Above His Proper Station (35 page)

The other delegates stared at him as his words sank in. Lorsa frowned. “How are we to find the ones we want in all
that
?”

“The entries are in chronological order, according to when the report of each sorcerer's completion of the trials was received here,” Anrel explained, looking over the page. “Most sorcerers complete the trials at the age of twelve. I assume that everyone in the first, oh, hundred and fifty volumes or so must be dead of old age by now; we need concern ourselves only with these last few.”

Even as he spoke, Anrel wondered at the numbers. The empire was five hundred and eighty-eight—no, eighty-
nine
years old. One hundred and sixty-eight volumes in five hundred and eighty-nine years worked out to an average of between three and four years a volume, yet this last volume, covering four years, was still mostly blank. What had filled all those thousands of pages?

Lord Blackfield had told him that the number of sorcerers in the empire was declining; had it declined
that
much?

Perhaps earlier volumes contained additional information; after all, that first one had said it contained true names
and
secret histories.

“Excellent,” Lorsa said. “Seneschal, you and your men may leave us.”

“No, sir. We must see that the emperor's instructions are followed.”

Lorsa looked at him, obviously annoyed, but before he could speak, Gluth cut him off.

“Master Seneschal,” he said, “You need to see what we do, correct?”

“Yes.”

“But you do not need to hear what we say.”

“No,” the seneschal admitted with obvious reluctance.

“Then let you and your men take up positions at the far end of the library, and observe us from there. We will leave the entry open and as unobstructed as we can manage, and if we wish to speak of matters that do not concern you, we will whisper.”

The seneschal hesitated, then nodded. “As you say,” he said and with a gesture he sent the other two men in green and gold to the far end of the outer room, then joined them there. All three turned to watch.

Lorsa clapped Gluth on the shoulder, and together the two of them stepped into the secret room where the list was stored. Gluth dragged one of the library chairs with him.

“Now,” Lorsa said to Anrel in a hoarse voice he probably intended as a whisper, “Fetch the ones we need. Set them on the table, and let us get on with the task at hand!”

Anrel retrieved volume 167, then 166, as he asked quietly, “What
is
the task at hand, then?”

“Why, copying out the true name of every living sorcerer,” Lorsa said with a glance at the seneschal. “We have no need of the details about trials and bindings. The names will suffice.”

“
All
of them?” Anrel said. “But I had thought you had only a few you wanted to investigate.”

Lorsa looked at him pityingly. “Delegate Murau,” he said in a better approximation of a whisper, “I had thought you a man of sense. We may never have this opportunity again—the emperor may change his mind, or even, may the Father prevent it, die, and leave the throne to a less cooperative successor. Even if we have but a handful of sorcerers we want to question
now,
there may be occasion in the future to confront others. Let us seize the opportunity to gain what small advantage against our oppressors that we can,
while
we can.”

During this exchange Guirdosia and Essarnyn had stepped cautiously into the list room, bringing chairs and writing supplies with them. Each set his writing box upon the table and got out pens and paper. Savar and Gluth followed suit.

Anrel hesitated, and as he did, Guirdosia reached out and took volume 166 from his hands. “I'll start with this one,” he said.

Anrel started to object, then looked at Lorsa and released the book. He watched as Guirdosia opened it, flipped past the title page and a few introductory notes, and then set it down with the first page of names.

“Some of these are dead,” Guirdosia said, pointing.

Lorsa glanced over, and Anrel peered at the page; sure enough, at the bottom of the first entry someone had written in, “Deceased of natural causes, 13 Winter, 21st year of Lurias XII.”

“We have no need of those,” Lorsa said. “Record only those still alive.”

Guirdosia nodded, dipped his pen, and began copying the names in the second listing.

“We must all of us make haste,” Gluth said, opening volume 167 and glancing at the seneschal. “I will take the left-hand pages in this volume; Savar, you will take the right.”

“I have the right here,” Guirdosia said. “Essarnyn, would you essay the left?”

