Magebane (5 page)

Karl looked up. Blood from his nose had caked his upper lip and chin and run down onto his bare chest. “Yes,” he said. “But I can't say the same for my attacker.” He nodded at the water, and Falk saw for the first time the blackened corpse bobbing there. He waded two steps into the water, but all he could tell from a quick look was that it had been a female. Its clothes had either been blasted away or fused with its skin, but it wore something around its neck . . .

. . . he peered closer, and felt a shock as though he had fallen headfirst into the lake's cold water, followed a moment later by a rush of hot rage. He grabbed the amulet and jerked it free, its scorched leather cord snapping as he pulled, bits of blackened flesh clinging to it. He shoved the thing in his pocket, then stepped back from the body.

With his mind, he reached out for magic and energy. The magic flowed strong all around him, of course; the Palace was built on—in fact the entire Kingdom was centered on—a great lode of magic, deep beneath the ground. It had been that lode that had drawn the First Twelve to this spot, not to mention allowed them to transport hundreds of people here, almost eight centuries before. This far from the MageFurnace, he had to draw energy from the air and water, but it was sufficient to his needs.

He formed the spell he wanted in his mind. Some mages murmured words to help them twist their thoughts into the pattern to accomplish a particular task. Some used talismans; objects whose shape and texture helped them focus. Falk disdained such things. He needed only his will to bend his mind just . . . so . . .

With a sound like breaking twigs, the water around the corpse froze solid for a foot in every direction. Mist wrapped the charred remains. An instant later the mist had vanished and the ice broke apart into chunks; but the dead body continued to glisten, as though encased in frost. Locked in magical stasis, it would deteriorate no further until released from the spell, or until the spell wore off naturally, which wouldn't be for some days.

That task done, Falk spun and waded out of the water. He shot a look at the bridge. A dozen figures were crossing at a run, silver breastplates and helmets flashing on ten of them, the eleventh, wearing gray, close behind them, and the twelfth wrapped in a green robe, bringing up the rear and falling farther behind with every step. Falk crouched by the Prince. “The First Healer and First Mage are coming, Your Highness.”

“I told you, I'm not hurt,” Karl said, though his face was pale and his teeth chattering. “I don't know
why
I'm not hurt . . . but I'm not.”

“The First Healer will make sure of that,” Falk said. He straightened, looked to see how far the three searchers he had sent along the shoreline had gotten, then turned to Karl's bodyguard. “Teran,” he said, voice cold as the ice still bobbing around the corpse. “What happened?”

Teran, ramrod straight, looked past Falk rather than directly at him. “The assassin rose out of the water, Lord Falk,” he said. “She fired a small crossbow at the Prince. But when the bolt touched him, both she and the ground surrounding the Prince were burned by a sizable blast of magical flame. The Prince was knocked to the ground, but seemed to be unhurt. He waded into the water to look at the corpse, threw up, then at my urging returned to the shore and sat down to await the arrival of help.”

Teran had kept his voice neutral, reciting the bald facts without emotion. Falk knew why, of course. Teran hated and feared him, with good reason, since Falk had “recruited” him to spy on the Prince by the simple measure of threatening his mother and sister, who lived under his control in the Enclave.

He let Teran sweat for a moment, while he turned to face the line of bushes screening him from the bridge, impatient to see Tagaza, but the First Mage had yet to appear. After a moment, he glanced back at Teran. “Very well,” he said. “Return to the Prince's side. I may have more questions later.”

“My lord,” said Teran, giving just enough of a nod to avoid being insubordinate. Rather than return immediately to the Prince, however, he trotted up the bank to where a chest and a backpack waited, retrieved the backpack, and then headed back down to the lake and the barely-covered Prince. A moment later he was pulling clothes out of the pack and handing them to Karl. Falk watched the Prince start as Teran touched his shoulder, look up, look at the pack, and then almost convulsively get to his feet. Shock, Falk judged. Well, that was certainly to be expected. But he was alive, and that was all Falk cared about.
And only for now
, he thought.

