Court Wizard (Spellmonger Series: Book 8) (98 page)

“The Anvil?” Carmella asked, excitedly, naming the mountain site deep in the northeastern Wilderlands she favored for building a truly strong fortress upon.  “You think he’s considering it?”

“Minalan is pushing it, quietly, I’m pushing it, and once the court is firmly established, they will want it.  But money, political issues and a firm commitment are still lacking, even if the desire for a stout refuge is rising.  There have been some . . . incidents in Vorone that have made everyone uneasy.”

“So we’ve heard,” chuckled Rumel.  “Sorry we missed it.”

“I’m
not!” Carmella said, rolling her eyes. 

“I’m not speaking of the festival,” Pentandra said, gravely.  “Gurvani agents sowing subversion, undead sent from the Necromancer in the Mindens, and a smoldering gang war, and those are merely the highlights.  Vorone is being stalked; prepared, almost.”

“But you seem to have things well in hand, Pen,” Carmella pointed out.  “Despite all of that, the place is still here.”

“Let’s toast to low expectations, then,” Pentandra said, raising her glass.  “Which seems appropriate, on the eve of the Conclave.”

The other magi arrived in Vorone in two larger waves.  Astyral, Azar, Bendonal, Master Cormoran and the warmagi from Tudry and the Penumbra came to town in one long column as near to a parade as one could wish.  A parade complete with magical fireworks and other wonders, thanks to the showy nature of the average warmage.  The second group arrived from the east lands a day later, led by Baron Wenek, and including the magi clustered around Timberwatch.  Ormar the Alchemist, Landrick of Honeyhall, and a half-dozen other minor magelords gathered. 

The Prime Minister graciously put most of them up in the palace, with the overflow encamped in the courtyard overnight.  Count Angrial and the Duke personally feted the magi before their departure in a magnificent feast in the Stone Hall.  Count Angrial seemed particularly pleased at the turn out and the political message it would send to his rivals in Castal and Remere.  Anguin seemed genuinely enchanted at the sheer number of wizards in one place, and the feast quickly became a contest of who could dazzle the duke more with their magical displays.  Pentandra had other issues in mind.

“You know,” she said to Astyral, mid-way through dinner, “this has the seeds of an Alshari Wizard’s Council.”

“We’ve already discussed it,” agreed Astyral.  “It’s unofficial, at the moment, but that’s only because we lack the leadership of the ducal court wizard.”

“Don’t I lead
enough?
” Pentandra protested, disgustedly. 

“We’ve seen what Minalan has accomplished with his local Sevendor Council,” Astyral pointed out.  “Banamor, Olmeg, the enchanters of the Bouleuterion . . . he’s even included sports like Sire Cei and that funny knight of his, Sir Fes.  Look what it’s done for
his
country.”

“He’s also poured gold into it like a bottomless pit,” Pentandra reminded him.

“And became rich in the process,” Astyral riposted.  “We both know what snowstone is really worth, not to mention the other pretty rocks in his collection.  Part of that is sheer magical power, but part of that is letting complementary wizards work together for the improvement of all.”

“Well, it’s well-known that Anguin favors the settlement of more magi in the Wilderlands, particularly warmagi,” she nodded.  “Any you can persuade to join us would be seen as a boon.”

“Well, it’s not like there is a dearth of abandoned estates and freeholds,” agreed the charming Gilmoran mage.  “But protecting them is the problem.  Anything close to the Penumbra requires a damnable amount in security costs.”

“Which is why we’re looking eastward, beyond the Danz River.  That region was already sparsely populated before the invasion, and there isn’t a lot of gurvani activity there, from what we’ve heard.”

“Ah, the magical land behind the pele towers,” Astyral nodded, enthusiastically.  “Apart from the number of wild tribes, bandits, refugees and dangerous wild animals, it’s
completely
safe.”

“Nothing a High Mage couldn’t contend with,” Pentandra shrugged.  “It’s land that Anguin technically owns, and now that the 3
rd
Commando has started arriving, there will be experienced soldiers to help hold it.”

