“This can’t be happening,” Lord Dorias said, his head in his hands. “It can’t be!”
“I’m sorry, Magister,” Valin said, eyes downcast. “I had not intended my words—”
“Anrel,” Dorias interrupted, ignoring Valin, “didn’t I ask you to keep Valin away from Lord Allutar?”
Anrel saw the look of stunned dismay that flickered across Valin’s face, and considered lying—Valin might believe old Dorias was even more confused than usual—but decided there was no point in deception. “I said I would keep him occupied elsewhere this evening, yes, but evening had not come, and I had not anticipated Lord Allutar’s presence in the town square.”
“Do you know how long it has been since there has been a formal challenge in Aulix?”
“Thirty-eight years,” Anrel replied immediately. “Lord Nerval Cherneth challenged the sitting burgrave of Paldis, a Lord Kordomir, and defeated him easily.”
“How do you . . . oh, never mind. It doesn’t matter.” Dorias sighed. “Even if Lord Allutar chooses not to do you any permanent physical harm, Valin, and I doubt you will be so fortunate as that, do you know what this will do to your reputation? You are a sorcerer, yes, but against Lord Allutar you are a child with a stick fighting a skilled swordsman, and this trial will make you look like a complete fool. This cannot end well.”
Stung, Valin began, “I am not completely without ability—”
Dorias cut him off. “I trained you,” he said. “I know your abilities quite well. You have the talent to be a . . . a functionary, a warder perhaps, even a magistrate. But a landgrave? No.” He shook his head. “It is not possible.”
“Fine, then!” Valin said, flinging his head back. “I will do my best, and I will be defeated, and honor will be served.”
“And for the rest of your life, people will whisper behind their hands, saying, ‘There goes the fool who challenged Lord Allutar!’ Do you think you have had difficulty in finding a position now? It will be a thousand times worse when the news gets out. And all this assumes that you survive this confrontation, which is by no means certain, and are not crippled. As Anrel can tell you, sorcery can kill.”
Anrel’s mouth tightened, and he resisted the temptation to throw his uncle’s earlier words about the blessings of sorcery back in his face.
“And if I survive I will go to Lume as your delegate, Magister,” Valin said, “and I will do what I can there to make a record that will make them all forget my moment of folly.”
“Let us hope that you will be so fortunate!”
“Perhaps this will put paid to the quarrel between them, Uncle,” Anrel said. “It may even prove a blessing in the end—the conflict will be resolved, honor satisfied, and our two houses reconciled thereby, to the benefit of”—he caught himself before implying something indelicate about Lady Saria, and concluded—“of all concerned.”
“Perhaps,” Dorias said, in tones of unrelieved woe that made plain his disbelief. He turned to Valin. “You will need seconds.”
“I am unfamiliar with the protocol,” Valin admitted.
“You will need companions who will serve as your aides,” Dorias explained. “The seconds serve as go-betweens between the two principals, since they are forbidden to speak to each other, lest their words be subtle spells. The seconds also serve as judges, to ensure an honest competition, and to decide the victor should the outcome not be immediately obvious. The seconds are responsible for acknowledging defeat, should they deem their principal unable to continue.”
“I have no one in Alzur I would trust to serve such a role, save Anrel and yourself,” Valin said.
“Could you perhaps send to Naith for your friends there?” Anrel suggested. “I do not believe the trial need take place immediately.”
“I fear that the challenged party sets the time and place,” Dorias said. “If Lord Allutar chooses, the trial may be held tomorrow morning. By custom he must allow you one night to put your affairs in order, but no more than that. You must have a second in place by morning, to receive the terms.”
“Magister, would you do me the honor?”
“No,” Dorias said unhappily. “I cannot. As burgrave of Alzur, where the challenge was given and accepted, I must remain neutral.”
Valin turned to Anrel.
Anrel turned to Dorias. “Is it not customary for the seconds to be sorcerers themselves, to prevent trickery?”
“Customary, but not required,” Dorias replied. “As long as they are of good family and reputation, any may serve.”
“And there are no sorcerers in Alzur save Allutar, Saria, Dorias, and myself,” Valin said. “I do not seem to have the option of following custom.”
“Lady Saria—” Anrel began, then stopped. “No, I suppose not.” He could hardly expect Saria to choose sides between her father’s fosterling and her own suitor.
“Write to your friends in Naith,” Dorias said. “I will have Ollith deliver the letter to the College of Sorcerers there, and if Lord Allutar allows time, those friends may come to Alzur to support you. They will be made welcome in my home.”
