A Young Man Without Magic (12 page)

“But this is
not
the archipelago, nor the Ermetian mystery lands, nor anywhere else on the fringes of the world,” Anrel protested. “We are safely in the Bound Lands.”

Lord Blackfield shook his head. “Even here, black magic cannot be trusted; there are always hidden costs, as there are not in the straightforward bindings and wardings of everyday spells.”

“Lord Allutar thought you exaggerated these costs,” Valin said.

“I can only hope, for his sake, that he is right and I am wrong. I was certainly unable to convince him of my position.”

“Is that why you're leaving, then?” Anrel asked.

“In part.”

“Where are you bound?”

“I will be making one more call in Kerdery, at a village called Darmolir, and then heading back home to Quand.”

“Darmolir? I don't believe I know it,” Valin said.

“It's not on the well-trodden path,” the Quandishman acknowledged. “Indeed, there are no public coaches that go there; I have sent for my own coachman to meet me in Lower Pelzin.”

“What takes you to Darmolir?” Anrel asked. “Are there no more black sorcerers to discourage here in Aulix?”

“There may be,” Lord Blackfield said. “But I am tired, and intend to make only this one more visit before returning home for the winter.”

“A sorcerer in Darmolir? The burgrave, perhaps?”

“A good guess, Master Murau. Yes, Lord Salchen Elbar is the burgrave of Darmolir.”

“Is he planning to eviscerate someone for the solstice, then?”

Lord Blackfield gave a bray of laughter. “You have a harsh wit, Master Murau,” he said. “No, Lord Salchen's experiments in black sorcery have drawn on other sources of power than death, and his cruelties have been subtler—though perhaps all the more effective for that.”

At that moment all three men heard a rattle, and looked up to see the westbound coach entering the square, wheels and hooves clattering on the cobbles. The Quandishman rose.

“I'm told the coachman is impatient of delays,” he said. “I hope you will forgive me if I take my leave in haste.”

“Of course,” Valin said. He, too, got to his feet. “Let us accompany you to the coach, at least. Shall I carry that bag for you?”

“That would be most kind.”

A moment later, the trio approached the coach. The driver saw them as he clambered down from his perch. “Ah, masters,” he said. “I have messages from Lume for Lord Allutar and Lord Dorias; could you tell me who I must see to ensure they are received?”

Startled, Anrel and Valin exchanged glances.

“I am Lord Valin,” Valin said. “I can take the messages.”

“I am Lord Dorias's nephew,” Anrel said. “I can accept his, if you would like.”

“And I am a passenger bound for Lower Pelzin,” Lord Blackfield said, “so I cannot help, other than to assure you that these two are indeed who they claim to be.”

“Thank you, sir,” the driver said. “Lower Pelzin is a day and a half from here, but we can get you there.”

“Excellent.”

“The messages?” Valin said.

“A moment,” the coachman said. He made his way to the rear of his vehicle, and proceeded to open several locks and latches before producing two envelopes. He handed one to Valin, the other to Anrel.

“That's the emperor's seal,” Anrel said, looking at his prize.

“But the emperor sends messengers!” Valin protested. “He doesn't just post a letter!”

“He did this time,” the driver said, as he closed up the locks. “Or someone did. Perhaps there aren't enough messengers in Lume to have carried all of these—there's a letter there for every burgrave on my route, and for the landgrave of Kerdery, and for the margrave of Kallai. I'd guess the lords along the other coach roads are getting letters, as well.”

“But only imperial officials?” Valin asked. “Not every noble?”

“Only the landgraves, the burgraves, and the margrave,” the driver said, as he loaded Lord Blackfield's luggage. “No one else. Not even the Lords Magistrate.”

“That's quite enough,” Anrel said. “Is it about the Grand Council?”

“I wouldn't know, sir. I know better than to open a sorcerer's mail, and I can't wait around until the lords open their own; I have a schedule to keep.” He finished lashing the canvas in place, closed the door behind Lord Blackfield, and swung himself up onto his bench.

