Imperial Magic

by Alma T. C. Boykin

  Ewoud stood as a man in grey emerged from the doorway. He wore a tabard with the imperial crest on it, and beckoned. Ewoud brushed off a little invisible dust and followed.

  "Most Imperial Majesty, Ewoud Gaalnar, son of Tycho Spellfree." Ewoud flinched as the herald revealed his father's secret to all in the room. How did they know? Then he took two steps forward and dropped to one knee, touching his forehead to his other knee and removing his cap.

  "You may rise, Ewould Truthspeaker." The emperor's voice caressed the words the way his cat purred. He sounded equally as dangerous.

  Instead Ewoud only looked up, straightening his back and keeping his cap in his hand. The emperor's dark green eyes caught his and held them, and it felt as if something weighed him in scales, testing his substance at the same time. Ewoud looked down. The floor felt safer, but the sensation of judgment did not diminish.

  "You are not as we had imagined," the emperor said after many heart-beats of silence.

  "Most Imperial Majesty?"

  "Count Mangus's description suggested a...larger...man, one more accustomed to power, not a boy." The sensation of judgement faded, and Ewoud dared to look up again. His staff lay across the emperor's lap. The emperor rested one hand on the staff, and played with a piece of red saka on a chain with the other. "You are not a mage."

  Ewoud blinked and sorted through responses as fast as he dared. "No, most Imperial Majesty. My younger brother is apprenticed as a mage."

  "Then how did you know that the fool," the word lashed as painfully as the whip had, "in Kehlibar sought to sway my ambassador's mind?"

  Ewoud started to shake. He had to be honest. "Most Imperial Majesty, I watched the journeyman do the same before, to an ordinary hunter, and sensed the spell. I also saw his fingers move as if casting by hand, or triggering a pre-set spell, most Imperial Majesty. The very act of bargaining and disobeying the pelt-master confirmed my suspicion, sir." Now Ewoud wished with every bit of himself that he'd stood up to Hanka the first time it had happened.

  "Very interesting. You were correct, Mangus." The ambassador bowed in acknowledgment. "What reward did you receive for your actions, Ewoud Truthspeaker?"

  "Ten blows with a single-tail whip, and confinement with bread and water, most Imperial Majesty. And cleaning the latrines once my back healed enough."

  "Why?" Ewoud thought he heard a hint of humor as well as curiosity in the simple question. How did the emperor do that?

  Ewoud shook harder. "Because I did not tell the masters, most Imperial Majesty, the first time it happened, and so he committed further false dealings, and worse."

  "Ah." The sound chilled the room as the sea wind froze the city, or was it just Ewoud's imagination? "Again you surprise us, Ewoud Truthspeaker. You are dismissed."

  "My thanks, most Imperial Majesty."

  Ewoud touched his head to his knee once more, stood, bowed, and backed out of the chamber, then put his cap on. He managed to get as far as the benches on the next floor down before his knees quit and he thudded onto the cushionless wood. Working the treadmill inside the crane had demanded less from him than that interview had. He concentrated on breathing and on warming his hands, rubbing them together. They felt cold. He sat, resting, as petitioners and clerks, mages and servants passed by, some silent, others chatting and excited. Only when his knees stopped shaking did Ewoud consider trying to stand.

  "Ewoud Truthspeaker, his most Imperial Majesty sends this with his apologies for the delay." One of the northern clerks held out Ewoud's staff.

  "Th-thank you, sir." Ewoud bowed and took the staff. By the time he straightened up, the man had gone. Ewoud made his way down the rest of the steps, collected cloak and pattens, and somehow found his way home despite the fog inside his head.

  Only when he reached the wares-house did he look at the staff, truly look at it. The caps and rings of iron now glittered in the faint sunlight. Ewoud peered more closely. Where the metal had been plain before, it now sported designs in silver and blackened silver, showing ships, hides, an animal Ewoud guessed might be a tamman, and what appeared to be the vlee's walls seen from a bird's height.

  "Back so soon?" His father inquired, coming up behind him.

  "Yes, honored father. His most Imperial Majesty wished to see my staff, and returned it...changed." Ewoud showed his father the staff.

  Tycho stared at it, then blinked a few times, and said, "It appears you have been granted mastery."

  "Is that allowed?" As soon as he said it, Ewoud wanted to thump himself on the head with the staff. Who would gainsay the emperor?

