“Lady Leyladin.” Cerryl wondered why the title bothered him.
“You make that sound so cold.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Lady… ser?” A thin older woman-also in the dark blue trousers and vest with the pale blue shirt-stood beside the table. “This evening, we have the special chicken breast or the tender beef over Furenk’s pasta.”
“The chicken,” said Leyladin.
“I’ll have that, too.”
“And the good red wine,” added the healer.
“The same.” Cerryl didn’t know what else to say.
The serving woman inclined her head and stepped away.
“What did Lyasa mean when she said she hoped you could talk before?” he asked after a moment of silence. “Before what?”
“Oh, Cerryl.”
“Before what?”
“Before I leave for Lydiar.”
“You just got back from Hydolar,” Cerryl said, almost peevishly.
“I probably shouldn’t have left there as soon as I did, but Gorsuch said it was clear that the Duke was much better.”
“Gorsuch? Is he the mage there?”
“He’s the mage and the Council’s representative. He promised to summon me if things changed. Now I know why he and the High Wizard wanted me back in
Fairhaven.” Leyladin spread her hands, almost helplessly. “Sterol has requested that I attend Duke Estalin’s only son. The boy is weak and ill from the bloody flux and does not seem to be improving.”
“Why you?”
“I’m young and strong, devoted to Myral, and attracted to you. My father relies on the roads.”
“What does all that about you-”
“Those are all reasons why I can be trusted to go to the seaport nearest to Recluce. Good healers are scarce enough in Candar.”
“People leave… I suppose.” Cerryl still wasn’t sure why people would leave
Fairhaven. The city was orderly, clean. Life was good so long as you obeyed the rules, but any land had rules. “I wish you weren’t going.”
“So do I.”
Two fluted crystal goblets appeared on the table. “Here you be. Two of the good red. That’ll be six.”
“There.” Leyladin slipped a silver onto the table before Cerryl could even reach his wallet. “I’ll take care of it.”
Four coppers reappeared on the table, but the blonde healer left them there.
“You’ll let me get the dinner?” Cerryl didn’t like relying on generosity, even Leyladin’s.
“How about half of it?”
Cerryl wasn’t sure even about that, but he nodded, then looked back into Leyladin’s green eyes.
Leyladin took a sip from the goblet. “Not bad.”
Cerryl followed her example. To him, the wine tasted excellent, better than any he’d had except for the dinner at Leyladin’s. “It tastes good, but I’ve had a long day.” He yawned.
“It’s better like this, right now. You’re so tired, anyway.”
“I’m not that tired.”
“You’re yawning, and I just got back.” Her eyes danced in the lamplight. “You’re tired of me already?”
“That’s not-” He shook his head. “You are impossible.”
“I’ve tried to let you know that. So did my father. He agreed that I was the most trouble, if you recall.”
“I seem to recall something like that.”
The server slipped a heavy gilt-rimmed pale blue china plate in front of Leyladin and then one in front of Cerryl. One each was a boned chicken breast covered in a cream sauce. Beside the chicken was a dark rice that Cerryl had never seen, also topped with the cream sauce. A second small plate contained freshly cut slices of early peaches, covered with baby mint leaves and a clear glaze. Cerryl hoped he had enough silvers in his wallet. He nodded to the server. “Thank you.”
“We hope you enjoy your dinner, ser and lady. Would you like anything else?”
Cerryl glanced at Leyladin and got the faintest of headshakes. “No, thank you.”
The server nodded and left them alone in the quiet room, so quiet that only murmurs from the main dining area drifted to them.
Leyladin cut a small bit of chicken and tasted it, then smiled. “It’s good.”
Cerryl followed her example. The spice and cream chicken, flavored with orange, trilia, and peppers, was excellent. He saw why Faltar preferred eating out of the Halls, but then he had to wonder how his blond peer could afford such food. “I fear I could get too accustomed to this kind of food.”
“Furenk serves better than at the duke’s table in Hydolar. Much better.” The healer grimaced. “Much of the food in the mages’ Meal Hall is better than the duke’s fare.”
“That’s another reason why you shouldn’t go to Lydiar.”
“Duke Estalin serves a better table. That’s what Anya told me.”