“A letter?” Valin frowned. “I cannot go myself, I suppose.”
“You cannot leave my jurisdiction without Lord Allutar’s permission,” Dorias said. “The challenge has been made and accepted, and you are now bound by laws as old as the empire.”
“A pity. I would be more persuasive in person, I am sure.” He turned to Anrel again. “Will you serve as my second, then, until such time as I can find a sorcerer to aid me?”
“Of course,” Anrel said, trying to conceal his misgivings. A thought struck him. “I wonder who Lord Allutar will choose as his seconds. As you observed, there are no other sorcerers in Alzur.”
“I would guess his messenger is already on the road to Naith,” Dorias said.
“Then let us set ours on his heels,” Valin said. “I will write the letter at once.” He turned and hurried from the room.
Dorias stared after him for a moment, then turned to Anrel. “He does not seem to understand the gravity of the situation,” Dorias said.
“I am not sure I understand the gravity of the situation,” Anrel admitted. “Although I have of course read about them, the only sorcerous trial I have ever seen was my own. What is likely to come of this challenge?”
“Whatever Lord Allutar pleases,” Dorias said. “In truth, Valin’s magic is weak, and he has never applied himself to his studies, despite my encouragements. The form of the thing is this: Each party is given time to prepare whatever wardings he may choose, using whatever devices he has brought with him, and to work whatever defensive bindings he may be able. Then, when all is agreed to be in readiness, each party is free to attack the other by any magical means whatsoever, until such time as one party shall fall, with wards broken. The assault is then to stop immediately—if the attacker does not realize at once that the wards are lost, the seconds must inform him. Any attack after the wards are known to be gone is a crime, but there is no requirement to withdraw any previous spells; there are tales of trials conducted in this manner of old where the loser suffered the most embarrassing enchantments for days afterward. Lord Abizien of Agrivar allegedly once turned a challenger into a pig, and left him in that form permanently; I don’t think Lord Allutar could manage a binding of that complexity, but there is no question he could kill or maim Valin, should he choose to do so.”
Anrel had indeed read several such accounts of challenges and trials, but he had hoped that there might have been changes to bring them more into accord with modern sensibilities. Apparently, there had not. “Valin could die.”
“If Lord Allutar wishes, yes. Easily.”
Anrel shuddered.
But then he reconsidered. Surely, Lord Allutar would not kill Valin. True, he had put Urunar Kazien to death, but Valin li-Tarbek, whatever his family, was a sorcerer, not a commoner, and one who had committed no crime beyond speaking foolishly. Further, to murder a fosterling of his intended bride’s father would hardly endear him to her.
No, Lord Allutar would humble Valin, not kill him. Anrel was sure of it.
At least, he tried to tell himself he was sure of it. As he lay in his bed that night, unable to sleep, he said quietly to the canopy above his bed, “All will be well. Valin will live, and learn to curb his tongue. It will be a salutary lesson for him.”
He hoped he spoke the truth.
The following morning Anrel had scarcely finished dressing when he heard the thud of the big door-knocker, followed by low voices. He hurried downstairs.
Dolz, one of the footmen, had answered the knock, and was speaking with two well-dressed men in the foyer. The gaze of one of the visitors fell on Anrel, and Dolz turned.
“Master Murau!” he said. “These lords say that they must speak with Lord Valin’s seconds.”
“I am Lord Valin’s second,” Anrel said, striding into the foyer. He stopped, and bowed to the pair.
They exchanged glances, then essayed rudimentary bows in return. “Master Murau?” one of them asked. “You are not a sorcerer?”
“I am not,” Anrel confirmed. “My parents were, but I was not fortunate enough to inherit their skills. My true name is not entered in the Great List, nor can I cast so much as a simple ward. It is my understanding, however, that in these matters the seconds are not actually required to be sorcerers themselves.”
“Your understanding is correct, sir,” the visitor acknowledged.
“Lord Valin has sent word of his situation to Naith, and hopes that other friends may attend him later, but for now, I am his only representative in this affair,” Anrel said. “My name is Anrel Murau, son of Lord Beniaz Murau and Lady Gava Adirane, and I speak for the interests of Lord Valin li-Tarbek, who is the apprentice and fosterling of my uncle, Lord Dorias Adirane, burgrave of Alzur, and who is also the burgrave’s designee for Alzur’s appointed place on the Grand Council. May I ask who I have the honor of addressing?”
“I am Neriam Kadara, First Lord Magistrate of the Landgrave’s Court in Naith,” the speaker said. “My companion is Lord Lindred Palonin, chief warder of the College of Sorcerers. We represent the interests of the landgrave of Aulix, Lord Allutar Hezir, in the matter of Lord Valin’s challenge to his position.”
