Court Wizard (Spellmonger Series: Book 8) (24 page)

“You will still need to pay for them,” Threanas pointed out, sourly.  “Which means you must have income, not just a generous banker.”

“That will prove difficult, from what I’ve seen,” agreed Father Amus.  “What little hard revenues the Wilderlands produced once were concentrated in regions now largely left lawless and unprotected.  The barons to the south of Vorone are reluctant to contribute their fair share of tribute—”

“Reluctant?” snorted Threanas.  “With Edmarin as the receiving agent?  Of course they were ‘reluctant’!  They disliked the man enough when he was a peer, but when Rard made him Steward and placed him in charge of Vorone, the other barons nearly rebelled.  They might have, if we weren’t at war.  They certainly weren’t going to
enrich
him.  He was too friendly with Castal as it was, and he let his own lands suffer terribly through mismanagement while he was enjoying life here at the palace.”

“How hard would it be to get them to start contributing again?” asked Anguin, curiously.

“The last time actual tribute arrived at Vorone from one of the barons was two years ago.  The last time Edmarin demanded tribute from Count Marcadine, the good count sent the collector’s hands back in a basket.  He didn’t even send a note.  And he is, by far, the most influential and respected Wilderlord left in the south.  Most of the other barons and lords around Vorone look to him for leadership.  Persuading them to join you will be far, far easier with Marcadine on your side.  And he is not an easy man to convince.  That will be the true test of your leadership, Your Grace,” she observed.

“Edmarin is dead and his policies and his purse are at an end,” Anguin pointed out with some satisfaction.  “If – w
hen
I convince the barons to pay me my rightful fealty and submit their proper tribute, will it be enough . . .?” he asked, trailing off.

“Enough?” she snorted again.  “To do what, Your Grace?  Re-paint the palace?  More than likely.  Sustain a proper garrison here?  Certainly.  Raise an army large enough to storm the gates of Falas and re-take southern Alshar?  Hardly.”

“Can I sustain my
rule
here, with the revenue available here?” the Orphan Duke said, carefully rephrasing his question. 

“As long as it isn’t too extravagant, I believe so, Your Grace,” the old minister conceded, tiredly.  “But we will not merely have to persuade the southern barons to contribute, we must –
must!
– re-organize the administration of the domains north of Vorone, those most damaged by the invasion.”

“You think?” Anguin asked, genuinely curious.

“If you want to see a silver penny out of that region, Your Grace, you are going to have to adopt some new – even novel – policies and make some appointments – and
soon.
  The few settlements that remain in the east of the Wilderlands grow more remote and less reliant on your authority by the day.  The ones in the west are under constant threat of destruction.  The sooner they are properly ruled and properly protected, the sooner they can be properly taxed.”

“That is among my priorities, Viscountess,” agreed Anguin, smoothly.  “And it is of great relief to me that we see the same picture in this.  I appreciate your counsel, and I look forward to working with you in achieving our mutual goals.  Thank you, you may retire to your offices,” he dismissed.  “Prepare yourself for a busy day tomorrow.  And the next day,” he added.  “In fact, I think we all need to take a moment to refresh ourselves.  Once the core of my court is established, I want to hold my first Great Council meeting tonight, to discuss our strategy for the future.  Now that we understand what we are dealing with.”

Threanas smiled indulgently at the Orphan Duke.  “Your Grace,” she said, serenely, “with all respect, none of us have the faintest idea what we are dealing with, now.  You’ve taken the initiative to establish a state . . . now you have to learn how to run it.  And,” she added, sadly, “ultimately, to defend it.  Because there are more threats at play in the Wilderlands than corrupt barons and belligerent gurvani.  And any one of them could turn into a grave wound in your regime, if we do not proceed with the greatest of caution.”

Chapter Six

The First Great Council

The first Great Council meeting was held that evening in the Trophy Room on the second floor of the east wing of the palace, within the Duke’s residential quarters.  The chamber was warm and cozy, with an impressive natural stone fireplace that was designed to keep the frigidity of winter at bay, and tapestries displaying the hunting glories of past dukes insulating the cold brick walls.

It was still cold as three hells the moment you stepped outside the door into the corridor.

