“Unity of purpose?” Anrel blinked in astonishment. “Valin, you and Lord Allutar are both going to be on the Grand Council—do you think you have any commonality of intent?”
Valin hesitated. “I suppose we both wish to see the empire prosperous—but he hasn’t been elected by anyone but himself.”
“And the emperor.”
“Yes, the emperor, true. But still, he was not chosen by popular vote.”
“Neither were you. Do you think it impossible, though, that both of you might have won election, were the entire Grand Council to be chosen thus?”
Valin paused, considering that.
“I do not think an elected government must have unity of purpose at all,” Anrel said. “The people of Walasia have no unity of purpose; why should their representatives? Are we no different here in Aulix from the people of Lithrayn, or Pirienna, or Agrivar?”
Valin frowned. “You may be right,” he conceded. “I had been thinking that the elective process would winnow out those ideas and behaviors that disrupt our national thinking—that each representative would become a reflection of the purified will of the majority, and as such, would each share the same goals and beliefs as the population as a whole. But I see now that in practice, the system must work with human frailty, and must take regional variation into account, so the purification cannot be complete.”
Anrel did not dare reply to this nonsense with more than a simple, “Yes.”
“An interesting point. I shall want to hear what Derhin has to say about it.”
“Have we time to ask him today?”
Startled, Valin, who had been staring off at the horizon, turned to stare at Anrel. “I hardly think so,” he said. “Derhin is in Naith.” He glanced at the sun. “It’s too late to make the trip today.”
“Is it?”
“Anrel, are you mad? Of course it is!”
“The sun is not yet at its zenith.”
“But the morning coach has been gone an hour!”
“There are other ways to travel, my lord.”
“Do you propose to walk such a distance?”
“My uncle would surely lend us horses, should we ask.”
Valin looked distinctly uncomfortable. “A twelve-mile ride would be a wearisome effort to make merely to see what Derhin thinks of our discussion.”
It was clear to Anrel that Valin did not want to go to Naith, and would find excuses at every turn—perhaps he had drunk enough to make the long ride awkward. Anrel abandoned that approach. “Still, it is too pleasant a day to remain here at home! Let us at least walk into Alzur—I never did get the wine and sausages you promised me when I first returned. Perhaps we can find a decent luncheon there, and in any case, it will give you an opportunity to become better acquainted with the people you are to represent in Lume.”
Valin considered that for a moment, then nodded. “If it would please you, Anrel, then let us go.”
“It would indeed please me.”
“Then let us be off!”
An hour later the two were seated beneath the awning in the town square, giving their order to the same woman who had told them of Urunar Kazien’s doom several days before. As they did, Valin glared past her at the black mourning bunting that draped the bakery’s sign, and frowned deeply.
When he had proposed this outing Anrel had not considered that they would be sitting near the bakery, reminding Valin of his inability to save the late thief’s life. That had clearly been an error on Anrel’s part. He wished that Valin had been interested in visiting Naith, which would have avoided the issue.
He had not expected the somber draperies, either, and they certainly aggravated the situation, making it impossible to pretend everything here was as it had been before.
Another potentially troublesome matter was that this square lay directly on the most natural route from Lord Allutar’s home to Lord Dorias’s. If the landgrave happened to pass through while Valin was here, questions and recriminations might arise.
Since Lord Allutar was not expected at the house for several hours yet, that danger was not immediate, but Anrel had observed in Naith that Valin was capable of sitting at a table for an entire day. He would need to pry his friend away by midafternoon. He could not hope that Valin would restrain himself; after all, Valin had already been drinking for some time.
“I’ll have that for you in a moment,” the woman said, when Anrel had agreed with Valin’s choice of beverage. She turned and hurried away.
Anrel watched her go, and therefore did not notice immediately when Valin’s gaze turned hard. The young sorcerer said nothing, but stared intently past his friend.
And when Anrel’s own attention returned to the table, he saw that intensity instantly; Valin was staring at the bakery with a fierceness Anrel found startling.
