Just as quickly, the redhead halted the wagon, and two men with bows stood in the wagon bed, throwing off brown cloths and aiming their arrows at the charging raiders. A pair of swords appeared in the hands of the redhead, and from behind the raiders Spidlarian guards appeared, led by a blonde giant who strewed bodies before him.
Not a single Certan raider survived. As the shovels appeared for grave digging, Jeslek waved his hand, and the image vanished from the mirror. “Bah…no magic at all. Just good tactics and cleverness. No one survives; no bodies are found, and the rumor spreads that the Spidlarians are using magic.”
“It doesn’t exactly help to tell that to either the viscount or the prefect,” observed Anya from the chair closest to the window.
“Or to admit it took more than a season and magic to figure it out,” added Fydel. “That’s hard when they claim to have lost nearly a hundred men over the last two seasons.”
“Do we know who is responsible?” asked Cerryl deferentially, with a nod toward the High Wizard. “Beyond the obvious?” He gestured toward the blank mirror.
“Our…sources…in Spidlar would indicate that most of the damage has been caused by one squad formed for this purpose last spring. Supposedly, the squad leader and assistant are outcasts from Recluce. Those are the big blonde warrior and the redhead who drove the wagon.”
“Supposedly? That’s rich! They exile two people, and those two people just happen to be in the right spot to block everything. Do you really believe that, honored Jeslek?” asked Fydel.
Jeslek did not correct Fydel’s mathematicks. “I said supposedly. There is also the Black mage who is a smith in Spidlar. You may recall his name, Fydel. Dorrin, is it not?”
“I believe so,” Fydel replied blandly.
Cerryl refrained from wincing.
“What do you plan to do?” asked Redark.
“Now…nothing.” The High Wizard held up a hand, as if to forestall objections. “I’m not playing Jenred’s waiting game. But do any of you really want a winter war? It nears the end of fall already.”
Headshakes crossed the Tower room. A frown accompanied Kinowin’s headshake.
“Once the roads clear in spring, I will personally direct our forces in the invasion of Spidlar. Over the winter, we should step up efforts to close off as much trade as we can-and, as possible, minimize the impact of Reduce’s meddling. The newest ships should help in this matter.” Jeslek smiled at Fydel, then at Redark. “We need to make it a hard winter indeed in Spidlar. We also need to use the winter to ensure that the other lands of eastern Candar will provide the golds that they should.”
“Spidlar isn’t the real enemy; Recluce is,” reminded Fydel.
“You and I know who the real enemies are.” Jeslek smiled with his mouth. “And their time will come.”
“So clever, and so cryptic,” murmured Anya under her breath.
Jeslek’s eyes fell on her, and her lips closed. His eyes glittered, and she shivered. Fydel swallowed, and Cerryl looked out the Tower window, wishing that he had not spoken at all, though he did have leave to ask a question and that had been his first in more than three eight-days.
“Are there others from Recluce in Spidlar?” asked Kinowin.
“We do not know of others, but the number of Austran traders carrying goods from Recluce has increased. We need to close off the ports until the winter ice appears. Then we need to make sure that those traders do not begin to use Ruzor.”
“You do not trust the prefect?” asked Redark.
“Would you?” Jeslek smiled broadly.
From the one time Cerryl had observed Prefect Syrma, he had to agree with the High Wizard.
“I would not impose further upon you.” Jeslek gestured toward the overmage Redark. “You have seen what there was to see.”
Redark lifted himself from the chair. “Would that the prefect had seen that. It would help more than us seeing it.”
“The prefect will see what he needs to see, I am certain.” Jeslek turned to Fydel. “You may go, Fydel, Anya.”
“Yes, ser.”
“And you also, Cerryl. A word with you, Kinowin.”
Cerryl nodded and followed Redark, Fydel, and Anya out of the Tower chambers.
Redark clumped down the steps alone.
Fydel glanced at Anya. “That Black blade was good.”
The chamber guard remained impassive, but the blonde messenger on the bench listened, wide-eyed.
“I worry more about his ideas than his blade,” Anya said. “Too many Certans are dead for it to be luck.”
Cerryl agreed with that as well. With a nod to the pair, he started down the stone steps. His feet hurt from an already-long day, and his stomach was growling.
Even though his feet hurt, he had to frown. Once again, the smith who was a Black had come up-and had been dismissed. But why was Jeslek not worried about the smith? Or did the High Wizard have something else in mind?
Cerryl shook his head.
LIX
GRATEFUL FOR THE cool breeze that had finally brought more comfort to Fairhaven and the Halls of the Mages, after the unseasonably hot days following harvest, Cerryl walked slowly up the steps toward Jeslek’s chambers.
For once, Cerryl was allowed inside immediately, and Jeslek sat at the table alone, sipping wine from a goblet, rather than a mug. A scroll lay on the table, one with ribbons, and fragments from a broken wax seal lay on the wood beside the scroll.
“Good day, Cerryl.”
“Good day, High Wizard.” Cerryl stationed himself in his normal position by the wall.
“You have been in Fairhaven now without traveling for well over a year now, well over a year. Is that not so?”
“Yes, ser.”
“Yes…I think some travel would be good for you.”
The younger mage waited.
“Cerryl. You removed Lyam rather effectively, as I recall.” Jeslek’s sun-gold orbs met Cerryl’s pale gray eyes.
“Yes, ser. At your command, ser.”
“Ah, yes…I recall something about that.” Jeslek straightened, then sat back in the chair. “No matter.” He lifted the scroll that lay before him. A fragment of green wax skittered off the table. “I have just received word that young Uulrac suffered a seizure and died in his bath-rather suddenly and tragically.”
Cerryl swallowed.
“You foresaw that, did you not? I saw your face when we discussed the impudent scroll from Syrma.”
“I had feared such would occur, ser. But I did not know, and I was cautioned only to observe.”
“Wise of you, very wise. I like the fact that you do listen, Cerryl. There still may be a future in the Guild for you. Now…one Ferobar, a cousin of Uulrac’s, has proclaimed himself Duke of Hydlen. Do you know of him?”
“No, ser.”
“His origins lie in Renklaar, and his allegiances appear to lie with the traders of that port. In fact, those allegiances may well be the reason for poor Uulrac’s untimely death.” Jeslek raised his eyebrows. “I see you understand.”
“I have listened.”
“You are known to be fond of the Lady Leyladin, are you not? Well…she remains in Hydolar. Duke Ferobar has declared her under protective guard. I doubt he values her that highly, but to anger one of the leading factors of Candar would not be wise. Nor would killing a healer set well even with his own folk.” Jeslek took a sip of the wine he had not offered to Cerryl, his lips curling ever so slightly, as if the wine were sour. “Gorsuch barely escaped with his life and has returned to Fairhaven, for the time. I will be sending Fydel and Anya-and you-to Hydolar to escort the valued healer Lady Leyladin back to Fairhaven.” Jeslek smiled. “I will also be sending tenscore White Lancers.”
Cerryl had the sinking feeling he knew what was coming next.
“You will be going as Fydel’s assistant, as will Anya, and that should leave you somewhat free…to be creative.” Another smile followed. “The Guild would certainly benefit by the disappearance of Duke Ferobar.”