Imperial Magic

by Alma T. C. Boykin

  Ewoud had trouble digesting the story. The rumor had been true. Was it something Donwah's waters had done, the way they had swallowed that little island when he was still a boy? Or had the southern king's people done something? But he had no mages, other than priests. "Um, Honored father, why would the king of Liambruu believe that the river mouth closing meant that the Great Northern Emperor had no power?"

  Tycho looked up at the ceiling beams, then back at Ewoud. "My son, there is no man quite so foolish or dangerous as one who so believes the rightness of his ideas that he twists the rest of the world to fit them. I have come to believe that King Sanchohaakon is one of those. Maarsrodi and Korvaal save me from such folly, but I think the southern king, eh, like this." He counted on his fingers. "The northern emperor has opened ports and smoothed rivers in the past," the smallest finger bent down. "He is the lord of the northern cities and lands, so their care is his responsibility, the way the king of Liambruu is responsible for that land." A second finger bent. "The Moahne would be a magnificent trade river, had Donwah made it other than it is, or if the emperor changed it." Third finger. "That the river is now closed means the emperor is not doing his duty and so the emperor's rights no longer exist." Tycho shook his head. "That the gods might perhaps be more powerful than the emperor, and that the emperor might have his own reasons for not acting are, of course, immaterial."

  Ewoud followed the logic and shook his head. "That makes as much sense as, oh, claiming that a woman was trying to entice a man by covering herself more than other women do, so that the man was tempted to remove her cloak and veil."

  "Or that my son lured a man to his death and his master to ruin by angering the journeyman and making him forget the laws." Tycho used the long stem of his white clay pipe to tap a letter on the corner of his desk, then looked Ewoud in the eyes. "What did happen?"

  "It started on the White Wave, Honored sire." Ewoud recounted the story. His father asked no questions, only listened. At last Ewoud said, "Sir, should I feel guilty about Hanka's death?"

  His father seemed to be staring at the heavy wooden lintel above the door. "My son, I do not know. The priests teach that while we can be led into error by deception and evil intent as well as by ignorance and folly, we are responsible only for our own actions unless we act to tempt and deceive. Thus a man may be guilty of seducing a maidservant, but she has a duty to avoid being alone with him unless it is in the course of her work or her employer has told her to do so." Tycho fell silent as Ewoud searched his conscience. At last his father sighed. "From your account, and even from this," he lifted the letter and dropped it again. "You did not lure, tempt, challenge, or order Hanka to break the laws. Especially not the vlee rules forbidding non-masters from consorting with women, professional or otherwise. Did you see him in the journeymen's and sons' quarters at all?"

  Ewoud tried to recall, searching his memory, eyes narrowed and looking at the wall past his father's head. "No. There were additional quarters in our section that I did not visit because they were not my concern. I assume he had space there, or with his master?"

  "It is possible Dogald had room sufficient for Hanka and others to stay with him, but doubtful." Tycho sounded thoughtful, and after a moment he took a pen from its holder, checked the tip, and removed one of the inks from the stand, then made a note on the outside of the letter. "We are going to the temple with a notary-mage, not one who has dealt with your brother," he assured Ewoud, "and you are going to repeat the story under god-oath before the notary. Then I will send a copy to Dogald's man and leave one with the priests. I am not paying the demanded blood price for a journeyman who knowingly violated so many rules."

  Ewoud sagged with relief, or would have if his collarbone hadn't reminded him to stay straight.

  "Be aware that this may, and from what I have heard of Dogald will, continue once he returns." Tycho did not sound overly concerned, and Ewoud decided that if his father was not worried, neither would he fret. Much.

  "Ah, Father, another rumor, and a question. The rumor is that some places are claiming mages, or their services I should say, as leb-goods."

  His father pulled on his pipe, held the smoke for a moment, then exhaled a thin stream of sweet, dark-smelling smoke. "I have heard the same. There are already representatives from some of the southern cities waiting here in Rhonari, with the aim of petitioning the emperor to permit them to compel mages to serve until such time as there are, ah, 'sufficient to see to the needs of all without undue hardship' was what he said." Tycho raised one eyebrow.

