The wizard made a dramatic and expansive gesture in Joly’s direction. “Our honorable mayor.” Joly’s only reaction was the slightest narrowing of his eyes.
Another gesture took in several members of the crowd, seated in various locations. “The city council—well, most of them.” The persons indicated spared each other sidelong glances. Then Jannik spread his arms to include everyone present, and smiled. “Disinterested witnesses—more than enough, I should think. And . . .”
He dropped his hands, spoke precisely: “Thorns in my side . . .” He sighed, as if sadly. “Well. . . at least one is present.” And moving with such casualness that no one reacted, he took two easy steps to his left, reached out, and laid his hand on the center of Naio’s chest.
For an instant Naio’s brown eyes looked down into the blue of the wizard’s—
Then: a sound, like the slamming of a door the size of the world.
Naio’s limbs flung out, rigid; as if struck by some huge blow, he was thrown backward, crashing into a table behind him. The table overturned, and he fell to the floor.
The air smelled of smoke, and of mountain tops.
Jannik turned, strolled away, one finger raised as if thoughtfully making a point. “Now, we have a problem,” he began—
—exactly as if the people were not now on their feet, shouting, crying out, some pulling back, their chairs falling; as if others were not clutching at Naio, trying to bring him to his feet; as if Ona had not screamed his name, and thrown herself on him; as if Reeder had not emitted a strangled cry, and begun fighting his way through the tables toward him; as if Rowan herself had not made a noise, something between a shout and a choked wail of “No!”; as if others were not doing the same; as if panic and chaos did not fill the room.
The wizard stopped and looked back, suddenly expressionless. Joly, already on his feet, saw Jannik’s face. The shock on his own transformed into something more urgent. He stepped quickly forward, put himself with his back toward the wizard, facing the crowd, his arms wide, hands out, in a plea for quiet, stillness.
The people subsided, almost as one, suddenly silent, suddenly still, but for a knot around Naio, who was sprawled on the floor with Ona holding his face, calling his name, begging him to answer; and a quieter knot around Reeder, as those nearby resisted shifting to let him pass; and another small pocket of movement, which it took Rowan a moment to understand was centered on Willam.
He was struggling to move forward; he seemed to want to get to Naio. Gregori had him by the arm, pulling him back. Will tried to shake off the captain’s hand. Gregori roughly yanked him back, shoved him against the wall, spoke to him quietly, uncomprehending but urgent. Will stared, wild-eyed, and suddenly subsided, head down, eyes closed, fists clenched at his sides.
Rowan could not let this continue.
Jannik had paused in the center of the open area, watching Joly. Should he move a few steps forward, Rowan would be directly behind him, a bit more than ten feet away.
One kills a wizard by surprise, Willam had told Bel. It’s the only way.
Her sword was with the dragons. Her field knife was in her pack, in her room.
The diners at the table in front of Rowan had dined on cold boar: three very sharp dinner knives were close at hand.
Wait, she told herself; and mentally addressed the wizard, in something almost like a prayer: Keep looking where you’re looking, but take three steps forward.
Across the room, Bel took note of the steerswoman’s sudden intensity, adjusted herself slightly.
With the crowd now stilled again, the mayor turned his attention to the people on their knees beside Naio. He caught the gaze of one man, moved his head infinitesimally: a question. The reply, as small, was a shake of the head.
Despite the smallness of the movements, Ona saw and understood. The wailing cry she gave out, with all her breath, seemed to come from somewhere deeper even than her heart; the core of her bones, perhaps.
Several things happened at once.
The wizard moved two steps forward.
Rowan moved closer to the table with the knives.
Reeder looked up from where Ona was clinging to her husband; looked up and then stood frozen, staring, pale, wide-eyed, past the wizard—directly at Rowan.
She saw his lips move: You.
Then he made a sound, but no word: a cracked noise, as if something had broken in the back of his throat. He pushed through the people, flung himself into the open space, toward Rowan.
