Above His Proper Station (25 page)

“Very good, my lord,” the footman said, and Anrel heard his footsteps as he retreated back down the stairs.

“Now, Master li-Parsil, how may I help you?”

That
was the other voice! Anrel felt foolish for not recognizing it immediately, though there was an unfamiliar note of hoarseness.

“Lord Blackfield,” Derhin said, “I am here on behalf of my fellow delegates.”

From his concealed position Anrel could not see what was happening, but he imagined Lord Blackfield had bowed in acknowledgment.

“I see several familiar faces,” the Quandishman said. “If I am not mistaken, these are all members of that faction known as the Hots—except yourself, of course, Master li-Parsil.”

“He said you knew where to find Alvos,” an unfamiliar voice called.

“Where is he?” demanded another.

“Yes, these are the Hots,” Derhin said. “Or at any rate, the
surviving
Hots.”

“I heard about poor Master tel-Kabanim,” Lord Blackfield replied.

“Bring us to Alvos!” someone shouted.

“You have been observing the council for half a season,” Derhin said. “You know how precariously balanced it is.”

“I know that it is divided into a plethora of factions, sir. I have observed miserably little balance.”

“Yes, well, Amanir's death has thrown it even further out of balance. His absence leaves Naith underrepresented, and the Hots without a spokesman.”

“So I understand.”

“These delegates behind me—we were grieving together over the loss of my old friend, and the issue of how he might best be replaced arose.”

“Is he to be replaced, then?”

“He
must
be!” a new voice roared. “We will not allow Lord Allutar's perfidy to be rewarded!”

Anrel's heart beat faster at the sound of that, as he remembered his own determination to ensure Lord Valin's voice had not been stilled. Lord Allutar had made the same mistake again, killing a man to silence him, not realizing that there were others who would give voice to the dead man's words.

“Alvos!” someone called.

“Alvos!” several shouted in unison.

“Yes,” Derhin said, sounding somewhat unsure of himself. “They all agreed that if they could only find the famous Alvos he would be the ideal replacement for Amanir. And I … I mentioned that I had spoken to Alvos recently, and that you knew how to reach him.”

“I see,” Lord Blackfield said. He paused, then said, “I might be able to get a message to the man who called himself Alvos back in Naith.”

“Well, do it, then!”

“Tell him!”

“We want Alvos!”

“Bring him to us!”

Anrel could stand it no longer. This might be the occasion when he could avenge all the harm Lord Allutar had done. This was a chance to thrust himself into a position where he could accomplish something. He had never before concerned himself with politics and affairs of state beyond their effects on himself and his family and friends, thinking it all above an ordinary young man like himself, but now it seemed that the Mother and Father were giving him an opportunity to be more, to
do
more. He stepped around the door and stood beside Lord Blackfield.

“I am Alvos,” he said, “and I am here!”

He found himself looking out on a crowd of more than a dozen men, mostly young, filling the hallway and crowding the top few steps of the staircase. Derhin stood at their head; his eyes were red, and his expression strained. The smell of sour wine hung over them all.

“Anrel,” Derhin said softly. Anrel met his gaze.

Those eyes were very red, and wet. Anrel thought Derhin must have been weeping—and why not, when his best friend had died? Anrel could not think of anything to say in the face of such a loss. He knew that no words had been any comfort to him when Valin had died, and Derhin's emotions must be similar.

For a moment no one else spoke; then one of the delegates demanded, “Is that Alvos?”

“It is,” Derhin said.

“Can you doubt it?” Anrel asked, turning his attention from Derhin to the others. “You came seeking me, in the name of justice; would the Father so disappoint you as to provide an imposter? I am the man who spoke from the statue of the First Emperor in Aulix Square. I am the man who implored the people of Naith to send Master li-Parsil and his late companion to Lume as their delegates to the Grand Council. I am Alvos. What would you have of me?”

“Vengeance!” someone called.

“And how am I to give you that? I am only a man, not a magician nor a miracle.”

“Lead us!”

“We need you on the council!”

