A Young Man Without Magic (30 page)

“Good enough. You said a room and a meal, for the six of you?”

“Probably several meals, and a stall for our horse.”

“Show me the color of your money, then.”

That was not the response Anrel had hoped for. “Master Lir's credit isn't good?” he asked.

“You, my new friend, are not Master Lir—and in fact, no, his credit is not particularly good.”

That was dismaying, though not entirely surprising after a season
spent in Garras's company. Anrel had no intention of paying for the entire party, though; he was quite sure Garras would never repay him. “Alas, Master Lir has the money,” he said. “I did not think to ask him for any, as I had thought he was respected here.”

“Then I'm afraid you'll have to take off your sword after all; it will serve as surety.”

That seemed a fair compromise. Anrel unbuckled his sword belt and handed it over.

“Thank you,” the doorkeeper said. “I am Dorrin Kabrig, by the way; you are . . . ?”

“Dyssan Adirane,” Anrel said. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Master Kabrig.” He tipped his hat.

“Good to meet you, too.” Dorrin glanced around. “As you may have gathered, this room and the front door are in my charge; through there you'll find the saloon, which is my wife's domain, and over there Master Issulien oversees the main dining room. Go through that door to the back, and Mistress Sharduil can see you to a room, or fetch Billin the stable boy for you. Master Sharduil is the landlord, but I would advise you not to seek him out.”

“Thank you,” Anrel said, doffing his hat entirely. “I think I'll have a word with Mistress Sharduil, then.”

He suited his actions to his words. Mistress Sharduil was a sturdy woman of perhaps half a century's vintage, wearing an apron and mobcap, and affecting a brisk and businesslike manner. Anrel made sure she understood that the Lir family was coming. She assured him that she would have a large room warm and ready for the family, a clean stall prepared for Lolo, and a sheltered corner where the wagon could be stored.

“But if they don't arrive, you'll be responsible for the cost,” she said.

“They'll be here soon.”

“You're really sure they'll come, in this weather?” she asked, as she glanced out a rear window at the deepening snow.

“They were already on the road when the snow started,” Anrel assured her. “I cannot think they would turn back.”

“They might shelter along the way, and try to wait it out,” Mistress Sharduil suggested.

“I cannot utterly rule that out,” Anrel said, frowning, “but it seems most unlikely to me—and inconsiderate, as I told them I would try to meet them at the city gate.”

“And when are you expecting them, then?”

“Very soon,” Anrel said, glancing in his turn out the window.

“Then shouldn't you be on your way to the gate?”

“Indeed, mistress, I should,” Anrel agreed. He essayed a deep bow to his hostess, then clapped his hat on his head and made his way out to the front of the inn, past Master Kabrig and out into the stable yard.

After spending several minutes in the warmth of the inn the cold outside seemed far worse than before—his exposed skin stung with it, and it seemed to seep quickly in through his two coats and sturdy shirt. He wondered whether the temperature was really dropping, or whether it was merely the contrast with the cheerful interior, and decided it was probably a little of both.

He hurried up Cobbler Street and out onto the main thoroughfare, where the snow was now several inches deep, over the toes of his boots, and where the wind, blowing more fiercely than before, could reach him more readily and snatch away what little heat might still linger.

He reached the gate without incident, startling the guard. The wards were still in place, as strong as ever; it was reassuring to know he hadn't imagined them.

“I thought you were bound for the Boar's Head,” the watchman said. “Surely, it's not full up!”

“No, I've taken a room there,” Anrel told him. “But I came back to meet that party of peddlers I mentioned, and see them safe.”

“Ah.” The guard glanced out at the dim white emptiness beyond the gate. “I've seen no sign of them as yet.”

“Might I wait with you, then, at least for a time? There were women with the party, and I admit to some concern.”

“I'd be glad of your company,” the guard assured him. “There's a stove in the gate house, if you'd like to warm your hands.”

“I would like that very much,” Anrel confirmed.

