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 of mages, can separate them. Yet were they separated, such chaos would be without end. For the world is of chaos, and all the substance of this world is nothing more and nothing less than chaos bound into fixed form by order ...
Cerryl frowned. If he understood what the words said, the writer meant that anything, even the book itself in which the words were scrived, was nothing more than chaos bound into its form by order.
He scratched his head. Yet light was nearly pure chaos-or as pure as could be stood by living things. An involuntary yawn broke his concentration. Tomorrow would come early, far too early. He set aside the book and disrobed, carefully hanging out his clothes.
For a time, he lay there in the luxury of the wide bed, the words of Colors of White twisting in his thoughts ... "were they separated, such chaos would be without end ... were they separated ..."
While tomorrow would come early, he could look forward to the day after. That was his, as was every fourth day, and then he wouldn't have to struggle to rise before the sun with the predawn bells.
VII
Cerryl stood at the edge of the Meal Hall, almost empty and nearly too late to get anything to eat. Finally, he went to the serving table and took a large chunk of bread, some cherry conserve so thick it was like molasses, and a pearapple, slightly soft.
As he turned, Esaak beckoned from a side table. Cerryl's heart fell. Was the older mage about to reproach him again for his mathematical deficiencies? He carried his platter and a mug of water toward the heavy and mostly bald mage.
"Young Cerryl..." Esaak shook his head. "You may be the worst mage in mathematicks in the history of the Guild."
"I'm still reading the book, ser."
"And doing the problems?"
"Only a few," Cerryl confessed.
Esaak laughed. "Not all mages can be engineers or mathematicians. Just so long as you design no aqueducts or sewer tunnels." The deep-set eyes peered at the younger man. "Have you thought about what you would pursue? You do not strike me as the type to be a gate guard or an arms mage. Especially not for years on end."
The study of light... "I don't know. I really don't know what choices there might be. I know that Myral does much with water and sewers, and I think Kinowin follows trade, and you teach mathematicks ..."
"Who taught Kinowin about trade, young Cerryl? I was watching ships unload in Lydiar and Renklaar before Kinowin was born."
"I'm sorry."
"No need to apologize.
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 of mages, can separate them. Yet were they separated, such chaos would be without end. For the world is of chaos, and all the substance of this world is nothing more and nothing less than chaos bound into fixed form by order ...
Cerryl frowned. If he understood what the words said, the writer meant that anything, even the book itself in which the words were scrived, was nothing more than chaos bound into its form by order.
He scratched his head. Yet light was nearly pure chaos-or as pure as could be stood by living things. An involuntary yawn broke his concentration. Tomorrow would come early, far too early. He set aside the book and disrobed, carefully hanging out his clothes.
For a time, he lay there in the luxury of the wide bed, the words of Colors of White twisting in his thoughts ... "were they separated, such chaos would be without end ... were they separated ..."
While tomorrow would come early, he could look forward to the day after. That was his, as was every fourth day, and then he wouldn't have to struggle to rise before the sun with the predawn bells.
VII
Cerryl stood at the edge of the Meal Hall, almost empty and nearly too late to get anything to eat. Finally, he went to the serving table and took a large chunk of bread, some cherry conserve so thick it was like molasses, and a pearapple, slightly soft.
As he turned, Esaak beckoned from a side table. Cerryl's heart fell. Was the older mage about to reproach him again for his mathematical deficiencies? He carried his platter and a mug of water toward the heavy and mostly bald mage.
"Young Cerryl..." Esaak shook his head. "You may be the worst mage in mathematicks in the history of the Guild."
"I'm still reading the book, ser."
"And doing the problems?"
"Only a few," Cerryl confessed.
Esaak laughed. "Not all mages can be engineers or mathematicians. Just so long as you design no aqueducts or sewer tunnels." The deep-set eyes peered at the younger man. "Have you thought about what you would pursue? You do not strike me as the type to be a gate guard or an arms mage. Especially not for years on end."
The study of light... "I don't know. I really don't know what choices there might be. I know that Myral does much with water and sewers, and I think Kinowin follows trade, and you teach mathematicks ..."
"Who taught Kinowin about trade, young Cerryl? I was watching ships unload in Lydiar and Renklaar before Kinowin was born."
"I'm sorry."
"No need to apologize.
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