Enchanter (Book 7) (38 page)

“Considering how the Sashtali mercenaries fared in the Warbird’s Folly, I would suggest you ask them about the condition of Sevendor’s might.  Or perhaps the lords who stood with the Warbird, and lost their keeps as a result?”

“Trickery,” he sneered.  “Making pretty lights is one thing – warfare is another.”

“And I can do both, with equal facility,” I said, calling a bright magelight into existence and then dismissing it just as quickly.  “Test not my resolve in this, or you shall discover the true might of Sevendor.  And likely lose your castle in the bargain.”

“Your entire miserable excuse for a barony couldn’t take Rolone Castle!” he bragged. 

He was right to think so.  A succession of warmagi I’d sent to spy on the place as an exercise had given me an idea of what the great keep would require to vanquish it. 

Rolone was a six-story round tower keep – known as a “drum keep” – within a ring of stout walls, each of which was guarded by four-story towers at every intersection and vantage point.  It held a garrison of two hundred men on a light day, and the town that sprawled around it had a militia of a thousand that the lord could call upon.  The great round keep had dominated eastern Sashtalia and kept the domains there firmly under the control of their liege.  Only the great keep at Sashtalia, itself, rivaled the place within the confederation.

But magic could do in a day what mighty armies took a year to accomplish.

“My lord, I would wager my magical corps alone could take your castle between dawn and dusk,” I said, with a certain amount of professional satisfaction.  “If we wanted to be careful about it.  We’re used to facing legions of goblins who give no thought to quarter or ransom; we aren’t likely to blanche in the face of a bunch of off-circuit jousters.”

“
Off-circuit jousters?
The knights of Sashtalia are the finest warriors in the land!”

“They’re not even the finest in the Bontal Vales, much less in the county,” I countered.  “Your own household has seen better days.  Your castellan, Sire Hodwid?  Still nursing a sprained shoulder from last fall, and two of his squires don’t shave yet.  Your head sergeant and Master of Horse are both blind in one eye each and fear to wield a lance.  Your household knights are wearing their tournament armor in protest because they’re pouting about missing the season due to the war, your chief guardsman is terrified of actual battle, six of your men-at-arms are drunkards, and two are new fathers.  A
fine
bunch of stalwarts you have, guarding your keep,” I nodded.

“You . . . you seem to know an awful lot about my affairs, Spellmonger!” he fumed, his nostrils flaring. 

“It’s my job to know things.  It’s your job to bear your master’s messages.  Bear this one: if any man of Sashtalia shall come against my new provinces in any way, I shall take action accordingly.  Including allying myself with Sendaria in any future war,” I warned.  “Is that message understood, my lord?”

“I believe it is,” he said, through gritted teeth.

“Just so that there is no misunderstanding,” I said, handing him the stone I held in my palm, “bear to him this Message Stone, and bid him to clutch it.  He will hear my words as clearly and precisely as if they were from my own lips.”

He regarded the thing warily.  “I will bear no token of sorcery, Mage!” he snarled.

“That’s Mage
lord,”
I corrected.  “And I suspected as much, so I had my words to your master written and sealed as well,” I said, handing him the very legal scroll I had a visiting Lawbrother draw up for me, spelling out my official wrath if there were any reprisals against my legally-taken new lands.  “I take it you have no issue bearing a token of
literacy?”

*

*

The morning of Duin’s Day (the dawn services for which I was obligated to attend, even though we didn’t have an actual Priest of Duin – Brother Merton consented to do the Blessing of the Defenders himself) I was walking back to my hall from the castle when my page caught up with me with a message from the Chapterhouse.  From the Mirror Array, actually, the local one I had set up. 

It was a brief message from Chepstan Castle, noting that a formal declaration of war had been presented to Sire Trefalan, self-styled Lord of Sashtalia, the renegade region too long sundered from its place as rightful Lensely patrimony, etc. etc.

“Take this to Sir Festaran,” I instructed him, when I read it.  “Have him prepare the garrison for action and notify the watch commanders.  Sendaria just went to war with Sashtalia.”

