A Young Man Without Magic (16 page)

Allutar's calm seemed to infuriate Valin—a reaction Anrel understood, as he had experienced it himself on more than one occasion in the past. Oddly, this time he felt no outrage at all, a fact that troubled him—had his years in Lume hardened him? Or was it that, for once, Lord Allutar was behaving with appropriate dignity and grace?

Certainly his behavior was better than Valin's.

“You foul, heartless creature!” Valin shouted. “It is a disgrace to the empire that you are called a landgrave!”

Allutar's expression hardened.

“Guard your words, my lord,” he said. “Guard my words? Oh, you would have me silence myself, and bow
to your vaunted authority? I think not, Allutar Hezir! I am a delegate to the Grand Council now, as much as you are yourself, and I will see to it that all Lume knows you for the appalling beast you are!”

Allutar blinked. “What did you say?”

“I said I will denounce you before the council and the emperor; I will see your title stripped from you, your lands confiscated, your name disgraced. I will see you cast down from your high place, into the mud where you belong.”

“
You
are to be on the Grand Council?” He looked past Valin at Anrel, who could only stand in horror-stricken silence, hands spread.

“My guardian has granted me that honor, yes,” Valin said. “I am to represent Alzur on the council, on behalf of the burgrave.”

Still looking at Anrel, Allutar demanded, “Is this true?”

“Yes, my lord,” Anrel said, his heart sinking and his gorge rising.

“You call me a liar, now?” Valin demanded.

“The possibility that you are mad had not escaped me,” Allutar replied. “Indeed, I had
hoped
your appointment was a mere delusion.” He shook his head. “I am most disappointed in Lord Dorias.”

“Disappointed that he dared make his own choice, rather than toadying to you? I remind you, Allutar, that the emperor has forbidden interference in the elections. Do not think yourself free to cozen my guardian.”

“You will address me properly, young man,” Allutar snapped.

“‘Lord' is a title of respect, is it not? I have no respect for you.”

“I am still the landgrave of Aulix, Lord Valin, and you will address me accordingly.”

“You have no right to be any sort of noble!”

A sudden stillness seemed to settle over Allutar's features, and a chill closed on Anrel's heart.

“Are you challenging my right to my position?” Allutar asked, calm once again.

“Of course I am! Haven't you heard what I've been saying?”

Allutar spoke very clearly and precisely as he said, “You are a sorcerer of the empire, challenging me to demonstrate my fitness to be landgrave of Aulix?”

Anrel's blood seemed to freeze in his veins. He recognized that formula, as Valin almost certainly did not. He wanted to call out, to warn his friend, but Valin replied before Anrel could speak.

“Yes!” he said.

Anrel's heart sank. The challenge had been made; any warning now would be useless.

Allutar turned to the two men who had accompanied him. “You have heard this?” he asked.

The two exchanged glances; then one of them nodded, and said, “Yes, my lord.”

The other hesitated another moment under Allutar's intense scrutiny before finally saying, very quietly, “Yes.”

“Good!” Allutar said. He turned back to Valin. “I accept the challenge. My seconds will call on you in the morning to arrange the details.” He looked over Valin's shoulder. “Master Murau!”

“Wait—you what?” Valin said, baffled.

“Yes, my lord?” Anrel said, dreading what was to come.

“I am afraid that I must change my plans for this evening. Would you please inform your uncle and your lovely cousin that I will not be calling on them, after all?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Does Lord Valin have friends who can act as his seconds?”

Anrel hesitated a fraction of a second before replying, “He has me, my lord.”

“More than he deserves, I think.” He turned back to Valin and stared at him for a long moment—silently, as under the law he could no longer speak to him. Then he tugged at his cloak and turned away.

“Wait,” Valin said.

Allutar ignored him; Anrel grabbed Valin's sleeve again. “Not another word!” he said.

The two men stood, Anrel clutching Valin's sleeve, as Allutar and his two attendants marched away, across the square and up the hill toward the landgrave's estate. When they were gone, Valin asked plaintively, “What happened? What did I do?”

