Enchanter (Book 7) (2 page)

“Oh, yeah,” I nodded, understanding finally.  When Pentandra had elected to take the Kasari rites and enter into their ritual to try to land her beloved, Arborn, in matrimony according to his tribe’s customs, I had insisted that she do so without magic’s aid.  Just before we had said goodbye a month ago in Kasar, I had taken her torus-shaped piece of irionite into custody, forcing her to compete for her light o’ love with just her considerable wits to guide her.

Now that her rites had been concluded, and she had been wedded to the big Kasari ranger captain, she wanted her power back.

“She’s waiting for you in your study,” Festaran advised me.  “But Banamor wanted a word or two with you, when you get a chance.  As does Sire Cei,” he added, mentioning both my Spellwarden and my Castellan.  “Come to mention it, Sister Bemia, Captain Forondo, and Gareth all wished to speak to you as well.”

“Ishi’s tits!” I swore.  “Is there anyone who doesn’t want to speak to me?” as I headed for my tower.

“Master Olmeg came by this morning without the need for your consultation,” Festaran called after me.  “He was, however, unhappy with the state of the castle’s herb garden.”

That, at least, was something I could safely ignore.  Everyone else no doubt had pressing issues that needed the attention of the Magelord –
me.
  And I was certain that everyone’s issues were vitally important.  But right now my highest priority was seeing one of my closest and oldest friends after she got married.

Pentandra was sitting in my old bedroom when I came in, as opposed to the actual workshop upstairs.  My wife had insisted on constructing and living in a beautiful new hall in front of the castle’s door this past summer, now that things were safe and we had the money to do so.  With two babies the place was getting very crowded, and we did need the space.  My darling new home was as comfortable and lavish as I could make it for my family.

The move had provided me with the chance to spread out a bit, as a benefit, once our bed and the cradles and chests and wardrobes and other accessories had been relocated to the new hall.  Now the former bedchamber was filled with chests and shelves that were covered with books, scrolls, and the kind of general junk every spellmonger tends to accumulate over time.  A lot of it had come from upstairs, but some had finally been liberated from storage.  Where my bed had sat there was now a sturdy oaken table where I did a lot of my goofing off now.

Pentandra was seated at the table in front of the tiny fireplace, sipping wine and relaxing.

“Penny!” I smiled as I saw her.  “I had no idea you were coming!”

“Well, without a witchstone it makes it very hard to communicate magically,” she pointed out, rising and embracing me.

“How was the wedding?” I asked, eagerly.

“Rustic, simple, and passionate,” she smiled, happily.  “There were a few difficulties getting there, but once I made it clear that Arborn was mine, most of them fell away.”  The way she casually told the tale I could tell there was far more to it than she was letting on . . . including some metaphorical blood she wasn’t quite ready to relate to me, yet.  “The actual ceremony is breathtakingly simple.  But the result is the same.   I’m something I never really thought I’d ever be: someone’s wife.”

“And how are you feeling about that?” I asked, curious.  Pentandra is one of the foremost thaumaturgic sex magicians in the world, and had based her research on a legendary string of arcane sensual experiments and studies that had included me, among a multitude of other people.  But once Penny had met Arborn and fallen in love with his quiet masculine strength, she had curtailed her studies in favor of pursuing domestic life.

Mostly.

“I’m feeling . . . great about it,” she admitted, grinning self-consciously.  “Better about it than I ever thought I would.  I always thought that getting married and pledging to serve but one man would be horrifying, but now that I’m here, I can’t imagine looking at another man with Arborn around.”

“And you aren’t worried that he’s going to keep you pregnant, silent, and at the hearth?” I chuckled.

“Are you kidding?” she smiled.  “He tasted my cooking, as part of the rites.  He married me anyway.”

“Glad to hear it,” I nodded.  “I suppose you’d like your stone back, now?” I teased.

“More than anything,” she nodded, fervently.  “I can’t believe how reliant I’ve become on it.  If I hadn’t been distracted by . . . other things, it might have driven me mad.”

“Well, I’ve taken good care of it for you,” I said, retrieving a small stone box from one of the cabinets around the room.  “In fact, I took the liberty of having Onranion overhaul it.”

