Enchanter (Book 7) (52 page)

“How does Mother feel about his investigations?”

“That hoary old bitch?” she sneered.  “She wouldn’t have the wit or education to understand it.  Nor appreciate what it could do.  She delegated me to watch him, so I’m watching him.  I’m watching him learn how to alter the nature of reality.  And when he does, and I have my own snowstone, and he’s no longer useful . . . then neither will she be.  Mother keeps the throne warm for me and my children, and for now I am content with that.”

“How it must tear at you to see him so involved, when he has a new bride to distract him,” I teased.

“His researches do have the happy effect of keeping him out of the marital bed, most nights,” she agreed, chuckling wickedly.

I couldn’t resist a dig at her.  Not after all she had put me through.  “I take it the Blessings of Trygg aren’t nearly as exciting as the Blessings of Ishi?”

She blushed and smiled naughtily, enjoying the attention to her intimate self.  The other shoulder of her chemise fell.  She did nothing to replace it.

“He’s not the worst lover I’ve ever had, but that’s merely because of my experience.  He’s poorly endowed and has only the most basic idea of how to use what
little
merit he has to any lasting effect.  He combines the sophistication of a fourteen year old boy with the virility and enthusiasm of an eighty year old man.  It’s hard enough to
watch
him,” she assured me, distastefully, “much less participate in his crude stabs at marital pleasure.  Thank Trygg for servant girls,” she sighed.

“I’m surprised that he hasn’t had an unfortunate accident,” I remarked.  “They have been known to happen early in some marriages.  Tragic.”

“Oh, he serves a valuable purpose,” she informed me.  “I can bear his idiocy and paint a smile on my face as long as I need to.”

“How do you manage to do that?” I asked, in all seriousness.  “It’s admirable to witness such forbearance.”

“When your mission is of utmost importance, then sacrificing your dignity and even your conscience for its progress and completion ennobles your soul,” Isily said, standing.  “I don’t deny the humiliation, but the sacrifice leads to a sense of triumphant vindication when you complete your mission.”

“I see,” I said, trying to emulate her callous manner. 
I
needed to do something.  This
was
hard.  “Oh, what sacrifices you must have made in service to the Family.”

“Not all I do is in service to the Family,” she said, enjoying the game.  “I have my own plans.”

“Your own plans?  Surely baroness is a lofty rank, already,” I pointed out, chuckling. 

“Titles mean little, they are but a point of power.  Lands and estates, too, have their place, but are not an end in themselves.  The royal house is not stable enough to maintain the kingdom for long, I believe, and I prepare myself for the inevitable conflict and changes ahead,” she pronounced, finishing her cup and leaning over for another. 

“Do you know something I do not?” I asked as I poured

“A great many things,” she agreed, smugly.  When she returned to reclining, her gown did not. “A shadowmage’s best weapons are secrecy and obfuscation.  I have learned more secrets than any of Mother’s girls, and far more about Mother and the Family than she would ever bear another person knowing.  Secrets so damning that they could bring about the fall of the Royal family,” she baited.

“That does sound intriguing!” I smiled, hoping she’d let a few slip.  “What kind of secrets?”

“Those dainties are not for you, Minalan,” she cooed.  “You have your own place in the plan.  For a while, at least.  When the time comes, all will become clear.”

Damn!
I suppose it was too much to expect her to reveal everything, but a man could hope.  I desperately wanted this distasteful reunion to come to a conclusion, but without Isily’s full disclosure I would have to continue the ruse of being enthralled. 

“Then I look forward to the revelation,” I said, simply. 

“Your patience is appreciated,” she said, standing and dropping her mantle to the reed mat on the ground.  Her chemise followed it.  “Now I require your indulgence.  I feel as fat as a sow, and as unlovely.”

“You could never be unlovely,” I said, with as much sincerity as I could muster. 

“Prove it,” she said, her eyes narrowing as she stepped toward me, naked.  “Make love to me with passion, Minalan,” she commanded.  “Love me like you love your wife.  And make me feel it . . . it’s been so long since I felt anything . . . just make me feel!  Give me your passion!” she commanded, as she kissed me.

I did . . . but not like with Alya.  There was no playfulness in our coupling.  It was serious and severe, and though she tried to command me I took control.  I did things to her that hurt her, that pleasure her, that frightened her, that aroused her.  I left her content and exhausted, but felt only guilt and shame, myself.  I’d got some of what I needed, I consoled myself as I waked back to my pavilion, using magic to get the stink of her off of me.  It was only at the cost of my self-respect, but it was in service to Sevendor, and humanity.  That was, I told myself, not too high a price to pay toward the security of my people.

The lies we tell ourselves to allow us to sleep are profound.  No wonder the gods delight in them so.

Chapter Twenty Four

The Quiet Invasion Of Rolone

The carriage ride back to Sevendor was uneventful, with Alya sleeping most of the way.  The excitement and pace of the Fair had been too much for her morning sickness, and after heartily vomiting her breakfast after a night of rich food and wine at the Baron’s Feast that concluded the Fair, she just wanted to rest.  I was agreeable to that.  I had a lot to think about.

I postponed the hard reflection along the way by speaking to my agents in Amel Wood.  Lord Lorcus had accomplished quite a lot in a very short time.

I’ve selected my first target, after the lads spent a few days spying in southern Rolone,
he reported. 
There are three forts there, built to ward the fertile estates of the north from us vicious mountain lords.  With Sashtalia’s deployment all three have but token forces. 

So which one will you take first?

The nearest is the unimaginatively-named Granite Tower, a warder castle with a two-story keep and hall on a mound behind a bailey.  Single-story gatehouse, dry moat.  Seven crossbowmen and five light cavalry, plus the staff.  I could take it by myself,
be boasted. 

