Enchanter (Book 7) (25 page)

He was elated.  One of his biggest regrets about hearing the tale of the Great March was missing the opportunity to see that famous forest.  When he realized he would be responsible for his own, he was overcome with emotion. He pledged a grove of the mighty trees would someday tower over the Westwood, and I believed him.

And Banamor, of course, had to get something particularly special: a magical vault with an arcane pocket in it that he and I alone knew the command word to.  It would store several tens of thousand ounces of coin safely and discreetly, not filling up with the contents until they had been summoned.  Banamor was touched by both my trust and my generosity.

He wasn’t as impressed at Yule Court, when I ennobled him. And Olmeg, and Sagal. 

Olmeg couldn’t have cared, but deserved the honor.  Sagal I had ennobled largely because he had brought Southridge Hold into stunning prosperity with his investment in guest houses and entertainments, and the fields and pastures of the estate were now thick with horses and cows.  And because he was my brother-in-law, and it would shut Ela up for a while.  Having a sister who is a Baroness while you’re a commoner is hard enough to deal with.  Lord Sagal and Lady Ela would now run Southridge as authentic gentry.

But Lord Banamor wasn’t particularly happy about his sudden rise in estate.  He had a lot of freedom as a wealthy commoner and elected official.  The nobility imposed obligations he wasn’t keen to fulfill . . . and he had a lifetime of poor opinions of the nobility to overcome.

That’s why I did it.  Banamor had become just too important to Sevendor’s commercial interests not to attach him to the place more securely.  Being a noble, Lord Mayor Banamor of Sevendor Town, did just that.  It also gave me a little more control over my business partner, but the honor bestowed was also authentic. 

And finally, among my vassals, to Sire Cei I gave title to the estate of Boval Village.  That was largely ceremonial – the estate’s Yeoman, Rollo, was doing an adept job at managing the village that evolved from the expatriate Bovali.  But that was why I wanted Sire Cei to own it, in return for nominal service.  I didn’t really need the money, as generous as it was, and Cei was respected if not loved by the hardy WIlderlands folk.  Rollo himself came to thank me for the gift, on behalf of the Bovali.  He was happy in his job but he often felt he carried too much authority for his comfort.  Giving Sire Cei that authority – and its attendant responsibility to guard the entrance to the vale – was in everyone’s interest.

There were other gifts to other folk.  To Their Majesties I sent a basket of magical trinkets that would amuse them. To my liege lord, the Duke of Castal and Prince Heir, Tavard, I sent a magical cradle that kept rocking on its own, for his baby when it was born.  It had some silver chimes in the shape of snowflakes that would tinkle as it rocked, and occasionally send out a tiny magical light.  To Master Hartarian I sent a regal-looking thumaturgical baculus I’d been crafting for him.  Just the kind of gaudy stick a Royal Court Wizard need to justify his stipend.

Abbeys and temples in the region were also the special beneficiaries of my magical largesse.  I treated the sisters at the Everflame Temple in town to a magnificent feast and a new robe for each of the eight flamesisters.  Brother Merton, who had accepted Banamor’s offer to build a temple to the grain god Huin in our Temple District, received a magnificent brown woolen robe trimmed with mink, as well as a magical staff that acted as both a plowing wand and a mowing wand, depending upon the command.  The monk was touched, and pledged to use his new gift far and wide, at no charge to the peasantry.

Sister Bemia, priestess of Trygg Allmother and our castle chaplain, was granted space for a new shrine in the district and livery for two attendant nuns to practice midwifery from the shrine.  The Woolbrothers of Orvatas in eastern domains were given enchanted collars that, when placed on a sheep’s neck and properly commanded, would cause all of its wool to fall off in an instant, without the use of shears.  That was actually a simple and well-known enchantment, but it took so much power, ordinarily, that few wizards bothered to use it.  It’s simpler just to shear the sheep.

With the four magical collars the spell had been made accessible.  With irionite, snowstone, and determination we were able to perfect the enchantment and power it for years to come.  The monks were quite grateful – to the tune of a dozen staples of premium wool they sent to the castle in gratitude.

