A Young Man Without Magic (28 page)

The weather grew steadily colder as autumn wore on and the solstice approached; more than once Lolo's hooves crunched through ice as he pulled the wagon along the rutted roads, and a few brief flurries left the brown fields speckled with white. Between villages Nivain's cape, which Anrel wore to disguise himself when observing the witches at work, was (quite appropriately) wrapped around its rightful owner, so when the family was on the road Anrel wore his brown velvet coat over his blue jacket and kept his hat tugged down over his ears, more concerned with warmth than appearance, and wished that he had the good gray wool cloak that had seen him through four winters in Lume, and which he had left folded in a trunk in his uncle's house—not to mention the fur-lined gloves that his cousin Saria had given him as a going-away present when he first left to take up his studies in the capital.

When the solstice finally arrived Anrel was startled to discover that the Lir women did not celebrate it—they said no special prayers, made no obeisance, and did not divert themselves from their regular route in order to visit a sacred site or family shrine. When he remonstrated with Garras, his answer was a cold stare and a flat, “We don't have time for that.”

He began a reply, then cut it off short, before the first word had finished leaving his lips. It was none of his business. Still, it troubled him that women who had so obviously benefited from the Mother's gifts would make no expression of gratitude.

They arrived that night in the town of Kolizand, home to some three hundred souls, of whom about a dozen were down with fever. Since the local burgrave had dismissed this illness as beneath his notice it would keep the witches nicely busy for two or three days, and then, if nothing else demanded their attention, they would move on.

“And that will be that,” Garras said, as they sat around the hearth in Kolizand's one ramshackle inn, where they had paid for a night's lodging by blessing the wine, so that it would not turn to vinegar before spring. The “blessing” was a ward against further fermentation, a spell which might or might not actually last out the winter.

“That will be what?” Anrel asked.

“That will be the end of our association,” Garras replied. “Didn't you know? The next town beyond this is Beynos, where we cross the river and you leave us.”

“Ah,” Anrel said. He glanced at Tazia, who blushed and dropped her gaze.

Garras seemed to take it for granted that they would be abiding by the original agreement they had made the night Anrel first met the Lirs, but Anrel himself was not so sure. Not for the first time, he wondered whether he
wanted
to leave the witches.

The fever proved more intractable than expected; it was four long, exhausting days before the Lir women had finally restored all the people of Kolizand to health, and Anrel found himself musing whether the burgrave had misjudged the severity of the illness, or simply hadn't wanted to be bothered with such unpleasant matters.

After all, great things were happening in the world. Anrel's first day in Kolizand was also the first day the Grand Council finally met, less than a full day's travel to the east, in the ancient city of Lume, the eternal heart of the Walasian Empire. Who would blame the burgrave of Kolizand if he was preoccupied with following the news from the capital, and not interested in the boring business of running his own town?

Rumor had it that the makeup of the council was not what the emperor had wanted—he had hoped for a calm, cooperative group that he could direct as he pleased, and had called for the election of commoners believing that they would be overawed by his presence and too ignorant, too naïve, to present any resistance to his plans for revamping the tax laws. Instead, thanks to the work of agitators and revolutionaries like the mysterious Alvos of Naith, half the council was said to be made up of rabble-rousers and firebrands, eager to immediately right all the perceived wrongs of the empire.

The empress, who was due to bear her first child any day now, was said to be downright horrified by what had become of her husband's
scheme, and had allegedly told him the council should not be permitted to meet at all. His Imperial Majesty had known better than that; he had convened the council, and once that was done, he did not have the authority to undo it. His wife, being Ermetian by birth, did not appreciate just how impossible it was to refuse this most sacred of all Walasian institutions.

Anrel found that perversely amusing; he suspected that two years ago most Walasians had never
heard
of the Grand Council, yet now it was a sacred institution. Two years ago most of those who did know of the Grand Council had probably considered it an irrelevant historical curiosity, yet now it was seen as the very foundation of the empire.

Of course, Anrel's studies in history had taught him that the original Grand Council really
was
the foundation of the empire. It had been the mechanism by which the ancient Walasian sorcerers were able to restore some semblance of order after the Old Empire disintegrated. The wizards who had created the Old Empire, and the bureaucrats who had administered it, had all vanished over a period of half a season, never to be seen again, and it had been the Grand Council that had created the Walasian Empire in their stead.

But that council had disbanded centuries ago, and had been all but forgotten until the emperor decided he needed some way to make demands of the nobility that were not permitted under the existing laws and covenants. To Anrel, this new Grand Council seemed little more than a sham, a shabby stunt on the emperor's part. If it was not working out quite as the emperor wanted, that was just as well.

By the time he and the Lir family finally made their preparations to depart Kolizand, though, the news from Lume had turned more dismaying. The emperor had refused to allow the Grand Council to meet in the palace, or any other official building, claiming that he did not want their deliberations to be influenced by the existing bureaucracy. Instead, they had been sent to an ancient, crumbling, little-used building, a relic of the Old Empire—a bath house, originally, though the plumbing that had once kept the baths filled, and the mechanisms that had heated the water, had all long ago corroded into uselessness. It was said to be haunted, though no one seemed to think that was a serious concern.

The more extreme populist members of the council had used this exile as evidence of the utter corruption of the empire's present government, and delegates who had previously espoused moderation seemed more inclined to listen to their radical compatriots now.

The rumors about Empress Annineia had turned darker, as well—she was now said to have a coterie of hired necromancers from the Cousins acting as her personal guards, brought in with the Ermetian physicians who had come to help with the impending birth. It was even said that demons, presumably summoned by her foreign magicians, had been glimpsed in the streets around the palace, though anyone with any sense dismissed that as absurd.

