The White Order (The Saga of Recluce #8)(135)

“Even Jeslek... pushed too much.”

“Won't see that happen much,” answered Fydel. Kochar and Lyasa exchanged glances.

Jeslek stopped a dozen cubits from the group of mages, brushed back overlong white hair. “That's a good start for the prefect. It will give him something to worry about.” Gurrrr... rrr ...

As if to emphasize Jeslek's words, the ground trembled ... and rippled, even as the low hills to the north continued to shudder their way upward, cutting off the direct late afternoon sun.

The smell of brimstone continued to drift over Cerryl both from the north and the west as he studied Jeslek.

For the first time, the overmage looked exhausted, his face drawn, almost pinched. The white hair that usually sparkled was dull and lifeless, and his face was covered with a gray stubbly beard.

Cerryl slumped onto the wall at the side of the road, hot from chaos and indirect sun, faint stars flashing before his tired eyes, eyes that burned. After a moment, he lifted his head, wishing he had taken his water bottle when he had dismounted.

Lyasa sat beside him, offering him some of her water. “Thank you. I wish I'd thought of it.”

“I'll take some of yours later. There won't be much water around here for a while.”

After taking a long and welcome swallow, Cerryl nodded. Any streams had to have been dried up or diverted or turned to steam. Heat continued to well off the high hills, or low mountains, that stretched on either side of the flat beside the Great Highway.

Klybel rode up from the east, reining up short of Jeslek. “We still lost almost a dozen spare mounts. The smell and the unsteady ground spooks the most excitable ones. They broke their leads.”

“We will get spare mounts.” Jeslek nodded. “Yes, you will have those spare mounts.”

The lancer captain glanced toward the northeast, where another bank of lowering clouds promised a return of the rain. “The Gallosians will return, you think?”

Jeslek turned toward Fydel, who stood beside his mount. “Fydel, find out where the Gallosians are.”

“Yes, overmage.” Fydel heaved himself to his feet and walked slowly toward the lancers who held the mages' mounts.

“We need water for the mounts,” continued Klybel. “Your mountains have moved the streams away.”

The white-haired mage glanced toward the clouds. “The drainage ways beside the Highway here will be full of water before long. Let it come to us.”

The lancer captain frowned momentarily. “As you command.”

Jeslek watched as Fydel concentrated on the small glass he had set on the road wall.

“The Gallosians are encamped ten kays to the east,” Fydel finally reported.

“They will be back in the morning,” predicted Jeslek. “We need some rest and food.”

“Here?” asked Klybel.

“None of the mages-or the students-have the strength to move. If your lancers need water, send them in detachments to the southwest. That's the only safe place besides here right now.” Jeslek coughed. “Or back toward the Gallosians.”

“The southwest.” Klybel turned his mount.

Cerryl sat on the side wall of the Great Highway. Like Lyasa and Kochar, he was breathing hard, still trying to catch his breath.

“Derka ... said this couldn't be done.” Lyasa moved closer to Cerryl.

“He ... was wrong.” In how many other things was Jeslek going to prove the older mages wrong? Cerryl wondered.

After a time, he stood and limped on feet sorer than he would have imagined toward the chestnut that held biscuits and hard cheese. He needed to eat something. Anything.





White Order





XCV




Cerryl sat on the wall and sipped from his water bottle-filled with rainwater that he had chaos-fire boiled, following Myral's directions, and then let cool overnight. His headache had faded somewhat with sleep. Breakfast, if only of hard cheese and stale road biscuits, had helped-enough to reduce the throbbing but not eliminate it.

The day was cool, the early morning sun filtered by high and hazy clouds drifting out of the south from the heat of Kyphros and the southern ocean.

“We're going to have to get supplies somewhere,” predicted Lyasa. “The packs on the supply mounts are near empty.”

“No,” said Kochar dryly, “Jeslek will insist that the student mages form chaos into food. That's something that any good mage should be able to do.”

At the mimicry of Jeslek's tone, both Lyasa and Cerryl laughed. Then all three glanced down the road where Fydel stood over a screeing glass set on the road wall. Jeslek waited behind Fydel, and Anya watched from the other side. All three faces were grim. “I don't like that,” murmured Lyasa. Cerryl didn't, either. “Gallosian armsmen, you think?”

“That's what he's been tracking with the glass,” pointed out Kochar. “I can't wait.” Lyasa snorted. Cerryl decided he could. “Klybel!” called Jeslek.

Anya motioned for the student mages to join the group. “Told you,” muttered Lyasa as the three walked the thirty cubits or so toward the full mages.

Klybel rode past them and reined up short of Jeslek. “The Gallosians are riding westward again,” Jeslek announced, even before the younger mages reached the group. “Toward us. They're still a good five kays east, and perhaps a kay south of the highway on a older track.”