  "Hardship to the mages or to the southerners? Sir." Ewoud rubbed his forehead. How one intended to compel a mage to do anything Ewoud had no idea, and the guilds would not tolerate that sort of thing. But what about healing and medical mages? Or animal mages? Were preservation spells absolutely vital to life? Not for Ewoud's family, but... His certainty began fading a little. Still, to compel people to serve was different from setting a price for something. If a baker had no flour to make bread, he could not be punished for not baking leb-bread.

  "And the question?"

  "Why was I called back, sir?" He'd seen no sign of betrothal preparations, not that he had inquired. He also wanted to know about the tamman on the books.

  For the first time, something close to fear appeared in his father's eyes. "Because his most Imperial Majesty's messenger requested your presence. He left a tamman hide here as a sign of the emperor's sincerity." Tycho shook his head. "Given the cost of the thing, I listed it as a debit until I find out if we can sell it or if we are supposed to return it when you are introduced to the court. At least it doesn't smell the way the thing in the council chamber does. Be glad you were not here this summer, my son. And your mother," a heart-felt sigh. "She has grown most interested in saka after seeing the necklace the imperial representative's wife wore. Most interested," he repeated, wearily.

  "Frequently interested, sir?"

  "Yes."

  Father and son shared a look. Gerta Galnaar Rhonarides rarely demanded anything, but once she did, woe betide anyone who failed to take seriously the intensity of that desire. An upset mother terrified Ewoud far more than the interest of the Great Northern Emperor. After all, the emperor would come and depart. Gerta Rhonarides would be at the wares-house for the rest of Ewoud's life, which might be short if he displeased her too much. Worse, she might mention her displeasure and Ewoud's dietary needs to Ewoud's future bride. "Ah, not to presume, but is my most honored and wise mother familiar with the grades of saka?"

  "Not yet and it would please me if you do not enlighten her. A necklace of dark-honey and green saka is being made. Silver mount. Clear, not clouded or with spots in it other than the central piece. Apparently I am not the only husband being, ahem, encouraged to obtain saka in exchange for domestic tranquility." The sour expression on Tycho's face warned Ewoud that a wise man would not mention saka around the other merchants for a while. "Enough so that the mages' guilds issued rules that the wives and daughters of guild members are not to wear it, neither are the mages themselves. Wiebe asked if I knew why, other than the outrageous price of the stones."

  Ewoud shrugged his good shoulder. The ways of mages could be strange. Each guild had its own rules, just like the craft and trade confraternities, and no man outside could be certain why they did particular things. "Wasn't it the white-smiths who said that no member's family was to wear red a few years ago, sir, because of the dispute over the quality of copper wire?"

  His father rubbed his forehead, then pinched his nose and closed his eyes. "I do not recall, but that sounds correct. And I believe that dinner will be ready shortly." Tycho stood and waited as Ewoud wiggled a little, getting off the stool with care so as not to jostle his shoulder. "How long did the mediko give before that healed?"

  "Thirty eight days, so another twenty eight days if I do nothing foolish, sir." As much as it ached, foolishness remained very far down the list of things Ewoud cared to be.

  Two days later, Ewoud escaped the
house for the first time since his return. His father had been called by the council to oversee inventory of the foodstuffs purchased by the city in order to prepare for the emperor's arrival. "I need him to handle the mage-lights and tags," Tycho had informed Ewoud's mother. "You have no more fitting sessions for him, I trust."

  "No. He may go." She looked for a moment as if she wanted to add something, then made a cutting motion with one hand and returned to supervising the servants unpacking preserved food from storage so they could put this season's fresh-made preserves and dried foods away. Ewoud changed into something that suited inventory in a public place, lifted his own staff out of the holder by the door, and followed his father out into the street.

  Bright sun warmed Ewoud's shoulders. The frigid air stung his nose a little, though. The usual low clouds of early winter had disappeared for the moment, but the wind seemed insistent on reminding everyone of the true season. Most people moved quickly on their errands despite the lovely warm sun. Or perhaps they wanted to find a place in the sun and out of the wind? Ewoud's nose stung before they reached the storage buildings near the smiths' quarter. Ewoud recognized the heavy scent of earth-coal under the wood-smoke and other daily smells. "Earth coal inside the city, sir?"