The weapons adorning the walls – boar spears, mostly, with a few specialized blades and axes, bows and a rack of hunting arrows – were not particularly bothersome to Pentandra.  She found the specter of hundreds of stuffed animal heads, antlers, horns, teeth, and furs strewn around the room a little more disconcerting, especially the full-sized stuffed bear in the corner. 

But in the Wilderlands, she was learning, such trophies were commonplace, and in Vorone they were nearly ubiquitous.  Even the privy she’d used that morning had a giant stuffed hare’s head on the door, the largest lagomorph she’d ever seen, staring at her with glass eyes and a dusty nose while she’d tried to pee.  It had been startling, but no more disturbing, she guessed, than the Remeran-style erotic scenes her guarderobe at Fairoaks were decorated with would be to a conservative Wilderlord.

Count Angrial was already there when she arrived for the meeting, a sheaf of parchment and a wine cup on the small table in front of him and a young monk with a portfolio and desk behind him.  He wasn’t alone – Count Sagal was there, looking as fresh after their exhausting few days as if he’d slept a week.  Father Amus was better at showing his age.  The old priest’s face showed deep pits under his eyes, and his hair looked a little grayer.  But he walked into the room with confidence and dignity.

A few moments later they were joined by Sister Saltia, Lawfather Jodas (the new Minister of Justice), Sir Masten (Master of Works), and Lady Bertine, the Ducal Court Secretary and, Pentandra discovered, one of the secret agents of the Duke who had prepared the way for the restoration while ostensibly serving Baron Edmarin.  Pentandra was just getting to know the other members of the inner court.  She politely studied them while the young monk served each of them wine.

“We will be joined by His Grace momentarily,” Angrial said, in his reedy voice, once the secretary arrived.  “Welcome to the first meeting of the inner Great Council of the Reign of Duke Anguin II of Alshar.  I wanted to meet with you a moment before His Grace arrives to brief you on events you may not be aware of, and hear any concerns or reports of problems you wish to share candidly.

“To begin with, we have successfully taken control of the city,” he continued, glancing at a parchment in front of him.  “The Orphans now control every city gate and checkpoint, ostensibly to give the hard-working palace guard a three-day holiday,” he said, amused.  “After our interviews today, for several of them it will be a
permanent
holiday. 

“There has been no sign of resistance to the Orphans’ arrival, thankfully, and with the garrison confined to quarters the only serious potential challenge to our taking power here is contained.  And with our larger contingent due any day with our own reinforcements and baggage train, it is unlikely any
real
resistance to His Grace’s rightful assumption of authority is forthcoming.  We hope.  Well done, my friends,” he smiled, gratefully.  “My worst nightmare was that this day would be known as the Red Yule, or some nonsense like that.”

“Considering the state of the armories, that would have taken some effort,” reported Count Salgo.  “The main armory at the town watch’s headquarters is a pile of rusted wreckage that would be of use only in the most dire of circumstances.  The palace armory isn’t much better.  Most of the best pieces seem to have been stolen and sold off while no one was looking.”

“Your Excellency, we’ve seized power, but can we keep it?” asked Sister Saltia, worriedly, as she toyed with her little pouch of lots.  “We have stability because we have superior forces.  But the Orphans are due to depart by Briga’s Day, when the roads clear.  What happens then?”

“We should have enough of our own forces in place to keep the peace – and keep our control,” assured Count Salgo, the freshly-appointed Warlord of the Wilderlands.  “Regardless of the actions of the town guard or . . . other factors.  We are in the process of recruiting five hundred archers recruited from His Grace’s Gilmoran estates to bolster our position,” he informed her, “men who have no local connections, and who are unlikely to turn on the regime.  They should be ready come spring.  And we do have around another three hundred gentlemen and their households who gathered with His Grace in exile.  Those men have
proven
their loyalty.”

“But we sit in a town of
thousands,
with thousands more refugees just outside the walls,” reminded Lawfather Jodas in a deep voice.  “A town more used to bribery and blackmail than law and order, for the last several years.”

“Indeed,” nodded Angrial, gravely.  “Which is why seizing the palace was merely the first – necessary – step toward establishing the regime.  We are in the beginning of winter, in the midst of a holiday.  A few banners and knights are not going to be enough to establish control of the town.  Which is why I have just announced the extension of the Yule holiday, and asked you each to undertake special assignments.”

“What kind of assignments, Your Grace?” asked Lawfather Jodas, suspiciously. 