Valin and Anrel stepped back out of his way, and watched silently as the driver shook out the reins, called to his team, and got the coach rolling. They waved a farewell to Lord Blackfield, and waited as the vehicle rattled out of the square.

Then Valin looked down at the envelope he held.

“It would seem I have more business with Lord Allutar than I had thought,” he said.

“I'll come with you,” Anrel said.

“What of the message for Lord Dorias?”

“I think my uncle can wait.”

“And you think I am likely to cause trouble if I confront the landgrave alone.”

“The possibility had occurred to me, yes.”

Valin smiled. “Come along, then. Let us not keep the great man waiting!”

The footman who answered the door did not admit the two visitors immediately.

“Lord Allutar was quite emphatic about it, my lord,” he told Valin. “I am to admit no one without his explicit command.”

“We have a message for him from the emperor,” Valin said, holding up the envelope.

“I can see that he gets it, my lord . . .”

“No,” Valin said, “
I
shall see that he receives it, directly from my own hand. I assured the coachman that I would make certain it reached its destination.”

The footman frowned. “If you would wait here, my lord?”

“Very well.”

The footman closed the door, leaving the two standing in the portico, and Anrel remarked, “You could have just handed it to the man.”

“But I prefer to see for myself that Lord Allutar receives it,” Valin replied with a smile.

Anrel shook his head. He knew perfectly well that Valin was hoping for a confrontation over Urunar's death, and the emperor's letter was merely an excuse.

A moment later the footman reappeared. “This way, my lord,” he said. He hesitated when Anrel followed Valin inside, then shrugged
and led both of them to a small, bare room Anrel did not recall ever having seen before.

“The landgrave will join you shortly,” the footman said. Then he departed, closing the door behind him, leaving the two men alone.

Anrel glanced around, and realized there was nowhere to sit. “Lord Allutar is not exactly putting any great effort into hospitality today, is he?” he said wryly.

The room consisted of four bare stone walls, a single diamond-paned casement, a tile floor, two heavy wooden doors, and a vaulted ceiling; there were no furnishings at all. A less welcoming prospect was difficult to imagine.

“Perhaps he wants to be sure we won't pocket the silver,” Valin answered.

Before Anrel could respond, one of the doors opened and Lord Allutar appeared. He looked tired, as if he had not slept well, and his collar was askew.

“Lord Valin,” he said. “Hollem tells me you have something of mine?”

“A message from the emperor, newly arrived on the morning stage,” Valin said, displaying the envelope. “I assured the coachman I would see that it reached you.”

“Then see that it reaches me,” Allutar said, holding out a hand.

“Of course,” Valin said, making no move to deliver the envelope. “Might I ask, though, how you feel this morning? Frankly, you do not appear to be at your best.”

“My well-being is no concern of yours, my lord,” Allutar said.

“On the contrary, my lord, I am a resident of Aulix, and you are the landgrave of Aulix. Your health is very much the concern of everyone in the province.”

Allutar gazed calmly at him. “My health is excellent, Lord Valin.”

“Then you were not troubled by cutting the still-beating heart out of a man's chest yesterday?”

Anrel drew in his breath, but Allutar gave no sign of annoyance. The landgrave answered in calm, measured tones, “I was revolted by the experience, my lord, but I felt it necessary. I do not regret my actions.”

“And you still believe that black magic is an appropriate employment of your skills?”

“I do, my lord. My letter?”

“You felt no ill effects from the spell?”

“What I felt or did not feel is my business. The letter, please.” His outstretched hand still waited.

Valin began to say something else, but Anrel could stand it no longer. “Father and Mother, Valin, give him the blasted letter!”

Startled, Valin turned to look at his companion, and Allutar snatched the envelope from his hand. Before either Anrel or Valin could say another word, he tore it open and pulled out the letter inside. He read it quickly—Anrel could see that there were only a few lines of text.

