The White Order (The Saga of Recluce #8)(107)

Cerryl smiled faintly-amazed that an orphan mill boy could generate concern simply because he wore a white tunic trimmed in scarlet. Was that power? Or did people do the same when the carriage of someone like Muneat passed?

He studied the side street as they crossed the avenue, realizing that, although it was not all that far from Tellis's shop, he had never walked down the narrow street before. How many streets and places were like that? So close and yet unvisited?

All the shops seemed to be either those of weavers or basketmakers, and cloth of all shades hung in unshuttered windows. A bolt of bright green was in the third window, and for some reason, it reminded Cerryl of Leyladin.

He tightened his lips and kept walking. The grate he wanted was off the second side street from the street of weavers, not more than fifty cubits south.

The second tunnel was like the first, nearly immaculate except for the excessive residue of white dust, and reeking of chaos. Cerryl walked along the walkway southward nearly a hundred cubits from the steps-well into the darkness, but with the leftover chaos, his senses let him see almost as well as in full light.

Scattered raindrops began to splat on the stones of the street and the white-plastered walls as he finished relocking the sewer grate. “Back to the halls. That's it.”

“Not a moment too soon...” came a mutter from the rear of the lancers.

Jyantyl stiffened but did not turn.

As they rejoined the avenue on the side street that passed just south of the grain exchange, Cerryl tried to keep his face blank.

Both tunnels reeked of chaos, so much so that he knew Kesrik could not have scoured them-not the Kesrik that Cerryl knew. While Cerryl couldn't be sure, Kesrik didn't feel the way Sterol did, and that indicated to Cerryl that Kesrik probably wasn't shielding his control of chaos.

So ... who had cleaned the tunnels-and how and why? How had Kesrik managed to avoid having the guards see whoever it had been?

Cerryl almost groaned as it hit him. Anyone strong enough to use that much chaos was probably able enough to use the same technique Anya had in visiting Faltar's cell.

That raised a few other questions, but all of the questions Cerryl had were not ones he dared surface, not while he was but a student and Kesrik was Jeslek's favorite.

Once back in the Halls of the Mages, Cerryl stopped by the washroom, where he stripped to the waist and scrubbed off the grime and odor from his hands and face and arms. A touch of chaos helped remove some of the odor from his tunic and trousers.

Cerryl was actually entering the meal hall when the last bells announcing dinner rang-off-key and jarring. Kesrik's stocky blond form was at the serving table already, but no one else had been served.

Heralt and Faltar were lined up at the serving table, and Cerryl slipped in behind them.

“You're early.” The curly-haired Heralt turned.

“Sometimes it happens.”

“Not often,” said Faltar with a grin. The grin faded as he regarded the bowls and the steaming pot presided over by a serving boy. “Soup?”

“Barley and mutton, ser. Mostly barley.” The youth offered a smile of sympathy.

“Barley? What have I done to deserve barley?”

“You're a student mage,” suggested Heralt.

“You're a glutton,” added Cerryl.

“What have I done to deserve friends like you?” Faltar filled a mug with the lighter ale. “I've been faithful and good.”

His words were so mock-plaintive that both Cerryl and Heralt laughed.

“And you laugh at me.” Faltar turned and walked to one of the circular tables.

“You laugh at us,” countered Heralt as he followed Faltar.

Cerryl took a healthy chunk of the dark bread, then filled his own mug before joining them.

“I don't like the damp.” Heralt shivered.

“None of you Kyphrans do.” Faltar took a sip of ale.

“How did you get here?” asked Cerryl. “I didn't know you were from Kyphros.”

“Kyphrien. My father was a wool merchant there. I went with him one day when he went to sell some white wool to the white wizard who was the advisor to the subprefect.” Heralt shivered again.

“And he saw you could handle chaos, and packed you off here?” asked Faltar. “What did your father say?”

“He wasn't allowed to say anything.” Heralt broke off a piece of bread. “It's better than dying.”

Cerryl nodded, then took a spoonful of the hot soup, grateful for its warmth after the damp of the rain. Spring was like that-too hot and then too damp. His eyes flicked to the table where Kesrik sat alone.

As Kesrik ate, Bealtur slipped into the hall, but instead of heading directly to the serving table, he went straight to Kesrik and whispered something. The stocky blond student nodded once as Bealtur finished, then shrugged.

Cerryl kept his head down but watched. Kesrik didn't look directly at Cerryl but glanced across the hall toward Esaak for a long moment. Bealtur walked quickly to the serving table, brushing by Faltar.

“I wonder what that was all about,” said Heralt.

“Who would care?” answered Faltar after swallowing a mouthful of the barley soup. “Kesrik acts like he's already been up before the Guild and as if Bealtur is his student.”

“That's Bealtur's problem.” Cerryl took a sip of the light ale, more than welcome after his day in the sewers.