Enchanter (Book 7) (12 page)

The River Folk’s mastery of horticulture was profound, but limited.  They specialized in vegetables and roots, fruits and berries, not grain crops. 

But they knew what to do with malted barley.  There were four taphouses in Hollyburrow, more than any Yeomanry but Sevendor Town.  The River folk liked to brew, and they loved to drink, and they had a culture that encouraged charming little pubs.  It was their chief cultural expression, it seemed.

Chief among their taphouses was the expansive
Hollybush
, favored of the Karshak during their construction of Lesgaethael.  But there were also the
Green Onion, The Happy Kettle
, and the
Pinecone.
  Each appealed to a different subculture within the confusing Tal’s society, but there was plenty of comingling by all.  Each also served food, in cheap abundance, if you were kind enough to patronize their alehouses. 

That made Hollyburrow a popular excursion for visiting wizards visiting the fair on a budget.  You could even have lodgings among the Tal, if you weren’t too picky about the smell and the cramped quarters.  The day of the Green Magic exhibition, all four taverns had set up tables and chairs outside and were offering liberal tastes of their wares, and there were plenty of travelers taking advantage. 

There was even a band of Tal Alon musicians trying desperately to play popular
humani
tunes, in between impressive renditions of their native music, which favored either outrageously bawdy lyrics or ridiculously fast dance numbers.  You wouldn’t think the chubby little rodents could dance, but I was surprised by how well they moved. 

Master Olmeg oversaw the festivities with the serene patience of a master.  The Tal Alon treated the tall, quiet Green Mage with a respect and reverence they usually reserved only for the Alka Alon, or occasionally the Karshak. 

In Olmeg’s case, however, that respect had been earned, not genetically contrived.  Olmeg had proven a fair and understanding Yeoman for the little pocket of greenery and brown fur in the middle of my domain.  Heavily shaded by Matten’s Helm to the northwest and the hills around it to the south and east, the damp little land had never been good for the kind of farming that humans tended to pursue. 

But when Olmeg had taken a look at the land with a mage’s eye and his knowledge of Green Magic, he was able to select crops that were well-suited to the microclimate and easy for the Tal to grow.  Once the farmers stopped working against the land and started working with it, Hollyburrow blossomed like a wildflower in the swamp.  The Tal now grew far more than they needed, particularly potatoes, yams, and onions.  The Hollyburrow stall was always bustling on market days.

That prosperity had helped develop the loyalty the Tal felt for Olmeg, but it was the big mage’s willingness to treat the Tal with the same respect and honor he showed other humans that really secured their loyalty. 

The Tal are not particularly liked by most humans.  Peasants saw them as inhuman competition, and lords saw them largely as slightly-useful parasites.  The domains in the western Riverlands that employed them tended to treat them as subhuman and exploited them ruthlessly.

Master Olmeg treated each of the little furry guys like a fellow human, and treated their leadership with the same deference and courtesy he paid to his fellow Yeomen.  He granted them his protection while allowing them to order their own affairs.  Olmeg respected their customs and was scrupulously fair in his judgements in settling their internal disputes. 

He had employed them on behalf of his position as Greenwarden, and paid them the same wages he would have paid hired villeins.  He even appeared in court on their behalf and advocated for their interests with quiet passion.  After three years of working together, he was a nearly mystical figure among them.

The Tal Alon weren’t alone in their adoration.  Green wizards from around the kingdom had made their way to Sevendor at his invitation, and he was accorded a professional respect and deference for his mastery of craft by them in a way that had to be professionally gratifying for the Green Mage. 

Green magi are an odd lot; you’ve never seen anyone get so intense about pollination, fertilization and predatory fungus until you see a couple of Green magi get together.  Each one of them seemed to specialize in some obscure area of the field: Master Minnik was an arborealist, Mistress Ganda was an expert in flowers of all sorts, Master Daltren was the foremost authority on grasses, that sort of thing.  Olmeg was accounted a master of systemic horticulture – that is, using different types of plants in concert to achieve particular magical effects. 