  "Actually, son, it is. The oldest laws, the ones we never consult anymore, say that the emperor can test and present mastery to any candidate in any field save healing." Tycho returned the staff. "I recommend going to the temple tomorrow and having it confirmed by Maarsrodi's Son, but I do not believe many would challenge the decision. I am not going to, unless the engravings prove to be illusion."

  "Ah, I believe I will do as you suggest, sir. I do wonder how we are going to explain this to the masters of the confraternity." Ewoud could hear at least a dozen objections in his mind's ear, starting with his age and lack of experience. He would object to his membership on those grounds.

  "Unless you have a mouse in your pocket, or are in desperate need of a louse comb, it will be you alone who explains. You are a master in your own right, by that. And your mother will still beat you with it if you do not change before supper."

  "Only if I drip white sauce on dark fur, or drop honey-crumb on the fur, honored father."

  Tycho folded his arms. "Do you plan to test that? Because if so, your brother and I are collecting your sister and going to eat elsewhere."

  Ewoud looked down at the floor tiles. "No, sir."

  "Smart man."

  Ewoud set his staff in the container by the living-area door, removed his pattens, and snuck up to his chamber. He changed into house clothes, then decided to risk looking for food. He'd not even thought to buy something on the way home, and his stomach had begun complaining mightily about emptiness. He poked his head into the kitchen doorway. Before he could open his mouth, one of the maids pointed to a platter beside the door, heaped to almost overflowing with small pastries, both savory and sweet judging by the crusts. Ewoud took that as permission and grabbed two, then eased his way out before his mother could turn around.

  Baked dried fruit oozed out of one, and sausage filled the other. Ewoud alternated bites, then cleaned his hands and went to the wares-house. His father was rubbing his temples and studying a list on a wax-board. "It truly is a shame that folly cannot be bought or sold, and that even the gods do not provide spells to ward away its approach."

  How bad, Ewoud wondered? A truly dreadful contract would have his father using high formal language while turning colors and pounding the floor with his staff. So, what might the problem be? His father pushed the wax-board toward Ewoud. He picked it up and read over the list. After the third item, Ewoud blinked, returned to the beginning, and read it again. "Ah, does the worthy gentleman have an idea where we can obtain calf and lamb skins out of season, and fish-leather, given that the port is closed even to fishing?" Because the hides demanded were not tanned, but fresh.

  "I already warned him about the fish. After you go by the temple, your task tomorrow, yours and Bastian's because I am sending him with you, is to go the farmers and inquire. I'll give you a price. No." Tycho stopped and regarded Ewoud soberly. "I will give you a list of farmers. You will see if they have animals that suit and bargain for them. Five lambs and three calves. While you are doing that I will arrange for you to have a cash store to begin with."

  But he was too young! He needed at least two more years at the vlee, then at least one or two trading trips and voyages before he could be considered for mastery. Ewoud's mind began running in circles, chanting all the objections it could imagine to his going out on his own as a trader in his own right. As his mind panicked, his voice said, "Yes sir. I will go to the te
mple at first light, and then collect Bastian, provided the staff's markings prove true."

  "Good." His father weighed him with his eyes, then made an odd hand gesture. "Even if the markings prove true, I am not going to change anything yet. Your mother has more experience in trade, especially local trade, than you do, and there are those who will ignore you simply because of your age. However," Tycho's eyebrows rose a little. "You now have to join the militia and take a rotation on watch, as well as fire duties and city defense. Which means staff and blade work, serious blade work. But not today."

  "Thank you, sir. Ah," Ewoud thought for a moment. "Some of the southerners are petitioning the emperor to have magic declared a leb-service and to force mages to work for low or no payment, by force if needed."

  Tycho turned his back and walked to the stove, warming his hands. "I suspect the priests and mage guilds will object. Vehemently. At the tops of their voices if need be. Forcing someone to labor without payment is very different from setting a maximum price on goods needed for life and breath." He looked over his shoulder, a canny expression in his eyes. "Would you trust a laundress who was compelled by the rod to wash and iron your smalls and linens?"

  Half a dozen bad results came to mind. "No, honored father. And worse, compelling healing mages? Or preservation spells that disappeared the instant the minimum time passed." Ewoud shook his head. "I know what unhappy apprentices can do when they think they are overworked."