“How did she know you were going?”
“She was with Sterol when he requested that I go.”
“Hmmmm…” Cerryl took another sip of the wine. “Do you get some sort of escort?”
“I had a full score of lancers to and from Hydolar.”
“I got ten of Eliasar’s worst when I went to Fenard.” The White mage mock-snorted. “You are definitely of greater value to the Brotherhood.”
“That was before the Council made you a full mage.”
“Now, you think, I might get a full score of the worst?”
Leyladin half-laughed, half-chuckled at Cerryl’s dry tone. “Perhaps a score and a half.”
“You are so encouraging.”
“I said I was trouble.”
For a long moment Cerryl just looked across the low lamp into the deep green eyes, letting the silence draw out.
“Cerryl? Why were you looking at me like that?”
“Because you have beautiful eyes.” Because I could fall into them and never emerge.
“Do you tell all the girls that?”
Cerryl flushed. “I’ve never told anyone that.”
“I’m sorry. I must have sounded cruel. I didn’t mean it that way.” She looked down at the goblet in her long fingers.
“There haven’t been-”
She held up a hand. “You don’t have to explain. Sometimes I forget. That’s all. How do you like the chicken? You didn’t say.”
What did she forget? That I’m not the son of a trader or a merchant? That I haven’t had mistresses and the like? “Ah… the chicken… I liked it very much. The rice, too.” He glanced down at the empty pale blue china. “And the peaches.” That plate was equally empty, and he hoped he hadn’t gulped them all down. He didn’t even really remember eating them.
“The glaze was good.”
He stifled a yawn, swallowing it and hoping Leyladin didn’t notice.
“You’re tired. I can tell that.”
“I’m fine.”
“You are tired, and you are going to walk me home. Then you are going to walk to your apartment and get a good night’s sleep before you go on duty tomorrow.” Leyladin rose, deftly leaving four silvers on the table.
“I was-”
“It’s the least I can do if you think I’m going off to abandon you.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“But you feel that way, and I don’t want you to.” She offered a warm smile. “Come on. I’m tired, too.”
Cerryl found himself nodding, realizing that she had been traveling for at least two days-yet she looked wonderful. He wouldn’t have appeared nearly so good. That he knew. He offered his arm as they stepped through the main dining area, now nearly filled.
“She’s the lady healer… a White mage… could be a relative…”
“… look good together, though…”
“Lady Leyladin… don’t know him…”
In the foyer, the tall man in blue bowed. “Good evening, Lady Leyladin… ser.”
Leyladin smiled and turned to the functionary. “Dassaor, this is the mage Cerryl. My father thinks most highly of him.”
“No one would ever question your father’s judgment, lady. We hope to see you both more often.” Dassaor bowed.
Cerryl inclined his head ever so slightly. “Thank you, Dassaor.”
Once they were outside and headed toward the Wizards’ Square, Cerryl glanced at the blonde healer. “You never told me your father thought highly of me.”
“He does. He’s amazed at you, particularly at how well you speak.”
“I’ve worked hard at it. I didn’t want to sound as though I’d just come from the mines.”
“You’ve done more than that. Kinowin speaks well, but there’s a roughness around his words. Yours are polished. You should feel pleased. Not because my father is amazed, but because of what you’ve made of yourself.”
What have I made of myself? A junior mage who must still watch his back and every hint of intrigue? A man who cannot even pay for the dinner of the woman he loves? “I don’t know that I’ve made that much of myself.”
She laughed, gently. “You are hard in judging yourself.”
The square was empty as they turned north on the Avenue.
“I guess I have to be. Whose judgment dare I trust?”
“You’re wise there. I would not trust any other than Myral, and he is old and fading.”
“You worry about him, don’t you?”
“He’s like an uncle of sorts… the only one I could talk to about the things a healer feels.”
“You understand trade and your father, and you love him, but he doesn’t really understand you?”
“He tries, but… no.”
They turned west a long block below the
Market Square
, and Cerryl could see the lamps blazing in the windows of Layel’s house.
“Will you let me know when you return? Do you know how long?”
“I will. I don’t think it should be more than two eight-days. That’s if it’s the flux.”
