High Mage: Book Five Of The Spellmonger Series (41 page)

“My lord,” she said, sweetly, “I was tutored at the crimson arts by the joysisters of Ishi,” she bragged.  “I have skills beyond what your poor bride can boast.  Skills that will call me to mind in your bed for years to come.”

I considered just that very thing.  I dug into my purse, rooting around for a coin, and realized that the guardsmen had taken nearly all of it.  But one thick new ounce of gold remained in my purse, along with a bit of silver.  “Fari, have you ever earned an entire ounce of gold for one assignation?”

Her eyes bulged.  “No, my lord!” she whispered.  Then she swallowed and paused, before looking down.  “What would my lord have me do?”

No doubt all sorts of horrible things ran through her mind, and I admit that part of me considered finding out just how much of her virtue an entire ounce of gold might purchase.  But I had a better idea.

“Fari, I want you to go into the palace – yes, the palace, I’ll get you in – and I want you to go up to my room.  There you will find a young, somewhat handsome knight with the tiniest bit of a stutter and all the innocence of a novice hearthsister.  Now, I want you, Fari, to go into that room and I want you to earn this gold.  I want you to do your best to give an entire ounce of gold’s worth of value to that young man.”

“Is he . . . poxxed?” she asked, skeptically.

“No.  A couple of blemishes.  He’s trying to grow a beard.”

“Is he . . . cruel?” she asked, in a whisper.  I’m not certain that would have dissuaded her.

“No, he is the very model of the idealistic country knight.”

“Then  why must you spend so much for a night with him, when much less would suffice?”

“Because I have power, my dear,” I said, with a heavy sigh.  “And power, believe it or not, gets boring as hell if you don’t use it for something worthwhile every now and again.  Like rewarding a loyal vassal for honorable service, or making the night of a pretty young whore.  If one little ounce of gold can do that . . . well, as long as I have enough to have a few more drinks at the tavern while you go to work, then I will count myself satisfied, for the moment, with my damned power.”

Fari looked at me strangely.  “My lord?  Are you all right?”

“Never better, my sweet,” I assured her.  “I’m just getting old.  And I’m finding . . . that’s actually not such a bad thing, sometimes.”

Chapter Seventeen

The Wonders Of Sevendor

The moment we came out of the transport, I had the sense that we were being watched.  I didn’t move sharply, not having any context for the feeling, but as Sir Festaran and I came into existence on top of Matten’s Helm, there were definitely eyes on me, besides those of Lady Fallawen.  I turned slowly and looked around the place, but didn’t see anyone in the serene little mountaintop garden . . . until I looked up.

There, at various points around the spire’s architecture above me, were perched four falcons . . . the size of horses.

“Oh dear gods,” Sir Festaran whispered, his eyes cast overhead.

“Those . . . those . . .”

“They had to perch somewhere,” Fallawen explained, quietly. 

“Those are . . . giant falcons,” I finally managed.

“Yes, they are,” the Alka Alon woman agreed, as she took a step closer to them.  “This is the special project we’ve been working with Lenodara on.”

“Growing really big birds?”

“Transgenic enchantment,” she reminded me.  “Shifting one genetic essence between templates is difficult.  Merely enlarging the scale of a creature is actually quite a bit easier.”

“And so you made
giant birds?
” I asked, my mind whirling.

“It helps solve several problems,” she said, utterly reasonably, while a raptor the size of a destrier eyed me like a plump mouse from overhead.  “We need better surveillance on the ground, and while the smaller birds are useful, with beastmagic, the larger the bird the more ground they can cover.  Then there’s the matter of defending against dragons.  There is little one can do, if a dragon hovers overhead and sears the land with flame.  These proud fellows are big enough to at least discomfort a dragon.  Properly armed and trained, they could provide an effective defense.”

“Where did you get them?” I asked, confounded, while Sir Festaran tried to control his desire to seek a corner.

