LXVI
CERRYL GLANCED THROUGH the gloom of the secondary sewer tunnel at the line on the bricks where the slime began, then concentrated on raising his order shield and then channeling chaos. His nose twitched at the noisome odors rising from the scum on the section of drainage way to his right.
As in his dream, a globule of chaos-fire barely arced out before him, burning clear a patch of bricks no more than two cubits across, leaving the slightest of white residues. If you can’t do better than that, it will be a long day, and seasons in the sewers.
He straightened his shoulders and took a deep breath. The second time, he forced his shields down at an angle.
Whhssstt! The chaos-fire sprayed across the bricks, almost like liquid, scouring a patch nearly twice the size of the first.
Behind him, Ullan nervously clunked his spear butt on the bricks of the walkway, and the muted thunks echoed around Cerryl. The student mage paused, not wanting to say anything. . but the sound was distracting.
“Stop it,” whispered Dientyr to Ullan.
Cerryl waited until the echoes died away, and then turned the chaos-fire on the tunnel wall across the drainage way.
Whhhssttt! This time the fire arced too low, barely scouring the bricks a cubit above the water level.
Cerryl frowned. He’d done so much better before he’d started thinking about how to handle and direct the chaos-fire. Why was that? He knew he didn’t want to spew fire wildly-or even half-wildly. He’d seen how little good that had done for the fugitive back at Dylert’s mill.
“Less order. . more chaos. .” he murmured, and tried a third time. The results were better but not much-a patch on the walkway perhaps three cubits long and one wide.
Doggedly, he kept at it, slowly scouring the bricks on the walkway and the wall. When he had a section nearly ten cubits long cleaned, he turned the fire on the scum in the drainage way. A quick-running fire burned across the surface, leaving the turbid and slow-flowing water free of the scum and an odor that mixed ashes, dung, and worse.
Slowly, he cleared the bricks, noting almost absently that he had to take longer and longer breaks between each effort. . and that Ullan had started tapping the lance on the bricks again. He glanced back at Ullan for a moment.
“Sorry, ser.” Ullan bobbed his head, and the thin mustache twitched.
Without speaking, Cerryl turned back to the work at hand.
Once, as a firebolt seared a chunk of branch, Dientyr whispered to Ullan again. “Stop banging that lance. He’s no Jeslek, but he’s got enough flame to fry us.”
No Jeslek? Not yet. Cerryl tightened his lips for a moment, then just let the fire fly.
WHHHSSSTTTT! The fire cascaded into the tunnel wall across the drainage way and splattered in all directions, scouring clear an irregular patch nearly ten cubits long and half again as high.
“Ulppp!” The gulp from Ullan was followed by stillness.
Cerryl smiled to himself, but the expression faded quickly. Somehow. . somehow, he had to manage to combine control with the relaxed flow of chaos. . somehow. And that was hard when he still didn’t really understand what he was doing.
Recalling what Myral had said, Cerryl tried to concentrate on separating chaos into a stream of red light and one of green. . but that wasn’t what he got. Instead, three separate beams flared-yellow, blue, and red-flashing across the slime on the walkway, leaving a hint of steam but not scouring the glazed bricks clean.
“. . was that?” murmured Ullan.
“Shut up. . don’t know, and don’t want to find out,” muttered Dientyr. “Get us both turned into ash.”
“Ooooffff.”
Even without turning, Cerryl had the feeling that Ullan had gotten an elbow, or something, in the gut. He glanced at the faint miasma of steam that dissipated as he watched. Three colors?
He took another deep breath and faced the wall across the drainage way.
LXVII
ESAAK’S FAT HAND flew across the slate, leaving behind a line of numbers. “You see? If you take the area of the cross-section. . Bah!” Esaak stared at Cerryl. “Do you not see?”
Cerryl was having great trouble, not with understanding why it was necessary, but with Esaak’s explanations.
“You do not see why the study of mathematicks is necessary. . despite all I have said. . despite the evidence of Fairhaven.” The heavyset mage gave a deep sigh, and his wattled jowls wobbled.
“Ser. .”
“You are cleaning the sewers, are you not?”
“Yes, ser.”
“Does the water, when the sewer is clean, not flow below the drainage way?”
“Yes, ser.”
“How did the engineer who built that secondary tunnel know how big to build it? Did he just guess?”
Cerryl felt blank. He knew that the engineer couldn’t have guessed. Esaak wouldn’t have asked the question, but why was the older mage asking such an obvious question? “He used mathematicks.”
“Brilliant. Now. . how and why?”
How? That Cerryl didn’t know. “He used mathematicks to make sure it didn’t fall apart or wasn’t too small. I understand that, ser. It’s the formulas and the way to manipulate numbers I have trouble with.”
“Cerryl. . you are so bright, and so stupid.” Esaak wiped his sweating forehead. “No. . no one ever taught you anything, did they?”
“No, ser.”
“How did you learn to read? Jeslek and Sterol say you read well-at least history and maps.”
“I persuaded a tutor of my master’s daughter to teach me the letters, and I worked at her books-those she would lend me. Tellis the scrivener helped me some later.”
“It is too bad they taught you nothing of numbers. What a waste. We will do our best, though it is late in your life for such.” Esaak paused. “This formula-it shows. .” Esaak paused. “You know a watering trough? Well, the bottom of the sewer tunnel is like a trough. .”
Cerryl forced himself to concentrate, hoping that he would still understand after he left Esaak’s chambers and headed out to the sewer again.
LXVIII
CERRYL RAPPED ON the brass-bound white oak door.
“You may come in, Cerryl,” called Myral.
As normal for cold mornings, the older mage was sipping hot spiced cider from an earthenware mug. The shutters were closed, but wispy glimmers of bright sunlight flickered through hairline openings in the frame, glimmers that seemed to move with the breeze that brushed the tower. Myral had a white woolen lap robe across his knees, although Cerryl felt the days were getting warmer.
Myral followed Cerryl’s eyes to the lap robe. “The days might seem warmer, but I’m colder. I’m tempted to ask Sterol to send me to Ruzor, except. .” He shook his head and forced a smile. “It’s warm there all year.”
“Some would say it is hot there.” What had Myral almost said?
“These bones could use some heat. At times I would not mind the heat of the Stone Hills.” Myral took another sip of cider.
Cerryl glanced at the small hearth, where a handful of coals still glowed.
“The coals provide more lasting heat than a fire.” Myral cleared his throat. “Your progress?”
“Another thirty cubits yesterday, ser, more or less.” Cerryl stopped, then added, “I had a problem the other day.”
“With the lancers or you? Be precise, Cerryl.” Myral frowned. “What kind of problem?”
“With me. I was trying to be more exact. I was trying to direct the chaos-fire, and the harder I tried, the less force I had.” Cerryl swallowed. “Ah. . then I tried to think more about light. . the way you said, and I got three flashes of light at the same time-red and yellow and blue. They barely scorched the slime. But whatever it was I did, I couldn’t do it again.”
“Mmmm.” Myral sipped his cider, glanced at the door behind Cerryl, then coughed. “What happened to your chaos-fire?”