“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.”
“I don’t disagree.” Vinthor glanced over his shoulder at the gathered Commoners. “But ultimately, Your Majesty,” he said, his use of the title verging on the sarcastic, “you cannot govern this Kingdom as it has always been governed. The MageLords claim they have the right to rule us because they have magic and we do not. But now there is no magic. And you cannot expect the Commoners to simply forget the ways in which the MageLords have abused their power over the centuries.”
“We can’t let the Commoners take revenge,” Karl said.
“It’s already too late for that,” Beth said. “Far fewer guards came out of New Cabora tonight than first went into it. Many scores have already been settled.”
Something in her voice caught Karl’s attention beyond the words she had spoken. “And would our old friend Jopps be among the dead?” he asked softly.
Beth said nothing.
Vinthor glanced at her, then said, “Never mind the city. Even if you restore control here, out in the country what the villagers do to the MageLords’ manors is beyond your or mine or anyone else’s control.”
“True,” Karl said. “But if we are to restore stability anywhere, we must have it somewhere. And here is where we are. We can start here and now to reshape the Kingdom.” He put his hand on his chest. “I must remain King for the MageLords’ sake. But we need a representative from the Commoners. If you could provide me with a list of names, I could formally appoint…”
Vinthor shook his head. “No. We need someone chosen by the Commoners to represent them… and we have that person.”
“You?” Karl said.
“Not I,” Vinthor said. “I have made enemies as well as friends during my years with the Common Cause. No. I’m speaking of the Commoner.”
“The Council Commoner?” Karl raised an eyebrow. “But he’s-”
“The Commoner with the most knowledge about how the Kingdom is governed,” Vinthor said. “And someone chosen by the Commoners specifically to advise the King.” He gave Karl a hard look. “In exchange for defusing the passions of the Commoners of New Cabora and sparing lives on both sides, I want the Commoner… Janson Ironsmith is his name; did you even know that?… named your Prime Adviser. I want all the other Councillors thrown out of office, and a new Council, half Commoners and half Mageborn. If magic is truly gone, eventually that distinction will fade.”
“If the Kingdom survives at all,” Karl said. He looked at the crowd of silently watching Commoners, hundreds of breath plumes rising into the dark sky, glowing red in the light of the fires burning all around the Palace. “Very well,” he said. “You have my word. Do you know where the Commoner… Ironsmith… is?”
“I do,” Beth said. “He fled the Palace the moment the magic failed. He is in a safe place in the city.”
“Then I should meet with him. But not here.” He glanced at the Palace. “There. If I can convince my own guards to let me back into it.”