His eyes got big.  “Magelord?  Will we be fighting?”

“I certainly hope not,” I assured him, “there are far too many chores to be done.  Run along, now,” I urged.  “I doubt we’ll be set upon before luncheon, but a good baron doesn’t take chances.”

He smiled and ran off.  But before I could get inside I was intercepted by Dranus, who was just pulling his cloak on against the chill.

“Magelord!  A word?” he asked with a note of concern that told me it was serious.

“Now that I’m done seeing to the spiritual needs of my warriors, I think I can spare a few,” I said, stretching.  “Come in for some mulled cider?”

“Very gracious of you, Magelord,” he agreed, following me inside the warm and cozy hall.  Though there were heatstones in the house, there was a proper fire laid and I bid him to sit while I scooped up Minalyan and held him on my lap, after checking the state of his diaper.  I called for the Tal butler, Huck, to bring us drinks.  I could smell breakfast wafting in from the kitchen, and my mouth was watering.

“So what is the problem, Dranus?”

“The young boy you entrusted me to test, Ruderal – I have finished my assessments.”

“And is he Talented?”

“Minalan, he is the most Talented individual I have ever seen,” he reported.  “Both generally and within his specialty – enneagramatic magic.  He has twice my levels.  I know not what his parentage is, but his mother must have been carrying powerful recessives,” he said, shaking his head.  “More, he’s bright – he’s picked up the elements of reading, already.  And he’s extremely sensitive to magical energies of all sorts.”

“How is his character?”  That was a hard thing to judge in a boy on such short acquaintance, but I had come to respect Dranus’ opinion.

“He has a good basic moral sense, but his upbringing and environs has made him a trifle . . . opportunistic.  His Talent is such that, only a few years ago, I would have insisted he be prepared for the Academy.”

“But now?”

“Now I think he will get a better and more thorough exposure as an apprentice in Sevendor.”

“We do have a lot of talented magi running around,” I admitted.  “Perhaps you could take on the boy?”

“Magelord, as you know, I have political aspirations,” my Court Wizard reminded me, unnecessarily.  “Next year I make my case before the barons to become a count.  It is unlikely to proceed without bloodshed.  While I have no problem instructing the boy, to undertake the commitment of an apprenticeship . . .”

“Olmeg’s too busy,” I sighed, “Banamor is too ambitious, Lorcus is off helping the boys in Alshar, Andalnam and Lanse already have their hands full . . . damn it.  It looks like it’s going to be me . . .”

“You’ve produced some remarkable magi, so far,” he encouraged. 

“I got lucky.  And they were desperate,” I dismissed.

“Which succinctly describes the situation regarding this lad,” he reminded me. 

“You’ve already decided that he’s going to be my apprentice, haven’t you?” I groaned.

“If a Magelord can’t trust the opinion of his Court Wizard . . .” he mused, smiling serenely.

I sighed.  “Fine.  But for the remainder of the winter and into the spring, I want you or someone else to tutor him.  I can appreciate the strength of your ambitions, Dranus, but I do have a barony to run,” I griped.

“An increasingly large one,” he noted.  “One questions the wisdom of expansion in the middle of a war.”

“At the beginning of a war, technically, but yes.  I took an opportunity to do a lot of people some good.  I managed it without bloodshed, against local tradition.  None of the domains or the lords are terribly impressive, but the acquisition guards our western frontier.  Or at least puts me in control of those lands, and keeps them from being used as a staging area to invade Sevendor.  Again.”

“Oh, I applaud the Magelord’s foresight,” he said.  “Indeed, the rebellion was quietly done and quickly accomplished.  Waiting around for your friend Arathanial to conquer them would have been messy.  My concern is not for your strategy or your timing, but of the attention such an expansion will draw.  Particularly from your own liege.”

“Prince Tavard,” I said, frowning.  “He only bid me to stay on my lands.  He made no mention of acquiring more.”

