For the two days leading up to Lord Valin’s funeral, Anrel spent most of his time in his room. His uncle and cousin, both miserable themselves at Valin’s death, scarcely noticed his absence, but so far as they were aware of his isolation they assumed he was lost in grief. They would have been astonished to see that he was instead devoting every second to reading from a variety of books, or writing draft after draft of a speech.
Anrel had promised that Valin’s voice would be heard, and he intended to keep that promise. He would not be able to speak to the Grand Council, as Valin would have, but he could still see to it that someone heard the words Lord Allutar had sought to silence.
He judged he would probably only have one chance to speak out. Oh, he could have simply taken Valin’s place in the wine-garden discussions behind Aulix Square, but that was not enough; he could not speak with conviction in such a setting, since he did not in fact believe most of the populist nonsense Valin had espoused, and such idle conversation accomplished little. Valin’s words had been heard there, and had meant nothing. No, if he was to disturb Lord Allutar’s calm Anrel needed to do something more, something that would draw the attention of people who would never have listened to a bunch of idealistic young fools chatting idly in a tavern.
Not all that attention would be favorable, so he would need to have his words planned out, so that he could say what he had to say quickly and then leave quickly.
He hoped that he could make his speech without being recognized, but he had to consider the possibility that that would not happen. He had to be prepared for the consequences. It might well be necessary to flee the area temporarily, rather than return immediately to his uncle’s house. With that in mind he made a few preparations in addition to his speech, gathering and concealing his personal fortune, such as it was—all of it, he knew, given him by Lord Dorias; he owed his uncle debts he could never repay.
“Your voice will be heard,” he muttered to himself more than once.
At the burial itself, when it came Anrel’s turn to speak a few words, he stood up and said, “My friend and childhood companion was murdered by Lord Allutar so that his voice would not be heard by the people of Aulix. I want you all to know that his voice will be heard. I did not believe the things Valin believed; I did not share his idealism; but I will not permit those beliefs and ideals to die with my friend. To do so would be to betray him, and that I will not do. We bury the body of Lord Valin li-Tarbek today, but his words will live on.”
Then he sat down. This was not the time or place to make his stand; there were no more than thirty people in attendance, most of them servants. Lord Allutar, of course, was not in attendance, as his presence could only have been considered a deliberate insult to Valin’s memory.
Lord Dorias clearly found Anrel’s brief speech disconcerting; Lady Saria, red-eyed and weeping, seemed baffled by it. Their own eulogies were far more traditional, extolling Valin’s compassion and good humor.
Valin’s parents, brother, and sisters, however, appeared to be frightened by Anrel’s words, and refused to speak to him afterward. Anrel regretted that; he had only met them once or twice before, years earlier, and would have liked a chance to share their grief. He did not pretend, however, that he did not understand their reluctance; they had heard him call the landgrave of Aulix a murderer, and wanted no part of such sedition. Their son and brother was dead, but they were not, and they preferred to keep it that way.
After the service, after the li-Tarbeks had turned away, declined an invitation from Lord Dorias, and left for home, Anrel went directly to his room and shut the door, not speaking to anyone.
The following morning, immediately after breakfast, he set out for Naith. He had chosen his attire carefully, to be tasteful without being particularly distinctive—he wanted to look like a man to be taken seriously, but not one who would stand out immediately. He wore a fine brown velvet coat and fawn-colored breeches, and had replaced his customary student’s cap with a broad-brimmed traveler’s hat. In case he should be caught and searched he had concealed a good part of his funds by sewing coins into his coat, under the lining, each one suspended by just a few threads.
He made his way to Aulix Square, following the route Valin had shown him, and found the square just as he remembered it. He walked around the perimeter, considering it all carefully, choosing the best spot to carry out his plans.
The north end of the square was taken up by the courthouse, the center of government for the entire province, an imposing building in the simple, elegant style of the late Old Empire; legend had it that the original courthouse had been converted from a wizard’s abandoned villa after the Old Empire’s fall, but the structure had been expanded many times over the centuries, and Anrel doubted much remained of that ancient estate. Elaborate warding spells kept its polished stone façade clean.