“Why, you sent them to us, from the Wilderlands,” Fallawen said.  “When Lenodara told us they had arrived, we were thrilled.  We thought you had intended on them being used?”

“I did,” I conceded, “but I had more mundane plans in mind.  But . . . why didn’t you ask me about this?” I asked.  “These are magnificent, surely, but . . . Ishi’s sweet smile, Fallawen, these are big enough to ride!”

“That’s the intention,” she nodded.  “In time we will train them to the saddle, and they will be able to bear a rider.  A few years from now,” she said, looking admiringly at the closest female.  “But eventually these raptors will see their way into battle.”

“You did say I could talk to the Alka Alon,” Dara reminded me, defensively.  “You
said
I could practice magic and, and read.  Quietly.  But I got bored.  Then all these new birds arrived, and the two new hawkmasters, and when Lady Varen suggested . . . well, it seemed like a good idea.”

“This . . . this . . . I don’t know what to think of this,” I said, as the birds’ heads darted back and forth.  “I think it’s a good idea, but I would have preferred to be consulted.  I guess . . .” I said, as I suddenly put together a number of little things Dara had said over the last few months, “I guess I was, but . . . I just wasn’t ready.  How many are so transformed?”

“Only these four and Frightful,” Fallawen said, enjoying my discomfort a little, I think.  “Frightful was returned to normal size.  But the enchantment remains on her, latently.  Once we get a few pairs of these beasties breeding . . .”

“What, you intend on making this
permanent?”

“Only as permanent as the Dead God,” she declared.  “But this gives us some advantages, at least for now.  As I said, the enchantment was relatively simple, and the council doesn’t mind transforming animals as much as sentient beings.  But a few breeding pairs will ensure the line will continue.  And there might be other creatures we can employ in a similar manner,” she said.

“They really haven’t been that much trouble,” Dara insisted, defiantly, as she peered up at one of her hungry-looking charges.  “They stay out of everyone’s way until you call them.  And they do eat a lot.  I’ve had to pay for four goats from Jurlor’s hold, since we started nesting them here.  That is, until we figure out where we can put them permanently,” she added, a little guiltily.

I envisioned stables the size of palaces, kennels as big as feast halls.  Ten men to a horse?  Or should they just ride their hounds into battle?  What about a savage tabby cat the size of a leviathan?  The possibilities beckoned.

But so did the headaches, I noted, as I took a last look at the four massive falcons.  “We’re going to need a bigger mews,” I said, simply, and started down the trail to the foot of the hill.  I was tired.  I wanted to go home.  And not as a falcon’s lunch.

*                            *                            *

Other than the sudden appearance of large, goat-eating falcons in the skies, things had been quiet in Sevendor in the three weeks I’d been away.  The crops were growing, the folk were resting and preparing for harvest, and already the booths and tents for the Magic Fair, almost two months away, were already being erected on the commons.

I spent a full day alone with Alya, making up for lost time.  Despite my brushes with infidelity, once I was safely back in her arms there was no doubt or consideration.  I took the healer’s words to heart and did the best I could.  If Alya detected any reluctance or hesitation on my part, she had the good grace not to call it to my attention.  It was a happy reunion.

But business had not halted while I’d been absent, merely stockpiled.  I had a pile of correspondence to get through.  Most had been delivered in the traditional way, by messenger, including a few missives from vassals or vassals of vassals, invitations to balls and tournaments, and a few personal letters. 

Of interest was the pile in my workshop labeled ‘Mirror messages’ by Dara.  There were three or four of compelling interest, as they pertained to Order business (particularly Magelord Dranus’ successful duel with his younger half-brother).  But then there were nearly two dozen of more dubious value.

“Dara,” I asked, patiently, as she puttered around the workshop while I worked, “why do I have nineteen messages from Castabriel declaring that it’s noon?”

