“You said his name is Lurias,” Nivain said. “Is he healthy?”
“To the best of my knowledge, he is.”
“Then the emperor has his heir, at last!”
“The emperor has two younger brothers,” Anrel reminded her. “The dynasty was hardly in danger of extinction.”
“Still, a prince! That’s good news.”
Anrel considered that for a moment, then asked, “Why?”
Nivain stared at him. “Because . . . because it is. The succession is secured. The empire will continue.”
“Right now, an heir to the throne does not strike me as the empire’s most urgent need,” Anrel said. “I don’t see how it feeds the hungry, or calms the mobs in the street, or makes the Grand Council any less likely to do something disastrously stupid.”
“You . . . have you no appreciation of . . .” Nivain stopped, unable to find the words she wanted.
“Indeed, I do not,” Anrel agreed, sparing her the trouble. He knew well enough what she meant. Any number of Walasians, of every rank and station, idolized the emperor, and indeed, the entire imperial family. Anrel did not share their reverence; after all, the emperor was, despite his exalted station, merely a man. He was a man who held a difficult and staggeringly important job, and who had for the most part carried it out adequately if unexceptionally, but still, he was only human.
And for the most part, his actions did little to affect the everyday life of the empire’s citizens. The emperor did not bring forth the crops in the fields, nor build the houses that sheltered the people. While the watchmen in every town were nominally employed by the emperor, and sometimes wore the emperor’s green and gold and styled themselves the Emperor’s Watch, in plain fact everywhere but Lume they were all hired by the burgraves, and commanded by their own officers, quite independently of who happened to occupy the imperial throne at the moment. It did not matter to Anrel who the emperor was, so long as the empire continued to function. Whether the next emperor was the son, brother, or nephew of the present incumbent did not strike him as a matter of any real significance.
In fact, given some of the rumors about the empress, Anrel thought it more certain that those brothers were truly of the same blood than that this newborn child was, though he would certainly never dare to suggest such a thing in public.
“Is it not the emperor who has declared you outlaws?” Anrel said quietly. “Simply because you did not care to attempt the trials?”
“That’s different,” Nivain said. “That’s not his fault. The law was made centuries ago, long before he was born.”
“Yet he’s done nothing to change it.”
“You should still speak respectfully,” Garras said, entering the conversation for the first time.
“My apologies, sir.” He did not want to argue with Master Lir, or do anything that might antagonize Tazia’s father.
“What else did the gatekeeper tell you?” Garras demanded.
Anrel hesitated, trying to remember what else the guardsman had said. “He said . . . that several members of the Grand Council have taken homes here in Beynos, and elsewhere in the surrounding towns, because the streets of Lume are not safe. Though they were invited to celebrate the prince’s birth in the capital, most have instead retreated to these outlying communities for the three days.”
Garras frowned. “Then there are more sorcerers in Beynos than usual?”
“Probably.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Nivain said. “Noblemen can’t be bothered with the sort of magic we do.”
“True enough,” Garras said. “But I wonder whether any of them brought their own witches with them.”
“Sorcerers hire witches? Why would they do that?” Anrel asked.
“I don’t know,” Garras said, “but Lume has its share of witches. That’s why we don’t go there—the people prefer to hire the witches they know from their own neighborhoods, not travelers like us. If there are people from Lume here, perhaps they brought witches.”
“I don’t think it likely,” Anrel said. “Lume has so many people that there’s business for witches the year around, so why would they chase after the councillors fleeing the city?”
“Then you don’t think any of those witches work for nobles, or their households?”
“Well, my uncle never hired witches,” Anrel said.
“That you knew of.”
“That I knew of,” Anrel acknowledged. He was fairly certain he would have known, but again, he had no desire to antagonize Garras.
“We’ve never worked for a sorcerer,” Perynis said.
“And that may be our misfortune,” Garras said.
“I would worry that any sorcerer might have us all hanged when he was done with us,” Anrel said.
“We have never been hanged yet,” Garras said.