Anrel stared at him. “You really don't know?”

“No,” Valin said. “What did I do?”

Anrel sighed. “You challenged Lord Allutar to trial by sorcery,” he said. “The winner shall be landgrave of Aulix.”

“I . . . what?” Valin whirled and stared after the departing sorcerer.

Anrel did not bother to repeat himself.

“And . . . and the loser?” Valin asked, still watching Lord Allutar.

“That is up to the winner,” Anrel said. “Assuming, of course, that the loser survives the trial.”

“This can't be happening,” Lord Dorias said, his head in his hands. “It can't be!”

“I'm sorry, Magister,” Valin said, eyes downcast. “I had not intended my words—”

“Anrel,” Dorias interrupted, ignoring Valin, “didn't I ask you to keep Valin
away
from Lord Allutar?”

Anrel saw the look of stunned dismay that flickered across Valin's face, and considered lying—Valin might believe old Dorias was even more confused than usual—but decided there was no point in deception. “I said I would keep him occupied elsewhere this evening, yes, but evening had not come, and I had not anticipated Lord Allutar's presence in the town square.”

“Do you know how long it has been since there has been a formal challenge in Aulix?”

“Thirty-eight years,” Anrel replied immediately. “Lord Nerval Cherneth challenged the sitting burgrave of Paldis, a Lord Kordomir, and defeated him easily.”

“How do you . . . oh, never mind. It doesn't matter.” Dorias sighed. “Even if Lord Allutar chooses not to do you any permanent physical harm, Valin, and I doubt you will be so fortunate as that, do you know what this will do to your reputation? You are a sorcerer, yes, but against Lord Allutar you are a child with a stick fighting a skilled swordsman,
and this trial will make you look like a complete fool. This cannot end well.”

Stung, Valin began, “I am not completely without ability—”

Dorias cut him off. “I
trained
you,” he said. “I know your abilities quite well. You have the talent to be a . . . a functionary, a warder perhaps, even a magistrate. But a landgrave? No.” He shook his head. “It is not possible.”

“Fine, then!” Valin said, flinging his head back. “I will do my best, and I will be defeated, and honor will be served.”

“And for the rest of your life, people will whisper behind their hands, saying, ‘There goes the fool who challenged Lord Allutar!' Do you think you have had difficulty in finding a position
now
? It will be a thousand times worse when the news gets out. And all this assumes that you
survive
this confrontation, which is by no means certain, and are not crippled. As Anrel can tell you, sorcery can kill.”

Anrel's mouth tightened, and he resisted the temptation to throw his uncle's earlier words about the blessings of sorcery back in his face.

“And if I survive I will go to Lume as your delegate, Magister,” Valin said, “and I will do what I can there to make a record that will make them all forget my moment of folly.”

“Let us hope that you will be so fortunate!”

“Perhaps this will put paid to the quarrel between them, Uncle,” Anrel said. “It may even prove a blessing in the end—the conflict will be resolved, honor satisfied, and our two houses reconciled thereby, to the benefit of”—he caught himself before implying something indelicate about Lady Saria, and concluded—“of all concerned.”

“Perhaps,” Dorias said, in tones of unrelieved woe that made plain his disbelief. He turned to Valin. “You will need seconds.”

“I am unfamiliar with the protocol,” Valin admitted.

“You will need companions who will serve as your aides,” Dorias explained. “The seconds serve as go-betweens between the two principals, since they are forbidden to speak to each other, lest their words be subtle spells. The seconds also serve as judges, to ensure an honest competition, and to decide the victor should the outcome not be immediately obvious. The seconds are responsible for acknowledging defeat, should they deem their principal unable to continue.”

“I have no one in Alzur I would trust to serve such a role, save Anrel and yourself,” Valin said.

“Could you perhaps send to Naith for your friends there?” Anrel suggested. “I do not believe the trial need take place immediately.”

“I fear that the challenged party sets the time and place,” Dorias said. “If Lord Allutar chooses, the trial may be held tomorrow morning. By custom he must allow you one night to put your affairs in order, but no more than that. You must have a second in place by morning, to receive the terms.”

