The White Order (The Saga of Recluce #8)(139)

Around them, white lancers began checking corpses for weapons and coins.

Cerryl looked at the last lancer he had killed.

“Go ahead,” said Lyasa. “His purse is yours.”

Cerryl forced himself to cut the thongs and take the purse, only lightly burned. It held two silvers and three coppers. Was that the worth of a man's life?

He put the coins in his own wallet, trying not to shake his head. He glanced upward. Was it midafternoon already?

Behind them, Fydel slowly stood and walked westward, toward Jeslek and Anya.

“I don't understand.” Kochar checked the dressing on his arm. “About Jeslek. He can raise mountains, but those Gallosians, they almost got us.”

“It's simple.” Lyasa sighed. “Chaos-fire is pure chaos-it's concentrated chaos. It takes more effort. When Jeslek raises the hills, he's moving and directing a lot of chaos in the ground that's already there. When you cast a firebolt, you have to separate the chaos from the world and force it somewhere. That's harder.” She looked at Kochar. “How do you feel right now?”

“Like horse droppings,” admitted the redhead.

“Look at all three of them.” She gestured toward the section of road wall where the three mages sat, talking in low voices. “I couldn't raise a chaos-fire ball the size of my fingernail. I'll bet they couldn't either.”

Cerryl kept his mouth shut, just nodding. “Maybe we should join them.”

The other two walked alongside him as the three made their way toward the full mages.





White Order





XCVI




In the gray of dawn, Cerryl finished his cheese and biscuits with a swallow of water. Then he walked down to the drainage way, where a thin stream of water flowed and refilled the bottle, concentrating on channeling chaos heat into the water until it boiled. The heat wasn't the hard part. Wrapping the bottle in order to keep it from breaking was.

He couldn't drink the water until it cooled, and he walked back to where the chestnut was tethered, easing the bottle into the straps.

A faint orange glow filled the sky above the newly raised hills to the east, but the morning was silent-only the scattered chirping of insects. The light wind carried the odor of death, and Cerryl was glad that they would be traveling on, but worried. How long before the prefect decided to sacrifice more men?

Cerryl was well aware that twice as many Gallosians might have carried the skirmish or battle, and he wondered if Jeslek had understood that also.

A hundred cubits or so west of Cerryl, Jeslek stood beside Klybel, and the two talked in low voices. Klybel nodded, reluctantly, and turned. He mounted his horse and rode past Cerryl, back to where the lancers had camped.

“Cerryl?” called the overmage.

Cerryl walked quickly toward Jeslek.

The older man's face was shadowed, and lines radiated from his eyes, lines of age that Cerryl had not seen before. His sun-gold eyes still glittered, and the dullness had left the white hair.

“You saw how the Gallosians received us yesterday?”

“Yes, ser.”

The overmage cleared his throat, then fixed Cerryl with his eyes. “Cerryl, all students must undertake a task-a thing to be accomplished alone-before they are accepted into the Guild. The task is set before each in a manner to ensure that the mage-to-be indicates utterly his devotion to the Guild.”

Cerryl didn't like what he knew was coming, even if he had no idea of what task Jeslek was about to lay upon him.

The gold-eyed mage smiled. “Many have questioned your devotion, and I have set you a task after which none can gainsay your right to the Brotherhood.”

“Yes, ser.”

“You are to remove the prefect of Gallos.”

Cerryl swallowed, as much because of the growing chaos that swirled around Jeslek as because of the task. Was that because Jeslek expected him to refuse?

“Ser?”

“Why do I task you, is that what you wonder?”

“Not exactly, ser. You have the power to destroy massed armies ...” Cerryl wanted to know more, even if he were in no position to refuse the overmage.

“Ah ... and I could ravage the lands, you think.”

“You have that power. Of that, after yesterday, there is no doubt.”

“That is indeed true.” Jeslek stroked his chin. “Therein lies a problem. If I did indeed ravage Gallos-then who would farm the land, or cut the timber-or collect the road duties? Likewise, if the removal of the prefect is accomplished by a lesser mage ... then who will refute the wisdom of acquiescing to the 'requests' of Fairhaven?”

“And how am I to accomplish this, ser? I cannot very well walk up to Fenard-”

“You will be sent with a lancer guard as an assistant to Sverlik. He, of course, as an envoy, could not act overtly against Lyam.” Jeslek shrugged. “How you deal with Lyam, that I leave to your discretion, save that you must vanish from Fenard and return to Fairhaven without knowledge of any in Gallos. A simple enough task for one who would be a mage.” Jeslek smiled.

“How am I to deal with those armsmen who escaped, ser? They will claim we attacked them.”

“You have been most creative so far. I am sure you will find a way.” Jeslek shrugged, and the chaos continued to build around him. “Captain Klybel is forming your escort right now. He will also provide some extra rations for you. It is best you do not have to forage. I would like you to leave as quickly as possible.” Another false and quick smile followed. “We have made our point, and will also be returning to Fairhaven shortly.”