But the wizard was between them. Jannik stepped back, and aside, startled, threw one hand up—
Then Bel, somehow, was beside Reeder. She clutched his arm, and spun him around. “Are you insane?”
Reeder struggled in Bel’s grip. “Let go!” He managed to turn them both around again, and now Bel was in front of Reeder, between him and the wizard.
Bel said, “You can’t attack a wizard!” But Jannik was not Reeder’s target; did Bel not know that?
“No—” Reeder choked out, and tried to push past her.
“Listen to me!” The Outskirter had him by the elbows, did something, some move, some yank-and-twist that made the tall man stagger to one side, and fall to his knees, and Bel clutched his collar, shouted down into his face. “You can’t harm him! Don’t you know that?”
“I don’t—”
“Think! Think!” Bel shook him. “The wizards have too much power, you’ve just seen that. Do you think anyone can stand against them? They can do what they want, do you think that anyone can stop any of them? One of us? Some member of the common folk?
“What do you think it would take, to stop them, to stand against them? Can you even imagine? All the things they can do, all the things they know—do you think we could ever match that? Do you think you could?”
Jannik had relaxed somewhat. He said, with a condescending amusement, “Oh, you should listen to her; she’s making a great deal of sense.”
“You know you can’t. Who could?” Bel demanded of the man on his knees, the man gripped in her two fists. “Who in the whole world could ever know enough to strike against a wizard?”
Rowan watched as Reeder’s face, open and unguarded, showed him beginning to understand . . . then understanding completely.
Bel relaxed, spoke more quietly. “Don’t be a fool. Don’t make this worse.”
And Reeder looked past Bel’s face, across the entire room; and for a long moment, he and Rowan held each other’s gaze.
The steerswoman waited.
Jannik stirred, slightly, uncertainly: he seemed to sense something amiss. He looked over his shoulder.
But Rowan was no longer looking at Reeder; there was nothing to distinguish her from the others present; she was a face among faces.
Jannik’s suspicion wavered, waned. He turned back to the crowd at large, considered them a moment, then spoke. “Well. As I was saying, we have a problem. You are all in a great deal of danger, and you don’t know it.” He paused, made a self- deprecating gesture. “And not from me, although you may not believe that at the moment.”
He began to pace again, thoughtfully, gloved hands behind his back. Someone gave Reeder a chair; Bel helped him to sit.
“No,” the wizard went on, “our problem, our mutual problem, is that this city has an enemy. You all know his name, although none of you has ever seen him.” He faced them again. “It’s Olin. That’s right”—he strolled again—“the Red wizard, against whose forces some of our citizens fought so bravely during the last conflict.” Rowan thought for a moment that he was referring to the battle Eamer had seen as a child, then remembered: the more recent war, when Shammer and Dhree had established their own holding.
“Perhaps some of you present took part in that conflict yourselves?” Jannik asked. He paused as if for response; predictably, none came. “No? Well, each of you knows someone who did, perhaps even a family member. Perhaps a family member who did not return.
“But what you do not realize is that thi
s Olin is causing trouble again. No, you’ve been mercifully ignorant of the fact. But I’ll tell you now—” And here he became suddenly furious, suddenly terrible, as he flung out his arms, and shouted: “He’s trying to free the dragons!”
Startlement from the crowd, then fear, passing by glances among the people. “Oh, you don’t know,” Jannik said, moving again, his steps now quick, agitated, “how I’ve been struggling against him, you don’t know what strange battles, magic against magic, have been taking place, invisible to you, while you went about, so complacently, in your easy daily lives. You don’t know—because I don’t tell you of these things. You don’t need to know of them. Those responsibilities are given to me . . . and only a wizard can stand against a wizard.”
He turned to them again, a look of pained innocence painted on his face. “Haven’t I always tried to protect you?” he asked. “Haven’t I served this city, faithfully, for more than forty years? But now, Olin,” he became spiteful again, “with his tricks and subterfuges, his little games—have you never wondered why he lives so isolated, in no city, nor even a town or village? He doesn’t care about people.
