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in what I can buy cheap and sell dear." Layel refilled the crystal goblet before him and then Leyladin's. He glanced at Cerryl's goblet, still three-quarters full. "You haven't drunk much."
    "With me, a little wine goes a long way, but it's very good. Very good."
    "Father is not telling you everything. He hoards goods," Leyladin interjected with a smile, passing the pitcher with the orange glaze in it. "He buys them cheaply this season and sells them dearly the next. He has two large warehouses here and one in Lydiar."
    "You'll be giving away all my secrets, Daughter."
    "Just the two of you here?" Cerryl asked.
    "Now. My brother Wertel has a house in Lydiar. He runs the business for Father there, and my sisters live with their consorts here in Fairhaven. I'm the youngest." Leyladin grinned. "And the most trouble."
    "How could you say that, Daughter?" Layel shook his head in mock discouragement. "Trouble? You never brought in every stray dog in Fairhaven to heal it? You never had your head nearly split open because you would heal the fractious carriage horse? You never-"
    "Father.. ."
    "No ... you couldn't find a nice fellow and give me grandchildren." The factor turned to Cerryl. "She had to become a healer. She was trying to heal everything-the dogs, the warehouse cat that got kicked by the mule, the watchman's daughter ..."
    Leyladin's face clouded ever so slightly at the last, but the expression passed so quickly Cerryl wasn't sure he'd seen it.
    "Healers are far more scarce than White mages," Cerryl said brightly, taking a small mouthful of the beans and nuts with the fork that felt unfamiliar, copying Leyladin's usage. They were so tender he barely had to chew them, and they hadn't been cooked into mush in a stew pot.
    "Would that it were like trade, where what is scarce is dear," mumbled Layel.
    "Father ... finish eating ..." Leyladin grinned.
    "Always on me, you and your mother. Best to enjoy good food."
    "Talking with his mouth full is about his only bad habit," Leyladin said.
    "And you've never let me forget it." Layel turned to Cerryl. "She'll find any of your ill ways and try to heal you of them. Fair warning I'm providing."
    "Father ..." Leyladin blushed.
    "Turning the glass is fair for both."
    Cerryl took another sip of the wine, amazed at how good it tasted, uncertain of what he should say.
    Layel glanced at Cerryl. "I've embarrassed my daughter enough. She may know how you became a mage, but I do not. Perhaps you could shed a word or two about how you came to Fairhaven."
    "I'm afraid that my life is quite common, compared to yours," Cerryl protested.
    "Best we should judge that. A man's no judge of himself."
    "Well... as Leyladin might have told you, I'm an orphan. Both my parents died when I was so young I remember neither. I was raised by my aunt and uncle ..." Cerryl went on to detail his years at the mines, his apprenticeship at Dylert's mill, and then his work as an apprentice scrivener for Tellis. "... and then, one day, one of the overmages arrived at the shop and summoned me to meet with the High Wizard. He examined me and decided I was suitable to be a student mage. That took two years, and last harvest the Council made me a full mage ... a very junior mage. Now I'm one of those who guard the gates to Fairhaven."
    "Good thing, too." Layel shook his head. "I don't mind as paying the tariffs and taxes for the roads, but I'd mind more than a hogshead full of manure if the smugglers got off with using the roads and then coming into the city and selling for less than I could."
    "Father ... no one sells for less."
    "They could. Aye, they could. Take stuff in Spidlaria and sneak through Axalt or take the old back roads from Tyrhavven, and afore you know it they'd be in the Market Square."
    "Doesn't everyone pay the taxes?" Cerryl asked.
    "No. Even all the mages in the Halls couldn't find every ferret who turns a good. That's not the task of the city patrol, either. They keep the peace, not the trade laws.