Colors of Chaos by L. E. Modesitt Read Free Book Online Page B

mug.
    “More?” asked the serving woman, drawn to the raised mug as a moth to light. “That’ll be two.”
    Faltar fumbled out two coppers.
    “Maybe… or it could be an order-chaos conflict.”
    “You just found about those, and now everything’s an order-chaos conflict.” Faltar laughed. “It could be trade.”
    “What does trade have to do with three wandering Blacks from Recluce?” Cerryl sipped the red wine, not nearly so clear or so good as that he’d had at Leyladin’s house, trying to make it last.
    “They could be spies. They’d been at the Traders’ Square, looking for work as blades, supposedly.”
    “How did you find that out?”
    Faltar raised his eyebrows. “I have my ways.”
    “I don’t see that of young wanderers-they were young, weren’t they?”
    ‘“The healer didn’t look as old as you.”
    “That young?” Cerryl grinned. “Not ancient like you?”
    Thump! The second ale slopped on the table. “Here you be.” The server was leaving before she finished her words.
    “Good ale.” Faltar took another swallow. “I’m glad you recognize the wisdom of your elders.”
    Maybe there’s something there… but I don’t think young travelers are the problem.“
    “Perhaps they’re having troubles and throwing out more people. Did you think of that?”
    “Then why would they be a problem for us?”
    “I don’t know. But there’s something. There are shipwrights headed for Sligo…”
    Cerryl looked hard at Faltar.
    “Everyone in Fairhaven knows that,” protested Faltar. “I heard it in the square.”
    “That may be… but if Kinowin-and he’s still in the corner there- heard you…”
    “You’re probably right.” Faltar sighed and took another swallow.
    “Still doesn’t make much sense.”
    Many things didn’t make sense to Cerryl. Fairhaven didn’t have a port that was really its own but maintained warships and relied on trade, but Hydolar had three ports and didn’t trade as much as the White City … and so it went.
    He yawned. He felt like he happened to be yawning all the time. Was it just that the days were so long? Or was his practice with light daggers that tiring? “I suppose I’d better get back and get to bed.”
    “Summer will be easier. They split the day into two duties… but if you get first duty you have to be there before dawn, and if you get the afternoon one you guard well into evening. I’m going to stay here a bit.”
    “That’s fine.” Cerryl stood. “I’ll talk to you later.”
    He walked slowly out, noting that Eliasar and Kinowin had been joined by another mage, one Cerryl didn’t know, but that the three were eating and apparently joking.
    Although it was full dark outside on the Avenue, the evening was warmer than it had been earlier in the day. Maybe Faltar was right, that spring had come to stay.
    Back in the rear hall, as he reached for the latch to his door, his eyes went to the white-bronze plate mounted on the wall, where the Old Tongue script spelled out: “Cerryl.”
    Inside, he looked around-so much larger than any quarters he had ever had… and so bare compared to Leyladin’s house. Two real shuttered windows, a wide desk, a wooden armchair with cushions, a full-size bed with cotton sheets and a red woolen blanket-even a rug by the bed, a washstand, a white oak wardrobe for his garments, and a bookcase against the wall beside the desk.
    He closed the door, but Kinowin’s advice continued to rattle around in his head-more skills. But what skills? He walked over to the bookcase and picked up his well-thumbed Colors of White, turning to the second half. He read slowly, skipping over the passages he’d read so well he knew them by heart, trying to find those he’d really not studied and those that had bored him. Finally, he settled into the chair, his jacket still on.
     
    … in all of the substance of the world are chaos and order found, and oft are they twisted together, so tightly that none, not even the greatest