Enchanter (Book 7) (13 page)

“They really don’t have many settlements around here,” I agreed.  Most of the Tal under human sovereignty were vassals of the barons in southern Gilmora and the central Riverlands, as well as a few tribes in the Wilderlands of Alshar and Castal who had adopted human culture.  “But with the war, there are plenty of groups open to resettlement.  But they aren’t human peasants, and they aren’t animals.  If the Riverlords are willing to accept them, then they need to understand a little about their culture before they extend that invitation.

“But that’s just one of the many things on my mind,” I finished.  “I’m just glad I can finally spend some time on them, back here in Sevendor.” Last year’s war in the Mindens and the Great March had taken my attention away from my domains for too long, I knew.  It had also been a strain on my marriage, which Alya did not hesitate to mention, in a nice way.

“Not nearly as glad as I am,” she assured me, taking my arm and sliding more closely to me.  We spent the rest of the afternoon browsing the stalls at the Fair before going back to the castle for a bath and a change of clothes.  Tonight was an important night, after all.  It was the night of Pentandra’s wedding reception.

Technically it was the annual fete hosted by the Order of the Secret Tower, but Penny had taken over the entire affair and transformed it into a celebration of her wedding.  As the actual ceremony had taken place deep in the sacred groves of Kasar, at the base of a grand ninety-foot tall waterfall, there was little occasion for the feasting, gift giving, and merriment that Remeran tradition demanded.

This reception was her compromise for that.  She and Arborn had been staying in the grand suite she’d had installed in the hall when the Order had it built (mostly at her insistence), and without actually going home to Remere this was as close as she could get to friends and family for now. 

Alya insisted on a grand showing, even more than I had been prepared for.  She insisted it was a matter of feminine honor to give such an important person in my life and within the Order a glorious demonstration of respect and affirmation.  It was only fitting, she insisted.

I didn’t argue with her.  I’d learned better than to get between a woman and her social obligations.  I allowed Alya and Estret to spearhead the planning and the gifts, and I limited my participation to preparing a few special gifts and a willingness to toast the bride and groom.

Arborn looked splendidly handsome in what I can only assume was the Kasari formal uniform – a darker green than the usual, with each badge and achievement carefully embroidered on the breast and sleeves.  The cloak he wore was the one I’d gifted him with for the March, now trimmed with some luxurious-looking white fur.  Pentandra’s was a white version of the same mantle, in a more feminine cut and with more fur.  She looked adorable and radiant.

It was a great party, more elegant than the Enchanter’s Guild’s fete.  It was a wild mix of Remeran decadence and Kasari folksy wholesomeness.  Arborn had brought a dozen men along with him, though whether they were guards, servants, or merely comrades I was not sure.  The dour-looking rangers stood at the entrance, their uniforms augmented by green and gold sashes bearing what I assumed was Arborn’s device.  They drank not a drop, ensuring that the other patrons did not get too rowdy in their enjoyment. 

Planus had arrived with a full retinue for the occasion.  His entourage included cooks and servants from Pentandra’s home estates, dancing girls, and specialists in libations I’d never heard of.  They performed admirably, loading the trestles with an amazing array of delicacies, the aromas filling the room while their artistry delighted the eyes.  Hundreds of bottles were available for sampling, and the Priestess of Trygg was singing hymns of blessing that grew bawdier as the night grew long.  Musicians filled a small gallery overhead and filled the hall with stately melodies or raucous rhythms the dancers could gyrate to.

An entire chamber had been set aside for gifts, which ranged from the extravagant (Pentandra’s family) to rustic and practical (the Kasari) to the arcane (most of our professional colleagues) with a few odd ones thrown in. 

I gave the happy couple several small gifts I’d enchanted that I thought they may find of use in their life together.   As Penny already had a magical chamberpot (as if I could resist giving her one of the first) I aimed for something more Pentandra’s style: a wardrobe filled with magical pockets in which she could store hundreds of gowns, shoes, and such.  Yet the cabinet would only ever weigh but a hundred pounds. 

I gave her something else I’d worked on in the last few weeks.  It was a weirwood rod about four feet long with an oversized witchstone in the head.  It once belonged to the renegade warmage Mask, and after I had relieved her of it in battle it had stayed tucked away until I could get it back to my workshop.  Once I removed the taint of the Dead God and the residue of Mask’s personal spells, I took out the pocketstones and other tools I’d developed and reconstructed it from scratch.

I was proud of that rod.  It was the first major foray into enchantment that I’d done since I’d returned from Alshar.  I took a couple of days after I’d returned from the march to work on the enchantments in the rod.  Since it was for Pentandra, I spared no attention to detail or expense in its construction.

Technically, it was the first great magical rod, or
baculus
, that I created.  It was an impressive first effort, and served to guide me in the similar rods I constructed after it.  There were fifteen different magical pockets in it, now.  I prepared several of them, allowing her to conjure forth with a word a table, chairs, a brazier, her new magical wardrobe, a beautiful brass bathtub, and a casket filled with as thorough a selection of alcohol as I could manage.  Another chest was stocked with basic thaumaturgical supplies and copies of essential texts.  The rest I left for her to fill.

But that wasn’t all – to the oversized witchstone in the head I’d added a Waystone, a sliver of blood coral to bind the enchantments to her, and a nugget of yellow knot coral so that she could magically manipulate the rod if she desired. 

I had the Karshak lapidary, Guri’s cousin, wrap the reddish shaft in argentium wire and added tiny oak leaves of the same material.  Instead of acorns I had it set with rubies, just because they suited Penny.  The wire culminated in a new fitting at the head of the rod, an acorn-shaped lattice of argentium that allowed the glow of the irionite within to be seen.  I added a simple magelight enchantment on a drop of thaumaturgical glass to allow Penny to control the glow.  I filled in with additional rubies to the fitting in tasteful abundance to please her vanity. 