“Assignments which are, perhaps, outside of your particular ministry’s purview, but well within the scope of your talents,” proposed the Prime Minister, diplomatically.  “Titles alone will not rule a realm without order and control.  So we must first concentrate our efforts on order and control, before we attempt to rule.  Do any of you disagree?”

No one voiced an objection. Count Angrial continued, fixing each of them by eye as he checked off their assignments on his parchment with a charcoal.

“Good.  Now here are your immediate assignments.  Count Salgo, I want you to expand your mandate from examination of the Palace Guard to include the larger garrison.  It might be a royal garrison, but under the compact it is subject to ducal authority.  You are currently that authority.  Comb out all the rascals and cowards, the parchment soldiers and sots, and dismiss them.  Appoint officers as you see fit.  Recruit new men as required.”

“Your Grace,” the lawfather objected, “that garrison is a Royal garrison.  We have no legal authority over its composition or its deployment.”

“It is an army within the bounds of my lands,” Anguin countered, simply and sharply.  “Under the Laws of Duin, that gives me the right to do what I need to do defend the realm.   Including assuming control over that garrison.  I’m not attacking it, disbanding it, or even punishing it.  I just want it to work less like a pack of thieves and more like a military unit.  Count Salgo, I wish the garrison to be reconstituted to provide adequate defense of the capital.    Is that understood?”

“Like fine music and a good cup of red,” nodded the Warlord, grinning under his mustache.  As he had technically appointed the original officers as Kingdom Warlord, revisiting the roster as it existed must have seemed like a rare opportunity to repair mistakes.

“Sister Saltia?  The state of the treasury . . . as we found it?”

“Surprisingly robust,” the nun admitted, frowning.  “Once we included the funds discovered in the Steward’s chamber, that is.  Around twenty-eight thousand ounces of silver, nearly four thousand ounces of gold.  Enough to run the palace for about a month, maybe more.  We’re still going through the accounts, however,” she added, disturbed.  “It appears as if the palace has accrued considerable debt with local merchants and secular moneylenders under the Steward’s reign.”

“I want those debts investigated and settled,” the young duke ordered, forcefully.  “Among the reports of Edmarin’s deficiencies was the debt he was incurring in the name of the palace.  Some of those merchants are nearly beggared because they are owed silver that he did not want to pay.  See that as many of those claims as possible are resolved, using the baron’s own fortunes first.  The sudden influx of coin will not harm the state of the city, I’m certain.  And our income, Coinsister?”

“Viscountess Threanas is looking into that now,” she said, wrinkling her nose at the mention of the nun.  “We met but briefly,” she added, with a hint of bitterness in her voice – she was clearly unhappy about working with the woman.  “Apparently Baron Edmarin would not allow her near the accounts, because he feared she would make a report to His Majesty.  A quick review will be difficult, because it’s hard to determine what is palace income, what is ducal income, and what is royal income.  It appears that Edmarin got frustrated and consolidated them all into one ledger,” the nun said, indignantly, as if he had smeared feces on his tunic before temple services.

“Shouldn’t that make things
easier?
” asked Father Amus, surprised. 

Sister Saltia snorted in disgust – a lot like Viscountess Threanas, actually, Pentandra noted.  She wondered if snorting in disgust was a common trait of Treasury officials.

“
Easier?
  Is untangling a skein of thread easier when it is in one giant ball?  Luck be with us if we have the
vaguest
idea of our actual finances before Briga’s Day!”

“Then untangling that skein is your highest priority, Sister,” agreed Angrial.  “Thanks to the good graces of your temple, the generous donations of patriotic expatriates, and the Duke’s personal funds, not to mention other . . . supporters,” he said, his eyes flicking to Pentandra, “we have a large but limited pool of funds to call upon to establish our rule.  Most of those funds must be repaid.  Establishing a viable income is going to be one of our foremost in our priorities.”

“Raising revenues from a town on the edge of a war zone in the midst of poor economic times is going to be difficult, without some semblance of order and establishment of law,” reminded Lawfather Jodas. 

“Which is why
your
special mandate, Father, will be to meet with and appeal to the merchant class in town, and what traders remain wintered here, to gain their cooperation.”

“Me?
  Their . . .
cooperation?”
asked the high priest, surprised.  “To do what?”

