Magebane (17 page)

In such mutual fear and respect, they had become something almost like friends.

Well, perhaps not friends
, Falk amended.
Coconspirators
.

Twenty-five years ago, shortly after he had become Minister of Public Safety, and he and Tagaza had begun to despair of arranging the complex circumstances for bringing down the Barriers, Mother Northwind had come to him one night at the manor, presenting herself as a Commoner from Overbridge with a grievance. He had had her ushered in, and in the privacy of his office, she had revealed that she knew exactly what he wanted to do (though she had never explained
how
she knew), and just how impossible it seemed. And then she had offered a solution. “The King,” she said, “needs an Heir. The necessary act has appeared to be beyond his capabilities, but I have it on good authority . . . a Healer within the Palace . . . that that is about to change.

“There will be an Heir, Lord Falk. Nine months from, oh, this time next week. And he—or she—can be yours.”

“Why?” he had asked her. “Why would you help me in this?”

“Why do you care?” she had said. “Suffice it to say I want the Barrier down as much as you do. And you
cannot
accomplish that task without my help.”

Falk had not pressed more deeply; he dared not, with the solution to his problem delivered so neatly to his doorstep.

Nine months later, as Mother Northwind had promised, King Kravon's wife had given birth. The baby had lived; she had died. The Royal Midwife, apparently distraught at having failed her Queen, committed suicide that same night. And a week after that, while the Mageborn were still both mourning the death of the Queen and celebrating the birth of Prince Karl, Heir Apparent to the throne of Evrenfels, Mother Northwind had brought to Falk, waiting in his manor, a squalling female bundle which he had given over into the care of a woman from the village. “Call the child Brenna,” Mother Northwind had told him. “And now let us discuss the cottage you are going to build for me . . .”

Now Falk stood inside the door of that same cottage, looking at Mother Northwind in her chair by the fire. The flames struck sharp red sparks from her eyes, bright and hard as a crow's. “Lord Falk,” she said. “So nice to see you again. Did you have a pleasant trip from the Palace last night?”

“There's nothing pleasant about spending most of twenty-four hours in a magecarriage,” Falk said. “But all that matters is that I am here . . . although I trust I am not the
first
visitor from the Palace you have had today.”

Mother Northwind laughed, a hearty, fruity laugh, not at all like the thin cackle she normally affected, which better suited her carefully crafted appearance. “Indeed you are not,” she said. “Your men dropped off my other . . . guest . . . a couple of hours ago. She wasn't nearly as lively as you, though. Dead on her feet, you might say. Charry, but not cheery.”

Lord Falk sighed. Mother Northwind had an . . . iconoclastic . . . sense of humor. “But did she have anything to say?”

Mother Northwind's smile widened. “She did, indeed! You did well to get her into stasis so quickly. I was able to retrieve more than I expected when you first sent word.”

Falk leaned forward. “And?”

Mother Northwind tsked. “So eager,” she said. “Rushing to fulfillment is no way to please a woman.”

“
And?
” Falk repeated, putting an edge into his voice.

Mother Northwind spread her hands. “And,” she said, “she went to her death firmly convinced that she was carrying out the wishes of . . . the Master of the Unbound.

“
I
am the Master of the Unbound!” Falk snarled.

Mother Northwind's eyes widened. “Really? And you are the Minister of Public Safety. It's a scandal!”

“
I
did not give an order to attempt to assassinate the Prince. What purpose would it serve? Especially
now
?”

Mother Northwind shrugged. “You hardly have to convince
me
. But I haven't finished telling you what I learned.”

“Go on.”

“She believed she was carrying out the wishes of the Master of the Unbound . . . in alliance with the Common Cause.”

That was so unexpected Falk was struck speechless for a moment. “The Unbound in alliance with Commoner rabble-rousers?” he said at last. “Who could believe that?”

“Our would-be assassin, apparently. A Commoner herself, and a—call her a foot soldier—of the Common Cause, she was acting on orders from the Cause . . . but had been told that the magic that made her attack possible had come from the Unbound. What she thought of that, I cannot tell. There are limits to what may be retrieved from the dead.” She smiled sweetly. “But perhaps, Lord Falk, you are not as fully in control of the Unbound as you think.”

