“A letter?” Valin frowned. “I cannot go myself, I suppose.”
“You cannot leave my jurisdiction without Lord Allutar’s permission,” Dorias said. “The challenge has been made and accepted, and you are now bound by laws as old as the empire.”
“A pity. I would be more persuasive in person, I am sure.” He turned to Anrel again. “Will you serve as my second, then, until such time as I can find a sorcerer to aid me?”
“Of course,” Anrel said, trying to conceal his misgivings. A thought struck him. “I wonder who Lord Allutar will choose as his seconds. As you observed, there are no other sorcerers in Alzur.”
“I would guess his messenger is already on the road to Naith,” Dorias said.
“Then let us set ours on his heels,” Valin said. “I will write the letter at once.” He turned and hurried from the room.
Dorias stared after him for a moment, then turned to Anrel. “He does not seem to understand the gravity of the situation,” Dorias said.
“I am not sure I understand the gravity of the situation,” Anrel admitted. “Although I have of course read about them, the only sorcerous trial I have ever seen was my own. What is likely to come of this challenge?”
“Whatever Lord Allutar pleases,” Dorias said. “In truth, Valin’s magic is weak, and he has never applied himself to his studies, despite my encouragements. The form of the thing is this: Each party is given time to prepare whatever wardings he may choose, using whatever devices he has brought with him, and to work whatever defensive bindings he may be able. Then, when all is agreed to be in readiness, each party is free to attack the other by any magical means whatsoever, until such time as one party shall fall, with wards broken. The assault is then to stop immediately—if the attacker does not realize at once that the wards are lost, the seconds must inform him. Any attack after the wards are known to be gone is a crime, but there is no requirement to withdraw any previous spells; there are tales of trials conducted in this manner of old where the loser suffered the most embarrassing enchantments for days afterward. Lord Abizien of Agrivar allegedly once turned a challenger into a pig, and left him in that form permanently; I don’t think Lord Allutar could manage a binding of that complexity, but there is no question he could kill or maim Valin, should he choose to do so.”
Anrel had indeed read several such accounts of challenges and trials, but he had hoped that there might have been changes to bring them more into accord with modern sensibilities. Apparently, there had not. “Valin could die.”
“If Lord Allutar wishes, yes. Easily.”
Anrel shuddered.
But then he reconsidered. Surely, Lord Allutar would not kill Valin. True, he had put Urunar Kazien to death, but Valin li-Tarbek, whatever his family, was a sorcerer, not a commoner, and one who had committed no crime beyond speaking foolishly. Further, to murder a fosterling of his intended bride’s father would hardly endear him to her.
No, Lord Allutar would humble Valin, not kill him. Anrel was sure of it.
At least, he tried to tell himself he was sure of it. As he lay in his bed that night, unable to sleep, he said quietly to the canopy above his bed, “All will be well. Valin will live, and learn to curb his tongue. It will be a salutary lesson for him.”
He hoped he spoke the truth.
The following morning Anrel had scarcely finished dressing when he heard the thud of the big door-knocker, followed by low voices. He hurried downstairs.
Dolz, one of the footmen, had answered the knock, and was speaking with two well-dressed men in the foyer. The gaze of one of the visitors fell on Anrel, and Dolz turned.
“Master Murau!” he said. “These lords say that they must speak with Lord Valin’s seconds.”
“I am Lord Valin’s second,” Anrel said, striding into the foyer. He stopped, and bowed to the pair.
They exchanged glances, then essayed rudimentary bows in return. “Master Murau?” one of them asked. “You are not a sorcerer?”
“I am not,” Anrel confirmed. “My parents were, but I was not fortunate enough to inherit their skills. My true name is not entered in the Great List, nor can I cast so much as a simple ward. It is my understanding, however, that in these matters the seconds are not actually required to be sorcerers themselves.”
“Your understanding is correct, sir,” the visitor acknowledged.
