Mikeli sighed, then nodded. “Well, then. Marrakai and Serrostin are off at their estates, so I will send word to my uncle that I need to talk to him.”
He wrote that note, handed it to a courier, then went to find his brother. Camwyn and Aris were reading, he discovered, a most unusual activity for the pair of them, explained only by the slightly cooler breeze coming from the shaded north windows.
“What’s that?” he asked, as they scrambled up from their seats.
“Marshal Oktar suggested I study the different versions of the Code,” Camwyn said. He looked pale, Mikeli thought, not nearly as brown as he’d been earlier in the summer. Yet he was both taller and more muscular.
“Relating to magery in particular?” Mikeli asked.
“Not just magery,” Camwyn said. “He asked me to compare the versions across time and between the Finthan Code and ours.”
“Going to make you a judicar, is he?” Mikeli said. “I wouldn’t think you’d like that much, would you, Cam?”
“I don’t know.” Camwyn scratched his head, then shook it. “Not if it means always staying indoors—but this is more interesting than I thought.”
Mikeli closed the door to the room and sat down on the remaining chair. “I need to talk to both of you. You’ve been careful; no one’s found out yet—but that won’t go on forever—”
“I’m trying—”
“I know. But what I haven’t told you before is how many other people are showing up with some sign of active magery—and not just here in Tsaia. In Fintha as well. The Marshal-Judicar tells me that’s why we’ve not heard anything definite from the Marshal-General. She’s dealing with outbreaks of magery there, and there’s growing fear in the population. As there is here.”
“There are others?” Aris said, sitting up straight.
“Yes. All of them younger than Beclan, so far, that we know of. No one knows why it’s happening, what caused it—”
“Or who caused it,” Aris said. Then, belatedly, “Sir king. Pardon.”
“Or who, you’re right.”
“I think it’s the regalia,” Camwyn said. “Or the dragon. Or maybe both.”
“However,” Mikeli said, in a tone that silenced both of them, “since it’s important that the announcement come from me, I’m going to tell the peers, starting with the dukes. So you, Aris, won’t have to keep secrets from your father any longer.” He saw the relief on Aris’s face and nodded. “And you, Cam, won’t have to keep it secret from our uncle.” Camwyn nodded, a slight frown creasing his forehead. Mikeli anticipated his next question. “Before you ask, this will not reverse Beclan’s position. I did what I did to save him—his life, as I was sure it would be—and he has settled in well with Duke Verrakai as her kirgan. Restrictions on his access to his family will change, but not the adoption.”
“When will you send word, sir king?” Aris asked.
“Immediately. Your brother Juris is leaving tomorrow to visit your family; I’ll send a letter with him. I’ve already sent a courier to Duke Mahieran, asking him to come to the city tomorrow.”
“What will happen to me?” Camwyn asked.
“I hope, nothing,” Mikeli said. “I’m reasonably certain the dukes will listen to me and to the Marshal-Judicar. That others have shown magery, including merchants’ and farmers’ children, means condemning you would mean condemning many. My hope is for a peaceful settlement, with the agreement that those who are not using magery for evil are no different than wizards.”
“But it’s still a secret for now?” Aris asked. “I can’t—I can’t tell Juris?”
“No. Neither of you can tell anyone anything until I’ve talked to the dukes and probably the whole Council.”
What’s this?” Duke Mahieran paused in the doorway, looking from Mikeli to the Marshal-Judicar. “Am I in trouble, sir king?”
“Not at all,” Mikeli said. “But what I have to tell you concerns the Marshal-Judicar as well.” He waved at the chairs. “Sit down, do.”
Mahieran sat, a little stiffly. Mikeli noticed with a pang that his uncle seemed aged more than a year since the previous summer. No wonder, with all that had happened.
“Have you heard any of the rumors from Fintha of magery?” he asked.
“Magery in Fintha? No,” Mahieran said. “Nothing of that. What is it?”