“Yet you know well how easily a Duke can take offense at such a maneuver.  And while the King likely pays no mind to such petty warfare and exchanges of territory – Luin knows he took little enough notice as Duke – other agents of the kingdom may, indeed, take notice.”  Dranus was aware of the Kingdom’s security apparatus – the network of spies that the Queen herself ran.  But he was wise enough not to be specific, even in the privacy of my chambers.

“I’m aware.  But I’m able to bear the scrutiny.  Particularly if I don’t seem too greedy.  I haven’t heard much at all about Dunselen, for instance, since he got married and stopped invading everyone.  The Kingdom doesn’t mind some reasonable ambition.  It’s when you start building large power blocs that they’ll take notice.”

“It seems to me as if you’ve assembled a large power bloc, arcanely speaking,” he noted.  “Few within the regime have the wit to recognize it, and you have done an admirable job gaining the allegiance of those who do.  As the nobility tend to only see power in lances and land, they do not recognize what you are truly doing.”

“Who, me?”

“You have a cadre of warmagi in the west, you have an arsenal of enchantments in a mountain stronghold, you have the allegiance of powerful forces among the Alon, and you enjoy a fairly positive reputation – legendary, even – among the common folk.  Indeed, land and lances seem to be the only kind of power you eschew.”

I thought about the gods I knew on a first-name basis.  “I do have some powerful friends,” I conceded.  “But my goal is to make myself enough of a power that I don’t have to rely on my powerful friends.  Speaking of which,” I said, changing the subject, “we have to figure out what to do about Onranion.”

“Ah. Yes.  The . . .
interesting
one.”

I smiled.  Dranus did not have my longer acquaintance with the Alka Alon, so he didn’t really appreciate Onranion’s talents the way that I did.  Of course, I also was able to avoid the headaches.  I had people for that – and he was one of them. 

Onranion had become problematic since he’d been back.  With only a few other Alka around – just a few caretakers as Laesgathel, really – he didn’t have a lot of adult supervision.  He was spending his time among
humani
in his large handsome form enjoying as much robust humanity as he could.  That meant a lot of drinking, a lot of slumming with human magi, and a lot of seductions of village girls.

It wasn’t – exactly – his fault.  Onranion’s human form was objectively handsome, and when you added the exotic nature of the Alka essence within the humani template, he became positively charming.  Add his beautiful voice and odd, intriguing accent into the equation, and he had maidens following him around like faithful hounds.

The problem was he had no conception of humani social customs regarding sex.  Half of the girls who succumbed to his charm expected some sort of commitment from him, after a few lust-filled days, but Onranion was a near-immortal who saw spending a few decades with someone as an extended visit.

That had led to a couple of fathers showing up at the castle, and more than a few teary eyes.  Onranion didn’t understand what all the fuss was about – it was just good fun to him, and he didn’t see why his very satisfied young lovers didn’t share his casual opinion.

“Yes, he is becoming troublesome,” Dranus agreed.  “Yet he’s also terribly useful, I recognize.  No one else can work with irionite the way he can, for instance.  And he has an impressive knowledge of both Karshak and humani magic.  I can see how he’s a boon to your enchantment efforts.”

“Yet I can’t very well shackle his root to the dungeon,” I snorted.  “But without anything more compelling to do, he just wants to sit around, drink, flirt, discuss magic, and screw.”

“It’s hard to fault the man for his ambitions,” admitted Dranus with a chuckle.  “But there is the matter of social propriety.  Merely talking with him doesn’t help much, I’ve noticed.  Perhaps you can find some distraction to keep his attention better focused?”

“That’s a possibility,” I agreed.  “I had been thinking about sending him away on some mission, just to get him out of here for a while, but I’ve been considering re-fashioning the witchsphere into something more elegant.  I could put him to work on that.”

“More elegant?”

I smiled.  “With all of this high-class enchantment rolling around, it doesn’t seem right not to screw around with it.  And being seen with last year’s powerful magical artifact can be so socially awkward.”