To many of his visitors, the Enchanted Forest that he’d grown to protect the approach to the Diketower had been the most impressive thing about the fair.  While others walked through it, ignoring the gallows oaks and other trees around them, the Green magi were awed and impressed by the intricacies of the defense. 

It was a pleasure meeting and mingling with this obscure part of the arcane world.  Green magi don’t get near the respect they deserve, largely because it’s just not as impressive to plant a seed and wait patiently for it to grow as it is to produce a flash and a cloud of smoke and instant results.  But the subtle magics and living spells of green magi had tremendous power, if you understood it properly.  In the last three years Olmeg had done much to improve my understanding of it, and thanks to our partnership we both benefitted from his tenure in Sevendor.

“The entrants are quite impressive, Magelord,” he told me after properly greeting Alya and me with a cup of cider before leading us around the many raised beds the Tal Alon had prepared as showcases.  “I prepared several soil varieties, and sprinkled each of them liberally with snowsand before the entrants arrived.  Almost all have survived transport and are thriving,” he said, proudly.  It took me a moment to realize he was talking about the plants, not the people.

“What wonders did they bring?” I asked, curiously.

“Weirwood varieties,
salstagga
shrubs,
kirsieth
, and all manner of useful herbs,” he smiled, proudly.  “There’s a large parchment grass varietal Master Daltren has developed that grows the sheets twice as large as normal.  He’s also bred a stringrass with thrice the tensile strength of ordinary string.  I’ve secured seedstock and cuttings for both,” he boasted, pleased.

“Anything useful for the castle apothecarial garden?” Alya asked.  As lady of the castle, she was technically in charge of the large garden of medicinal herbs in the inner bailey we grew.  In actuality Sister Bemia and her novice tended the garden, but Alya knew her responsibilities.

“Aye, Lady,” Olmeg nodded, his sonorous deep voice sounding like audible calm.  “Poppies, hemp, feverfew, and many other potent varieties.  Mistress Ganda has gifted me with a few rare and special cuttings, too.  Including a specimen of Volnaras.”

“I’ve never heard of it,” my wife confessed, helpfully.  Neither had I, but the Spellmonger is supposed to know stuff like that.

“Volnaras is
natavia
perennial that grows in the wilds of Wenshar,” he recited.  “It’s difficult to cultivate, as it needs an area of low magic resistance and a loose sandy soil, which is a rarity in Wenshar.  When it is found and cultivated, the Volnaras flower can be crushed and boiled.  The extract provides an elixir much prized by physicians for its ability to render a patient utterly immobile, compliant, and unable to feel pain during an operation.  It is the gods’ own boon to difficult labor and deliveries,” he nodded, matter-of-factly, “and for delicate operations involving the brain, heart, or liver it is far superior to Bardain or Poppy Gum.  The specimen Ganda gifted us with is in full flower,” he added, pleased.

“That does sound useful,” I admitted.  Alya had been through two hard deliveries, and we were hoping for a few more children.  Anything that could ease Trygg’s Blessing was a blessing of its own.

“There’s also some rare herbs from the Wilderlands Mistress Rael has brought,” Olmeg added.  “The woman excels at discovering the obscure among the herbs.  Come spring, we will have Ashkalot for stopping bleeding, Foxglove for maladies of the heart, and Alshari Peppermint, a powerful remedy for issues of digestion.”

“I’m very pleased, Master Olmeg,” I said cheerfully.  Banamor might be a mover and shaker among the commercial interests of the arcane world, but my investment in Olmeg had paid off just as handsomely.  His toil turned Sevendor from a marginal cropland into an agriculturally prosperous domain, and transformed Hollyburrow into a nursery of rare and magical plants.   Some the Tal had even begun to stockpile and export.  Giving the marginal estate over to the Green Mage had been one of the better decisions of my tenure as Magelord.

The exhibition was quite popular among those magi who grew weary of the hubbub of the Fair and wanted a change of pace before tomorrow’s Spellmonger’s Trial.  Indeed, one of my reasons for visiting Hollyburrow was to make some last-minute adjustments to some of the obstacles for the contest.