Allutar frowned. He held the paper up to the light from the casement. “It appears genuine,” he said.

“The possibility of fraud had not occurred to me,” Valin said.

“That does not surprise me,” Allutar retorted. He looked Valin in the eye. “Have you read it?”

Valin lifted his chin haughtily. “I am not in the habit of reading the private correspondence of others,” he said.

“No, you are in the habit of sitting in wineshops in Naith and holding forth on subjects of which you know nothing,” Allutar retorted. “However, one can occasionally do things other than the habitual.”

Stung, Valin drew himself up to his full height. “I delivered the letter still sealed,” he said. “Unopened and unread.”

“You claim to be a sorcerer,” Allutar said. “Any magician worthy of the name could have restored the seal after reading this.”

“I give you my word I did not,” Valin said coldly.

“Then you do not know what it says?”

“I do not.”

Allutar stared at Valin for a moment, then shrugged. “You will know soon enough; I might as well tell you, though it will undoubtedly please you.”

“I doubt anything you might say would please me,” Valin replied.

“But it is the emperor who says this, my lord. He has changed his
mind again, and put an end to the confusion regarding the makeup of the Grand Council.”

“Oh?”

“In the interests of avoiding strife, he says, he commands that every landgrave, every margrave, and every burgrave shall appoint a single representative to the Grand Council, in conference with the other nobles in his demesne.”

“That hardly pleases me,” Valin said.

“Nor did I think otherwise,” Allutar said. “But he likewise commands that the commoners in each jurisdiction shall elect one of their own number, so that fully one-half the council will be commoners, chosen by commoners.” He flung the letter at Valin. “See for yourself.”

Valin caught the letter and turned it. He read hastily.

“How are these elections to be managed, my lord?” Anrel asked. “Is that set forth?”

“No, it is not,” Allutar said. “I am to use whatever means I find at my discretion to be sure that each male head of household shall have the opportunity to cast a vote, but what means those might be, or how the candidates are to be chosen, is not mentioned.” He smiled. “Perhaps this is not as pleasant for Lord Valin as I first thought; it would appear to me to be within my authority to choose the candidates for whom the people will be permitted to vote.”

“Naturally, that would occur to you,” Valin said, looking up from the letter.

“I believe I am generally cognizant of how best to defend my own interests, yes.”

“And you see nothing reprehensible about asserting your own authority regardless of the cost to others, do you?”

“Lord Valin, my own interests are likewise the interests of all Aulix, and indeed of all Walasia. I would much prefer to be landgrave of a prosperous and happy province, rather than lording over a cowed and starving populace. I think it better to live in an empire that is flourishing than one in decline. I take no pleasure in the suffering of others; on the contrary, it pains me to observe it, and so I act to prevent it where possible. If this
sometimes means that I must harm an individual for the good of the community, I do so, much as I would choose to suffer the pain of extracting a splinter over the possibility of infection. What is reprehensible in that?”

“You see nothing wrong in refusing others the freedom to speak for themselves?”

“When they would speak foolishly and to their own detriment? Indeed, I do not.”

“You will not allow the commoners to choose their own representatives freely?”

“What do commoners know of governance? They would vote for the well-spoken over the truly wise, I would think.”

“You are not so easily fooled, then?”

“I like to think I am not, my lord.”

Anrel listened to this brisk exchange with something not unlike despair. He was quite certain that neither commoners nor sorcerers had any monopoly on wisdom, nor even a sufficiency of that particular virtue, and in specific he was convinced that very few men of any station possessed the wisdom to recognize wisdom in others. These two magicians were arguing over whether the blind or the smitten were more suited to objectively judging the beauty of women.

“You are so certain of your own virtue, then?” Valin demanded.

“I am certain that the emperor saw fit to confirm me in my position as landgrave of Aulix, and that it is both my responsibility and my privilege to govern the province as I judge best. Whether that is how the commoners would judge best does not trouble me; let their grandchildren say whether I governed poorly or well, when time has shown the consequences of my actions.”