Enchanter (Book 7) (3 page)

My nominal liege lord, Prince Tavard, had taken exception to my use of petty things like laws and contractual agreements to do something he didn’t like, and he had confined me to my lands and estates until further notice.  “I’m going to explore as much as I can and build as much as I can, because right now that’s what I need to do.

“But you?  You’re not just a thaumaturge, Pen, you really have exhausted the realm of sex magic, as it stands.  If you are going to break new ground, you are going to have to do some unique research.  And marriage is the perfect laboratory for observation, if you can convince Arborn to participate.”

“I . . . I think he finds me persuasive,” she grinned, girlishly.

“I’d imagine,” I agreed.  “So don’t worry so much about collecting data and delve into a topic in-depth.  If anyone could pull that off, you could.  Especially in a fairly cushy billet like Ducal Court Wizard.  See just how potent you can make a monogamous relationship, arcanely speaking,” I suggested.  “See if you can trace the intricacies of interpersonal human experience and map them to the outflow of thaumaturgical effect, for instance.  You’re a newlywed – you’re going to be screwing all the time anyway.  You might as well take some notes and get a published piece out of it.  That’s what I’m going t do.”

“But Vorone,” she said, resisting the idea with every bit of decadent Remeran dedication to sensuality, “that just seems so . . .”

“Quaint?  Rustic?  Picturesque?”

“I was going to say ‘dangerous, dirty, and destitute’,” she corrected me, “but if you don’t look at the town so hard, I suppose it’s pretty.”

“And it won’t be dangerous for long,” I promised.  “Count Salgo is going in at the head of two thousand Orphan’s Band mercenary infantry.  Once they establish order and defeat immediate resistance to the re-imposition of Anguin’s rule, they’ll be replaced by another mercenary force until Salgo can arrange native military staff to secure the capital.  That should keep things quiet until spring, at least.  And by then either Anguin’s attempt will have either worked . . . or it won’t.”

“So I should consider this a possible short-term assignment?” Penny asked, wryly cocking an eyebrow.

“Anything could happen,” I shrugged.  “And a lot of what happens could depend upon the actions of the new Court Wizard.  Don’t forget, the Order has a lot of interests in that part of the world.  It would be helpful for us to have a powerful say over how magic is administered in the region.  And, honestly, Anguin cold use your help.  And your spellwork.  But more importantly, he needs your counsel.  He’s never run anything before, and he’s planning on seizing control of an entire duchy.”

“Half a duchy,” she reminded.  “The broken half.”

“Still,” I shrugged, again.  “There will be resistance.  Both in Vorone and outside of it.  He’s going to need reliable allies and ministers who he can trust not to sell him out to the first foreign power that comes along.”

“I suppose I come pre-sold,” she nodded. 

“Exactly.  Anguin not only gets a powerful and adept High Mage as his Court Wizard, he also gets a trusted advisor whose loyalties are not in doubt.  And he gets a potent liaison to the magical community, one who won’t be tempted by either betrayal or the allure of the Penumbra.   Plus,” I added, “I’ve arranged for Arborn to be offered the position of Ducal Master of Forests,” I revealed.  “He would have charge over all the wilderness of northern Alshar.  Including Bransei Mountain and the other Kasari groves.”

That was a powerful inducement, I knew.  The Kasari tribes had been defiantly resisting Narasi control since the early settlement period, and most of the remaining Wilderlords near them had cultivated an active hatred of the “rebels” and “tribals” of the great redwood forests.  To suddenly have a Kasari in charge over those same lords was a remarkably tempting thing for Pentandra.  She had undergone the Kasari rites and adopted some of the Kasari ways when she had married Arborn.  And she had grown to love his culture this summer as we’d escorted two thousand of his kinsmen across two duchies.

“I . . . let me think about it,” she said.  “I have to talk it over with . . . my
husband.”

There was a stillness in the air as she made the pronouncement.  I don’t know exactly how, but there was a subtle shift in Pentandra after that, a greater sense of depth to her than I’d known before.  It was remarkable.  And not a little unnerving. 

Time to change the subject.

“Do you want to go look at this thing that grew in my cellar over the summer?” I asked, casually.  “It’s kind of pretty.”

Chapter Two

The Magic Fair

Postulus

“The fundamental goal of enchantment is to root the effects of a magical spell to reside within a physical object to improve its utility.  It is among the greatest achievements of thaumaturgical skill to accomplish even the most elementary of enchantments.  Once constructed and understood, the art of the enchanter can only improve with practice and repetition.”

The Florilegum of Basic Thaumaturgy

I had the good fortune to be under house arrest just in time for the fourth-annual Sevendor Magic Fair, just days after the morning I fired Pentandra. Banamor had done an outstanding job of keeping the lucrative spectacle operating.  At this point, you would think that he would have it down to an art, but the problem was it just kept getting bigger.

The participating merchants streamed into the domain for weeks, and more arrived every day.  Sevendor Town swelled with the excess, and the surrounding estates were putting up folk at a bounty. Southridge Manor and Jurlor’s Hold both added additional accommodations to rent out for the occasion.  Jurlor built himself a grand new hall, into which he moved most of his large family so that he could rent out his old hall at premium rates.  He made even more money with the livery stable he built on property he held just outside of the town’s limits.

My brother-in-law was doing even better at Southridge. His estate had been capitalizing on the growing fair every year, and there were now guest cottages and additional halls available for those who could afford such quarters.  To his credit, he and my sister-in-law had done what they could to ensure their guests were exceptionally well-fed and entertained.  The view was magnificent, with pristine Sevendor Castle on the left, Sevendor Town sprawled out below, and the eerily beautiful white spire of Laesgathel jutting serenely from the top of Matten’s Helm.  Southridge was where many of the independent High Magi and magelords stayed during the fair.