“Then let us, indeed, initiate an Alshari Wizard’s Council,” Astyral approved, congenially.  “I nominate the Court Wizard as titular head and principal officer.”

“
Go to hell
, Astyral,” sighed Pentandra.  “I have enough to do already!”

“Don’t worry, I’ll find someone else to actually run it,” he proposed, soothingly. 

The matter was tabled until the next day, when the long line of carriages and horses departed for the journey to Castabriel.  It was a merry column, as old friends reacquainted and stories were swapped.  Along the way a few stragglers joined the caravan, and an inevitable wake of fellow travelers joined the journey as it made its way south along the Timber Road into Gilmora.

Along the way, three days into the journey, they passed a large column of 3
rd
Commando infantrymen who were willing to camp alongside the magi and get to know their new employers.  Some of them Pentandra had encountered before on the battlefields around Castle Cambrian, and all of them impressed her as good, professional soldiers. 

More, they were genuinely eager to be quit of Gilmora, which had turned into an unfriendly place for them.  And they were very enthusiastic about the welcome they were promised they would receive in Vorone and the Wilderlands.

Once the caravan of wizards passed through Barrowbell and hired a barge to take them the rest of the way into the Riverlands, proper, Pentandra started to relax a little.  Unlike previous Conclaves, she was not in charge of every little detail, and she found the prospect of enjoying the event she’d organized for years quite appealing.  She was looking forward to seeing how Genthil, her protégé at the Order, handled the Conclave, for one thing. 

At the busy docks at Castabriel she had her servants from Fairoaks meet her with her coach with a few dozen blue baldrics with the arms of Alshar (the antler portion of the arms, at least) embroidered upon them.  Getting them made upon such short notice merely took coin, but they did add a handsome splash of color and uniformity to the magi from the north.  She handed one out to each Alshari mage in their party, reminding them that they were representing the duchy . . . and exhorting them to make a good showing.

They arrived at the city at dusk, casting beautiful magelights to hover over their procession as they made their way through the crowded streets of Castabriel.  That attracted a lot of attention, particularly from the clergy whose evening services were disrupted by the spectacle.

“That was impressive,” Minalan told her, after a footman assisted Pentandra from her coach in front of the looming tower of the Arcane Orders’ headquarters. Liveried grooms came out and led the horses to the stable, too, which she found impressive.  That hadn’t happened when she was in charge.  She liked it.  “I’m surprised you didn’t arrange for a fanfare at your arrival,” he teased.  He looked older, more worn and tired, but genuinely pleased to see her.  She couldn’t help flirting a bit.

“Please, Minalan! I’m an old married lady now.  Such conceits are for young girls who need the attention.  It was honestly more about national pride than personal vanity,” she added.  “Anguin wanted us to make an impressive entrance to send the message to Castal that Alshar is alive and well.”

“Half-alive and coughing up blood, but I see his point,” Minalan agreed, only half-joking.  “You seem to have brought an awful lot of warmagi south.”

“The frontiers are quiet,” she shrugged as she followed him inside the great – and now well-guarded – gate to the old temple crypt of Murvos.  How could she distract his attention from Ishi’s Night and the new threat of the undead?  Probably with politics, she decided.  “Anguin’s brought four important local barons under his sway and started re-organizing the nobility over what’s left of what he controls.  Vorone is relatively peaceful and enjoying some prosperity.  We didn’t even need to borrow to make payroll this month.  By next conclave he should actually have a real statelet to run.”

“That’s really amazing, Penny,” Minalan sighed, smiling.  “One little victory that will hopefully lead to many more.  Is Arborn with you?”

“No, he’s resting after a mission.  Is Alya with you?”

Minalan looked troubled.  “No, she . . . well, we broke that spell, with Ishi’s help.  She’s recovering.  I thought this might be a little much, after that . . .”

