After a time, though, a crowd began to gather in the square and on the bridge. Where people had been crossing the bridge briskly before, now they were beginning to linger, leaning on the rails as he was himself, or sitting on the steepest part of the bridge, or standing about in twos and threes, chatting quietly.
It was not long after he first observed this accumulation of townspeople that three uniformed officials appeared, marching across the square in a line. The man in the center carried a banner in one hand and a scroll in the other, while the individuals flanking him bore raised spears—not the simple everyday weapons that watchmen or guards might carry on patrol, but polished wooden shafts with elaborately barbed heads that gleamed silver in the sun. One of the spearmen had a large pack slung on his shoulder; Anrel found that curious for such a ceremony.
The banner hung from a crosspiece near the top of a pole at least eight feet in height; it was a long rectangle of pale gold cloth bearing a device Anrel did not recognize, but which looked suspiciously like a man juggling fish.
The three men stopped at the foot of the bridge, and most of the people on the bridge and in the square stopped whatever they were doing, fell silent, and turned to watch and listen. A few who had been sitting on the slope moved aside, but then waited expectantly.
As everyone watched, the man in the middle unrolled his scroll, a bit awkwardly—one hand had to keep hold of the pole bearing the banner, and was limited thereby. He held up the document, as if to read from it.
“Hear, citizens of Beynos!” he proclaimed, in a slightly hoarse voice.
“Louder!” someone shouted from the east end of the square.
“Hear, citizens of Beynos!” the herald shouted back. Then he cleared his throat and read, “Whereas, by the ancient law of the Walasians, it is forbidden for any subject of the emperor to perform feats of magic, unless that person’s true name shall be duly inscribed upon the roll of recognized sorcerers, and patent of nobility granted in recognition thereof; and whereas a woman of unknown origin calling herself Reva Lir did two nights ago attempt to perform magic upon the body of Lord Allutar Hezir, who is landgrave of Aulix in the service of the emperor, against his will and without his consent, and whereas this woman can present no evidence nor witness that she is a recognized sorceress or the holder of any patent of nobility, therefore has Lord Diosin Folivie, burgrave of Beynos, as representative of the emperor’s peace within these walls, when informed of these facts, declared her outlaw and traitor.”
He paused for a breath, and Anrel looked out over the crowd. They were watching and listening silently. There was no sign yet of Lord Allutar or Reva, though; had there been a change in plans?
“Accordingly, Lord Diosin has decreed that justice shall be done upon her, and be seen to be done upon her, on this day and in this place,” the herald continued. “For that purpose, I, Illis tel-Parniar, am sent by Lord Diosin to ready this place, and to prepare the mechanisms of justice. Let none obstruct me. If any shall have reason to question what Lord Diosin has decreed, let him marshal his words, and an opportunity to speak shall be provided, but let none interfere with the rightful preparations I am commanded to make.”
Now Anrel was confused; what preparations? He watched as the herald rolled up the scroll, straightened the banner, and marched forward again, up the arch of the bridge—but not up the center; instead he headed to the western rail. At the peak of the bridge he stopped, slid the scroll into his belt, and handed the banner to the spearman on his left. Then he turned to the spearman on his right, who was taking his pack off his shoulder, and reached out to open the pack.
Understanding dawned as the herald reached into the pack and began pulling out heavy tarred rope. This Illis tel-Parniar was not a herald, Anrel realized. This was the hangman, come to ready the gallows.
Anrel swallowed bile as he watched the three men go about their duties no more than twenty feet away from where he leaned against the eastern rail. The hangman climbed up on the railing, rope draped over his shoulder, while the two spearmen stood by, each with one hand raised, ready to grab him should he lose his footing. He clambered up onto a graceful iron arch that Anrel had once thought a mere decorative frippery, and laid himself out onto a diagonal shaft that jutted out over the river. Then he signaled to one of the spearmen and began hauling at the rope.
The noose, already tied, slid out of the pack and up the iron arch. The hangman maneuvered a loop of rope through an iron flower—Anrel could not see, from his vantage point, exactly what went where, but in only a moment the noose was dangling from the very end of the iron strut, and the rope had been run along a path through the ironwork, the free end flung down to one of the spearmen.
