Imperial Magic

by Alma T. C. Boykin

  "Aye." No other reply had seemed safe. The Galnaar men and their employees suffered from strained tempers and frayed nerves thanks to Hein's failure to understand that an apprentice's duty was to obey, not to devise new and brilliant methods of conducting inventory and organization. They'd been amazingly, blessedly, strikingly fortunate that none of the un-tagged bales, bundles, barrels, and individual hides had gone out for delivery.

  "Boy, what does this tag say?" Tycho had demanded, pointing to the piece of heavy paper on his desk.

  Hein had picked it up, blinked, and read it, lips moving. "It says that the bundle contains eight rough-tanned great-hauler hides suitable for heavy uses, sir."

  Ewoud, standing at his father's right shoulder, waited. So did his father. When nothing more was forthcoming, Tycho inquired, "And?"

  The skinny boy turned the tag over. "And that they are for someone in Maans'hill, sir. And it has your seal on it."

  "What else?"

  Hein had shaken his head. "Nothing, sir, other than the little marks on the bottom where someone poked holes in it."

  "Ewoud, if you please?"

  Ewoud bowed to his father and took a small black canvas pouch from a cabinet, then removed the contents and handed them to Tycho. His father held up the device with handles and jaws. "What is this?"

  "No idea, sir?"

  Tycho stood. He carried the device around the desk and all but shoved it in Hein's face. "This is a tax punch. This one belongs to the Scavenger's temple. The holes on the tags show that the proper city and temple taxes have been paid on goods sold among the Five Free Cities. Other signs show to a notary mage or senior priest if the punch is valid.

  "The punches and seals on the tags are more important than the contents and destination, boy!" Tycho's voice had grown louder. "Without the punched tags, the goods will be declared contraband and taxed three times by the city and the temples, then sold at public auction. I can forgive many errors, boy, but making me pay taxes four times and then losing the cost of the goods themselves I cannot forgive. Get out."

  Hein's eyes had gone wide. "But you can't do that. I left the tags in the storage section so they could be put in the ledgers to keep inventory."

  Ewoud had covered his eyes with one hand. Tycho had set the tax punch down on his desk with great care, then turned and grabbed Hein by the collar and waist-band. Without a further word Ewoud's father had tossed Hein bodily out of the wares-house door, but carefully, so that he didn't break any bones when he landed. "Go back to your father. Your clothes and wage will be sent to you. Do not come back." Tycho and Ewoud had shut and barred the smaller door. The other two apprentices and two journeymen stood in the yard, staring a little or smiling and slapping palms. "Is work done?" They'd vanished up the ladders faster than rats scrambled off a ship in port.

  "Bastian will return this," Tycho had told Ewoud as he replaced the punch in the small sack. "The priest on duty was quite willing to loan it for a small consideration. It needs to be repaired. Some of the teeth broke."

  And so it could not make an approved punch. Ewoud had wondered about the loan when Bastian had brought it in. Their father's difficulty with magic meant nothing to god-touched objects, thus the temple stamp and not an old civic punch.

  As satisfying as it had been to watch, dismissing Hein had not solved the problem of the tags and having to re-secure them to the goods. "Thanks be to Maarsrodi and Yoorst both that there were only two barrels," one of the journeymen had said as they finished.

  "Aye, and that one was fish planks," Ewoud had grunted as they wrestled the other barrel into the sling for lowering it out of the storage floor. Only fish planks had that kind of strapping on the lid, arranged in a raised pattern so no one could be accused of painting false information on the barrel.

  Now Ewoud wondered what sort of tempest waited over the horizon. The flow of petitioners visiting the emperor's court had decreased to a trickle. No one had heard any official pronouncements about magic or about Liambruu. The priests within the city had not said anything other than to remind people that the gods moved in their own ways and at their own times, and that claiming to know the will of the gods did not always make it so. The emperor had issued declarations of tax-release to Platport and Moahnabrig because of the destruction caused by a fire and flooding respectively, and had announced that he would consider petitions for free-city status from three cities in the south.

