Imperial Magic

by Alma T. C. Boykin

  "Why not? I can hook my feet under the big chest and get almost half way out as it is now. If we—" He caught his mother's glare and subsided.

  The beautiful trumpets called again, drawing everyone's attention to the front of the council building. The festival stage had been put into place, and as Ewoud watched, the lower doors of the council building opened and soldiers in blue and black appeared along the sides of the platform. A voice called from the loggia, "His most Imperial Majesty, the Emperor of the North!" Then the senior mayor appeared, and then the Great Northern Emperor himself. Everyone bowed, clothes rustling like a sigh from the crowd. Ewoud wasn't certain he could recall seeing so many of Rhonari's citizens and other residents in the square together.

  "You may rise," the herald called. More rustling and everyone stood, all eyes turned to the tall man in white and blue. Again, his cat sat beside him, and Ewoud heard his mother squeak a little as the cat yawned. Was it going to wash its nethers in public like most cats did? Ewoud quashed the thought and a chuckle as fast as they floated up.

  The emperor studied the crowd as the people of Rhonari studied him, looking slowly from left to right. "We thank you for your hospitality to us. It has been many years since we visited our cities, and we are pleased to find them prospering. When the Great Cold ended and the land emerged from Sneelah's hand, our ancestors re-settled the lands as they emerged from the snow and cold, using magic and the gifts of the gods, along with muscle and mind. The gods charged a high price for their aid—that men be permitted to govern themselves if they proved themselves able and willing to take such responsibilities. Some did not, others chose to defer to a lord who defers to us." The emperor turned his gloved hands palms up, as if shrugging off the others' decision. "But your fathers took the harder path and made land from water and waste, built walls and claimed both rights and duties. You, and a few others, retain that freedom and we are pleased. Our forefathers left you to your own way, so that you might not grow too dependent on any save the gods and yourselves. Years passed and we turned our attention elsewhere, to other needs. Perhaps too many years have passed." He paused. "Or perhaps not."

  Ewoud inclined toward not, given how well Rhonari and the others fared without anyone but the gods intervening in their affairs. He wasn't the only one, if the nods and murmurs told truth.

  "However, events far to the south have drawn our attention, as have pleas for our judgment and justice. So we have come, to hear the petitions of those seeking redress, and to deliver justice here and," the emperor paused, giving the people a significant look. "Elsewhere."

  Beside him, Ewoud heard his father's quiet, "Heh."

  "It is unfortunate that some prefer not to take heed when the gods themselves give a clear and undeniable sign of their approval or disapproval, but so it is." The emperor seemed to look straight at Ewoud and his family. "We have come, and we will provide justice as the gods will, and address the claims of those who say that we exist no longer." He seemed to smile, but with humor or threat Ewoud did not try to guess. "As you can see, their belief is in error.

  "We have given commands that all foods and drink, fuel and other necessities needed by our court and retainers are to be purchased, either with silver or with kind. Should anyone of our retinue claim anything without payment, we must be told, that we may deal with the offender." A sigh of relief floated from the crowd. Ewoud's father made an odd noise in his throat and looked thoughtful.

  The emperor said more things, complimenting the cities, something about the ambassadors and taxes and petitions. Ewoud's mind circled back to the emperor's comment about those who deny both the gods and the emperor himself. That had to be Liambruu, didn't it? Only Liambruu's king refused to take a hint, and only he denied that the Great Northern Emperor still existed and had jurisdiction over the lands of the empire. Or where there others, some of the city lords, the counts and dukes? Would any of them be coming to Rhonari? Or would the emperor go to them? That made more sense, especially if he could travel in winter when everyone else stayed within their walls. Ewoud wondered what King Sanchohaakon's face would look like when the person he claimed no longer existed appeared in person. An elbow in his ribs caught his attention. Rikila had small, sharp elbows.