Falk's eyes narrowed. “You have personally vetted every member of the Unbound, have you not?”

“Every member you identified to me,” Mother Northwind said. “But there could be others you do not know of. A secret cult within a secret cult.”

Falk considered that, then shook his head. “Unlikely. Something would have come to my attention, through any of a hundred different channels.”

“And yet . . .
someone
provided this Commoner with the means to assassinate the Prince,” Mother Northwind pointed out. “Someone who wanted the Unbound blamed for it.”

“Someone who wanted to hide their own tracks,” Falk said. “Someone with their own reasons to want the Prince eliminated.”

Mother Northwind held out her hands to the fire. An enormous tabby cat that had been snoozing on the hearth stood up, stretched, and walked over to her. She rubbed its head, and even from across the room Falk could hear the animal's purring. “And who would that be, exactly?”

“I don't know,” Falk admitted. “You say the assassin was a “foot soldier” of the Common Cause, but I do not understand why the Cause would want to kill the Prince any more than the Unbound. Even Commoners would know that would accomplish nothing, that the Keys would simply be passed on to someone else. And Karl . . . at Tagaza's urging . . . has spent a lot of time representing the Crown in the Commons. They
know
him. Why risk bringing to power a King who might be less sympathetic to Commoners?” He scratched his chin thoughtfully. “The only reason I can think of is the one I told Karl: that the Cause might have wanted to kill him simply as an act of terror, to show they can strike inside the Barrier. But my dungeons are already filling with those arrested in response, and they must have known that would be the response. So what did they hope to accomplish?”

“It's a quandary,” Mother Northwind said. “I wish you luck in figuring it out.” She patted her lap, and the cat leaped up, turned itself around, and settled down happily, kneading her leg with its claws as she continued to pet it.

Falk tapped his fingers on the table. “I suppose it could be a . . . bargaining tactic,” he said slowly. “Perhaps they believe if they cause the MageLords enough pain, we will negotiate more self-rule for them.” He shook his head. “They talk about the ‘will of the people,' as if you could choose a leader just by letting everyone have a say in the process . . . as if it that would not inevitably lead to chaos and anarchy, with so many conflicting interests in play.”

“Not nearly as neat and tidy as now,” Mother Northwind said, and he shot a glance at her, uncertain whether she was being sarcastic. She gazed back blandly. After a moment, he went on.

“They're mad, but still . . . that
could
be their motivation. But why did they involve magic in their attack? And how? What mage would work with them? And why tell their assassin the Unbound were supposedly in alliance with them? Why not carry out the attempt through nonmagical means, and then claim
full
responsibility? As I said, Karl is often in the Commons. They could have killed him at any time.”

“All good questions, Lord Falk.”

Falk grunted. “Well, then, here's another.
Why did the attack fail?
The corpse in your cellar isn't Karl's. The magic intended to kill him killed his would-be assassin instead.”

“Very mysterious,” Mother Northwind said. “But I do not understand the workings of hard magic as well as I do soft.” She scratched the cat behind the ears. “It is all beyond me.” The cat had suddenly had enough; it got up, stretched, and jumped onto the floor. “Oh, I almost forgot. I did . . . acquire . . . one other piece of information. A name, prominent in the girl's mind.”

Falk sat very still. “And you ‘almost forgot' to mention it?” he said, his voice dangerously soft.

Mother Northwind smiled, brushing cat hair from her apron. “I'm mentioning it now, aren't I? Besides, it's hardly a name one should be surprised to find in the mind of someone living in New Cabora.”

“Someone well-known?”

“Extremely.” Mother Northwind met his eyes. “The playwright, Davydd Verdsmitt.”

Falk felt a kind of . . . pleasure . . . at hearing that name. He had long suspected Verdsmitt of being involved with the radical side of the Cause. “Why would she be thinking of Verdsmitt at the moment of the attack?”

“Another good question, Lord Falk.”

