Anrel said nothing to the gatekeeper about the wards; he was not sure whether an ordinary traveler would even have felt them. To him, though, their presence was unmistakable, and after he was through, Anrel thought he could sense their nature after all. He thought the spells were intended to keep unnatural creatures outside the walls of Beynos.
As an untrained magician Anrel had seemed unnatural enough for a brief delay, but no more.
What did the burgrave fear, to set such wards? What unnatural creatures were abroad? The demons that the empress’s hirelings were rumored to have summoned?
Once past the gate and the wards, however, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. The snow-covered streets were deserted, though there were enough tracks, and enough mud and slush mixed with the snow, to make it clear that the townsfolk had not been driven indoors by the first flakes. Light shone from several windows, though it was still midafternoon.
Anrel hurried through the eerie silent streets, trying to remember whether he had ever known just where Cobbler Street was. He should have asked the guard at the gate for directions; he cursed himself for not having done so.
As he neared the plaza and bridge at the center of town he saw a few figures moving about—apparently not all the streets were deserted. Admitting to himself that nothing looked familiar, and that he was not sure he would have done much better even without the snow blanketing everything, he resolved to ask one of these people for directions—but then he glimpsed a signboard swinging in the wind down a side street, and stopped to peer at it.
It showed an inverted shoe on a cobbler’s last.
Some spirit was apparently feeling helpful. He turned down the side street—little more than an alley, really—and started looking at the other shop fronts.
Yes, they were shoemakers, bootmakers, and cobblers, and what’s more, at the end of the little street was a wrought-iron archway surrounding an open gate, and at the peak of the arch was a black iron fantasia largely obscured by wet snow, but which had ears, tusks, and an unmistakable snout protruding from its white covering.
Anrel trotted down the alley and through the gate and found himself in a snowy stable yard; an animal snorted somewhere in the shadows to his right, and Anrel could smell leather and horses. Directly ahead a lantern glowed above a heavy oaken door; he hurried up to the door and knocked.
For a moment nothing happened; then a panel slid aside and a pair of eyes stared out at him, glinting in the lantern light.
“I seek food and lodging,” Anrel said.
A deep voice said, “You’re alone and on foot?”
“On foot, yes,” Anrel said. “The rest of my party is an hour behind me—I came ahead to secure us lodging, for ourselves and our horse.”
“How many?”
“Six of us in all, with a wagon, and a good-natured gelding; he’ll give your stable hands no trouble.”
The voice did not reply immediately, and Anrel added, “Garras Lir said he had been welcome here in the past.”
The eyes narrowed. “You know Master Lir?”
“He and his family make up the rest of my party,” Anrel said.
“You’re traveling with the witches?”
It seemed that not only had the Lirs been here before, but the nature of their work was known. “I’m courting one of the witches,” Anrel said. “Now, are we welcome here, or should I look elsewhere?”
The panel slid shut, and for a moment Anrel thought he was indeed being sent away, but then the latch rattled and the door swung in, revealing a big man a few years past his prime, his once-impressive muscles starting to give way to fat. “You’re courting Reva, then?” he asked.
The Lirs were known here. “No, Tazia,” Anrel said.
“Ah,” the man said with a nod. “She hasn’t her sister’s looks, but I’ll wager she’s more pleasant company. You said they’re an hour behind you?” He stepped aside and ushered Anrel in.
“About that,” Anrel said, stepping into the warmth and light of the inn.
“You’re wearing a sword,” the man said disapprovingly, once he got a look at his new customer.
“The roads aren’t as safe as they used to be,” Anrel replied, looking around. “If you can assure me you’ll keep it safe for me, I’ll take it off.”
He was standing in a modest wood-paneled room that held two long tables, one on either side, and accompanying benches. A row of hooks on the far wall held half a dozen damp cloaks—none of them of good quality or particularly new, but that was hardly surprising. Half a dozen candles burned in sconces, providing a warm glow; the two windows were shuttered. Four open doors led to other rooms, and Anrel could hear voices from at least one of them. The place smelled, not unpleasantly, of spilled beer, candle wax, and old varnish.
The doorkeeper considered that for a moment, then shrugged. “If you can assure me it will stay in its sheath, you needn’t bother.”
“I certainly have no intention of drawing it,” Anrel replied.
“Good enough. You said a room and a meal, for the six of you?”
