A Young Man Without Magic (46 page)

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 interesting 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.”

He gazed out over the crowd. His listeners seemed stirred by his words, but not yet ready to take any action. He turned his attention back to Diosin and Allutar, a little surprised that neither of them had interrupted so long a speech, and he saw that Lord Allutar was not even looking at him. Instead, the landgrave was watching Reva.

Reva, who had moved away from her captors and was climbing up on the railing opposite Anrel. She was moving slowly, deliberately, toward the gallows and the waiting noose, paying no attention to anyone or anything else.

Anrel blinked. What was she doing? Was she going to make a speech of her own?

No, that hardly seemed likely. She was no orator. In fact, did she even know what was happening? After all, if Lord Allutar's spells on her were still working, she had not heard anything Anrel had said.

Her guards were making no move to stop her; they were simply standing there, keeping anyone else from getting close to her.

A murmur ran through the crowd; now dozens of eyes, perhaps hundreds, had turned from Alvos, the famous orator, to Reva, the poor doomed witch.

Anrel looked for the other Lirs, thinking perhaps they knew what was going on, but they looked as surprised as anyone.

Then Tazia screamed, “Reva, no!”

Anrel turned quickly, and saw Reva take the noose from where the hangman had secured it and lift it over her head.

“No!” Anrel shouted. He saw Lord Allutar smile a bitter little smile, and he understood it all. Why should the guards be required to deal with a reluctant prisoner, when a fairly simple binding would make her all too cooperative? Allutar had not bothered to enchant her into obedience when he first captured her, but this morning, when she was fetched from his study to be hanged, Allutar had known that Anrel was still alive and free somewhere in Beynos, and likely to make one final attempt to free her. Of
course
the landgrave had put a spell on her before she was brought out to the bridge.