Oktar leaned forward. “There’s a Council convened in Fin Panir by the Marshal-General, to deal with it. Magery in children, mostly—some older, near-grown, with no known mageborn ancestry.”
“But then—” Mahieran turned to Mikeli, hope in his eyes. “Beclan—”
Mikeli held up his hand. “Uncle, I must tell you that magery has also appeared in Tsaia. I was waiting for a ruling from the Marshal-General, but it’s taken too long. We must—I must—act for Tsaia.”
“You’re not going to—” Mahieran turned pale.
“I’m going to ask you and the other dukes to look for magery on your estates and protect those you find from retribution—and make it known that only evil deeds make magery evil.”
Mahieran let out his breath. “Well. And what about Beclan?”
“There’s more,” Mikeli said. “There’s another mage in the royal family—”
“Celbrin? One of the girls?”
“Camwyn,” Mikeli said. Mahieran stared, obviously shocked. “And, Uncle, I have kept this a secret from you and the Council, hoping as I said for word from the Marshal-General.”
“You—but you know what it means! Your brother—”
“Cannot be my heir. Yes. He knows that; I know that. But I’m not going to kill him or the others. Nor let this realm fall into chaos, not when we have enemies who might invade next year.”
“What about Beclan?”
“I won’t reverse the adoption, Uncle. But I will allow him contact with the family. He is a better heir for Duke Verrakai than her kinsman was, in my opinion, and his being of Mahieran and not Verrakai descent ensures no taint of their kind of magery.”
“And my wife?”
Mikeli looked at the aging face, the man who had been like a father to him after his father died, and felt pity for him. “It’s not just about whether she has magery. She tried to kill a peer. She is still angry with me; she still—she says—hates Duke Verrakai and blames her for everything. As such, she is a danger to my policies. Uncle, I know she was a good wife to you, and cared for you and your children. But consider carefully. Can you keep her from causing any more trouble—any kind of trouble—either directly or through talk with her friends?”
Mahieran bowed his head. “I … am not sure. I never thought she would act as she did that night.”
“Your daughters, my cousins, have shown no signs of magery, and are no more confined than their aunt would have them. I have not received them here, but I will. Your wife … we must be certain, Uncle. There are other evils than magery, and if Celbrin’s mind has turned that way—”
“I am loath to believe it of her,” Mahieran said. “But she had always great pride and temper. Oktar?”
“I tried to persuade her, my lord, that Beclan’s magery did not come from Duke Verrakai or any act of hers. But the friends who used to visit her—those you allowed, my lord—no longer go, saying she is too bitter.”
“May I go, sir king?”
“Yes,” Mikeli said. “But be careful. I do not think she has magery—it would surely have shown by now—but if her mind has failed she might do you a hurt. And I cannot afford to lose any of my dukes—or my only uncle.”
“And if she swears to me she will be sensible?”
“Then take her home and see that she stays there.”
“I will do so, sir king. Thank you. Now—what am I to say of this, and to whom?”
“First to your Marshals on Mahieran lands: report any who show magery to the Marshal-Judicar, but do not punish them for magery.”
“Tell them,” Oktar said, “that we are awaiting word from the Marshal-General, but that I am certain th
is new appearance of magery, in common folk and nobles alike, is a gift of the gods, to be used for good.”
“I’m assuming you’ve sent couriers to the other dukes.”
“Yes. Next it will be counts and then barons—”
Mahieran shook his head. “Sir king—Marshal-Judicar—forgive me, but I must disagree. With this present Council—and this present generation of peers—you will do better to inform all at once. They all need to know what the Crown thinks of this new thing; they may all have it breaking out on their estates. They will resent being left out.”
“Are you sure, Uncle?” Mikeli asked. “I thought the dukes would be able to bring their influence—”
“Less than you think, sir king,” Mahieran said. “Since the lower ranks of peers know that commoners have been elevated to duke, they have less natural respect for all of us. It was an argument made at the time the first commoner was chosen, and the Elorran family—valuable as they were at that time—did nothing to make the commoner-duke more palatable to those whose titles were older. Gerstad’s ancestor had saved a king, yes, but he annoyed almost everyone else. In all seriousness, I beg you consider the advantages of sharing this knowledge widely and at once.”