That left Lorsa and Anrel with volume 168. “My hand is not strong,” Lorsa said. “Do you think, Master Murau, you can manage this volume alone?”

Remembering that two-thirds of the pages were blank, Anrel thought he could easily manage this one in the time it would take each of the other pairs to finish their tasks, but he hesitated. “This book is only for the past four years,” he said. “Those listed here would most likely be no more than seventeen years of age; need we concern ourselves with them?”

“The merest kitten will grow fangs and claws in time,” Lorsa said. “Let us be prepared.”

Reluctantly, Anrel sat down and began copying.

After a moment, as he turned a page, he paused and looked around. Four of the others were scribbling busily; Lorsa was standing by, his hands clasped behind his back, trying unsuccessfully to look interested.

Gluth noticed Anrel's gaze; he leaned over and whispered, “If you wonder why Lorsa does not help us, rest assured, he is willing enough, but his education is lacking—he can barely read, and his writing is all but illegible.”

Anrel nodded, and looked at Gluth's own papers. Gluth wrote a fine, steady hand, without a smear or smudge to be seen, a little smaller and less elegant than Anrel's own, but very clear. Savar and Guirdosia also wrote well; Essarnyn's work was not readily visible.

None of them seemed troubled in the least by the work they were doing, but Anrel could not overcome his own reservations. The knowledge contained in these pages could ruin hundreds of lives; the merest half-fraudulent witch, given a sorcerer's true name, could strip away the sorcerer's magical birthright and bind him to her will.

Anrel had no great love for most sorcerers, but he recognized this as powerful and dangerous information, and he did not want to entrust it to someone like Zarein Lorsa. Lorsa was a fanatic, a man who loathed sorcery and sorcerers, and these names would give him power over hundreds of them. He could destroy any sorcerer he chose, or use the threat of such destruction to blackmail one.

And not merely some theoretical sorcerer, either—somewhere in these books were the true names of Anrel's uncle and cousin.

What had the emperor been thinking, agreeing to give the committee access to the Great List?

He had probably been thinking he was ingratiating himself with the Grand Council, and arranging for Lord Allutar, and perhaps a few other scapegoats, to be sacrificed to calm the populace. Anrel doubted it had ever occurred to the emperor that Lorsa might want far more than that.

Anrel could only conclude that the emperor was a fool—but then, he had suspected as much for some time.

Was there some way, perhaps, that Anrel might protect a few people? He could miscopy names—but he was only recording the true names of children; one of the others would find the listings for Lord Dorias Adirane and Lady Saria Adirane.

He copied out name after name as he tried to devise some way to ensure that his family, and perhaps some of the other sorcerers he had known and liked over the years, were not accurately recorded.

He could come up with nothing, no stratagem to arrange it so that he, and no one else, would copy their names.

They had been writing for more than an hour, and Anrel, despite writing as slowly as he dared, was nearing the end of the filled portion of volume 168, when he was interrupted by a sudden shout.

“I have him!”

28

In Which Anrel Learns His Foe's Secret

Anrel looked up, startled, to see Essarnyn pointing at a page, grinning broadly. “I have him!” he repeated. “Allutar Hezir, succeeded in twenty-four of twenty-four attempts!”

“What is his true name?” Lorsa said, turning to look.

“Don't read it aloud!” Anrel warned.

The others turned to look at him.

“Why not?” Essarnyn asked.

Guirdosia glanced at the three men in imperial livery, standing out of earshot. “They won't hear us.”

“
He'll
hear you,” Anrel said.

“What?”

“He'll hear you,” Anrel repeated. “Lord Allutar.”

“But he's nowhere near us, surely,” Guirdosia said. “Why would he be in the palace?”

“He's probably not in the palace. It doesn't matter where he is,” Anrel said. “He's a sorcerer, and it's his
true name.
He will know when it has been spoken, no matter where or by whom. It's a part of him.”

“Most interesting, if true,” Gluth said.

