Magebane (45 page)

Which had put him here and now.

Praise to the SkyMage
, Orlam thought, and felt a thrill of pride that he had been the one chosen to discover the girl that Lord Falk said was so important to Unbinding the Mageborn at last, freeing them from the prison of the Barriers.

Careful never to crest the top of the hill, he moved out of sight of the lake, and then opened a magelink to the Palace.

FALK STOOD ONCE MORE BY THE STATUE in New Cabora Square, guards surrounding him, soldiers forming a white line all around the square. Both guards and soldiers were heavily armed, not just with pikes, shields, swords, and clubs, but also with less-visible and yet far more deadly enchanted weapons: flamesweeps, breathstoppers, the euphemistically named meloncrushers. The guards and soldiers had enough power at their disposal to slay every person in the Square in seconds—and the Commoners knew it. Falk smiled. Hell,
he
could have killed most of them singlehandedly.

MageLords ruled by divine right and with divinely bestowed power. The Commoners' place was to serve. If they served well, they might be rewarded. If they rebelled . . . well, the ruins of City Hall, the Courthouse, and the Grand Theater were testament to what would happen.

But though Falk was perfectly willing and able to continue using force to keep the Commons in line, he didn't want to have to. He wanted this unrest quieted, so he could focus on finding Brenna and finally . . .
finally
. . . bringing his great Plan to fruition.

And, thanks to Mother Northwind, he thought he had found a way.

He
was not the one making a speech today in the center of the Square. He stood on the lower level of the statue's great pedestal. Above him, looking out over the crowd, stood Davydd Verdsmitt.

“He will do whatever you ask of him,” Mother Northwind had assured him, and indeed, Verdsmitt had agreed at once to come to the Square and make the speech he was about to deliver, one that had been written by Falk and then “improved” by Verdsmitt. Falk's mouth twitched. Whatever else Mother Northwind had done to the man's mind, it hadn't stopped him from thinking like a writer.

He glanced at one particular guard who, rather than watching the crowd, was watching Falk. If Verdsmitt's speech was not
exactly
what Falk had asked for, Falk would signal that guard, and the speech—and Verdsmitt—would both be cut short.

But Verdsmitt did not stray from the text. “Fellow New Caborans!” he shouted. “You know me. You know who I am. You know my skill with a pen. And you know I have sometimes turned that skill against the rule of the MageLords.”

A murmur swept through the crowd.
They'd known
, all right, Falk thought,
but they're uneasy that he's admitting it in front of me.

“I come before you today to tell you . . . I was wrong to do so.”

The murmur swelled to something louder. “Davydd, no!” someone shouted. Falk hoped the guards had noted whoever it was; he might be worth talking to privately later.

Verdsmitt held up his hand. “I was wrong, because I did not realize where it could lead,” he shouted. “Look around you. We cannot defy the MageLords. They alone have magic, and that magic gives them the power—and the right—to rule those of us to whom it is denied. It is the natural order of things, and we cannot change it. Nor should we attempt to do so.”

The murmur in the crowd had a nasty edge to it, and the guards were fingering their weapons. Falk frowned. Had he misjudged . . . ?

But Verdsmitt's speech wasn't finished. “We cannot change it, but we can improve on it,” he said. “I have had consultations with Lord Falk since I was arrested—as I most definitely deserved to be!” (Here he gave one of the wry grins that made him so appealing on stage.) “We have reached an understanding. Prince Karl must still be returned: there is no question about that. But once he is returned, and as long as there are no more acts of open rebellion, sabotage, or defiance, Lord Falk has agreed to an extraordinary meeting of the MageLord Council and representatives of the Commoners, to find ways that Commoners can exercise more self-rule . . . within the limits set by the King, of course. And I remind you that Prince Karl has long been a friend to the Commons, and will surely do everything he can to address our grievances.

“Therefore, friends, especially my friends within the Common Cause, I call on you to put thoughts of rebellion behind you, for the greater good of all. To prove his good faith, Lord Falk has agreed to magically rebuild the Courthouse within the week. If there are no more incidents, he will rebuild the Grand Theater the week after that.” Another grin. “Where, I remind you, there is supposed to be a remount of my mystery
The Light in the Sky
in a month's time, so, if you love me . . .

Astonishingly, that evoked a few chuckles.

“Finally, City Hall will be rebuilt as soon as Prince Karl is returned,” Verdsmitt continued. “It is a fair offer, a magnanimous offer, and one that proffers hope for a new era of better relations between Commoners and MageLords.” That wry smile once more. “As someone once wrote, ‘Mount Perfection cannot be scaled, but you have a fine view of its peak from Mount Good-Enough.' ”

The smile and the well-known line—from
Up and Down and 'Round the Town
, one of Verdsmitt's popular comedies—both perfectly delivered, elicited outright laughter, and Falk saw the guards relax a little.

“One week of quiet,” Verdsmitt said. “One week, and our beautiful Courthouse will be restored. The curfew will be lifted, the number of guards patrolling our streets reduced. One week. Two weeks, and the Theater returns. As soon as Prince Karl is released, City Hall. And then . . . the Unity Convention.

“We all hope for a better life for our families and children. I offer you a way to make that hope reality. Please don't steal it away from all the frightened fathers and mothers and children, grandfathers and grandmothers, by launching more attacks on the MageLords, attacks that are as doomed to failure as the attack on the MageFurnace. And to those who are holding the Prince, I say, you are holding our future captive, as well. Free him, and free us all.

“Let us all join together in hope, let us all hope together for change, let us together change our ways to ways of peace, and together, we will all give hope and peace a chance.

“Thank you.” And Verdsmitt bowed, a deep actor's bow.

