A Young Man Without Magic (31 page)

“Of course,” Reva said. “This way.”

The others sat silently, carefully not watching, as Reva led her customer away; then Nivain said, “That's one; three of us remain.”

“I hope no one has a fever,” Perynis said. “I had my fill of that in Kolizand!”

“I'll take care of any fevers, then,” Tazia said. She glanced at Anrel.

“I will be happy to help with the sick, should the occasion arise,” Anrel said, smiling at Tazia. His motives were not entirely altruistic; he was hoping for an opportunity to talk to her without the possibility her parents would overhear.

“I'd rather tell fortunes,” Perynis said.

“You're welcome to my share of those,” Tazia told her.

“We will all do whatever we can,” Nivain told her daughters. “In times such as these we need every penny we can earn.”

“Beynos may be a little more profitable than usual, if you act quickly,” Anrel remarked. “I am told that several noblemen and delegates to the Grand Council are in town while the council is in recess.”

“Why is the council in recess?” Perynis asked.

“In honor of the birth of Prince Lurias last night.”

“A prince has been born?” Nivain asked, startled.

“So the gatekeeper told me,” Anrel said.

“We need to know about this,” Perynis said. “It wouldn't do for witches to not know something so important. What if I were trying to tell someone's fortune, and this came up, and I hadn't heard?”

“I hadn't thought of that,” Anrel said.

“You said his name is Lurias,” Nivain said. “Is he healthy?”

“To the best of my knowledge, he is.”

“Then the emperor has his heir, at last!”

“The emperor has two younger brothers,” Anrel reminded her. “The dynasty was hardly in danger of extinction.”

“Still, a prince! That's good news.”

Anrel considered that for a moment, then asked, “Why?”

Nivain stared at him. “Because . . . because it is. The succession is secured. The empire will continue.”

“Right now, an heir to the throne does not strike me as the empire's most urgent need,” Anrel said. “I don't see how it feeds the hungry, or calms the mobs in the street, or makes the Grand Council any less likely to do something disastrously stupid.”

“You . . . have you no appreciation of . . .” Nivain stopped, unable to find the words she wanted.

“Indeed, I do not,” Anrel agreed, sparing her the trouble. He knew well enough what she meant. Any number of Walasians, of every rank and station, idolized the emperor, and indeed, the entire imperial family. Anrel did not share their reverence; after all, the emperor was, despite his exalted station, merely a man. He was a man who held a difficult and staggeringly important job, and who had for the most part carried it out adequately if unexceptionally, but still, he was only human.

And for the most part, his actions did little to affect the everyday life of the empire's citizens. The emperor did not bring forth the crops in the fields, nor build the houses that sheltered the people. While the watchmen in every town were nominally employed by the emperor, and sometimes wore the emperor's green and gold and styled themselves the Emperor's Watch, in plain fact everywhere but Lume they were all hired by the burgraves, and commanded by their own officers, quite independently of who happened to occupy the imperial throne at the moment. It did not matter to Anrel who the emperor was, so long as the empire continued to function. Whether the next emperor was the son, brother, or nephew of the present incumbent did not strike him as a matter of any real significance.

In fact, given some of the rumors about the empress, Anrel thought it more certain that those brothers were truly of the same blood than that this newborn child was, though he would certainly never dare to suggest such a thing in public.

“Is it not the emperor who has declared you outlaws?” Anrel said quietly. “Simply because you did not care to attempt the trials?”

“That's different,” Nivain said. “That's not his fault. The law was made centuries ago, long before he was born.”

“Yet he's done nothing to change it.”

“You should still speak respectfully,” Garras said, entering the conversation for the first time.

“My apologies, sir.” He did not want to argue with Master Lir, or do anything that might antagonize Tazia's father.

“What else did the gatekeeper tell you?” Garras demanded.

Anrel hesitated, trying to remember what else the guardsman had said. “He said . . . that several members of the Grand Council have taken homes here in Beynos, and elsewhere in the surrounding towns, because the streets of Lume are not safe. Though they were invited to celebrate the prince's birth in the capital, most have instead retreated to these outlying communities for the three days.”

