A Young Man Without Magic (6 page)

“The family forms a united front against me,” Valin said. “But I tell you, someday you will see me proven right—we can make the world a better place, one where we need not tolerate the abuses of men like Lord Allutar. Lord Blackfield and his friends have the right of it; nothing good can come of black magic, and we must stamp it out.”

“Lord Blackfield is a very pleasant fellow,” Saria said, “but even he acknowledges that his Lantern Society is making little headway.”

“Then you've met him?” Anrel asked, as he peeled off his coat.

“Oh, he stayed here for several days,” Saria said. “Not that it took him that long to convince my father of anything; he had made his case
there
before his first night here was out. You know how Father dislikes using
any
magic; convincing him not to work black magic, which I don't believe he has ever attempted, was no great challenge. But Lord Blackfield remained our guest until he was able to coax an invitation from the landgrave, and you can guess how difficult
that
was.”

“And how
is
your father?” Anrel asked. “Valin told me he was rather out of sorts today.”

“The rain depressed him, I think,” Saria said. “His mood has been foul all day. He sent the servants off on various errands, saying he wanted them where they wouldn't bother him. He's well enough, though. He says the dampness troubles his joints, but he always says that.”

Anrel had wondered why none of the household staff had been in evidence, and was relieved by this explanation; he had feared financial reverses or some other disaster.

As for the painful joints, those were indeed a familiar story, but that did not mean they were not real. “It may always be true, when he says it,” Anrel said. “What do we know of the innermost working of the human knee, or how our fingers are assembled? Perhaps there are tissues that swell in wet weather, and the swelling pains Uncle Dorias. May I see him, do you think?”

“Of course! He was waiting for you, you know. He refused to leave the house until he had word of your safe arrival. That dreadful Master
Pollibiel who claims to speak for the shop keep ers wanted to talk to him about something earlier; he was quite disagreeable, and Father sent the man away, told him that it could wait until tomorrow, whatever it was.”

“Then let us find my uncle at once, before he dismisses an imperial messenger or an Ermetian envoy; I would not care to be responsible for any shirking of his duties as burgrave of Alzur.”

With that, the three of them made their way down the passage and through the salon into the kitchens, where they found Lord Dorias arranging biscuits on a table.

“Keeping them dry,” he explained, before anyone asked. “So they won't get moldy.”

“Of course, Uncle,” Anrel said.

“So you're finally back from Lume,” the master of the house grumbled.

“Yes, Uncle.”

“I wasn't entirely sure you wouldn't find employment there, and stay there.”

“Alas, no such opportunity presented itself.”

“Then did you learn anything worth knowing there, or was that all just a waste of your four years and my five thousand guilders?”

“I think I learned a great deal, actually,” Anrel said. “How much of it will prove to be of any use remains to be seen.”

“You learned nothing of sorcery, I suppose.”

“Only a little history and theory, Uncle. Nothing has happened to change the results of my trials.”

“That's a shame,” Dorias said. “Such a shame. My sister was a talented sorceress, and that husband of hers was not totally useless. How the two of them could produce a child with no arcane skill whatsoever remains a mystery to me.”

“Yet for my own part, Uncle, when I remember my parents as I last saw them, or when I see how troublesome your duties as burgrave are, I find myself unable to regret having failed that examination. Not everyone can be a sorcerer, and I am content to be among the ungifted majority, unencumbered by the risks and duties of the magician.”

“Humph.” Dorias placed the final biscuit, then looked up from his
array and met Anrel's eye. “I confess, it's good to see you again, Anrel, sorcerer or not, and employed or not.”

“I assure you, Uncle, any pleasure you take in my return is as nothing compared to my own delight at being once more beneath your roof.” He stepped forward, and Dorias accepted a brief, restrained embrace, his reaction far less enthusiastic than his daughter's, but no less sincere, Anrel was sure.

“I might ask,” Dorias said, when they had separated, “why, if you are so happy to be here, you were not here sooner.”

“Ah, Uncle, we were caught in the rain, and took shelter in town.”

“The rain ended hours ago!”

“Lord Valin had an errand to run,” Anrel said. “I accompanied him, in hopes I might be of some use.”

