“When do we leave, ser?”
“You and Fydel will leave in an eight-day. I need to attend to some matters in Hydolar-such as the missing road tariffs and the thousand golds for damages. Nonetheless, I intend to have everyone in Jellico before the turn of spring-except for the last group of White Lancers Eliasar is training.”
“You are going?”
“Of course. The rulers of other lands do not seem to fear a High Wizard who remains in Fairhaven. This time, it will be different. Much different. As the traders of Hydolar will discover first-to their peril.” The sun-gold eyes glittered.
“Yes, ser.”
“You may go and begin to prepare, Cerryl.”
The younger mage nodded.
“Cerryl…best you recall that all that has saved you is your devotion to Fairhaven. That devotion should remain most firm.”
“It will, High Wizard. It will.”
“I thought as much. Good day, Cerryl.”
LXXVII
CERRYL AND LEYLADIN stood in the entry foyer of her house. Outside, a cold drizzle fell through the darkness, the mist rising from the stone walks and roads thick enough to blot out the lamps from the adjoining houses.
“I enjoyed dinner, and being here…again.” Cerryl dropped his hand from the door and took her hands. Her fingers were cool in his.
“Father talked too much…” A wry smile flashed across her lips and vanished.
“It was all right. He doesn’t have too many people to talk to, I wouldn’t imagine. Not besides you.”
Leyladin frowned.
“What’s the matter?”
“Sometimes…” She offered a small sigh, taking her hands back, but not moving away. “Sometimes, I’m not good at being patient, either. I wish I were.”
“You could come. Jeslek wouldn’t mind having a healer.”
“No. If I come, then you can’t do what you must. You won’t look out for yourself, and then we’ll have no chance at all.” Her words were firm. “I don’t like it. But I know.”
Cerryl wanted to shake his head. “Know what?”
“You’re leaving tomorrow. How do you feel about that?” Leyladin asked.
“Worried. You didn’t answer my question.”
“Worried about what?” Her deep green eyes glinted.
“Leaving you, of course.”
“Ha! You said that because I expected it.”
Cerryl forced an enigmatic smile.
“Don’t do that.” She frowned. “I can’t tell if you’re teasing or if you’re still giving me that order-cursed smile because you don’t want to disagree with me.”
Cerryl grinned. “You’re beautiful when your eyes flash like that.”
“They will flash. I know Anya’s going with Jeslek, after they deal with Hydolar, but you’ll end up in Spidlar together-or close enough. She’s still pure poison, especially for you. She may smile, but she hates you, partly because you don’t manipulate easily and partly because of me. She can’t stand the thought that a White mage could love-and touch-a Black.”
“I can see that…Is that why you can’t come?”
“Partly. Kinowin also asked that I not go.”
Cerryl concealed a swallow. At times, it seemed as though he were still the mill boy or the apprentice and everyone else knew what was happening and he could only catch glimpses. Even when he asked and searched, he got no answers or answers that weren’t answers at all. “Did he say why?”
“He said it would be a war, a war that Candar had not seen the like of and would not again until Fairhaven fell, and that would be many more generations. Many more.”
From anyone but Kinowin…“He said that?”
“He told me that my going wouldn’t be good for me or for you. He was most firm.” Her eyes glinted with anger, anger Cerryl could feel before it faded. “Most firm.”
Leyladin smiled sadly and put her arms around Cerryl. “He also said you had much to do and to learn…if Myral’s visions were to come to pass.”
“What about us?”
“If they don’t…” Her eyes misted in the dim light.
Cerryl hugged her to him, even more tightly, so tightly he almost felt that black and white, or black and gray, twisted around each other in the dimness. Their lips met, and there was no hesitation, not for either.
Colors of Candar
LXXVIII
STANDING IN THE stable courtyard at the far rear of the Halls of the Mages, Cerryl looked at the mount and at the white and red livery. He’d never been that comfortable on a horse, probably because he’d never been in the saddle until he’d become a student mage. His last effort on horseback had resulted in a long, long walk.
Finally, he mounted and eased his mount over beside Fydel’s, dreading the ride ahead. At least the gelding seemed more tractable than the beast he’d stolen in Hydolar.
Although the dawn wind blew out of the northeast, damp and cold, but not strong, his jacket kept him warm. So far…He looked around. A half-score of lancers sat mounted by the gate from the courtyard.
Fydel glanced at Cerryl, then toward the small group of lancers. “Best we be going now.”
“Where are all the lancers?” Cerryl asked.
“Most of them are at the South Barracks. We’ll meet them there.”
“Fifty score?”
“Half that. The others will come with the High Wizard when he deems it necessary.” Fydel urged his mount forward.
Cerryl flicked the gelding’s reins to catch up to the older mage. He hadn’t missed the tinge of bitterness in the square-bearded mage’s voice. “After he takes them to Hydolar?”
“After he takes them to Hydolar and brings down another Tower to prove his mightiness-and takes the coins necessary to wage this war. It has been too long since the powers of chaos were unleashed.” Fydel shrugged as he turned his mount onto the Avenue. “In generations, only Gallos has felt them-when we were last there.” He snorted. “For all that, for the destruction of near on twenty-score lancers, the prefect yet ignores Fairhaven when he thinks he can do so, and less than two years have passed. The viscount bows in perfect obeisance and does as he pleases. We have twice removed the Dukes of Hydolar, and yet the merchants believe not our power.” Another snort followed.
Are all rulers moved only by considering which forces are the greatest? Cerryl felt as bleak as the gray morning.
The gelding’s hoofs clopped dully on the white stone of the Avenue, a stone that seemed lifeless in the gray before dawn.
LXXIX
BEYOND THE WIDE stone bridge that spanned the River Jellicor, trails of white and gray smoke rose over the walls of Jellico, walls set less than half a kay north of the bridge. The gray sky, the walls that seemed like smeared charcoal in the fading light, and the smoke all imparted an air of gloom to the walled city. The smooth stone ramparts rose more than forty cubits above the causeway that ran to the gates.
Cerryl glanced down at the river from the big gelding as the column crossed the bridge. Even the water was gray. On the far shore, the western shore, they turned almost northeast for a few hundred cubits before the road turned again and ran straight west toward the granite walls. The gates-red oak and ironbound-were open, but the well-oiled iron grooves testified to their ability to be closed quickly. A half-score of armsmen clad in gray and brown leathers and with armless green overtunics waited by the gates. One of them was a woman, looking as hardened as the men.
Cerryl’s eyes widened as a White Guard appeared behind the squad, surveying the arrivals, then bowing slightly to Fydel as the senior mage reined up. Fydel inclined his head, and Cerryl followed his example, wondering why he’d not seen White Guards on his earlier trip. Or had he just not noticed?