Magebane (55 page)

Brenna swallowed. “No,” she said.

“I thought not.” Mother Northwind opened the door, passed through it, and closed it quietly behind her.

Brenna stared at that closed door for a long moment, then went back into her bedroom. She pressed her right cheek against the window glass so she could look west, to her left, in the vain hope she might see the airship that must even now be carrying Anton toward the Great Barrier and the strange world beyond it from whence he'd come.

Brenna wished, more than anything else in the world, that she were with him.

Falk, with great satisfaction and not a little wonder, watched the airship sail away, the strange chopping sound of its engine and propeller echoing back from the walls of buildings around the horse farm's cobblestoned yard. Anton's mission was hardly crucial, but Falk prided himself on making the best possible use of every tool that came his way, and now felt he had done so with the Outsider boy . . . thanks to Mother Northwind.

The Council had been astonished when he had reported to them the boy's provenance—and revealed the existence of the flying machine. The Commoner in particular had sat up and taken notice, though of course he hadn't been allowed to speak in the ensuing discussion.

They had all agreed that the situation needed careful consideration, but admitted the prospects for communication and trade with the Outside were exciting. “I suggest,” said Lord Athol, “that we begin assembling a diplomatic team to be flown over the Barrier, to open formal negotiations with whatever government we may find there.” This was duly agreed to, and the rest of the meeting had passed in discussion and argument about the makeup of the team and who should lead it, as the first ambassador the Kingdom of Evrenfels had ever, obviously, had to appoint. Along the way, they agreed to Falk's suggestion that the boy begin training one of his own men to serve as its pilot. Falk had even invited them to see the start of the test flight. None of the MageLords had actually come, of course; none of the Councillors, especially after the recent unrest, had any intention of passing through the Lesser Barrier in winter—certainly not to stand around a manure-strewn farmyard!

The Commoner
had
come, though. Falk had been surprised to see him, but the invitation had been extended to all the Councillors, so he certainly had the right to come. He stood in a corner of the farmyard, his personal guard standing stoically next to him, watching preparations.

Prince Karl had expressed an interest in attending, of course, but despite Karl's annoying new tendency to attempt to throw his weight around, Falk had been completely within his authority to refuse that request. “With tensions so high in the Common, absolutely not,” Falk had told the Prince when asked.

Since that night of the welcome-home dinner, he had scrupulously briefed the Prince on everything he had been doing in the Commons: rebuilding the shattered buildings, continuing to seek information about the Common Cause, maintaining enhanced patrols, placing enchanted watchstones all around the Barrier's perimeter in case the Cause had more of the devices Tagaza had given them to slip through the Barrier.

Meanwhile, Teran was once more shadowing the Prince everywhere, and reporting to Falk on who he spoke to and about what. Teran had provided no information of any interest; nor did Falk expect any. The fake Prince was so peripheral to his plans now that the endgame was in sight that he was almost beneath notice.
In a few more days
, Falk thought,
I will take great pleasure in telling that “Prince” exactly what he is . . . then tossing him out into the snow myself.

Neither Karl nor the Commoner nor any of the other Councillors suspected that the test flight would take the airship, and the now fanatically loyal Anton, on a preemptive diplomatic mission of Falk's own. If asked why the airship had not promptly returned from its test, he would claim there had been a malfunction, that the craft had come down out in the wild somewhere, and that it might be some days before it could be returned to New Cabora.

And if somehow passing beyond the Barrier made Anton less than fanatically loyal . . . well, the guard he had sent along would see to it that any damage was minimal. Spurl knew well that he could be on a one-way mission, but he was one of Falk's most trusted guardsmen, because he was also one of the Unbound.

The airship vanished into the distance, and the guards who had served as the ground crew clustered together, talking in excited voices. Falk watched them, a half-smile playing around his lips.
Things are going to get a lot more exciting in a few days, boys,
he thought.

The next morning, Falk waited again under the western portico of the Palace for the arrival of his magecarriage, as he had less than two weeks earlier, when he had taken the body of the failed assassin to his manor for examination by Mother Northwind. Today there were no clouds in the sky of the outside world, so the dawn sunlight turning the bridge pink was the real thing.

And here came his carriage, Robinton once more at the controls, wearing the enchanted warmcoat his wife had purchased for him. As it approached, Falk contemplated the journey ahead.

Only one road stretched the length of the kingdom north to south. Centered on New Cabora, as everything was inside the circular Barrier, it ran south to the Barrier cattle town of Smallcreek, and north from New Cabora to Berriton, a hundred miles distant, and from thence to the Cauldron, more than a hundred and fifty miles farther yet. From New Cabora to Berriton, and perhaps fifty miles farther north, a few villages were strung along the road, but as it passed from the rolling farmland of the central part of the kingdom into the trackless forests of the north and then into the foothills of the Barrier-bisected mountain range that marked Evrenfels' northern boundary, there were only a couple of army outposts.

