The White Order (The Saga of Recluce #8)(117)

“More quickly than when you first began to work the sewers?”

He nodded.

“That has been less than three seasons.” She frowned, then smiled gently. “He is older than he looks, and I fear for him. I suppose all healers worry about those they tend.”

Cerryl repressed the exuberant smile he felt. “He has said that you help him, but he has never said what it was that you did.”

The young healer glanced around the foyer and lowered her voice. “All mages who handle chaos ... the chaos ages them faster, even those like Myral who are careful. I can help restore a little of the order-only a little, because too much order is worse than too little. It helps-or it did. Now I worry.”

Cerryl could sense no one was near or watching them in a glass. “Thank you.”

Her brows knit in puzzlement. “For what?”

“For not mentioning that I once saw you in the glass.”

Leyladin laughed, a warm laugh, a soft sound, and her eyes sparkled enough that Cerryl could see the amusement. “Oh ... Cerryl... I never knew you were the one. I thought... after I first saw you ... but you never said anything.”

“I only tried twice,” he confessed.

She shook her head; then her face turned calm. “I thank you, ser.”

Cerryl nodded as he heard the footsteps, even before he saw Bealtur. “You are most welcome. May your healing continue to bring results.”

With a quick nod, she was gone.

Bealtur kept his eyes from meeting Cerryl's, and continued toward the tower, following Leyladin up the steps from the foyer.

Cerryl hurried through the courtyard, glad for the brief cooling afforded by the fountain and the light breeze before he entered the rear hall on his way to the rear barracks. But most of all, he was glad he had told Leyladin. He'd hated carrying that as a secret, and her reaction had relieved him ... at least somewhat.

Waiting outside the weathered granite building with Jyantyl were four lancers Cerryl had never seen before.

“Good morning, ser,” offered the weathered lancer.

“Good morning.” Cerryl's eyes took in the new guards. “What about Dientyr?” he asked quietly. “I would not-”

“He would be glad that you thought of him.” Jyantyl gave a quick smile. “His punishment is over, and he has returned to his company. They are departing for Jellico tomorrow.”

“Are you? You had mentioned something ...”

Jyantyl lifted his shoulders, then dropped them. “Some day soon, but no one has said.”

More and more lancers heading west, reflected Cerryl as the group of six started southward and out to the avenue. Something was definitely happening.

The light breeze ruffled Cerryl's fine hair, and he brushed it off his forehead, glancing up at the morning sky. The faintest haze of high clouds tinted the green-blue sky, imparting a slightly bluer cast to the heavens.

Cerryl walked in silence, conscious of the heavy tread of the lancers' boots as they turned onto the avenue and continued southward.

As they passed the row of inns that catered to the richer travelers, he glanced down the side avenue that led to the traders' square to the southwest. Was it less crowded?

Ahead on the paved sidewalk, two women eased toddlers into a shop-a wine cooper's shop.

Cerryl frowned. Why would they go there? He tried to catch the sense of the words from the women and the cooper's assistant gathered under the overhang of the shop entrance.

“Student mage or not... red stripe ... still kill a man as look at him...”

“... not so much as a reason ... threw Kelwin and his folk out of the city ...”

“... chaos ... dirty way to fight... not like a blade or a lance... them's clean at least...”

Cerryl wanted to answer all of them, but he kept a smile plastered . his face as he strode toward the last sewer grate. He hoped the grate on was the last, and the collector the last he had to scour, but he supposed he could be like Kinowin had been, spending more than a year beneath the streets of Fairhaven.

He repressed a shudder. I hope not. I hope not.





White Order





LXXXI




Cerryl slipped into the chair across from Myral, blotting his forehead from the warmth that would certainly intensify as the late summer day went on. Somehow, it was still hard to believe that another summer had nearly passed, and that he had been in Fairhaven almost a year and a half.

“I went back as you said, and checked everything yesterday. The runnel is clean.” Cerryl paused. “They haven't bricked up that door yet.”

“I know. Your successor, young Faltar, will take care of that.”

“My successor?”

“I have talked it over with Sterol. You have cleaned elaborately and well two secondary sewer tunnels, and you have proved that you have the minimal ability to use chaos to defend yourself. There's nothing more you need learn about the sewers or the use of chaos-fire to clean them.” Myral smiled blandly. “Jeslek has summoned you. You are to replace Kesrik as his assistant.”

“I thought Bealtur or Kochar ...”

“Neither is as accomplished nor as far along as you are.”

“I do not understand. I don't think Jeslek even likes me.”

“Nor should he. You respect his ability, but you do not worship the ground on which he treads.” Myral's tone was dry. “Respect will suffice for now, but never forget to respect the overmage. Remember that.”