They both understood. If she could not help the boy heal, another two weeks of flux might well kill the child.
Leyladin turned at the door, taking Cerryl’s hands, leaning forward, and brushing her cheek with her lips. “I enjoyed tonight.”
“So did I.”
He waited until the heavy door closed before he turned and began to walk back to the Halls of the Mages.
IX
Cerryl stood beside one of the pillars at the rear and to the left side of the Council Chamber. He looked across the expanse of white tunics and robes, though the robes were generally preferred by older mages, such as Esaak and Myral. Each of the circular pillars that flanked the sides of the Council Chamber was of white granite, fluted, and flawless, except for flecks of gold. From the top of each pillar were draped red hangings, swagged from one pillar to the next. The base of each pillar was a cube of a shimmering gold stone. Polished white marble tiles, filled with golden swirls, comprised the chamber floor. Gold oak desks and their accompanying gold oak chairs flanked the center aisle. Despite the summer heat that baked
Fairhaven outside the Halls of the Mages, the chamber remained comfortable.
The High Wizard Sterol stood on the golden-shot marble dais at the eastern end of the chamber, and flanking him were the two overmages-Jeslek and Kinowin-the High Council, except that the three were always called the Council from what Cerryl could determine.
Sterol was speaking. “… Since last we assembled, many of our concerns have proved to be justified… particularly about the predatory nature of those plying trade from the Black Isle…
“Therefore, we are recommending to the Dukes of Lydiar and Hydlen, to the Council of Sligo, the Viscount of Certis, and the prefect of Gallos that they impose an additional surtax of 20 percent on goods arriving in ships bearing the flag of Hamor or the dark isle.”
“Your pardon, High Wizard,” puffed Esaak, rising from a desk in the second row. “How will that improve the revenues for the Guild?” Sterol gestured toward his left. “Overmage Kinowin can better explain that.”
“This surtax is not the best answer,” admitted Kinowin, standing at the end of the first row. “At the moment, it is the only means we have to address the problem. As all of you know, highways are costlier to build and repair than the oceans and a few ports. What has been happening more and more is that importers in Candar, especially the Sligan and Spidlarian Councils, have been taking advantage of our roads and traders. The Black Isle and occasionally Hamorian merchants have been shipping goods to ports in Candar close to our roads. They sell these goods more cheaply because they do not bear the delivery costs in full. The Guild has almost eliminated brigands in eastern Candar, at least those who prey on the highways. At times, it costs less to ship wool from
Land’s End on Recluce to Lydiar than to carry it by wagon from Montgren. So… any good that must be grown, produced, or collected away from the highways…”
“Wait… you were just saying that our highways were being used against us, and now-”
“Patience, Broka… patience,” said Kinowin tiredly. “Trade is complex. Let me explain. Those who buy goods are those who have coins. Those who have coins live in the cities. The cities are either ports or connected to ports by the White highways. Recluce is a much smaller place than Candar, and the Blacks use their arts to increase production of many goods, especially wool, oilseeds, and some fruits they dry. They also produce luxury goods that would otherwise come from across the
Eastern
Ocean
. Their weather mages see the storms upon the seas, and they lose fewer ships. For all these reasons, many of their goods are much cheaper.”
Cerryl wanted to rub his forehead. Never had he thought he would hear discussions on costs of trade in a meeting of the White mages. He turned toward the middle section of desks and caught a glimpse of Anya’s red hair. Seated to her left was Faltar, his white-blond hair standing out even more than the red of Anya’s. On Anya’s right was the dark-bearded Fydel.
Mutterings began to rise around the chamber.
“… can’t he make it simple…”
“… just send a fleet… if it’s that much trouble…”
“… send the lancers to Spidlaria and clean out their demon-damned Council…”
“Why do we even have to do anything about Recluce? All the Blacks do is sit on their island and cultivate order. Anyone who causes trouble gets thrown out-usually to our benefit.” That came from a thin gray-haired woman in the middle of the chamber, one of the many that Cerryl did not recognize.
“We’re not talking about an arms action now,” Jeslek said mildly from where he stood beside Kinowin. “Aren’t you tired of our gold going to Recluce so that the Blacks can use it to buy Bristan and Hamorian goods?”