Cerryl stiffened within.
“What I will tell you is that nothing is as it seems. Not the Guild, not Kinowin, not Myral, not Sterol, not even me. I’ll tell you that. They won’t.” She took another swallow of the dark red wine. “No matter what anyone says, best you question it within yourself.” Another swallow of wine followed. “Wine doesn’t lie, Cerryl. We lie to ourselves; we lie to others. Wine lies to none.” The bright smile was slightly off-center as Anya stared at Cerryl before lifting her glass once more and draining it.
Cerryl refilled it, almost absently. There was less than half of the second bottle remaining.
“You could be dangerous, Cerryl, but you’re too kind. Even with those you trust not, you are kind. Best you be careful of that as well.” Anya’s pale eyes had turned darker, almost owlish, as she cradled the goblet in both hands.
Too kind? Cerryl swallowed a yawn.
“You are tired, and confused. Or partly confused. Or less confused than many, but still confused.”
Confused? Yes, but not in the way you think…dear Anya.
“Run along, Cerryl. Run along back to your mine-cave-room.” Anya gestured broadly. “Go back and be a cautious miner, and think.” She laughed, this time almost raucously. “It won’t help. It won’t help at all.”
Cerryl stood, then bowed slightly. “I am tired. Could I walk you back to the Hall?”
“Yes. You could. I would like that.” Anya rose, gracefully despite all the wine she had drunk.
Cerryl followed Anya down the stairs, half-ready to reach for her if she fell, but the redhead swayed only slightly more than normal and with a grace that was almost seductive.
Almost.
“Good night, Westcort.” Anya offered a head bow as she passed the proprietor.
“Good night, Lady Anya…ser.”
“Good night,” Cerryl added. Since Westcort had not asked for coin, either Anya was known to be good for the debt…or she had already paid.
“You are wondering, are you not?” asked the redhead as Cerryl helped her up the steps to the front Hall. “You are wondering. Well…I will let you wonder.”
The two walked slowly through the deserted front Hall, the sound of their boots echoing in the gloom barely relieved by the handful of scattered wall lamps, burning low and providing but a dim glow. The slight bite of the water-cooled air in the fountain courtyard was welcome and fleeting as they entered the second Hall.
“This way.” Anya turned down a side Hall past the commons, one Cerryl had walked occasionally but seldom, since it led nowhere except to the next courtyard and since other routes were more direct. “We do have quarters in our own wing. Our own wing. It makes the bathing and the jakes more convenient.”
Suddenly Anya stopped in front of a door. The bronze door plaque read: “Anya.”
“Good night, Cerryl.”
Anya slipped inside, and the bolt clicked shut.
Cerryl stood there for a moment. Had he heard a soft cry-or a laugh? He wasn’t sure. He turned.
What had Anya wanted? To upset him? To find out more about him so that she or Sterol or Jeslek could manipulate him? She hadn’t wanted him in bed. That was the only thing he was sure about-the only thing.
He walked slowly through the rear courtyard and into the farthest Hall, then up the stairs and along the corridor. He closed the door to his room slowly, wishing Leyladin were still in Fairhaven. He would have liked to talk to the blonde healer. Some things Anya had said about him had bothered him, accurate as they were, because they had been accurate and he wasn’t sure why they had upset him.
Lyasa might help, but he’d have to be careful how much he said to the black-haired mage.
He yawned as he slowly began to disrobe. The predawn bell would ring soon-too soon.
XXIV
…some time passed, while Candar burned under the unrelenting sun and cloudless skies, and while the great rains harnessed by Creslin slowly transformed the desert lands of Recluce into a green that the isle had never known.
Even the banner of Recluce adopted by the Blacks was of darkness, that of a black blade and a black rose, crossed, as were the hearts and minds of Creslin and Megaera.
For, despite all the rain, all the coins and the ships that plied the Eastern Ocean to gather goods under the banner of Recluce, the isle was blighted, and its people hungered.
Once again, the Black leader of Recluce struck, a dark hammer of storms and ships that flowed through the Great North Bay under a fog that turned the day to night; and while the people of Lydiar struggled in the darkness, Creslin called down storms.
Mighty storms they were, so massive that they shivered the very stones of the Easthorns and created swamps and bogs west of Lydiar where none had been before, so powerful that their lightning shivered the keep of Lydiar into pieces of gravel.
The destruction rained upon Lydiar, and while it fell across every part of the city Creslin and his forces seized every ship and cargo in the port, and all the golds in the city, and all the food in the granaries, and all the dried fruits and meats in the warehouses.
Laughing, the Black sorcerer returned to Recluce, where he and the evil Megaera rejoiced in their plunder and divided it among all, save for the ships, which he armed and armored with the protections of order and sent out to demand tribute to Recluce from all upon the seas of the world…
XXV
HAVE YOU GRANTED any more medallions to farmers?” From where he stood with his back to the window Kinowin half-grinned at the younger mage.
“Yes, ser. Another six…so far. Only one of them had ever had one before. At least on the carts they presented.”
“Any more incidents like that farm woman?” The blonde mage touched his chin, then rubbed his jaw, his fingers remaining below the purplish blotch on his left cheek.
Cerryl shook his head, still wishing he hadn’t had to flame the old woman, yet he doubted he could have done otherwise.
Kinowin stepped toward the table at which Cerryl sat, then turned and looked at the blue and purple hanging. After a moment, he added, “How was your late supper with Anya?”
“Disturbing, in a way.”
“Why did you go with her?”
“I didn’t think it wise to upset her too much.”
A wry smile crossed Kinowin’s face. “Anything you do that crosses her will upset her. You know that, don’t you?”
“That’s why I went. I’m sure to upset her sooner or later. I’d prefer later.”
“Since you didn’t fall into bed with her, did she talk to you about her paradox? It’s not hers, really; it actually belongs to the first Black angel-Ryba. I find that rather symbolic…”
Cerryl swallowed. Was Kinowin saying that Anya was using the words of the first Black angel-the founder of Westwind and all its depredations? “About when Myral sees the future…is that…?”
Kinowin nodded, then quoted, almost in falsetto, “‘Perhaps our actions in trying to avoid his visions are what will make them happen.’”
Cerryl winced.
“It’s very effective,” Kinowin mused. “I even fell for it…for a bit.”
Cerryl couldn’t imagine Kinowin falling for anything.
“It’s very seductive. How can you know whether a vision is true? If it is not, and you oppose it, then do you bring it into being? Or…if it is true, and you oppose it, do you do the same? Because…if you can change things, how could the vision exist?”
The younger mage shivered. “Did Ryba…?”
“Oh, yes. At least, if you can believe the Book of Ayrlyn. Some call it Ryba’s curse.”