The south side of the square was completely filled by the Provincial College of Sorcerers, a dark contrast to the clean, straight lines of the courthouse; the college had been built three hundred years before, in the ornate fashion of the time, and had been blackened by centuries of smoke and filth that clung to the porous gray stone and accumulated in the niches and crannies—no wards had been devoted to appearances here, though Anrel had no doubt the structure’s magical protections were otherwise formidable. Twisted spires thrust up from every corner and portico, and gargoyles clung to every cornice, their carved faces glowering down at the crowds in the square.
To the west the square was bound by a row of grand houses—Anrel counted five. Most were of recent vintage, going by the architecture. Anrel considered the grand balcony on the central one thoughtfully before moving on.
The eastern side of the square was made up of shops—vintners, restaurants, a bookshop, a bakery, and half a dozen others—with two or three floors of rooms and apartments above each one. The wine garden where he had spent the day with Valin was not technically on the square itself, but just around the corner at the southern end of this row.
Down the center of Aulix Square was a line, north to south, of sculpture. At either end of this was a fountain—a round stone pool, perhaps twenty feet in diameter, with water spraying up from the center. Between the fountains stood several carved stone benches, facing east and west, and between the benches, upon sturdy marble pedestals, were statues of famous men—though in truth, Anrel did not recognize most of them.
And at the midpoint of this line, in the exact center of the square, was a broad plinth, perhaps fifteen feet square and four feet high, supporting a grand pedestal that held a statue of the First Emperor, in his robe and crown, holding up a golden sphere in his right hand, a sphere that shone so brightly with magic that the glow was dimly visible even in daylight.
Anrel considered that balcony, and the courthouse steps, and the central portico of the college, and even the arbor over the entrance of a restaurant, but in the end there really wasn’t any other choice. As the midday crowds began to fill the square he threw himself atop the central plinth, then grabbed the First Emperor’s leg and heaved himself up onto the great man’s pedestal, where he reached up and steadied himself by holding that outstretched right arm. He tugged his hat forward to shadow his face—while it was unlikely anyone from Alzur would be here and recognize him, he had been introduced to several people in the wine garden. There was no need to make his features too visible.
“People of Aulix!” he shouted.
A few faces turned up to look at him; one or two people pointed him out to companions, and someone laughed.
“People of Aulix,” Anrel repeated, “you stand at a crossroads of history!”
“Who are you?” someone called.
“You have an opportunity to remake your province, the empire, the world!” Anrel proclaimed. “It is within your grasp; you need merely reach out and take it!”
“What’s he talking about?”
“Is he a sorcerer?”
“I don’t understand.”
“Who are you?”
“Who are you?”
Anrel looked down at his audience and decided he needed a name, but even if he were to admit his identity, who would listen to Anrel Murau, the obscure young scholar, the failed son of dead sorcerers? “Call me Alvos,” he said, using a word for “speaker” from the ancient Imperial tongue. “I speak for all of you—not only for those who are here today, but for those who have died, and those yet to be born. I speak for all Walasians everywhere, throughout the empire!”
“He’s mad,” a woman’s voice called.
“Let him talk,” someone answered.
“You all know that the emperor has summoned the Grand Council,” Anrel shouted. “You know he has said that half the representatives are to be chosen by the common people of the empire. But do you understand what that means?”
The crowd of upturned faces was growing; more and more of the people in the square were gathering about him, and listening to his words. Anrel thought he saw familiar features here and there, people who had listened to Valin hold forth at the wine garden.