Then the hangman was sliding back down, to be caught by his assistants. He thumped onto the stone arch of the bridge, then took the end of the rope from his helper and secured it to the railing with a complicated knot.
The entire job was done with astonishing speed.
The three men turned and looked it over, tugging at the rope and watching the noose dance. A thin white cord hung from the noose, looping back to the railing; when the hangman was satisfied with the rope he grabbed this cord and used it to pull the noose back to the bridge, He secured it to an iron finial where it could easily be reached when the time came to place it around Reva’s throat.
Then he turned and murmured something to one of the spearmen, who nodded, turned, and trotted back down the bridge and across the square in the direction of the burgrave’s mansion.
Anrel waited. The hangman had said there would be an opportunity to speak; this was clearly not yet the time.
The hangman and his remaining assistant waited, as well, as did the crowd that had gathered on the bridge and in the square. Anrel noticed that people were now lining the waterfront downstream from the bridge—not upstream, though, as the hanged woman would be invisible from that side, hidden by the bridge’s arch.
Anrel wondered angrily why these people were so eager to see a woman die. What satisfaction would they get from the sight? There was no pleasure to be had in a needless death, was there?
His own place on the railing had a fairly good view; he was able to see over most of the heads, and the ironwork was not in a direct line with the noose. He hoped, though, that there would be nothing to see—or rather, that there would be no hanging.
A riot, on the other hand, would suit him very nicely.
Other people were climbing up on the railing beside him now, on both sides. He frowned. That would make him less visible when he spoke, but he could not see any way to prevent it.
A murmur in the crowd made him turn his head in time to see a procession approaching. He craned his neck for a better view.
A dozen people were moving across the square toward the bridge. Reva was at the center of the group, head down, surrounded by watchmen; she wore no coat, despite the cold, but only the dress she had been wearing when she was captured. Her woolen cloak was presumably still in the coatroom at the Hezir family’s town house on Bridge Street Hill, and Anrel guessed it might well stay there unclaimed for some time.
Anrel could not tell at this distance whether Reva was shivering, but he thought she must be—and he could imagine what the response would be if someone suggested she be kept warm.
She won’t be feeling the cold—or anything else—for very much longer, will she? That was what someone always said on such occasions. Anrel clenched his teeth to keep from shuddering himself.
At the head of the procession were two heralds, bearing banners similar to the one the hangman had carried, which his assistant now held loosely, more or less upright. Immediately behind them Anrel thought he recognized Lord Allutar. Another man, white-haired and presumably much older, walked beside the landgrave; he had the look of an official, and might well be Lord Diosin, burgrave of Beynos.
The party came steadily nearer, the crowd making way for them as they approached the bridge.
This presented Anrel with an intere
sting decision. If he remained where he was, Lord Allutar would soon be close enough to recognize him. If that happened, what would Allutar do?
And what should Anrel do in response?
Then another movement caught his eye. A second party was pushing toward the bridge from the west, a man and three women.
“Father and Mother,” Anrel murmured to himself. “This could be complicated.” Now he had to worry not only about whether Lord Allutar would see him and demand his capture, but whether Garras Lir would denounce him and try to exchange Anrel’s life for Reva’s. Offering such an exchange would be useless at this point, but Garras was not a man to let logic or reason hinder him when his emotions were roused.
Nor was it clear what Nivain, Tazia, and Perynis would do. They were all witches, and while the three of them together probably did not have the sheer magical power or skill that Lord Allutar possessed, let alone the equal of both Allutar and Diosin, they did have surprise on their side.
Anrel told himself he should have anticipated this; naturally, the Lir family would want to make their farewells. That he had not taken this into account dismayed him; once again, he seemed to have made his plans without thinking them through. He had no trouble coming up with things he wanted to do, but anticipating what others might do in response—well, his failings in that regard were why he had done so poorly at certain games in his student days, and had abandoned gambling in consequence.