A moment later the two men were seated on wooden stools to either side of an old iron stove, holding their hands above soot black metal
streaked with brown rust and letting the fire's heat sink into their bones. The only light in the little room came from a barred window looking out at the road, and the fire's glow leaking through the seams in the stove. The lantern above the gate was still burning, but its light did not reach far in the swirling whiteness.

“I see your sword is gone,” the guard remarked.

“I left it at the inn,” Anrel said. He did not mention he had left it as surety against his bill.

“Probably wise,” the guardsman said. “You won't need it in Beynos—especially not in weather like this.”

“I'm glad to hear that,” Anrel said. “How
are
matters in Beynos these days? It seemed to me that the faces I've seen have looked worried.”

The guard shrugged. “Is it any different anywhere else in the empire? The tales we hear from the capital are hardly calculated to soothe anyone's nerves.”

“Of course, the capital is close by,” Anrel pointed out. “Perhaps out on the outskirts, in Pirienna or Hallin, such concerns carry less weight.”

“Perhaps,” the guard conceded, “but still, we're all subjects of the same emperor and empress, and all now under the authority of the Grand Council.”

“I doubt a goatherd in the hills of Pirienna has any idea what the Grand Council is doing,” Anrel said. “For that matter, I've been traveling—
I
have no idea what the Grand Council is doing, and thus have not been worried by it.”

“So far, from what I hear, they have done little but argue amongst themselves,” the guard said. “A good many delegates are the younger sons of various sorcerers, sent by their parents to ensure that the old order is preserved, but some of those young men have apparently decided to work for their own good more than their parents'—there are schemes to split up the great estates to ensure that every magician has a piece of land of his own, or to give themselves the keys to the imperial treasury. Not that there's much
in
that treasury anymore, by all accounts.”

“That's ridiculous,” Anrel said.

“Of course it is,” the guard agreed. “
We
know that, but
they
apparently don't. Fortunately for all of us, there are a few voices of reason among
the magicians—some of the great nobles came themselves, rather than trusting anyone else. Three of the sixteen landgraves are on the council, and a score or so of burgraves. And half the council was elected by commoners, of course, and those people certainly have no desire to reward a pack of greedy young sorcerers with land and privilege.”

“You seem to know more about this than I would have expected,” Anrel remarked. He had not heard this sort of detailed discussion in any of his previous stops; certainly no one in Kolizand had ever mentioned the precise number of landgraves on the council, nor schemes to split up large estates.

“Well, we have several councillors staying in Beynos,” the guardsman said. “Lume is not a pleasant place for a visiting nobleman these days; the mobs can be ugly, and the streets dangerous. Many of the wealthier delegates have taken up lodgings in the surrounding towns, and retreat to them whenever the council is not in session.”

“But the council only just convened a few days ago!”

“Yes, but the councillors have been arriving for half a season, to make themselves at home and get ready for their deliberations. And this morning a three-day recess was announced, in honor of the prince's birth.”

Anrel blinked. “The prince?”

The guard slapped his own forehead. “Oh, of course you wouldn't have heard! Yes, the prince. The empress has borne a son—she began her labor yesterday morning, and the child was delivered last night, not long before midnight. By all reports he's healthy and strong, and his name has been announced as Lurias Temnir Kaseir Imbredar.”

“Another Lurias,” Anrel remarked.

“Oh, of course! Haven't most of our emperors been named Lurias?”

“About half of them, I think,” Anrel said. “The name did not become quite so established until some three centuries back.” He noticed the guard's expression and added, “I spent some time as a student in the court schools.”

“A scholar!”

Anrel shook his head. “I might have hoped to earn that title once, but no more. I haven't the temperament for it. I'm just a young man without magic or family, trying to find a place for himself.”

For a moment neither spoke. Then the guard shook himself and said, “Well, at any rate, Prince Lurias was born last night, and the emperor declared a three-day celebration, so the Grand Council agreed to a recess. I think the emperor expected the delegates to join in the happy gatherings at the palace, but from what I've seen, most of them promptly left the city. Certainly, we have our full complement here in Beynos for the moment.”