  One of the names had made Ewoud's father smile. "I am not surprised, given the fate of their last two lords. Unless Yoorst in his glory and power gave the flat-horned cervi of the eastern forests thumbs and tools instead of hoofs, it was the husband of Count Astarna's ‘game’ who put a cross-bow bolt into the count's back. Such hunting accidents have been oddly common among the nobles these past ten years or so."

  As he thought about the story, or at least the fragments that had traveled this far north and west, Ewoud smiled a little. Then the smile faded as two north-men strode past, one wearing a sword, both carrying long knives on their belts. Would the priests of Liambruu try to kill the Great Northern Emperor? Ewoud had not seen that many soldiers with his most Imperial Majesty. In fact, as he thought about it, the city militia outnumbered the imperial guards. Did the emperor trust the gods to protect him, or did he have... battle magic? Ewoud whispered the words, even inside his own head. No one had heard of, let alone witnessed, battle magic being used since the end of the Great Cold, according to the chronicles and priests.

  Ewoud turned up the street to the wares-house, then hesitated. Four men stood outside the closed gate. Three looked like guards of some kind, but they did not wear the insignia of the Rhonari watch. The fourth stood a hand taller than the guards, but leaner, and pounded on the door with the hilt of a heavy knife. Ewoud pulled his cloak around him and watched for a heart beat, then another. He needed to get home, but ordering off the guards did not seem smart. Ah, could he—? No, not if that was Dogald. But there was that other way...

  Ewoud reversed directions and returned to Market Street. He strode along, head up, as if intent on business. Then he turned on the parallel street and ducked into an unlocked gate. The night-soil men used it to collect the ordure from the night-soil barrels behind the houses. One of them had broken the lock years before, and Ewoud and his brothers had discovered the egress. They likely were not the only ones, but the lock remained broken. Now he skirted along in the tiny gap between the property walls, turning almost sideways at one point and sucking in his gut as he squeezed through. He stopped, looking down at the dirt. A large paw print, two paw prints, followed the patten marks and foot prints of the night-soil men. Ewoud blinked. Probably one of the dogs the rat-catcher used. And it wasn't getting him home.

  His family's back gate had a flat fish carved into it. Ewoud found it by touch. Now, if the odd brick was still in place. He looked left and right, found the brick, and the stone he wanted. They stood just a finger-width proud of the wall. He took a deep breath, backed up as far as he could, and ran two steps then jumped.

  One foot on the brick, one on the stone, hands on the top of the wall and he heaved himself up, then scrambled over. Now the hard part. The vines had grown since he'd last done this, and it took two tries to find the right place. He lowered himself as far as he could, then his toe located a little niche. From there he could get down onto the soft dirt of the back garden, empty of vegetables and herbs this time of year. Ewoud dusted himself off and made certain that he had not torn any of his clothes. Thus tidied, he walked past the living area of the wares-house and let himself into the back door of the business. He could hear Dogald pounding on the front door.

  "Master Ewoud!" the senior journeyman exclaimed. "We are not expecting anyone, so I did not open the door."

  "Good. Don't. If it were a courier or delivery, they would not pound so and they would have identified themselves." Ewoud added a little fuel to the fire in the office oven.

  The journeyman nodded, arms crossed. "That's what I thought. I looked
out the window and didn't recognize either the man or his bully boys, sir."

  Bastian appeared not long after. "The muscle at the door had better leave before Father comes home or there'll be blood in the street."

  "Oh?" Ewoud leaned back and set the wax tablet down. How had Quinn calculated freight? The numbers on the receipt made no sense.

  "Oh indeed. They threatened me when I approached the door and said I'd better tell my master to find the Galnaar men and have them turn you over for justice."

  "And?"

  Bastian opened the door and spat onto the courtyard stones, then closed it again. "Fagh. I played stupid. If they can't read my badge and colors, then they have no business with us. I went and told the watch that someone was lingering around the street, and then came in the back gate." He winked and grinned, putting one finger beside his nose.

