“Maybe there’s something there…but I don’t think young travelers are the problem.”
“Perhaps they’re having troubles and throwing out more people. Did you think of that?”
“Then why would they be a problem for us?”
“I don’t know. But there’s something. There are shipwrights headed for Sligo…”
Cerryl looked hard at Faltar.
“Everyone in Fairhaven knows that,” protested Faltar. “I heard it in the square.”
“That may be…but if Kinowin-and he’s still in the corner there-heard you…”
“You’re probably right.” Faltar sighed and took another swallow. “Still doesn’t make much sense.”
Many things didn’t make sense to Cerryl. Fairhaven didn’t have a port that was really its own but maintained warships and relied on trade, but Hydolar had three ports and didn’t trade as much as the White City…and so it went.
He yawned. He felt like he happened to be yawning all the time. Was it just that the days were so long? Or was his practice with light daggers that tiring? “I suppose I’d better get back and get to bed.”
“Summer will be easier. They split the day into two duties…but if you get first duty you have to be there before dawn, and if you get the afternoon one you guard well into evening. I’m going to stay here a bit.”
“That’s fine.” Cerryl stood. “I’ll talk to you later.”
He walked slowly out, noting that Eliasar and Kinowin had been joined by another mage, one Cerryl didn’t know, but that the three were eating and apparently joking.
Although it was full dark outside on the Avenue, the evening was warmer than it had been earlier in the day. Maybe Faltar was right, that spring had come to stay.
Back in the rear hall, as he reached for the latch to his door, his eyes went to the white-bronze plate mounted on the wall, where the Old Tongue script spelled out: “Cerryl.”
Inside, he looked around-so much larger than any quarters he had ever had…and so bare compared to Leyladin’s house. Two real shuttered windows, a wide desk, a wooden armchair with cushions, a full-size bed with cotton sheets and a red woolen blanket-even a rug by the bed, a washstand, a white oak wardrobe for his garments, and a bookcase against the wall beside the desk.
He closed the door, but Kinowin’s advice continued to rattle around in his head-more skills. But what skills? He walked over to the bookcase and picked up his well-thumbed Colors of White, turning to the second half. He read slowly, skipping over the passages he’d read so well he knew them by heart, trying to find those he’d really not studied and those that had bored him. Finally, he settled into the chair, his jacket still on.
…in all of the substance of the world are chaos and order found, and oft are they twisted together, so tightly that none, not even the greatest of mages, can separate them. Yet were they separated, such chaos would be without end. For the world is of chaos, and all the substance of this world is nothing more and nothing less than chaos bound into fixed form by order…
Cerryl frowned. If he understood what the words said, the writer meant that anything, even the book itself in which the words were scrived, was nothing more than chaos bound into its form by order.
He scratched his head. Yet light was nearly pure chaos-or as pure as could be stood by living things. An involuntary yawn broke his concentration. Tomorrow would come early, far too early. He set aside the book and disrobed, carefully hanging out his clothes.
For a time, he lay there in the luxury of the wide bed, the words of Colors of White twisting in his thoughts…“were they separated, such chaos would be without end…were they separated…”
While tomorrow would come early, he could look forward to the day after. That was his, as was every fourth day, and then he wouldn’t have to struggle to rise before the sun with the predawn bells.
VII
CERRYL STOOD AT the edge of the Meal Hall, almost empty and nearly too late to get anything to eat. Finally, he went to the serving table and took a large chunk of bread, some cherry conserve so thick it was like molasses, and a pearapple, slightly soft.
As he turned, Esaak beckoned from a side table. Cerryl’s heart fell. Was the older mage about to reproach him again for his mathematical deficiencies? He carried his platter and a mug of water toward the heavy and mostly bald mage.
“Young Cerryl…” Esaak shook his head. “You may be the worst mage in mathematicks in the history of the Guild.”
“I’m still reading the book, ser.”
“And doing the problems?”
“Only a few,” Cerryl confessed.
Esaak laughed. “Not all mages can be engineers or mathematicians. Just so long as you design no aqueducts or sewer tunnels.” The deep-set eyes peered at the younger man. “Have you thought about what you would pursue? You do not strike me as the type to be a gate guard or an arms mage. Especially not for years on end.”
The study of light…“I don’t know. I really don’t know what choices there might be. I know that Myral does much with water and sewers, and I think Kinowin follows trade, and you teach mathematicks…”
“Who taught Kinowin about trade, young Cerryl? I was watching ships unload in Lydiar and Renklaar before Kinowin was born.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No need to apologize. If you do not wish to spend your life supporting armsmen and lancers, you need to find a skill valuable to the Guild. Jeslek…he has studied the depths of the earth. How do you think he knows how to raise mountains?”
“I have seen him, but I don’t possess that kind of power…”
“Remember”-Esaak raised his hand-“it must be practical as well as interesting. Best you think about it. You have time, but do not waste it.” Esaak lumbered to his feet. “And I must instruct yet another untutored apprentice who thinks that numbers are but for counting coins. Good day, young Cerryl.”
“Good day, ser.” Cerryl waited until the older mage was on his way out of the hall before he sat down at the round table in the center, aware that Esaak had left and that, outside of the serving boys in red, he was alone.
He ate quickly, his thoughts flitting. Light…how can that be practical, except for killing? No, letting the Guild know about his skill with the light lances and daggers wasn’t terribly appealing…or safe. His past experiences with Anya and Jeslek had taught him all too well that, according to the written and unspoken rules for jockeying for power-or survival-what had saved Cerryl was his mastery of skills the others had not known about and still did not know that he possessed.
The problem with hidden skills, though, was that he could end up being a gate guard forever, which was what Esaak had suggested would happen if he didn’t show another useful talent. So how much talent and skill should he reveal, and how? What would be a safe yet useful skill?
After he swallowed the last of the bread and conserves, he left the Meal Hall and wandered along the corridor, glancing into the student common, where he used to study-empty except for the goateed Bealtur, who glanced up at Cerryl, offered a polite smile, and returned to the tome before him.
Bealtur had been so certain he would be made a full mage before Cerryl, and he hadn’t been. So had Kesrik, before Kesrik had been maneuvered into trying to trap Cerryl in a terrible mistake. Instead, Kesrik had been found out and destroyed in a blaze of fire by the High Wizard. Except…Cerryl knew full well that while Kesrik had probably tried to poison Cerryl, the brigands that had attacked Cerryl when he was on sewer duty had been sent by Anya, disguised as Kesrik. Cerryl still had no idea why the redheaded mage had tried that, but he watched her as closely as he could and avoided her as circumspectly as possible.
What else could he do? Most mages were restrained by the fact that the High Wizard, the two overmages, and a few others had the power to “truth-read” and discover plots. But Anya was under Jeslek’s protection, and he was not only overmage but also possibly the most powerful chaos wielder in centuries. Cerryl’s most reliable protection, until he mastered more chaos skills, was concealment, but developing skills and keeping them hidden could only get harder.