“The first Grand Council made the empire!” Anrel said. “The Old Empire had fallen, the ancient wizards had vanished, and the survivors, the original Walasians, gathered in the Grand Council to create a new empire. It was the Grand Council that first decreed that all sorcerers and only sorcerers would be nobles of the empire. It was the Grand Council that decreed that to lessen the risk of assassinations and struggles for the throne, the emperor could not be a magician. It was the Grand Council that chose the First Emperor, whose image you see here behind me, and decreed that he and his family would rule. There is no higher human authority than the Grand Council. There can be no higher human authority than the Grand Council. The Grand Council is the empire.” He paused dramatically, then continued, “And now, after almost six hundred years, the emperor has commanded the reinstatement of the Grand Council, and you, people of Aulix, are to choose members of the Grand Council. You are to choose the men who will determine your fate.” He pointed at one face after another. “You, and you, and you—you will decide the fate of the empire! You have the power to send our arrogant spendthrift empress back to her Ermetian family! You have the power to remove the wastrel emperor from his throne and set another in his place! You have the power to dismiss Lord Allutar and name a new landgrave of Aulix—or to do away with sorcerers and landgraves and provinces altogether! It is for you to decide! I am not telling you what the Grand Council should do, because that is not for me to say—I have no more right to direct it than you do, each and every one of you! Do you understand that? Do you?”
A few voices called out something that might have been agreement.
“That part is simple enough—you don’t know who I am, and I’m just another citizen,” Anrel continued. “But here’s the part you may not have grasped yet. Lord Allutar has no more right to direct the Grand Council than you do! The burgrave of Naith has no more right than you do!” He pointed first at the courthouse, and then at the college. “The Lords Magistrate, the entire College of Sorcerers—they have no more say than any of you once the Grand Council convenes in Lume, unless—” He paused again, looking out over the crowd.
Hundreds of faces were turned up toward him now; hundreds of voices were hushed in anticipation. Anrel glanced toward the courthouse, and as he had expected, there were men in the uniform of the city watch conferring on the courthouse steps. He might not have much time left to speak.
He turned his attention back to the crowd below him. “Unless you give it to them!” he shouted. “That’s right, all power in the empire comes from you, but the sorcerers will be only happy to take it from you if you let them. You must choose your own delegates! Don’t let Lord Allutar handpick his own lackeys as your representatives—choose your own men, men of goodwill and stout heart, men who will stand up for the rights of every citizen of the empire, whether he has a true name and wears silks and velvets, or scarcely knows his own father and goes barefoot in rags! All of us have rights, all of us! We are all the heirs of the Father and the Mother; we are all the heirs of the Old Empire. The empire belongs to all of us, from the mightiest lord to the poorest beggar. Our ancestors gave the sorcerers their privileges so that they would use their magic to help the empire thrive, but have they earned those privileges of late? Has your family been thriving? Has their sorcery helped you, or are you worried about what your children will eat this winter? Have the sorcerers earned our loyalty? Do we still need their magic? Do they use it for the good of the empire, or for their own ends? Perhaps it’s time for the Grand Council to take those privileges back!” He gestured broadly, but then drew his arm back to his chest, his hand in a fist. “Or perhaps not. Perhaps we do still want the sorcerers to tell us what to do. It’s not for me to say. But I do say that you must choose delegates who will have the courage, the audacity, to do whatever is right, to think the unthinkable, to consider every option, and to do whatever it takes to make the empire flourish and see that every belly is filled, regardless of who they may need to defy, what power they may need to cast down, to see that it’s done!”
“And who would that be?” someone called from the crowd. “You?”
“Me?” Anrel laughed. “Me? No, I am only a speaker, I am merely Alvos—I don’t have the integrity, the courage, the learning to represent you on the Grand Council. No, you must choose men who have studied the issues, men who know and understand the ways of the world, men with the vision to see what the empire can become. Men like Derhin li-Parsil or Amanir tel-Kabanim.” His smile vanished as he said, “A few days ago, my friends, I might have named Lord Valin li-Tarbek; indeed, Lord Dorias, the burgrave of Alzur, had named Lord Valin as Alzur’s appointed delegate. Lord Allutar was not happy with that choice, and four days ago he killed Lord Valin, so that his voice would not be heard in Lume. He silenced one of the finest voices in this province so that he might substitute a man more to his liking. I implore you, people of Aulix, do not allow this injustice, this tyranny, to stand! Do not vote for any candidate Lord Allutar might name; vote instead for the likes of Derhin li-Parsil, for the voices that will speak up for freedom and justice and prosperity! Demand that your burgraves choose good men, not toadies and lickspittles!”