Falk snorted. “You give me more questions than answers, Mother Northwind.”

“I am a simple country healer and midwife,” Mother Northwind said. “What answers could I possibly offer someone as highly placed and powerful as you?”

Falk let that pass. “Well, as always, I thank you for the information you have provided. I will send my men to remove your . . . guest . . . in the morning.”

“Always happy to serve,” Mother Northwind said. She smiled again. “And now, I suspect, you intend to ask my help in the matter of your unexpected visitor from beyond the Barrier.”

I shouldn't be surprised she knows about that
, Falk thought.
But I wish I knew
how
she knew
. “Yes,” he said. “I cannot simply rely on what he might freely tell me—”

“Or Brenna?”

“Or Brenna,” Falk said, again startled by Mother Northwind's knowledge, though he let nothing of it show on his face. “I need to know . . . everything he knows.”

“My humble abilities are entirely at your command,” Mother Northwind said. “But as you know, Lord Falk, ‘everything' is a very great deal indeed. I can strip his mind of all knowledge, but you know what that would do to him.”

Indeed, Lord Falk knew. Among those publically executed as members of the Unbound, to demonstrate his hatred of the cult, were the drooling, blank-eyed results of that kind of questioning.

“We need not go that far,” Falk said. “Not to start with, at least. The boy may have other uses. But whatever you can find out without harming him, I must know. In particular, how that flying device of his operates.”

Mother Northwind nodded. “I would be interested to know that myself. Very well, Lord Falk. When would you like me to call on you?”

“Let's say . . . an hour after sunrise. In my study in the manor. “

“I am not an early riser, Lord Falk, but for you . . . I suppose I can make an exception.”

Falk stood. “Thank you,” he said. “Until the morrow, then. Good night, Mother Northwind.”

“Good night, Lord Falk.”

Falk let himself out and, deep in thought, walked back toward the manor. So the assassin had had Davydd Verdsmitt front and center in her mind . . . and shortly the playwright himself would be inside the Barrier, presenting his new play at the Palace. Falk needed to be there. He would have to leave on the morrow . . . after Mother Northwind had extracted whatever information she could from the boy from Outside, and he had decided what to do with him . . . and with his flying machine.

A great deal would depend on whether the machine could be made to fly again. If so, then until others could be trained in its operation—and more of the machines could be constructed—he would need the boy as a pilot. Even if the machine could not be fixed, the boy would continue to be useful as a source of information and even, possibly, a hostage once the Barrier was down.

More useful if he's loyal to me
, Falk thought.
Tomorrow I'll speak to Mother Northwind about taking care of that, too.

He turned his thoughts back to the matter of the Common Cause. Tomorrow he would magespeak Brich and find out what, if anything, his interrogators had learned from those he had ordered arrested. He needed to know the exact nature of the plot he was certain was afoot, and whether it posed any real danger to the Plan. And if he could not find out from those arrested thus far, he could certainly get the truth from Verdsmitt.

Could Verdsmitt even be the elusive “Patron”?

Maybe. At the very least he would likely be the most highly placed member of the Cause Falk had yet had the chance—or reason—to question . . . and whatever Verdsmitt knew, he
would
tell. Falk was very good at extracting information, even without Mother Northwind's unique talents.

He felt a surge of anger at the unknown conspirators who had chosen
this
moment to attack the Prince. For more than thirty years he had been preparing, ever since he had first met Tagaza at the College of Mages and learned that the Barriers could, indeed, be lowered, though it involved an extremely complex spell . . . and, of course, the simultaneous murders of the Ruler and Heir.

Tagaza claimed he had spent many sleepless nights when he had first discovered that fact, had claimed he had worked weeks longer looking for some other way, with no success. Despite his insistence that he felt the Barriers must fall (though Falk didn't believe his claim that magic would fail if they did not; the SkyMage would not permit such a thing), he had told Falk over and over how much he regretted the awful necessity of that double murder. It was almost as tiresome a constant in his conversation as his harping on the topic of Commoners, and how the Mageborn had to treat them more fairly if the Kingdom were to survive.