The applause started slowly at first, then swelled, then grew to a great roar of approval. Falk saw tears on the Commoner faces below him, people holding up their children to see Verdsmitt as he waved and bowed again, and was surprised to feel . . . well, jealous, he supposed, jealous that Verdsmitt could rouse that kind of emotion, that kind of adulation, even while announcing what was essentially a surrender of everything the Common Cause claimed to stand for.

Verdsmitt has his own magic
, Falk thought.
The magic of words. In some ways, it may be stronger than mine
.

But then, just as a reminder to himself, he deliberately looked past the feet of the bowing Verdsmitt at the ruins of City Hall.
And in a great many other ways
, he thought,
it is not
.

Their return trek to the Palace was considerably different than their approach to the Square had been. The guards had to stay close around Falk and Verdsmitt, but it seemed to be mostly because so many people wanted to see Verdsmitt, even reaching out hands they had to know would be slapped away, trying to touch him or get him to touch them.

“That was well done,” Falk said to Verdsmitt when they had finally left the press of the crowd behind and were approaching the gate. “It was everything I had hoped for, and it may indeed return peace to the streets.” He studied the playwright. Mother Northwind insisted the man did not know he was the Patron, and neither did the rebels of the Common Cause, that he always issued orders indirectly, or through a Mage link and that Tagaza disguised their identities.
Too bad
, Falk thought,
or I could have just made him order the release of Karl and had him give me the names of all the Cause's leaders, without any of this “Unity Convention” nonsense. But if he doesn't know he is the Patron . . . what does he think he just accomplished?
“Do you really think the members of the Common Cause will listen to you?”

“I think there is a good chance of it, my lord,” Verdsmitt said modestly. “If I have made them understand how wrong they are—how wrong
I
was—to raise voices and hands against good King Kravon and Your Lordship, then they most certainly will. And if they do not, my lord, I beg you to be magnanimous and not let one or two minor harassments by overzealous Commoners derail your promise to rebuild and to hold the Unity Convention. After a major attack, of course, you must take firm action, as I'm sure every reasonable person will agree, but if little real harm is done . . . if you condemn it but refuse to allow it to derail your plans for rapprochement, it would go a long way toward improving Your Lordship's standing in the eyes of New Cabora's Commoner citizens.”

Falk nodded thoughtfully. “I believe you are right, Verdsmitt. Of course, I will have to weigh carefully the seriousness of any such attack, but if it is minor . . . well, as you say, I can afford to be magnanimous in pursuit of the greater good.” He clapped Verdsmitt on the back. “And may I say, Davydd,” he said, using the playwright's first name for the first time, “how wonderful it is that you have come to understand how foolish all of this Common Cause business has been.”
Not that you had any choice in the matter
.

“Thank you, my lord.” Verdsmitt bowed his head as though to hide how touched he was by the praise.

SkyMage
, Falk thought with admiration,
Mother Northwind outdid herself
.

His pleasure faded, however, as he contemplated the reason she had been unable to make Verdsmitt even more useful: Tagaza. Even now, he knew, Mother Northwind was with the First Mage, trying to put him back together so he could re-create the spell that would find Brenna . . .
and then face his just punishment
, Falk snarled silently.

“My lord, a word,” said a voice from his other side, and Falk turned to see Captain Fedric. “My lord, a Commoner approached us in secret as the crowd dispersed, with an urgent request to speak to you.” Fedric lowered his voice. “He says he knows where Prince Karl is . . . said that if Verdsmitt is giving up, then so is he.”

Falk glanced at Verdsmitt, who gave no sign of hearing anything that had been said, eyes focused on the gates inside the archway of stone that marked the opening through the Lesser Barrier. In calmer times, those gates stood open, though guarded. Since Karl's disappearance, they had been kept magically sealed, opened grudgingly only to those with urgent business in the Palace.

Like barn doors shut after the cows have escaped
, Falk thought cynically, which he thought he was entitled to, since it was, after all, his belated and useless command that had shut them. Still, some things you did just for appearances.

He looked back at the captain. “Where is this man now?”

“In the guardhouse of the gate,” Fedric replied. “Awaiting your wishes.”

“Take him to the Palace,” Falk commanded. “But don't take him down to the dungeon—no need to terrify him back into silence. Take him to one of the small conference rooms . . . the Blue Lounge, I think. Provide him with refreshment. A full flagon of really good wine. And when I am unfortunately delayed, offer him a second flagon, and tell him I will be along shortly . . . just as soon as my pressing schedule allows.”

Fedric smiled. “Yes, my lord,” and peeled off toward the guardhouse.

The gate swung open, and Falk and Verdsmitt, accompanied by a remaining quartet of bodyguards, started across the cobblestoned bridge. “In your most recent play, Davydd,” Falk said conversationally, “you had a line—a rhyming couplet, no less . . . let me see if I can remember it . . . ah, yes. ‘How people cheered when that cursed arch and gate/were thrown to ruin, nine hundred years too late.' ”

Verdsmitt winced. “Don't remind me, my lord. I wish that play had never left my pen.”

“Well,” Falk said judiciously, “I'm no critic, but I thought it had its moments. Perhaps it just needs rewriting. I could offer you my thoughts . . .”

“My lord,” said Verdsmitt. “I wish you would. It pains me to think how until now I have stumbled through the dark thickets of verbiage without your shining insight to light my way.”

Just for a moment, Falk thought Verdsmitt was mocking him. But the playwright's face remained so sincere he dismissed the notion as ludicrous. Still, perhaps Mother Northwind had gone a little overboard in turning Verdsmitt loyal. Falk would have to remember that. Sometimes those who only said yes were far more dangerous to a ruler . . .
Would-be ruler
, Falk thought,
you're not there yet
, but still, he cherished the thought . . . than those who dared to tell him no.