“What is it?” Anrel asked, turning to see what Valin saw.
The door of the bakery stood open, and a man in a cloak was in the doorway, his back to them. He wore a fine hat. Two other men stood nearby, and with a sinking sensation Anrel recognized their livery.
“How dare he?” Valin said. “How dare he intrude on the family’s grief? Is he buying a dozen biscuits there as if he had never wronged them, as if he had not snatched their son from their arms?”
“I doubt it,” Anrel said. “He would have sent a servant for that.”
“Then what is he doing there?”
“I don’t know,” Anrel admitted.
Valin stood so abruptly that his chair fell backward; he did not seem to notice.
“Valin,” Anrel said warningly.
Valin paid no attention; he marched around the table, past Anrel, and toward the bakery.
Anrel rose and grabbed his friend’s sleeve. “You promised you would not trouble him.”
“I promised I would not go out of my way to do so if he committed no new atrocity, but look at him, Anrel!” He gestured wildly toward the black-draped bakery. “He affronts the boy’s memory by daring to set foot in a house of mourning.”
“It’s a shop, Valin, not a house,” Anrel said, “and for all you know he is there to apologize, to offer his respects!”
“That would require some sense of decency, and Lord Allutar has none.” He pulled his sleeve from Anrel’s grasp and stalked toward the bakery.
Anrel followed, trying to think of words that might dissuade his friend, and watched in horror as the cloaked figure turned and stepped out of the bakery. It was indeed Lord Allutar, who now stood calmly watching as Lord Valin marched up to him.
“You unspeakable monster,” Valin said without preamble, loudly enough to be heard throughout the square. Half a dozen villagers turned, startled.
“A pleasant day to you, Lord Valin,” Allutar replied calmly.
“How can you barge in on them like this, when their son’s body is scarcely cold?” Valin demanded.
“I understand you knew Master Kazien, Lord Valin, and so I will pardon your rudeness,” Allutar said. “I came here to personally deliver my apologies, and the compensation required by law and custom; the sum was large enough that I preferred to present it myself, rather than tempt an underling.”
“You think money can make up for the loss of a human life?” Valin shouted. “Do you think they will be grateful for your miserable attempt at charity?”
Allutar’s mouth tightened. “No, my lord, I do not,” he said. “I am quite sure that the loss of their son will affect them deeply for as long as they live, and that they will in all probability never forgive me. Nonetheless, I am required by law and my own conscience to make this payment so that at least, while they will yet inevitably suffer, that suffering will not be compounded by any risk of financial ruin.” He sighed. “I could have had the entire matter attended to by my servants, or by other go-betweens, but I prefer to think myself enough of a man to run my ownerrands when they are as distasteful as this.”
Allutar’s calm seemed to infuriate Valin—a reaction Anrel understood, as he had experienced it himself on more
than one occasion in the past. Oddly, this time he felt no outrage at all, a fact that troubled him—had his years in Lume hardened him? Or was it that, for once, Lord Allutar was behaving with appropriate dignity and grace?
Certainly his behavior was better than Valin’s.
“You foul, heartless creature!” Valin shouted. “It is a disgrace to the empire that you are called a landgrave!”
Allutar’s expression hardened.
“Guard your words, my lord,” he said. “Guard my words? Oh, you would have me silence myself, and bow to your vaunted authority? I think not, Allutar Hezir! I am a delegate to the Grand Council now, as much as you are yourself, and I will see to it that all Lume knows you for the appalling beast you are!”
Allutar blinked. “What did you say?”
“I said I will denounce you before the council and the emperor; I will see your title stripped from you, your lands confiscated, your name disgraced. I will see you cast down from your high place, into the mud where you belong.”
“You are to be on the Grand Council?” He looked past Valin at Anrel, who could only stand in horror-stricken silence, hands spread.
“My guardian has granted me that honor, yes,” Valin said. “I am to represent Alzur on the council, on behalf of the burgrave.”
