White Order
LXXXI
Cerryl slipped into the chair across from Myral, blotting his forehead from the warmth that would certainly intensify as the late summer day went on. Somehow, it was still hard to believe that another summer had nearly passed, and that he had been in Fairhaven almost a year and a half.
“I went back as you said, and checked everything yesterday. The runnel is clean.” Cerryl paused. “They haven't bricked up that door yet.”
“I know. Your successor, young Faltar, will take care of that.”
“My successor?”
“I have talked it over with Sterol. You have cleaned elaborately and well two secondary sewer tunnels, and you have proved that you have the minimal ability to use chaos to defend yourself. There's nothing more you need learn about the sewers or the use of chaos-fire to clean them.” Myral smiled blandly. “Jeslek has summoned you. You are to replace Kesrik as his assistant.”
“I thought Bealtur or Kochar ...”
“Neither is as accomplished nor as far along as you are.”
“I do not understand. I don't think Jeslek even likes me.”
“Nor should he. You respect his ability, but you do not worship the ground on which he treads.” Myral's tone was dry. “Respect will suffice for now, but never forget to respect the overmage. Remember that.”
Cerryl nodded.
After a sip of cool cider and a silence that the creaking of a noisy wagon on the avenue broke, Myral turned back to Cerryl. “Cerryl... times are getting... interesting.” The older mage coughed, the same racking cough, despite the warmth of the room, covering his mouth with a grayish cloth.
“Are you all right?”
“As well... as possible.” Myral folded the cloth.
“Ser, if you would explain why times are interesting... I did not have the privilege of growing up in the creche.”
“I'd not call it a privilege.” Myral laughed, a laugh that turned into another racking cough. The older mage blotted his mouth once more “Are you sure you are all right, ser?”
“Nothing wrong with me but age... and the ills that brines mage.” Myral took a sip from the mug on the table. “You know about Gallos, do you not? It stretches from where the rivers join in the north all the way south to Ruzor. The distance is vast enough that it has never been measured accurately, Esaak notwithstanding, but Gallos extends well over eight hundred kays, perhaps a thousand from north to south and it is a rich land.”
“Yes ... I have heard such.”
“Too rich. The prefect is another descendant of Fenardre the Great who would emulate his ancestor. He is young, and he is cunning, and he does not like the road taxes or the traders' guild or us. He toys with Sverlik.”
Sverlik-Cerryl had heard the name somewhere. “Sverlik is the mage who represents Fairhaven in Fenard. He's close to my age, and he can't last forever, either. This young prefect-Lyam is his name-he wants to take over Certis and Spidlar. The Spidlarian Council of Traders, and all Spidlarians are traders of one sort or another, those who are not mercenaries ... where was I? Oh, the Spidlarians are turning to more trade with Sarronnyn and Recluce, and Gallos is buying most of that. The traders think it is greed on Lyam's part, but greed is only the beginning....” Myral coughed again and fell silent. “Ser ... does that mean the lancers must go to Gallos?”
“I cannot say what Jeslek and Sterol will decide. They will decide something. Jeslek has hinted that he might be able to develop another course of action. He has not said what that might be. You will be there to assist him.”
“Ah ... when do I see him?”
“Now. You might as well get on your way. I have little enough else to teach you, though I doubt I have taught you so much as you have taught yourself.” A brief smile flitted across the lined round face. “Ser, you have taught me much.”
“Don't protest too much.” Myral waved toward the door. “On your way, young Cerryl, old as you are beyond your years. On your way.”
Cerryl rose. “Yes, ser.”
“And do close the door. There's nothing more susceptible to chill than an old and tired mage.”
“You're not that old and tired.”
“You're kind but inaccurate. Best you get off to serve Jeslek... an Cerryl?”
“Yes, ser.”
“He will be High Wizard one day. So be most careful.”
Cerryl nodded. He had no intention of ever being other than most careful where Jeslek and Sterol-and Anya and Kinowin-were involved. He closed the door firmly, but not hard, and took a deep breath. What would being Jeslek's assistant involve? After a moment, he shrugged and started down the tower steps.
The foyer was empty, except for the tower guards. Was it his imagination, or were all the Halls of the Mages more deserted? Just because mages wanted out of the summer heat? Or because of the troubles that Myral had mentioned?
Cerryl paused in the courtyard, beside the fountain, and blotted his forehead, lingering in the fountain's spray to cool off before he marched toward the rear hall.
At the upstairs rear of the hall that contained his own cell, Cerryl paused at the door where the guard, a lancer in white he did not know, rapped on the white oak.
“Send Cerryl in.”
Cerryl stepped into Jeslek's quarters. The white mage seemed to blaze with power.
Cerryl halted, not even closing the door.
“You can close it.”
Cerryl complied.
“I will not cross words with you, young Cerryl.” Jeslek's golden eye glittered. “You are here as Sterol's tool to watch over me as much as assist me. You know that, and I know that.”
“The honored Sterol did not tell me such, ser.”
Jeslek snorted. “He does not have to tell you such. How can you not answer his questions?”
“He is the High Wizard, ser.” Cerryl felt as though he walked the edge of a cliff.
“You would pay such allegiance to any who might be High Wizard?” A slow smile crossed Jeslek's face.
“Would I have any choice, ser?”
Jeslek laughed. “I said I would not cross words with you, and yet you cross words with me. For a student mage, you are dangerous, young Cerryl.”
Cerryl waited, feeling silence was his only response.
“I know you can wield more chaos than you manifest. How much more, that I do not know, save that it is nowhere near what I could bring to bear upon you. Do you understand that?”
“Yes, ser.”
“And I can tell that is a truthful answer. That will suffice.” Jeslek Pointed to the chair beside the scrying table. “As my first assistant, you may sit. Kochar will be taking your place, and he, like you did, has much to learn.” The white-haired wizard seated himself.
Cerryl sat as well, but slightly forward on the chair.
“Sterol should have told you about the intolerable situation in Gallos. Has he?”
“He and Myral told me about the new prefect, and about how the traders of Spidlar are taking goods from Recluce.”
Jeslek nodded. “And you know that we have sent close to four thousand lancers to Certis to support the viscount, and to move them closer to Gallos?”
“I knew that most from the southern barracks had been sent, but not how many.”
“I am glad Sterol has informed you somewhat.” Jeslek pulled at his chin. “We will be going to Gallos, but not for a handful of eight-days. We will be addressing the prefect's problems.” A grim smile followed. “Not in exactly the way he would prefer. In the meantime, we have some last chores to consider, including cleaning the aqueduct.” Jeslek stood. “You will certainly handle some of the work, but I will be supervising as well. It matters not if sewage isn't perfectly clean, but water is something else.”
Jeslek pointed to the glass. “Can you call up an image?”
“I have not tried since I came, ser.”
“We won't spend time on your experimenting here. You have my leave to practice, but you are not to observe through the glass any full mages. I would strongly suggest you attempt to use the glass to locate places along the Great White Highway in Certis and Gallos.”
“Yes, ser.”
“You may take a glass from the storeroom and practice in your cell until you are proficient. Meet me here tomorrow right after breakfast.” Jeslek stood.
So did Cerryl. Then he bowed and left, closing the door quietly behind him. He had leave to use the glass-really for the first time. A smile crossed his face as he started down the corridor.