  Ewoud turned around and moved between Rikila and the young man approaching the family. Bastian glanced over and shifted as well. Four people now stood between Rikila and her would-be suitor, three of them carrying staffs. The journeyman cooper hesitated, then wiggled through the crowd, coming even closer despite the protests and hard looks tossed his way. Neither of the brothers said a word, only staring at the interloper. He stopped in front of them, looking past them at Rikila. Or was he? The square-faced young man swayed a little, and his eyes seemed out of focus. Where was his coat? He wore a tunic and trousers, his journeyman's apron, and boots, but no jacket. An indoor cap, not a hat or hood, covered messy, dirty-blond hair. "There you ahre! Ah've been lookin' fohr you, honored miss." He staggered, slurring his words.

  "You're drunk, Jurjin," Bastian said. "You need to go lie down." He kept his voice low. This was not the place for a scene.

  Jurjin failed to heed the warning. "You're such a pretty girl." The unfocused look shifted into an unfocused leer. "Just the kind a man wants in cold weather."

  Rikila's eyes went wide and she backed up, colliding with her parents. Tycho spun around, saw Jurjin, and hissed. Gerta took Rikila's arm and started leading her away from the drunk journeyman.

  "Whas' t' matter, lady? You think I'm not good enough for the pretty?"

  Bastian tried again as Ewoud shifted his grip on his staff. "Jurjin, this isn't the time. You need to get out of the cold."

  "S'not that cold." Jurjin staggered closer, turning as if to go past the men towards Gerta and Rikila. "Lady with me will warm things up. Won't you, pretty?" He wove back and forth, then side to side. "Two of you? More for me!" Gerta clamped her hands on Rikila's ears as he called, "I like two at a time!"

  Ewoud grabbed Bastian as he lunged for the drunken fool. Their father beat the boys to the man's side. Tycho grabbed the journeyman and hissed, "I have warned you before Jurjin. Stay away from my daughter." The hiss carried well in the cold air, and at least a dozen heads whipped around to see the commotion.

  "Ah, Korvaal have mercy," a wiry, middle-aged man groaned. "Should have known." He glared and stepped closer to the drunk journeyman.

  A taller man with broad shoulders under his jerkin and jacket eased through the other people. He and the leaner man wore the brown and black badges of the coopers' confraternity. "Jurjin." Tycho backed away, joining Ewoud in holding Bastian's shoulders.

  "Mashter Thelderman," the journeyman tried to bow and staggered, losing his balance. "I found my mithtress, keep me warm!" He staggered again, and the wiry cooper grabbed him by the collar, then the shoulder, hauling the taller journeyman upright.

  "No. You are going to your quarters to sober up," Meester Felderman growled, so quiet Ewoud could barely hear him. "What did you do, boy, get locked in Ventris's storehouse overnight?"

  "No! I wan' my pretty!" Jurjin flailed wildly, managing to hit the other cooper in the face and break free. He staggered around and started running toward Rikila and her mother. "Come here, I want to warm my hands in your—Urk!"

  Ewoud held his staff horizontal, braced against his stomach and hip. The man's weight almost ripped it out of his hand, and Ewoud's tender shoulder screamed at him as Jurjin fell over, then started to vomit. Ewoud pulled the staff back as the two master coopers stood over their charge, swearing under their breaths. So much for keeping things quiet. Ewoud couldn't find his mother or sister.

  "The ladies are going home," Ewoud's father said into his ear. "There's a better way to brace. Remind me to show you later."

  "Yes, sir."

  A quartet of peace keepers had made their way to the corner, and Meester Feldman pointed to the vomiting journeyman. "Name's Jurjin. Former cooper's journeyman."

  "Again?" The burly, brown-cla
d man grunted, then shook his head and frowned. "He have city-right outside of his trade?"

  Feldman looked at his associate. The smaller man shook his head. "No. He's from a village near Vlaaterbe, no city-right here."

  The four peace-keepers bared their teeth. "Ah, good to know. Out he goes, then." Two of them hoisted the soused man up by the shoulders and Felderman removed the former journeyman's apron. The peace-keepers dragged Jurjin away as the master cooper folded the fabric.

  "Too bad. He had an excellent eye for fitting staves," the leaner man sighed. "But he couldn't stay with small-beer."

  Felderman scowled, then started counting on his fingers. "This is the fourth time. We should have read him out after three." Then he looked at the Galnaar men. "Will you be satisfied with his dismissal and being read out of the city?"