Lastly among the clergy I gave the Temple of Ifnia’s local branch a magical safe like Banamor’s, only considerably larger and more compartmentalized.  When I showed the coinmother of the new temple how it worked, she was amazed.   It was just a bunch of simple pocket enchantments, but it made the wealth of the temple virtually theft-proof.  That was becoming an increasing anxiety, due to the amount of coin now flowing through the town.  Between the fair, Banamor’s dealings, the commerce of five thousand people, and my own immense deposits paid to me as fees to the Arcane Orders, there was far more gold stashed in that temple than she was comfortable with.

I gave hundreds of smaller gifts, magical and mundane, to the people of the town and the castle, and particularly my family.  I felt I owed it to them, after getting my father’s bakery in Talry shut down.  But I enjoyed having them all around me with my family at Yule.  I had missed far too many celebrations with them over the years.  And yes, being able to feast them in my own castle did appeal to my ego a bit. 

When all the guests had been poured in to bed, and all the food and presents put away after the feast, after tucking in our two excited little wonders, instead of throwing Alya on the bed for our usual post-feast Yule romp, I bid her to grab her mantle against the chill night air. 

She looked at me, curiously, but did as I asked.  Soon we were walking across the yard, through the gateway of the nascent gatehouse, and toward the mountain.

“Where are we going, Min?” she asked, with just a hint of girlish whine in her voice.  It had been a long night.

“I want to show you something,” I told her mysteriously.

“What, the front hall?  It’s amazing,” she assured me.  “I saw it a few days ago.  They’re quarrying what, five, six blocks a day?”

“Twice that,” I agreed, as we passed through the construction site where those massive blocks – each the size of a large wain – had been set.  The foundations to the gatehouse were laid out and the first walls were being raised, and now that the Karshak had gotten past the basics they were working day and night, taking only the holiday off.  The Karshak didn’t stop work for cold or rain or anything else that I could see.  But they celebrated Yule like everyone else. “By Briga’s Day they’ll be up to the third story, or more.  But no, that’s not what I want to show you.”

“Another pretty rock?” she asked without enthusiasm.  “One that does something I won’t understand and can’t appreciate?”

“You don’t like my pretty rocks?” I asked, surprised. 

“Their novelty has faded,” she reluctantly admitted.  “Sometime around when I rolled over in bed and slept on a few that fell out of your pocket.”

“Well, haven’t you wondered what we’re all doing down here, late at night?”

“I figured you were just overseeing the construction of your new enchantment workshop,” she shrugged.

“That’s part of it, but only a small part,” I agreed, as we passed through the empty tunnels.  “We’ve been studying something that we found down here.” 

“Now you’re being mysterious to piss me off,” she accused, playfully, then yawned.  But she kept walking. 

I led her down the long passageway, past the new mirabilary workshops without stopping to show them off, and down the passage to the Denehole.  There was a doorway there, now, with a door which was ready to be spellbound.  When I opened it, the glow of the Snowflake filled Alya’s face.  Her eyes opened wide.

“Dear Trygg, Min, what the hells is it?”

“I . . . kind of made it,” I admitted.  “When I was unconscious last summer.  A bit of wild magic from my fevered subconscious.  I’ve been keeping it secret, while I studied it, but I thought it was time for you to know.  I’d say it was a Yule gift, but it’s unmovable, so you’ll have to come here to look at it like everyone else.  As Baroness of Sevendor, you have a right to know about it.  I just wanted to make certain it was safe, first.”

“Min, it’s . . . it’s . . . it’s . . . what is it?” she asked.  “It’s beautiful but surely you didn’t make an ornament?”

“I have no idea.  It’s a big mystery.  I’m thinking the gods are involved, like they were with Minalyan’s birth.  And the Everfire.  But I think it could be the weapon we need against Sheruel.  Or the just world’s prettiest ornament.  Either way, we own it, I suppose.  We’ll either triumph over darkness or make a fortune in charging admission.”