“That’s enough of that!” someone shouted from somewhere to the north. Anrel turned.
Lord Neriam was walking across the square, with a line of a dozen of the city’s watchmen moving ahead of him, pressing the crowd back.
And what’s more, it was obvious from the magistrate’s expression that he had recognized Anrel.
So much for any hope of anonymity. Anrel had gambled, and he had lost. How seriously his crime would be taken remained to be seen, but he was now a known criminal.
“Lord Allutar’s lackeys are coming to silence me,” Anrel called. “In a moment I’ll be gone—but remember what I’ve told you! Remember, the Grand Council is yours! It represents you, the people of the empire! Not the sorcerers or the emperor or any mere part of the empire, but all of you! Don’t let them tell you otherwise! Don’t let them choose for you! It’s yours!”
“Get down from there!” one of the watchmen bellowed.
“Why should he?” someone in the crowd shouted back.
“Let him speak!”
Anrel had no intention of speaking any further, though—he had done what he set out to do, and it was time to get down and see if he could get away unscathed. What would become of him he did not know, but staying here could only mean disaster. Still, he hesitated, watching to see what would happen. Would the watchmen try to force their way into the crowd? There were twelve of them, with Lord Neriam’s sorcery supporting them, against several hundred citizens of every age, sex, and condition.
“Step aside!”
Then someone shoved one of the watchmen, and a truncheon swung, aimed at a bare head but striking only a shoulder. Blades appeared—and to Anrel’s surprise, not only in the watchmen’s hands.
“Alvos! This way!” someone called up to him.
He turned to see a woman beckoning to him. He took one final glance at the line of watchmen—now not so much a line as a huddle—and the mob that was encircling them, and then jumped down from his place on the First Emperor’s foot, to the plinth and then to the surrounding pavement, where several hands quickly grasped his own hands, arms, and coat. He found himself being hustled away by a score of people who seemed to know what they were doing. He put up no resistance, but let himself be led away.
Before he was able to see clearly where he was, he had been pushed through a door, which had then slammed shut behind him; he was in a narrow corridor, and a woman in a red bonnet and white blouse was pulling him toward a stairway leading up.
“Hurry,” she said. “The watchmen may have been too busy to see where you went, but their spies will know.”
“Where is this?” Anrel asked.
“It’s a way out, nothing more,” she said. “Up here, then across, and out through the back garden.”
Anrel glanced back at the closed door. He could hear shouting, but could make out no words.
“Hurry!” the woman repeated, and Anrel yielded, rushing up the stairs.
They climbed three flights in all, then ran through an empty room and out through a tall casement onto a narrow balcony. At the woman’s urging Anrel leapt from it to an adjoining balcony, one building north; there he found an open window leading back inside, and made his way back down to ground level, where an unlocked door let him out into a surprisingly large and well-kept garden. A brick walkway led him to the back gate, where he lifted the latch and slipped out into a quiet alleyway.
The shouting from Aulix Square had not abated with his escape. Indeed, it had escalated to screaming, and as he stood by the garden gate he heard the unmistakable sound of shattering glass.
It would seem he had started something a little more violent than he had intended. He had thought the crowd of listeners would disperse when the watchmen arrived, and the entire affair would be a minor incident, but from the sound it seemed he had started a riot, with the crowds fighting the watchmen vigorously. He tried to decide whether he regretted that, and concluded that he probably did not. This would make his appearance that much more memorable; his words, his attempt to sum up Valin’s most important political position in a single brief speech, were more likely to be remembered and spread this way.
Of course, it might also mean that the authorities would take it that much more seriously, making his own escape more difficult, but those mysterious people who had rushed him out of Aulix Square had given him a good start.
He wondered who they were. Had they improvised their actions on the spot, or were they an organization of some sort, prepared for such eventualities as slipping a man out of the square mere yards ahead of the city watch?
He might never know, and it didn’t really matter. He had done his part, made good on his promise, and he was done with politics. It was time to leave.
He turned and trotted down the alley, looking for a way out of Naith.