Magebane (3 page)

Warm enough with only a wrap around his waist, Karl watched snow slithering across drifts that ended abruptly, flat as knife-sliced slabs of cheese, against the Lesser Barrier, visible only as a slight shimmer in the air like heat waves rising from a fire. Then his eyes narrowed. Something was moving out there.

“Teran, look!” He pointed toward the Barrier. Teran, who had been gazing across the lake at the Palace, twisted his head around to look as a shadow took shape, materializing into a Commoner who was struggling through the snow-choked park on the other side of the Barrier. Swathed in a knee-length coat of black fur, with throat, mouth, and chin wrapped in a dark-green scarf beneath a huge fur hat, the man raised his head as the light of the magesun fell on his face. His eyes met Karl's. For a long moment—a few seconds longer than strictly proper, Karl thought—he stared at the Prince; then he lowered his head and plowed on. Within seconds he faded back into the swirling gloom.

“He didn't look too happy with you, Your Highness,” Teran said idly. Being technically on duty, he wore his guard uniform of blue tunic and trousers, silver breastplate and high black boots, but he had set his helmet aside on the grass and his sword next to it. His right hand held a dewcovered bottle of Old Evrenfels Amber. Drinking on duty was definitely against regulations, but the only one who could report him was Karl, and Karl had given him the bottle in the first place, from the magic-cooled chest close at hand.

Karl snorted. “
I
wouldn't be too happy with me, either. But what's he doing wandering through the park in
that
weather?”

“Probably just wanted to get a glimpse of something green and growing,” Teran said. He jerked his head in the direction of the Barrier. “It's not easy out there in the winter, you know. Even in the city. That's when the Commoners envy the Mageborn the most. It's a good thing you make a point of going out there once in a while, cutting ribbons, making speeches. Otherwise that envy might turn into hate.”

Karl shook his head. “They're fools if they envy me,” he said. “Oh, it's a nice enough prison,” he looked around at the manicured grass, the flowering bushes, the sparkling blue lake with the sprawling white limestone Palace on its far shore, the many-arched long bridge across the top of the dam that had formed the lake, “but it's still a prison.”

“I suspect those held in Falk's dungeon would dispute your definitions,” Teran said dryly.

Karl laughed. “True enough.” He grinned affectionately at his bodyguard. “So you're saying I should quit bellyaching and enjoy myself.”

“Exactly.” Teran took another swig of ale. “Like me.”

“You're supposed to be protecting me,” Karl pointed out.

“From what, exactly?” Teran said. “Out there,” he gestured at the snowstorm, “sure, there could be a risk. I could see a Commoner attacking you, since he might not understand how the magic works. But in here?” He looked around. “Unless some goose gets homicidal urges, you're safe as houses. No Mageborn would ever attack the Heir. What would be the point?”

Karl laughed again. “Lucky for you.” He took a swallow of his own beer. Teran was quite right, of course. No MageLord or Mageborn
would
attack him, because it would accomplish nothing; he might be the Heir, but if he died, the Keys, the special magic of the King that kept the Great and Lesser Barriers in place, would simply choose a new Heir. No one would know who that Heir was until King Kravon died and the Keys made the leap to their new host. Since the new Heir would be unknown, no one could influence that person ahead of time. Worse, the new Heir might prove to be an enemy of whoever had arranged the assassination—someone who would then be able to act on that enmity with all the resources of the Kingship once the Keys came to him or her.

Outside the Barrier, he supposed it was conceivable, as Teran said, that some deranged Commoner might attack him. He could even imagine—barely—some disgruntled Mageborn attacking him. But all the Mageborn who lived inside the Barrier, southwest of the Palace in the grand houses of the Mageborn Enclave, had sworn fealty to one of the five MageLords who served on the King's Council . . .

. . . well, almost all, he corrected himself. There were three types of mages residing within the Barrier whose fealty was only to the King: a prime example of one type, the Royal guard, currently sat next to him, drinking his beer.

