White Order
LXXXV
“Matters have worsened in Gallos.” Jeslek paced around the table, then glanced to the rear window of his quarters. “Even the High Wizard is concerned.” His eyes went to Cerryl, then to Kochar. “We will be traveling to Jellico the day after tomorrow. Get together what you will need for a long trip.”
“Yes, ser,” said Kochar.
Cerryl nodded.
“There will be other mages and apprentices. You may bring your own glass, but no books. Not a word of the journey outside the Halls. From either of you.” This time, the mage's golden eyes rested on Kochar. “You may go.”
At least that meant that Cerryl didn't have to worry about Esaak and mathematicks. He bowed and turned, following Kochar through the door.
As Cerryl stepped out of Jeslek's quarters and down the corridor, he had to move aside as Kinowin strode past him. The tall mage with the purple-blotched cheek was aimed like a quarrel toward Jeslek's door.
The slender student mage walked slowly down the corridor. What did he need for a journey? What kind of journey was it going to be? He wished he'd asked more, but Jeslek somehow discouraged questions, without even saying a word.
At the foot of the steps, he glanced around, then walked slowly toward the commons but found it empty, except for Bealtur poring over a thick tome. Cerryl turned. Leyladin might have been able to give him an idea, but he hadn't seen her.
Who else might help-who would be around? He nodded, then turned and walked swiftly back down the corridor and out into the courtyard. Light rain joined the fountain spray in cooling the enclosed space, and Cerryl hurried into the foyer of the front hall and then up the front steps to the tower, past the silent guards.
He tried not to cough at the fine white dust raised by his boots as he trudged up the levels to Myral's room, where he stood for a long moment on the landing, listening, hoping he wasn't interrupting the older mage. Finally, he knocked gingerly on Myral's door.
“Yes, Cerryl. You can come in.” The old mage sat in his chair by the table, but his feet were resting on a stool. “Too much chaos in the legs. It pools in the feet by late in the day, and I must elevate them to let my body redistribute it.”
Cerryl nodded.
“Now ... young fellow ... why are you here?” Myral raised his mug, almost as if in a salute.
“Ah ... ser ... Jeslek is taking us to Jellico ... and told us to make ready. I thought you would know if there happened to be anything I should take beyond clothes.”
Myral laughed. “I can see Jeslek has once again assumed that all know what he does. You have not traveled much, have you?”
“No, ser.”
Myral nodded. “On the third shelf there, you see the matched boxes?”
“Yes, ser.”
“Open the one on the right. There should be several small jars of ointment inside.”
Cerryl opened the box, holding the oak lid, carved in a pattern of interlocking triangles, in his left hand.
“You may take one of them.”
“Ser?”
“It relieves the rawness of where the saddle rubs you-or anything else. Use it sparingly.”
“Thank you, ser.”
“Also, make sure you have a heavy jacket and an extra blanket for your bedroll.”
Cerryl nodded. He was ashamed to admit he had not even thought of the bedroll.
“And, if you can talk Yubni out of it, an oiled waterproof to wrap your bedroll in would also help.”
“Is there anything else you would advise?”
“Not traveling, but that be not your choice.” Myral took a swallow of the ever-present cider. “An extra water bottle would not be amiss, if you can obtain one, but be careful of how and where you fill it.” He coughed several times, and Cerryl wondered if the racking coughs would follow, but Myral merely continued. “Oh ... you can use chaos to heat water to boiling. If you do that and let it cool, it will keep the other kinds of chaos, the kinds that cause the flux, from the water. You can also send the tiniest fragments of chaos after bed vermin.” Myral smiled grimly. “There are always vermin when you travel. Especially in Certis.”
“Why in Certis?” Cerryl blurted.
“That I could not tell you.” Myral shrugged. “Save many have died from flux and vermin chaos there. Take care what you drink and eat in Jellico, though with Jeslek I am certain all will be well.”
Was there a slight irony in Myral's words? Cerryl wasn't sure, but he nodded.
“If you have other questions, you can come back. I am not likely to be traipsing around Fairhaven much, not unless your friend Faltar runs into trouble in his sewer duty.”
“I hope he doesn't.”
“I doubt he will. Even if there are smugglers around, they know to avoid another student mage right now.”
“You think there are others?”
Myral laughed. “Cerryl, we impose tariffs and road duties. Goods are not made with tariffs attached to them, like wool to a sheep. So there will always be those who would avoid taxes and tariffs, even in Fairhaven. Not all the chaos-fire you or even the great Jeslek can cast will stop those who live for silver and gold.” He pointed to the door. “Go and get what you need, and you can tell Yubni, for what it's worth, that both Jeslek and I think you ought to be well prepared for your journey.”
“Thank you.”
“It be little enough.” Myral coughed, but only once, and smiled briefly.
Cerryl eased down the tower steps slowly, hoping he would be able to follow Myral's suggestions, carrying the box of ointment back toward his cell.
Bealtur nodded as the two passed in the corridor by the commons, but the goateed student mage did not speak, and Cerryl didn't feel like always being the one to offer greetings first.
Cerryl eased down the corridor and slipped into his cell, still feeling somewhat stiff and wondering how long before he'd really get used to riding. He stepped over to the desktop.
A soft gray leather case lay there. With a frown, he opened it, then began to smile as he lifted out the white-bronze razor. Then he laughed. “She does care.” And she has a sense of humor in making her points ... He laughed softly again as he replaced the razor in the case.