“Magister, would you do me the honor?”

“No,” Dorias said unhappily. “I cannot. As burgrave of Alzur, where the challenge was given and accepted, I must remain neutral.”

Valin turned to Anrel.

Anrel turned to Dorias. “Is it not customary for the seconds to be sorcerers themselves, to prevent trickery?”

“Customary, but not required,” Dorias replied. “As long as they are of good family and reputation, any may serve.”

“And there
are
no sorcerers in Alzur save Allutar, Saria, Dorias, and myself,” Valin said. “I do not seem to have the option of following custom.”

“Lady Saria—” Anrel began, then stopped. “No, I suppose not.” He could hardly expect Saria to choose sides between her father's fosterling and her own suitor.

“Write to your friends in Naith,” Dorias said. “I will have Ollith deliver the letter to the College of Sorcerers there, and if Lord Allutar allows time, those friends may come to Alzur to support you. They will be made welcome in my home.”

“A letter?” Valin frowned. “I cannot go myself, I suppose.”

“You cannot leave my jurisdiction without Lord Allutar's permission,” Dorias said. “The challenge has been made and accepted, and you are now bound by laws as old as the empire.”

“A pity. I would be more persuasive in person, I am sure.” He turned to Anrel again. “Will you serve as my second, then, until such time as I can find a sorcerer to aid me?”

“Of course,” Anrel said, trying to conceal his misgivings. A thought
struck him. “I wonder who Lord Allutar will choose as his seconds. As you observed, there are no other sorcerers in Alzur.”

“I would guess his messenger is already on the road to Naith,” Dorias said.

“Then let us set ours on his heels,” Valin said. “I will write the letter at once.” He turned and hurried from the room.

Dorias stared after him for a moment, then turned to Anrel. “He does not seem to understand the gravity of the situation,” Dorias said.

“I am not sure
I
understand the gravity of the situation,” Anrel admitted. “Although I have of course read about them, the only sorcerous trial I have ever seen was my own. What is likely to come of this challenge?”

“Whatever Lord Allutar pleases,” Dorias said. “In truth, Valin's magic is weak, and he has never applied himself to his studies, despite my encouragements. The form of the thing is this: Each party is given time to prepare whatever wardings he may choose, using whatever devices he has brought with him, and to work whatever defensive bindings he may be able. Then, when all is agreed to be in readiness, each party is free to attack the other by any magical means whatsoever, until such time as one party shall fall, with wards broken. The assault is then to stop immediately—if the attacker does not realize at once that the wards are lost, the seconds must inform him. Any attack after the wards are known to be gone is a crime, but there is no requirement to withdraw any previous spells; there are tales of trials conducted in this manner of old where the loser suffered the most embarrassing enchantments for days afterward. Lord Abizien of Agrivar allegedly once turned a challenger into a pig, and left him in that form permanently; I don't think Lord Allutar could manage a binding of
that
complexity, but there is no question he could kill or maim Valin, should he choose to do so.”

Anrel had indeed read several such accounts of challenges and trials, but he had hoped that there might have been changes to bring them more into accord with modern sensibilities. Apparently, there had not. “Valin could die.”

“If Lord Allutar wishes, yes. Easily.”

Anrel shuddered.

But then he reconsidered. Surely, Lord Allutar would not kill Valin.
True, he had put Urunar Kazien to death, but Valin li-Tarbek, whatever his family, was a sorcerer, not a commoner, and one who had committed no crime beyond speaking foolishly. Further, to murder a fosterling of his intended bride's father would hardly endear him to her.

No, Lord Allutar would humble Valin, not kill him. Anrel was sure of it.

At least, he tried to tell himself he was sure of it. As he lay in his bed that night, unable to sleep, he said quietly to the canopy above his bed, “All will be well. Valin will live, and learn to curb his tongue. It will be a salutary lesson for him.”

He hoped he spoke the truth.

The following morning Anrel had scarcely finished dressing when he heard the thud of the big door-knocker, followed by low voices. He hurried downstairs.