“For him, it’s all for amusement. The inconceivable powers of magic are his toys, and people—I think, sometimes, that he must laugh when they get in the way . . .” He paused, and seemed very sad. “Yes, I do think that sometimes.”
Reeder sat watching Jannik with a fascination of naked hatred. Bel still stood beside him. And Willam—
Will had remained where he was, against the back wall. His pose seemed to have changed not at all. His head was down, his eyes closed, hands clenched at his sides—
His lips were moving, silently.
Rowan felt a sudden flare of hope, and a stab of fear: an incantation? Could Will possibly act against Jannik directly?
Trying to keep her face neutral, Rowan watched Will unobtrusively, watched his lips. . .
Willam was counting. He was merely counting. He had reached 612. When the wizard shouted again, Will startled, but did not open his eyes, nor stop his counting—
“A dragon escaped!” There were sounds of fear from the people. “Yes, Olin succeeded—briefly. And only with a great struggle was I able to cast the spells to confine it again, and send it back to the dragon fields. It had been heading toward the city!”
It had not been. Rowan and Will had been very careful about that.
“But this danger is not over. Even now, Olin is still trying to break my spells, trying to set the dragons free to wreak havoc on this city. The battle of magic continues . . . and yet”—he seemed to speak simply now—“here I am. And here you are. Why are we here? And what has this to do with—” He gestured. “—poor Naio?
“Naio had been cooperating with an agent of Olin.” Muted sounds of disbelief from the crowd. “No, it’s true. One of your number, one single wise citizen, had the sense to inform me. Through either malice or simple credulity, Naio allowed himself to be taken in by a minion of Olin’s, and to assist in the undermining of my power. This minion, this wicked person, has been working under the guise of a steerswoman.
“What an excellent disguise that is! Steerswomen are harmless. Steerswomen are pointlessly curious, like children. Steerswomen are indulged by the common folk—sometimes, I feel, merely for the distraction and amusement they provide. And I have nothing at all against them . . .
“But I tell you now: this woman is a false steerswoman! She has been abusing your kindness, she has been working for Olin, and anyone assisting her”—his pale blue eyes grew hard— “is assisting Olin himself. Our enemy.”
Rowan’s vision shrank to a small space centered on the wizard. There seemed to her to be nothing else in the world.
Jannik still did not know that she was here.
“I see some of you are beginning to show . . . a touch of nervousness, shall we say? Some of you have also helped this person? Well . . . be easy. Naio was by way of example. Sometimes . . . I’m afraid that sometimes people do need an example.” Sadly. “Yes. They have to be reminded. I’m going to assume that the rest of you were merely taken in by this clever person, and aided her in complete ignorance.”
And every eye in the room was on Rowan.
There could be no escape. It would only take one touch of the wizard’s deadly hands. In a struggle, more people might get hurt, in error or through negligence. Rowan must step forward.
And now the wizard, too, had turned and was looking in her direction—
But not at her face . . .
A tug on Rowan’s trouser leg. She looked down.
A small form, a small face with a huge grin, a small hand holding up to her a folded bit of paper. The handkerchief boy.
Get away from him—or get him away from her. He must not be near when the wizard touched her.
But do not startle him. Cause no panic.
Rowan took the paper from his hand, unfolded it, gazed at the scrawled drawing with half-blind eyes, and said to the boy: “Thank you very much.”
She raised her eyes to find the wizard Jannik standing directly before her.
He was looking, not at her, but down at the child, as if some interesting thought was occurring to him, and he showed a strange, hard-eyed amusement.
Rowan said, immediately: “Let him go.” The wizard transferred his glance to Rowan, seeming amazed that she would dare to speak to him.
And, forcing herself to remain composed, she gathered her strength, drew a breath to speak further, to say, as calmly as possible: I’m the one you want—
“Sir. Wizard. Jannik.” He looked back.
The head groom had crossed the entire room, was now standing in the open area, with no one around her, no comfort or support from anyone. Only Joly was nearby, behind her, watching her with open astonishment and admiration.
