Lord Allutar paused; clearly, he had not thought of that. The solution was obvious, though.
“The penalty for espionage is also death by hanging,” he pointed out. “If she has diplomatic letters from the Ermetian king, or from one of their councils, then I will turn her over to the emperor’s court and let them deal with her, but I doubt that will be the case.” He looked out at his guests, standing motionless on all sides, staring at him. “Come now, friends—I know this incident has been upsetting, but please, it’s done now, and the evening is still young. I welcome you all to my home, and I ask you all to enjoy yourselves.” He spread his arms to gesture expansively, and the harpist took that as her cue to play a quick arpeggio and begin a new tune.
His guests were not ready to consider the matter closed, though; several pressed toward him with more questions about the captured witch.
“What if she escapes?”
“Who is she? I didn’t hear the name she gave.”
“Do you know her real name, my lord?”
“Will you check the guest list to see who she really is?”
“When will she hang?”
“Wouldn’t it be better to use her as a blood sacrifice?”
Anrel saw that Mimmin was among those making these inquiries. In her case it was not mere curiosity that motivated her, but that would hardly be obvious to anyone else. She must, Anrel thought, be greatly relieved that Reva had not given her employer’s name, but she was probably on the verge of panic over what the witch might say when she regained consciousness in Lord Allutar’s study.
Lord Allutar ignored most of these questions, but when the barrage continued he finally deigned to reply to some recurring points.
“She won’t escape; I am not so careless as that. If Lord Diosin has no objection she will hang the morning after next, I expect—I will allow her a day’s time to make her peace with whatever spirits she may revere, and that same time for any appeals to be considered. That should suffice, but of course, bad weather or other such inconveniences might delay the execution. I have no particular need of any magic requiring blood or life at present, and holding her until the equinox would be awkward, to say the least—this house is not a prison—so I won’t delay the business any longer than necessary.”
“You could send her to the courthouse to be held,” someone suggested.
“To what end?” Lord Allutar asked. “I have said I have no use for her.” He took a wineglass a servant handed him, and lifted it. “Please, eat, drink!”
Anrel suppressed a shudder.
The morning after next.
Anrel could not think of any way to get Reva free now, but he had a day and a night to devise some method of saving her from the noose.
He could do nothing here, so he began moving quietly toward the door, planning to slip away and return to the inn, to tell Reva’s family what had befallen her. Perhaps one of them could suggest a means of rescue.
As he reached the door he took a final look at the crowd. None of them seemed dismayed by the prospect of seeing a woman hanged two mornings hence. In fact, some gave every impression of looking forward to the event.
He fervently hoped they would be disappointed.
He turned and slipped unnoticed out into the foyer, and then out across the terrace, down the steps, and into the street beyond.
30
In Which Garras Lir Devises a Scheme
Nivain turned pale but said nothing when Anrel delivered the news; Perynis stared and kept trying to phrase a protest, but could never get out more than a word or two.
Tazia and Garras were not so reticent.
“You couldn’t do anything?” Tazia asked.
“Nothing,” Anrel said. “I was on the far side of the room, the entire house was warded, and she was being held by a sorcerer, two footmen, and a homunculus bigger than I am.”
“Wouldn’t Mimmin have helped you?”
“Probably not,” Anrel said. “She seemed much more interested in her own situation than in Reva’s.”
“You should have killed them all,” Garras growled. “Brought the ceiling down on their heads!”
“And how might I have accomplished this, sir?”
“You’re a magician, aren’t you?”
“A very poor one, as I have frequently reminded you, and the house was warded, warded heavily.”
“What does that matter?”
“A ward is a protective spell, Master Lir.”
“I know what a ward is! My wife sets them to warn us of intruders.”
“That’s hardly the same, sir. Wards come in a thousand varieties. The simple little warnings that your family uses are like mice beside a lion when compared to the wards Lord Allutar had set on his house.”
“Well, blast it, if you were so outmatched, then why did Reva go in there?”
“For fifty guilders,” Anrel replied.
“Humph. Well, what are you going to do about it?”
“I’m not aware that there is anything I can do, sir.”
Garras glared at him. “Well, someone needs to get my daughter out of there!”
“I don’t think it’s possible, sir. The morning after next she’ll hang.”
Nivain let out a muffled sob.
“She will not!” Garras bellowed. “I won’t allow it!”
“How will you stop it?” Perynis asked quietly.
Garras turned to stare at his youngest daughter, and his rage faltered. His gaze fled from her to her mother, to Tazia, and finally back to Anrel.
“There must be some way,” he said. He turned to Nivain again. “You’re witches, the three of you—aren’t you a match for a single sorcerer?”
“A sorcerer who has the weight of the empire itself behind him,” Anrel said.
“Shut up!” Garras snapped. “Go away, and leave us to work this out.”
Anrel started a harsh retort, then bit it off short. He had just told this man that his eldest daughter was about to die; he could hardly expect gratitude. “As you wish, sir,” he said. “I will be downstairs, should you need me for anything.”
“Just go,” Garras said.
Anrel glanced at Tazia. She met his eyes, and nodded ever so slightly. He nodded back, then turned and headed for the door.
