A Young Man Without Magic (48 page)

He knew he did not have far to go, and in fact he was scarcely out of sight of Beynos, and
not
out of sight of the ominous columns of smoke
rising from the town, when he first glimpsed the towers of Lume in the distance. Still shivering, he pressed on.

At least, he told himself, his clothes dried quickly in the cold wind. He felt his coat as he hurried eastward, and determined that he had ripped a seam in the lining while he was struggling under the river. He had lost several of his concealed coins, but by no means all of them. He would not know exactly how much remained until he was somewhere warm and safe, where he could take off the coat, remove the lining, and count his treasure.

That would wait until he was inside the walls of Lume, where he could lose himself in the familiar streets and avoid any pursuers who might follow him from Beynos.

And it would wait until he was
warm
.

He stumbled on as the huge gray barrier of the capital city's massive walls gradually rose up before him.

The sun was directly overhead, but the wind had risen and was blowing fiercely cold from the northwest, when he came stumbling up to one of the gates of the capital. Two guards in the red and gold colors of the burgrave of Lume watched his approach with interest.

“You look miserable,” one of them remarked, as Anrel came to a stop a few feet away from the guard's lowered pikes.

“I am,” Anrel said, clapping his gloveless hands against his sides and trying once again to keep his teeth from chattering. “My hat blew into the river, and the weather was considerably warmer when I left the inn in Beynos.”

“And what brings you to Lume?” the other guard demanded.

“I'm coming home after visiting my uncle in Aulix,” Anrel said, pretending to be startled by the question.

“Where is home, then?”

“The Court of the Red Serpent, number four, third floor, at the rear,” Anrel said. That had been his address for almost four years, and came readily to his tongue. He was fairly certain he could not actually return to live there, as an eager young student had already claimed the space, but he hoped he could find a place to stay somewhere else in the courts. His remaining funds would not last him very long at an inn or hotel.

“Student or clerk?” the guard asked.

The man was obviously familiar with Red Serpent Court, to ask such a question. “Clerk now,” Anrel replied.

The soldier nodded and raised his pike. “If you've been gone for a while, you should know—there's a curfew in effect now. No one is to be on the streets between midnight and dawn.”

“Thank you for the warning,” Anrel said sincerely. He hesitated. “Is there anything else I should know? Did I hear something about a prince?”

“Prince Lurias,” the guard said with a smile. “Born three nights ago. Mother and child reported to be doing well, thank the Father and the Mother!”

Anrel managed to stop shivering enough to smile. “Wonderful! And . . . there were rumors at the last inn that demons had been seen in the streets. Is that why the curfew was set?”

The smile vanished. “No,” the guard said. “There are no demons. Just rumors.”

“There are foreign magicians at the palace,” the other guard said. “Who knows what they might be doing?”

“It's just rumors,” the first guard insisted, annoyed. He waved for Anrel to pass. “Go on, then, get on to the Court of the Red Serpent!”

“Thank you,” Anrel repeated, ducking his head and hurrying forward. Then he was past the two guards, plunging into the shadowy passage through the ancient city walls, bound for a new life with nothing but the clothes on his back and a few hidden guilders.

He had lost everything else. He had lost his parents to sorcery long ago. Lord Allutar had taken his best friend from him, and his own folly in response had lost him his home, his uncle, and everything else he had. He had found his love, the woman he had wanted to spend his life with, and now he had lost her, as well.

But he still lived. He had his life, his fragmentary and untrained magic, and enough coins to see him through perhaps half a season.

And that was enough that, even now, he still had, not the actuality, but the possibility of hope.