“We’ve been traveling ever since,” the mother continued. “In time our girls started to show their talents, as well, but we couldn’t send them for trials, not without risking our own necks, so we’ve kept them with us.”
“We didn’t want to go anywhere else,” Reva said. “Not when we were of an age to be examined.”
Anrel saw Tazia throw her sister a glance that implied perhaps Reva was not speaking for all of them, but she said nothing.
Indeed, Anrel had his doubts about some details of the account. He knew that sometimes talented children of commoners were missed, especially girls; parents were often reluctant to face the possibility of sending a daughter away to be fostered by sorcerers, since there were rumors about the uses sorcerers might have for young women, rumors that Anrel believed had some basis in fact.
But the law took that reluctance into account, and as long as a child, or even a young adult, had not been deliberately using magic illicitly, he or she could still take the trials, regardless of age. Nor did a commoner spouse make it impossible; while sorcerers generally married other sorcerers, Anrel did not believe it was actually required by law—not in all sixteen provinces, anyway. This woman could have presented herself to the authorities at any time, and become a lady of the empire—right up until she first accepted payment for performing witchcraft.
Now, of course, it was too late.
“Are all three of your daughters witches, then?” he asked.
“Yes, they are,” the mother said, with a note of pride in her voice.
“And you, sir?” Anrel asked, looking at the father.
“No,” he said. “I am merely an ordinary man who happened to marry the wrong woman—but I suspect that would be enough to put my head in a noose.” He held out a hand. “My name is Garras Lir, by the way.”
“Anrel Murau,” Anrel said, accepting the hand. “As I said.”
“My wife, Nivain,” Garras said, gesturing. “And my daughters, Reva, Tazia, and Perynis.”
“It is a pleasure to meet you all,” Anrel said, doffing his hat and nodding at the women. Then he clapped the hat back on his head, and picked up his bowl of stew.
Garras waited until Anrel had eaten a few more bites, then asked, “Where are you bound, Master Murau? You said you came from Alzur?”
“Thence I came, yes, but that is not where I’m bound,” Anrel replied. “I was heading for Lume; I have friends there I hope will shelter me until I can make more permanent arrangements.”
“Lume? Ah, we won’t go there,” Garras said. “Too many watchmen, between the emperor’s men and the burgrave’s, and the city has its own witches and no need of us.”
Anrel nodded. “Where are you going, then?”
“Oh, working our way up the Galdin, village by village,” Garras said. “Then when we reach Beynos we’ll cross the bridge and begin working our way back down the far side.”
“Beynos?” Anrel knew the name, and had even visited the town a few times—if one could consider riding the coach through the town square “visiting.” Beynos was a fair-sized town just two or three hours outside the walls of the capital, and to the best of his knowledge had nothing to especially recommend it other than its location. He could remember few noteworthy features; there was a very good bridge across the Galdin there, and several fine houses, but he could not recall any other particularly distinctive details.
Still, it was mere hours from Lume.
“If you are bound for Beynos, perhaps we might travel together,” he suggested.
Garras looked at him warily. “And why would we want to do that?”
“I will tell you frankly what I hope to gain from it,” Anrel said. “The landgrave’s men are looking for a lone traveler; if I am a part of your company, and you swear I have been with you since the equinox, why, even if they stop us and question us, they will not know me and will not haul me back to Naith for trial and execution. What’s more, I will have company, and space in your wagon, and a share of your fine cooking.” He held up his mostly empty bowl.
“While I am sure this would make your situation easier,” Garras said, “how would it benefit me?”
“You will have another pair of willing hands for whatever task you might care to set them to,” Anrel said, “and my sword to defend your family. What’s more, while I am not wealthy, and left most of my worldly possessions in my uncle’s house, I do have my purse, and it is not completely empty. I could pay a little something to cover any expenses you might incur by my presence.” He was not trusting or foolish enough to mention that his purse was in fact rather plump, or that he had additional coins hidden elsewhere; he might yet need most of that money.
“Ah,” Garras said thoughtfully.
“I am sure I need not remind you of the risks you take, should you refuse me, and should I be captured,” Anrel added.
“And the risks you face?”
“Well, let us just agree that we are safer together than apart.”
“I suppose we are,” Garras said, studying Anrel’s calm features.
“It would only be as far as Beynos,” Anrel said. “After that, I will continue on to Lume on my own.”
Garras stroked his close-trimmed beard. “You understand, we are in no hurry,” he said. “We intend to stop at every village along the way, and try to earn a few guilders in each.”
“I am in no hurry myself,” Anrel said. “I have no long-term goal in mind, as yet, beyond my own survival. Perhaps such an extended journey would provide an opportunity for your wife and daughters to teach me a little witchcraft—for a fee, of course! In exchange, I will gladly teach them whatever I can recall of sorcery—which, I concede, will be very little, but my uncle is the burgrave of Alzur, and while I was never trained in the arcane arts myself, I did sometimes overhear the lessons he gave his apprentice and his daughter.”
“Your uncle is a burgrave?” Nivain asked, startled.
“Yes, he is,” Anrel said. “Lord Dorias Adirane, burgrave of Alzur. My mother was his younger sister.”