Mikeli looked at Oktar for his response. The Marshal-Judicar sat silent for a long moment, brow furrowed in thought, before speaking. Then he looked up at Duke Mahieran. “You are right, my lord. I was in error in my advice to the king, and that shames me. Tell them all, and quickly.”
Mikeli sat back in his chair. “Very well. I will have the same message I sent the dukes yesterday copied and sent, and will speak to those members of Council here in the city today. Will that do?”
Mahieran nodded. “I believe that is best, sir king.”
Most of the peers were out of the city, as usual between Midsummer and Autumn Courts, but a few had come to the city on other business, and on Oktar’s recommendation, Mikeli summoned the masters of the guilds, though only two were formally on the Council. Baron Brenvor and Count Kostvan were found lunching together at the Count’s city quarters, and soon they and a round dozen of the guildmasters were seated around the long table with Mikeli, Oktar, and Duke Mahieran.
Mikeli laid out the problem, with Oktar giving his report on what he knew of the situation in Fintha.
“I was wondering, sir king,” Master Lurton said, after a quick look at the other craft masters present. He was already formally on the Council, so the others had held back. “Yes, we do know about this magery—and in fact, some of us were thinking of coming to you or the Marshal-Judicar there, since our own Marshals couldn’t tell us aught but wait for word from Fin Panir. Our people are worried. The children are all at odds, not sure if they might have it and it might come out.”
“But if it’s magery released because the evil’s gone, that’s got to be good,” said Master Jornalt, head of the Grain Merchants’ Guild.
“We hope that’s what it is,” Mikeli said. “But the point is, we don’t want panic—it will do none of us any good—and we don’t want innocent children killed. We do want a list of those who manifest magery, for their protection.”
“And parents will need to know how to teach their children to use it well—difficult, since they do not have it themselves,” Mahieran put in. “Had my son shown magery at five winters or so, I would have had no idea what might happen next or how to cope with it. At least, at his age, he understands danger.”
The others nodded. “If no one knows how to train the children, it’s like having them running around with firebrands,” said Master Felnor of the Finesmiths. “It’s dangerous.”
“Yes,” Oktar said. “But any babe just creeping about may put its hand in the fire, or one a little older might light a spill and drop it … It would be the same, to teach them not to light fires by accident, would it not? Any child may cause harm by accident—it doesn’t take magery to start a fire or cut with a knife.”
“If you put it that way, Marshal-Judicar,” Felnor said.
“It’s just one more thing children can cause accidents with, I’m thinking.” Master Redan of the Knitters smoothed her apron over her skirt. “Children aren’t born knowing danger; every mother knows it’s the sharp eye and training that keeps ’em as safe as they are.”
Heads nodded. Mikeli relaxed a little, seeing the faces thoughtful rather than tense.
“So are you changing the law now, sir king?” asked Baron Brenvor. “Are you making it that all magery is legal?”
“No,” Mikeli said. “Blood magery is not legal. But I don’t believe children are born evil into good families like those we know have had children show magery. And magery not used for evil ends is no more evil than blue eyes or brown. I cannot change the Code of Gird myself—that’s for the Marshal-General and the Marshals’ Council. But I can say that in Tsaia, at least, the appearance of magery such as we’ve seen is not proof of evil. Without another crime—without using magery to injure, steal, kill—no one with magery will be condemned.”
He looked around the table, from face to face: most were still thoughtful and gave him a nod. A few looked worried. Duke Mahieran cleared his throat; Mikeli waved a hand, and Mahieran stood.
“Sir king, I know you plan an announcement to the rest of the palace staff. Would you like me to gather them at this time?”
