The White Order

White Order

 

 

 

 

 

LXXIX

 

 

 

 

The two guards nodded as Cerryl passed them and started up the tower steps. The nod from Hertyl was more deferential, Cerryl thought. Myral's door was closed, and his room felt empty to Cerryl as the younger man passed the landing. Before he had reached the third level, his steps lagged, and he was breathing heavily when he stopped at the open landing of the uppermost level of the tower.

 

“Come in, Cerryl,” called Sterol through the white oak door that was not quite closed.

 

Cerryl took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, took another deep breath, and opened the brass-bound white oak door. He stepped into Sterol's apartment, turning and closing the door to the position in which he had found it.

 

“You can close it all the way.” Sterol sat behind the desk, centered between the white oak bookcases filled with leather-bound volumes. The High Wizard gestured to the straight-backed chair before the desk.

 

Cerryl closed the door, then walked across the room and around the table that held the circular screeing glass to take the proffered seat.

 

“You found the missing guard.” The High Wizard's hair glinted a reddish iron gray in the light of sunset that streamed through the open tower window at his back.

 

“Yes, ser. He hadn't gone that far. He was hiding to the south, where the next secondary joined the main tunnel, behind a set of steps.”

 

Sterol nodded. “There was no one else with him?”

 

“No. He was alone. At least, I didn't hear or see anyone else.” Cerryl added carefully.

 

“Did the guards see you flame him?” The High Wizard shifted his weight in his chair, but his eyes remained on Cerryl.

 

“I don't know how much they saw, honored Sterol. They saw me use flame. They had to have heard Ullan scream.”

 

“He screamed? Good ... excellent. That will suffice. No white guard or lancer must ever be allowed to desert his post or duty.” Sterol frowned. “Why did he scream?”

 

“He had a lance, and I struck his arm and the lance with the first firebolt.”

 

“You went in front of the guards?”

 

“I wasn't supposed to be, ser?”

 

“Ah, young Cerryl... the bravery of youth. That story will indeed serve you-and the Guild-serve us well.” Sterol laughed, but the laugh faded as the High Wizard studied the younger man. “I had hoped ... but you retain enough force ... more than enough ... and you are bright...” A quick nod followed as though Sterol had reached a conclusion about something.

 

Cerryl waited.

 

“I take it this ... Ullan said nothing?” Sterol's voice sharpened.

 

“He begged for mercy.”

 

“Anything else?”

 

Cerryl frowned. “He mumbled something about being afraid ... that someone had approached him. That might have been Kesrik ... but he said he didn't know, only that whoever it was happened to be short.” Cerryl smiled apologetically. “I hope you don't mind, ser, but since someone was trying to injure me, I wanted to know if he knew anything. I did flame him, as you ordered.”

 

“Short. . . hmmmm .. .” Sterol smiled broadly. “I will pass that along to Jeslek ... another confirmation that Kesrik was involved. His family has been asked to leave Fairhaven, you know. They had to have supplied the coins paid to the two men you killed.”

 

“Yes, ser.”

 

“Now... do you remember what I told you when you first came to the tower?”

 

“Yes, ser. That I was to watch and to say nothing and to tell none but you ... and not until you asked.”

 

“Good.” Sterol's face hardened. “Do you honestly think that Kesrik could have set up the attempt on you?”

 

“Ser... I do not know Fairhaven or everything about the Guild. I had some doubts, but when one knows so little ...”

 

Sterol laughed, a short bark. “You know far more than you let any know, even me, and that is wise, so long as you remember who is High Wizard.”

 

“Yes, ser.”

 

“What do you know about Recluce?”

 

“Nothing except what is in the histories and the old stories, ser. I have overheard that Recluce is trying to trade with Gallos through Spidlar and that such will not help Fairhaven.”

 

Sterol leaned back in his chair slightly, but his face remained stern. “Men are weak, Cerryl. They will seek coins and personal gain, even if it will ruin their children and their children's children. Even white mages can do the same, and that can be even more dangerous, for they do not have to worry about their children. Chaos provides great power, and great power can create great corruption. That is why Kesrik died.”

 

Cerryl didn't conceal the puzzlement he felt.

 

“No,” Sterol answered the unspoken question. “Kesrik was not powerful. He was weak, too weak to resist the corruption of chaos. He saw the great power wielded by Jeslek and would do anything if he could have possessed like power.” The High Wizard straightened and the red-flecked brown eyes bored through Cerryl. “Do you understand that?”

 

“I understand that he wanted power, ser. He tried to control the other students.”

 

Sterol nodded. “That is one reason why you found brigands in the sewer, seeking your death. Where chaos can be manifested, so can corruption and evil. The same is true of great order, and that is why Recluce is corrupt. Far too much order has been concentrated on that isle. Now... why do you suppose so many mages are not in Fair-haven?”

 

Cerryl blinked. He'd known there were mages outside the city, but Sterol was suggesting there were far more away from Fairhaven.

 

“Too many mages means more concentration of chaos.” Sterol offered a wry smile. “That is also why I had you made a student-and years back, Kinowin, and later young Heralt. But those are points for you to consider in the seasons ahead.” He placed the fingers of each hand against each other in a pyramidal shape. “What have you observed here in Fairhaven?”

 

Cerryl swallowed. “Ah ... I have observed much, ser. I have noticed that most of the mages do not teach so much as force me to answer questions and to undertake tasks.”

 

“That is because that is what I have told them to do. All young people, even student mages, ignore or resist what they are told by their elders. They learn best by thinking and doing. What else have you observed?”

 

“I don't know what else to say, ser. There is so much, so many things I had not considered. I never would have thought sewers so important, or paved streets and walks or clean water ...” Cerryl looked almost helplessly at Sterol.

 

The High Wizard nodded, almost to himself, then glanced toward the door, then back at Cerryl. “Well... you need some rest, and you have a sewer to finish cleaning, I believe?”

 

Cerryl nodded, then stood.

 

“And ... Cerryl... best you be most careful out in the streets. We are not as loved or respected as should be, and Kesrik's family was well connected.”

 

“Yes, ser.”

 

After he closed the tower door to the topmost landing, Cerryl walked slowly down the tower steps. Sterol had been pleased, but Cerryl wasn't sure he liked the idea of his actions being passed to Jeslek. Nor did Sterol's parting caution help, although it was clear he needed to be careful just about everywhere.

 

Also ... there was one other thing that worried him-worried him a great deal. While he suspected Kesrik had been a poor mage, Cerryl doubted that the blond student would have tried something as involved as hiring bullyboys to kill Cerryl in the sewer. And Sterol's questions confirmed that-in a roundabout way.

 

Was this another convoluted test-or did someone else want Cerryl out of the way? And why? And if that happened to be so, why had Myral assigned Cerryl the sewer with the smugglers' tunnel? Or had that been Myral's choice? Was Myral right-that Jeslek himself viewed Cerryl as a rival?

 

And why had Sterol talked about chaos power corrupting? Cerryl was only a poor student mage .. . not exactly a respected and powerful mage like Jeslek or Kinowin. Despite Sterol's avuncular performance, Cerryl doubted that Sterol had said all that just to further educate him and that left Cerryl more worried than ever.

 

Still, he had managed to survive, and that was something for the orphaned son of a white fugitive.

 

So far, he reminded himself. So far.

 

 

 

 

 

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