A Young Man Without Magic (7 page)

Prior to his stay in Lume Anrel had taken no interest in politics, and had therefore noticed little of the politics of those around him. He would have preferred to continue in that fashion. Four years in the capital, though, especially four years such as those just ending, would force
anyone
to acquire a basic knowledge of the issues confronting the empire, and to form opinions about them.

The dominant opinion Anrel had formed was that however unjust and miserable the present situation might be, none of the proposed changes would be any better, no matter what faction might be making the proposals. Every utopian scheme Anrel heard propounded seemed to him to depend on people ceasing to act like people, which is to say, every plan assumed that ordinary men and women would henceforth be free of stupidity, greed, venality, and other widespread human characteristics. Since he could not bring himself to believe that such traits were going to miraculously vanish, Anrel concluded that every such solution to the empire's problems was doomed to failure, and that the best anyone could hope for was that the present system would somehow muddle through, since at least the problems inherent in it were known and familiar.

This was not an opinion that a student could safely voice in the court schools, so Anrel had developed the habit of saying nothing that might trigger a political debate of any sort. That habit had survived the journey back to Alzur.

So he neglected to mention the sick, starving masses he had seen in the streets of Lume, or the petty bullying of the Emperor's Watch, or any number of other things he had encountered, and he said nothing
when Lord Dorias complained about the demands the emperor placed on the administrators of his realm, the landgraves and burgraves and margraves. He did not argue with Lord Valin's speeches about the nobility of the common man. He ignored Lady Saria's snide rejoinders suggesting that Valin only loved the common man because he wasn't one, and that if Valin had not escaped his own common background he would be less enthusiastic about his fellows.

Valin, however, looked uncomfortably at Anrel after one of Saria's remarks.

“Pay no attention to her, Anrel,” he said.

Anrel smiled wryly. “Oh, I'm sure my dear cousin did not mean to include
me
in her dismissal of most of our species as little more than beasts,” he said.

“But you aren't common at all, Anrel!” Saria protested. “You're a scholar, and born of sorcerers, even if you haven't any magical skill of your own.”

“Walasian law recognizes only two categories of citizens,” Anrel pointed out. “One is a sorcerer, or one is not. Sorcerers are entitled to own land and administer the empire, and commoners are not.”

“The
emperor
isn't a sorcerer,” Saria retorted. “Are you calling him and his family commoners?”

“Indeed, our ancestors determined to avoid competition for the throne by saying no sorcerer could have it,” Anrel agreed. “I concede that the imperial family is in a third category. I am not, however, a member of that illustrious clan.”

“You're a member of
our
clan,” Saria insisted. “The House of Adirane. We are not commoners.”

“I am a Murau,” Anrel corrected her. “My mother was an Adirane, but I took my father's name.”

“Adirane or Murau, both are noble families—and do you really mean to disclaim our kinship, Cousin? After my father took you in and raised you, as if you were my own brother?”

“Of course he's an Adirane, whatever his name may be,” Dorias proclaimed. “But he's no sorcerer, you know that, so he's quite right in saying he's a commoner.”

“But he's my own cousin!”

“There's no shame in being a commoner, Saria,” Dorias said. “The Mother and Father made him as he is, and it's not for us to question it.”

“Indeed, if there is shame to be found on either side of the divide, I would look among sorcerers,” Valin said. “What use have we made of our gifts? Many of us have aggrandized ourselves at the expense of the unfortunates we are supposed to be protecting. Look at Lord Allutar, preparing to slaughter a young man in pursuit of some spell!”

“Do you even know
what
spell, Valin?” Saria demanded. “For all we know, it may be an accomplishment well worth the expenditure of a human life—if you can in fact call Urunar Kazien human, which I consider open to debate.”

Anrel was startled by her vehemence. “You seem to have a low opinion of the lad.”

“I had a few encounters with Master Kazien while you were in Lume, and while Lord Valin was carousing in Naith,” Saria said. “My opinion is low, yes—indeed, it's subterranean.”