Garras frowned. “Then there are more sorcerers in Beynos than usual?”

“Probably.”

“It doesn't matter,” Nivain said. “Noblemen can't be bothered with the sort of magic we do.”

“True enough,” Garras said. “But I wonder whether any of them brought their own witches with them.”

“Sorcerers hire witches? Why would they do that?” Anrel asked.

“I don't know,” Garras said, “but Lume has its share of witches. That's why we don't go there—the people prefer to hire the witches they know from their own neighborhoods, not travelers like us. If there are people from Lume here, perhaps they brought witches.”

“I don't think it likely,” Anrel said. “Lume has so many people that there's business for witches the year around, so why would they chase after the councillors fleeing the city?”

“Then you don't think any of those witches work for nobles, or their households?”

“Well, my uncle never hired witches,” Anrel said.

“That you knew of.”

“That I knew of,” Anrel acknowledged. He was fairly certain he
would
have known, but again, he had no desire to antagonize Garras.

“
We've
never worked for a sorcerer,” Perynis said.

“And that may be our misfortune,” Garras said.

“I would worry that any sorcerer might have us all hanged when he was done with us,” Anrel said.

“We have never been hanged yet,” Garras said.

“Sorcerers are the ruling class, and you have never worked for them,” Anrel said. “Commoners have no reason to wish us ill, but sorcerers might well see your daughters as not merely outlaws, but competition.”

“That might be so, or it might not,” Garras replied. “Perhaps someday we will have an opportunity to test your theory.”

“I am in no hurry.”

Garras laughed and took a swig of ale.

After that the conversation wandered, and Anrel found himself paying more attention to the sight and smell of Tazia, sitting across a corner of the table from him, than to what was being said. He had just taken her hand in his own when Reva returned.

For a moment everyone fell silent and simply watched as Reva walked up and resumed her seat. They watched as she straightened her hair, tossing it back over her shoulders.

Then Nivain said, “Well?”

“She wants a love spell,” Reva said slowly. “She wants it cast on a wealthy delegate who has taken refuge here while the council is in recess. This man has caught her eye, and she would like to catch his fancy in return.”

Something about her manner seemed slightly odd; her parents exchanged glances.

“That should be easy enough, shouldn't it?” Garras said.

“If she can get me close enough to the man in question, yes,” Reva replied.

“A binding,” Anrel murmured, as he realized what sort of magic Reva was planning. “Binding the two souls together.”

“That's the sorcerer's word,” Tazia whispered back. “We're witches. We call it a love spell.”

“There is more than one way to work such a binding,” Anrel said, more to himself than to anyone else.

Reva heard him. “Oh, she wants him completely under her thumb, of course,” she said. “And I'll do my best to oblige her.”

“An asymmetric binding isn't stable, though,” Anrel said.

Reva shrugged. “I don't think she needs it to be.”

“A what?” Perynis said.

“A lopsided spell,” Nivain explained. “He's right—unbalanced magic doesn't keep its shape. The spell might fade away, or the balance might shift in one direction or the other—either she will fall more in love and his love will lessen, or it will cease to be love at all and turn to something else even less balanced. Obsession, perhaps, or hatred.”

“Well, we'll be long gone before that happens,” Garras said.

Anrel started to say something in protest of this callous statement, but caught himself. He did not want to argue with Tazia's family, not when he was still so unsure of his own plans.

It did trouble him, though, that they all seemed so undisturbed over some of the reckless magic they performed. The fraudulent prophecies were bad enough, but a misused emotional binding could easily ruin someone's life. And an
asymmetric
one, effectively giving one person control of the other temporarily, that would inevitably and unpredictably collapse into something else—that was simply cruel.