Don’t get greedy, I cautioned.  Save some glory for everyone else. 

Screw that.  To the south is Barnor Tower, which is just like Granite tower only a story bigger and twice as much bailey.  Nine men-at-arms and a toothless old knight.  Reinforcing both of them is an old Lensley castle, Castle Gwyliad. Sire Ansonal, the one-armed Knight of Dawn, holds the security of the region there with twenty archers and a squadron of squires – all others have been called to the north against Sendaria. 

So which one will you take first?
I repeated.

I thought I’d save us all a lot of extra work and take all three of them at once.

He explained to me the essence of his plan, and I had to admit that it was both elegant and clever.  If it worked, all three fortifications might fall to his forces in one day, the subtleties of the scheme living up to his reputation as a mad Remeran and a superb warmage. 

I want to watch,
I decided. 
I’ll wear your colors, to keep it from being politically untoward, but if you actually pull this off I want to be there to see it. 

I would love to entertain my liege,
he assured me. 
Just stay out of the way.  The lads have worked hard, and the last thing we need is for you to muck it up.

I checked in with Pentandra, too.  She was hurriedly going from one place to another, but took the time to listen to me discuss my encounter with Isily – the edited version.  I was happy she didn’t probe about the details – she found Dunselen’s obsession with Snowstone upsetting enough.

Min, you do realize that he puts your entire family in danger,
she warned.

I know.  So does she.  But . . . right now, all I can do is wait.  And prepare. 

Perhaps,
she agreed, reluctantly. 
But it’s disturbing.  There’s a lot going on that’s disturbing.  Arborn’s folk brought word that confirms that Korbal the Demon God is alive – or at least not completely dead – and well in the Land of Scars.  No doubt whatsoever.  There have been some troop movements in the Penumbra that have me worried, although it doesn’t look like they’re gathering for a major assault.  And Ishi’s avatar has the entire court dangling from a string.  If something isn’t done soon, she could push this entire operation into the chamberpot.

What do you need from me?
I asked, simply. 

Just be here at the Duke’s ball, with Alya, in a mask, and be prepared to do whatever it is you need to do to stabilize the situation.  I’m doing the best I can, but the Spellmonger needs to make an appearance.

I will be there,
I promised. 
I’ve got one little war to deal with, but there should be plenty of room on my schedule. Shall we plan to stay the night?

Let’s see how things play out,
she decided. 
You might want to beat a hasty exit.  Or you and Alya could stay at Koucey’s guest house – we’ve moved our household to the palace as a show of support, and right now it’s being used as a base for the Wood Owls—

The who?

They’re a group of Kasari who . . . well, they aren’t raptors.  But they have a lot of skills other Kasari lack.  And far less moral compunctions.  Arborn recruited them for me to help crack down on the criminal organizations here.

So you essentially started your own?

It was easier than taking one over,
she confessed, tiredly. 
If you want to rule – or help someone rule – sometimes you have to be willing to hurt people and break things.  And sometimes life is just better without some people in it.  The Wood Owls aren’t cold-blooded killers, but they do what needs to be done.  And like most owls . . . they eat rats.  The halls of power are soaked in blood.

That seemed like quite a departure for Pentandra, but I was politic enough not to mention it. 

And how fares the Duke?

He’s holding power, now – barely.  The garrison is loyal, now that Count Salgo has taken charge and cleaned it out.  First Minister Angrial is surprisingly adept at the art of bureaucracy, it turns out.  Our biggest lack is a good master of intelligence.  Arborn does a reasonable job, for local issues, but Anguin really needs a professional overseeing the operation. 

How do revenues look?
I asked, afraid of the answer.

Surprisingly good, actually.  The Duchy collected nearly twenty thousand ounces of gold in tribute at the spring court.  Several old local families who are loyal to the Ducal house have been holding back from paying for the last few years, for fear it would enrich Rard’s cronies.  We’re expecting more. 

How are expenses?

That’s enough to keep us afloat without going back to the temple for more.  We’ve only used about half of the line of credit the Order arranged, so far.  It’s costing about two-thousand a month to keep the palace and the garrison running, another five hundred for city services.  We’re bringing in about six hundred in fees, so this is a big help.  We can keep running with what we have for several months without touching the reserve, and we can make payments to the Temple.

That is a big relief.  How is he playing in the hinterlands?

Are you kidding? The country knights who are left beyond the Penumbra are his biggest supporters.  They’re so damned glad that there’s a Duke in the palace again, they could care less what he does.  Not that that’s led to a flood of revenue, understand – coin is pretty thin, up here.  Most lords pay their tribute in kind, and since trade has fallen so profoundly, that doesn’t help us much.

Let me think about it, and perhaps I can offer some advice at the ball, I considered.  We’re doing a lot with enchantment, these days.  Maybe we can do something to help.

Whatever you can do,
she agreed. 
I’m drowning, here.

Lastly I contacted Dranus, who had returned to his duties at the castle, leaving the younger lads in Amel wood to do the dirty work.  He wasn’t a wargmage, after all.  But he did have some interesting news to report.

You received a messenger from Sire Cullien, Lord of Rolone this morning, expressing grief over the recent bandit attacks in your domains.  He emphasized how dangerous the hills could be.  His messenger awaits a reply.

That pissed me off.  I hate a man who gloats, unless it’s me.  Those were my people, and he’d had them slaughtered to prove a point.

Reply to the effect that my recently-appointed Magelord of the affected domain has recovered an eyewitness of the attack, one of the bandits left for dead, and he is in the process of revealing the identities of his confederates and their motives.   My vassal will no doubt take appropriate action in defense of his domain.  Imply that the witness is rotting away in a hole, with lots of torture.