do that, precious. Patron’s orders.” She cocked her head to one side. “Come here and let me see how that dressing gown fits, there’s a lamb.”
Wishing he’d never come down, Karl flip-flopped over to her.
“Turn around, chickadee,” she said. He did. “Come closer.” He took a step in. “Let’s just check the size,” she said, and before he could react, had opened the dressing gown wide. “Oh, my,” she said, “I guess I should have given you some pajamas, too!” And then she flicked the dressing gown closed again. “Looks like everything is sized just fine, ducky!” she said cheerfully. “Toddle off now and get yourself dressed, if you’re up for all day.”
Cheeks burning with shame, Karl turned and headed toward the stair, exchanging a look with Vinthor, who wouldn’t meet his eyes.
From his bedroom window, Karl watched Jopps mount up and ride out of the farmyard, heading back to New Cabora.
What else has Falk done, trying to find me? he thought sickly. What other atrocities have I brought down on the Commoners’ heads by my stupid, childish behavior?
None of this would have happened if he hadn’t decided to follow the two men he had seen out his Palace window. City Hall would still stand. The Grand Theater. The Courthouse would still be there, and the apartments behind it.
And Falk wouldn’t stop. He would keep up the pressure on the Commoners, pushing harder and harder until someone broke and told him where Karl was hidden.
And then what? An armed assault against Goodwife Beth’s farmhouse?
If that happened, magic-wielding guards against Commoners armed with swords and crossbows-sticks and stones, for all the good they would do without magic-then how many more would die? How many more would die because of Prince Karl, the man who had promised to the Commoner in the Council Chamber that he would be a better king than his father, that he would bridge the gap between Commoners and Mageborn?
It would be better for everyone if the assassin had killed me, he thought darkly. Better if I had never been born.
Jopps disappeared in a cloud of snow down the road leading out of the little valley, and Karl flicked the curtain closed and turned, pointlessly, to getting dressed.
The cloaked man on horseback watched from a hillside as, out on the ice of the lake, two dogsleds hurried south. He had been very careful to position himself below the hill’s crest, to avoid silhouetting himself against the bright morning sky.
There was little chance he would be noticed now, with the light behind him turning the hill into a giant lump of shadow, while illuminating the two dog sleds-and especially the bundle of bright blue that seemed to form a large part of the second sled’s cargo.
Like all members of the King’s Mounted Rangers, Constable Orlam was Mageborn, and though his own magic was slight, it was sufficient for his needs. All of the “Mounties” were trained in the construction and operation of certain enchanted objects to help them in their duties. Orlam took one of them now, a magniseer he had crafted himself, from a case hung on his saddle. Though the air was already frigid, sparkling with ice crystals in the westering sunlight, the magniseer frosted over… and to Orlam, it appeared the dogsleds on the lake leaped a dozen times nearer.
Of course, Orlam had never seen an airship, as the orders from the Palace telling him what to look for had termed the object of his search. He didn’t really believe the rumors flying through the ranks of the Rangers that this airship was a kind of flying carriage from beyond the Great Barrier. But there was no doubt that the thing on the second sled, one of the big sixteen-dog freight sleds that carried cargo to communities all along the shoreline in winter, matched the description. The dogs were pulling it well enough, but Orlam could tell it was a heavy load. Two men rode with it, one driving, the other resting.
The smaller eight-dog sled in front carried supplies wrapped in hides and tied down with ropes, and four people. Bundled against the cold as they were, it was difficult to tell much about them, but it looked to Orlam very much as though one of them was smaller and more slender than the others… and the coat she wore matched another part of the description he had been given.
He lowered the magniseer and tucked it away again. It was pure happenstance that he had come close enough to the lake to see them down there, running that close to the shore. Normally at this stage in his patrol he would have been miles away to the east; but he had been summoned in his capacity as a dispenser of the King’s Justice to rule in a land dispute near Birchwood that had grown heated enough to come to violence, and from Birchwood it had made more sense to reverse his usual patrol pattern.
Which had put him here and now.
Praise to the SkyMage, Orlam thought, and felt a thrill of pride that he had been the one chosen to discover the girl that Lord Falk said was so important to Unbinding the Mageborn at last, freeing them from the prison of the Barriers.
Careful never to crest the top of the hill, he moved out of sight of the lake, and then opened a magelink to the Palace.
CHAPTER 20
Falk stood once more by the statue in New Cabora Square, guards surrounding him, soldiers forming a white line all around the square. Both guards and soldiers were heavily armed, not just with pikes, shields, swords, and clubs, but also with less-visible and yet far more deadly enchanted weapons: flamesweeps, breathstoppers, the euphemistically named meloncrushers. The guards and soldiers had enough power at their disposal to slay every person in the Square in seconds-and the Commoners knew it. Falk smiled. Hell, he could have killed most of them singlehandedly.
MageLords ruled by divine right and with divinely bestowed power. The Commoners’ place was to serve. If they served well, they might be rewarded. If they rebelled… well, the ruins of City Hall, the Courthouse, and the Grand Theater were testament to what would happen.
But though Falk was perfectly willing and able to continue using force to keep the Commons in line, he didn’t want to have to. He wanted this unrest quieted, so he could focus on finding Brenna and finally… finally… bringing his great Plan to fruition.
And, thanks to Mother Northwind, he thought he had found a way.
He was not the one making a speech today in the center of the Square. He stood on the lower level of the statue’s great pedestal. Above him, looking out over the crowd, stood Davydd Verdsmitt.
“He will do whatever you ask of him,” Mother Northwind had assured him, and indeed, Verdsmitt had agreed at once to come to the Square and make the speech he was about to deliver, one that had been written by Falk and then “improved” by Verdsmitt. Falk’s mouth twitched. Whatever else Mother Northwind had done to the man’s mind, it hadn’t stopped him from thinking like a writer.
He glanced at one particular guard who, rather than watching the crowd, was watching Falk. If Verdsmitt’s speech was not exactly what Falk had asked for, Falk would signal that guard, and the speech-and Verdsmitt-would both be cut short.
But Verdsmitt did not stray from the text. “Fellow New Caborans!” he shouted. “You know me. You know who I am. You know my skill with a pen. And you know I have sometimes turned that skill against the rule of the MageLords.”
A murmur swept through the crowd. They’d known, all right, Falk thought, but they’re uneasy that he’s admitting it in front of me.
Well, they’re about to feel a great deal uneasier.
“I come before you today to tell you… I was wrong to do so.”
The murmur swelled to something louder. “Davydd, no!” someone shouted. Falk hoped the guards had noted whoever it was; he might be worth talking to privately later.
Verdsmitt held up his hand. “I was wrong, because I did not realize where it could lead,” he shouted. “Look around you. We cannot defy the MageLords. They alone have magic, and that magic gives them the power-and the right-to rule those of us to whom it is denied. It is the natural order of things, and we cannot change it. Nor should
