“Not so many traders use the roads?”
“Exactly.” Myral set the mug on the table with a thump. “Less traders on the Great White Roads means fewer road tariffs and fewer coins to pay our lancers.”
“Could we not tariff the cargoes from Recluce?”
“Ah . . .” Myral smiled. “Someone could . . . but the port of Spidlaria does not owe allegiance to Fairhaven. Lydiar and Renklaar do, and we could insist on tariffs there. But . . . say you are a trading captain, and the taxes raise the price of your cargo in Lydiar but not in Spidlaria, would you not increase your price less than the tariff and—”
“Port it in Spidlaria?” asked Cerryl.
The older mage nodded. “It is more complex than that, young Cerryl, and something you need not worry about yet, but that was exactly why Creslin the Black raided Lydiar those long years ago. He needed ships and freedom to trade. Now . . . Recluce has both.” Myral smiled sadly. “Sterol is talking about how we may need to place mages aboard our ships—and those of our friends and allies—to protect them. I hope it does not come to that, but it may.”
“Eliasar said we were building warships,” Cerryl prompted.
“We have always had warships. A land that cannot protect its traders upon the seas soon has no traders. Now . . . enough of that. You need to get to work if you are to complete your duties as you plan.”
“Which sewer tunnels did Kesrik clean?” Cerryl asked after a moment of silence.
“Does it matter?” A soft smile crossed Myral’s lips, one that bothered Cerryl. “You all clean secondaries.”
“I was curious.” Cerryl forced a shrug. “Did he—I guess it doesn’t matter.”
“It matters to you, or you wouldn’t have asked.” Myral’s tone was dry.
“Yes, ser.”
“You know, Cerryl . . . you blaze too much.”
Cerryl’s mouth started to open, and he swallowed, almost choking on the bit of cider he hadn’t swallowed.
“This should come later, but, if I don’t tell you now, you may not be around later.” Myral took a deep breath and glanced toward the tower door. “Jeslek has gone to Gallos, and Sterol and Anya are otherwise occupied—for the moment.
“When a mage feels strongly or is about to gather chaos and does not shield himself, the chaos around him flares—or blazes. That’s one reason why Jeslek always seems so powerful. Chaos almost radiates from him. Sterol is almost as powerful, yet he seems mild, withdrawn. He shields his power, much as you shield yourself from chaos in the sewer—or maybe it’s better described as ordering chaos so that it is held rather than dispersed.” Myral shrugged. “Right now, you’re like a young Jeslek, spraying power everywhere. If you hadn’t been an orphan or a scrivener’s apprentice, where no one thought to look, Sterol would have slapped you into the creche years ago—or had you suffocated.”
Cerryl waited.
“Sterol’s worried about Recluce—again, and for the reasons I just told you. You can thank the blacks and the new prefect of Gallos for your survival, I suspect. But . . . you’re a possible rival to Jeslek. Once Sterol goes, Jeslek won’t want you around.”
“Me, ser?”
“I said possible. Right now, Jeslek would snuff you out like a candle. You have no shields to speak of, and you still haven’t figured out how to use your power. It’s not easy, as you’re finding out. Some mages finish sewer duty almost burned out; they exhaust themselves rather than learn. In any case, why do you think Sterol wanted you in the sewers? It was Sterol’s idea, not Jeslek’s, no matter what the great Jeslek said.” Myral wiped his suddenly damp forehead.
“So I could learn?”
“So you would have to learn.” Myral’s tone turned dry again. “Let us hope you have. And, by the way.” Myral stood and walked to the bookshelves, where he extracted a rolled scroll. He carried the scroll back to the table where he unrolled the sewer map. “Here are the two collectors that Kesrik was told to scour the last time.” The rotund mage leaned over the unrolled map and pointed.
Cerryl fixed the locations in his mind.
“I didn’t tell you. And I can lie convincingly, even to Jeslek. It’s one of my few strong abilities.” Myral smiled bitterly. “Now . . . on your way. And work upon shielding just how much power you have—if you want to keep it.”
“Yes, ser.” Cerryl stood, almost in a daze.
The entire walk to the secondary collector was like another dream, though he remembered talking to Jyantyl and feeling the cool wind that blew down the avenue out of the north.