The Healers were another. Though, like all Mageborn, they had some modicum of hard magic, they had an additional skill, rare and valuable. They could use soft magic, useful for healing bodies and minds. Hannik, the First Healer, resided in the Palace like a MageLord, looking after the health (with the help of a handful of lesser-ranked Healers) of everyone inside the Lesser Barrier. It was unthinkable one of
them
would be involved in any kind of violent attack on the Heir.

Finally, there were the mages of the Magecorps, who served the King under the direction of the First Mage, Tagaza. Made up of the best and the brightest of those who passed through the College of Mages in Berriton, some hundred miles to the north, the Magecorps did everything from making sure the Palace's many magical systems continued operating—“water running, toilets flushing, and lights turned on,” as they put it—to researching the theory and practice of magic.

Karl had met First Healer Hannik a few times when he'd suffered a broken bone or nasty cut from some childish misadventure. He met Tagaza almost daily, since Tagaza was his tutor in all things to do with magic and history . . . and, above all, politics.

Karl glanced at the Palace again. It looked pure and white from this distance, almost half a mile away, but he knew better. It seethed with intrigue, everyone jockeying for power and position.

There were twelve hereditary MageLords. Their ancestors had been the most powerful mages of their or any other day. Karl still found it hard to fathom what they had done, transporting themselves and a few hundred followers halfway around the world from the collapsing Old Kingdom. They had established the new kingdom of Evrenfels in the middle of a wilderness and erected the Great and Lesser Barriers to protect the kingdom and themselves. Despite their extraordinary forebears, the current MageLords were not necessarily any more powerful magically than many ordinary Mageborn, but that didn't matter. With the MageLords' titles came vast lands over which they could rule pretty much as they saw fit.

Five of the Twelve held even greater power: they served on the King's Council, which governed the entire land.
In the name of the King, of course
, Karl thought sardonically, though he doubted King Kravon knew about even a tenth of what was done in his name. The King's power lay in being able to appoint the members of the Council, and since even on the Council, some positions were far more powerful—and far more lucrative—than others, every one of the Twelve was constantly jockeying for the favor of the King and looking to undercut his or her rivals.

Or would be
, Karl thought,
if my father would allow anyone to meet with him except for Lord Athol and Lord Falk
. And of those two, Prime Adviser and Minister of Public Safety, respectively, it was common knowledge that only Falk
truly
had the King's ear . . . which made Falk, who also commanded the Royal guard
and
the Army of Evrenfels, the most powerful man in the kingdom.

Karl took another sip of beer as Teran lay back on the grass, hands behind his head, and closed his eyes.
You'd think the King might want to see his only son and Heir once in a while, too,
he thought with a touch of familiar bitterness.
But you'd think wrong.

He hadn't seen his father since the Confirmation Ceremony on his eighteenth birthday, half a year gone, when Tagaza had announced that he had tested Karl and that he was, indeed, the Heir. It had been a very public ceremony, however, with all of the Twelve, their families, and even the Commoner Mayor and Council of New Cabora in attendance, and he had not once had an opportunity to speak to the King.

The last conversation with his father that he could recall now lay some three years in the past, and had focused entirely on the sad state of the ornamental gardens.

The Confirmation Ceremony had meant that efforts by the MageLords to curry favor with the Heir, already intensified by the inaccessibility of the King, had intensified even further. Previous Royal lines had failed, the Keys shifting to an Heir outside the apparent succession, which was why the Confirmation Ceremony was a Big Deal. Now that there was no doubt Karl would one day be King, those MageLords not on the Council, as well as those on the Council hoping to keep or improve their current positions, sought to influence him so that the balance of power would shift their way on that sad day when death at last claimed King Kravon. And as the MageLords sought his favor, so, too, did the Mageborn sworn to their service, seeking to boost their own fortunes alongside their lord's.

Fortunately, Tagaza, who had been First Mage for two decades and tutored Karl for the past twelve years, knew all about Palace intrigue. Thanks to his guidance, Karl assumed an ulterior motive behind every gesture of support, every kind word, every gift, every invitation to a party or play, and kept his own council as to what he thought of the various MageLords.

