Law of the Broken Earth (39 page)

“There was a book,” the big mage said slowly, and in a tone that suggested he was not certain even of this. “There
was
a book… or a working that
looked
like a book. Tan… the honored Tan…”

Tan said curtly, not lifting his gaze from the fire, “Now we are so well acquainted, I think we need not be overly concerned with formality.”

This produced an uncomfortable pause. Then Gereint Enseichen said, “Tan, then. Tan had, I think, something like an affinity for that book. I wonder whether any of the rest of us would have had that book fall into our hands, if we’d been in that room? I think not; I do think it unlikely.”

“I believe it is Andreikan Warichteier who discusses the various meanings of ‘affinity’ in magework and among the various natural gifts,” Lord Beguchren commented.

“Warichteier has one discussion of the subject,” Gereint agreed. “And I believe Entechsan Terichsekiun developed a theory of affinity and similarity, though not in exactly this context. I don’t know of any philosopher who described a marked affinity between a piece of legistwork and a legist—but I’m not as familiar with Linularinan philosophers as I should be.”

Tan shook his head. He asked after a moment, managing a more natural tone than he had expected, “We knew there was a book; that’s no great revelation. Did you manage to glimpse anything at all
in
the book?” He hesitated, almost believing he might remember—but no. There was nothing. He rubbed his forehead, frowning.

“A word. A line perhaps.” The Casmantian mage frowned as well. “I couldn’t read it.”

Tan dropped his hand and gave the mage a cold stare. “Of course you cannot read Terheien as well as you speak it. We might have considered that earlier.”

“Ah,” said the mage, with a quick gesture of apology. “No, in fact that should not signify in such an exercise—not so long as
you
understood what you read.”

“You are not a legist,” Lord Beguchren murmured.

Everyone looked at him.

“
Gereint
is not a legist,” the small, elegant Casmantian lord repeated. “That was legistwork and nothing, perhaps, meant for other eyes. What does the legist gift encompass?” He paused, looking expectantly at Tan.

“Law,” Tan said, since it was clearly expected of him, though everyone knew this. “Especially written law. Contract law. You do have legists in Casmantium.”

“Yes,” agreed Lord Beguchren. “Not as Linularinum has, however. You look very Linularinan yourself, you know. You are Feierabianden by conviction, perhaps, rather than by birth?”

“Does it signify?” Tan snapped.

Mienthe said quickly, “There’s thorough mixing of blood along the river, you know, Lord Beguchren. Especially in the Delta.”

“Yes,” the Casmantian lord repeated. His expression
was unreadable, but a subtle intensity had come into his voice. He tapped the arm of his chair very gently. “You are a very strongly gifted legist,” he said to Tan. It wasn’t a question. “The legist gift has to do, as you say, with written law, contract law. They say one should count one’s fingers after signing a Linularinan contract—”

“And the fingers of your children and grandchildren in the next generations. So they do.” Tan was not pleased to have that old censorious line recalled. He said, “In Linularinum, tight contracts are admired; in Feierabiand, and Casmantium as well, no doubt, signatories frequently have more concern with how contracts can be broken than with how they may most advantageously be kept.”

“Even the most ambitious Casmantian merchant would probably say, ‘How they might be most
honorably
kept,’ ” Lord Beguchren said. “But then, Casmantium is not a nation of legists.” Perhaps fortunately, he held up a hand to forestall Tan’s first, intemperate response. He said patiently, “What I am trying to say, perhaps with less grace than I might, is that a mage, most especially a Casmantian mage, is not likely to immediately grasp the more complicated elements of legist-magic. What was in that book was law—written law—contract law, and well set about with the strongest possible legist-magic. I doubt whether Mariddeier Kohorrian would provoke Iaor Safiad over any specific contract, however important. I greatly doubt whether Istierinan Hamoddian would so vehemently pursue a confidential agent who stole from him long after the stolen information had been passed on, if the only other item stolen were a specific piece of legal work, no matter how elegant.”