“Sorcerers are the ruling class, and you have never worked for them,” Anrel said. “Commoners have no reason to wish us ill, but sorcerers might well see your daughters as not merely outlaws, but competition.”
“That might be so, or it might not,” Garras replied. “Perhaps someday we will have an opportunity to test your theory.”
“I am in no hurry.”
Garras laughed and took a swig of ale.
After that the conversation wandered, and Anrel found himself paying more attention to the sight and smell of Tazia, sitting across a corner of the table from him, than to what was being said. He had just taken her hand in his own when Reva returned.
For a moment everyone fell silent and simply watched as Reva walked up and resumed her seat. They watched as she straightened her hair, tossing it back over her shoulders.
Then Nivain said, “Well?”
“She wants a love spell,” Reva said slowly. “She wants it cast on a wealthy delegate who has taken refuge here while the council is in recess. This man has caught her eye, and she would like to catch his fancy in return.”
Something about her manner seemed slightly odd; her parents exchanged glances.
“That should be easy enough, shouldn’t it?” Garras said.
“If she can get me close enough to the man in question, yes,” Reva replied.
“A binding,” Anrel murmured, as he realized what sort of magic Reva was planning. “Binding the two souls together.”
“That’s the sorcerer’s word,” Tazia whispered back. “We’re witches. We call it a love spell.”
“There is more than one way to work such a binding,” Anrel said, more to himself than to anyone else.
Reva heard him. “Oh, she wants him completely under her thumb, of course,” she said. “And I’ll do my best to oblige her.”
“An asymmetric binding isn’t stable, though,” Anrel said.
Reva shrugged. “I don’t think she needs it to be.”
“A what?” Perynis said.
“A lopsided spell,” Nivain explained. “He’s right—unbalanced magic doesn’t keep its shape. The spell might fade away, or the balance might shift in one direction or the other—either she will fall more in love and his love will lessen, or it will cease to be love at all and turn to something else even less balanced. Obsession, perhaps, or hatred.”
“Well, we’ll be long gone before that happens,” Garras said.
Anrel started to say something in protest of this callous statement, but caught himself. He did not want to argue with Tazia’s family, not when he was still so unsure of his own plans.
It did trouble him, though, that they all seemed so undisturbed over some of the reckless magic they performed. The fraudulent prophecies were bad enough, but a misused emotional binding could easily ruin someone’s life. And an asymmetric one, effectively giving one person control of the other temporarily, that would inevitably and unpredictably collapse into something else—that was simply cruel.
Yes, it might equalize itself, and leave the pair genuinely in love for the rest of their lives, but that was not the most probable outcome. If Anrel remembered correctly what Valin an
d Saria had told him of their lessons, it was much more likely that the binding would break, perhaps very suddenly, leaving this man, whoever he was, married to someone in whom he had no real interest, and with no understanding of why he had been infatuated with her, or why the infatuation had abruptly ended. That could be very unpleasant for everyone involved.
Anrel was beginning to have a certain sympathy with whoever had outlawed witchcraft in the first place. “Did Mistress li-Dargalleis say who her intended paramour is?” he asked.
Reva smiled and cocked her head to one side in a way Anrel had never before seen her do. “Oh, yes,” she said. “And that’s the best part—even given that I’m charging her the most I have ever yet asked for a spell, and she’s agreed with hardly a word of protest. His identity is why I’m charging her fifty guilders.” Perynis and Tazia gasped at the sum. “You’ll like this, Master Murau,” Reva continued. “I’m sure you will.”
Anrel did not like the sound of that at all. “Will I?” he asked.
“I think so. Oh, I really do think so.”
“Out with it, woman!” Garras demanded. “I know it’s in the feminine nature to tease at every opportunity, but have mercy on us and say the name!”
Reva’s smile broadened. “She has asked me to enchant the landgrave of Aulix, Lord Allutar Hezir.”
24
In Which Anrel Weighs His Future Choices
Anrel’s blood seemed to freeze in his veins at Reva’s words.
“Lord Allutar?” he said.