“I am at your service, my lords,” Anrel said with a bow.
“It is the landgrave’s desire that this matter be concluded as swiftly as possible,” Lord Neriam said. “It serves no one to draw it out.”
“I believe my principal feels much the same,” Anrel said. Valin had said the previous night, after dispatching his letter, that he wanted the whole thing over with. “What do you propose?”
“It is necessary, of course, that the trial be held on neutral ground, and therefore it can be neither on Lord Allutar’s personal estate proper nor anywhere in the demesne of the burgrave of Alzur, since the burgrave is Lord Valin’s guardian. You accept this?”
“Absolutely, my lords. It is beyond question.”
“Then are you familiar with a small ash grove overlooking the Raish River, roughly a mile east of the Alzur Pale?”
Anrel knew it; it was technically on Lord Allutar’s lands, as the grove where he had encountered the axe-man was on Lord Dorias’s, but since most of Aulix was likewise the landgrave’s property, that was probably unavoidable. “I believe I know the spot. I do not think Lord Valin will make any objection to meeting there.”
“At midday today, then, the contest to begin when the sun is at its zenith?”
“We will be entirely at your disposal at that time and in that place, my lords.”
“And Lord Valin understands the terms of the contest?”
“While I believe he does, I would not be averse to hearing your own understanding of them, my lord, so that we may be certain there is no disagreement.”
Lord Neriam nodded. “Lord Valin has given challenge, questioning Lord Allutar’s right to call himself landgrave of Aulix. Under our ancient custom, as set down by the Grand Council in the founding days of the Walasian Empire, any sorcerer may so challenge the holder of any office or title higher than his own, and that challenge, once given and accepted, cannot be withdrawn—only the emperor’s own direct intervention may revoke it.”
“I wonder why the Grand Council chose to make such challenges irrevocable,” Anrel said.
“Oh, we have their explanation,” Lord Lindred said, speaking for the first time. His voice was a nasal tenor. “It was recorded and disseminated. They did not want challenges made lightly, nor did they want disputes of this nature to go unresolved, or to recur, because that might interfere with the administration of the province. The emperor’s right to overrule a challenge was included so that his chosen and trusted officials could not be removed against his will.”
“Yes,” Lord Neriam said, with a slightly irked glance at his companion. “At any rate, challenge was made and accepted, yesterday in Alzur’s town square, before witnesses, and therefore these two sorcerers must meet and test themselves against each other. There are no restrictions on what preparations they make, save that they cannot carry anything more to the trial than they can lift with one hand, and no independent entities, human or otherwise, are permitted to assist them once all parties have arrived at the agreed-upon site.”
“No homunculi or demons or spirits brought along to help, then,” Anrel said.
“Unless Lord Valin can conjure one on the spot, no, no homunculus or spirit would be permitted to interfere,” Lindred said.
“Once the signal to begin is given, the two shall use whatever methods they please upon each other, save that neither shall physically touch the other, with hand, weapon, or tool,” Neriam continued. “When one man falls the contest is ended, and the man still standing shall be declared the victor, and shall be the landgrave of Aulix thereafter.”
“What would happen should both men fall?” Anrel asked.
Lindred and Neriam glanced at each other. “Most unlikely,” Neriam said.
“Under the law,” Lindred said, “the first to rise and demonstrate himself to be in possession of his faculties would be considered the winner. If there is any doubt, the seconds would confer to settle the matter. In the event there is no clear resolution possible even then, the incumbent remains landgrave, but the challenger may petition the emperor for further consideration.”
Anrel nodded. “You will forgive me, my lords, if I trouble you with a brief summary—I am, as you noted, not a sorcerer, and therefore not familiar with matters of this sort. My friend Lord Valin is to present himself at the ash grove overlooking the river east of Alzur no later than midday today, with whatever magical preparations he can manage, and there he and Lord Allutar will contest to see whose sorcery is more potent, the victor to henceforth be landgrave of Aulix. That is the gist of it?”
“Yes, Master Murau,” Neriam said.
“And is there anything else we need know? Any customs of which we might be ignorant, given that I am no sorcerer, and Lord Valin was born of commoners?”
Neriam looked at Lindred, who frowned thoughtfully.
“I cannot think of any,” Lindred said.
“Very good, then; we will be at the grove by midday.” He bowed.
The two lords bowed in return.
A moment later, when the footman had ushered them out, Anrel stared at the closed door and murmured, “May all our ancestors protect him.”