wagons, but much more goes on unseen.”
Suddenly, the rotund mage turned and walked over to the book-shelves, pulling out one book, then another and another. He walked back to the table and set five of them down.
“Jeslek says that you read quickly. Can you read these in the next eight-day?”
Cerryl looked at the stack of books, then at the mage. “I think so If there's not something strange about them.”
“Only the subject matter ... I even wrote one of them.” A brief grin followed. “If you can't, come and see me. If you can, study them, and come back here an eight-day from now, immediately after breakfast.” Myral paused again. “Study them as if I were Jeslek.”
“Yes, ser.” Cerryl bowed.
“One other thing.” Myral bustled toward the corner of the room, almost behind the white oak door, where he rummaged through a chest of some sort, one with thin drawers that he slid out, one after the other. “Ah... this will help.”
The white mage rolled a section of vellum into a tube as he headed toward Cerryl. He thrust the tube at Cerryl. Cerryl stepped back as he took it. What was it?
“That? Oh, that's the best map of all the sewers. You need to study that, too. Learn where every sewer runs. You shouldn't have any trouble. Jeslek said you were good with maps. It might help if you took a few walks with it and tried to locate where the main sewers are.”
Cerryl felt like he'd been frozen in a different way. First, running into Leyladin, and then being assaulted with a pile of books and a sewer map. A sewer map, for darkness's sake!
“An eight-day from now,” Myral said cheerfully as he piled the books into Cerryl's arms. “Best get on with it.”
His arms full, Cerryl nodded toward Leyladin. “It was good to meet you.”
“I was glad to see you.” She smiled an enigmatic and faint smile. “More closely.” The green eyes sparkled.
Suppressing a wince at the gentle reminder, Cerryl nodded to her again and to Myral. “An eight-day from now, ser.”
The door closed behind him with a thunk.
He walked slowly down the stairs, his arms already beginning to ache with the weight of the books and the rolled map, his thoughts spinning. What was Leyladin doing with Myral? It wasn't conclusive, but the pudgy mage had but a single bed, and there had been an open tome on the table.
You hope she's just studying...but what can you do if it's more?
And why had she wanted to leave when he'd come in? Or said that she was glad to meet him-more closely? Had that just been a jab, or had she meant it?
He tried to shift his grip on the books and staggered against the wall in an effort to keep his hold on the map.
A sewer map? What was he going to be doing with Myral? What did books have to do with sewers? Or sewers with becoming a white mage?
Another form of test?