Dorias turned to glare at Valin, but still directed his question at Anrel. “I
knew
I should have come to meet you myself, despite my pains. And what errand did my erstwhile apprentice think was so urgent?”

“He needed to speak with Lord Allutar,” Anrel said.

“About
what
?” Dorias demanded. “Valin, what business did you have with the landgrave?”

“I sought to save a man's life,” Valin said. “I hope I may yet manage it.”

“What man?”

“Urunar Kazien,” Anrel said.

“The baker's boy?” Dorias asked. “What's he done now?”

“He is accused of stealing herbs from the landgrave's garden,” Valin replied.

Dorias snorted. “I'm sure he did, the little fool. And Allutar means to put him to death?”

“He does,” Valin said.

“More specifically, Uncle, he proposes to sacrifice the lad on the autumnal equinox, in hopes of working a spell of some sort,” Anrel explained.

“Does he?” Dorias shook his head. “Well, then, I suppose the poor boy is doomed. His parents must be miserable.”

“Magister, I have—” Valin began.

“Oh, dear Mother,” Dorias interrupted.

Disconcerted, Valin said, “What?”

“Any time you call me Magister, I know you're about to ask something dreadful. You are well past the age of apprenticeship, after all, even if I don't think you ever really properly completed your studies.”

Valin frowned. “And what else should I call you?”

“Unless you want something, you generally don't bother to call me
anything
. Should you choose to do so, you know the proper forms of address, or at least you ought to. ‘My lord' would serve, or ‘Lord Dorias,' or ‘Burgrave'—but go on, then, what were you going to ask?”

“I was going to suggest, Magis—my lord, that you might perhaps intercede on the boy's behalf. After all, you
are
burgrave of Alzur; as a resident of Alzur, is he not one of your own dependents?”

“Of course he is, and now that you mention it, I can require that Lord Allutar compensate his parents, if he has not already arranged to do so—I believe the appropriate amount under the law would be four hundred guilders. But if the boy stole from the landgrave, or was apprehended outside the pale, then I'm afraid I have no claim on his life.”

“But cannot you
ask
Lord Allutar to reconsider?”

Dorias snorted. “I can, and Lord Allutar can then tell me to mind my own business. As I have no doubt he will.”

“But can't you make a case somehow, Magister? Perhaps say that you suspect the boy of having a talent for magic—a sorcerer cannot be put to death without the emperor's consent, you know that.”

“But I do
not
suspect the boy of having a talent for magic. Mischief, yes—this is hardly the first time he's embarrassed himself—but not magic.”

“But then why did he want the herbs in the first place?”

“I would assume he intended to bake something with them. Herbs have a great many uses other than sorcery. In fact, if he
was
using them for magic, since he has passed no trial he would not be a sorcerer but a witch, and witchcraft is punishable by death just as certainly as any theft.”

“Oh, I don't mean he's
performing
magic, just that he has a natural talent that led him to the herbs.”

“That's nonsense, Valin. You must know that.”

“But isn't it enough to suggest the
possibility
of magical ability?”

“Valin, if I go to the landgrave and say the boy may have the talent to be a sorcerer, he will simply administer a few tests, and the matter will be settled. You are raising false hope. People like you, sorcerers born to commoners, are very rare, my lad, and I assure you, I have heard not the slightest rumor, nor seen the least sign, that Urunar Kazien might be one of those exotic individuals.”

“But Magis—my lord, Lord Allutar said that he would listen to arguments for the six days left to the boy. Can't you at least speak to him, and urge him to reconsider, on grounds of simple humanity? Or suggest that putting the boy to death will stir up unrest?”

Dorias sighed. He looked at his daughter and nephew. Saria was obviously not interested; Anrel, as he so often was, was unreadable. Still, neither seemed disposed to argue against Valin's position.

“The day after tomorrow,” the burgrave said. “If the weather isn't too unpleasant, and my stomach isn't troubling me, I will speak with Lord Allutar the day after tomorrow.”

“Not tomorrow?” Valin asked.

“Not tomorrow,” Dorias replied firmly. “I intend to spend much of tomorrow becoming reacquainted with our returned scholar, since he is here, and hearing all the latest gossip from the emperor's court.”