Anrel smiled.

“I was hardly
carousing
!” Valin protested. “I was seeking a position for myself. Since I have been blessed with sorcerous ability, I would prefer to employ it for the benefit of others, and there's no need for more sorcerers in so small a town as Alzur. Your father and Lord Allutar, whatever differences I may have with them, are beyond question competent in their roles.”

“Did you find a position?” Anrel asked with sudden interest. “You hadn't mentioned any of this yesterday.”

“It's not settled, as yet,” Valin said sullenly. “The First Lord Magistrate is looking into some possibilities.”

“For half a season now,” Saria said.

“I'm sure Lord Neriam will find you something,” Dorias said.

“Indeed,” Anrel said, “where administrators are involved, a delay of a season or two is scarcely worthy of mention.”

“Especially when one has so little to offer,” Saria said.

Valin opened his mouth to protest, but the master of the house cut him off. “Enough of this!” Dorias said. “I want to hear more about
Anrel's education in Lume, not about politics or executions or you two squabbling.”

With that, the conversation returned to safer subjects.

As the day wore on, Anrel began to suspect that there were things the two other young members of the household were not telling him; Valin seemed reluctant to say much about his prospects in Naith, and Saria's attitude seemed to be somehow odd, in a way Anrel could not quite grasp. Her bickering with Valin seemed less playful and more serious than he recalled.

Lord Dorias, however, was much as he had always been, and gave no sign of any secrets.

Even his uncle, though, could be disconcerting. At one point Anrel mused briefly about his own future, and Dorias cut him off sharply with, “There will be time to speak of that later.”

There had been several hints that Anrel would have been well-advised to find a position in Lume, rather than returning to Alzur at all, and in truth, Anrel did not know what was to become of him. There was no place for a scholar in a village like Alzur, but he had no connections anywhere else. He knew he should have tried to make some influential friends during his time in Lume, but he had not managed it; he had spent his time in the company of impecunious scholars like himself. He had a first-rate education that would fit him for clerking or even the practice of law in any city large enough to house a magistrate's court, but he had no patron to aid him in establishing himself in such a position. His uncle's support might prove sufficient, but he was by no means certain of that—and Dorias's dismissal of the subject did not bode well.

He had thought that perhaps he might follow Valin into service somewhere, but Valin did not seem to have found a place for himself as yet, either.

On the other hand, Lord Dorias had given no sign that he intended to stop supporting Anrel anytime soon. Anrel's self-respect would not permit him to remain a parasite on his uncle's goodwill indefinitely, but another season or two would be tolerable.

At midafternoon Anrel felt he needed a respite from his family's attentions, and took a walk, saying he was in the mood for fresh air. He
waved to Ziral the butler as he ambled out the front door and down the granite steps to the graveled path.

He paused at the edge of the lawn to look back at the house. It was far less grand than Lord Allutar's; the walls were rough gray stone rather than white and polished, and the roof slates were all a plain dark gray rather than patterned in three colors. There were no turrets, and ivy obscured the few carved figures. Still, Anrel loved the old manor, and it was certainly far finer than his rented room on the Court of the Red Serpent in Lume.

It was, in fact, finer than he deserved. He had done nothing to earn a place here.

He frowned, and turned his gaze north, toward the village.

He had originally intended to walk into the square and perhaps drink wine or tea, but now he suddenly did not want to face any of the villagers. Although he hated to admit it, even to himself, he was afraid Alzur would, upon closer inspection, turn out to have changed in his absence. He did not want to see beggars in the square, or people who fell silent whenever a stranger passed for fear that stranger was an informant for the watch. He could not imagine how such things could have come here, but he did not want to risk it.

Rather more likely, and still not something he wanted to deal with, was the possibility that the townsfolk would try to involve him further in the matter of Urunar Kazien. He was not sure which would be worse, villagers pleading with him to do what he could to save the thief, or applauding the spell Lord Allutar intended to cast with Urunar's lifeblood.