The additional guards, led by Captain Fedric, jogged into sight. Falk ordered Fedric to have his men join the other three in conducting a thorough search of the area. Hannik, the First Healer, had gone straight to the Prince. As the guards spread out, the First Mage finally arrived, puffing around the bushes. His rather shapeless green robe hid his alarming bulk, but his bald pate, tattooed with blue-and-green flowers, glistened with sweat. The First Healer, a short, thin man who, though balding, still had more hair than Tagaza, glanced up from the Prince as Tagaza leaned on his knees, gasping for air, and got to his feet, as though afraid his services would be needed to deal with Tagaza's apoplexy rather than whatever had happened to the Prince.

Six weeks, and you can drop dead at your leisure,
Falk thought irritably.
But not before
.

The First Mage's face had gone from gray to flushed. The Healer seemed to take that as a good sign; he knelt by the Prince again.

Finally Tagaza gathered enough air to speak. “What . . . what happened?” he puffed. “I was in the . . . garden . . . heard the bang, but didn't . . .”

Falk jerked his head toward the lake and led Tagaza down through the grass. Tagaza gazed at the crisped body floating in the water within the glimmering sheen of stasis. “She was lying in wait beneath the water,” Falk said. “She emerged, fired a crossbow at the Prince . . . and then died, because whatever spell she intended to kill the Prince seems to have claimed her instead. Examine her and tell me what you find.” He lowered his voice. “She was wearing an Unbound symbol,” he murmured.

Tagaza shot a glance at him, eyebrows raised.

“I have removed it. We'll discuss it later.” He looked again at the Prince, now clothed, standing, and shooing Hannik away with an irritated gesture. “The Prince will ask you questions. Be careful what you tell him.”

Tagaza's face had gone pale now, as he gazed at the corpse; pale, with a touch of green. “I always am, my lord.”

Falk strode to the Prince, his boots raising clouds of gray ash from the circle of burned grass. He looked first to Hannik. “First Healer?”

“He's essentially unharmed,” Hannik said. He looked around at the burned circle. “Though, for the life of me, I can't figure out why.”

“We're working to determine that,” Falk said. “Thank you. You may return to your regular duties.”

“I do not require your permission to do so, my lord,” Hannik pointed out with a touch of acid in his voice. “I serve at the King's pleasure, not yours.” He turned from Falk, bowed to the Prince, then turned and strode back to the bridge.
They'll soon enough be one and the same, old man
, Falk thought savagely as he watched him go.

Karl had opened his shirt for the Healer's examination; now he buttoned it up again, ran a hand through his shaggy blond hair, and glared at Falk. “Someone just tried to kill me, Lord Falk. Isn't it your job to prevent such things?”

Falk clamped down on his temper.
Soon
, he thought.
Soon.
Out loud, he said only, “My lord, such an attack is unprecedented. In fact, I would have said it was impossible. I am hoping the First Mage,” he nodded toward Tagaza, who had waded into the water to look at the corpse, robes hitched up in one hand to reveal massive, hairy calves as big as tree trunks, “may shed light on how it was done. But at the moment, I can tell you nothing.”

“Then let us consider the ‘why.'” Karl's eyes never wavered from Falk's face. “Why would any Mageborn want to murder the Heir? It accomplishes nothing.”

He's got the nub of it
, Falk admitted sourly to himself. “It could be a personal, rather than a political, attack,” he suggested out loud. “If someone hated you enough . . .”

“. . . you would surely know it,” Karl said. “As would I. I can think of no one who hates me at all, much less enough to go to such elaborate lengths to kill me. There are easier ways.”

Falk let slide the notion that no one could possibly hate Karl enough to kill him, since he personally would have slain the Prince without a qualm if he didn't need him for a few more weeks, and admitted to himself that Karl had a point. A rock from the roof, poison in his cup, a thrown dagger, an ordinary crossbow bolt from hiding . . . the Prince moved and mingled freely within the Lesser Barrier, because in almost eight centuries, there had never been a plot against the Heir. As Karl himself said, killing the Heir would ordinarily accomplish nothing. And killing Karl in
particular
, Falk thought, would accomplish nothing . . . though only a few people knew that.

