In Treachery Forged (The Law of Swords) (30 page)

The barons slowly filed back in, accompanied by their armsmen. Maelgyn noticed that Mathrid looked rather defiant despite an attempt to appear contrite once he saw the Sword Prince on the Seat. On the other hand, the people who had accompanied him from Mar’Tok looked pleased in a smug sort of way. He took it as an encouraging sign that at least those who actually knew him were glad that he was now officially the Duke of Sopan.

Valfarn grinned as the last man entered, and stood before them all. “Lords and Ladies, and those of us who are not so ennobled but otherwise present, I am proud to inform you that Sword Prince Maelgyn has earned the right to be our Lord. As far as his wife’s secret goes, she keeps it in honor and integrity, not out of malice. It is something personal to her and her alone, and in my judgment no others should seek to learn it.”

Mathrid grimaced. “Milord... why shouldn’t we? I still have my doubts as to her fitness. It may not be my place to do anything about it, but surely I can act to allay my own fears?”

“Mathrid,” Valfarn sighed. “I have no authority to prevent you from trying. Before you do something that incredibly unwise, however, please remember that Sword Prince Maelgyn is now your liege lord, and he can make life quite unpleasant for you if he feels you are harassing his wife unnecessarily.”

“Lord Mathrid,” Maelgyn intoned from behind Valfarn. “I believe you do deserve to know this much about my wife’s secret: It is not in any way dishonorable, it does not endanger Sopan or Svieda, and it does not reflect on her ability to produce healthy heirs. In essence, it does not deal with
anything
which you should concern yourself with. If you ever
do
find out what it is, however, you had best keep it a secret yourself. That is, unless you want to face the highest punishment established for the crime of Insolence to the Duke: A long imprisonment and the removal of your tongue.” He paused. “If Euleilla leaves anything left of you to be imprisoned, that is. I warn you, milord, that she’s a First Rate mage. It’s entirely possible that she’d do something... worse... should she find you invading her privacy, and with my blessing.”

Chapter 19

“I don’t know why you threatened him,” Euleilla whispered to Maelgyn. They were slowly processing, arm in arm, from the Great Hall to the Feast Hall for a ceremonial dinner. “In fact, I think you’re being a bit too hard on him. I want to keep my eyes a secret, yes, but I don’t believe others should be maimed just to maintain it.”

“I didn’t make the threat to protect your secret,” he replied. “Although that’s a good side benefit. No, Mathrid doesn’t approve of either of us, I believe. I probably wouldn’t really cut out his tongue, but it’s best to keep him guessing. I don’t want him inciting discontent among the others, and I need him to get used to the idea that a directive from his Duke isn’t just a suggestion.”

“That sounds a bit ruthless,” she noted.

“Well, yes, but it’s also practical. As long as I don’t overdo it and
really
start removing tongues, I think it’ll be all right.”

“Perhaps,” she answered, not sounding convinced. Then again, Maelgyn wasn’t entirely convinced, himself – he just didn’t know what else to do.

“For good or ill,” he finally said, “That is how I will deal with him. Unless you have of a better plan, perhaps?”

“Perhaps,” she answered again, grinning slyly.

Maelgyn decided he wouldn’t ask too many questions about that grin. “Let’s not worry about him for now. We have a dinner to attend... and I do not believe Mathrid is going to be at our table to concern us.”

Valfarn, who had been standing where he could overhear the whole conversation, cleared his throat. “No, milord, he won’t. However, Baron Yergwain, the current head of the Council of Barons, will be joining the head table instead.”

Maelgyn nodded. “Yes, I met him when I arrived. While his treatment of Count El’Athras was unfairly disparaging prior to my introduction, I liked the look of him – although I have no idea what he thinks of all this. He knows enough to keep his tongue, however.”

The old regent sighed. “I fear, milord, he’s a bit of a traditionalist. He likely disapproves of your marriage, and of the alliance with the Dwarves and Nekoji. However, he’s also a loyal warrior, and will respect you and the Count as he would any Sword of the Realm. That said, I doubt he will be a very... pleasant companion, tonight. Especially after your words to Lord Mathrid, who is a close friend of his.”

“Sir Leno liked us,” Euleilla noted airily.

Valfarn nodded. “That is not unexpected, but Sir Leno is out of favor with his family. They... disapproved of his mother’s decision to let him become a mage, and his own decision to keep up the training after she died. He is only serving under his brother – or rather, his half-brother – because he is such an excellent warrior.”

Maelgyn raised an eyebrow. He was just about to ask why Yergwain’s family disapproved of the mage training when they arrived in the Dining Hall. It could wait.

The head table where Maelgyn sat was smaller than he expected. There was only room for the most important figures in his government – Euleilla, Valfarn, Yergwain, and a Senior Senator from the commoner’s council named Gherald.