Instead he turned west, toward the little patch of woods that crowned a nearby hill. The hill was outside Alzur's pale, but on the Adirane family lands, and therefore under his uncle's jurisdiction. Lord Dorias had forbidden the local farmers to clear that land, despite many requests, rejecting arguments that every acre was needed in this era of poor crops, and that outlaws hid among the trees. The burgrave had insisted that the village needed the forest to shelter game and provide firewood.

It also provided pleasant shade on hot days, and Anrel had spent many hours there as a child. Although the rains had passed and the day was sunny, it was not especially hot; nonetheless, the idea of strolling in
that cool green grove, renewing his acquaintance with it, was very appealing. He ambled up the slope toward the trees.

As he did he heard a sound that he did not immediately identify, a rhythmic thumping. He paid no attention at first, but then realized it was growing louder as he walked; it came from the grove.

That was the clue that caused him to recognize the sound of an axe chopping wood. Anrel frowned. His uncle never set the foresters to work until after the equinox. The villagers were welcome to gather any windfall firewood they could find, but not to cut their own. Perhaps a large limb, or an entire tree, had fallen, and someone was cutting it up for ease in hauling?

Whomever it was, it would do no harm to exchange a few pleasantries; Anrel directed his steps toward the sound.

He had passed through much of the grove before he finally spotted a man swinging a long-handled axe.

The man was dressed in the well-worn woolens of an ordinary workman—a brown jacket and gray trousers. His old brown boots were wrapped in dirty rags that held sole and upper together, and a faded blue scarf kept twigs and chips from falling down his collar; he wore no hat, and his hair was long, tangled, and none too clean. He was hacking away not at a fallen limb, but at a standing ash tree, and he was not making a very good job of it; his cut was ragged, and wider than it needed to be. He was clearly not a trained forester, nor did he appear particularly strong or well fed. Judging by the hay cart that stood a few yards away, Anrel guessed him to be a farmer.

“Hello, sir!” Anrel called, as the man raised the axe for another blow.

Startled, the axe-man stopped midswing and turned. “Who are
you
?” he exclaimed.

Anrel had worn his student's cap out of habit, even though he was back home and had access to a more extensive wardrobe than he had maintained in Lume; now he doffed the cap and bowed. “Anrel Murau,” he said. “At your service. And might I ask
your
name?”

“None of your business,” the man replied, shifting his grip on the axe. “Be on about your own affairs, and leave me to mine.”

Anrel straightened, replaced his cap, and stepped closer. “I fear, sir,
that this may
be
my affair. How is it you are attempting to fell one of my uncle's trees?”

“Your uncle?” The man glanced in the direction of Lord Dorias's house.

“Indeed,” Anrel said.

The man looked at Anrel, then down at the axe he held, then at the ash tree he had scarred, then back at Anrel.

Then, without warning, he charged at Anrel, lifting the axe as he came.

Anrel had feared such an attack; he dove sideways, clutching at the ground.

The first blow missed Anrel's left foot by a few inches, and the axe head bit into the earth. The axe-man promptly snatched it back and raised it to strike again.

Anrel had rolled aside; now he came back up to one knee and flung a handful of dirt and dust in his attacker's eyes. Then he went down again as his enraged opponent swung the axe in a swooping horizontal arc that skimmed just above his shoulders.

Anrel had always avoided fights whenever possible, but he had been an ordinary child, and he had spent four years in the student courts of Lume. He had been in a few childhood tussles and half a dozen tavern brawls, and had twice confronted would-be robbers. After taking a beating or two he had applied himself to improving the odds of preventing a recurrence, and had worked out a few simple rules.

The first was, don't be where your opponent expects you to be. In one memorable dispute in Lume, that had meant leaping up on a table and grabbing for the chandelier, but the best solution, if one couldn't avoid the fight entirely, was usually to drop down and move sideways, as he had done here.

The second rule was to use whatever tools came to hand, as he had with the handful of dirt.