The head groom said: “Sir, he’s only a child. He doesn’t understand what’s happening here. He won’t learn from it. He won’t even remember it. He’ll just get scared, for no good end. Let us take him out of here.”
Jannik studied her a moment, then scanned the crowd, slowly, evaluatively; and Rowan understood that he was deciding what act would best serve him at this moment. The boy, perhaps sensing Rowan’s own tension, had shrunk back against her legs. Jannik looked down at him, raised one hand, and Rowan hissed an intake of breath; Jannik glanced at her, amused, regarded his own hand as if realizing that he could not, at the moment, safely tousle the lad’s hair. He smiled at his own foolishness, and turned and walked away.
The groom passed him quite close, almost brushing against him as she hurried to the boy. Jannik himself politely stepped aside as she went by.
Arrived, the woman and Rowan regarded each other for a moment, the head groom with relief, Rowan with resignation. Get him away from me, Rowan told her silently, hoping the woman understood.
She did not. With a careful show of calm for the child’s benefit, the head groom took one of his hands in hers, and very deliberately placed his other hand in Rowan’s.
No. No, she would not use a child for cover, for protection.
But the groom was already trying to lead them off, and the boy was tugging impatiently at Rowan’s hand.
The steerswoman looked around the room.
Jannik was playing at indifference and nonchalance, his back now toward her as he idly paced the edge of the crowd. Of the people, all eyes were on her, and at that moment Rowan realized Jannik’s error.
He had hoped to inspire obedience by fear, and justify it with a show of reason. This was exactly the reverse of what he ought to have done.
There are some things they don’t understand at all, Willam had said of the wizards. And among these, apparently: the heart of the common folk.
Because every face in the room was speaking to Rowan silently, saying: Go.
Even the faces known to her. Even those who knew her to be the steerswoman Jannik sought. Especially those.
Bel’s dark gaze, saying: Go; Willam’s copper eyes, half bl
ind with concentration, as part of him continued, under his breath, to count, and the rest of him pleaded with her to leave.
And more:
Marel, seated near the door, urging her to take this chance; the two serving girls, wanting Rowan to do it; the head cook, frightened on her behalf.
And at the front of the crowd, at its very edge: Reeder, stripped of his arrogance and posturing, his pale green eyes unmasked, showing her what she needed to understand this:
Hope. Desperate hope.
What do you think it would take, to stand against a wizard? Bel had asked him; Who among the common folk, could ever do such a thing?
The steerswoman had to live.
The boy tugged at her hand again. Rowan allowed the woman and the child to lead her.
They could not use the street door without bringing the boy close to Naio’s corpse. They went toward the main staircase.
They were at its foot when Jannik spoke. “Wait.” Rowan and the woman stopped, the boy looking up at them in annoyance. “I think only one of you needs to go,” the wizard said.
The head groom stood with her eyes squeezed shut; and then, with careful deliberation, she let go of the boy’s hand.
Rowan felt an emotion that she was utterly incapable of putting into words. She prepared to climb the stairs.
But the boy had finally caught the full force of the tension, and the fear, that filled the room behind them. Uncomprehending, and suddenly desperate, he flung himself against the head groom’s knees, clutched them with one hand, buried his face against her trouser legs, whining: “Grammeee!”
The two women exchanged a long glance. Then the steerswoman released the boy’s hand, stepped away; and the people watched as his grandmother led him up the long staircase, and out of sight.
Rowan carefully composed her emotions, and her expression, and turned back to watch the wizard.
She would live to see him fall. She swore this to herself, and promised it to the people of Donner.
“Now,” Jannik said, “our next step is quite obvious. In order to focus my attentions on Olin’s direct attack against my protection against the dragons, I need this spying, this subterfuge, to cease. I want Olin’s agent. I want the false steerswoman. I will deal with her”—here he glanced once at Naio’s corpse, where Ona still knelt, her face buried against her husband’s chest—“in my own way. Whoever among you knows where she is, speak.”
The Language of Power Page 25