The White Order (The Saga of Recluce #8)(91)

Cerryl sat silently. Cleaning sewers? That was sewer duty?

“Also ... you'll be accompanied by lancers-it's disciplinary duty for them... so what kind of guard you get...” The older mage shrugged.

Guards in the sewers? Cerryl moistened his lips.

“We do our best to keep the sewers for offal and sewage ... that's one reason why the sewer catches are so small. We don't want people shoving larger wastes, like branches or bodies, into the sewers.” Myral grimaced. “We still find bodies-usually children-and then we have to try to find who killed them. I'll get into that later. If you find a body right now, leave it and send a messenger for me.”

Guards and bodies? What lurked in the sewers? The door to the tower stairs rattled, and Cerryl's eyes followed the sound before he turned back to concentrate on Myral.

“Branches and any sort of rubbish that doesn't reflect a crime-it's up to you to dispose of it as you clean the tunnel and the walkway.”

Cerryl frowned. “With chaos-force, ser?”

“How else?” Myral offered a broad smile. “How else indeed? You can certainly call it forth.” A brief shadow crossed Myral's face, so brief Cerryl wasn't sure he had seen it. “It crackles around you. You see Cerryl, those with the talent to handle chaos are blessed and cursed. Someone who might be a black mage would not suffer should he choose not to use his talent. That is not true of someone with the talent to handle the white force of chaos. Chaos is so powerful that it must be guided and disciplined. If it is not, it will destroy anyone with the talent to channel it. It cannot be ignored. In time, it will destroy even those of us with discipline.”

Myral's face turned from an ironic smile to a somber mien. “One either masters chaos, or it masters one. We cannot afford to have even one undisciplined chaos focus in Candar.”

Cerryl did not know what to say. He waited.

“You wonder-all young mages wonder-why the Guild suffers no one to survive who is not bound by its disciplines. Are we that power-mad? Are we so insecure that anyone who defies us must be destroyed?” A sadness crossed the round face, and Myral brushed back a lock of wispy black hair, carefully, to cover part of his balding pate. “I fear for the time when there is no Guild, no discipline.”

How could there not be a Guild? Cerryl shifted his weight and glanced toward the window, but the closed shutters blocked the view of the avenue stretching northward toward the artisans' square.

“All things pass, young Cerryl, and the Guild will also, as will Fairhaven, and mad chaos-wielders will roam Candar, for the mad attain their powers more quickly.” Myral shook his head. “This I have seen ... but it will be many generations.” He reached for the pitcher and poured still steaming cider into the other mug and extended it to the younger man. “I have been remiss, and the room is draft-ridden.”

Cerryl sipped the hot cider gratefully.

“What has this meandering of an old mage to do with the sewers?” The sadness vanished with a forced smile. “The sewers are where you all learn to wield and control chaos-force. If you fail, only you suffer.”

Cerryl could see that.

"There are two aspects to sewer duty-three if you count maintenance, but there your job is to protect the masons. You must learn to bring forth chaos-force under control, and you must learn to develop a shield against that force-either that which you raise or that raised by others.

“The greatest mages-not the most heralded but the greatest-are those with the strongest shields. I'll leave it to you to figure out why.”

All of the mages did that-they left puzzles for the students to figure out. Was that an ongoing test, or just because they were busy doing other things?

“You are not to attempt shielding or raising chaos-force anywhere except in the sewers or when directed by me or an overmage.”

“Are overmages the ones with the sunbursts?”

“Do you know why none of you are told that? Because the Guild doesn't care much for hotheads.” Myral nodded, almost to himself. “Caution is called for when handling chaos.” Myral smiled. “Did you know that Anya was sent to scare you?”

“To see if I would flee?”

“And Kinowin was given instructions to let you have the illusion that you might be able to escape. He didn't like that.”

Cerryl felt half vindicated, half dazed.

“The sewers will be harder than that.” Myral lifted the steaming cider. “To a warmer tomorrow.”

Cerryl lifted his own mug, inclining his head to the rotund mage, knowing there was little else he could do.





White Order





LXII




Under the clear skies and with the bright sun on his back, Cerryl still felt cold because of the chill wind that blew out of the northwest, almost into his face. He and Myral walked westward on the side avenue, followed by two of the white guards.

Next to a blank white granite wall-the side wall of a warehouse of some sort-Myral stopped and knelt by the bronze sewer grate. The older mage fumbled with his purse before extracting a large bronze key. “Cerryl.” Cerryl bent down.

“Watch what I do with the key. Use your senses.” Cerryl could sense a point of chaos within the heavy bronze lock, and he watched as a darkness built up around the lock before Myral turned the key and opened it.