“Anrel,” Derhin said, “we want you to take Amanir's seat on the Grand Council.”

Anrel hesitated for a moment. He had heard them say they wanted him to take Amanir's place, and he had assumed they wanted him to make a speech somewhere denouncing Lord Allutar, picking up where Amanir had left off. He would be more than willing to do that. But to actually take a seat on the Grand Council? That was more than he had expected.

They were waiting for his reply, though, so he demanded, “And how is this to be achieved? Is there a means to replace delegates who can no longer serve? What would it accomplish?”

Derhin looked over his shoulder at the crowd, then turned and leaned close to Anrel and Lord Blackfield. “May we discuss this?” he murmured. “Not this whole drunken crowd, but myself and perhaps two or three of my more sober companions?”

“Of course,” Anrel whispered. “At least—” He turned. “My lord? Might we trouble you for the use of a room?”

“By all means,” Lord Blackfield murmured.

Anrel straightened. “My friends,” he announced, addressing the crowd beyond the door, “I will consider your request—but there is a time and a place for everything, and this is not the time for any discussion of myself, or of the future. Our friend died today—a worthy man, an honorable man, a loyal son of the empire and a proud Walasian, dead at his own hand, if perhaps not of his own will. Let us pause and remember him, and mourn our loss. There is no need to press headlong into an uncertain future; tomorrow will be soon enough for that. For now, I ask you all to go forth and honor the memory of Amanir tel-Kabanim. Drink to his spirit and pray for his soul, and remember his deeds, his kindness, his generosity, his enthusiasm, his hope for the future of our nation. Give him this one night before concerning yourselves with his successor. I will be here in the morning, and we can speak then of what role I may have, if any, in carrying on Amanir's legacy. I thank you for the honor you do me by thinking I am worthy to follow in his footsteps, but let us not rush into any rash decisions. Go, remember Amanir, and compose yourselves for the long struggle ahead!”

“To Amanir!” Lord Blackfield said, raising a wineglass—Anrel had no idea how he had contrived to have one in his hand, but he did, and now brought it up in salute, then drained it in a gulp.

“To Amanir!” Derhin repeated, raising a fist.

“To Amanir!” chorused the others.

Then Anrel stepped back into the sitting room. Lord Blackfield followed him, and closed the door—but he did not latch it, but instead stood ready, handle in his hand, listening.

For a moment there was a confused muttering, then one by one Anrel could hear footsteps retreating down the staircase. After a moment the front door could be heard to close, and then silence fell.

Lord Blackfield opened the door again, and ushered Derhin and two others in.

“Anrel Murau, Lord Blackfield,” Derhin said as the Quandishman closed the door solidly, “this is Zarein Lorsa, delegate from Kallai, and this is Pariel Gluth, delegate from Holmissa.”

“An honor to meet you,” Anrel said, taking Delegate Lorsa's hand and bowing. Then he turned to Delegate Gluth. “And you, sir.”

“Master … Murau, did he say?” Lorsa asked.

“Yes.”

“Alvos is not your real name?”

“No; it was an identity I created on the spur of the moment when I spoke in Aulix Square. I had no idea that name would gain such infamy.”

“How do you
do
that, sir?” Gluth asked.

“I'm sorry,” Anrel said. “Do what?”

“Speak like that! It wasn't your words—oh, they were chosen well enough, but they were not so very exceptional. It was something about how you spoke them. You took a drunken mob that had every intention of carrying you off on their shoulders to confront Lord Allutar, and turned them into a respectful party of mourners. By all accounts your speech in Naith had a similar magic. Hardly anyone agrees on what you said, but everyone who was there swears it was brilliant. How did you
do
that?”

“I … I don't know,” Anrel said, taken aback. “I spoke as well as I could, and tried to put my heart into my words, but beyond that, I have no more idea of what I did than do you.”

“A natural flair for oratory,” Lord Blackfield said. “A very useful gift, when properly applied.”

“And one we very much hope to use, Master Murau,” Delegate Lorsa said. “Shall we discuss the matter?”