Any of five people could ruin his plans. He had intended to wait until the promised moment when an opportunity would be provided to protest the hanging, but now he wondered if he could afford to delay that long.
He pulled his hat down and stooped, ducking down behind some of the gawkers. Now no one who might know his face could see him—but on the other hand, he couldn’t see them, either, nor could he judge the burgrave’s approach accurately, to choose the optimum moment to show himself.
The sound of the crowd did provide some information, but the temptation to thrust his head up was strong. He resisted.
Then relative silence fell; the gathered mob seemed to hush.
“People of Beynos!” a stentorian voice bellowed. “By order of Lord Diosin Folivie, sorcerer of the empire and burgrave of this city, the woman Reva Lir is brought before you today that justice may be done upon her for her crimes! She stands accused of witchcraft and treason, by testimony of Lord Allutar Hezir, landgrave of Aulix, and has offered no credible defense, wherefore Lord Diosin has ordered her death by hanging. If there is any present who can give reason this hanging should not proceed, let him speak now!”
That was obviously his cue; Anrel straightened up, and shouted, “ I have a reason!”
The crowd stirred, and a hundred faces turned to stare at him.
The two heralds were no more than thirty feet away, near the center of the bridge, staring at him in openmouthed surprise. Lord Allutar was beside them, glaring at Anrel—but at least so far, he did not interrupt.
The white-haired man, undoubtedly Lord Diosin, was behind the heralds, and clearly flabbergasted by this interruption. The group of watchmen, with Reva in their midst, was on the western edge of the bridge, almost against the railing, not far from the gallows.
Reva’s parents and sisters were on the west side of the bridge as well, a few feet down the slope from the watchmen. All four of them were staring at Anrel, but he thought he read confusion on the faces of Nivain and Perynis, delight on Tazia’s features, and fury in Garras’s eyes.
“Why should this woman die?” Anrel demanded. “What harm has she done? What offense has she committed that merits her death? Yes, I know she is a witch, we all know that—she does not deny that, I do not deny that, it would be pointless to deny it. She is a witch—but I ask you all, what does that mean?”
Lord Allutar stirred, and looked as if he was about to respond to that question, so Anrel decided to forgo the dramatic pause he had originally planned for this point in his speech, and hastily answered himself.
“It means that for a modest fee, she will perform the little magics that our sorcerous overlords can’t be bothered with, all the little things that make our lives that much more manageable. She heals the sick and comforts the dying; she delivers your children and guides your steps. She tells well-diggers where to drill, finds treasures carelessly lost, counsels the troubled, does every little task we set her, for just a few pence. She serves us all! She helps all those who ask in whatever way she can—and for this, for this, our masters demand that she must die hideously, and they have the effrontery, the sheer arrogance, to call this abomination justice! Justice! By the Father and the Mother, I ask you all, where is the justice in killing a young woman who has never harmed a soul, whose only failing was that she was a dutiful daughter, and did not protest when her father forbade her to attempt the trials that would have made her a sorceress and noblewoman? What sort of justice is that? Justice? Justice? This is not justice, this is murder!”
A murmur ran through the crowd.
“Who are you, sir?” the burgrave demanded, his voice unsteady.
Anrel had not planned for that question at this point in the speech, but he knew better than to pass up the opportunity it presented. “I?” he said. “Oh, I am no one very special. You wouldn’t have heard of me. My name is Alvos, and I hail from Naith.”
It seemed to Anrel as if the entire crowd in all its hundreds drew in breath simultaneously at that, in one great communal gasp.
“How do we know you’re the real Alvos?” someone called—not an official, merely someone in the crowd.