Yes, it might equalize itself, and leave the pair genuinely in love for the rest of their lives, but that was not the most probable outcome. If Anrel remembered correctly what Valin and Saria had told him of their lessons, it was
much
more likely that the binding would break, perhaps very suddenly, leaving this man, whoever he was, married to someone in whom he had no real interest, and with no understanding of why he had been infatuated with her, or why the infatuation had abruptly ended. That could be very unpleasant for everyone involved.

Anrel was beginning to have a certain sympathy with whoever had outlawed witchcraft in the first place. “Did Mistress li-Dargalleis say who her intended paramour is?” he asked.

Reva smiled and cocked her head to one side in a way Anrel had never before seen her do. “Oh, yes,” she said. “And that's the best part—even given that I'm charging her the most I have ever yet asked for a spell, and she's agreed with hardly a word of protest. His identity is
why
I'm charging her fifty guilders.” Perynis and Tazia gasped at the sum. “You'll like this, Master Murau,” Reva continued. “I'm sure you will.”

Anrel did not like the sound of that at all. “Will I?” he asked.

“I think so. Oh, I really do think so.”

“Out with it, woman!” Garras demanded. “I know it's in the feminine nature to tease at every opportunity, but have mercy on us and say the name!”

Reva's smile broadened. “She has asked me to enchant the landgrave of Aulix, Lord Allutar Hezir.”

Anrel's blood seemed to freeze in his veins at Reva's words.

“Lord Allutar?” he said.

“That's right,” Reva said, nodding vigorously. “Mistress li-Dargalleis wants me to make Lord Allutar fall madly in love with her. And she'll pay
fifty guilders
!”

There were so many concerns rushing through Anrel's thoughts at this that he needed a few seconds to decide which to mention. Allutar's heartless, murderous nature came to mind immediately as a good reason for Mistress li-Dargalleis to stay well clear of him. Anrel also recalled the landgrave's intention of marrying Lady Saria, but Anrel's cousin had presumably broken that off after Valin's death.

But really, there was one single fact that doomed the entire enterprise. “Mistress Reva,” Anrel said slowly, “you do realize that Lord Allutar is a powerful sorcerer?”

“Of course I do!” Reva snapped, her smile vanishing. “So I'll need to be very careful, I know that.”

“I am not sure it's
possible
to be that careful,” Anrel said.

“Of course it is,” Reva said. “I've enchanted sorcerers before. I made Lady Fuirel hire that silly Bethuin girl as her lady's maid, didn't I?”

“I don't know,” Anrel said. “Perhaps you did. But Lady Fuirel is no landgrave, no Lord Allutar.” In truth, he had no idea who Lady Fuirel was, but he was fairly certain she was not half the sorcerer Lord Allutar
was. As a landgrave, Allutar was theoretically supposed to be one of the sixteen most powerful magicians in the empire. Making allowances for the political facts he might not actually be among the top sixteen, but he was unquestionably among the top hundred.

“A sorcerer is a sorcerer,” Reva said angrily. “Are you trying to frighten me? Is there some reason you
want
me to remain poor?”

Anrel would not have minded if he had succeeded in frightening her, but it would hardly do to admit it. “By no means, Mistress Reva!” he said instead. “I merely warn you to be very cautious indeed in this undertaking. I have dealt with Lord Allutar, and he is not a forgiving man. I would not care to see you fall afoul of him.”

In truth, Anrel feared that Reva had signed her own death warrant by accepting this commission, but he could not think of any way to convince her of her folly. He knew that she would not listen to him if he tried to argue further at present.

He was uncomfortably aware that he had fifty guilders of his own hidden away in the lining of his coat; he could perhaps pay Reva
not
to attempt the spell. Doing so, however, would reveal that he had lied to the Lirs, and would use up a large portion of his funds, and there was nothing to keep her from refusing his money—or worse, taking his money and then attempting the spell anyway, excusing it as fair repayment for Anrel's lies. After all, refusing the commission from Mistress li-Dargalleis at this point would not be good for Reva's reputation as a witch.

But he was very much afraid that the spell would utterly fail, that Lord Allutar would sense the attempt and follow the magic back to its source, and that Reva would suffer in consequence.