Finally, I’d had a beautiful ruby ring commissioned with a two-carat stone supported by five tiny acorns.  The rod was designed to disappear into a pocket within the ring and reappear upon command.  It saved on carrying the thing around when you weren’t using it.  It was a little hefty, now.

I’d done one more enchantment, something of an experimental nature in the field of parcletion.  It was a bit of a whim, late one night when was in the tower late at night and probably not completely sober.  But I’d had an odd idea, and without really thinking about it, I impulsively added it to the rod.  I used the Grain of Pors to install the enneagram of a relatively benign but very self-aware ghost of some long-extinct sea creature in the rod as a
paraclete
– a magical intercessor that could assist the user by doing the hard work of spellcasting, for her.  It was akin to conjuring a simple elemental, or installing an enneagram in a magical construct; but the complexity of the enneagram allowed a far, far more sophisticated effect, almost a personality within the baculus.

Why did I do it?  Perhaps because when you work on an enchantment you tend to anthropomorphize the piece if you spend enough time with it.  Blizzard and Trailblazer were both almost living creatures to me because I’d invested so much of myself into their creation.

But this was a step further than that.  Using my recent experiences with the Grain during the battle against Mask that had won me the rod in the first place, I’d searched the magical pebble of Ghost Rock for just the right sort of pattern for the tool I envisioned.  Something that would be compatible with Pentandra’s personality –
sharp, intelligent, lively, lusty, and careful.
 

I went through dozens of possibilities before I found what I was looking for.  The Grain contains enneagramatic patterns of every creature who touches it long enough to impress it, and it had laid at the bottom of some ocean for eons before it found its way into a river in the rugged northern vales of the Kulines.  There were a lot of patterns to choose from, and to be honest I only had a vague idea of what I was doing.  Enneagrammatic work is tricky, as the symbols within the patterns are difficult to understand and even more difficult to appreciate in context.  I was learning, and I had a growing sophistication with the art, but this was still more essay than anything.

The one I eventually selected was likely once some sort of territorial bottom-dwelling creature who had come across the Grain at some point.  It was an elegant pattern, decidedly female and with a surprisingly complex array of intelligence and perception – probably developed as a defensive measure.  I had no idea what that long-dead ocean world had been like, but I couldn’t imagine it was peaceful. 

The pattern had self-awareness, it had a strong social component, it had robust sexual and maternal symbols, and it had a sense of both agency and compassion that I felt worked well with Pentandra’s style.  It wasn’t aggressive, but it could be dangerous.  It wasn’t belligerent, but it had a strong sense of self-preservation.  And it was social enough to have some capacity for loyalty, which I felt was important.  There’s nothing worse than a magical stick with a mercenary attitude.

It wasn’t my best work, not compared to the effort I had expended on my warstaff, Blizzard, or my traveling staff, Pathfinder.  But it was still a highly potent and extremely pretty magical artifact, one of the most powerful in the western lands.  A suitable tool for the challenges to be faced by the new Court Wizard of Alshar.  And a very pretty one.  The red shaft, the silver leaves, the sparkling rubies, the magical glow – once it was finished, the sparkling rod was as elegant an accessory as a powerful sorceress could ask for.

The fact that it also looked kind of like an abstract form of a giant erect penis was my little joke.  Penny got it instantly, of course, but she was so charmed by the gift she didn’t comment at the time.

I’d included a bibelot, the technical term for an instruction manual.  It was twelve feet of scroll detailing the rods construction and functions including all applicable command words.  I packed the entire thing in an elegant silver case enchanted against tarnish, with the pretty ruby ring in a matching box.

Pentandra was overcome.  She had been receiving impressive gifts all night, but when I made my presentation she beamed and cried and cradled the beautiful silver rod like a baby.  She eagerly put on the ring and made the rod disappear and reappear a dozen times, once I taught her the charm. 

“What did you name it?” she asked, when she finally calmed down enough to speak again.

“It isn’t mine to name,” I pointed out.  “It’s a baculus, technically, and it’s silver.  I worked in the oaky motif, since your lavish estate is Fairoaks and your husband spends more time with trees than people.  But beyond that, it’s yours to name.  I’d recommend getting to know her a little, before you decide on something.”

“Know . . .
her?
” Penny asked, confused.

“You’ll see what I mean,” I smiled mysteriously.  I added, mind-to-mind,
She’s a suitable baculus for the new Ducal Mage of Alshar.  Have you decided when you’re going to announce it, officially?

Not until after Yule
, she replied, making the baculus disappear again into her ring.  This time she left it there
.  Arborn and I had a long talk.  He’s agreed to go with me to Vorone in secret, and take the Duke’s service as Woodwarden.  At least for now.

Penny!  That’s great news!

I hope so,
she said, doubtfully. 
We’re not going to announce anything until Anguin takes control of the court at Yule.  Arborn is supportive of the effort – he thinks a stable Narasi state will keep the goblins quiet and leave Bransei alone.
He’s bringing along a dozen of his mates, to assist us.  Vorone might be in the Wilderlands, but it’s a city, Min.   I can’t help but feel like I’m dragging him into something awful,
she confided.

That’s marriage,
Penny, I consoled her. 
It’s always a great adventure.

It’s a bloody pain,
she replied
.  I never thought I’d care so much about whether or not someone else was happy.  How do you and Alya do it?  I’ve been married for three weeks, and I feel like an ignorant peasant girl!  I never know when he’s happy, or what he wants, or what he wants me to do . . . it’s a bloody nuisance.