“Lord Valin has sent word of his situation to Naith, and hopes that other friends may attend him later, but for now, I am his only representative in this affair,” Anrel said. “My name is Anrel Murau, son of Lord Beniaz Murau and Lady Gava Adirane, and I speak for the interests of Lord Valin li-Tarbek, who is the apprentice and fosterling of my uncle, Lord Dorias Adirane, burgrave of Alzur, and who is also the burgrave’s designee for Alzur’s appointed place on the Grand Council. May I ask who I have the honor of addressing?”
“I am Neriam Kadara, First Lord Magistrate of the Landgrave’s Court in Naith,” the speaker said. “My companion is Lord Lindred Palonin, chief warder of the College of Sorcerers. We represent the interests of the landgrave of Aulix, Lord Allutar Hezir, in the matter of Lord Valin’s challenge to his position.”
“I am at your service, my lords,” Anrel said with a bow.
“It is the landgrave’s desire that this matter be concluded as swiftly as possible,” Lord Neriam said. “It serves no one to draw it out.”
“I believe my principal feels much the same,” Anrel said. Valin had said the previous night, after dispatching his letter, that he wanted the whole thing over with. “What do you propose?”
“It is necessary, of course, that the trial be held on neutral ground, and therefore it can be neither on Lord Allutar’s personal estate proper nor anywhere in the demesne of the burgrave of Alzur, since the burgrave is Lord Valin’s guardian. You accept this?”
“Absolutely, my lords. It is beyond question.”
“Then are you familiar with a small ash grove overlooking the Raish River, roughly a mile east of the Alzur Pale?”
Anrel knew it; it was technically on Lord Allutar’s lands, as the grove where he had encountered the axe-man was on Lord Dorias’s, but since most of Aulix was likewise the landgrave’s property, that was probably unavoidable. “I believe I know the spot. I do not think Lord Valin will make any objection to meeting there.”
“At midday today, then, the contest to begin when the sun is at its zenith?”
“We will be entirely at your disposal at that time and in that place, my lords.”
“And Lord Valin understands the terms of the contest?”
“While I believe he does, I would not be averse to hearing your own understanding of them, my lord, so that we may be certain there is no disagreement.”
Lord Neriam nodded. “Lord Valin has given challenge, questioning Lord Allutar’s right to call himself landgrave of Aulix. Under our ancient custom, as set down by the Grand Council in the founding days of the Walasian Empire, any sorcerer may so challenge the holder of any office or title higher than his own, and that challenge, once given and accepted, cannot be withdrawn—only the emperor’s own direct intervention may revoke it.”
“I wonder why the Grand Council chose to make such challenges irrevocable,” Anrel said.
“Oh, we have their explanation,” Lord Lindred said, speaking for the first time. His voice was a nasal tenor. “It was recorded and disseminated. They did not want challenges made lightly, nor did they want disputes of this nature to go unresolved, or to recur, because that might interfere with the administration of the province. The emperor’s right to overrule a challenge was included so that his chosen and trusted officials could not be removed against his will.”
“Yes,” Lord Neriam said, with a slightly irked glance at his companion. “At any rate, challenge was made and accepted, yesterday in Alzur’s town square, before witnesses, and therefore these two sorcerers must meet and test themselves against each other. There are no restrictions on what preparations they make, save that th
ey cannot carry anything more to the trial than they can lift with one hand, and no independent entities, human or otherwise, are permitted to assist them once all parties have arrived at the agreed-upon site.”
“No homunculi or demons or spirits brought along to help, then,” Anrel said.
“Unless Lord Valin can conjure one on the spot, no, no homunculus or spirit would be permitted to interfere,” Lindred said.
“Once the signal to begin is given, the two shall use whatever methods they please upon each other, save that neither shall physically touch the other, with hand, weapon, or tool,” Neriam continued. “When one man falls the contest is ended, and the man still standing shall be declared the victor, and shall be the landgrave of Aulix thereafter.”
“What would happen should both men fall?” Anrel asked.
Lindred and Neriam glanced at each other. “Most unlikely,” Neriam said.