“By all means,” Anrel said. “By all means.”

20

In Which Anrel Prepares to Assume His New Duties

The conversation lasted well into the evening, continuing through a fine supper where the three delegates were guests.

Anrel learned that there was a process by which delegates unable to continue in office could be replaced, but it was somewhat vague. Delegates could specify who was to succeed them, but such inheritance had to be confirmed, and in any case Amanir tel-Kabanim had never named an heir. Where no successor had been chosen by the deceased, it fell to the representative closest in origin to appoint a provisional successor. Since Amanir had been one of the two commoners elected by the people of Naith, it was presumably the responsibility of the other, Derhin, to make that selection.

“It's a good thing Naith is the provincial capital, so there were two of us,” Derhin said. “Otherwise it would be up to the burgrave's man to choose Amanir's replacement, and I don't think Lord Oris would name anyone the Hots would accept.”

“Lord Oris?”

“A petty official at the College of Sorcerers,” Derhin explained. “The burgrave of Naith appointed him to the council.”

Derhin's choice, however, was only provisional. He would need the approval of at least one-fourth of the Grand Council—not a majority, in recognition of the differing interests of different parts of the empire, but enough to show that the appointment was not utterly bizarre and unreasonable. Once that was obtained, officials and delegates of the city or region he was to represent could demand an election confirming his appointment—as Lord Allutar and quite possibly Lord Oris or the burgrave of Naith might well do.

“We can get the confirmation in the council,” Lorsa said, “but an election may reverse it, so your term may not last very long.”

“I think he would survive an election,” Derhin said. “He would be a full delegate in the interim, in any case.”

In addition to the mechanism by which he might become a delegate, there were two other major issues that Anrel wanted to discuss.

One was how agreeing to serve on the Grand Council would benefit him personally, and that was quickly answered—as a delegate, he would be pardoned for all his previous crimes, not merely the sedition charges, or assaulting and robbing the watchman in Naith, but his various crimes committed during his residence in the Pensioners' Quarter.

Furthermore, he would be provided with room and board by the burgrave of Naith. He would join Derhin at the burgrave's town house on Lourn Street—Lord Oris, despite having been appointed by the burgrave, was not resident there, but was instead staying with his sister, Lady Vimia, who had lived in Lume by her own choice for several years.

As a delegate Anrel would also receive a small stipend from the provincial government of Aulix, and there were also other, less official sources of income available to delegates. He would no longer be dependent on Lord Blackfield's hospitality, and would never again have to resort to theft or fraud simply to eat.

Those were very tempting reasons to accept the offered post, but there was another, equally important matter.

“What would be expected of me?” he asked.

That
portion of the discussion was what filled most of the evening. It seemed the Hots wanted a new spokesman to replace their late leader. Anrel would be there to represent Naith and Aulix, but it was also assumed that he would take on a significant role with the Hots—and that was a problem, because Anrel did not in fact agree with many of their positions.

“Surely, you cannot deny that the sorcerers are responsible for most of the empire's problems!” Gluth exclaimed, when Anrel first expressed his doubts about Hot doctrine.

“Most?” Anrel shook his head. “A great many of them, certainly, but most? I am not convinced. I think ordinary people are fully as capable of error as sorcerers.” He held up a hand as Gluth started to protest. “But that is not what I see as the greatest difficulty with your plans. As I understand it, you want to sweep the sorcerers from power, and replace them with commoners—or at any rate, people who are commoners now, people who cannot wield magic.”

“Yes,” Gluth said. “They have had their chance!”

“And what is to become of the sorcerers, then? Do you think they will yield up their power without a struggle? Do you think they will not use sorcery to retake that power?”

“Those who do not accept the new order must be shown their error,” Lorsa said.

“Would you cast them into prison, then? Do you think prison can hold a sorcerer?”

“There are ways to suppress a sorcerer's magic, are there not?” Lorsa asked. He glanced at Lord Blackfield, then turned back to Anrel. “Does not the emperor have the means to deal with rebellious nobles?”