He frowned. That wasn't quite true, of course. Killing Karl would accomplish one thing; it would disrupt Falk's plans. And the Unbound symbol in his pocket lent that possibility more weight than he would ordinarily have given it.

He tucked that thought away to consider in more detail later.
First, gather information.
“Did Your Highness see anyone nearby before the assassin attacked?” he said.

“No one,” Karl said.

“Your Highness . . . ?” Teran said. Karl glanced at him, then frowned.

“Oh, right. We did see a Commoner, outside the Barrier, a few minutes before the attack.”

“A Commoner?” Falk turned and looked back toward the Barrier. If anything, the storm out there had worsened. They appeared to be inside a glass dome immersed in dirty milk, the outside world entirely hidden in swirling gray and white. “In that weather?”

“He couldn't have had anything to do with the attack, anyway,” Karl said. “The attacker used magic.”

“But you can't be certain that the person you saw outside the Barrier was a Commoner, Your Highness,” Falk pointed out.

Karl's eyes widened. “I never thought of that.”

Of course you didn't
, Falk thought scornfully.

The Prince's gaze narrowed again. “But even if he was Mageborn, he could have done nothing to trigger or abet the attack. Magic cannot pass through the Lesser Barrier.”

“Not entirely true,” said Tagaza, coming up behind the Prince.

Karl turned toward him. “Master?” he said.

“I'm not teaching you now, Your Highness,” Tagaza said with a slight smile.

Karl laughed a little. “Sorry. Force of habit. First Mage, then. Are you saying magic
can
pass through the Lesser Barrier?”

“Not easily,” Tagaza admitted. “But of course it is designed to allow
some
magic through. The smoke and ash from the MageFurnace, for instance, must be transported out to the Chimneys through the Barrier. And there are . . . other reasons.”

“‘To allow the MageLords to strike at the Commoners should they prove rebellious,'“ Karl said, as if he were quoting.

Tagaza smiled. “And I thought you were asleep during that lesson,” he said.

“But that's all magic originating
inside
the Barrier. Surely it is designed to prevent any magical attack from
outside
.”

“It is, Your Highness. But there are laws to magic. The Barrier cannot be even slightly permeable in one direction and remain completely impermeable in the other. So it is
theoretically
possible that someone could strike at you magically through the Barrier. Even, I suppose, that someone could find a way to bodily pass
through
the Barrier. But it would be very, very difficult to accomplish.” He spread his hands. “I am First Mage, and I know
I
could not do it.”

“Still, the man you saw in the snow could have been the mage who placed and armed the assassin, out there to observe the results of his efforts,” Falk said. “Or, indeed, he may have been a Commoner . . . which in some ways is an even more troubling prospect.”

“Why would a Commoner want to kill me?” Karl protested. “I've represented the Crown in New Cabora for years. I want them to know that, even if the current King is . . . uninvolved . . . the next King will keep the Commons' interests in mind. I cut the ribbon to open the new clock tower of their city Hall just three months ago!”

“Ribbon cutting only goes so far,” Falk said dryly. “You are still a symbol of what they call MageLord ‘oppression.' There are some Commoners who might see killing you as a way of making a very loud, very public statement.”

Karl frowned again. “Are you thinking of the Common Cause?”

“Not the public version, Your Highness, but as I have told you, there is a hidden, far more dangerous side.” Falk glanced at the milk-white world outside. The Common Cause's public adherents insisted they were loyal to the MageLords and the King, but lobbied, as much as the Commoners
could
lobby, for greater control over their own affairs. Falk found them irritating, but left them alone as a kind of safety valve, a way to release the rebellious pressure constantly bubbling beneath the surface in the streets of the city.

But he knew well there was a shadowy side to the Common Cause, secret adherents who drew heart from the fact that once before, eight centuries gone, Commoners had risen up against the MageLords, had driven them out of the Old Kingdom to Evrenfels, terrified them so much they had built an impenetrable wall to protect themselves. Perhaps, those Common Causers suggested, it was time for history to repeat itself . . .