“Well?” Mienthe asked. “So it was some sort of
important magic Tan took. We knew that already! But meant to do what? We still don’t know! We haven’t gotten anywhere!”

A terrible binding, Tan thought. An immensely strong legal binding, something the kings of Linularinum needed to bind their courts or their country to order. Or something else, something worse. Something that would undoubtedly do terrible things to any careless legist strong enough, and unfortunate enough, to accidentally lay his hand on it. Particularly a legist who had deliberately deceived and betrayed the Linularinan king and court.

“Indeed, this remains an excellent question,” said Lord Beguchren at last, still very softly. “To discover what Linularinum has lost and we might have gained… Gereint. Do you suppose you might find, somewhere in this house, a decent quill and a book of blank paper?”

Gereint shook his head. “My lord, forgive me; I have evidently not been clear. I believe that very book, as well as the writing it contained, is an integral part of the work.” He looked at Tan. “I feel certain—please tell me plainly if I am mistaken—but I feel certain that you cannot possibly write out any part of that work save you have the book itself to write it in.”

Tan turned this idea over in his mind. He saw… he thought he saw… at least he thought it was
possible
that he saw a faint glimmer of how to do that sort of work. One would make a book that was not precisely a book, or not
only
a book; one would write in it with quills that were not ordinary quills, cut with special care to pick up precisely the right kind of ink… One would take this book and write in it using words that were not ordinary
words, language that was not everyday language, the sort of language that could not be spoken, for it was meant only for the eye and hand and mind of another legist…

“But it’s true I’m not a legist. Perhaps my understanding is not correct,” said Gereint.

“No,” Tan said absently, and then glanced up. “No,” he repeated with more decision. “No, I think your understanding is without fault. I think only a legist could make a book like that, and only if he knew precisely what work he wished that book to encompass. And I suspect Istierinan made this thing, or at least I think he believes he can make it over, if once he reclaims both that book and me.”

“But,” Mienthe said, looking from the mage to Lord Beguchren in some distress, her hands clasped urgently in her lap, “but the book, we don’t have it with us. It’s in Tiefenauer!”

“Then Istierinan Hamoddian has undoubtedly reclaimed it, and lacks only our friend, here”—Lord Beguchren nodded toward Tan—“to reclaim the work entire.”

“Oh,” said Mienthe quickly. “No, I don’t think he does have it, unless he could find it by—by magic, you know. I hid the book in my room. I don’t think Istierinan will find it. Not even my maid has ever found my hiding place, and you know how maids find
everything
.” Then the young woman ruined this confident assertion by adding, with sudden doubt, “I think.”

The corners of Lord Beguchren’s eyes crinkled with humor, and Gereint Enseichen tilted back his head and laughed out loud.

But Tan had never felt less like laughing.

There was a quiet rap on the door, and a servant—no, a guardsman—entered. The man ducked his head in apology and said to Lord Beguchren, “Begging your pardon, my lord, but the Arobern bids me inform you that a Linularinan agent has been captured. He requests you will come.” The man’s eyes went to Mienthe. “He asks whether his honored guests will be pleased to come as well.”

Mienthe was not surprised to find that there had indeed been several Linularinan agents behind herself and Tan in the pass, but even though she was not surprised, she was still horrified. They had been so close behind—she could not help but think,
What if we had not been able to get around the mule wagons? What if we had decided to stay the night in the guest house? What if we hadn’t woken early this morning?

The Arobern’s guardsmen thought there had been three agents altogether. Two, it seemed, had been killed. But the third man had been properly and thoroughly apprehended. Once his advisers and guests were ready, the Arobern signaled his guardsmen and they brought their prisoner forward and flung him down before the Arobern, on his knees on the cold stone floor.

The man caught his balance, his bound hands flat against the floor, and then straightened his back and lifted his head. He was very obviously Linularinan: He had not only the sharp face, with narrow eyes and angular cheekbones and a long nose; the straight light brown hair, and the graceful hands with rings on his long fingers; but also, despite his current position, the indefinable air of superiority.