But most of the common vendors who had trekked for miles filled the three inns in town to capacity, while others rented spaces for tents or booths and slept there.  A few were lucky enough to rent tiny cottages that sprung up near the fairgrounds, on land that had once been owned by the extinct village of Genly.  Banamor struck a deal with someone over it, I was sure, but I didn’t mind too much.  We needed someplace for the important middle-class of wizard to stay, I suppose.

I insisted on a tour of the grounds two days before the official opening.  Banamor wasn’t thrilled - he had work to do - but I was his boss, and he knew when it was time to kiss my ass.  That was one of the things I liked about the former footwizard.

He looked almost nothing like the grizzled figure who hiked his way into rustic Sevendor Village four years before.  Gone were his travel-stained cloak and well-worn boots.  Now he wore a dark green cloak of rich wool, trimmed with rabbit fur at the collar, and a tastefully embroidered robe and hose under, pinned with a silver snowflake pin with the stylized banner that told him as the Fairwarden.  

He wore good sturdy shoes designed for walking cobbled streets, not dusty roads, now.  Where once he’d held a simple footwizard’s staff, now he bore a smart-looking rod I knew was hung with custom enchantments.  Instead of his battered leather hat he now wore the pointed cap of our profession in dark blue.  As he hadn’t ever sat for his exams, he did not add the three additional ‘points’ that had become mere triangles for most professional magi, now.  Instead Banamor added an owl feather to the hat.  It was quite striking.

Indeed, Banamor was quite striking.  Fleshed out and well-dressed, his hair and beard regularly attended by the barber, he was exactly who he looked like: a powerful local figure.  Banamor was Mayor of Sevendor Town, which had purchased its charter from me at a handsome price last year.  And while that granted the town - and Banamor - a measure of autonomy, the man was wise enough to understand I was the one ultimately in charge of the fate of the domain.  He did his best to stay on my good side.

“So, did you enjoy your holiday with the kiddies, Minalan?” he asked, when I met him in front of his store that morning.  “Store” isn’t quite the right term.  While Banamor sold quite a lot of magical merchandise, his business was not open to the public.  He preferred to allow others to sell directly.  He had the heart of a wholesaler, and he saw his greatest benefit in ensuring that there were plenty of retailers to supply . . . and charge booth space to.

“It was lovely,” I nodded, looking up at the building.  Banamor had added a third story to the already large hall, including a small spire that dominated the High Street. “Nice tower.”

“It’s a spiritual retreat,” he chuckled.  “When the Spellmonger’s new hall had one, how could I not?  You set the style, Magelord,” he said, bowing smartly.  “Besides, I can sit up there and look down on my holdings.  I find it soothing.”

“And the third floor?”  The topmost floor jutted out over the snowstone foundations of the first two stories by three feet on all sides.  “Someplace to put all of your money?”

“Are you mad?  I have the Temple of Ifnia for that.  That’s their vault going up over there, on the Street of Temples.  Karshak designed and built, then professionally enchanted against theft.  It will have a nice dome up there, someday.  No, I built the top floor as a private apartment.”

I eyed the dimensions of the place.  “That’s a pretty big apartment.”

He shrugged.  “I entertain a lot for business.  I have three smaller chambers for select guests, and the other half is mine.  I’ll have to give you a tour of it,” he grinned. “That’s where I keep my special pieces.”

“Not now.  Now I want to see the fairgrounds.”

“Let’s get walking, then,” he grunted, shouldering his rod.  Banamor only treated me with ceremony as much as he had to.  He preferred to talk business.  “We can stop for a pint on the way, if you’re thirsty,” he offered.

We walked slowly through the cobbled High Street, enjoying the crisp air of autumn and the bustle of the town’s business.  The Sevendor Inn across the street from Banamor’s palace was filled to capacity. The tavern next to it was likewise busy with weary travelers and bored merchants waiting for the fair to begin conducted business or simply drink away their profits.

The High Street looked like a proper town thoroughfare, now, not the dirt track I’d ridden through four years before.  The street was cobbled in local basalt, with liberal use of snowstone cobbles in regular intervals.  At night municipal magelights would shimmer into existence and light the entire way - one of Banamor’s innovations.  

The spells were buried within the cobbles we walked on, among other enchantments he’d cast or hired out.  The High Street would never become packed with snow, despite the importance of the substance to my livery, for example, nor would grass grow from between the stones.  That saved a lot in maintenance costs and made the street rather pleasant.

.  

There were other important tradesmen along the route: the blacksmith, the carpenter, the barber, the stable, their shops all of stone and timber on the lower levels and wattle-and-daub on the protruding second stories, where the prosperous tradesmen lived with their families.  Halfway down the street, where it opened up into the new cobbled market square we came to a surprise: a fountain.

It was a simple thing, merely a ring of snowstone magically affixed and sealed water-tight.  But Banamor paid to have a six-inch wide clay pipe extended from the millpond, uphill from the square, to keep it perpetually filled.  A secondary trough spilled the overflow in six small stone basins at the proper height for animals to drink from. And Dranos my court wizard installed a special magelight enchantment that burned constantly, searing the water with energetic light that killed the
atomi
that spread disease.

Now everyone in town could have fresh, clean water without a well, and with far less risk of disease.   

“Oh, well done, Banamor,” I said, clapping him on the back.  “I hadn’t heard about this!”

“Water was a big problem,” he agreed.  “Some of the larger homes have wells,” he said in such a way that convinced me his was one of them, “but the common folk and travelers really had no good supply.  There are four of these, around the square,” he said, proudly.  “Enough to serve everyone.”  Then his expression change.  “I just wish we could do something about the privy situation,” he grumbled, stepping over some waste in the gutter.