The White Order(173)

Cerryl squared his shoulders. Jeslek was not going to take Fairhaven away from him, either through death or exile. Whatever it took, Cerryl intended to survive and prosper. Whatever it takes . . . He frowned. Yet that was exactly how Jeslek was—doing whatever was necessary. How could Cerryl survive and not be like the overmage?

He shifted his weight in the saddle. There had to be a way. He was still frowning when he rode into the back courtyard of the Hall of the Mages that held the stable from where he had set out more than a half-season before. He dismounted slowly, bouncing slightly on his legs, legs that were sore but no longer cramping every time he rode.

A stable boy stepped out into the courtyard, frowning momentarily as his eyes took in the disheveled Cerryl. “Ser?”

“I’m the last of the Gallos group. The overmage asked me to do something that took longer.”

“Your mount looks a little thin, ser.”

“I ran out of grain on the way back. I tried to find good grass.” Cerryl unpacked the cloak, pack, and bedroll.

“He’s just a little thin, ser. We’ll take care of him.”

“You’re sure he’s all right?”

“Yes, ser.” The stable boy led the chestnut away.

For some reason, Cerryl felt somehow disappointed, let down. Because he and the horse had been through so much together? Because he’d been dismissed by a stable boy, who cared more for the mount than the man who rode him? He wasn’t sure whether to smile or sigh. So he took a deep breath, then began to walk toward the hall that held his cell and the commons.

Cerryl looked forward to bathing, really bathing and shaving. He’d wished all along that he’d taken the bronze razor Leyladin had given him, but all that would have to wait. He needed to get to Myral—and a few others—speedily.

Once he entered the hall, he moved quickly, dumping his pack and gear in the corner of the commons. He’d thought about using the light shield, but that could have been construed as an admission of guilt and allowed Jeslek, should Cerryl have run into the overmage, to attack immediately.

Heralt stopped Cerryl outside the commons as he headed toward the fountain courtyard. “Cerryl . . . I heard you’d disappeared . . .”

“No. That was what Jeslek wanted everyone to think. He sent me on a special task.” Cerryl pointed toward the courtyard. “I have to report. If you want to walk with me . . .”

Heralt eased beside him as Cerryl crossed the courtyard. The wind whipped chill spray over both students.

“I had to go to Fenard . . . the Gallosians managed to kill most of my escort, and it took a while to get back. I was supposed to give Sverlik a hand, but the perfect killed him before I got there.” Cerryl glanced at Heralt. “Please don’t tell anyone this—except Sterol, if he asks.”

“I can live with that.” Heralt smiled. “I’d better let you tell him.” The curly-haired student stopped at the archway to the front hall and the foyer that led to the mages’ tower.

Cerryl stepped inside. The foyer was empty, and he crossed it and went up the steps to the bottom level of the tower. He marched past the guards, and the messenger from the creche in red, not even looking at them, and up the steps toward Myral’s quarters. He’d figured that Jeslek wouldn’t have told the guards anything, particularly since they reported to Sterol—or maybe Kinowin. He wasn’t totally sure, but he doubted he’d find Jeslek in the tower.

Panting heavily after his quick climb, he rapped on Myral’s door. There was no response. He rapped again.

“Cerryl?”

“Yes, ser.” Cerryl stepped inside without waiting for an invitation, closing the door behind him.

Myral looked up, his round face annoyed. He sat by the table, stripped to the waist, and Leyladin was massaging his shoulders. “You could have waited . . .” The older mage cleared his throat. “Cerryl . . . I had not heard that you had returned . . .”

“You are the first to know. Jeslek gave me a test.”

“He said you vanished.”

“I am not surprised.” Cerryl snorted. “I thought that might be the case.” The younger man glanced at Leyladin, his eyes meeting her green orbs. He swallowed, almost feeling as though he were falling into her eyes, then pulled himself more erect.

Myral laughed. “The great Jeslek is always doing things his way.” He pulled his shirt and tunic back into place. “Leyladin told me you had set out to become an assistant to Sverlik. How did that go?”

“I didn’t tell Lyasa the whole story. Jeslek instructed me to become Sverlik’s assistant so that I could kill the prefect. He said it was a test I needed to pass before I became a full mage.” Cerryl’s smile was bitter. “One that would prove my devotion to Fairhaven.”