  Ewoud and Bastian looked to their father. Tycho nodded, arms crossed around his staff. "Yes. He did not touch my daughter, neither did he insult her or question her virtue in public while sober. We will not claim honor damage, and we hold nothing against his master or trade brothers." Bastian's face crunched into a frown, as if he wanted to disagree, and Ewoud cleared his throat and shook his head a little. Bastian stayed quiet.

  The masters shook on the agreement. As they did, the crowd erupted in cheers, the trumpets sounded once more, and the Great Northern Emperor returned to the council building.

  "Oh, bugger it. What did he say at the end?" Felderman asked.

  A woman replied, "Said 'e'd reduce our taxes this year for the time he was in our walls. "At's my sort of lord."

  "It is indeed, Goodwife, it is indeed," the second cooper agreed, his smile revealing missing teeth.

  When the men returned to the wares-house, Gerta met them, eyes wide, holding a folded sheet of paper sealed with silver and cobalt wax. "A messenger from his most Imperial Majesty brought this." She handed it to Ewoud. He stared at the packet. She waved it and he took it in his free hand, then followed his parents and brother indoors.

  Once under the roof he broke the seal and unfolded the missive. Silver and black ink gleamed in the lamp-light. He'd never have handwriting that perfect, Ewoud sighed silently, envious. Then he read it and felt the world spin.

  "Well?" his father inquired.

  "Most honored father and mother, his most Imperial Majesty wishes to speak to me—," he squeaked. Ewoud coughed and tried again. "I'm to present myself outside the lesser council chamber at noon the day following tomorrow, with my staff." His knees fainted, and Ewoud sat firmly on the bench beside the kitchen door.

  His mother covered her mouth with her hands, then planted her hands on her hips and studied Ewoud from head to boot toe. "You are going to the baths and to be shaved tomorrow." Her eyes narrowed and she sniffed him. "And wearing something clean." She sniffed again. "I smell chestnuts."

  Ewoud looked left and right in hopes of a distraction, but his father and brother had vanished like snow in late spring. He swallowed hard. "Ah, yes, honored mother. A small cone." Her eyes narrowed further. He crossed his fingers under a fold of his knee-length coat. "One small cone, yesterday." He wasn't really lying, really.

  "You are as bad as your father, Ewoud Galnaar Rhonarida." She straightened up. "Just as bad. Anna, the men need something cooling with dinner," she called as she stalked into the kitchen after removing her pattens. Ewoud hung his head, invitation forgotten.

  11

  Imperial Interest

  Washed, shaved, wearing the best of his clothes including the embroidered boots, Ewoud presented himself and his staff at the door to the smaller council chamber.

  "His most Imperial Majesty appreciates your promptness, Ewoud Tycho's son," one of the smaller north-men said. "He is hearing a late petitioner, then will speak with you. Please wait here." He gestured to a bench with brown cushions on it. "If I might?" He reached for Ewoud's staff. "His Imperial Majesty wishes to look at a merchant's staff in detail."

  "Yes, sir." Ewoud handed him the iron-shod staff and sat. He hadn't seen this much hustle and bustle around the council chambers in a year, not since an estate settlement so displeased two men that they came to blows in the council chamber and tumbled into the anteroom. The fight had endangered the refreshments table, inspiring one of the master smiths to bring the "discussion" to a conclusion with his fists, lest the beer get spilled. The episode had reminded Ewoud why no one pestered black smiths and coopers, at least not more than once. And all of that over a cloak worth no more than ten vlaat!

  A north-man hurried past carrying a roll of documents. Why had his most Imperial Majesty asked forhim, Ewoud wondered yet again. It was his father who had been in Milunis when the ambassador from Liambruu made an ash of himself, with some assistance from the gods. Ewoud shivered. The story always made the hair on his neck rise. For some reason, he heard in his memory the words of Maarsdam's daughter in Kehlivar. He'd been born to and for Maarsrodi, but another claimed him as well. Who? Yoorst seemed the most likely, the lord of beasts of the field. But the emperor had mentioned Sneelaah, the goddess of the northern lands. Ewoud mulled over things and decided that he'd know when he knew. It wasn't the sort of question he wanted to ask of the local priests. Don't ask a question of the gods unless you truly desired an answer, everyone said. And even then think twice before inquiring.