  "Special permission for the next few days. Wood deliveries are being diverted to storage—outside the walls, never fear—for the emperor's needs." Tycho stopped by the gate, waiting with growing impatience as the guard searched for the proper key on an enormous ring of nearly-identical black-iron keys that jangled. The man found the correct one, murmured an apology, and unlocked the gate. Ewoud followed his father across the courtyard, stopping briefly to bow to the small statue of Maarsrodi by the inner door.

  The door opened and one of the city clerks bowed them in. "Meester Tycho."

  "I brought my son to serve as additional hands." Tycho gave the clerk a firm look, as if he expected a protest. The man simply bowed again and backed away. "I suspect he would like to be back in his warm office rather than counting sacks of grain in a drafty hall."

  Ewoud copied his father, since he wasn't certain what else to do. They leaned their staffs against the wall by the door and walked past several neat piles of grain sacks to a mound of barrels. "Quite likely, sir," Ewoud said once they were out of the clerk's ear-shot.

  "So. We start with these. They are supposed to be flour, both fine and heavy." Tycho pointed, and Ewoud went farther on, located a mage light from the supply near the clerks' tables, returned, and then found the first tag. Tycho explained, "I'll call off the count, and you confirm it. I'm not having my tax money wasted, and I do not care to face the rest of the council if I have not confirmed everything as best I can."

  Ewoud wondered who had protested his father's taking inventory. He made a mental list, then removed one name. That master was lazy and rarely delivered anything on time, but he'd never been accused of theft by substitution. "Yes, sir." Any enchantment and excitement Ewoud had felt about the emperor's visit disappeared quickly as he crouched, peering at tags and trying to read them in the faint mage-light.

  10

  The Emperor Arrives

  It lacked two days to mid-winter when Bastian lurched up the ladder in the wares-house. "His majesty has been seen. He and his people are coming overland!"

  Ewoud finished recording the hides and noting some with more flaws than the seller had certified, then turned to his younger brother. "Yes. Apparently his majesty prefers not to sail in winter." He kept his voice calm and reasonable, and did not use the slate to thump Bastian on the head. Doing that had not forced sense into the skull thus far, and probably would not in the future. They needed to get these graded and recorded, no matter who was coming, short of the gods themselves.

  "Mother says that she heard from the mercer that he's bringing his own cats with him."

  Ewoud shrugged and returned to work. "He may well be. He's probably bringing his own great-haulers and other animals as well. Some of the great lords to the south have cows or schaef that travel with them to provide milk for their children if the heir and others are part of the group." Was that on the list? He peered closer. Yes, but on a different column. Ewoud checked it off and started hunting for the small packet of rabbit tanned for bandages.

  "Why are you not interested?" Bastian sounded hurt.

  Ewoud wondered too, a little. "Because this must be done. We have contracts to fulfil and business to oversee whether the emperor is here or not, and I'd rather get it done before the excitement starts." Was it because he still didn't believe it quite? Or was it because he'd seen other men from the north and accepted that the emperor did exist, that he was coming to do imperial business, and that it was not much different from his father's description of the southern lords travelling? Aside from traveling during the season when normal men and women remained within walls if possible, and the emperor not having been seen in the south for several hundred years. He should be more excited and eager, but he wasn't.

  "The courier said that the emperor should be here in three days, unless a storm moves in from the sea. He was south of Maans'hill." Bastian left the top of the ladder. "What's missing?"

  "A small bundle of rabbit tanned for healing." Bastian ducked under a shelf and removed two parcels. "Is one of those rabbit?"

  "Ah, I think so. It has a sigil rather than a written tag." Bastian brought it to Ewoud. "Yes, rabbit. This one is," he paused, turning the bundle over and peering at dark squiggles on the wrapper. "Ugh. Whoever tagged this should take handwriting lessons again, or at least get a new pen. I think it is, no." He set the rabbit down and took the second parcel to an oil lamp. "Isinglass." Ewoud blinked, as did Bastian. "Why do we have isinglass? That's supposed to be for the clerks, isn't it?"

