Cerryl walked slowly from the serving area toward one of the empty round tables, where he sat. He glanced at what was supposed to be lemon-creamed lamb, then across the table, unmindful of the soreness in too many muscles from riding to and from the water tunnel for three days, scrambling through the slippery tunnel, and feeling Jeslek watching over his shoulder every moment. The more he was around Jeslek, the less he trusted the overmage, despite Jeslek’s apparent straightforwardness.
“Might we join you, ser mage?”
Cerryl looked up at the warm voice to see the blond hair and green tunic, then staggered to his feet. “Of course.”
“Sit down,” Leyladin added. “If you’re as tired as I am, you don’t need to be jumping up for people.”
Leyladin and Lyasa sat down on the other side of the table.
Cerryl sat and absently fingered his chin.
“You know, you’d look better if you didn’t try to grow a beard.”
Cerryl blinked, refocusing on the blond.
“You’re like all the other young mages, growing a beard to look older.”
Cerryl’s mouth opened.
“You’d look much better without it,” she continued, breaking off a chunk of fresh dark bread.
“Iron irritates me,” Cerryl said. “Even a sharp iron blade does.”
“It does many of the whites. There are answers to that. I’m sure you’ll find one. Besides, you’ll look old and distinguished soon enough.” Leyladin’s eyes twinkled, and her voice lowered. “It’s always better to be underestimated when you don’t have as much power, and everyone knows it. That’s why I laugh a lot. Laughing mages can’t be taken seriously.”
“Nor women,” added Lyasa.
For some reason, Cerryl’s thoughts went back to Benthann and her comments about women always being considered for what they provided in bed. “The Guild allows women to be full mages. What about Anya or the older woman in Ruzor that Myral was telling me about?”
“Shenan,” mumbled Lyasa. “Think she’s Myral’s younger sister. He doesn’t say.”
Leyladin frowned. “He’s never mentioned her.”
“There’s usually something most mages don’t mention.” Lyasa took a long swallow of ale. “That tastes good.”
“What were you doing today?” Cerryl glanced at the black-haired student.
“Anya and Whuyl were showing me how to use a dagger—in close. It’s a lot of work.”
Cerryl took a mouthful of the lamb, dry despite the thick sauce. “No one’s taught me about daggers.”
“Anya says a female needs that kind of knowledge.”
“She’d know,” suggested Leyladin quietly. “If it can kill, she’s looked into it.”
“I don’t know that she has a choice,” pointed out Lyasa. A wry smile crossed her lips. “You can’t use your body for everything.”
Cerryl almost choked, especially when he saw Faltar at the serving table.
“We’ll behave,” promised Leyladin, her eyes sparkling.
Cerryl wasn’t quite sure he wanted her to behave. Even Lyasa snorted.
After a moment, he finally asked the question he’d wondered about for over a year. “Why do you spend so much time with Myral? He doesn’t need that much healing.”
“Myral is old, very old for a white mage, Cerryl. He must be threescore, and most whites don’t live much past two score.” Leyladin lifted her shoulders and dropped them. “I’m a healer, and that’s what he needs.”
“That’s all?”
“Handling chaos is hard on the body. You should know that. Especially after today.”
Cerryl gave a rueful smile. “But Myral?”
“I’m a healer, Cerryl. Myral’s not too proud to ask for my help, unlike Sterol or Esaak. And I can learn from him. He knows a lot.” Leyladin studied him. “You . . . you’re actually jealous.”
Cerryl looked down, then forced himself to meet the laughing green eyes. “Yes.”
“And honest.”
“I try,” he said. “I don’t know how honest.”
“You’re honest. That’s one reason why Myral likes you.”
“Honesty isn’t enough around here.”
“No,” interjected Lyasa, “it’s not enough. But all the other stuff you need to know isn’t enough without it, either. Not over time.”
“My . . . we’re all so philosophical . . .” Leyladin laughed.
Both Cerryl and Lyasa joined her laughter.
LXXXV
MATTERS HAVE WORSENED in Gallos.” Jeslek paced around the table, then glanced to the rear window of his quarters. “Even the High Wizard is concerned.” His eyes went to Cerryl, then to Kochar. “We will be traveling to Jellico the day after tomorrow. Get together what you will need for a long trip.”