Anrel was more disturbed by this than he cared to admit. He had always assumed that the empire's governance was as solid and certain as the land itself. He had taken it for granted that the emperor would muddle through his economic woes somehow and retire his grandfather's debts, that the recent crop failures would end, and that everything would then return to the same sort of peace and prosperity that the empire had enjoyed for half a millennium. Now, though, things seemed to be slipping further and further out of control, further and further away from the old norm. Necromancers in the palace, and demons in the streets of Lume? The Grand Council made up largely of disgruntled commoners, and meeting in a haunted ruin? Returning to normal from
this
might not be as certain as Anrel had thought.

And to some extent, this was
his fault
. He had climbed up on that statue in Aulix Square and given his speech, meaning only to honor Valin's memory and anger Lord Allutar, and it was as if he had struck sparks into the sawdust on a carpenter's floor—flames smoldering everywhere and every so often flaring up unexpectedly.

He had never before thought the actions of an ordinary man could really matter, but that conviction was shaken. If he had not spoken, surely the news from Lume would be less disconcerting.

He began to wonder whether his hope of hiding in Lume until Lord Dorias could intervene on his behalf still had even the faintest possibility of realization. Alvos the orator was not just guilty of a dangerous prank, but of subverting the order of the empire. If the mad stories
about Alvos continued to circulate, and the authorities in Aulix held all of Alvos's crimes against Anrel, an ordinary burgrave of no particular reputation could not save the notorious criminal from the consequences of his actions.

Furthermore, Lume was no longer a refuge where people could be relied upon not to ask a stranger his business. If the streets were full of foreign magicians and their demons, and nervous watchmen, and Grand Councillors, all of them familiar with the name Alvos, staying just another anonymous young man without magic might not be possible.

Perhaps, Anrel thought, not for the first time, he should simply stay with the Lir family. He might take his courtship of Tazia further; up until now he had tried to keep their growing friendship and mutual respect from turning into a firm commitment, since he had intended to leave her behind, with her parents and sisters, when he made his way to the capital, but now he was considering other possibilities. He was technically a witch himself, though he had performed little magic, so why not marry a witch, and take up her peripatetic lifestyle permanently? He thought Tazia would welcome his advances.

No, he told himself; to be honest, he
knew
she would welcome his advances.

Garras might not be so pleased, of course. He had allowed Anrel to accompany the family partly because of the threat of mutual destruction, but more important, because of that eleven guilders Anrel had contributed to the family's finances. That money was gone, and while Anrel still had a significant sum hidden away, he had not let any of the others know that. So far as they were aware his purse was now empty, every coin spent.

What's more, Anrel and Garras had, over the past half season or so, realized that they did not much like each other. Garras did no witchcraft, had no magic of any kind, yet it was usually he who collected the fees from the family's customers, only reluctantly doling out the pennies the women needed for their own expenses. He drove the wagon, leaving his women to walk; when they were not moving, Reva maintained the wagon, while Tazia and Perynis tended to Lolo. Garras did not cook,
did not clean, did not sew, did not hunt; he did bargain with villagers seeking the services of his wife and daughters, but that was all.

Yet Garras ruled his family with a firm hand. He controlled the money, determined their route, set their schedule; he was served first at every meal, and when he was present the women did not speak without his permission. It had long ago become clear that it was Garras, not Nivain, who had decided that the daughters would not be permitted to face the trials that might have made them noblewomen.

He was, in short, a petty tyrant, and Anrel had never thought much of tyrants.

For his own part, Garras had made it plain that he considered Anrel a reckless fool, with a dangerous wit and a misplaced sense of humor. Anrel had the definite impression that Garras had thought the presence of another man might further cow the four women, and had felt betrayed when Anrel instead treated the women with respect and consideration.

The two had been able to coexist peacefully thus far largely by ignoring each other as much as possible, but the knowledge that their relationship had a definite end in sight had made that easier. If Anrel announced he had changed his plans and intended to stay with the Lir family, Garras might not cooperate.

Or perhaps he might; it was hard to say.

And there was always a third possibility—that Anrel and Tazia might split off from the family, as Reva hoped to, and make their own way in the world. Anrel had told himself when he first fled Naith that he had to build himself a new life, and he now hoped to build it around Tazia. If she was willing to leave her parents behind, that might well be the best of all possible outcomes.

It bore some thought, and there was no need to rush into anything; they had spent the morning settling accounts and loading up the wagon, and were about to leave Kolizand for Beynos. The walk would take half the afternoon, and then when they reached Beynos they would settle in somewhere. Once that was done they would probably spend several days attending to customers, healing the sick and injured, calming the frightened, selling love charms and happy lies. Anrel could use that time
to think over his situation, and perhaps discuss it with Tazia, or with Nivain, or even with Garras; if he decided to continue on to Lume he could leave at any time, but if he decided he wanted to stay with Tazia—well, he would have a few days to consider his options.

“Ready, Anrel?” Perynis asked, as Garras climbed onto the driver's bench and shook out the reins.

“Of course,” Anrel and Tazia said simultaneously. Anrel smiled, and Tazia giggled, and Anrel reached out and caught Tazia's hand as they began walking.

They had scarcely taken a step when the first flakes of snow began to fall.

Kolizand was too small for an actual wall, but like Alzur it had an iron fence called a pale that marked its statutory limits and the extent of the burgrave's authority. It was less than a quarter mile from the inn on the village square to the southeastern gate, but by the time the wagon had covered even that distance the weather had gone from merely overcast to snowing heavily, and the brown fields beside the road were already turning white.

“Are you sure we want to travel in this?” Anrel called to Garras, standing to one side as Lolo pulled the wagon through the unguarded gate.