“Ondarian?” she asked, curious, at the mention of the old Alka Alon reprobate who had become one of my magical advisors.  It was Onranion who had fashioned my witchsphere, the ball of irionite that followed me around and powered my spellcraft, out of three regular stones, and then had plied them with Alka Alon songspells.  He was one of the few living masters of the art of irionite shaping, and when I had the chance to get Penny’s stone away from her for a few weeks, I thought it was an opportune time to see about improving it.

So he had.  When I removed the silk-wrapped jewel from the box, it looked nothing like the simple torus of green amber Pentandra had reluctantly turned over to me.  Onranion had melded a spherical pebble of an Alka Alon witchstone through the hole in the torus, one of the ones known as the Seven Stones.  Then he had the Karshak lapidaries carefully construct a setting out of snowstone where the irionite could sit, surrounded by shards of crystals I’d harvested from my mountain.  Where she once had a simple stone, now she had an Enculpion of powerful magic.

There was now a bit of Waystone apophylite on the disc, allowing me to travel to Penny’s location at any time.  There was one half of a Sympathy Stone on the disc.  I had the other half.  I wasn’t doing anything in particular with it, yet, but it gave me the possibility of sharing power and other energies with Penny over long distances.

There was a sliver of yellow knot coral, a bit of blood coral that wasn’t tuned yet, and other dainties I’d been able to cultivate from my hoard.  It was, apart from the Witchsphere, the most potent magical artifact I’d assembled to date.  Half-assembled.  There was still plenty of potential enchantment left to be done on the piece, but I’d saved it for Penny to customize. 

I’d had the whole thing banded in gold, enchanted to be near-unbreakable, and suspended from a fine gold chain similarly enchanted.  When worn, the entire amulet was no more than four inches across, though it was heavy.

“Consider it a wedding gift,” I explained.  “You can easily remove the irionite core from its housing,” I pointed out, “if you don’t need the augmentation.  But in its harness, Onranion and Taren worked to create a smoother magical interface for you.  They constructed a simple paraclete,” I said, mentioning the technical term for a magical intercessor.  “You can now access some of the Alkan spells through standard Imperial-style mnemonics, for example.”

“I . . . I don’t know what to say, Min,” she said, as she gazed at her pretty new necklace.  All right, it wasn’t as much pretty as gaudy, but it was as shiny as you could ask for. “It’s wonderful!  Only . . .” she said, trailing off.  And looking off into space wistfully.

Penny doesn’t do that.  Ever.

“What is it?” I demanded.

“I . . . I was thinking of quitting,” she admitted, guiltily.  “The Order, as an officer, that is.  My assistant has been running the place for the last year, anyway, and it’s not like they really need me anymore.  Once I set things up to run efficiently, well, they ran efficiently.  Enough,” she conceded.  We’d had plenty of minor issues to deal with, in the last few years, everything from mischievous Wild Magi to power-hungry magelords to various misuses of magic, but nothing had risen to any great level of concern, largely because we stayed on top of things.

“Why?” I asked, simply.

“Because . . . because I’m married, now,” she pointed out.  “Married to a big, wonderful, magnificent specimen of manhood . . . whose life has been spent in the forests.  If I try to drag Arborn back to Castabriel with me, he’ll die of boredom.  Even Fairoaks is more like a park than a wildland.  I’ve thought about it for weeks, now, Min, and I really think that’s what’s best for me.”

“Me, too,” I agreed.  I could tell by the look on her face that she wasn’t expecting that.  “In fact,” I continued, “I was going to encourage you to resign.  I was just afraid of how to approach such a delicate subject.”

“Resign? 
Why?”
she asked, suddenly concerned for a host of other reasons.

“Because you’re right,” I pointed out, pouring more wine for her and adding a glass for myself.  Just to be flashy I conjured it from the same ring I used to hide my sword in an extra-dimensional space.  She made a face at my blatant display but didn’t comment.  “You can’t keep living in Castabriel.  Not with Arborn.  It isn’t fair to him, and honestly it isn’t fair to you.  Or your career.  I mean, if you wanted to establish yourself as the institutional head of the professional association, I wouldn’t stop you.  I just don’t think that would make you happy.”