“To pay their damn taxes!” Count Salgo said, gruffly.  “Most are seriously in arrears, or claimed they paid Edmarin’s riff raff but have nothing to prove it.  Before the war this town generated about three thousand ounces of silver a month in tax revenue.  We need that money, now!”

“Then we must give them the expectation of justice, law, and order in return,” the priest said, haughtily.

“That is our intent – and why you will be our emissary to them.  With your assurances they should be persuaded to resume their cooperation with the palace – and the Duchy.”

“And if they ask for concessions?”

“Then note them and tell them that the Duke will take them under advisement.  But this is
not
a negotiation.  This is an invitation to voluntarily comply, ahead of a much stricter – and more just – era of commerce.  Listen to what they have to say.  But promise them nothing more than our best efforts . . . and our
vigilant
observation.”

“They cannot fail to mention the corruption and crime rampant in the town,” the Lawfather added. 

Tenacious bugger
, Pentandra noted.  That could be a very good thing or a very bad thing in the Minister of Justice . . . or both.

“As far as corruption goes, Lawfather, I trust your legendary devotion to order to prevail over the transitory nature of worldly corruption in the presentation of cases before His Grace.”  A grunt and a smile from the old priest foretold just how much he looked forward to that task.

“But there are places in Vorone where even the fear of Luin’s righteous staff has no meaning.  At the moment, the presence of the criminal element in Vorone is not merely a matter of justice or commerce . . . it is a threat to the security of the state.  Indeed, His Grace and I have agreed that it is a threat to the stability of the realm sufficient to eschew
normal
judicial procedure.”

Count Sagal frowned.  “You wish to employ the military?” No soldier liked to be pressed into service as a constabulary force.  It muddied things, from what Pentandra understood about the profession.

“Considering the current state of the garrison and the guard, and the transitional nature of our contract with the Orphans, that would be a poor and ineffective use of our resources.  And likely ineffective, even if we did try.  From what our agents have been able to tell us the criminals in question are adept at hiding and obfuscation.  We could send all the troops we like into town, but the moment they’re gone the gangs will be right back in control.”

“Then how?”

“The manner in which the criminal underground is entrenched requires a more deft hand to root out without destroying the good will and commerce we are attempting to establish elsewhere,” reflected Angrial.  “No normal imposition of martial law will eliminate them, it will merely send them into hiding until better times appear.  Eliminating them entirely will be a subtle and delicate task.

“Which is why I have assigned that task to . . . Lady Pentandra, the new Court Wizard,” the Prime Minister continued, smoothly.

“What?”
Pentandra asked, her eyes wide.

“Such an entrenched and establish cult of criminals will defy mundane methods of pursuit.  We could fill the streets with soldiers, and it would not stop the Rats.  No normal imposition of martial law will eliminate them, it will merely send them into hiding until better times appear.  Eliminating them will be a subtle and delicate task, requiring the kind of dedication and ruthlessness often associated with magic.  And since His Grace has one of the most powerful magi in the land on his staff, it seems a pity not to use her against his greatest state threat.”

“But . . . but I’m a
mage
, not a constable!”

“Then
make friends
with the constable, and do what you must to eliminate the threat. There is a new one, a local by the name of Sir Vemas His Grace appointed.”

“I met him earlier today,” she sighed.  “He’s quite charming.”

“He’s quite ambitious, too.  And more keen-minded than most of his fellows.  Consult with him . . . and then, together, track down every rat hole, destroy every nest, and free Vorone from vermin.  Permanently,” he added, darkly.

“Nor am I an assassin!” Pentandra sputtered.

“Then
make friends
with an assassin,” suggested Count Salgo.  “More than one, if you need to.  These men need not be subject to ordinary justice, if they pose an extraordinary threat.  Nor will the agents acting in the Duke’s name.”

“But . . . but . . .”

“Count Angrial, I object!” Lawfather Jodas huffed.  “Luin’s law does not allow for such unjust acts on the part of the aristocracy!   The gods decry it!”

“Not all the gods,” Angrial said, quietly.  “Every duke has the right to invoke Kulin’s Law, at need.”

That hushed the Lawfather.  While Luin the Lawgiver was especially adored in the Narasi pantheon, and his cult was the basis of most Narasi jurisprudence, it was not the only law the Narasi respected.  Most of the major gods had books of law concerning the issues of their particular spheres.  Or at least their worshippers did.  Usually, Luin’s Law, detailing the rights and responsibilities of each element of Narasi society, was considered superior to the others.

