Anrel grimaced. “And why do you believe that your employer does not share this desire?”
“Because I believe he would prefer to keep his future wife happy. Killing her favorite cousin would not contribute to his domestic tranquility.”
Anrel stroked his beard thoughtfully. “His future wife?”
“Were you unaware of his intentions?”
“I was . . . uncertain,” Anrel said. “As of the most recent news I had heard on the subject, which is none too recent, Lord Allutar and Lady Saria had given every sign of mutual interest, but nothing had yet been formalized. However, I had thought she had in the end refused his attentions.”
“Why would she do that?” Hollem asked.
Anrel snorted. “It occurred to me that she might look askance at the killing of members of her household. While I yet live, her father’s fosterling does not, having died horribly by your master’s own hand.”
“She appears to have accepted that Lord Valin brought his fate upon himself.”
Anrel very much wished he was surprised by that; alas, he was not. “He is not the only inhabitant of the Adirane home to be threatened by Lord Allutar; as you have just said, I am under sentence of death.”
“A sentence that was Lord Neriam’s doing, not Lord Allutar’s.”
“Lord Allutar is Lord Neriam’s superior.”
“True, but it does not look well to undercut one’s underlings in such matters without a very good reason indeed, and being betrothed to the traitor’s cousin is not widely seen as a good reason.”
Anrel lowered his hand from his beard. “Then they are indeed betrothed?”
“They are. It is to be a respectably long engagement, to allow for all the personal and financial arrangements and in hopes that the political situation will have resolved itself—and perhaps also to give the principals time to resolve any doubts they may have, since as you have pointed out, Lord Allutar did kill your uncle’s fosterling. The wedding is to be held on the autumnal equinox, if all goes well. In the interests of all going well, Lord Allutar would prefer not to execute or imprison any of Lady Saria’s relatives.”
The autumnal equinox—exactly a year after Urunar Kazien’s execution. Anrel wondered whether that was deliberate, or mere coincidence. “Killing her father’s fosterling was not sufficient to deter her?”
“Lord Valin was not her blood kin, and so far as Lady Saria knows, he died in a fair contest that he had provoked. I think we all know that Lord Valin was capable of reckless and foolish behavior, and that Lady Saria did not hold him in the highest regard. You, on the other hand, are considered a sensible fellow—though your actions in Naith would seem to contradict that widely held opinion—and Lady Saria is quite fond of you. The unexpressed consensus among the nobility of Alzur is that exile is an appropriate and sufficient penalty for your outburst, and death would be excessive.”
Anrel stared at Hollem for a moment, and then said, “Forgive me for asking this, Master tel-Guriel, but why should I believe you? While your actions today would seem to imply that you do indeed believe what you have reported, how can I know that your beliefs are accurate? You are a well-spoken man, most particularly for one of your station, and I know that Lord Allutar trusts you in many things, but why should I believe he has confided in you just what he thinks of me, or how much weight he gives his fiancée’s opinions, or even what her opinions are?”
“A very reasonable concern, Master Murau.” Hollem grimaced. “You probably find it strange to be speaking to me as an equal—and I assure you, I find it strange myself. I am accustomed to seeing you as my social superior, though not, of course, a true aristocrat, yet here we are, in a situation where if anything, I am the superior. It does make it difficult to judge how reliable we are to each other.”
“I think I would be just as doubting of anyone, regardless of their rank,” Anrel said. “I have never found nobles to be any more truthful than commoners. I do not question your honor, Master tel-Guriel, so much as your ability to know what you claim to know.”