Still looking at Anrel, Allutar demanded, “Is this true?”
“Yes, my lord,” Anrel said, his heart sinking and his gorge rising.
“You call me a liar, now?” Valin demanded.
“The possibility that you are mad had not escaped me,” Allutar replied. “Indeed, I had hoped your appointment was a mere delusion.” He shook his head. “I am most disappointed in Lord Dorias.”
“Disappointed that he dared make his own choice, rather than toadying to you? I remind you, Allutar, that the emperor has forbidden interference in the elections. Do not think yourself free to cozen my guardian.”
“You will address me properly, young man,” Allutar snapped.
“‘Lord’ is a title of respect, is it not? I have no respect for you.”
“I am still the landgrave of Aulix, Lord Valin, and you will address me accordingly.”
“You have no right to be any sort of noble!”
A sudden stillness seemed to settle over Allutar’s features, and a chill closed on Anrel’s heart.
“Are you challenging my right to my position?” Allutar asked, calm once again.
“Of course I am! Haven’t you heard what I’ve been saying?”
Allutar spoke very clearly and precisely as he said, “You are a sorcerer of the empire, challenging me to demonstrate my fitness to be landgrave of Aulix?”
Anrel’s blood seemed to freeze in his veins. He recognized that formula, as Valin almost certainly did not. He wanted to call out, to warn his friend, but Valin replied before Anrel could speak.
“Yes!” he said.
Anrel’s heart sank. The challenge had been made; any warning now would be useless.
Allutar turned to the two men who had accompanied him. “You have heard this?” he asked.
The two exchanged glances; then one of them nodded, and said, “Yes, my lord.”
The other hesitated another moment under Allutar’s intense scrutiny before finally saying, very quietly, “Yes.”
“Good!” Allutar said. He turned back to Valin. “I accept the challenge. My seconds will call on you in the morning to arrange the details.” He looked over Valin’s shoulder. “Master Murau!”
“Wait—you what?” Valin said, baffled.
“Yes, my lord?” Anrel said, dreading what was to come.
“I am afraid that I must change my plans for this evening. Would you please inform your uncle and your lovely cousin that I will not be calling on them, after all?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Does Lord Valin have friends who can act as his seconds?”
Anrel hesitated a fraction of a second before replying, “He has me, my lord.”
“More than he deserves, I think.” He turned back to Valin and stared at him for a long moment—silently, as under the law he could no longer speak to him. Then he tugged at his cloak and turned away.
“Wait,” Valin said.
Allutar ignored him; Anrel grabbed Valin’s sleeve again. “Not another word!” he said.
The two men stood, Anrel clutching Valin’s sleeve, as Allutar and his two attendants marched away, across the square and up the hill toward the landgrave’s estate. When they were gone, Valin asked plaintively, “What happened? What did I do?”
Anrel stared at him. “You really don’t know?”
“No,” Valin said. “What did I do?”
Anrel sighed. “You challenged Lord Allutar to trial by sorcery,” he said. “The winner shall be landgrave of Aulix.”
“I . . . what?” Valin whirled and stared after the departing sorcerer.
Anrel did not bother to repeat himself.
“And . . . and the loser?” Valin asked, still watching Lord Allutar.
“That is up to the winner,” Anrel said. “Assuming, of course, that the loser survives the trial.”
12
In Which Matters Are Arranged to Resolve
Lord Valin’s Challenge
“This can’t be happening,” Lord Dorias said, his head in his hands. “It can’t be!”
“I’m sorry, Magister,” Valin said, eyes downcast. “I had not intended my words—”
“Anrel,” Dorias interrupted, ignoring Valin, “didn’t I ask you to keep Valin away from Lord Allutar?”
Anrel saw the look of stunned dismay that flickered across Valin’s face, and considered lying—Valin might believe old Dorias was even more confused than usual—but decided there was no point in deception. “I said I would keep him occupied elsewhere this evening, yes, but evening had not come, and I had not anticipated Lord Allutar’s presence in the town square.”