“Under the law,” Lindred said, “the first to rise and demonstrate himself to be in possession of his faculties would be considered the winner. If there is any doubt, the seconds would confer to settle the matter. In the event there is no clear resolution possible even then, the incumbent remains landgrave, but the challenger may petition the emperor for further consideration.”
Anrel nodded. “You will forgive me, my lords, if I trouble you with a brief summary—I am, as you noted, not a sorcerer, and therefore not familiar with matters of this sort. My friend Lord Valin is to present himself at the ash grove overlooking the river east of Alzur no later than midday today, with whatever magical preparations he can manage, and there he and Lord Allutar will contest to see whose sorcery is more potent, the victor to henceforth be landgrave of Aulix. That is the gist of it?”
“Yes, Master Murau,” Neriam said.
“And is there anything else we need know? Any customs of which we might be ignorant, given that I am no sorcerer, and Lord Valin was born of commoners?”
Neriam looked at Lindred, who frowned thoughtfully.
“I cannot think of any,” Lindred said.
“Very good, then; we will be at the grove by midday.” He bowed.
The two lords bowed in return.
A moment later, when the footman had ushered them out, Anrel stared at the closed door and murmured, “May all our ancestors protect him.”
13
In Which the Challenge Is Concluded
Although the sun was bright in the southern sky, there was a slight chill in the air, unusual for so early in the autumn. Anrel refused to allow himself to shiver, though; the other men would misinterpret it. He walked out into the grove while Lord Valin waited behind, as protocol required.
No other seconds had arrived to support Valin; if his letter had reached Naith, it had not yielded any results. Anrel and Valin had come alone.
Valin was terrified, though he was trying very hard to hide it. When Anrel had asked him if he wanted to ask for a postponement, so that another second might be found, Valin had shaken his head and said through clenched teeth, “If we delay, I fear I might faint, or flee. Let us get on with it.”
Neriam and Lindred walked into the grove from the other side; beyond them Anrel could see Lord Allutar’s coach, the door standing open. A coachman sat on the driver’s bench, and two footmen stood close by. Anrel recognized one of them as Hollem, who had admitted him to Lord Allutar’s home a few days ago.
Lord Allutar himself was not in sight. Anrel assumed he was in the carriage.
Anrel stopped at what he judged to be the center of the grove, and waited while Neriam and Lindred came up to him.
“Master Murau,” Neriam said, with an exaggerated nod that was still clearly not a bow.
“Lord Neriam.”
“Is your man ready, then?”
“He is. And the landgrave?”
“Quite prepared, thank you.”
Anrel hesitated. “May I ask whether Lord Allutar has said anything of his intentions toward Lord Valin, in the event he is victorious?”
Lord Neriam and Lord Lindred exchanged glances. “I am afraid that it is not our place to say,” Neriam replied.
“The question is entirely inappropriate,” Lindred added.
Anrel nodded. “I feared as much. Then what is the next step, my lords? You will forgive me, but I am not entirely certain of the procedures.”
“Of course; I would judge there hasn’t been a true challenge in your lifetime.” Neriam glanced at Lindred again; Lindred said nothing. “The principals must take up positions and await the signal to begin. There should be no obstructions, and everyone else must stand well clear.”
Anrel nodded again. “What is the signal, and who is to give it?”
“That is for the three of us to decide. Ordinarily it would be the challenged incumbent whose seconds would give the signal, but this contest is sufficiently—” He grimaced as he groped for a word.
“Unbalanced?” Anrel suggested.
“Yes, thank you. Sufficiently unbalanced, that Lord Allutar has suggested that you should give the signal. The word ‘begin’ should serve nicely.”
Anrel nodded. “I will raise my hand, and call out ‘begin’ when I drop it. Would that suit the landgrave?”
“Most excellently, sir. Thank you.”
“Then let us position the participants to our mutual satisfaction.”
“Excellent.” Neriam nodded again. “Lord Lindred?”