  "Clerks and brewers, unless mother bought it? No, it wouldn't be here if she got it for the kitchen." Ewoud had no idea why fish bladders could possibly be in with fine-tanned and thin-scraped leathers. He checked the list twice more, then hunted around for the miscellaneous register. "Not here either. It must have been tossed into the lot by mistake. Put it back with the rabbit and I'll tell father. He can probably find someone who wants it." The brewers would be the likely people, but one never knew. "Has mother finished the spice inventory?"

  Bastian hunched his shoulders and kept his voice lower as he whispered, "Yes, and she went on to the baking pans. Three are missing. She is not happy. Stay away from the kitchen and pantries, whatever you do."

  That might be the best advice Bastian had ever given, in Ewoud's opinion. Their mother would have the servants and Rikila emptying every shelf, drawer, and corner looking for the missing tin or pottery. That meant that no one would be happy, and the women tended to be just a tiny bit snappish in those circumstances. It sounded like a very good time to be doing inventory in the wares-house's storage areas.

  Heavy snow thudded down from low clouds three days later. Ewoud held his hands over the top of the office-oven and stared at nothing, letting his eyes rest and brain go numb. He'd been correcting some accounts and updating currency exchanges. Even with a bead-counter, three way conversions taxed his memory. There had to be a better way to calculate that kind of figure and record it in the ledgers. Perhaps if they added a column? No, they'd done that. It was the intermediate currency that took up time, Ewoud knew, so if they eliminated—No, because for certain prices they needed to know what the middle-man had been using for his valuations prior to adding his fee. What if—

  "Ewoud!" He jumped out of his skin almost. "Did you not hear me? You need to change immediately into your good clothes." His mother stood in the doorway, fists on hips, eyes wide. "His most Imperial Majesty is here at the gates. Your father requests your presence with the other sons of the council now."

  "Yes, ma'am." He trotted past her, not running or racing, then hurried up the steps to his quarters. He changed as quickly as he could, but did not put on his good boots. The slop would spoil the embroidery. He hurried down again, pulled his oiled-linen cloak on over
his good clothes, and jammed his feet into foul weather boots, then boot pattens as he collected his staff, then left the house.

  "The salt gate!" His mother called after him. He didn't need directions, given the mass of people who had stopped work and were streaming like spawning fish through the streets, all going to the same place. His fears about the slop in the streets were accurate, and Ewoud saw more than one person slipping in the mix of snow, water, mud, and dung. Not all streets had paving. Ewoud skirted a few groups of people who glowered or cursed those around them, and ducked behind some larger men as Rota the Mad shrieked that the gods had begun to unmake the world and the emperor's return was the first sign. The old woman shook her fists and struggled to fight against the flow of people. Ewoud threaded between some barrels blocking the traffic way, then hurried as a gap opened up.

  The council were not hard to find. Peacekeepers held the rest of the citizens and residents away from the patricians, and Ewoud spotted his father's distinctive hat, and the small space around him. The others always gave him room, lest their seals or other mage-touched things lose their power. Ewoud saw his father peering around through the fat snow flakes and waved, then joined the other heirs in a larger clump between the patricians and the others.

  Trumpets sounded, their tone oddly sweet despite the cold. Men in blue and white strode into the city, followed by huge, hairy grey and white cattle pulling a wagon. Was it a wagon? Yes, just far fancier than Ewoud had ever seen, with both wheels and runners. Gasps and yelps rose from the people of Rhonari, and a wave of bows and genuflections flowed through the crowd. If he had not been around other men of the north, Ewoud probably would have gasped or yelped with the others. As it was, the pale white hunting cat with dark eyes that watched from beside the emperor made Ewoud gulp. How could white fur be paler than white? He didn’t know, but it was. The cat seemed larger than the one Ewoud had glimpsed. Like his master, the cat studied his surroundings with calm, intense eyes. That made Ewoud nervous. When his mother looked like that, someone was about to be in a great deal of difficulty. And his mother did not have claws as long as Ewoud’s middle finger. The cat washed one paw and ignored the commotion.