He half expected someone to call him back, but none of them did. He left the room, closing the door carefully behind him, then made his way through the corridors and down the stairs.
He sat in the saloon, sipping a glass of good red wine, for what seemed like hours, thinking about his unhappy situation.
He was a fugitive, under sentence of death, unable to speak safely to any member of his family. His best friend had been murdered and remained unavenged, and his own cousin was soon to marry that friend’s murderer. He had found a place of sorts with a new family, and had fallen in love with a charming young woman, and now all that was jeopardized by the impending death of his beloved’s sister.
There was no doubt in his mind that Reva was going to die. Lord Allutar had put Urunar Kazien to death without hesitation; he had murdered Valin; why, then, would he spare a witch who had attempted to bespell him in his own house? Nor could Anrel see any way to rescue her; Lord Allutar was a landgrave, with all Walasia’s resources at his command, not the least of those resources being his own sorcery. It was entirely possible, perhaps even likely, that he had enchanted Reva so that she no longer wanted to escape or be rescued—certainly, that had been done before when one magician held another prisoner. If Reva were to sabotage any attempt to free her, Anrel could not imagine how he and the family Lir could save her.
As for a legal solution, no magistrate would overrule a landgrave; it would take a decree from the emperor himself, or from the Grand Council, to obtain her release . . .
Anrel hesitated at that thought.
Was it not true that many of the delegates to the Grand Council had been elected at the urging of the legendary Alvos of Naith? Might they feel some debt to the mysterious orato
r?
And wasn’t he himself that same Alvos? Perhaps he could somehow use that to obtain a pardon for Reva. He frowned.
Perhaps he could use that to obtain a pardon for himself, he realized.
Reva’s situation was much more immediate, of course. He pushed aside any consideration of his own problems to concentrate on hers. If there were some way he could get word to the radicals on the Grand Council—but he didn’t even know any names!
Or did he? Back in Naith he had named Derhin li-Parsil and Amanir tel-Kabanim in his speech from the First Emperor’s statue; had the townsfolk elected them?
What’s more, those two had met him, and could attest that he was indeed the mysterious orator. If he simply presented himself to the Grand Council claiming to be Alvos, why would they believe a word he said? But if Derhin and Amanir acknowledged him, that should settle the matter in his favor.
He began to regret bleaching and reshaping his hair and beard; after all, Valin’s friends had only spent that one afternoon with him. If he wanted them to recognize him—but he had wanted Lord Allutar to not recognize him, and he could hardly hope to have it both ways.
He only had a single day to get to Lume, get a hearing before the Grand Council, and bring the pardon back to Beynos—was that possible?
The Grand Council was not even in session; if it were, Lord Allutar would not have been in Beynos holding his reception in honor of the new prince.
This was going to be a challenge, certainly. He would need to get to Lume, find Amanir and Derhin, convince them of his identity and the urgency of his request, gather the Grand Council, sway enough delegates to decree a pardon . . .
“Anrel?”
He turned to see Tazia standing in the saloon door.
“Anrel, I think . . . I thought you should know . . .”
She spoke hesitantly, and Anrel thought she was on the verge of tears. That was hardly remarkable, given her sister’s situation. Anrel crossed the room in three quick strides and held out his arms. She flung herself into them and pressed her head to his breast.
For a moment they simply stood, taking comfort in each other; then Tazia looked up at Anrel.
“My father didn’t want any of us to tell you; he ordered us not to, but I . . . I don’t trust Lord Allutar,” she said.
Anrel blinked. What did trusting Lord Allutar have to do with anything? “Tell me what?” he said.
“He has this idea,” she replied, then stopped, apparently unable to continue.
“What idea is that?” Anrel said soothingly, looking her in the eye.
“He’s going to see Lord Allutar,” she said.
“Who is, your father?”
She nodded.
“To beg for mercy?” Anrel shook his head. “He can try, but I don’t think—”
“Not to beg,” Tazia interrupted. “To bargain.”
Anrel felt a chill. “Bargain?”
“Yes. He intends to trade your life for Reva’s.”
Anrel stood as if frozen. He could think of nothing to say in response; indeed, he could hardly think at all. For some reason he found himself remembering the stranger in his uncle’s grove, and how he had not seriously considered trying to trade his life for Urunar Kazien’s.
That was a very different situation; the stakes were far higher for Anrel in this new bargain.
“But I don’t want you to hang!” Tazia said in a rush. “Even for my sister, I couldn’t . . . and I don’t trust Lord Allutar; I don’t trust him at all. I think he’ll hang you both!”
Anrel still could not speak, but his mind was starting to work again.
On the surface, such a bargain would certainly seem likely to appeal to Lord Allutar—give up an unremarkable witch for a notorious traitor? Of course he would agree!
So Garras had undoubtedly reasoned, but Anrel was far less certain. Hollem had said that for the sake of his betrothal, Allutar did not really want to capture Anrel at all. He could not admit as much openly, of course.
Anrel thought Hollem was probably right, which would make the exchange Garras was offering much less appealing.