“Probably several meals, and a stall for our horse.”
“Show me the color of your money, then.”
That was not the response Anrel had hoped for. “Master Lir’s credit isn’t good?” he asked.
“You, my new friend, are not Master Lir—and in fact, no, his credit is not particularly good.”
That was dismaying, though not entirely surprising after a season spent in Garras’s company. Anrel had no intention of paying for the entire party, though; he was quite sure Garras would never repay him. “Alas, Master Lir has the money,” he said. “I did not think to ask him for any, as I had thought he was respected here.”
“Then I’m afraid you’ll have to take off your sword after all; it will serve as surety.”
That seemed a fair compromise. Anrel unbuckled his sword belt and handed it over.
“Thank you,” the doorkeeper said. “I am Dorrin Kabrig, by the way; you are . . . ?”
“Dyssan Adirane,” Anrel said. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Master Kabrig.” He tipped his hat.
“Good to meet you, too.” Dorrin glanced around. “As you may have gathered, this room and the front door are in my charge; through there you’ll find the saloon, which is my wife’s domain, and over there Master Issulien oversees the main dining room. Go through that door to the back, and Mistress Sharduil can see you to a room, or fetch Billin the stable boy for you. Master Sharduil is the landlord, but I would advise you not to seek him out.”
“Thank you,” Anrel said, doffing his hat entirely. “I think I’ll have a word with Mistress Sharduil, then.”
He suited his actions to his words. Mistress Sharduil was a sturdy woman of perhaps half a century’s vintage, wearing an apron and mobcap, and affecting a brisk and businesslike manner. Anrel made sure she understood that the Lir family was coming. She assured him that she would have a large room warm and ready for the family, a clean stall prepared for Lolo, and a sheltered corner where the wagon could be stored.
“But if they don’t arrive, you’ll be responsible for the cost,” she said.
“They’ll be here soon.”
“You’re really sure they’ll come, in this weather?” she asked, as she glanced out a rear window at the deepening snow.
“They were already on the road when the snow started,” Anrel assured her. “I cannot think they would turn back.”
“They might shelter along the way, and try to wait it out,” Mistress Sharduil suggested.
“I cannot utterly rule that out,” Anrel said, frowning, “but it seems most unlikely to me—and inconsiderate, as I told them I would try to meet them at the city gate.”
“And when are you expecting them, then?”
“Very soon,” Anrel said, glancing in his turn out the window.
“Then shouldn’t you be on your way to the gate?”
“Indeed, mistress, I should,” Anrel agreed. He essayed a deep bow to his hostess, then clapped his hat on his head and made his way out to the front of the inn, past Master Kabrig and out into the stable yard.
After spending several minutes in the warmth of the inn the cold outside seemed far worse than before—his exposed skin stung with it, and it seemed to seep quickly in through his two coats and sturdy shirt. He wondered whether the temperature was really dropping, or whether it was merely the contrast with the cheerful interior, and decided it was probably a little of both.
He hurried up Cobbler Street and out onto the main thoroughfare, where the snow was now several inches deep, over the toes of his boots, and where the wind, blowing more fiercely than before, could reach him more readily and snatch away what little heat might still linger.
He reached the gate without incident, startling the guard. The wards were still in place, as strong as ever; it was reassuring to know he hadn’t imagined them.
“I thought you were bound for the Boar’s Head,” the watchman said. “Surely, it’s not full up!”
“No, I’ve taken a room there,” Anrel told him. “But I came back to meet that party of peddlers I mentioned, and see them safe.”
“Ah.” The guard glanced out at the dim white emptiness beyond the gate. “I’ve seen no sign of them as yet.”
“Might I wait with you, then, at least for a time? There were women with the party, and I admit to some concern.”
“I’d be glad of your company,” the guard assured him. “There’s a stove in the gate house, if you’d like to warm your hands.”
“I would like that very much,” Anrel confirmed.
A moment later the two men were seated on wooden stools to either side of an old iron stove, holding their hands above soot black metal streaked with brown rust and letting the fire’s heat sink into their bones. The only light in the little room came from a barred window looking out at the road, and the fire’s glow leaking through the seams in the stove. The lantern above the gate was still burning, but its light did not reach far in the swirling whiteness.
“I see your sword is gone,” the guard remarked.