“Do you know how long it has been since there has been a formal challenge in Aulix?”
“Thirty-eight years,” Anrel replied immediately. “Lord Nerval Cherneth challenged the sitting burgrave of Paldis, a Lord Kordomir, and defeated him easily.”
“How do you . . . oh, never mind. It doesn’t matter.” Dorias sighed. “Even if Lord Allutar chooses not to do you any permanent physical harm, Valin, and I doubt you will be so fortunate as that, do you know what this will do to your reputation? You are a sorcerer, yes, but against Lord Allutar you are a child with a stick fighting a skilled swordsman, and this trial will make you look like a complete fool. This cannot end well.”
Stung, Valin began, “I am not completely without ability—”
Dorias cut him off. “I trained you,” he said. “I know your abilities quite well. You have the talent to be a . . . a functionary, a warder perhaps, even a magistrate. But a landgrave? No.” He shook his head. “It is not possible.”
“Fine, then!” Valin said, flinging his head back. “I will do my best, and I will be defeated, and honor will be served.”
“And for the rest of your life, people will whisper behind their hands, saying, ‘There goes the fool who challenged Lord Allutar!’ Do you think you have had difficulty in finding a position now? It will be a thousand times worse when the news gets out. And all this assumes that you survive this confrontation, which is by no means certain, and are not crippled. As Anrel can tell you, sorcery can kill.”
Anrel’s mouth tightened, and he resisted the temptation to throw his uncle’s earlier words about the blessings of sorcery back in his face.
“And if I survive I will go to Lume as your delegate, Magister,” Valin said, “and I will do what I can there to make a record that will make them all forget my moment of folly.”
“Let us hope that you will be so fortunate!”
“Perhaps this will put paid to the quarrel between them, Uncle,” Anrel said. “It may even prove a blessing in the end—the conflict will be resolved, honor satisfied, and our two houses reconciled thereby, to the benefit of
”—he caught himself before implying something indelicate about Lady Saria, and concluded—“of all concerned.”
“Perhaps,” Dorias said, in tones of unrelieved woe that made plain his disbelief. He turned to Valin. “You will need seconds.”
“I am unfamiliar with the protocol,” Valin admitted.
“You will need companions who will serve as your aides,” Dorias explained. “The seconds serve as go-betweens between the two principals, since they are forbidden to speak to each other, lest their words be subtle spells. The seconds also serve as judges, to ensure an honest competition, and to decide the victor should the outcome not be immediately obvious. The seconds are responsible for acknowledging defeat, should they deem their principal unable to continue.”
“I have no one in Alzur I would trust to serve such a role, save Anrel and yourself,” Valin said.
“Could you perhaps send to Naith for your friends there?” Anrel suggested. “I do not believe the trial need take place immediately.”
“I fear that the challenged party sets the time and place,” Dorias said. “If Lord Allutar chooses, the trial may be held tomorrow morning. By custom he must allow you one night to put your affairs in order, but no more than that. You must have a second in place by morning, to receive the terms.”
“Magister, would you do me the honor?”
“No,” Dorias said unhappily. “I cannot. As burgrave of Alzur, where the challenge was given and accepted, I must remain neutral.”
Valin turned to Anrel.
Anrel turned to Dorias. “Is it not customary for the seconds to be sorcerers themselves, to prevent trickery?”
“Customary, but not required,” Dorias replied. “As long as they are of good family and reputation, any may serve.”
“And there are no sorcerers in Alzur save Allutar, Saria, Dorias, and myself,” Valin said. “I do not seem to have the option of following custom.”
“Lady Saria—” Anrel began, then stopped. “No, I suppose not.” He could hardly expect Saria to choose sides between her father’s fosterling and her own suitor.
“Write to your friends in Naith,” Dorias said. “I will have Ollith deliver the letter to the College of Sorcerers there, and if Lord Allutar allows time, those friends may come to Alzur to support you. They will be made welcome in my home.”
A Young Man Without Magic Page 12