  Ewoud winked back. A little bit of him wanted the strangers to wait, because he had not seen a good fight and thumping by the guard in quite a while. The rest of him recalled being caught on the edge of that riot and hoped that Dogald and his men would leave quietly. What a foolish mess.

  They left, although not without hanging something from the gate. Tycho stormed in, chased by an east wind and fuming as he waved a piece of paper. "Dogald is here, it seems." He slapped the page down on his desk, then marched back out into the courtyard to remove his pattens and shake snow off his cloak. Ewoud peered at the heavy, poorly-written text. "For someone claiming so many law rights, Dogald does not seem to understand how Rhonari's laws operate. Nor the laws of the empire," Tycho stated when he came back in.

  "Ah, no, sir, he does not." Even if a person was not a citizen and did not hold a residence permit within the walls, they could not be dragged out of their residence by private guards for personal justice. Citizens certainly could not be arrested by outsiders save for the emperor's guards and that was only for a violation of imperial law attested by at least three witnesses. The page claimed that Ewoud was out-law and subject to arrest and private justice. "Perhaps I am in error, honored father, but one cannot be declared out-law in absentia unless one is already outside the walls of the city."

  "You remember correctly. And a public declaration must be made to your family, or if the individual has no family, to members of his trade or confraternity, or to the city at large with three outcries." Tycho warmed his hands over the oven. "I had just been named to the council-at-large when Rhonari had its last out-law declaration of a permitted resident. If you must know the charges, look them up when you are older. Suffice it to say that the injured parties' families wasted no time hunting him down."

  Ewoud shuddered. He did not want to know. Very few things led to a man being declared outside the protection of the law. "Ah, Mistress Garoostra was quite pleased with the cat poppet and wanted three more. She paid four vlaat in coin and silver."

  "They are rather charming, for poppets," Tycho allowed, shaking his head even so. Boughten poppets had clay heads and bodies. Women made soft poppets at home for their own children. "Perhaps the novelty will out-weigh the materials."

  Snow covered the city that night and well into the next day, large soft flakes that swallowed sound and resembled feathers more than anything else. "These are very much like the snow in the council chamber," Tycho mused, watching the apprentices and journeymen clear the courtyard and the area just outside the wares-house gates. "And you need to come here, Ewoud. Now." Ewoud jumped up from his work and joined his father bowing to a blue and white clad messenger.

  "Meester Tycho Galnaar, Ewoud Truthspeaker Galnaar, a petition for justice against you has been brought to the emperor," the pale courier began. He wore only a light cape and cap despite the cold and snow. The man held out a roll of paper with a blue seal hanging from the ribbon. "His most Imperial Majesty the Great Northern Emperor will hold a court of justice tomorrow at first light, outside the gates of the city. Yours will be the second petition after the men of Liambruu." He turned and left before Ewoud or his father could speak.

  "Why outside—oh." Ewoud did not thump himself on the head with the parchment. Liambruu's delegation would not come within the walls, claiming that the mages in the city had cast curses on the very stones. "Ah, honored father, does it not seem passing strange that the men who decry all magic as false and evil insist on meeting personally with the most powerful mage in the empire?"

  "Wide and deep are the waters of folly, my son," Tycho replied, sounding tired. " And if folly truly were water, all of Rhonari would have drowned during the last council meeting. And I did not speak those words aloud, nor did you hear them."

  "No, honored father. For the council members are wise and take care that their discussions focus only on matters of the city, not on personal things." Although, given how Enkerman's voice carried when he was angry, Ewoud would not be surprised if the entire city of Rhonari and the people of the surrounding farms did not know that the former mayor believed that Pelzman had less sense than did a new hatched great-hauler or a three-days dead fish. The whole market certainly knew.

  "I have no advice for you, Ewoud. Tell the truth, carry your staff, and the gods will support the truth." Tycho stared into the distance. "You found favor in the emperor's sight once already. That carries more weight than many things. For all that he's a powerful mage, he is also a man."

  What did his father mean? Ewoud tried to suss out what his father intended to tell him, but could think of nothing. Trusting the gods made sense, as did taking his staff. At the very least, the snow had turned the footing treacherous. Ewoud sifted the ideas over and over that afternoon and evening, but could not understand why the Great Northern Emperor being a man as well as a mage had any import. All mages were men and women.

