LE Modesitt Recluce 08 The White Order (v1.5)

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strained to hear the exchange between guards and officer.
Good day, Undercaptain. Here to see Captain Yurak?
If he s in.
He s there.
As the sorrel carried the captain across the courtyard, one guard turned to
the other, but from behind the corner, Cerryl could not catch the words.
He waited. The sun got warmer, and the sky clearer. Another officer, a full
captain, rode through the gate, but the guards did not speak.
Cerrly continued to wait as scattered riders and a cart, then a wagon,
passed. Three women bearing laundry walked out of the side street, right past
Cerryl, ignoring him, and down toward the square.
& Elva& too good to do her own laundry&
Would I had her coins, and I wouldn t either.
Cerryl drew himself up. A carriage-a dark carriage-had started up the
street, and both guards had stepped forward, stiffening into positions of
attention. Whoever it might be, the guards expected the carriage, and it might
be his only chance for some while.
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Cerryl slipped the light cloak around him and eased across the street.
Despite his care, since he could only sense things in rough terms, he almost
tripped on the uneven stones. He stopped against the wall on the north side of
the gates, where he could slip behind the coach and walk in after it. The
coach slowed as it approached and turned through the wrought-iron-gate-flanked
entry. Cerryl walked quickly, almost abreast of and between the back of the
rear wheels, glad that the coach was not the kind with footmen.
Good day, ser.
There was no answer from the carriage to the guard s pleasantry, and the
coach continued to roll slowly through the courtyard and then under another
archway. Cerryl found he was panting when the coach creaked to a halt, and he
forced himself to breathe more deeply and slowly.
Which side should he take? Cerryl eased up next to the right rear wheel,
listening as the coach door opened and a man stepped out onto the mounting
block.
An officer, perhaps the same undercaptain who had entered the palace
earlier, stood in the archway above the steps. The prefect is waiting in his
study, ser.
Very well. The voice was modulated, and bored. I will see him before I
deal with Overcaptain Taynet. Would you inform the over-captain that I will be
there presently, and that I expect him to await my arrival.
Yes, Subprefect, ser. The officer s boots clicked on the stone.
Cerryl reminded himself to step lightly as he followed the dignitary. He
walked carefully behind the guards who trailed the subprefect, trying to keep
his steps in the same rhythm as theirs, hoping no one stopped too quickly.
The journey was surprisingly short, just into a foyer, and then down a
corridor for perhaps fifty cubits, and then up three flights of steps, and
back down another corridor for another fifty cubits or so. The entourage
halted before a set of double doors guarded by a pair of arms-men.
Cerryl stopped as they did, amazed that no one had looked around, but,
then, perhaps everyone felt watched or followed in a palace.
Subprefect Syrma, at the prefect s request.
We will inform him, ser.
The doors opened and closed.
Cerryl eased up closer to the guards, standing to one side, wagering that
they would not accompany Syrma into the study.
The study doors opened again. The prefect will see you, ser.
The guards stepped to the left, and Cerryl barely managed to slip around
them to the right, and then inside. He swallowed and stepped wide around
another set of guards, glad he was almost right behind the subprefect. One of
the guards stiffened as his eyes flicked around, then slowly relaxed.
Cerryl edged along the bookcases to the left of the door before the guards
closed them with a firm thump. He kept sliding along the bookcases and around
a table to the left of the broad wooden desk behind which sat the prefect. At
least he hoped the figure behind the desk was the prefect. That was the
problem with navigating totally through chaos senses.
You requested my presence, Prefect.
Syrma& you have deigned to appear. How kind of you. The voice was
resonant and cruel. Lyam didn t seem that much older than Cerryl, although
Cerryl could not see him, properly speaking. Why were you delayed?
There was a report of a white mage in the city last night.
Cerryl s heart seemed to contract as he waited in the dim corner behind the
table.
The fellow was drunk, but he swore he saw a man all in white on a horse,
and the fellow disappeared and took his cloak.
You cannot be serious. Lyam began to laugh. You would bother me with
such nonsense?
You asked to be told of all reports of what the whites might be doing&
sire.
I was talking about matters that were real-like those mountains, and those
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mages who slaughtered that idiot Jerost s whole force, or that squad of white
lancers south of here. What happened to them, anyway?
We killed them, as you instructed. They must have been scouts- just an
undercaptain and ten armsmen.
Cerryl winced but kept silent, standing in the corner formed by two of the
ceiling-to-floor bookcases, hoping no one looked his way and noticed the
slight wavering of the air that often accompanied the light shield.
They weren t any trouble, unlike the old mage. The subprefect bowed, but
only slightly.
The mage wasn t that much trouble-just heavy iron-tipped arrows from a
distance&
It took a dozen, sire, and we lost half the bowmen. He was casting fire
even with all that cold iron in him. You underestimate the wrath and the
ability of the mages.
Oh? He s dead, isn t he?
So are six good bowmen, sire.
Nasty people, those whites. We re better off without the mages. All of
Candar would be.
Cerryl frowned. So how was Lyam any different from Jeslek? Or did all those
with power just think they were better than anyone else at ruling?
What of the receipts from the Spidlarians?
Two hundred golds this season& so far, and the tax levies on the merchants
in the city are fifty golds higher.
That s almost a thousand golds a year, plus what we saved from not paying
Fairhaven. Scoundrels-every last one of the whites. Their precious road isn t
worth that. Lyam laughed once more, the same cruel laugh.
They think so, and it has been unwise to mock them in the past. Ask
Viscount Mystyr.
He s dead, Syrma. What riddle is this?
He died rather soon after he began to oppose the road duties. His brother
pays the road duties most faithfully. Viscount Rystryr now receives support in
terms of white lancers.
I don t envy him for such support. Nor should you, Syrma.
As you wish, sire. I stand at your command.
Good. Inform me of any other developments with the whites. I d also like
to know when the next lancers will be ready to ride for Yryna.
You will be informed.
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