“Well, we’ll just have to entertain ourselves then,” she decided.  “To be honest, I’m eager for the break.  I never thought just being married would be so . . .
tiring.”

“Just wait until the children start coming, then you will know the meaning of tired!” he said, ruefully. 

Another subject she didn’t want to discuss –
what was he, her mother? 
Instead she asked about the enchantment enterprise in Sevendor, and she was safe.  No man can resist talking about his work, she knew, and Minalan was eager to update her about their progress.

After that she lost herself in agendas, committee meetings, social events, parties, and all the other fare of the Conclave.  She genuinely enjoyed throwing herself into the work, and was actually able to take advantage of some of the amazing opportunities afforded by the Conclave for a change. 

She kept in touch with Arborn daily by Mirror, and managed to communicate with Alurra often enough to assure her that all was well back home.  She went shopping, this time among Castabriel’s cosmopolitan markets, and bought gifts for her staff and servants back in Vorone.  She met with many a mage who was considering the opportunities that Alshar offered.  And some who had already taken advantage of them.

Pentandra thoroughly enjoyed her time catching up with her cousin Planus (including a private conversation about their continuing smuggling efforts), discussing commercial plans with Banamor, validating Gethlin’s efforts with organization of the Order, and even meeting with a group of magi who were interested in pursuing a life in the Wilderlands.  It was as if she had never been away from the big city and its busy life.

But she could not shake the feeling that something was afoot. 

Perhaps it was the way that Minalan was dealing with the secret war the renegade Mask was waging against him, perhaps it was the rumors that Baroness Isily and Baron Dunselen were scheming about something (unlikely, with Isily in the late stages of her pregnancy, but Pentandra wasn’t sure that would stop the ambitious sorceress). 

But the longer she was away from Vorone, the more uneasy she got.  Even her dreams were filled with forebodings that could not entirely be attributed to the rich and varied amount of alcohol she consumed.

The most difficult meeting was with her father.  Orisorio was enjoying his status as one of the leading magi of Remere, but when he sat down with his youngest daughter his face looked almost stricken.

“Do you have any idea the stress you’ve put your mother under?” he demanded.  “Running away to get married to some . . . some
tribal
nearly put her over the edge, Penny!  Are you trying to make my life miserable?” he complained.

“This was not about
your
life, Daddy,” she reproved.  “This was about
my
life – and Mother stopped being concerned about my future the moment I got my Talent, you know that.”

“That was when you had little expectation ahead of you save being a Resident Adept,” he pointed out.  “Now that you and Minalan have re-ordered everything, she felt you had plenty of potential.  Too much to waste on some . . .
rustic!”

“Arborn is no mere rustic, Daddy,” she frowned.  “He’s a magnificent warrior and one of the highest ranked Kasari in the Wilderlands.  He is a ranger without peer. 
And I love him,”
she stressed.

Orisorio’s eyebrows jumped up skeptically.  “Not mere infatuation, Penny?”

She glared at him.  “How many times have I allowed infatuation to guide my life, Daddy?  That’s my
sister
, not me.  If I was going to be ruled by infatuation, would I not have pressed to make Minalan my husband?  Which you – and Mother – specifically warned me
against?”

“Oh, your mother has reconsidered how she feels about Minalan,” he was quick to say.  “She would be quite in favor of you marrying him, now.”

Pentandra snorted.  “Only because he’s a baron, and the most powerful mage in the world.  When he was a pimply Narasi boy up her daughter’s skirts she wasn’t so forgiving.  But he is
already
married, to a dear friend of mine.  As am I, now,” she declared.  “Mother will just have to accept that fact.”

“I don’t think it’s the marriage that concerns her, as much as the fact that you did it all in secret,” Orisorio confided.  “That’s what’s really getting to her.  She wasn’t involved.”

“By design,” Pentandra said, sternly.  “I had enough of her interference when she was organizing tea parties with the handsome young boys in Remere before I was even a woman.  I’m not about to give her the means to torture me about something I hold dear.”