“It doesn’t matter who I am,” Anrel said, refusing to let himself be distracted. “What matters is who she is—an innocent, a friend to all, a kind and generous person—”
“I know who you are,” Lord Allutar interrupted, taking a step toward him. “I was in Naith when you spoke there. This is the true Alvos, people of Beynos—the lying traitor who plunged Naith into riots and chaos, the loudmouthed fool who fled from the scene the moment the city watch appeared. He is an enemy of order, a destroyer of the peace—”
“An enemy of your order, landgrave!” Anrel shouted back, pointing at Allutar. “An enemy of the sort of order that requires the death of anyone who displeases you. I know you, Lord Allutar Hezir. You intend to hang this woman not because she cast spells, but because she tried to cast a spell on you, on one of our sorcerous rulers. You murdered Lord Valin li-Tarbek because he dared argue politics with you. You cut out Urunar Kazien’s heart because he took a few of your herbs. Three needless deaths in half a year, Landgrave, to appease your vanity—have you no shame, no shred of decency or mercy remaining?”
Lord Allutar took a step forward—only a single step, as the press of the crowd allowed no more unless he intended to push commoners aside. “I am the landgrave of Aulix, wretch,” he said. “It is my duty to protect my people from those who would rob them, who would deceive them, who would mislead them or cheat them or endanger them—people like you, you who call yourself Alvos!”
“Rob them? Deceive them?” Anrel spread his hands to the crowd. “What has Reva Lir stolen, then? Who has she deceived? What has she done that harms the people of Aulix in any way, Landgrave? What has she done that harms anyone in Beynos, Lord Diosin? Why do you want her dead? You people, people of Beynos—when your child has a fever and lies in bed crying, her skin so hot to the touch you fear she’ll scorch the sheets, her belly unable to keep down the thinnest gruel, who do you call upon? Do you take her to Lord Diosin? Do you take her to Lord Allutar? Do you go to the Lords Magistrate in Lume? You know you don’t. You look for a witch, and you pray to the Mother that you’ll find one in time!” He pointed at the gallows. “And is this how you repay that witch for saving your children? Is this the gratitude she deserves?”
“She is a traitor,” Allutar roared back. “Every Walasian magician must have his true name inscribed upon the Great List! Is her name there?”
“So she must die for not giving her true name?” Anrel
demanded. “Failing to give her name is punishable by death? Tell me, Lord Allutar, your Quandish friend, Lord Blackfield—is his name written upon this list? The magicians from the Cousins whom the empress has brought to our court—are their names duly inscribed? No? No, they aren’t! It seems that the high-and-mighty magicians from Quand and Ermetia and the Cousins can roam freely throughout the empire without being included in the Great List, but this woman, who has never been asked for her true name, who was born in our own land and has been all her life a true and loyal Walasian, who has done nothing but serve the empire, this woman must have her neck stretched for our masters’ amusement. Why is that? People of Beynos, why is that?”
“Other nations regulate their magicians in their own manner,” the burgrave said. His voice was barely audible over the intervening distance.
“And does that involve killing their healers?” Anrel turned his attention from the two sorcerers to the surrounding crowd. “Listen to me, people! These nobles, these sorcerers—they are not concerned with the good of the empire. They are not concerned with the good of the people. They are not concerned with the welfare of Walasia, or of the emperor, or of you, or of you, or of you! They are concerned with no one’s welfare but their own. They do not allow witches simply because they want no competition! They want no one who is not one of their cabal to wield even the feeblest magic. We have stood for their arrogance, their tyranny, for centuries, because we feared our neighbors and ourselves, but why? We are strong! We are a mighty people, the favored descendants of the Mother and the Father; we do not need these sorcerers anymore! Let us take charge of our own affairs! Let us show mercy to those who deserve it. This woman, Reva Lir, does not need to die. Is there anyone here other than the sorcerers who wishes her ill? Has she harmed a single soul in all Beynos, all the empire? Set her free, good people! There are hundreds of you, and only a handful of guards. There are hundreds of you, and only two sorcerers. There are hundreds of you, and it was you who chose half the Grand Council, the highest authority in this land—who can tell you no, if you demand this woman be set free? Cast her out of your walls, if you like; if you think it necessary to punish her somehow and placate your burgrave, send her into exile, but do not kill her! There is no return from death, no second chance, no way to reconsider—and no way to wash her blood from your hands, if you allow her to die. If you allow her to hang here today, it is not just the sorcerers and their watchmen who have slain her; you are all complicit in her death.”
A Young Man Without Magic Page 35
