“I will.”
Once the door closed, Cerryl leaned back against the pillows. An iron arrowhead, a large one, and an attack against a mage. He nodded slowly to himself. If the attack succeeded, no one would trace the killer, because no one would be able to find the archer. If it failed, as it had, there wasn’t enough of the archer left to determine who had hired him. That meant some mage who knew Cerryl all too well, and Cerryl was fairly sure which one it was. But he still didn’t understand why.
After a deep breath, he picked up On Peacekeeping. So far, he hadn’t found even veiled references to smuggling and stolen goods. Since it was his third time through the book, he doubted he would, but learning more about peacekeeping couldn’t hurt. Besides, he felt guilty about someone else having to take his duty, but Leyladin and Kinowin had insisted that a few days’ recuperation would be better for everyone.
XLI
THE FIRST ORDER of this meeting is to affirm Jeslek as High Wizard,” announced Kinowin, standing alone on the polished gold-shot marble dais of the Council Chamber. “Is there any member of the Guild who wishes to propose another member as High Wizard?”
In the silence that followed, Kinowin studied the Council Chamber, his eyes covering the gold oak desks and red-cushioned gold oak seats at the front, then scanning the polished white granite columns at the sides for any mages who might be standing there under the swagged crimson hangings. Finally, he announced, “Seeing as no other candidate has been proposed, as overmage and representative of the Council, I declare that the new High Wizard is the honorable Jeslek.” The tall blonde mage gestured toward the front row, motioning Jeslek up to the dais.
Jeslek bowed, then straightened. “Thank you all for your support.” He paused and studied the chamber. “I have two matters to discuss. The first is a tribute. I would like to announce that my predecessor, Sterol, will be honored for his service to Fairhaven and the Guild by having his image added to those facing the Tower. We can do no less for a great mage.”
From his seat at the north end of the third row Cerryl watched, with Heralt to his right.
“Second, this is a time when the Guild faces great dangers,” Jeslek announced. “These dangers do not seem real to some. Yet even one of our own Guild members has been attacked-in Fairhaven, less than two blocks from the Halls of the Mages.”
Cerryl wondered if Jeslek would call him to the dais or give the impression that anyone could have been attacked by leaving the mage “victim” nameless.
“Some of you know who was attacked; some do not; but a name matters little when a full mage is attacked with iron-headed arrows in Fairhaven itself. It could have been any mage…”
Cerryl wanted to snort at that, but he kept his mouth shut and his face expressionless, his eyes on the center part of the second row where Anya and Fydel sat. Faltar probably would have been there, had he not been one of the very few not able to attend, because he had the evening gate duty.
Myral sat in the front row, forward and to the right of Anya. He seemed healthy, despite Leyladin’s concerns. At the other end of the front row, almost in front of Cerryl, sat Sterol, quietly watching Jeslek, a cold and ironic smile on his face.
“Why doesn’t he name you?” whispered Heralt to Cerryl.
“More effective if he doesn’t,” Cerryl answered.
“Why is this occurring?” demanded the new High Wizard. “It has happened because those in Recluce have never respected Fairhaven and because the traders of Spidlar would listen to the Black angels in hopes of filling their wallets with golds they deserve not.”
“How do we know this had anything to do with Spidlar?” asked Disarj.
Cerryl’s eyes went farther back in the chamber, settling on Isork, who nodded very slightly at the question raised by the frizzy-haired mage.
“Nothing is certain,” Anya said, rising slowly from where she had been sitting in the second row of the Council Chamber. “But a fragment of a blue cloak was found, as was a bow of the type used by Spidlarian mercenaries. One of those mercenaries entered the city not long before Cerryl was attacked.” She shrugged.
“…was Cerryl…was it?”
“…why him?”
A fleeting expression of annoyance crossed Jeslek’s face but vanished even more quickly. Cerryl wondered why Anya had named him, then nodded. By giving his name she had subtly linked him to an attack by Spidlar and strengthened the impression that Spidlar had been the absolute cause of the attack-even though Cerryl knew that was not the case, even if he had no way of proving otherwise.
“This is something that should not be countenanced,” suggested Fydel, standing up from beside where Anya had reseated herself.
“We need more proof!” came a call from the back, a voice Cerryl did not recognize.
“What kind of proof do you want?” demanded Anya, turning to face the rear of the chamber. “Every eight-day, more Black ships and more Black goods pour into Spidlar. Every eight-day, the prefect of Gallos becomes more and more reluctant to pay the road tariffs. Every eight-day, our own traders complain more about how they cannot sell their goods and pay their taxes. Do you wish to wait until the lancers of Gallos seize the Great White Highway? Or until the Guild cannot pay your stipend?” The redhead’s voice dripped scorn.
“Then how are we to deal with Spidlar?” asked Disarj.
“How are we to deal with Recluce?” came from another voice somewhere near the front of the chamber.
“Repeal the surtax,” suggested yet another anonymous voice from the midbenches of the Council Chamber.
Cerryl brushed his mouth with his hand, as if to cover a cough, rather than the smile he felt.
Jeslek swiveled toward the voice. “Who suggested that?”
There was no answer.
“If you don’t want the Spidlarians or the Blacks making golds, then you’ll be making the Hamorians and the Nordlans rich,” suggested Myral from the first row. “Or the Suthyans and the Sarronnese. Trade is like water. It has to go somewhere.”
“Why can’t it flow here?” demanded Jeslek.
“That is easier said than done.”
“Why not increase the tax on Recluce goods?” asked another White wizard.
“Think again,” said Esaak, his voice rumbling. “That surtax is a hundred percent already.”
“So? Those are spices, wines, luxury goods. Besides, who can wear their wool anyway? People will pay still more, and the Treasury will benefit, but not the Hamorians and Nordlans.”
“Couldn’t we use the tax to build a larger fleet?”
“We could build even more ships, but why do we need any more?” Cerryl found himself asking, amazed that he had spoken.
“To cut off outside trade to Recluce, of course,” snorted Jeslek, young-looking despite the white hair and golden eyes. His eyes pinned Cerryl momentarily.
Anya glanced sideways at Cerryl, as if to suggest silence might be better for the young mage.
Her look irritated him enough that Cerryl continued. “That would have worked three centuries ago, but after Creslin we had neither ships nor money. It won’t work now. All Recluce is doing now is buying our grain from the Nordlans. The Nordlans pick it up in Hydolar and ship it to Recluce. Then the Blacks sell their stuff to the Nordlans in return. It costs them more, but we lose all that trade.”
“That’s Jeslek’s point,” offered Anya in the silence that followed. “Unless we cut off trade to Recluce, we lose.”
Heralt jabbed Cerryl in the ribs as Cerryl reseated himself. “You’re probably right, but Anya looks like she’d consider hiring the next mercenary archer to shoot you.”
Cerryl refrained from answering that, just nodded at Heralt, then added, “I won’t say any more.”
“Good idea.”
“All that is fine in theory,” snorted Myral, wiping his bald pate with another of his gray cloths. “But I have yet to see something which will work. Nor did any of our predecessors. Do you honestly think, Jeslek, that previous councils have approved of the growing power of Recluce? Did they lose scores of ships and thousands of troops on purpose?”