  Come the next morning, Ewoud just wanted the whole ordeal over with so he could return to business. The port would open soon, and the rest of the poppets would be ready. The trading season loomed, although how the emperor's return would affect things no one knew. War always slowed trade, Ewoud grumbled as he picked his way through the knee-deep snow. The main streets in the city had been trampled enough to wear paths in the white fluff, but outside the gates, it remained fresh for the moment. That would change, given the number of people trudging along with him.

  A wooden platform stood in the open space customarily reserved for hangings and fair tents. North-men guarded it, and Ewoud looked left and right, trying to decide where he was to go.

  "Ewoud Truthspeaker?" Ewoud turned and bowed to a messenger. "Wait there, with the ambassadors and other petitioners." The man pointed to a well-dressed clump of men. Dogald also waited there, a shadow in his dark cloak and scowling countenance. Ewoud found a place at the opposite end of the milling diplomats. Several appeared to be comparing petitions and disagreeing, in one instance vehemently and with much waving of gloved hands. Farther away, Ewoud could see strangely dressed men and a group of priests in unusual vestments. The priests seemed to be praying or chanting something. Were they calling the gods to strike the emperor?

  If they were, the gods had thus far failed to heed their calls. The sweet trumpets sounded, and the Great Northern Emperor arrived in the wagon-sleigh. The strange beasts pulling it puffed and blew smoke in the cold. The sun seemed to be fighting to break through the clouds, and Ewoud had brought an eye-scarf, just in case. The sleigh-wagon stopped and the emperor leaped from the wagon to the platform, landing as lightly as his feline shadow. Everyone save the Liambruu delegation bowed, then knelt. "You may rise." The emperor's voice filled the field.

  Silence covered the land as the snow devoured all other sounds. Ewoud waited, almost vibrating with nerves. "Let those with claims against us come forward."

  The men from Liambruu marched toward the platform. One richly dressed man in a tunic with dagged and gold-embroidered sleeves and painfully yellow boots raised his hands, then pointed to the emperor. 'This creature is an evil imposter who claims to be the emperor. No such man exists."

  That certainly drew everyone's atte
ntion, and Ewoud had to give the ambassador points for having a large pair, even as he fought the urge to duck. The ambassador continued, "The gods struck down the mages in the south for their crimes and blasphemy, and will so strike this deceiver. Only the king of Liambruu has right to these lands. You must recognize his as your true and sole overlord and honor him. He alone keeps the trade routes safe, and his prayers alone have held the wrath of the gods at bay. Until now."

  Ewoud looked left and right, craning his neck until he saw a cluster of the priests of Rhonari. The woman in the dark blue and silver of Donwah's Daughter appeared in deep conversation behind her hand with Gember's Daughter. Neither woman seemed concerned about the gods' wrath striking them down. The green-clad priestess made a cutting motion with the hand not holding her basket of office. Donwah's Daughter gestured her agreement. Behind them, the male priests studied the scene. All appeared irritated, other than the Scavenger's priest, but then no one ever knew what lay behind the deep hood and black mask.

  The ambassador continued, "The gods have worked even here, stripping mages of their strength as a warning. The time of magic has passed, the gods grow angry with your refusal to believe and repent. Heed that warning, repent now. Cast out this charlatan and honor Sanchohaakon the Wise and Munificent, King of Liambruu."

  A voice called from the crowd, "What? You're the reason spells are weaker?"

  "So it wasn't a lazy mage after all!" a woman yelped.

  Someone else hissed, "You bastards, you cost me ten jars of grain you did."

  The ambassador shook his head. "No, the gods struck you for impiety! Magic is anathema, a sign of evil intent and corruption."

  A snowball flew from the crowd, almost hitting the ambassador in the chest before he dodged. Ewoud admired the person's aim, even as city guards moved to block further projectile protests. The people of Rhonari disagreed with the ambassador's claims, or so it certainly looked and sounded to Ewoud.