  "I suspect a compromise of some sort will be reached. However, we need to inventory the oil and candles and related goods." Tycho gave Ewoud an all too familiar look. "We" meant his sons.

  Ewoud bowed a little. "Yes, honored father." And inventory would keep him from thinking about the interview and the strange way the emperor and ambassador spoke of him and his family.

  The next morning Ewoud trudged to the temple of Maarsrodi. The sun remained abed, allowing the wind to play in the city. It hissed with little ice pellets, grain-snow some called it, that stung every bit of exposed skin. Which was worse—the wind-driven pellets, or that icy rain that soaked a man to the bone no matter what he did, but that refused to change to snow? By the time he reached the temples, he decided that the rain made people sick, while this just stung. Only a few other men and a handful of serving women and delivery boys braved the wind, and no one had any animals out, at least not yet. The great-haulers had probably balled up and were refusing to move. They were smarter than people, in Ewoud's opinion.

  "Hail, great traveler," Ewoud called as he bowed to Maarsrodi. "Thanks for the safe journey, thanks for trade accomplished, thanks for trade to come. Hail, great traveler." He put some coins in the box on the wall under the god's staff.

  "Greetings, son of Maarsrodi," a priest called in return. "What do you seek?"

  Ewoud hesitated. "I seek conformation and advice, honored sir."

  "My first advice would be stay out of the wind today," the priest chuckled. Ewoud recognized him as one of the men who instructed the children of the confraternity members. He approached, looked Ewoud over from cap to boots, and stopped, eyes unfocusing. "Ah. This is what Maarsrodi's Son foresaw. Come." He spun on his heel and led Ewoud around the statue, through a side door, and down a hall to where the chief priest sat, meditating. "Son of the Traveler, Ewoud Truthspeaker."

  The brown clad priest studied Ewoud, then said, "Be welcome in the name of Maarsrodi." Ewoud bowed. "What have you brought?"

  Ewoud went to one knee and held the staff on outstretched arms. The chief priest stood and accepted the staff, inspecting it. He peered more closely, turning the staff and studying the images now engraved on the silver and iron. Ewoud's voice squeaked a little as he asked, "Honored Son of Maarsrodi, are the carvings...real? Not illusion?"

  The older of the two priests held one hand over the top cap and murmured to it. As best Ewoud could tell, nothing happened. "It is real. My compliments to the engraver. And to you who are elevated so young." He raised one eyebrow as he returned the staff.

  "The engraver was, is, the Great Northern Emperor himself, sirs. His most Imperial Majesty did that yesterday. It shows a tamman, and Kehlibar vlee, where I met a man who is now ambassador, Count Mangus. I did not ask for it, I had no warning that his majesty intended to do that—" Ewoud heard himself starting to babble and stopped. "I am not ready."

  A third priest entered the room, a man wearing the robes and insignia of Yoorst's priesthood. "Yes, you are," the new arrival said. His quiet voice penetrated into Ewoud's skull. "Born to and for Maarsrodi, but touched also by the lord of the beasts, Ewoud Galnaar Rhonarida, called Truthspeaker."

  Maarsrodi's Son nodded. "A vision came to both Yoorst's Son and to me. You are young yet, but duties call all when the gods choose. Great things are moving, child of the Traveler. Watch, listen, pray, and be ready."

  "You stand where Maarsdam, Yoorst, Korvaal, Gember, Donwah, and the Scavenger all touch hands. Your sire walks between Korvaal, Donwah, and Sneelaah, the Lady of the North." Yoorst's priest spoke in a hollow tone, distant, as if meditating. His eyes dilated, seeing something beyond Ewoud's ken. "Watch, listen, pray, and be ready."

  Ewoud returned to one knee and bowed his head almost to the floor. He shook all over, terrified. Something moved, something so far beyond his understanding that he might as well be a great hauler attending a law-court meeting.

  Maarsrodi's senior priest coughed a little. "Now that we have scared this young man senseless, brothers, perhaps we should bless him?" Ewoud heard humor in the man's voice.

  "Oh yes. And then I needs must attend to that foolish great hauler that Ventris so generously gave to the god." Yoorst's priest looked disgusted. "They are not bred for intelligence, but this one truly lacks the sense to come in out of the rain."

  The three priests gave Ewoud their blessing, and a word of wisdom. "Do not mention the elevation, my son. Accept it, act as befits your station, listen to your parents and elders. You will know when the time comes to apply for full mastery."

