Colors of Chaos Read Online Free PDF

image was that of a smiling, narrow-faced woman with generous lips and long wavy blonde tresses. She wore a green vest embroidered in gold thread over a loose white silk shirt. The blue eyes seemed to follow Cerryl. He looked at Leyladin. “Your mother?”
    She nodded. “That was her favorite outfit, and it’s how I remember her.”
    The end of the sitting room held a hearth, with a brass screen before it. In the wall to the left of the hearth was an archway. Leyladin led Cerryl through the arch and then through a door to the right, ignoring the archway on the left. The study was but ten cubits on a side, perhaps five long paces, and three of the walls were paneled in dark-stained red oak. The forth and inside wall contained only shelves, though, but a third held scattered displays of books, the remainder holding decorative items-malachite vases, a curved silver pitcher, a narrow and ancient blade.
    A heavy man rose from the desk in the corner, angled so that the heat from coals in the hearth bathed him where he had been sitting. The top of his head was bald and shining, and on each side of his head blond hair half-covered his ears. A wide smile burst from his clean-shaven face, and green eyes, lighter than those of his daughter, smiled with his mouth.
    “Father, this is Cerryl. Cerryl, this is my father, Layel.”
    “So… you’re one of the young mages?” Layel stepped around the polished dark wood of the desk and offered a polite head bow.
    “A very junior mage among many.” Cerryl bowed in return.
    “He’s got a sense of place, Daughter! Maybe too modest for the Halls, from all I’ve seen.”
    “He is modest.”
    “We should be eating. Meridis will be letting me know for days that I let the food suffer.” Layel gestured and then let Leyladin lead the way out of the study and through the archway she and Cerryl had not taken on the way to the study.
    “What are we having?” asked the blonde as they entered a small dining hall.
    The dining hall was small only comparatively, thought Cerryl. While three places were set at one end, the long white golden table could have easily seated twenty. Each chair around the table was of the white golden oak, and each was upholstered in the dark green velvet. The pale white china sat upon place mats of light green linen, and matching linen napkins were set in holders beside the silver utensils flanking the china. Fluted crystal goblets were set by each plate.
    “Your favorite,” answered Layel, “the orange beef with the pearapple noodles.”
    Orange beef? Pearapple noodles? Pearapples had been scarce enough in Cerryl’s childhood, and to be savored on those few occasions when Uncle Syodor or Aunt Nail had produced one. Now Cerryl was about to have noodles made from them-as if they were as common as flour!
    “I broke out some of the white wine from Linspros.” Layel glanced at his daughter. “I needed some excuse for something that good. Couldn’t very well drink it by myself.”
    The trader sat at the head, with Cerryl and Leyladin at each side, facing each other across the end of the table. No sooner had the three seated themselves than a gray-haired woman in the same type of blue overtunic that Soaris was wearing appeared with two large platters of the same fine white china, then scurried out and returned with two more.
    Cerryl glanced across the offerings-thin cuts of beef interspersed with thinly sliced oranges and green leaves and covered with an orange glaze; fine white noodles; long green beans with nuts and butter; and dark bread.
    Layel served himself the beef and noodles. After he had finished, Leyladin nodded at Cerryl. “Please.”
    “Can’t say that, outside of the white, I’d be taking you for a mage.” Layel took the big glass bottle and poured the clear wine into the three crystal goblets one after another.
    Wine from glass bottles-another luxury Cerryl had heard about but never seen. “I know. I look more like a scrivener. I was once, an