“Oh,” she said, struggling to remember, “that’s because someone thought it would be a good idea to start telling the other mirrors when it was noon in Castabriel, to help coordinate the watches.  So every day, right at noon, the Castabriel watchman announces that to each Mirror in turn.  Since every message is to be written down without fail,” she reminded me, “that means that every tower writes down that it’s noon every day.”

“And I end up with a pile of messages telling me that it’s noon,” I pointed out.  “While I suppose that’s helpful, mostly it’s . . . not.”

“We’re still working on the details of the scheme,” she supplied, smoothly.  “I’ll keep those in a separate pile in the future.”

Other matters were less prosaic.  Terleman had taken to dictating his general dispatches over the Mirror in Barrowbell, closest to the Gilmoran front.  His latest was a decided plea for more assistance in preparing the Gilmoran lands for battle.  In particular he was requesting more High Magi to probe and investigate the contested halls of Gilmora. 

I contacted him mind-to-mind to see just how serious he was.  Turns out, he was very serious.

I’ve got plenty of High Magi who can keep castles from crumbling,
he told me, when I got a hold of him
.  I’ve got warmagi who can lead a charge or run a siege.  But I don’t have anyone who can be sneaky enough to keep from getting killed long enough to tell us about what’s really going on in Gilmora.

I’ve spoken to Rard about scouts,
I told him, helpfully. 
I suggested he hire the Kasari.

That’s a good plan, if he can get them to come,
he admitted
.  But we need people with a background in magic.

I thought for a moment
.  What if I offered you one of my apprentices?

Which one?

Which one do you want?

This mission will require some strength, some stealth, and a lot of nerve.  I want to start infiltrating behind their lines with small groups.  No more than twenty, thirty men at a time.  We’re afraid that more than that might attract attention.  But once we get them inserted into Gilmora, they can tell us what the gurvani are really up to.  They’ve been very secretive about what has been coming down the road in the last few weeks.

I wondered how much of that was due to my efforts.  While Azar’s raid on Gillain Manor had been exploratory, there was no denying that we’d gotten away with some damning evidence.  I told Terleman about the raid and the rescue, and my encounter with the nightsail.  He had read a dispatch from Azar about it but appreciated the first-hand account.  When he heard about the great goblin corpse we’d captured, he understood at once what it foretold.

Height, strength, endurance, horses, they’ll be almost a match for us.  You’re right.  That may have accelerated their timetable, if you tipped their hand.

Azar tipped it.  I merely came along as an observer.

You’re full of shit.  Azar’s dispatch said differently.  Min, what are we going to do?  If we have to face a half a million of these great goblins coming down the road . . .

The good news is that we’ll see them coming.  They can’t prepare a force of any size without us having weeks of notice.  We’ve already got troops headed for Gilmora.  We’ve got more warmagi in the field than we ever could have hoped for.  Alka Alon assistance.  And I still have a few tricks in reserve,
I bluffed.
  If the gurvani haven’t started a muster to invade by now, they won’t do so before autumn.  That would put their force on the road during the worst of the rainy season. 

Do you think that will matter?
He reminded me. 
With magic they can keep that road clear.  We have to stop thinking in human terms of warfare with them.  The gurvani don’t carry huge wagon trains full of supplies and artillery.  It wouldn’t take much to get them down the road.

We’re vigilant,
I repeated. 
But your point is well-taken.  And we can’t hold that road.  Nor even guard it sufficiently against an advance.  But perhaps if we fortified the choke-points . . . particularly the bridges.

The gurvani aren’t fond of water,
he agreed. 
If a column did stick to the road, those bridges would be vital.  And there are only a few of them. 

The Riverlords of Gilmora were jealous of their feudal privileges, and a juicy toll over a stout bridge – and the opportunity to feed and supply travelers – was a lucrative one.  That kept the right to build and maintain bridges in a region a carefully-guarded prerogative.
  We could fortify those regions, at least.  Slow them down until our defenses were in place.