“Thank you,” Mikeli said. “I’m sure we’ll be through here shortly—” He looked around again. “So yes. A half-glass, say.” Then, as Mahieran left the chamber, he said, “If you have questions about how to proceed, Marshal-Judicar Oktar has some recommendations for you and will be talking to the Marshals in the city as soon as possible.”
All stood, and Oktar led them out. Mikeli looked up at the ceiling for a moment and sighed. “I thought it would be fun to be king,” he said, and then chuckled. “And I dare think Camwyn is immature. I was every bit as ignorant when I was his age.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Ifoss, Aarenis
Not long before the end of the campaign season, an Aldonfulk gnome presented itself at the camp entrance. Arcolin happened to be nearby and intervened when the sentry would not let the gnome in. He guessed what it had come about but wondered why none had come sooner. Yet he knew from Dattur it would be rude to ask.
“I’m Count Arcolin,” he said. “Are you the prince’s messenger?”
“It is so,” said the gnome. “It is that this one enters?”
“Yes,” Arcolin said. “It is better to hold talk in my tent.”
The gnome hesitated but then came with Arcolin.
“It is true that our prince granted passage to humans under your command, for the value of information they brought. It is not known that humans remember such passage.”
“Most don’t,” Arcolin said. “Two old soldiers did, however. They spoke of it where someone heard. It was not believed by one, but another may have believed. And my junior captain saw a file of creatures—rockfolk, he thought—entering a place in the mountain that no human seemed to know about. He is new in this area; he asked questions.”
“And you sent word to our prince for what reason?”
“Because it could be a danger,” Arcolin said. “And because my soldiers talked about it where others could hear. If an enemy locates it—”
“They will not,” the gnome said. “The rock is closed except when we are using it.”
“My thought was that since my soldiers might have made it possible for others to find, it was my responsibility to inform your prince.”
The gnome said nothing for a moment, then nodded. “It is a reason. It is right that you tell Aldonfulk, but Aldonfulk will guard its own. Tell your soldiers who remember they must not try to pass that way; it will not be safe.”
“They will not,” Arcolin said.
“I will tell the prince,” the gnome said.
At that moment, Dattur came into the tent carrying several packages. The Aldonfulk gnome stared at him, then back at Arcolin.
“Kteknik,” sa
id the gnome.
“No longer,” Dattur said.
“It is not right dress,” the gnome said in gnomish; Arcolin understood enough now.
“It is now,” Dattur said, “while I am with this army.”
“It is not soldier!” the gnome said. “What prince allowed?”
“My prince stands here,” Dattur said. He nodded toward Arcolin. The other gnome turned to Arcolin, then back to Dattur.
“No. Not possible. That is human. It is not human to be prince. It is not human speak Law. Gnome lies is kteknik.”
Arcolin said, in gnomish, “He does not lie. Stone-right makes a prince; my rockfolk hold my stone.”
“Not! Not Law!” The Aldonfulk gnome had turned a peculiar bluish gray. “Must be lie.”
“A dragon came,” Arcolin said. He used what Dattur had taught him was the gnomish word, one that incorporated Eldest of Elders and Flame-Being.
The Aldonfulk gnome took a step toward him. “No dragon come human!”
“A dragon came,” Arcolin repeated. “A dragon sent away gnomes from their stone. I took them in. I gave them stone-right. Dragon made contract with me; he touched my tongue.”
Again the Aldonfulk gnome looked from Arcolin to Dattur and back again. “Kteknik … does he lie?”
“No,” Dattur said. “He is my prince. We are his people. He has heart for Law.”
“Not right dress.”
“It is—had been no time,” Arcolin said, struggling with gnomish. “Dragon came in winter; gnomes came to me in winter. The stone has no yielded right…”
“Bternos,” Dattur said. “And this one was far from that stone. It is long story.”
“It is strange story. It is difficult story. The prince will not like this story.”
“It is true story,” Arcolin said.
When Arcolin arrived in Valdaire, his banker handed him an intricately wrapped package. “A gnome gave me this,” he said. “I was to give it to you the day you arrived in the city.”
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