“That’s right,” Reva said, nodding vigorously. “Mistress li-Dargalleis wants me to make Lord Allutar fall madly in love with her. And she’ll pay fifty guilders!”
There were so many concerns rushing through Anrel’s thoughts at this that he needed a few seconds to decide which to mention. Allutar’s heartless, murderous nature came to mind immediately as a good reason for Mistress li-Dargalleis to stay well clear of him. Anrel also recalled the landgrave’s intention of marrying Lady Saria, but Anrel’s cousin had presumably broken that off after Valin’s death.
But really, there was one single fact that doomed the entire enterprise. “Mistress Reva,” Anrel said slowly, “you do realize that Lord Allutar is a powerful sorcerer?”
“Of course I do!” Reva snapped, her smile vanishing. “So I’ll need to be very careful, I know that.”
“I am not sure it’s possible to be that careful,” Anrel said.
“Of course it is,” Reva said. “I’ve enchanted sorcerers before. I made Lady Fuirel hire that silly Bethuin girl as her lady’s maid, didn’t I?”
“I don’t know,” Anrel said. “Perhaps you did. But Lady Fuirel is no landgrave, no Lord Allutar.” In truth, he had no idea who Lady Fuirel was, but he was fairly certain she was not half the sorcerer Lord Allutar was. As a landgrave, Allutar was theoretically supposed to be one of the sixteen most powerful magicians in the empire. Making allowances for the political facts he might not actually be among the top sixteen, but he was unquestionably among the top hundred.
“A sorcerer is a sorcerer,” Reva said angrily. “Are you trying to frighten me? Is there some reason you want me to remain poor?”
Anrel would not have minded if he had succeeded in frightening her, but it would hardly do to admit it. “By no means, Mistress Reva!” he said instead. “I merely warn you to be very cautious indeed in this undertaking. I have dealt with Lord Allutar, and he is not a forgiving man. I would not care to see you fall afoul of him.”
In truth, Anrel feared that Reva had signed her own death warrant by accepting this commission, but he could not think of any way to convince her of her folly. He knew that she would not listen to him if he tried to argue further at present.
He was uncomfortably aware that he had fifty guilders of his own hidden away in the lining of his coat; he could perhaps pay Reva not to attempt the spell. Doing so, however, would reveal that he had lied to the Lirs, and would use up a large portion of his funds, and there was nothing to keep her from refusing his money—or worse, taking his money and then attempting the spell anyway, excusing it as fair repayment for Anrel’s lies. After all, refusing the commission from Mistress li-Dargalleis at this point would not be good for Reva’s reputation as a witch.
But he was very much afraid that the spell would utterly fail, that Lord Allutar would sense the attempt and follow the magic back to its source, and that Reva would suffer in consequence.
What’s more, she might not be the only one. Her family was known here at the Boar’s Head, and Lord Allutar might trace her back here and find Anrel. Anrel did not want anything to bring him to Lord Allutar’s attention. Just knowing that the landgrave was within the same city walls was distressing; suppose they encountered each other on the street?
In fact, that might happen, if Anrel ever set foot outside the inn. Even narrow little Cobbler Street was not safe, as Allutar might well decide to have a pair of boots reheeled.
This was going to be severely limiting, perhaps even more limiting than the snow that was falling again. It would also complicate any attempt to woo Tazia, or to gain Garras’s blessing for his interest in her—how much of a man could he look, when he did not dare to walk the streets openly?
That was trivial when Reva’s very life was at risk, but still, he could not help thinking about it.
Perhaps, he thought despairingly, he should give up on Tazia and her family, let Reva destroy herself, then go on to Lume and hide there, as he had originally planned.
But he could not give up on Tazia. And besides, Lord Allutar walked the streets of Lume, as well. He was a member of the Grand Council.