“Ah,” Hollem said. “Of course, I cannot truly know what lies in my master’s heart, or in Lady Saria’s. I can assure you, though, that Lord Allutar requires me to stay within earshot whenever he is entertaining guests in his home, so that I can be summoned instantly should he require my services, and I have therefore heard a great deal of conversation between the two, as well as many of Lord Allutar’s conversations with others—Lord Dorias, Lord Neriam, and so on. I have also spoken with the other members of the household; as a member of the privileged classes, albeit not a sorcerer, you may not realize just how much we servants see and hear of what goes on in any nobleman’s home. What’s more, Lord Allutar has a habit, when a day has brought more incon veniences than the usual, of sitting up late, drinking heavily, and unburdening himself to his trusted chief footman—which is to say, to me. Perhaps one day in ten he will do this. I therefore feel that I am very much in his confidence, and can speak of his attitudes and opinions with some authority.”
“I see,” Anrel said.
“And I’m sure you also see that I could be lying about all of this—but why should I bother? If I wished you harm, it would have been very simple to arrange it.”
“Obviously. Though you might have some subtler game in mind.”
“I might, though I can’t think what it would be. May we proceed, however, as if I am being truthful?”
“For the present, let us by all means assume we are both being frank and honest. And in that spirit, let me ask, why did you come to the Boar’s Head today?”
Hollem spread his hands. “To meet this Dyssan Adirane who was spreading vile rumors about my employer, of course.”
“Ah, but why did you want to meet him? Why not simply tell Master Kabrig that the rumors were nonsense?”
“A variety of reasons. First and foremost, simple curiosity—I recognized the name Adirane, of course, and immediately suspected your identity, so I was curious to see whether it was indeed you.”
“I am indeed me—but you could have determined as much with a mere glance; you needn’t have engaged me in conversation, or come up here with me.”
“True. A second reason was to acquaint you with the circumstances of your exile. If you remain out of sight, I assure you Lord Allutar will make no effort to pursue and destroy you, but should you be seen in Naith or Alzur, he will have no choice but to see you captured and killed. I thought it would be best for all concerned if you knew this to be the case.”
Anrel nodded thoughtfully. “And if I am seen in Lume?”
“Rumors about Alvos the orator haranguing the crowds in the Pensioners’ Quarter are common, though nothing ever comes of them. As long as nothing does ever come of them, they are of no concern to Lord Allutar.”
“I understand Alvos is seen as something of a hero in certain quarters.”
“So I am told, yes. A hero whose open presence would be very inconvenient to many people. I think it would be best for all concerned if Alvos were to remain merely a legend. That brings me to another reason I came here—to ask you what your intentions are. Why are you here, in Beynos, rather than hiding in the hills of Pirienna, or fled to Quand? Where are you bound?”
Anrel smiled. “Oh, that’s simple enough. I did not think that wandering aimlessly through the countryside would be either pleasant or safe; strangers who cannot account for themselves often attract unwelcome attention. I wanted to hide somewhere I knew my way around, somewhere I had friends and contacts. The entire province of Aulix would obviously be unsuitable, and the only place outside Aulix that fits that description is Lume, where I spent four years as a student. I have therefore been making my way to Lume, rather more slowly than I had intended, and Beynos is the last stop along my route.”
“Well, I have just said that if you remain out of sight, your presence in Lume should not be a problem, but to be honest, I think Lord Allutar might prefer it if you were elsewhere. Lume is a big city, but the risk that you
might accidentally encounter him, or perhaps Lady Saria, while very small, would still seem unnecessarily high.”
“I have of late been considering the possibility of continuing eastward, to Lithrayn or the Cousins.”
“I think that might be wise,” Hollem said.
Anrel nodded. “Were there other reasons?”
“Oh, yes, at least two more,” Hollem said. “Perhaps most important, I wanted to ensure that whoever this Dyssan Adirane proved to be, that he would stop spreading rumors about Lord Allutar. My master’s relationship with Lady Saria is quite delicate enough, thanks to Lord Valin, without any questions arising about . . .” He hesitated, then concluded, “Well, without any unnecessary questions arising.”
“Ah,” Anrel said. “Well, I think I can offer you some assurance on that account; after speaking to you, I have no further use for such rumors. While it is tempting to continue them as a form of petty harassment, since I hardly feel that justice has been served in regard to Lord Allutar’s murder of Lord Valin, I do not wish any harm to my cousin. If Saria really still wants to marry Lord Allutar, I have no desire to see her troubled by falsehoods.” He sighed. “I could wish she were more troubled by the truth of Valin’s death, but spreading lies is no way to encourage that.”