“Yet you hide here in these woods, like a common outlaw?”
“I am a common outlaw,” Anrel said. “Guilty of sedition, theft, and witchcraft.”
“But . . . can your uncle not plead for you?”
Anrel shook his head. “Lord Allutar is not so easily swayed. I have seen the landgrave kill two young men against my uncle’s wishes; I have no desire to be a third. I intend to make contact with my uncle at the earliest opportunity and ask for his assistance, but I dare not return to Alzur until I have his assurance that I won’t find the hangman waiting for me. I hope this will be just a few days, but I am resigned to staying away indefinitely, should it prove necessary.”
“But I never heard of such a thing!” Nivain exclaimed. “A man of good family like yourself?”
“Oh, the sorcerers feud among themselves, like any other men,” Garras said, trying on an air of calm wisdom. “Undoubtedly this uncle has fallen afoul of Lord Allutar in some fashion.”
“On the contrary,” Anrel said. “He is doing all he can to stay in Lord Allutar’s good graces, for reasons that seem good to him, and he was willing to sacrifice his fosterling to that cause. I do not know that his nephew will fare any better.”
Even as he said this, Anrel wondered whether it was entirely true. Dorias had indeed let Valin go to his death, but Valin had not asked him to intervene, and it had been a matter of honor. Dorias and Saria had appeared to grieve for Valin, and Anrel had not seen them speak to Lord Allutar after Valin’s death; perhaps they had given up any thought of an alliance between the son of Hezir and the daughter of Adirane.
And after Valin’s death Anrel had not informed his uncle of his own intentions. Dorias had been given no opportunity to defend Anrel from Lord Neriam and the Naith Watch, or to speak on his nephew’s behalf. Perhaps even now the old man was demanding the charges against Anrel be dropped.
In time, when the situation in Naith had calmed down, perhaps when the
Grand Council had done its business and disbanded, Anrel would send word to his uncle and ask for his help in resolving the situation. Perhaps there might be some way to obtain a pardon.
His old life might not all be irretrievably lost. For the present, though, accompanying these people to Beynos and then making his way into Lume still seemed his best course; he simply didn’t know what the situation was in Alzur or Naith.
“How dreadful!” Tazia said, as she took Anrel’s empty bowl and brought his thoughts back to the present. Her fingers brushed his hand as she did.
“I do not fault him for it,” Anrel said. “He took me in when my parents died, and raised me as best he could; that I chose to fling caution aside and lay myself open to a charge of treason was in no way his responsibility.”
“Still, it doesn’t seem right,” Nivain said.
Tazia handed Anrel his bowl, which she had refilled from the stew pot. “It’s all so sad! What did you say, that so angered the magistrates?”
“Oh, a lot of nonsense, for the most part,” Anrel said, accepting the stew. “Valin had this theory that the Grand Council the emperor has called can reshape the entire empire into something wonderful and new, if the common people choose the right delegates.”
“You say that’s nonsense?” Garras asked warily.
“Those in power will never relinquish it peacefully,” Anrel said, “and what can commoners do against sorcerers? The emperor has the Great List, but the Grand Council will have nothing but words, and what good are words against magic?” He shook his head. “Everything will go on much as it has for centuries, and that’s just as well—the sorcerers may be as venal and selfish as anyone else, but at least they have had some practice in running the empire, and they do have their magic.”
Garras studied Anrel’s face in the firelight, then nodded. “I would be glad of your company on our way to Beynos, Master Murau,” he said. “You can tell us more about these theories of yours, and your friend’s theories, as well.” He smiled. “Your company, and of course, your coin.”
“Of course,” Anrel said, as he lifted his bowl to drink the broth. “Shall we say, three guilders?”
“For the entire journey? I had rather more in mind.”
With that, the negotiations began in earnest.
20
In Which Anrel Becomes Acquainted with
His Companions, and Their Work
The journey upriver took longer than Anrel had expected, despite Garras’s warning that they would be stopping at every village along the way. Anrel had envisioned “every village” to mean every town big enough to have a wall or paling of some sort, but in fact it also meant every wide spot in the road where half a dozen houses huddled around an inn or a forge. Likewise, he had thought “stop” meant a stay of a night or at most two, when many of these visits lasted four, five, even ten or twelve days—however long it might take for the four witches to perform every love spell, prognostication, or healing that the villagers were willing to pay for. Merely dowsing for a well might take the better part of an afternoon, and treating a flock of sheep for scrapie or murrain could consume a full day.
And finally, Anrel had assumed that their route would closely parallel the riverbank, but instead they zigzagged across the landscape, over hills and through valleys, anywhere that Garras and Nivain thought there might be people in need of a witch’s services.
What’s more, even when moving they traveled slowly. The family’s single horse was a sturdy animal, a heavily built gelding named Lolo, but asking him to haul the entire party and all their belongings would have been unreasonable; instead Garras generally drove, maintaining a leisurely pace, while Anrel and the four women walked alongside. Sometimes one of the women would be given a turn with the reins, and a chance to rest her feet, but this rarely lasted more than a mile or so; Garras clearly did not enjoy the exercise.