“I saw no sign of them in the streets.”

“In this weather? Of course not! They'll be indoors, in their grand houses, drinking fine wine and dancing with beautiful women.” At the mention of the weather he glanced out the window. He stopped and squinted, then sighed. “Someone's coming,” he said.

Anrel rose and peered out the window into the white blur beyond. Yes, something was moving out there, something large and dark.

The veil of swirling snow parted for an instant as the shape drew nearer, and Anrel recognized it.

“That's their horse,” he said. “It's my friends.”

“Then straighten your hat, and let us welcome them to Beynos,” the guard replied, getting to his feet.

Together, the two men stepped out into the snow.

Mistress Sharduil had kept her promises; upon arriving at the Boar's Head the Lir family found their room and Lolo's stall waiting. Nivain and Perynis tended to the horse while Garras and his other two daughters carried luggage inside, inspected the room, and negotiated terms with the innkeeper's wife.

Anrel accompanied Garras and carried a share of the baggage, but said as little as possible. He was still uncertain of his own plans. He knew that he wanted his future to involve Tazia, but how, and how soon, he had not yet decided.

The room was surprisingly large and equipped with four beds, which meant none of the daughters would need to sleep on the floor; in fact, if Tazia and Perynis shared a bed, there would even be one for Anrel. He had no intention of asking the two to share, but on the other hand, they might choose to because of the room's greatest drawback—it was cold. It was built out over the open stable, the walls were thin and poorly chinked, and the stove was small. Even though someone had built a good fire in the stove, the room was dreadfully chilly. Sleeping two to a bed might be a welcome way to stay warm in such a drafty, ill-heated space.

Garras seemed unreasonably pleased with the room, and Anrel wondered why. Did he care nothing for his daughters' comfort? Surely he had noticed the cold. Yes, he had only just moments before arrived after a long journey through the snow, but to get to this room he had passed
through the delightful warmth of the inn proper, and his senses should have adjusted.

Garras spoke quietly to Mistress Sharduil for what seemed an inordinately long time, too quietly for Anrel to hear what was being discussed; then Mistress Sharduil, with a final bow and with a half-guilder deposit in hand, took her leave. Once she was gone Garras exclaimed, “This place is
perfect
for talking to customers! It won't seem cramped; it has every appearance of privacy—that long walk through the upstairs corridor will make it seem almost secret.”

“And no one will need to remove his coat,” Reva added bitterly.

“Exactly!”

She gave her father a look of utter disgust, and tossed her bag on one of the beds. “This one is mine,” she announced.

Anrel set down his own burden and watched silently as the others distributed luggage; when that was done Tazia said, “I'll fetch Mother.” She smiled at Anrel, then headed for the door.

“We'll be downstairs,” Garras called after her.

“Somewhere warm,” Reva said.

“Somewhere customers can find us,” her father said. “I told the landlady she need not wait before sending us anyone in need of witchcraft.”

“I hope we can at least spare the time to shake the snow from our clothes and warm our hands at the fire!” Reva snapped.

“Keep a civil tongue in your head, woman!” Garras barked back.

The two glared at each other, then turned and marched after Tazia.

Anrel hesitated, then shrugged and followed them.

Later the entire party was gathered around a table in one of the inn's larger dining rooms, enjoying the heat of the nearby hearth and sampling the inn's ale, when a young woman approached. She hesitated, standing a few feet away, as if uncertain it would be safe to come any closer.

Garras noticed her, and prodded Reva's shoulder. “See there? Go make yourself useful,” he said.

Reva glared at him, then rose and turned to greet the stranger.

“I am Reva Lir,” she said, in a conversational tone. “Perhaps I can help you.”

“Are you . . .” the woman began, then stopped. She took a deep breath and held out a hand. “I am Mimmin li-Dargalleis,” she said. “I've heard you might indeed be able to help me.” She glanced past Reva at the rest of the family, then asked, “Is there somewhere we could speak privately?”