“I left it at the inn,” Anrel said. He did not mention he had left it as surety against his bill.
“Probably wise,” the guardsman said. “You won’t need it in Beynos—especially not in weather like this.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” Anrel said. “How are matters in Beynos these days? It seemed to me that the faces I’ve seen have looked worried.”
The guard shrugged. “Is it any different anywhere else in the empire? The tales we hear from the capital are hardly calculated to soothe anyone’s nerves.”
“Of course, the capital is close by,” Anrel pointed out. “Perhaps out on the outskirts, in Pirienna or Hallin, such concerns carry less weight.”
“Perhaps,” the guard conceded, “but still, we’re all subjects of the same emperor and empress, and all now under the authority of the Grand Council.”
“I doubt a goatherd in the hills of Pirienna has any idea what the Grand Council is doing,” Anrel said. “For that matter, I’ve been traveling—I have no idea what the Grand Council is doing, and thus have not been worried by it.”
“So far, from what I hear, they have done little but argue amongst themselves,” the guard said. “A good many delegates are the younger sons of various sorcerers, sent by their parents to ensure that the old order is preserved, but some of those young men have apparently decided to work for their own good more than their parents’—there are schemes to split up the great estates to ensure that every magician has a piece of land of his own, or to give themselves the keys to the imperial treasury. Not that there’s much in that treasury anymore, by all accounts.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Anrel said.
“Of course it is,” the guard agreed. “We know that, but they apparently don’t. Fortunately for all of us, there are a few voices of reason among the magicians—some of the great nobles came themselves, rather than trusting anyone else. Three of the sixteen landgraves are on the council, and a score or so of burgraves. And half the council was elected by commoners, of course, and those people certainly have no desire to reward a pack of greedy young sorcerers with land and privilege.”
“You seem to know more about this than I would have expected,” Anrel remarked. He had not heard this sort of detailed discussion in any of his previous stops; certainly no one in Kolizand had ever mentioned the precise number of landgraves on the council, nor schemes to split up large estates.
“Well, we have several councillors staying in Beynos,” the guardsman said. “Lume is not a pleasant place for a visiting nobleman these days; the mobs can be ugly, and the streets dangerous. Many of the wealthier delegates have taken up lodgings in the surrounding towns, and retreat to them whenever the council is not in session.”
“But the council only just convened a few days ago!”
“Yes, but the councillors have been arriving for half a season, to make themselves at home and get ready for their deliberations. And this morning a three-day recess was announced, in honor of the prince’s birth.”
Anrel blinked. “The prince?”
The guard slapped his own forehead. “Oh, of course you wouldn’t have heard! Yes, the prince. The empress has borne a son—she began her labor yesterday morning, and the child was delivered last night, not long before midnight. By all reports he’s healthy and strong, and his name has been announced as Lurias Temnir Kaseir Imbredar.”
“Another Lurias,” Anrel remarked.
“Oh, of course! Haven’t most of our emperors been named Lurias?”
“About half of them, I think,” Anrel said. “The name did not become quite so established until some three centuries back.” He noticed the guard’s expression and added, “I spent some time as a student in the court schools.”
“A scholar!”
Anrel shook his head. “I might have hoped to earn that title once, but no more. I haven’t the temperament for it. I’m just a young man without magic or family, trying to find a place for himself.”
For a moment neither spoke. Then the guard shook himself and said, “Well, at any rate, Prince Lurias was born last night, and the emperor declared a three-day celebration, so the Grand Council agreed to a recess. I think the emperor expected the delegates to join in the happy gatherings at the palace, but from what I’ve seen, most of them promptly left the city. Certainly, we have our full complement here in Beynos for the moment.”
“I saw no sign of them in the streets.”
“In this weather? Of course not! They’ll be indoors, in their grand houses, drinking fine wine and dancing with beautiful women.” At the mention of the weather he glanced out the window. He stopped and squinted, then sighed. “Someone’s coming,” he said.
Anrel rose and peered out the window into the white blur beyond. Yes, something was moving out there, something large and dark.
The veil of swirling snow parted for an instant as the shape drew nearer, and Anrel recognized it.
“That’s their horse,” he said. “It’s my friends.”
“Then straighten your hat, and let us welcome them to Beynos,” the guard replied, getting to his feet.
Together, the two men stepped out into the snow.