But if the God of Law was powerful, he was not absolute.  There were plenty of gaps in guidance for a noble devoted to the law.  And plenty of situations that fell within the spheres of other gods’ laws.

Invoking Kulin, the youngest brother of the Narasi divinities, took special courage.  Kulin the Horselord was not merely the patron of equestrian affairs, he was also the patron of thieves, kidnappers, and assassins.  So of course the lawbook detailing the god’s guidance was, by necessity, permissive of things that no other cult would have seriously considered.

But it was legally viable, and morally defensible.  Dukes had used the exceptions in the Book of Kulin to justify and rationalize their clandestine actions since the earliest days of the Conquest.  Priests of Luin, like Father Amus, hated that.

“I understand this is not the task you
thought
you would be doing, my dear,” the Prime Minister said, kindly.  “It is not expected that you will be entirely successful.  But we have used spies and assassins in the past, when dealing with the Brotherhood, and gotten little result.  His Grace wishes to employ the forces of magic to the problem instead.  He shares Count Salgo’s confidence in your ability to make some progress against them.  In fact, any information you could glean about their doings in the Rebel Territories would be splendid, in terms of informing His Grace’s internal policies,” he added.

“And now a spy?” snorted Pentandra.

Count Angrial sighed heavily, a long, reedy sigh like a deflating bladderpipe.  “If you don’t think yourself up to it, my dear, I’m certain His Grace—”

“No!” Pentandra said, automatically.  “I’ll do it.  I just have no idea
how
I’ll do it,” she admitted. 

“If you need the assistance of the court, you need only ask.  His Grace has instructed all ministries to cooperate with you fully, at need.  Hopefully this will be a temporary assignment.   But you must act quietly – secretly – as the laws of Kulin demand.  Until the savages exploiting the unfortunate and hopeless for every last copper are rooted out in the capital, the tree of sovereignty will be in very loose soil indeed.”

And now I’m a gardener
, Pentandra fumed to herself, wisely choosing discretion for once before she opened her lips.  “I shall do my best,” she promised, invoking the Kasari motto.  This was court, not a debate.

“Your best will be splendid,” assured Count Salgo.  Others at the table did not look so confident. 

Pentandra didn’t care.  She’d been handed an impossible task she had no idea how to achieve, and she’d accepted it . . . just like she’d done when she’d agreed to be the Steward of the Arcane Orders.  She’d managed that well enough by faking it until she hired the right people.  This mandate was just as broad, in its way; it was just more . . . bloody.  She would have to have people killed, she knew.  She’d done it before, when she needed to, but it was not something in her nature. 

That’s just part of the job description of the Court Wizard of Alshar, now,
she reminded herself.

“If I do this,” she said, carefully, “then I’m going to want better quarters at the palace.  The current arrangement for my office is entirely unsuitable.”   She had yet to even move into them, but she knew they were inadequate.  Master Thinradel, her processor, had been adamant about that.

“About that,” the young Duke said, wincing.  Pentandra’s heart fell.   “I am afraid that when the rest of our reinforcements arrive from Gilmora, my lady, I must regretfully request the use of your apartments for the quartering of some of the more senior supporters.  A few knights and their households, is all, and likely only until the Orphan’s Band departs after midwinter.  But if you could
possibly
find another place within the city to practice your craft and hold your house, I . . . would appreciate it.”

“And at my own expense, no doubt,” Pentandra grumbled. 

“You may submit a request for reimbursement,” offered Sister Saltia.  “I’m
sure
I can persuade Viscountess Threanas to pay it!”

“If that is what the Duke requires of me, then I shall comply,” she sighed.  “Does that mean that I must also find sufficient funds to pay for this . . . initiative?” she asked, distastefully.  In fact, she already had a contingency against this, though it was one she was reluctant to use.  Minalan once claimed the townhouse of his former lord, Sire Koucey, in Vorone.  She fully intended on making use of it, while things got sorted out.  While she wasn’t expecting to actually move in, it was more expedient than trying to find quarters closer to the palace.

“As for that, we will fund your efforts.  Merely ask for what you need, Lady Mage,” repeated the Duke.