Magebane (71 page)

She had always thought soft magic would survive the destruction of the Keys, and perhaps it would; she could still feel inside her the power she used to twist men's minds into doing her will.

But Healing had always been intertwined with hard magic. Realigning bones, relieving pressure on nerves, excising tumors—all were exercises in the manipulation of matter and energy, just as the Lesser and Great Barrier were, however much smaller in scale.

And so, too, was the stopping of bleeding.

As she felt both her magic and her lifeblood pouring out of her, as a final, fading roar filled her ears, Mother Northwind's last thought was for the Minik.

I wish I could be there when they discover the Wall of Tears is gone
, she thought.
I wish . . .

It was her last wish, and her last thought.

LITTLE RAIN TRUDGED THROUGH THE SNOW on unsteady feet. The wife of his brother Black Spruce had given birth to twin boys that day, and the celebration had gone on long into the night. His own wife would be worried about him, and he'd probably feel badly about that when he was sober. But for now he whistled the tune to the bawdy sea chantey Black Spruce's Minik-na friend Thissen had brought back to the village from his recent trip to Wavehaven. He'd brought many other things with him in his fine new wagon, including some rich, strong Minik-na beer, which they had all enjoyed liberally and long.

It was a fine, moonlit night. Little Rain was only about halfway home, with still twenty minutes' walk ahead of him, when it became urgently necessary for him to stop for a few minutes. He stepped off the path and faced east, toward the immovable fog of the Wall of Tears. He had just unbuttoned and begun to relieve himself when, between one blink and the next, the wall of fog that had stood unchanged for his entire life collapsed, rushing downward and vanishing into fading shreds that blew away eastward.

Though his people had long since settled in southernstyle houses and no longer moved from place to place as they once had, the valley he had been crossing had been a Minik winter campground for many centuries. And there, clear in the moonlight, not more than a mile away, he could see low round huts of the traditional kind, smoke rising from them into the clear, cold air.

He started forward, realized as cold stabbed at him that he had not buttoned himself, and sealed his clothing with trembling fingers as he stumbled forward through the snow, first walking, then trotting, then running.

And so it was that Little Rain became the first Minik to enter the Hidden Kingdom of Evrenfels in eight hundred years; and so it was that the Great Sundering of the Minik ended.

His wife eventually forgave him for not coming home at all that night.

In the streets of New Cabora, the fallen guards began to stir. Most of the Commoners knew nothing of what had happened; asleep in their beds or cowering in their houses if they were close to those neighborhoods Falk's guards had swept through.

But other Commoners were abroad, agents of the Common Cause watching the guards and looking for an opportunity to strike at them. At the corner of Tanner Avenue and Palace View Road, a young guard named Tilden jerked awake and staggered to his feet even as two men rushed him from the shadows, bared blades gleaming. He flung up his hand to cast a spell that would solidify the air in front of them . . . and belatedly realized he didn't know how.

Or rather, he remembered doing it, but now it seemed, somehow, impossible.

As did breathing a moment later, as one of the Commoner blades found his heart.

Most of the guards fared better. Bereft of magic though they quickly understood themselves to be, they still had armor, weapons, and horses. Rallying, they gathered their dead, Falk and Mother Northwind included, and galloped back to the gate.

Except there was no gate, and no need for one. The Lesser Barrier was gone. Already flowers were withering in the cold and ice forming on the edges of the lake that had not seen ice for eight hundred years. The Palace seethed like an overturned anthill, guards rushing out of it to defend it against any attack from the Commons, weeping Mageborn charging madly and uselessly about.

The Council met in emergency session, without Falk, without any representative of the King, and without the Commoner, who had apparently vanished into thin air. The First Healer was there, but so shocked by the disappearance of his power that he didn't seem to hear a word that was said. None of the Councillors had been privy to the secrets of the Unbound and so had no explanation for what had happened. Brich might have enlightened them, had he not been beaten to death during the mass escape of prisoners from the no-longer-magically sealed cells in Falk's prison.

Still, the members of the Council knew that the King was dead, the Heir had vanished, magic had failed, and all that stood between them and a Commoner uprising were the guards ringing the Palace with steel.

They all agreed that the Commoner servants had to be locked up, and since the only space secure enough for that was the chamber of the MageFurnace, that was where they were put. Guards were set on them, but a few found themselves out of sight of those guards long enough to slip out through the tunnel Mother Northwind had followed earlier that night. Those that did rushed into New Cabora, the Barrier no longer there to stop them, and spread the word to friends and family all over town.

Among those who escaped Falk's cells was Goodwife Beth, who had found that the forgettings laid upon her by Mother Northwind had unraveled with the old woman's death. She remembered everything she had ever known about Mother Northwind and the Common Cause, and that meant she knew exactly who to talk to in New Cabora.

Soon crowds of Commoners were moving through the streets, some armed with swords, some with daggers, some with nothing more than crude clubs. All of them were headed toward the Palace, where most of the Mageborn had already fled, to cower behind the guards grimly determined to make a last, desperate stand.