  "Thank you, Honored Son of the Traveler, Son of Yoorst. I will heed your words and cautions." Ewoud bowed again.

  "What a refreshing change." Maarsrodi's senior priest smiled, led Ewoud to the main hall, then opened the temple door. "Now get out of the wind. Shoo."

  Ewoud wasted no time letting the wind push him back to the wares-house. The wind had swept all the city scents away for the moment. All he could smell was mist and cold, and some smoke. He ducked into the wares-house gate, opened the office door as little as possible, and squeezed inside. His father looked up. "Honored father, it is true, not an illusion. And," he licked his lips. "Um, Yoorst as well as Maarsrodi are interested in me."

  Tycho leaned back in his chair, looking all too calm for Ewoud's peace of mind at that moment. "My son, you have my sympathies. Having the interest of the gods can be a blessing." He half-smiled. "Provided one can find the blessing under the complications. I would recommend avoiding the ambassador from Liambruu, should he venture this far north."

  "Yes, sir, most honored father!"

  Tycho returned to the list on his desk. "Go get something hot to eat and drink. I'll have this finished soon. And remind Bastian that this is a business outing, not a pilgrimage or adventure."

  "Yes, sir."

  12

  Business and False Dealings

  "What makes ye think I've got a lamb at this season, eh?" The age-wizened farmer spat in the mud beside him. "You got someone watchin' my lambing sheds, like the tax collector tried twenty years back?"

  Ewoud sensed Bastian backing away from him. So much for fraternal support and aid from his younger brother. "No, sir. Meester Tycho, my father, gave me a list of people who's flocks produce excellent lambs. Your name is on that list."

  The farmer's eyes disappeared into wrinkles as he squinted at the brothers. "Is it now? Prove ye're not with the tax man, boy."

  Ewoud offered the man the top-end of his staff. "You can see the engravings, sir. And I will pay up to twenty vlaat for two lamb
s, if they have unscratched and unbruised skins." Ten vlaat for an early-season lamb struck Ewoud as far too high, but he didn't really know much about pricing hides still on the beast. Usually the tanners bought from the farmers or butchers, and the temples had their own flocks and herds.

  "Ten per beast?" The farmer leaned over the gate and peered at the markings. "Heh. Young to mastery, ye be."

  "Aye. 'Tis a strange season, sir." Ewoud waited.

  After Ewoud had almost given up, the farmer spat again. "I've got a male lamb, looks like he'll have weak legs, not worth keeping as a wether. Take a look." He opened the gate and Ewoud and Bastian followed him down a trail ankle-deep in mud. "One of triplets. Triplets is always bad sign, ye ken? Yoorst blesses two, never three."

  Ewoud grunted his agreement, more intent on not slipping in the wet muck. He was not impressed. Who kept schaef on bare dirt in winter? They rounded the end of a long brick and wood building and Ewoud bit his tongue with surprise. Lush grass and little sheds with straw poking out of them sat behind the building. Ewes and lambs grazed on the grass. All the lambs seemed very young, perhaps early-born. Lambing really wouldn't start until after the next new moon, or it wouldn't if the farmers had timed things properly.

  "Bert, where's that weak triple?" the farmer called. "Don't bring him, just point."

  A large man the age of Ewoud's father, or so he looked, pointed to the fourth little shelter. He smiled, but didn't speak. He had coarse features and big, clumsy-looking hands, and bowed a little as he carried a fork of hay across the farm yard.

  The farmer stopped and waited for Ewoud to draw closer. "My oldest sister's last son, simple but strong. He's good so long as a man don't ask too much, aye?"

  God-touched, then. "Aye, sir," Ewoud and Bastian chorused. The farmer stopped by a shed and pointed with his chin. Two lambs nursed from a dirty but healthy schaef, their tails whirling around as they sucked. A third lamb nuzzled up to a hind teat, limping. The men watched, and as soon as the other two lambs had their fill, the weaker one moved to a better position and latched on as best he could. The ewe tolerated him for a bit, then wandered away, leaving him to catch up. He'd not last long that way, Ewoud knew. But his hide looked unblemished, and the bad leg didn't matter for a hide. He was a little small, though. Ewoud considered the lamb, the order, and nodded once. "I'll pay four down, and three when I collect the lamb at the new moon, unless it weakens. Then I'll pay two more and take it then."