  That reminded him. The Great Northern Emperor had made it snow in the council chamber. That was mage magic. But his father had felt the snow. His presence had not affected the spell, or at least not enough to cancel it out. Did that mean the emperor had god-magic as well as mage magic? Or was it the same as seeing by a mage light once someone else had activated the set-spell?

  The courier had left the council chamber door open a little and Ewoud heard an unhappy voice rising in volume and timbre. "Your most Imperial Majesty, please, we die for lack of mages! And still they refuse to work for life and board, most Imperial Majesty, demanding instead even higher fees than before. We petition that your most gracious and wise majesty compel them to serve. It is leb-magic, Imperial Majesty, and leb-magic cannot be charged for."

  Ewoud listened closely. He'd never heard of anything but one type of healing called leb-magic. What would the reply be? He heard other voices conferring, before the deep, space-filling sound of his majesty's words flowed out the open door. "Would you have us compel them, the way life-servants are compelled, with rod and whip?"

  "If the mages will not provide leb-service, then yes. At least, please, we implore, force them to lower their charges to what the most needy can pay, of your mercy. Two vlaat for a mage light, three vlaat for a preservation spell on five jars of fruit, no man or woman can pay those fees." The petitioner did not quite whine, but his voice edged close. Ewoud wrinkled his nose, then half-closed his eyes and tried to visualize that page in the ledger. How much had they spent on preservation spells and light spells for the wares-house? Granted, his father ordered the weakest light needed to see what they had to see, not reading and fine-work bright spells.

  Ewoud bit the tip of his tongue as he concentrated, trying to recall. Half a vlaat per light spell, set for three moons duration, that was it. The mage light in the office cost four vlaat for the same time duration, so at least for Rhonari, two vlaat for a mage-light wasn't out of line. Three vlaat for the fruit jars did sound high, but how much preservation did tanned hides need? Mostly rodent-repulsing and the strong spell on the roof and windows to keep water out of the wares-house. Those were simple to cast, even if they did require a lot of magical energy, or so Wiebe had once mentioned. If the jars were fresh fruit, not pre-cooked and ready for putting up, then the cost would be much higher, just like a spell that kept green hides fresh until they could reach the tanners in summer.

  Of course, there were sufficient mages in the north to meet the demand. In the south, well, scarce goods and services commanded high prices. But did you have to have magic to survive? His mother and sisters preserved most of the food through cooking, smoking, potting, and pickling, so that very few p
reservation spells needed to be cast for the household. And they used candles, oil lamps, and torches more than mage-lights. Granted, oil fish swam in huge schools this far north. In the south, he wouldn't want to use fish oil in lamps when it might go rancid in the barrel. It still burned, but the stench, oh, Scavenger and Rella both take pity on the man who had to work around that miasma.

  So what would a just price for magic be? Ewoud would have to ask Wiebe if he had any ideas. If he could say, that was. The prices might be confraternity and guild secrets.

  "You ask us to make labor a leb-good. That has never happened before." The emperor's words brought Ewoud back to the moment.

  "Ah, not labor, most merciful majesty, but magic. That is different, most Imperial Majesty." Ewoud's eyes opened wide for an instant. That might not have been the most wise argument to use to the most powerful mage in the empire.

  Absolute silence filled the chamber. Even the rustling and pen-scratches ceased, and Ewoud held his breath, listening. He heard someone inhale, a long, slow breath. "Magic is labor, we assure you. We suggest that you inquire of a preservation or healing mage what transpires when they exceed the bounds of wisdom." The deep voice carried an undertone suggesting that perhaps the petitioner was in error, grave error, potentially fatal error. "We have heard your petition. You are not the only city requesting that mages be compelled to serve. We are considering the request, and will issue a decision before the next full moon."

  An unhappy but much quieter voice replied, "Thank you, most Imperial Majesty, for your consideration. We shall await your answer with eagerness." The sound of scribes and steps resumed, and Ewoud did his best to look as if he had not overheard anything as the man backed from the lesser council chamber. He wore bright red and dark brown, and his boots were either badly dyed, high-quality leather or that gaudy shoddy that Tycho refused to sell. Ewoud couldn't decide which before the man stalked off down the steps.