But Lume was so much larger than Beynos, and there were undoubtedly places Allutar did not go. Anrel could not imagine him venturing into the treacherous alleys of the Pensioners’ Quarter, or the rowdy taverns behind the court schools, or the stinking fish markets of the Galdin steps—and that was only in the visible and inhabited portions of the capital! The scattered ruins left by the Old Empire were largely shunned by modern-day Walasians, and no one but drunken idiots trying to prove their courage ever ventured into the ancient tunnels beneath the city without a very good reason. There were a thousand places to hide in Lume—more than a thousand. Anrel knew many of them already, where he knew nothing of Beynos except what he had seen riding through, and what he had observed since his arrival a few hours before.
Anrel also knew there were other places besides Beynos and Lume. Perhaps he should head for somewhere in Lithrayn, or even across the border into the Cousins—but he had never been there. He had never been anywhere except Aulix and Lume, and various points in between them.
He glanced at Tazia, who seemed happily oblivious of how much danger her sister was in.
“I’m supposed to meet Mistress li-Dargalleis tomorrow morning,” Reva said. “We’ll work out the details then of when I might best bewitch Lord Allutar.”
“You’ll need to have both of them present,” Nivain said.
“Of course, Mother,” Reva replied. “I have cast love spells before, you know!”
Perynis giggled at that. “Remember that one in Milinkor?” she said. “I thought he was going to pull up her skirt and tup her right there at the ball!”
“Perynis!” Nivain said, scandalized. She glanced around to make sure no one else had heard her daughter’s remark.
“I’m not sure she would have minded,” Garras said.
“That spell did affect both of them,” Reva added. “It wasn’t as one-sided as what Mistress li-Dargalleis seems to want.”
“Well, let us hope that this Lord Allutar will be a little more restrained in his affections,” Nivain replied.
“I’m sure he will,” Anrel said. “He’s a man of strong will.”
Reva seemed irritated by this comment, and glared at Anrel. Tazia tugged gently at his hand, and he looked at her.
“Lord Allutar knows you, doesn’t he?” she whispered.
“Yes, he does.”
“He’
s the one who . . . he wants you dead?”
“I believe so, yes. Though I haven’t asked him. It was Lord Neriam, the First Lord Magistrate, who recognized me and set Naith’s city watch upon me, and Neriam is both Allutar’s subordinate and his friend. I haven’t had the opportunity to speak to Lord Allutar since I . . . since the incident in Naith, but I assume Lord Neriam informed the landgrave of the miscreant’s identity.”
He did not mention that once his identity was known his speech had also probably had some effect on Lord Allutar’s courtship of Lady Saria, and that this might contribute to further ill will on Allutar’s part.
Tazia nodded. “He must know, then, if he is Lord Neriam’s superior. And he’s here in Beynos?”
“So says Reva’s client, and I have no reason to doubt it. Lord Allutar did name himself to the Grand Council, and it seems entirely reasonable that he would have a place in Beynos.”
“Then you aren’t safe here.”
Anrel was startled that she had realized this; certainly, the rest of her family did not appear to have come to any such conclusion. He glanced at Tazia’s parents, who were talking to Reva.
“I doubt Lord Allutar would ever set foot in a place like the Boar’s Head,” Anrel said.
“I suppose not—a great noble like him could surely do better. But he mustn’t see you anywhere. You mustn’t go out.”
“That thought had occurred to me,” Anrel conceded.
Tazia threw her father a glance, then returned her gaze to Anrel. “Perhaps you should go on, then,” she said. “To Lume, or wherever you’re going.”
“I had been considering that possibility,” Anrel admitted.
Tazia looked up at him, then at her father once more, then back at Anrel.
“If I were to go,” Anrel whispered, slowly and deliberately, ready to stop at the first sign that he had misread Tazia’s expression, “and I were to ask you to accompany me . . .”
“I would gladly do so,” Tazia answered.
Anrel stared at her for a long moment, resisting the urge to pull her closer, perhaps to kiss her. Then the memory of Perynis’s unfortunate remark came to him, and he smiled crookedly; he suddenly had a great deal of sympathy for that unknown victim of Reva’s witchcraft in Milinkor, whoever he might have been.
A Young Man Without Magic Page 24