“It makes me feel . . . I don’t know, like I can feel it throbbing, inside and outside,” she said, smiling after a moment of uncertainty.  “I can feel it in my teeth and bones!”

“You must be sensitive to it,” I smiled.  “Some are, more than others.  You’ve probably lived around snowstone long enough to pick up on some of the etheric vibrations of that thing.  It’s drawing natural power from the magosphere like a drain.  I have no idea what it’s doing with it.”

“It isn’t dangerous?” she asked, skeptically.

“Don’t stick your finger between the shards, or it will get sliced off,” I cautioned.  “And if you touch it, it burns.  And hums.”

“It throbs,” she agreed, looking at the thing hypnotically.  “It’s . . . enchanting.  I can see why it keeps you captivated,” she sighed.  “And here I thought I was losing my appeal.”

“Never,” I said, feeling choked up as I embraced her from behind.  “I love you.  I’ve just been . . . distracted.  I thought I’d bring you down here, though, and show you what’s been distracting me,” I lied. 

“You’re certain it isn’t me?” she asked, turning to look at me briefly before returning to watch the Snowflake.

“I’m positive,” I said, kissing her neck.  She sighed and leaned into me, never taking her eyes off the big crystal.  “I love you, and I want you to be happy,” I said, simply, as I unfastened her mantle.

It was the first time we had really made love since the Fair . . . since the incident right here.  Perhaps I was hoping that I could somehow undo the act by repeating it with Alya, or perhaps I was just desperate to re-establish our intimacy once again.  Either way our coupling was passionate, erotic, and lusty, even animalistic at times.  I hope Ishi was watching, the bitch. 

We were deep in a more creative and less fevered affair when we suddenly heard a voice that killed our ardor, despite our passion and the romance of the seen.

“Oh, so that’s how you do that position!  I always wondered,” Onranion said, suddenly, from the doorway that I had clearly failed to secure.  “And isn’t that a pretty thing?  Oh, don’t stop on my account – it was just getting interesting!”

“Onranion!” I bellowed.  “What in nine hells are you doing here?” Alya dove for her mantle, wrapping herself quickly but incompletely in response to the interruption – a practiced parental reflex.  She glared at the Alka Alon for his timing.  His human-like form wasn’t fazed I the slightest. 

“Looking for you, to wish you a happy Yule.  And because I was ejected from the Council, again.  Some people just don’t know how to respond to a pendulous penis . . . but I see that’s not a problem for you, is it?” he asked, wickedly.

Chapter Twelve

Ruderal

You’d think that after the exhausting excesses of Yule things would calm down a bit as everyone settled into a winter lethargy.  No such luck.

The morning after Yule I was heading outside in the chill with a pipe and a cup of hot broth when Pentandra contacted me mind-to-mind.

Well, we have a restoration,
she proclaimed, proudly.

We do?

As of last night.  The bum of a baron who was holding court here was caught completely unawares.  The Orphans moved to counter the garrison and keep them in their camp.  And Anguin really put on a show, claiming his rightful place as ruler.  There was an execution.  And two imprisonments.  Very exciting.

Any serious resistance?

Not yet,
she said, warily,
but honestly I don’t expect there to be for a few days, until the players in court figure out what the situation is.  But one thing is for certain: our sudden arrival interrupted at least a dozen brazen cases of abuse of position.  The palace has been picked bare.  I have no doubt some fled in the night – we’ll have to see who shows up to the council meeting this morning to determine just who, and with what. 

Let me know if you need any help, okay?

I can manage this,
she promised. 
And thank you for the use of your home.

My . . . what?             

The hall you appropriated in Vorone?  Sire Koucey’s residence in the capital?  Until adequate quarters can be secured in the palace, Arborn and I are staying there.  I hope you don’t mind.

Of course not.  Was there anyone there?

Just an old one-legged warmage who Astyral detailed to become caretaker.  He’s used the place once himself, when he visited.  But it’s cozy, even with a dozen rangers downstairs.  Arborn has pledged their service to the Duke to help restore order in Vorone.  They were extremely helpful last night, when things got tense.