“What does it
matter
if he hears us?” Lorsa said. “We have his true name! We have complete power over him!”

“Not without a magician who can work a binding,” Anrel replied. “And if he knows someone has learned his true name, he may be able to create defenses—I don't know what or how, I'm no sorcerer, but there might be a way. Why give him a warning, and a chance to prepare?”

Lorsa's brow knitted; Anrel met his gaze, but neither of them spoke.

“Just write it down, then,” Gluth directed Essarnyn. “Delegate Murau has a point. We will have it when we need it; no need to alert our foe.”

“No, let him know his days are numbered!” Lorsa protested. “Let him taste the fear, just as those who have felt his heavy hand have known fear.”

“Surely, Delegate Lorsa,” Gluth said mildly, “it is better to forego the pleasure of his fearful anticipation if it makes it all the more certain that when the time comes, and our spell descends upon him like a bolt from the heavens, he will have no possibility of dodging the blow.”

“I'll write it down,” Essarnyn said, matching his actions to his words. “And circle it, so that it may be found easily.”

The others watched as he dipped his pen and carefully recorded the syllables of Lord Allutar's true name, then drew a neat ring around them.

Then Gluth clapped his hands and said, “Come now, Delegates, we are not here merely to counter one man, but to restrain an entire class. Let us get on with our work!”

At the far end of the library, the seneschal cleared his throat. “Excuse me,” he called, “but how much longer do you intend to be at this? Surely, you have found what you were after by now.”

Startled, Lorsa turned to face him. “Why, I think we will be some time yet,” he said. “I can't say exactly.”

“I don't believe that is acceptable,” the seneschal replied. “The emperor ordered me to give you access to the list, and I have done so, but he did not say I must allow you unlimited time. I think I have been quite generous in saying nothing until now, but we are at the point when I must insist you inform me how much longer this will take.”

Lorsa looked at the others; Gluth looked at volume 167 and said, “Another hour. Give us another hour, and we will be content.”

“There, Master Seneschal,” Lorsa said. “You have your answer—another hour, and you may send us on our way.”

“Thank you,” the seneschal replied. “I can give you another hour, but not a moment longer.”

With that settled, the five scribes returned to their work. Instead of continuing to work as slowly as he dared, though, Anrel hastily finished up volume 168, deliberately reversing syllables in every remaining true name he recorded—he did not think anyone had the right to bind the souls of boys and girls of thirteen.

When he had completed that, he joined Essarnyn and Guirdosia on volume 166, and again, from that point on he deliberately introduced errors in every entry he copied—with the need for speed, he was fairly sure that no one would check his work.

He looked for any Adiranes, but did not see them.

They finished volume 166 with perhaps a quarter hour remaining, and pulled volume 165 from the shelf, to see whether any of the elders listed therein might still be alive. Several were. By this point Anrel and Essarnyn had run out of paper, even after squeezing more entries into every available margin, but Guirdosia still had a few sheets, which he shared out.

They had not finished with volume 165 when the seneschal called time, but they had made a good start, and the three later volumes were complete. Under the seneschal's watchful eye the four volumes were returned to their proper places on the shelves; then the six members of the Committee for the Regulation of Sorcery gathered up their writing utensils and their stacks of paper, and allowed themselves to be shown out of the list room, dragging their chairs behind them, leaving only the single table, chair, and lamp. On his way out Gluth extinguished the lamp's flame, returning the room to the state in which they had first seen it.

When everyone and everything had been cleared out the emperor's men swung the bookcase back into position, and the seneschal locked it.

“Good night, masters,” the seneschal said, bowing. “My men will see you out.”

Ten minutes later the six delegates and their associates were on the Promenade, outside the line of watchmen, clutching their writing boxes and sheaves of paper. The sun had set, and the sky above the river was deep indigo, fading to black, but torches blazed on the palace ramparts.

“Now, friends,” Lorsa said, “give me your work, and I will see to it that it is put to the best use.” He took the bundle of papers from Essarnyn's hand as he spoke.