Lindred raised a hand in acknowledgment, then turned and trotted back to the coach. A moment later, as Anrel began guiding Valin to his chosen spot between two large ash trees, Lord Allutar emerged.
He was wearing the full regalia of his office, which Anrel had never seen before. An ankle-length cloak of wine red velvet draped his shoulders; a peaked red hat trimmed in ermine adorned his head. This attire would have been impressive in a more appropriate setting, but here in the sun-dappled ash grove it looked bizarre, almost dreamlike, and Anrel found himself staring.
Then he remembered his role and turned his attention to Valin, who was wearing a good blue frock coat, a white ruffled shirt, and soft leather breeches. “Over here,” he said. “You have your wards in place?”
“As best I know how,” Valin said. His voice was not entirely steady, but he was able to speak clearly enough.
“And protective bindings?”
“I don’t know any. I tried; there was one Lord Dorias taught me, tried to teach me, years ago, but I couldn’t remember it—” His voice rose, then broke off.
Anrel held up a hand. “Don’t let it trouble you, dear Valin.” He thought, but did not say aloud, that no binding Valin could have worked would make any real difference in any case. “Come this way.”
“I’m going to die, Anrel.” Valin’s voice was thin and unsteady.
“I sincerely hope not,” Anrel replied, wishing he could say something more reassuring. He felt slightly ill, and imagined Valin’s own terror was far worse.
He could not help wondering whether he had somehow contributed to this disaster. Could he not have somehow kept Valin away from Allutar? Might he have saved Urunar somehow? Would Valin have been so outraged and foolish if that stranger with the axe had been executed, instead of the baker’s son?
He had done what seemed best at the time at every step, yet here they were, rendering his own judgment almost as suspect as Valin’s.
Suppressing a sigh, Anrel carefully positioned Valin beneath the arching branches of two trees, very similar to the post Lord Allutar had chosen. Anrel had no conscious memories from before his parents’ deaths, but he had spent his entire life in the homes of sorcerers, or at schools that taught magic alongside the history and logic he had studied, so he knew something of how magic worked. A curve overhead would have some very slight protective value, and the trees themselves were a link to the Mother’s good earth; being centered between two trees would help keep Valin’s energies in balance.
“Stand ready,” Anrel said.
Valin nodded, and raised his hands in a wa
rding. He spoke a word of the old Imperial tongue, and Anrel felt the air ripple.
That was good; Valin had some power at his command, anyway.
Anrel turned, and saw Lord Allutar standing in his chosen spot. His hands were not in a ward, but spread wide, palms up, ready to draw power from the sky above.
That was not good. If Allutar only meant to break Valin’s wards, he would have no need to draw down energy—surely, the landgrave knew how badly he outclassed his opponent.
But there was no turning back now. Anrel looked to the south, up at the sun.
It was approaching its zenith.
“Are you ready, Valin?” Anrel asked.
Valin nodded, unable to speak.
Anrel stepped away, moving well clear, then turned and called, “Lord Neriam.”
“The landgrave is ready, Master Murau.”
“Then when I drop my hand and say ‘begin,’ let this unfortunate business be done.”
“As you say.”
Anrel marched away from Valin, away from the two ash trees, then turned and raised his right hand above his head.
Then he let it fall and shouted, “Begin!”
Valin’s hands and lips began to move, though Anrel could hear no words and feel no effects; then Lord Allutar brought his outspread hands together before his face and spoke a single word, a word that Anrel could never have pronounced, could never remember, and could not imagine being represented in any human alphabet.
The air between the two sorcerers seemed to split in half; for an instant the whole world seemed to be doubled in Anrel’s vision, and then a thunderclap and a rush of wind slammed him backward.
He kept his eyes on Valin, though, and saw that burst of wind or energy or raw magic, whatever it was, tear Valin’s coat and shirt open, baring his chest—and then tear open the skin of his chest, as well. Blood sprayed out, and Valin crumpled, falling slowly backward from the knees.
The entire thing had taken no more than a few seconds.
A Young Man Without Magic Page 13