“That brings me to my final reason for coming to see you, and asking to speak in private,” Hollem said. “I wanted to know why you were spreading lies.”
“You know, I really didn’t spread any,” Anrel said. “I gave Dorrin a few broad hints, but nothing more than that; if he cited any specifics when he spoke to you, I assure you, they were the product of his own imagination. If anyone else has spoken of these rumors, it was Dorrin’s doing, not mine.”
“That does not answer the question of why you gave Master Kabrig those hints.”
“I would prefer not to answer it,” Anrel said.
“I would prefer not to tell Lord Allutar you are here, in Beynos,” Hollem replied. “Particularly when the roads out of town are still covered in snow, making it easy to track anyone who leaves the city.”
“Oh,” Anrel said. He frowned. “I hope you will forgive me if I name no names, and speak in generalities.”
“I am not feeling unreasonably demanding today.”
“There is a . . . person,” he said. “A female, though I will not specify girl, woman, or lady. She has taken an interest in Lord Allutar, and a friend of hers was concerned about this, and asked my advice—specifically, she wanted to know whether I was aware of any impediment to her friend marrying Lord Allutar. I wasn’t—I had thought that Lord Valin’s death would most likely be sufficient to prevent the betrothal to Lady Saria, which I suppose was foolish of me. I thought that hinting at rumors, and making sure that reached the ears of a member or two of Lord Allutar’s household, might provide me with useful information on that count, as in fact it has. There was a saying in the court schools that asking a question may not produce an answer, but giving a wrong answer will invariably provoke a dozen corrections, so I thought starting a false rumor or two might in time provide me with the truth I needed. As it has; if Lord Allutar is already engaged, then my friend’s friend will need to look elsewhere.”
“I see,” Hollem said.
“Thus are we both satisfied,” Anrel said. “I will trouble Lord Allutar no more, and his engagement assures me that my friend’s friend will not trouble him, either.”
“And that’s all there was to it? There was no political significance, no attempt to interfere with the Grand Council’s deliberations?”
“That’s all,” Anrel said. “It had not occurred to me to concern myself with the council’s doings.”
Hollem looked puzzled. “But you are Alvos, are you not? The man whose speech in Naith did so much to fill the council with firebrands and idealists?”
Anrel shrugged. “I spoke Valin’s words,” he said. “Lord Allutar had arranged his death so that those words might not be heard; in simple justice, I therefore felt it necessary that those words would be heard. I did not think it mattered whether I heard them, or remembered them, or believed them—as it happens, I don’t remember just what I said, and I certainly didn’t believe it. I wasn’t speaking for myself, but for Valin, and solely to frustrate Lord Allutar, that he might not profit from his crime.”
“I would say you accomplished that much,” Hollem said, staring at Anrel. “I would say those words were delivered far more effectively than if Lord Valin had lived to speak them himself.”
“Then I am done with them, and with politics,” Anrel said. “There was no political purpose to my rumormongering; I sought only to determine whether Lord Allutar was a suitable prospect for marriage. With that settled, I am done with rumors, as well, and will henceforth be happy to stay out of Lord Allutar’s path as best I can.”
“In that case, I, too, am done with the matter, and must be off.”
“Let me escort you downstairs,” Anrel offered. “Perhaps we could share a bottle of wine before you go.”
Hollem shook his head. “No, I think not. I must be getting back to my duties at the House of Faurien Hezir.”
Anrel shrugged. “As you please. I will still see you out, and ask that if you think it wise, and the appropriate circumstances present themselves, you will pass along my fond regards to my cousin, and my felicitations on her betrothal. I trust she will be understanding if I decline to attend the wedding.”
“I’m sure she will,” Hollem said. “I’m sure she will.”