This arrangement was not what Anrel had hoped for, to say the least, but it was not entirely without its benefits. He had plenty of opportunity to talk with the women as they walked, and in fact the promised instruction in witchcraft, and his own accounts of the workings of sorcery, largely took place while trudging along the highway.
He found himself speaking most often with Tazia, the middle daughter, whom he found very pleasant company. She was quick-witted and charming, with a sly sense of humor. He thought she seemed to seek out his company, as well, indicating that his attentions were not unwelcome.
Her appearance was perhaps not as striking as her sisters’, but she was comely enough. Anrel enjoyed passing the days walking beside her, even as he grew concerned with how slowly he was putting distance between Naith and himself.
The elections for the Grand Council came and went while Anrel and company were making their way from one village to the next; Anrel was able to observe the procedures in a village called Mizir, where the townsfolk lined up to drop red baked-clay disks in earthenware jars marked with the names of the various candidates, but of course he was not allowed to participate directly.
Other towns used various other methods—written ballots, colored chits, and so on. Every town big enough to have a burgrave held an election of some sort, choosing from one, two, three, or more candidates.
Because of his own fears of being recognized as the orator who had stirred up so much trouble in Naith, Anrel generally stayed out of sight as much as was practical during their stays in the several villages. On those occasions when he did accompany one of the women and observe her witchcraft in action he usually wore a large cape of Nivain’s, with a generous cowl that hid his face. Nonetheless, despite shunning strangers, he did hear news and gossip now and then, and that was almost as educational as his training in forbidden magic.
Apparently his speech in Aulix Square had not been forgotten, as he had hoped it might be; instead, the tale had grown in the telling, as such things often did. The mysterious Alvos the orator was now said to have spoken for hours to a cheering crowd of thousands, setting forth the means by which the Walasian Empire might be transformed into an earthly paradise, before being forced to flee from a legion of the emperor’s own elite guards, who then conducted a house-to-house search of the entire city, raping and pillaging as they went.
But they never found Alvos, who had been spirited away by his allies. Just who these allies might be was not generally agreed upon; theories varied from a few trusted friends operating in secret to a vast international conspiracy of powerful magicians—perhaps even wizards of the Old Empire who had been in hiding for centuries, manipulating events from behind the scenes.
Somehow, Anrel did not think these stories were going to fade in a few days and permit him to return to Alzur. Barring a miracle, his old life was gone. He needed to build a new one.
In truth, that prospect was not wholly unpleasant. The idea of making a new life as a witch had a certain appeal, especially if it was to be a life shared with Tazia.
Still, he was not ready to entirely abandon the past, so he listened to the stories about Alvos with an ear to finding some way to redeem himself and return to the Adirane estate. He noticed that his real name was never mentioned, though it must surely be known to many people; none of the stories gave any hint that Lord Neriam had come to any harm that might have caused him to forget Anrel’s name. That gave him a faint but persistent flicker of hope, even while he told himself it was meaningless.
He was not the only one listening to the rumors and legends, of course. The several members of the Lir family were not stupid, and recognized the similarity of these stories to Anrel’s account of his own reason for fleeing. At first nothing was said, but one night, some time after Anrel had joined the company, as the six of them sat gathered around a campfire after eating their evening meal, Garras straightened up, looked at Anrel, and said, “You’re Alvos, aren’t you?”
Anrel considered for a moment before answering. A flat denial would not be believed, but how he presented the truth might be important.
“I gav
e that name when I spoke in Aulix Square,” he said. “The stories seem to have become greatly exaggerated, however—I barely recognize myself in some of the accounts we’ve heard of late.”
“They call you a hero,” Garras said.
“I was a fool,” Anrel said. “I suspect the categories overlap considerably.”
“Half the delegates to the Grand Council were chosen with your speech in mind.”
“In Aulix, perhaps, but there are fifteen other provinces. It won’t matter.”
Garras studied him thoughtfully in the firelight. Uncomfortable under his scrutiny, Anrel looked around at the women.
Nivain’s eyes were downcast; Reva was watching her father warily. Perynis was looking back and forth from Anrel to Garras, as if unsure she understood what was being said.
And Tazia’s gaze was fixed adoringly on Anrel—not the shy half-smile she had given him so often on the road, but a wide-eyed adulation that made him nervous. He turned quickly away from her radiant face. He did not want to see such worship; he was sure it was based on the absurd stories she had heard about the legendary Alvos, rather than anything the flesh and blood Anrel had done.
“I would guess, Master Murau, that you were right in saying your uncle could not have saved you,” Garras said. “When we first met that seemed unlikely, that a burgrave could not intervene on his nephew’s behalf, but now? Now I am surprised you escaped at all.”
Anrel felt himself flush, though he hoped it would not be visible in the red glow of the flames.
And that was that; the subject was not discussed openly again, though after that the women all made a point of telling Anrel whatever bits of political news they happened to hear, about elections and candidates’ preparations and various speeches. Anrel tried unsuccessfully to convince them that he did not particularly care about politics, but he was not surprised by his failure; after all, how could the great Alvos not want to hear every detail of the gathering of the Grand Council?
A Young Man Without Magic Page 20