It sometimes seemed to Karl that, of all the people who dwelled inside the Barrier, only Tagaza and Hannik (and the Commoner servants, of course, but they hardly counted) had not tried, in ways large or small, to win his favor or turn him against rivals.

Then he snorted. Not
quite
true. Falk hadn't tried, either. The Minister of Public Safety didn't
need
Karl's favor, and Karl wasn't fool enough to think he could oust him from that position when he became King, even if he wanted to. In theory, the King could appoint whichever of the Twelve he chose. In practice . . . Karl knew how it would work. Every other member of the Twelve would refuse the position, because they all feared Falk, leaving Karl in the end with no choice but to keep him, and in the meantime, he would have weakened himself in the eyes of everyone else.

He glanced at Teran, and amended his earlier thought once more. Teran hadn't tried to win his favor, either. But he didn't need to: he already had it.

Teran's mother, a theoretical magician, spent her days researching in the Palace archives and writing long, learned papers of which Karl understood one word in ten. He had met her once or twice; she lived in the Mageborn Enclave. Teran's father, though he had died when Teran was very young, had likewise been in the Magecorps, though his duties had been more practical: he had been killed in a cave-in while recharging the magelights in the Commoner-worked coal mine that provided fuel for the MageFurnace that burned day and night beneath the Palace to provide energy for the magic of all the Mageborn within the Lesser Barrier.

Like Karl, Teran had grown up in the Palace, and since they were almost of an age, the two boys had naturally fallen in with each other, roaming freely inside the Barrier, swimming in the lake, buying ice cream in the Enclave, chasing the geese, sneaking into the kitchen . . . and one night when they were twelve, sneaking into the maids' bathing room.

That had been memorable not only for the enlightenment and entertainment it had provided, but for revealing to Karl his own peculiar magical ability, an ability he had told no one about because it was too useful as a secret.

As Heir to the Keys, Karl wasn't supposed to
have
any magic of his own. Certainly, he couldn't light fires with a flick of his hand or move small objects without touching them, the way even the lowliest Mageborn could.

But that night, as the boys, passing through the hallways of the servants' quarters after a snack in the kitchens, had passed the bathing rooms, Karl, laughing to Teran about how he'd love to sneak in there, had said, “Too bad they lock the doors with magic.” Then he had reached out and tugged on the handle . . .

. . . and the door had opened.

Nobody had seen them that evening, though they'd gotten a delightful eyeful themselves. Teran had said something about how lucky they'd been that the door had been unlocked, and left it at that.

Karl, though, knew very well that the door had
not
been unlocked, but had come unlocked at his touch. After that, he'd started touching other enchanted items just to see what would happen.

He only seemed to be able to deactivate small objects: locks, lights, heating stones. Near the Palace's main entrance stood a famous magical timepiece that showed not only the time but also the positions of the stars and planets, as tiny whirling models inside a crystal dome. One day Karl had casually leaned against it for a while, then walked away. He'd been vaguely disappointed to see it still working . . . but a day later he saw two mages working on it, muttering about it needing adjustment for the first time in half a century. Magecorps mages always seemed to be somewhere near his quarters, trying to fix something that had unexpectedly failed.

Once, when he was about sixteen, he'd even dared to touch the Lesser Barrier, though he'd been warned against it; people who had tried that before had suffered severe frostbite.
No matter how cold it is, a quick touch won't hurt anything
, he'd thought . . . and so he'd reached out, ready to snatch his hand away again in an instant . . .

. . . and hadn't felt any cold at all. In fact, the Barrier had felt almost springy to his touch, like soft rubber. He'd snatched his hand back and never tried again.

His best guess was that his strange power had something to do with his being Heir, but he'd never asked Tagaza about it nor mentioned it to anyone else . . . even Teran. The ability to de-magic small items, unlock locked doors, and turn out magelights seemed much more useful as a secret than something for Tagaza to research . . . and tell Falk about; the First Mage and Minister of Public Safety were close friends.