“Ser. . everyone talks around Recluce. Why? I mean, Eliasar laughs about Recluce. He says they have no warships, and they haven’t ever-I mean, according to the histories-they haven’t tried to send armsmen to take things here, not since Creslin the Black raided Lydiar, and that was a long time ago. .”
“Two hundred eighty-seven years ago at the first turn of summer, according to the records.”
“Oh.”
“It’s in the Guild records, the sealed ones, but you can figure it out from the histories.” Myral’s eyes hardened and focused on the younger mage. “Cerryl. . power is measured not solely by warships and armsmen.” Myral coughed again, almost rackingly, cleared his throat, and sipped more of the hot cider. “Fairhaven maintains armsmen and lancers, and they are paid in part by the trade duties on all the roads Fairhaven has built, but especially on the Great White Highways, and in part from the levies on the trades here in Fairhaven itself. Have you asked what happens if Recluce sends cheaper wool-or better wool for the same coinage for a stone’s bundle of wool-to Tyrhavven or Spidlaria? What if the traders of Gallos or Spidlar buy their wool from Recluce instead of Montgren? Or pearapples or oilseeds from Recluce instead of from Certis or Hydlen?”
“Not so many traders use the roads?”
“Exactly.” Myral set the mug on the table with a thump. “Less traders on the Great White Roads means fewer road tariffs and fewer coins to pay our lancers.”
“Could we not tariff the cargoes from Recluce?”
“Ah. .” Myral smiled. “Someone could. . but the port of Spidlaria does not owe allegiance to Fairhaven. Lydiar and Renklaar do, and we could insist on tariffs there. But. . say you are a trading captain, and the taxes raise the price of your cargo in Lydiar but not in Spidlaria, would you not increase your price less than the tariff and-”
“Port it in Spidlaria?” asked Cerryl.
The older mage nodded. “It is more complex than that, young Cerryl, and something you need not worry about yet, but that was exactly why Creslin the Black raided Lydiar those long years ago. He needed ships and freedom to trade. Now. . Recluce has both.” Myral smiled sadly. “Sterol is talking about how we may need to place mages aboard our ships-and those of our friends and allies-to protect them. I hope it does not come to that, but it may.”
“Eliasar said we were building warships,” Cerryl prompted.
“We have always had warships. A land that cannot protect its traders upon the seas soon has no traders. Now. . enough of that. You need to get to work if you are to complete your duties as you plan.”
“Which sewer tunnels did Kesrik clean?” Cerryl asked after a moment of silence.
“Does it matter?” A soft smile crossed Myral’s lips, one that bothered Cerryl. “You all clean secondaries.”
“I was curious.” Cerryl forced a shrug. “Did he-I guess it doesn’t matter.”
“It matters to you, or you wouldn’t have asked.” Myral’s tone was dry.
“Yes, ser.”
“You know, Cerryl. . you blaze too much.”
Cerryl’s mouth started to open, and he swallowed, almost choking on the bit of cider he hadn’t swallowed.
“This should come later, but, if I don’t tell you now, you may not be around later.” Myral took a deep breath and glanced toward the tower door. “Jeslek has gone to Gallos, and Sterol and Anya are otherwise occupied-for the moment.
“When a mage feels strongly or is about to gather chaos and does not shield himself, the chaos around him flares-or blazes. That’s one reason why Jeslek always seems so powerful. Chaos almost radiates from him. Sterol is almost as powerful, yet he seems mild, withdrawn. He shields his power, much as you shield yourself from chaos in the sewer-or maybe it’s better described as ordering chaos so that it is held rather than dispersed.” Myral shrugged. “Right now, you’re like a young Jeslek, spraying power everywhere. If you hadn’t been an orphan or a scrivener’s apprentice, where no one thought to look, Sterol would have slapped you into the creche years ago-or had you suffocated.”
Cerryl waited.
“Sterol’s worried about Recluce-again, and for the reasons I just told you. You can thank the blacks and the new prefect of Gallos for your survival, I suspect. But. . you’re a possible rival to Jeslek. Once Sterol goes, Jeslek won’t want you around.”
“Me, ser?”
“I said possible. Right now, Jeslek would snuff you out like a candle. You have no shields to speak of, and you still haven’t figured out how to use your power. It’s not easy, as you’re finding out. Some mages finish sewer duty almost burned out; they exhaust themselves rather than learn. In any case, why do you think Sterol wanted you in the sewers? It was Sterol’s idea, not Jeslek’s, no matter what the great Jeslek said.” Myral wiped his suddenly damp forehead.
“So I could learn?”
“So you would have to learn.” Myral’s tone turned dry again. “Let us hope you have. And, by the way.” Myral stood and walked to the bookshelves, where he extracted a rolled scroll. He carried the scroll back to the table where he unrolled the sewer map. “Here are the two collectors that Kesrik was told to scour the last time.” The rotund mage leaned over the unrolled map and pointed.
Cerryl fixed the locations in his mind.
“I didn’t tell you. And I can lie convincingly, even to Jeslek. It’s one of my few strong abilities.” Myral smiled bitterly. “Now. . on your way. And work upon shielding just how much power you have-if you want to keep it.”
“Yes, ser.” Cerryl stood, almost in a daze.
The entire walk to the secondary collector was like another dream, though he remembered talking to Jyantyl and feeling the cool wind that blew down the avenue out of the north.
He barely recalled unlocking the bronze grate and descending into the all-too-familiar odors of the tunnel.
Cerryl looked into the darkness of the collector tunnel. In a way, it seemed like no matter what he discovered, he was still always looking into the darkness. Was life looking into the darkness?
He blazed too much. . and it was important enough that Myral had told him-told him while being most nervous. He blazed too much, and Jeslek would snuff him out like a candle. He blazed too much.
If he blazed, as Myral put it, was that because he was still holding too much chaos within and around himself? Could he do otherwise? Could he not do otherwise. . if he wished to survive?
Cerryl took a deep breath and looked once more into the darkness of the tunnel. . a darkness that stretched well beyond where the secondary tunnel met the main tunnel.
LXXIV
EMERGING FROM THE secondary tunnel slightly earlier than usual-he hoped-Cerryl turned to Jyantyl. “You and the guards go on back from here. I have to check something for Myral.” He brushed his fine hair off his forehead, vainly, because the light gusting wind immediately blew it back across his eyes.
“Ser?”
Cerryl offered a smile. “I still have to be back in the halls.” His eyes went to the east, where the hazy clouds were thickening into a deeper gray.
“We could accompany you.”
Cerryl shrugged, deciding that it wasn’t a battle that needed to be fought. “If you think it better. I just have to check the level of sewage in two secondaries. It shouldn’t take long, but I didn’t want to keep you. .”
Jyantyl smiled, clearly an expression of relief. “Not so late as usual, ser. Where to?”
“We can take the warehouse road south from here, and then, after one check, go east toward the avenue. We’ll have to cross the avenue to get to the second, but it’s not too far.”
“As you say, ser.” Jyantyl nodded, and Ullan and Dientyr fell in behind the other lancers, another pair Cerryl didn’t know, since those who remained on the street with Jyantyl changed almost daily, while Ullan and Dientyr always accompanied Cerryl. He wondered for what they were being punished, but didn’t think it was his place to ask the head lancer.