26
In Which Reva Proves Uncooperative
After seeing Hollem out, Anrel returned to the room above the stable and sat by the little stove, brooding silently as the skies outside the window darkened and the room grew dim.
He had not let it show when speaking to Hollem, had not even allowed himself to feel it, but he found the news that his cousin Saria still intended to marry Lord Allutar profoundly depressing. How could she want to share the bed of the man who had murdered Valin? He knew that she and Valin had bickered constantly, and that she had professed disdain for him, but Anrel had always assumed that to be a sort of sibling rivalry, disguising affection.
Apparently he had misjudged.
When he had first learned that Saria was interested in wedding Allutar he had been surprised, but he had not been greatly upset by the news. He had never liked Allutar, but he knew that did not make the landgrave a monster; good people could disagree, could even find each other intolerable, without either being significantly at fault. Allutar had never bothered to disguise his contempt for the common people of Aulix, but was that not simple honesty? Would it not have been hypocritical to pretend to a respect and compassion he did not feel? And the man had tried his best to keep the province happy and prosperous; no one could deny that. Yes, he practiced black magic, but despite the disapproval of Lord Blackfield and the Lantern Society, the Walasian Empire had always allowed its sorcerous nobles to do so. It was not a crime; in fact, using his talents however might best benefit his subjects was his duty as their ruler, no matter how unpleasant Quandish sorcerers, or those unfortunates whose blood he used, might find it.
If Saria saw the landgrave’s virtues more clearly than Anrel did, and was not troubled by his flaws, then why should she not marry him?
But then Lord Allutar had deliberately baited Valin, and killed him. Yes, it had been legal, but it was wrong, and for Saria to not see that troubled Anrel a great deal. Even if she did not know every detail of how the challenge had been made, and how the contest had played out, she certainly knew that Valin, the young man who had shared her father’s roof for almost a dozen years, was dead at Lord Allutar’s hand.
Had she so little respect for Valin’s memory? Not half a year after his death, she was betrothed to his killer.
For that matter, Anrel realized that he, too, seemed willing to let Valin’s slayer carry on undisturbed by the memory of his crime. It was not Allutar who was a hunted exile, condemned by the Lords Magistrate for Valin�
��s death; it was Anrel, for daring to speak Valin’s words to the ordinary folk of Naith. He had delivered the speech he thought Valin would have wanted to give, but since then he had done nothing more than survive and tend to his own affairs. He had made no further effort to avenge Valin, or to punish Lord Allutar or Lord Neriam or Lord Lindred for their various roles in his death.
He did not really know what he might have done, but he could not help thinking he should have done something.
And now he learned that Lord Allutar did not particularly care whether he lived or died. His only concern was not for Anrel at all, but for whether his actions might displease Lady Saria. Anrel, as a commoner, was almost beneath his notice.
Not that being a sorcerer would necessarily have helped. After all, Lord Valin had died when he got in Lord Allutar’s way. The Lord Anrel who might have been, had Anrel not failed his trials, would probably have fared no better.
Perhaps Valin had been right in arguing that the system that gave Lord Allutar such authority ought to be changed.
Perhaps the Grand Council would change it.
Anrel, though, did not see any way he could do anything about it. The system was in place, he had lived under it all his life, and he was just one man. The empire was not his concern. His family, his friends—those were his concerns.
Valin was dead, and while revenge would be pleasant, if he could find a way to arrange it, it would do nothing to restore Valin to life. Lord Dorias and Lady Saria did not need Anrel’s help—but Reva did, whether she knew it or not, and he could provide it, not by brooding here in the dark, but by telling Mimmin li-Dargalleis that Lord Allutar was engaged to marry Lady Saria, and therefore unavailable, love spell or no.
He shook his head, then got to his feet, his joints stiff with cold. He closed the dampers on the stove, then marched out of the room.
He found Garras and Tazia in the dining hall, talking quietly; the other three witches were not present.
A Young Man Without Magic Page 26