But given that, how would the landgrave respond? Would he refuse the deal outright? He could easily accuse Garras of trickery, demand proof that he could deliver what he promised. He could say that the law’s majesty did not allow for such tawdry transactions.
Or he could accept, and either keep his side of the agreement and release Reva, or as Tazia feared, announce that he was not bound by bargains with criminals, and hang them both—he might prefer to let Anrel live, but that did not mean he would do so if he thought it would harm his reputation.
“Lord Allutar thinks himself a man of honor,” Anrel said, thinking aloud. “If he swears an oath, he will keep it. If he makes an agreement but will not swear to it, then he cannot be trusted to keep it.”
“But I don’t want you to die in her place!” Tazia said. “I don’t want either of you hanged!”
“I assure you, the prospect does not appeal to me in the slightest,” Anrel said. “Nonetheless, it seems likely that at least one of us will hang. Your father clearly prefers it to be me, rather than his daughter, and I can scarcely fault him for that.”
“He has no right, no claim on you! You must flee!”
“If I do, your sister will hang.”
Tazia looked wordlessly up at him.
“No one will ask you to choose between us,” Anrel told her gently. “Certainly, I could not be so cruel. This is my choice to make, not yours.”
“You cannot be considering it?”
“I am considering several possibilities,” he replied. “I may have resources in Lume that can be applied to your sister’s case, if only I have the time to marshal them.” He frowned. “If you might persuade your father to say he needs more time to deliver the infamous Alvos, that a single day is not sufficient, perhaps a stay of execution could be had.”
“But he’s on his way to Lord Allutar right now! I followed him down the stairs, trying to dissuade him, and only turned back at the front door.”
That put a different face on matters. “Then I must make use of what time I have. I assume the landgrave’s men, or the burgrave’s, will be here within the hour, and I would prefer not to be here when they arrive.” He released Tazia, then leaned over and kissed her on the forehead. “Tell your father not to despair. Don’t say you told me anything; say merely that I was gone, but left you a message saying that I will return.”
Then he strode quickly out of the room.
He hesitated in the passage—his meager belongings were mostly in the room above the stable; did he dare retrieve them? Nivain and Perynis would be there, and might try to hold him until Garras’s return. Dorrin Kabrig still had the stolen sword—or perhaps Mistress Sharduil did, but at any rate Anrel did not. Should he ask for its return?
No, he would be better off not drawing any attention from the inn’s staff, and without any added burden. That sword had been of very little use to him, and he did not see that as likely to change in the immediate future. He still had the dagger in his boot, but his best weapons were his words, his ability to sway others; he had been trained in rhetoric, history, and oratory, not in swordsmanship. Most of his money was still in the lining of his coat, and he could replace anything he left with the Lirs. He turned to the left and hurried out the inn’s front door. On the way he passed a drowsing Dorrin and did not disturb him.
The cold outside was almost like a physical blow; Anrel had not realized just how pleasantly warm the saloon was. He was not wearing his jacket, only his velvet coat, though fortunately, in his haste to inform the family of Reva’s misfortune, he had never taken off his hat or scarf.
He hurried across the forecourt and out through the iron arch, then along the brief length of Cobbler Street and onto the high street. Between the cold and the lateness of the hour the streets appeared entirely deserted, save for himself. Clouds hid the stars, and there were no street-lamps, so the only light came fro
m shop lanterns and lit windows, and there were not many of either; he was alone in shadowy gloom.
Now he had to decide where to go. He could head directly for Lume—but leaving Beynos at this hour would be suspicious, and the gates were manned. For that matter, the city gates of Lume might well be closed; these were troubled times. And while the distance between the two cities was not great, still, the night was overcast, and he might lose his way in the darkness—he had no lantern.
No, best to stay in Beynos for tonight, and make for Lume in the morning. Obviously, he could not stay at the Boar’s Head; he would need to find other lodging. He had a guilder or two in his pocket, which should serve to pay for a room without requiring him to disturb his coat’s lining; all he had to do was find a suitable establishment.
The two customary locations for an inn were by the gate and in the center of town; he had not noticed any other lodgings near the gate where he had entered Beynos, so he turned his steps toward the town square, just a few dozen yards away.
The Sunrise House was closed and dark, its lantern extinguished.
The Flying Duck, if that was indeed what the signboard indicated, was no better; he tried the door there, and knocked, but received no answer. Anrel was beginning to shiver with cold, and to worry that he might run afoul of a night watchman if he wandered the streets much longer.
Then he heard something worse than a watchman—a party of men was marching down a street, and some of them wore gear that creaked and jingled, indicating that they were armed. He ducked into the mouth of an alley, listening intently.
They were west of the square. Anrel listened for any exchange of words that might help identify them, but no one spoke; he heard only the tramp of boots, and the rattle of armor and weapons.
They turned onto the high street, Anrel judged, and turned away from the square—but then turned again. Into Cobbler Street, he was fairly sure.
Those were obviously the men Lord Allutar had sent to apprehend him. If not for Tazia’s warning he would be waiting for them in calm ignorance, rather than listening to their passage from the temporary refuge of the alley.
A Young Man Without Magic Page 30