He did not fight the guardsmen, but flung back his head, glaring up and to both sides and then focusing on the king—no, not on the
king
, but beyond him, on Tan. Tan returned only a bland look, but the Arobern scowled.

The man abruptly transferred his glare to the king and snapped, “You have no idea what you have there! You can have no idea, or you’d immediately repudiate him and give him into my hands!”

The Arobern said, his deep voice as mild as he could make it, “Maybe. Maybe that’s right. So tell me what he is, and maybe I will give him to you, yes?”

Tan raised one eyebrow and smiled, very slightly. It was the most extraordinarily insulting smile. Mienthe wondered how he
did
that, and whether she might be able to learn how.

The captive swelled with outrage, but he did not fling himself forward or rant wildly. He glowered, at Tan and at the Arobern, and then, craning his head around, at Gereint Enseichen. “
You
should know I speak the truth!” he said to the tall mage.

Gereint Enseichen gave a mild shrug. “I know events are in sweeping motion. I know that chance and opportunity turn around this man.” He nodded at Tan, but without taking his eyes off the prisoner. “I know Linularinum is responsible.”

“Linularinum! Responsible!” cried the man, and stopped, breathing hard. Collecting himself, he said in a more moderate tone, “Is it the proper owner of a jewel, or the thief who steals it, who is responsible for the man who covets and kills for it once it is out in the world?”

“Neither,” said Lord Beguchren. His light, cool voice
drew all their attention; his gray eyes effortlessly held those of the prisoner. He moved a step forward, out of the Arobern’s shadow. “It is the man who does murder who is responsible, and neither the jewel’s owner nor the thief. Or would eminent scholars and philosophers argue otherwise, in Linularinum?” He paused for a heartbeat and then went on, even more quietly, “And who is responsible for what some strange and powerful legistwork might do? Or might fail to do? The legist who created the work with quill and ink and his mastery of language? The mage who hid it out of the view of ordinary men? The king who guarded it from one age to the next?”

“It’s too perilous to have out in the world!” shouted the Linularinan prisoner. He tried to get to his feet, but the soldiers hastily caught his shoulders and held him from rising.

“Of course it is,” murmured Beguchren, catching and holding his gaze. “What is it, man? What is this thing that is so perilous for anyone but a Linularinan to hold?”

The prisoner stared at the small, elegant Casmantian lord in very much the way a bird was said to stare at a serpent. He said in a quick, sharp tone, “Do you not understand? Not even yet? This was a working against—for—it was a working of natural law. Do you not perceive the terrible distortion of the world around this thief, as the world seeks the proper bindings of law? Do you not understand what desperate peril we are in, now the strands of natural law are breaking?”

“The
proper
bindings of law,” murmured Lord Beguchren.

The prisoner sat back on his heels and stared at Beguchren, furious, his bound hands raised in urgent
supplication. “You must understand. A thousand years ago, we founded the age by binding into place the laws of earth and fire, and pressing aside the unbounded wild magic of mountains and forest. And then that fool”—he glared furiously at Tan, who looked merely blandly attentive—“that
fool
,” the Linularinan prisoner repeated, “undid half our bindings in a day. The rest will break in time. And you
shelter
him? From
us
? Give him to me—for all of us. Let us recast our bindings, if any legist of our age has such power—will you leave the law of the world unsettled and wild?”

“The law of the world,” Lord Beguchren repeated. He still spoke quietly, but his tone had become biting, cold as the gray heights of the mountains, and his storm-gray eyes were dark with fury. He took a step forward and said, “The laws of earth and fire, do you say? Gereint has described to me a certain strange quality he has recently found echoing behind the magecraft he has tried to work. We had assumed this strangeness was due to the cracking of Tehre’s Wall. Now I wonder whether both the breaking of the Wall and this disturbance to mage power might be due instead to a common cause.” He paused and then added, his voice dropping even further, “I wonder why Linularinum seems so untroubled by the threat the griffins pose to all our countries? Certainly Mariddeier Kohorrian seems perfectly ready to distract and weaken Iaor Safiad, and this at a time when one would expect him to see the necessity of supporting Feierabiand against griffin-fire.”