The White Order (The Saga of Recluce #8)(74)

“Ah, yes, I can remember standing just about there, and thinking I really wanted to know what went on in the Great Hall.” Under a yellow cast to his face, the man grinned through equally yellowed teeth. “Then you become a mage, and it's not nearly so exciting.” He laughed gently and continued on toward the hall.

“It'll still be exciting,” murmured Bealtur, his eyes following the white wizard until he vanished into the Hall.

A heavier step-and a sense of power-fell across the three.

Cerryl recognized Jeslek even before turning.

“You won't learn how to be mages by watching people enter the hall.” Jeslek's sunburst collar pin seemed to radiate light, as did the sun gold eyes that surveyed the three students.

Cerryl inclined his head, remembering Jeslek's statement about respectful silence.

“Good. You all understand, I see. I suggest the common is more appropriate for you.” The familiar bright and perfunctory smile followed the words.

Cerryl bowed slightly, as did the others.

“Off with you.”

“Yes, ser.”

Jeslek continued to survey the three until they turned and began to Walk through the archway into the courtyard.

As the students crossed the courtyard, past the fountain, Bealtur looked back toward the foyer and the Great Hall for a long moment.

Cerryl kept his eyes on the doorway to the rear building, once more having the feeling that he was being watched through a glass. But by whom, with the mages gathering?

He stopped by his cell and opened the door, frowning as he stepped inside and lowered the latch, because the feeling of being watched dropped away abruptly. On his desk was a earthenware mug, and beside it a bottle, a true glass bottle.

He picked up the mug-empty, then set it aside and lifted the bottle toward the window. He couldn't tell what the liquid was. So he lowered the bottle and uncorked it. The aroma of cider seeped from the bottle almost too strong.

Why would anyone leave him cider?

He looked at the bottle and sniffed it, then poured a bit of the liquid into the mug. He looked at the liquid and sniffed again. It certainly smelled like cider.

He looked at the liquid, then tried to study it with his chaos senses. Abruptly he stepped back, as the ugly white-red of chaos seemed to swirl from both bottle and the liquid in the cup.

Poison? Did the sense of chaos in food and drink mean poison? Cerryl glanced around but could not sense anyone screeing him. He slipped the mug and bottle under his tunic, then went to the door, listening until the corridor seemed empty.

He left his room and strolled down the corridor, easing into the jakes, glad that the halls had jakes and not chamber pots, and slipped into the stall in the corner, where he eased out the bottle and poured the cider down into the darkness. He glanced around, then wiped the bottle with his tunic. He hoped that would blur or wipe away any tint of his chaos-if there were such a thing. He set the bottle and mug against the wall in the corner, then walked to the adjoining washroom- also empty, breathing a little more easily.

Jeslek had said there would be tests, not all that he would recognize. Had the poisoned cider been a test? Or did someone really want him dead? And why? He was almost unlearned, untutored.

He shook his head. Did he have to sense all the food and drink in the halls? Should he have already been doing that? He swallowed, then headed for the commons.





White Order





L




“Why are you here, young Cerryl? Jeslek and Sterol sent you.” The slender older mage answered his own question and smiled broadly. “They sent you to me, and I will teach what I know of anatomic, which is considerable.”

From where he sat on the hard bench against the wall, Cerryl bowed his head and waited.

“But the question remains. Why? Why study anatomic?” Broka paused but did not look at Cerryl as he walked by the student as if Cerryl were not there. “Many are the reasons for the study of the anatomies ... many, indeed ...”

The mage turned abruptly, and his long fingers brushed Cerryl's arm as he passed, and Cerryl wanted to cringe. He remained sitting straight up, instead, his eyes intent on the slender wizard.

“From chaos unto chaos-that is the rule of anatomie-and of life. Life is that brief moment when chaos seizes order and creates living form, and death is when chaos abandons order. It ceases to animate form, and the form ceases to live, if you will.” Broka offered a toothy grin, then turned and walked toward the window in a gliding, swaying stride that reminded Cerryl of a lizard-or a viper.

Cerryl looked at the skeleton on the wooden stand in the corner away from the window. Had the man or woman been a criminal or just a poor unfortunate?

“We know food supplies chaos energy to the body, and with that energy, the body grows and changes. Any individual living body is not only constantly changing its substance but its size. When such changes cease, we have death.” Broka fixed Cerryl with his deep-set eyes. “Do you understand that, young Cerryl? When the body loses its chaos energy in one way or another, it dies.”

“Yes, ser.”

“Pure chaos is formless, but man is not. In fact, all land creatures with bones share a generality of structure. The hand and arm of a man, the foreleg of a dog, the wing of a bird-indeed all manifest the same type of construction.”

Broka sidled toward the skeleton on its frame, pointing toward it. “Now we shall begin with the skeleton-precisely ... precisely two hundred distinct bones.” He gestured toward Cerryl. “Come here You do not just listen. You must touch, and feel. Feel... especially For feel is essential to a chaos master.” A soft but guttural chuckle followed.