“It wouldn’t,” she agreed.  “Maybe once, a few years ago, when I had a lot of misplaced ambition and fantasies about power.  But . . . now that I’ve had power, in a way, I find it has little of the appeal it once had.  Mostly,” she said, gesturing to a cabinet that was overflowing with my correspondence, “it’s just boring parchmentwork.  That’s not what I want to do with my life.”

“Exactly,” I agreed.  “I figured after you were wed you might want a short holiday from such business.  But if you are interested,” I said, casually, “there might be a position in which both you and your husband may find some level of contentment.”

She studied me warily.  “What position?”

“This Yule, the Orphan Duke plans a clandestine return to Vorone,” I confided.  “Count Angrial has agreed to serve as his Prime Minister.  Count Salgo, after his ‘retirement’ as Warlord, has accepted His Grace’s offer to become the Alshari Ducal Minister of War.  That’s going to irritate a lot of folk in the Royal Court, who wanted Salgo to go retire quietly to his palatial estates in Castal . . . but the Count likes a challenge.  Restoring order to northern Alshar is as much of one as he could ask, and one that’s safely away from the majority of people who might think he’d be of better service to the Kingdom posthumously.”

“They can still reach him in Vorone,” she pointed out, skeptically.  “They reached the Duchess.”

“He knows that,” I agreed.  “He wants more people around him he can trust to watch his back.  Which is why I am suggesting that you apply for the currently vacant position of Ducal Court Wizard.”

“Ducal . . . court wizard?” she asked, skeptically.  “Me?”

“In Vorone,” I agreed.  “That would put you close enough to the wilderness for Arborn to continue his skulking, yet civilized enough that you can raise a family without fear of them being unexpectedly eaten by bears.”

“Just kidnapped by bandits,” she pointed out.  “Vorone is . . . not what it used to be.”

“I know,” I agreed.  “Which is why I want you there.  When Angrial asked me to recommend candidates, there weren’t any I could think of who would be better suited for the demands of that position.”

“Min, I’m a sex magician, mostly theoretical,” she reminded me.  “And I’ve got some small facility for telling other people what to do and signing important documents.  Other than that, there’s really no reason that I’d make a decent court wizard.”

“I disagree,” I said, shaking my head.  “This won’t be a normal Court Wizard job.  Dunselen and Thinradel were bureaucrats, because that’s what the times demanded.  Now that we’ve changed the rules and gotten ourselves invaded the requirements are going to be more demanding.  For one thing, they’ll require a lot more actual magic being cast in the service of the Duchy.  Indeed, that may be one of the few resources that Anguin has at his disposal.  But he’ll need a court wizard canny, powerful, and creative enough to contend with the problems he faces.”

“It’s . . . intriguing,” she agreed.  “But how could I help him get the place under control?”

“That’s the thing,” I shrugged.  “I don’t know.  I’m not there, on the ground, and it’s not my job to do.  If it were your job to do, then you’d find out what needed to be done, and then you’d do it.  Because when it comes to pursuing your goals, you’re one of the most ruthless people I know.”

My old friend blushed, which is rare in Pentandra.  “The thing is, Min, my goals have changed, I’ve discovered.”

“Of course they have,” I nodded.  “So have mine.  Our lives have changed.  Neither one of us could have predicted what would have happened, when we first met.  But as they have happened, and as we’ve matured, we’ve changed our goals to match our circumstances.  And changed our approach as we have needed to.  It doesn’t diminish the importance of those early goals, to have changed them.  It merely indicates a level of sophistication that transcends the simplistic, enthusiastic, idealistic approach we had in our youth.”

“I don’t know,” she said, guiltily chewing her lip, “it sounds an awful lot like giving up.  I mean, what kind of real research can I get done now that I’m
married?”
she said, laughing mirthlessly.

“Are you kidding?” I snorted.  “As I said, we’re entering a phase in our lives where we’ve managed to go beyond mere survival and into the realm of inquiry.  I’m playing with magical rocks and such, wondering how I can next bend reality to my will.  I’m going to indulge that bit of thaumaturgical curiosity, now that I’m under house arrest, effectively.”