A Young Man Without Magic by Lawrence Watt-Evans Page A

there were rumored to be hired magicians from the Cousins at the imperial court, why the money that paid for those magicians was not being used to import food or pay the imperial debts instead, the lingering mystery and scandal surrounding the gruesome death of Lady Arissa Taline, and half a dozen others—but in truth, none of these discussions were anything new to Anrel. He had heard all of the complaints and accusations, and many more, in Lume, in the taverns and common rooms. They had never been aired as openly as this, out in the streets, though, nor with so large a crowd in attendance.
    As it happened, Anrel knew beyond question that there really were hired magicians at court; a season or so back he had been introduced toone, a fellow from Azuria by the name of Garzan tel-Barragun, during a meeting with one of his professors, and had exchanged a few polite words with the man. He knew that at least eight magicians of various schools, from various nations in the Cousins, had been brought in at the request of the Empress Annineia, who was of Ermetian birth and did not trust Walasian sorcerers. All the same, he said nothing. He did not care to become involved in the conversation to that extent.
    A few of the discussions involved outright lies. In Lume the students would have picked these apart and, if no authority could be named, dismissed them as nonsense, but here many absurdities were accepted almost without question.
    The story of the empress driving her carriage over starving children, crushing them, Anrel knew to be a fabrication; had such a thing happened the news would have been all over Lume in hours, and there would have been riots. No such event had occurred. The closest anything had come, and perhaps the origin of the tale, had been when a magistrate’s coachman had whipped an urchin hard enough to crack bone, and that had triggered a small disturbance, if not quite a riot.
    The empress had not been involved, and the magistrate, Lord Orvaz Pol, had eventually appeased the mob by paying a physician to attend the boy and make sure that the injury would not cripple him. As told in Naith, though, the empress had merely laughed and driven on, leaving dead and dying children in the road.
    Anrel had avoided commenting on the foreign sorcerers, but the blithe acceptance of this account was too much; he spoke up, saying the tale was nonsense, only to be told by Amanir, “I suppose they hushed it up somehow.”
    Others were more realistic, and agreed that Anrel was probably right, and that particular story was at best an exaggeration.
    Anrel did not consider it a mere exaggeration, but he had no interest in arguing with these people. He said no more, allowing the arguments to continue without his interference.
    The entire experience amazed him. He had always assumed that the debates in the student-haunted taverns of Lume were a manifestation of the sophistication and perversity of the capital’s educated elite; tohear the people of Naith spouting the same seditious talk astonished him. While he had known that times were hard, and that some honest peasants had been driven to begging and thievery, the discontent of the empire’s people obviously ran much deeper than Anrel had thought.
    That was a troubling realization, and Anrel was uneasy as he drank tea and listened.
    Most troubling of all, though, was the realization that Valin was the ringleader of this treasonous gathering.
    At last Derhin glanced up at the position of the sun and said, “I must get back to work. The afternoon session will be starting.” He rose, then turned to Anrel. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Master Murau.”
    Anrel shook his hand, and watched him go.
    Several members of the crowd took note of his departure, and scattered as well. Many of them headed for the courthouse, as Derhin had.
    â€œFine men, all of them,” Amanir remarked.
    â€œThey are the future of the empire,” Valin said.
    Somehow,