Faltar glanced at the stack of papers on the corner of the desk. “Surely you’re still not writing Patrol reports?”
“No. Part of my punishment. I have to write an argument on why transgressions on the part of the individual mage are bad for the mage and the Guild.”
Lyasa grimaced. “Jeslek’s treating you like an apprentice.”
“Probably. But I made a mistake even an apprentice shouldn’t have made. How can I complain about the punishment?”
“I hate to be so blunt,” Faltar said. “But if what you did was so bad, why are you still around?”
Cerryl swallowed more of the bread and cheese before laughing harshly. “I don’t know, but I can guess. First, I only hurt and did not injure permanently a poor boy who was already a peacebreaker. Second, the Guild can blame me and give the family of a proven peacebreaker four golds as recompense-and that’s more than they probably see in years. Third, the trading situation and the problems with Spidlar, Hydlen, and Gallos are getting worse, and Jeslek is going to need every mage he can find. If I get through this, I’ll probably be going with the lancers somewhere. That will get me out of Fairhaven for long enough for everyone to forget-if I even survive.” Cerryl shrugged, then took another sip of the warm ale. “Thank you both again. I wasn’t sure how I was going to get through tonight.” It’s hard enough to write something when you feel good; it’s near impossible when you’re tired and hungry.
“You have to finish that tonight?” asked Lyasa, pointing toward the stack of papers.
“I’ve been working on it for the last five days. I have to give it to Kinowin in the morning-or leave it for him.”
“As soon as you eat, we’re leaving, then.”
Faltar looked at Cerryl, then at the papers. “I still say it’s not fair.”
“I wasn’t really fair to the boy,” Cerryl said. “And he’ll hate the Guild forever.”
“It won’t matter on the road crew,” Faltar answered.
“You never know,” Cerryl temporized, not wanting to reveal Isork’s planned “adjustment.” He added after a moment, “Besides, I’ll know.”
After Cerryl had eaten what he needed-about half the cheese and the bread-and drunk most of the ale, Faltar and Lyasa stood and departed.
In the silence and the dim light of the lamp he barely needed, Cerryl glanced at his scrawled words on the rough paper, then at the blank parchment before him.
Finally, he began to write, sifting words from the draft and thoughts from his mind.
After a time, he looked at the parchment and read over the words:
Each mage holds some power to marshal chaos, and that chaos can change or even destroy the lives of others…For those with such power, to live and work together requires trust. Trust among those who can marshal chaos requires that the use of chaos power be restricted to what all have agreed is needful. Rules describe what is needful…
Cerryl paused. That wasn’t an argument. What he had so far just said why rules were necessary. So why was exceeding the rules dangerous? Because Jeslek and the Council will destroy you unless you’re powerful enough to destroy them.
His lips twisted crookedly. He certainly couldn’t write that out. Because if you get away with it, others will try? He picked up the quill, sharpened it with his bronze penknife, then dipped it into the inkstand.
If a mage transgresses the rules of the Guild, he must be punished, for if he be not so disciplined, others well might follow his example, each in greater measure than the previous transgressor. Thus, a transgression of the rules must subject either the transgressor to punishment or the Guild to an example leading to greater transgression. Likewise, by transgressing, a mage places himself outside the protection of the Guild and exposes himself to possible retribution for his transgression…
Cerryl replaced the quill in the holder. Was that really true? He rubbed his forehead, then looked at the parchment. The night would be long and the gate duty the next day longer.
LV
CERRYL STEPPED INTO Kinowin’s quarters, still dusty and hot from a long day on his guard duty. He was more worried about what Kinowin might decide than the three days left on his double duty assignment.
“Sit down. You look as though you could use the rest.” Kinowin poured something from the gray pitcher into a second mug. “And something to drink.”
“Thank you, ser.” Cerryl sat gingerly and looked at the mug.
A single bronze lamp in a wall sconce supplied a faint illumination to the lower Tower room, and a light breeze drifted through the open window and from the darkness beyond.
“Drink it. It’s but fresh cider. Call it a tribute to Myral.” Kinowin leaned forward and lifted his own mug. After drinking, he added, “One of the few crops not damaged or destroyed this harvest.”
Cerryl took a swallow of the cider, welcoming the cool tang on his dry and dusty throat.
“You were asked to present an argument. The argument was why exceeding the rules was dangerous to a mage and to the Guild.” Kinowin lifted the parchment. “This is better than I expected, Cerryl. It is also far better than Redark, Esaak, or Broka thought possible. They suggested to Jeslek that, with experience, some years from now, you might be considered to offer some instruction in explaining why the Guild is important to apprentices.” Kinowin’s face crinkled into a smile. “They emphasized the part about some years in the future.” The overmage set the parchment back on the table, then stood and paced toward the window, pausing and glancing at the red and gold hanging, rather than the blue and purple one Cerryl knew he usually surveyed.
“You thought about what you wrote. That was clear. It was so clear that one could almost ask why you broke the rules of peacekeeping. It was clear enough to let any know you had learned from this error. I did not have to let the three see what you wrote. Beyond showing them that you had gained from your experience, why do you think I shared your words?”
Cerryl swallowed. He had ideas, but dare he express them?
“Go on.”
“Because you wanted others to see my value and the value of your judgment about me?”
Kinowin turned back to Cerryl. “You could be the greatest mage in many years. No matter how great you might be, you are but a single person. Is Jeslek a greater mage than Isork?”
“Ah…I would judge so.”
“How could Jeslek consider the problems in Spidlar and Gallos if he could not rely on Isork to keep the peace?”
Cerryl could see where Kinowin’s words led.
“Is the High Wizard a greater mage than Esaak? Certainly, but does Jeslek have time to instruct in mathematicks?” The overmage coughed to clear his throat. “My questions are simple. So simple that even an untutored peasant boy in Fenard could answer them. Yet ruler after ruler, generation after generation, is undone because he cannot or will not find others he can trust to do all the duties that hold a land together.”
Cerryl nodded. “That is also why there must be rules. So that all can work together.”
“You have great skills, Cerryl,” Kinowin continued, looking out the window, rather than at the younger mage. “As I know too well, possession of skills others do not have usually leads to equally great mistakes. Sometimes, such mistakes are not discovered because they are so large that no one realizes matters could have been otherwise. Other times, they seem very stupid because others do not understand the thoughts behind them.”
“Mine was stupid,” Cerryl admitted.
“You were worried about being more than a Patrol mage, were you not? About people going hungry? About the unfairness of sending a boy much as you might have been to the road crew? All for trying to feed a sick sister?”
“I did think about that.”
“In being a mage, you must always balance what must be done now with where that will lead. If you do not survive what you do now, you will not reach the future. If you do not think now about where you go, you will have precious few choices when you reach next year or the years after. But…at your age, you have to survive.” Kinowin laughed gently. “Survive long enough, and few will gainsay your dreams.”