The White Order (The Saga of Recluce #8)(128)

Cerryl looked down, fearing what was coming.

“Yes. Cerryl there was attacked by two men with iron blades and shields. He killed them both.”

Slekyr turned and studied Cerryl. “Is that true?”

“Yes.” Cerryl looked up and met the other's eyes.

“Yet you are not a full mage yet?” asked Deltry.

“No.” Cerryl wanted to say “no, ser,” but knew that doing so would undermine the status the three students had been granted. He added, “undercaptain,” belatedly. “Mages have to learn much.”

“So it would seem.” Slekyr laughed. “I'm just as glad that our viscount counts himself a friend of Fairhaven.”

“So are we,” answered Cerryl, reaching for the bread.

“You really killed two men armed with cold iron?” pursued Deltry.

“Three, actually,” added Lyasa. “Cerryl tends to be modest.”

“And they ... just stood there? I am not sure I understand.” Deltry's voice was easy, warm, conversational.

“I... came upon them in my duties in the tunnels,” Cerryl said carefully. “The first two attacked. I had no choice, since they would have killed me.”

“But what did you do? Turn them stone?”

“No. I can't do that. I turned them into ashes with chaos-fire.” Cerryl felt a twinge in his skull at the exaggeration. He'd merely killed them, while Sterol had turned them into dust and ashes.

Deltry swallowed.

“You had to ask, didn't you?” commented Slekyr into the silence, his voice slightly ironic.

Deltry offered a smile, both to Slekyr and Cerryl. “My apologies, ser.”

Cerryl returned it with a smile he hoped was almost shy. “I understand. Four years ago I would not have believed it, either.”

“You are not from Fairhaven, then?” asked Slekyr.

“No. I came from Hrisbarg and was apprenticed to a scrivener in Fairhaven.”

“Some have said that all mages come from higher birth ...”

“I am afraid mine was not high, nor that of some others,” Cerryl replied, glancing toward the platter of meat making its way down the table and trying not to drool.

“Some mages come from high families,” confirmed Lyasa, “others from where their talents are discovered. The skills are rare enough that the Guild does not waste them.”

“Even women mages, I see.” Slekyr's eyes lingered on Lyasa for a moment.

“They are fewer, but still number among the Guild.” Lyasa's head inclined toward the head of the table. “Anya is one of the more powerful mages, and she is most definitely a woman.”

Both Deltry and Slekyr nodded politely.

“We hear that the prefect of Gallos has begun to make life difficult for some in Certis,” suggested Lyasa, taking the half-empty platter and serving herself some of the brown-sauced meat.

“Mostly talk,” suggested Slekyr easily. “We can sell our oilseeds to Hydolar as easily as to Gallos.”

“Just not for as much, perhaps,” suggested Lyasa with a smile.

“There is that, but the viscount is hardly likely to go to war over a few coppers' difference in a barrel of seed oil.” Slekyr took a deep swallow of wine.

Cerryl took little more than a sip, then concentrated on serving himself and eating the half-tough meat and the not-quite-dry rye bread.

“And wool?” asked Kochar politely.

“Many would sell us wool.” Slekyr reached for the wine pitcher and refilled his goblet.

“Are you from Jellico?” asked Lyasa.

“Me? No. I come from Rytel. .. and most of the family's still there.”

“How did you get to be a captain?”

“I'm not... yet... but an armsman. Well.. . like many a thing, I didn't quite plan it that way ...”

Cerryl ate and listened, listened and ate, occasionally looking toward the head of the table, where Jeslek listened and ate, ate and listened to Shyren and Rystryr.





White Order





LXXXVIII




Under the early harvest sun, Cerryl fidgeted in his saddle again, a saddle that seemed as hard as the glazed bricks of the sewer tunnels, and as unyielding. He knew that for all his efforts he still swayed and bounced far too much.

The western side of Certis was hillier, but the oilseed fields were interspersed with meadows where grazed small herds of cattle. Not sheep? Then, the meadows were more lush than those of Montgren. Scattered stone houses reared out of the green hills, located seemingly without pattern.

Cerryl wondered why they had even gone to Jellico. It was more than four days out of the way, since they were headed to Gallos on the Great White Highway, and all they had done was stay for two days and ride off.

Then, he had no idea exactly what Jeslek and Eliasar were conveying to Rystryr. A show of magely force? A trade agreement?

He shrugged. Who knew? No one was telling him-that was certain. His eyes went to the way before them. Ahead on either side of the Great White Highway, looming into the western sky, lay the Easthorns. Even in late summer, the tops of the peaks were crowned in snow, and by harvest time, snowfalls had resumed on the higher slopes.

Despite the heat, as he glanced toward the mountains, swaying in the saddle, Cerryl shivered. He had no doubts that the road through the Easthorns would be cold.