Among the wandering magi I spotted were Terleman, Mavone, Astyral, and Wenek, four magelords and comrades-at-arms enjoying an outing with a bottle.  A trio of Wenshari enchanters had also taken the day to examine varieties of weirwood.  I nodded and smiled to several prominent wizards – not High Magi, but professional court wizards and spellmongers I knew by sight from the Conclave, mostly – who had made their way to the Fair and were seeking useful cuttings to take home.  And there were nonmagically talented herbalists, specialists in herblore invited to share their expertise. 

Dunselen and Isily also arrived, just before we departed, and I managed to escape the estate without exchanging words with either . . . although Isily affixed me with an uncomfortable look when Alya and Dunselen weren’t looking.  I’d love to say that it was inscrutable, but the truth is I could tell exactly what she was thinking from her expression. 

“That was lovely!” Alya sighed, as we began the walk back to the Fairgrounds. “I don’t get out to Hollyburrow nearly enough.  It’s right in the middle of everything, but you can almost forget that it’s there.”

“That’s part of its charm,” I agreed.  “It’s like a piece of another country, right here inside Sevendor.  The Westwood is kind of like that, too.”

“I’m so glad you’ve done what you have with the estate,” she sighed.  “All Ela could do was complain about it.”  I’d given the place to her sister Ela and my brother-in-law Sagal for a year, when we first arrived in Sevendor.  He had done remarkable things to repair the manor and reduce the damage from neglect, but the small Yeomanry was never destined to prosper as the other agricultural estates did.  It was too marshy, shady, and cool.  “Besides, they’re much happier in Southridge.  Who knew Sagal had the makings of a good innkeeper?”

“That’s more than an inn, he’s running,” I said, glancing over the fields toward the distant estate.  It had tripled in size since Sagal became Yeoman.  Now, in addition to raising most of Sevendor’s horses, the estate also hosted visiting guests in several new halls . . . at premium rates.  “That’s like owning a gold mine, this time of year.  He’s already approached me about adding a string of smaller cottages along the road, to rent out like Banamor does the fairgrounds cots.”

“You should grant it, my lord husband, for the prosperity of all,” she advised.  I nodded absently.  “What is troubling you, my husband?” she asked, quietly.

I started, and gave her a stare.  “You sounded suspiciously like a Riverlands noblewoman, there, and not an Alshari Wilderlands rustic!”

“I’ve been listening to them, and learning,” she agreed, chuckling.  “I noticed that the servants were more apt to follow orders when I sounded that way.  The
human
servants,” she amended.  “The Tal don’t care how I sound.  Except for Daisy,” she added.  “She’s able to detect some of my nuances, now.”

“It’s an amazing transformation,” I nodded approvingly.  “Not that I dislike your Wilderlands brawl and forthright manner, mind you, but the way you’ve managed to adapt to the Riverlands culture is admirable, my wife.”

She smiled, showing her dimples.  I do love her dimples.  “Thank you, my lord husband.  As I admire the way you so adeptly deflect my question with a subtle flattery.  Shall I scream at you like a Wilderlands woodwife, my lord, or will you answer my bloody question?” she asked, sweetly.

I sighed.  It’s hard to keep things from your wife.  But I had to be careful.  “I’ve got a lot on my mind.  This has been fun, today . . . but there is a lot going on.  A lot of changes coming.  A lot of old enemies and new friends, and I’m just trying to keep everything under control.”

“But Min,” she said, frowning, “things
are
under control!”

“See what a good job I’ve been doing?” I said, smiling weakly.  “You’d think that a wonderful excursion like this would make me forget about the important things I’m responsible for . . . but the fact is, I know that Olmeg and the Tal Alon would never have been given a chance to thrive, without my patronage.  And protection.”

“But they have,” she pointed out.  “The other lords are noticing, too.  Our Tal servants are so well-behaved that some of the other lords have inquired about them.” We had utilized more Tal Alon than human servants in our new hall, which had produced some grumbling.  But the industrious little guys were outstanding at basic cleaning and took direction admirably.  They were also utterly incorruptible.