Still, even at the modest pace necessary on uncertain winter roads, the magecarriage could take him, Brenna, and the guard a full hundred miles in a day. They would spend the night in Berriton, and there collect the mage from the College who would be standing in for the late Tagaza. They would spend the second night in a Royal shelter, and reach the Cauldron by midafternoon on the third day. There was another shelter there where they would wait until just before midnight, at which time they would go to “inspect” the Cauldron.

When they returned, regrettably without Brenna, Falk would be King.

The spring equinox, when he had originally planned to take this final step, simply because that was the usual time for the inspection of the Cauldron, was still a month away. But in light of recent events, he'd decided to advance the schedule. Even with Verdsmitt now working against the Common Cause, he didn't believe for a moment that the back of the rebellion was broken, though all had been quiet for a few days and he had already begun the magical rebuilding of the Square's shattered structures.
Best to seize complete control of the Kingdom as soon as possible.

The word had gone out to the army. Troops were already moving out on “winter exercises” that would ensure they were in position to quell any unrest that might follow the King's death. Unbound within the Barrier, in the Colleges of Mages and Healers and elsewhere, were ready to act forcefully against those Mageborn—and even MageLords—who might balk at his ascension to the Throne. Everything was ready.

He took a deep breath, savoring the imminent completion of his Plan. Twenty years. And now, just a couple of more days . . .

Brenna emerged from the door behind him, accompanied by her guard. Wearing a white fur coat and hat with black fur trim, she looked very young. Falk knew her imminent fate was entirely unfair, not her fault, etc., and if there had been any other way for him to bring down the Barrier, he would have taken it. He was no monster, taking pleasure from the murder of innocents, whatever the Commons and certain disloyal Mageborn might think. But in this case, as in so many others, there was simply no alternative. Brenna was the Heir, and the Heir had to die so he could seize the Keys and free the MageLords from their prison. It was the SkyMage's will, and that was that.

Still, he thought he would prefer not to talk to her, and so as she and her guard got into the main body of the carriage, he climbed up beside Robinton.

“Going to be cold up here, sir!” Robinton warned. “Are you sure don't want to ride inside where it's . . . well, I wouldn't want to say, ‘warm,' but I might be willing to go as far as ‘warmer.' ”

“I'll be fine,” Falk assured him. “I may not have a warmcoat like the one your wife gave you, but I can shield myself. But thank you for your concern.” He grinned. “Anyway, Robinton, we'll all be warm soon enough, won't we?”

Robinton shuddered. “The Cauldron. Been there twice now. Don't think I'll ever get used to that little piece of hell on Earth, though.”

Falk laughed. “Personally, I find it quite scenic.” He turned and banged on the roof of the carriage, then shouted, “All set in there?”

“Yes, my lord,” came the guard's voice.

“Excellent!” Falk said. “Then . . .” He nodded to Robinton. “At your convenience.”

“I think now is quite convenient,” said Robinton, and the carriage trundled away from the Palace, across the bridge, through the Gate, and into the streets of New Cabora, their road taking them through the Square, where the Courthouse was once again taking shape, mages lifting the fallen beams and stones into place. The Commoners there took one quick look at the magecarriage, saw who was riding it, and either looked away or found sudden pressing business down alleys and side streets. Falk smiled to himself. A cowed population was a quiescent population, and quiescence in the Commons suited him perfectly just now.

Twenty minutes after driving through the Gate, they trundled past the final outlying buildings of the city and onto the road north. Drawing just enough energy from the coal burner to keep himself comfortably warm, Lord Falk gazed down the road stretching straight as an arrow from their rolling wheels to the flat, distant horizon.

As far as he was concerned, they couldn't reach its end fast enough.

MOTHER NORTHWIND REALLY HADN'T INTENDED to tell Brenna the truth . . . or most of the truth . . . until she'd learned that Brenna and Anton knew that the men who had been dragging them across the ice were hers, and not Falk's. If Brenna let out
that
bit of information to Falk . . . well, she'd deal with it if she had to, but better not to have to. So Mother Northwind had told Brenna the fate Falk intended for her, and made sure the girl knew that only she stood between Brenna and certain death at the end of the journey.

Afterward, though, she thought it might have been the best thing to do even if Brenna hadn't known that the dogsled drivers had been hers. Perhaps, she thought, the easiest way to get the Magebane and Heir to do what she needed them to do was not to
force
them to it—though she certainly could and would if she had to—but convince them to cooperate voluntarily. Which was why, even as Falk's magical carriage rolled north toward the Cauldron, she was forcing her aching knees up the Palace stairs to the very top floor . . . to the quarters of the Prince.

Karl's bodyguard Teran stood outside. He nodded and readily admitted her when she told him she had been asked to check up on the Prince after his recent ordeal.
And why shouldn't he?
she thought. Everyone knows by now that I'm Falk's pet Healer from his own demesne. She contrived to stumble as she was passing Teran, so he would put out a hand to steady her, which he did; then she smiled, and thanked him, and went inside.

The Prince seemed to have just come out of the bath and, wrapped in a fluffy white dressing gown and fuzzy slippers, was reading a book by the fire. He raised his head as she came in, and got to his feet. “Mother Northwind? What are you—”