Gostar, the guard outside Jeslek’s quarters, nodded as Cerryl approached. Cerryl stepped past the armed guard and rapped on the door. “Cerryl, ser, as you requested.”
“Come in.” Jeslek’s voice resonated through the closed white oak door.
After opening the door and closing it behind him, Cerryl bowed. “I have the map you requested, ser.”
“About time.”
“Yes, ser.” Cerryl bowed again.
“Kesrik, move the glass to the side table.” Jeslek nodded to the older student mage, then to Cerryl. “Spread it on the table.”
Once Kesrik had removed the glass, Cerryl eased the vellum onto the table, then stepped back as Jeslek studied the map, squinting and shifting his eyes from point to point.
“Tellura. . Hierna. . Quessa. . Kyphrien. . hmmm.”
At the “hmmmm,” Cerryl took a slow and deliberate breath. He’s just trying to upset you. Calm, you have to be calm.
Kesrik continued to display a broad smile as Jeslek pored over the vellum.
After what seemed like eight-days, the white mage straightened and looked at Cerryl. “It’s basically accurate. At least it’s the best one could expect from a new student, and one who was a scrivener’s apprentice.” Jeslek nodded. “You may have it put with the others in the racks in the library.”
Kesrik did not manage to conceal a smirk from where he stood by the wall.
“Yes, ser.”
“You are disturbed? You find my judgment harsh?” Jeslek’s tone was light, amused, even as Cerryl could sense the white forces building.
“You are my master, ser, and you know what is best.” Cerryl was surprised to find his words level and even, with an unseen barrier between his rage and his words and surface feelings.
“You actually believe that. My. . my. . how refreshing.” The mage paused. “And very good for you.” The sense of power dwindled. “You may go and rack your map. I will see you again tomorrow morning. Immediately after breakfast. Immediately.”
“Yes, ser.”
“Go.”
Cerryl reached forward and gently lifted the map.
Jeslek nodded to Kesrik, who turned toward the small table and the screeing glass.
Cerryl bowed and turned, glad that Jeslek had not found any overt faults in the map. He rolled up the vellum, forcing himself to remain detached and deliberate as he departed, carrying the map.
There was no sign of the blond girl-woman-or Lyasa-as he walked toward the library.
LVIII
CERRYL WALKED UP to Jeslek’s door with a stride more confident than he felt within himself.
“He be expecting you,” said Gostar from beside the door, one hand casually on the hilt of the white-bronze shortsword used by the inside guards.
“Thank you.” Cerryl knocked cautiously.
“Enter.”
The student mage stepped inside and closed the heavy white oak door behind him. The mage stood by the screeing table-alone. With the considerable residue of unseen white around the table, Cerryl could sense that Jeslek had been using the glass recently. “I am here as you requested, ser.”
“Your map was good.” Jeslek watched Cerryl.
“Ser. . you did not seem pleased. I will try to do better in the future.”
“It was good,” Jeslek repeated. “Yet I did not say so. Why might that be?”
“Kesrik was here.”
Jeslek nodded. “Have I permitted you to work with chaos-fire?”
“No, ser.”
“Kesrik has been a student for nearly four years. He has been working with chaos-fire for over two years. My reasons should be clear to you, if you consider them.” Jeslek offered a perfunctory smile. “You are very bright, Cerryl. Perhaps too bright. You also do not understand in your heart what the Guild is, and why it is good for Fairhaven and Candar. With your talent, that presents a problem.”
Since Cerryl couldn’t say much to that, although he questioned whether he had that much talent, he nodded and waited.
“Sterol and I have agreed on this.”
Jeslek’s overly polite tone confirmed to Cerryl that whatever they had agreed upon was one of the few areas where the two mages had reached agreement.
“You will see Myral after you leave here. You will work with him to service the sewers until spring. . or longer, as he sees fit. I have told him to expect you,” Jeslek said mildly. “You will not have any more instruction from me until then. Nor from any other mage except Myral. . oh, and Esaak. He has told me you are terribly deficient in your calculations. Do not bother to try to see the High Wizard. . about this or anything else. He and I have already discussed this.”
“Yes, ser.” Cerryl bowed.
“You have my leave to use your abilities to handle chaos as you can, but only as directed by Myral-only Myral.”
Cerryl waited to see if any other directions were forthcoming.
“And, young Cerryl?”
“Yes, ser?”
“I know you can block your innermost feelings from any mage. So can I. It is a useful talent, but one best used sparingly. One should not have too much to hide, especially not a student.”
“Yes, ser.” What else could he say?
“Think about light while you work in the darkness of the sewers. I would suggest you think a great deal about it, and do not hesitate to ask Myral. In such matters, he is a good instructor.” Jeslek smiled another of his perfunctory smiles. “You may go. I told Myral to expect you.”
“Thank you, ser.”
“You are welcome, and some day you may understand exactly how much. Good day, Cerryl.”
Cerryl bowed again before he left.
Almost every time he had met with Jeslek for nearly two seasons, the mage had unsettled him, and his words this time were no less unsettling. Cerryl walked down the steps and then out of the rear hall into the courtyard and past the fountain. The wind whipped spray across him, and it felt like ice on his face.
First, Jeslek had suggested that Kesrik would have used chaos-fire on Cerryl. Why? Because Cerryl wasn’t magebom? Or from wealthy parentage? Or for some other reason? Then, Jeslek had implied that Myral was a good instructor, but not terribly good at other things. But at what was the balding mage lacking? And finally, Jeslek had flatly stated that Cerryl owed Jeslek great thanks. For letting Cerryl survive?
The thin-faced young man took a deep breath as he entered the rear of the front foyer, and several more before he reached the second level of the white tower.
“Jeslek said to expect you.” The older and rotund mage with the thinning and wispy black hair opened the door before Cerryl could knock, and gestured for the young man to enter the room.
Myral’s quarters were smaller than either Jeslek’s or Sterol’s, and one entire wall of the single squarish room was filled with books-perhaps as many as a third of what was contained in the entire library. Practically underneath the shuttered windows was a narrow bed, wide enough for one person, unlike the spacious beds favored by both Sterol and Jeslek. Through the window, Cerryl could see the avenue angling toward the artisans’ square.
The wall opposite the bookshelves held two desks and a round table with a screeing glass and four chairs. One of the chairs was occupied-the one on the far side of the screeing glass-by a woman in pale green with red-blond hair. A large tome lay open before her. Cerryl froze for a moment.
“Ah, you must have seen Leyladin around the halls.” Myral made a sweeping gesture from Cerryl to Leyladin as he turned to the young woman. “This is Cerryl. Like you, he does not come from the creche or a magely parent. He was a scrivener’s apprentice.” The mage smiled, a smile that took in both mouth and eyes. “Now I have to teach him about sewers and wastes.”
“It’s good to see you here.” Leyladin stood, her gaze meeting Cerryl’s, a faint and amused smile upon her lips, the hint of a glimmer in her dark green eyes.
“I’m glad to meet you.” As he bowed, Cerryl felt she saw right through him, that she knew he’d once screed her through his glass, the glass probably still hidden in the wall at Tellis’s place.