“I was hardly an intimate to the court,” Anrel protested.

“But you were in the capital, and I'm sure you heard a few tales, didn't you? The empress, for example—is she truly the mad, bad Ermetian ogre some of the stories would have her?”

Anrel smothered a sigh. “I haven't met her, Uncle.”

“But you've heard stories?”

“A few,” Anrel reluctantly admitted.

“There! You'll tell me all of them, then. And the day
after
tomorrow, I shall speak to Lord Allutar about various matters, and I will make certain to inquire after the Kazien boy, and to urge leniency.”

“And suggest he might be a magician?” Valin said.

“I hardly . . . oh, very well. I'll suggest it.”

“Shall I come with you, to add my voice?”

“I think Lord Allutar has heard all he wants of your voice,” Anrel said, before Lord Dorias could respond.

Valin opened his mouth to protest, then closed it again. Saria laughed.

“It's no laughing matter,” Valin reproached her. “A man's life is at stake.”

“Then if you are determined to save him, I would listen to Anrel,” Saria said. “He may be the only one here who is not a sorcerer, but I think he may have the most sense of us all.”

“Perhaps that was how the Mother compensated me for my lack of arcane skill,” Anrel said, bowing an acknowledgment to his cousin.

“Quite possibly,” Dorias said. “We can include the question in our prayers at the next change of the seasons; perhaps the spirits will give us a sign.”

“I would not trouble any spirits with such questions,” Anrel said. “I am content to know that I am thought sensible by those I love, and need no explanation of how I came to be so fortunate.”

“If it is good sense to leave the baker's son to die, then I thank the Father and Mother I was not so blessed!” Valin said, raising his nose.

“Oh, will you please be silent about that accursed boy?” Dorias snapped. “I have said I will plead for him two days hence, and the equinox is yet six days away; there's no need for his fate to so dominate our conversation! I would much rather hear what Anrel has to say about his time in Lume. Is it true that the emperor's palace is lit so brightly these days the very walls seem to glow?”

“Not that I noticed when I happened by it,” Anrel said. “It is still very much as you saw it four years ago.”

“Did you ever see the emperor?” Saria asked.

“Only from a great distance,” Anrel told her. “During a procession.”

“But you saw him!”

“Yes,” Anrel admitted.

“Then tell us about it!” Saria insisted.

“Yes, do,” Dorias said. He took a final glance at his biscuits, then swept them aside. “Let us sit in the parlor and hear all about it!”

With that, the four of them left the kitchen, and the subject of the impending execution was not mentioned again that night.

Fitting back into the routine in his uncle's home was more difficult than Anrel had expected. Now that Lord Valin had completed his studies in sorcery, or at any rate ended them, and Lady Saria was old enough to make her own arrangements, Lord Dorias no longer had a schedule to maintain, and had allowed his habits to become somewhat eccentric. He did not arise until midmorning, while Anrel, accustomed to the strictures of the court schools, was up and dressed by sunrise.

Anrel was therefore able to spend some time reacquainting himself with his uncle's staff and looking over the burgrave's estate before joining the family for a late breakfast and extended conversation.

At the table he gave them an impassioned account of the hardships of a student's lot, as well as the glories of the libraries and museums in Lume. He described several of his professors and tutors, and something of the capital's architecture and fashionable inhabitants. He mentioned the forbidding aspect of the city's extensive walls and defenses, and the air of mystery that still clung to some of the standing ruins, where traces of the strange magic of the Old Empire's long-vanished wizards still lingered.

He did not mention the beggars in the streets, or the countless whores desperate enough to pursue even poverty-stricken students. He made no mention of the watch patrolling atop their arches and rooftop catwalks, nor the seething unrest in the Pensioners' Quarter and the angry
mood of the general populace. He described the emperor's palace, with its glittering spires and magnificent carvings, for Lady Saria, but said nothing of the red-painted cannon on its ramparts, manned and aimed at the crowds in the surrounding streets whenever the people of the capital gathered to protest the high taxes, food shortages, and other misfortunes they laid at the government's feet. All of those unhappy details could be introduced when he had had more time to settle in, and had reacquainted himself with the political leanings of his uncle, his cousin, and his friend.