A Fall of Princes by Judith Tarr Read Free Book Online Page A

But his eyes were not the eyes of a fool.
    “Fascinating,” he repeated, circling Sarevan, lifting the
loosened braid and letting it fall. “High sorcery in my own city before the
faces of my people, and the sorcerer . . . What is your name,
priest of Avaryan?”
    “You know it as well as I,” said Sarevan with perfect calm.
    “Do I?” the lord inquired. He raised a hand. “Unbind him.”
    Soldiers and servants slanted their eyes and muttered, but
under their lord’s eye they obeyed, retreating quickly as if the sorcerer might
blast them where they stood. He barely moved except to flex his good shoulder
and to draw a breath. “Ah then, perhaps I’ve changed a little; I was somewhat
younger when we met. I remember you, Ebraz y Baryas ul Shon’ai.”
    “And I you,” the lord admitted, “Sarevan Is’kelion y Endros.
I confess I never expected to see you here in such state, with such
attendance.”
    “What, my boy?” Sarevan grinned and ruffled Hirel’s hair.
“Do you like him? I found him in a hedgerow; I’m making a man of him, though
it’s hard going. His old master didn’t use him well, and he’s not quite sane.
Fancies himself a prince of your empire, if you can believe it.”
    Ebraz barely glanced at Hirel, whose rage bade fair to burst
him asunder. “He has the look, true enough. They breed for it in slave-stables
here and there; it fetches a high price.”
    “I had him for a song. The strain is flawed, it seems. It
produces incorrigibles. But I’ve not given up hope yet.”
    “What will you do with him when you have tamed him?”
    “Set him free, of course.”
    Ebraz laughed, a high well-bred whinny. “Of course!” He
sobered. “Meanwhile, my lord, you have presented me with rather a dilemma. By
command of my overlord, all priests of Avaryan are outlawed in Kovruen; and you
have not only stood forth publicly as a bearer of the torque, you have also
wielded magecraft without the sanction of the guild.”
    “Guild?” Sarevan asked.
    “Guild,” Ebraz answered. “Surely you know that your kind are
licensed and taxed in the Golden Empire.” He spread his narrow elegant hands.
“So you see, my lord, between emperor and overlord I am compelled to hold you
prisoner. I regret the necessity, and I regret still more deeply the
circumstances which led to your wounding. You can be sure that I will send to
my lord with a full explanation. And to your father, of course, with
profoundest apologies.”
    Sarevan flinched, although he tried to make light of it.
“You needn’t trouble my father with my foolishness.”
    “But, my lord, if he discovers for himself—”
    “We can take care that he does not. Imprison me if you must,
I’ve earned it, but spare me my father’s wrath for yet a while.”
    The lord smiled in understanding. “I can be slow to send a
message. But Prince Zorayan must know; your freedom lies in his hands.”
    “That will suffice,” said Sarevan. He swayed; his lips were
ashen. “If you will pardon me—”
    “That would not be wise, my lord.”
    Hirel started. A man had come out of nowhere, a man who
looked much less a mage than Sarevan, small, dark-robed, quiet. “My lord,” he
said, “this weakness is a lie. He plots to deceive you, to cozen you into
giving him a gentle imprisonment, and thence to escape by his arts. See, such a
fine fierce glare. He knows that his power is no match for mine.”
    “No?” asked Sarevan, eyes glittering. He no longer looked as
if he were about to faint. “I would have had you, journeyman, but for an
archer’s good fortune. You are but a spellcaster, a slave to your grimoires; I
am mageborn.”
    “Mageborn, but young, and arrogant with it. Arrogant far
beyond your skill or your strength.”
    “Do you care to test me, conjurer? Here and now, with no book
and no charmed circle. Come, summon your familiar; invoke your devils. I will
be generous. I will hold them back if they seek to turn on you.”
    “I have your blood,