All those details Karl found out much, much later. What he
saw
, as Anton steered the airship over New Cabora, were armed mobs heading purposefully toward the Palace, still surrounded by snow-free ground but no longer protected by the Lesser Barrier. Around it, Anton's glasses showed him—and when he first put them to his eyes and the tiny figures below seemed to leap toward him, just as in the magniseer in his room, he thought Anton must have been lying about the lack of magic in the Outside—the guards were drawn up in a defensive perimeter, crouched with crossbows behind makeshift barricades made of furniture from the Palace.

“It's going to be a bloodbath,” Anton shouted as they roared over City Square, the noise of the propeller and occasional blast from the burner turning heads below, heads which promptly displayed the tiny black circles of open mouths as their owners tracked the flying contraption's progress.

“Not if I can help it,” Karl said. “Can you land me between the Commoners and the guard, there at the front of the Palace?” He pointed. Commoners were at one end of the ceremonial gardens, the guards at the other. The Commoners were clearly leery of the crossbows, but he could see bows among them, too. It would only take one shot to set off a conflagration of violence.

“I wish I had magic to make my voice louder,” Karl said. “I want both sides to hear me.”

Anton grinned. “It's not magic, but maybe it'll do.” He tied off the wheel, then dived into a chest near the stillsleeping Brenna, pulling out a cone-shaped object, open at both ends. “Talk into the small end,” he said. “We use it to yell instructions to the ground crew . . . when we have one.”

Karl took it a little gingerly. “Set us down.”

Anton nodded. He hadn't fired the burner for several minutes, and already they were descending. Now he judged the angles carefully, aimed toward the middle of the garden, and with the judicious release of air from the envelope at the last moment, settled them gently onto the frostblasted flowers.

The appearance of the airship had brought a stunned silence to guards and Commoners alike. Karl took advantage of that silence.

“People of Evrenfels!” he shouted, the megaphone expanding his voice so that it echoed back from the high marble walls of the Palace. “You know me! I am Prince Karl, Heir to the Throne of Evrenfels . . . and with the death of King Kravon, your new King!”

That brought a roar of approval from the guards, but silence from the Commoners . . . not at all what he'd hoped for. “Common people of New Cabora,” he shouted in their direction. “Will you send me a representative so that I may address your grievances?”

Anton eyed him. “Eight hundred years of grievances?” he said softly.

Karl lowered the megaphone. “I'm doing the best I can,” he growled. “If you have a better idea, I'd like to hear it.”

Anton shrugged. “A famous statesman once said talking to avoid war is far better than warring to avoid talk. Good luck.”

“Thank you.” Karl lifted the megaphone again. “Will you send me a representative?” he shouted. “Someone from the Common Cause, perhaps?”

There was a commotion, someone . . . no, two someones, pushing their way through the crowd. Karl felt a surge of relief as they reached the front and he saw them clearly for the first time: Goodwife Beth, supporting none other than Vinthor. One of Vinthor's legs was crudely splinted and blood stained the white bandage wound around it, and a second bandage around his head, but he was alive. In the moment the door had banged into him in the stable, Karl had been certain he'd been killed.

Vinthor turned and surveyed the crowd. “I am City Leader of the Common Cause and had the direct ear of the Patron,” he shouted. “And this is Goodwife Beth . . .”

Even under the circumstances, that name brought snickers from those who knew the Verdsmitt play.

“. . . who was Leader of the Common Cause for all of southern Evrenfels, and a personal friend of the Patron.” That silenced the snickerers. “All those within the Cause will confirm this.”

There was a murmur in the crowd as, apparently, they did just that.

“Does anyone object?”

No one did, and with Beth's help, Vinthor turned and made his long, slow way to the airship. “He won't be able to climb in with a broken leg,” Anton said as Vinthor approached.

“He won't have to.” Karl vaulted over the side of the gondola and went to help his former captor. He held out an arm. Vinthor looked at him for a moment, as though weighing carefully what he was about to do, then nodded his thanks, released Beth's arm, and took Karl's instead. He allowed the Prince to lead both him and Beth to one of the curved wooden benches scattered around the now-dying garden.

They sat together. “We've got to keep the guards and Commoners from massacring each other,” Karl said softly, being very careful to do nothing that might appear threatening to anyone watching. “Do you agree?”

“I agree,” Vinthor said.

“And I,” Beth said. “But it will not be easy. There is a lot of hatred among the Commoners.”

“I know,” Karl said.

Vinthor studied him. “So you really are the Magebane.”

Karl nodded. “So it appears.”

“And, in truth, a Commoner yourself.”

Karl nodded again.

“But we can't tell anyone that.”

“I don't think it would be wise.” Karl glanced back at the guards. “The Commoners might applaud me, but the MageLords . . . Vinthor, I know the Common Cause won't like it, but we need them. We have to have stability while we redesign the Kingdom. And more than that . . .” Karl glanced back at Anton, who was watching them from the gondola. “The Kingdom is no longer hidden. Only the army and guards can keep it from falling prey to whatever forces may converge on it from the Outside world. We need the MageLords working for the Kingdom if the Kingdom is to survive at all.”