Tur’Ba wasn’t at the dinner; upon learning that the young Dwarf’s father had sent him to essentially to be Maelgyn’s personal squire, the Chief Steward of the court – a man named Reltney – immediately corralled him so that he could be taught how to properly perform the duties of servant to a Sword of the realm. Maelgyn wasn’t entirely sure that particular trade was what El’Ba had in mind for his son, but it would give Tur’Ba a sense of the world without dirtying his hands in war. Most of the other guests Maelgyn had brought with him, including the officers leading the small detachments El’Athras and Onayari had escorted him into Sopan with, were seated in various places around the room. There was one exception, however, which puzzled him.

“Where’s Wangdu?” he accidentally said aloud, thinking to himself.

“Who?” Valfarn asked.

“Wangdu. The Elf I had been traveling with,” Maelgyn answered.

“Ah,” the older Duke replied. “Well, my lord, he is an Elf. Surely you’ve noticed he doesn’t eat the same foods you or I eat? He must prepare them a special way or they’re unhealthy for him. Sadly, our kitchen staff was not equipped to serve him properly on such short notice, so he needed to prepare his own food. I fear he will not be joining us this evening, since his dinner won’t be ready until after we all have finished.”

Maelgyn raised an eyebrow. “I don’t like that. I may make one of my first official acts as lord of this castle an order that any dining eventuality be prepared for. It seems prudent given that we’ve already gained the support of the Dwarves and Nekoji, and have an Elf in our midst as well.”

“It has never been an issue in my time of service,” Valfarn mused. “Still, I see the wisdom of such a command. A rather mundane first order for a Sword of Svieda in time of war, however.”

Maelgyn shrugged. “We all must start somewhere. Where else would you suggest?”

“Perhaps,” Senator Gherald hesitantly answered, “We could discuss about something relevant to the war. I believe I’m not the only person to wonder if his people will be subjected to a draft or not.”

“Gherald,” Yergwain warned. “Such business is best discussed during an official session of the Council before bringing it to the Duke.”

“Please, milord,” the senator said. “I am not advocating a policy myself, merely asking what sort of policy the Sword prefers.”

“Yergwain and Gherald are rather spirited rivals,” Valfarn whispered quietly to Maelgyn. “As the heads of the Council of Barons and the Council of Commons, respectively, they tend to get into vigorous debates.”

Maelgyn merely nodded to his regent and turned his attention back to the two bickering men. “Milord Yergwain, I believe that there will be no fault if I answer his question. Although I find it rather disconcerting that I cannot even get through the first bite of my first official state dinner without having to deal with so momentous an issue.”

Both of the arguing men flushed. “Sorry, Your Highness,” Gherald said, unable to meet anyone else’s eyes.

“As far as the draft is concerned,” Maelgyn continued. “I do not believe that a general draft is necessary just yet. Perhaps in the future, if other options fall through, but not just yet. I suspect I may need to leave much of the defense of the province to our militia, however, so I am going to order that the militia be expanded and training for it to be increased. I also plan to issue a special draft order for mages – they are always valuable in wartime, and I’m going to want as many as possible in the army. I’d also like to make sure each town has at least one, and hopefully more than one in the larger towns and cities, to aid the militias.”

Gherald hesitated. “Your Highness, I’m a Fourth Rate mage, myself. Is there any chance I could be called for this duty?”

Yergwain smirked. “Why, Senator, are you afraid of serving?”

“Milord,” Gherald snapped. “I am fifty-six years old. I have fought in more wars than you have, and have the wounds to show for it. My knee doesn’t work right, I have trouble breathing in hot weather due to an old chest wound, and after injuring my back I lose feeling in my legs whenever I ride a horse. If I am called upon, I will serve, but I believe I’ve earned the right to want to retire from the battlefield.”

“Relax, Gherald,” Maelgyn intervened, smiling. “I have no plans to call the infirm to war duty, even if it comes to a general draft. Besides, you said you were a Fourth Rate mage?”

Gherald nodded. “Barely that,” he answered. “I’m so weak a mage I considered going into alchemy, but I lack the patience to learn my numbers well enough for a good alchemist. Instead I joined the army to fight the Borden Islanders when the war broke out again some thirty years ago. My magic is of little use on the battlefield in general, but it was enough to help me through some tight squeezes.”

“Well, I don’t think we’re so desperate we’ll be needing Fourth Rate mages who have served honorably in previous wars and have had more than their fair share of wounds to show for it,” Maelgyn replied gently. “The orders will only call for the draft of mages who are young enough and strong enough to be effective in battle.”

“I guess that rules my brother out, then,” Yergwain muttered.

Euleilla, who up until then had been quietly and carefully eating her food (without her magic powder, and using the unfamiliar utensils of a knife, fork, and spoon instead of her usual chopsticks, she was having some trouble with it) nearly choked on a bite of her roast hearing that.

“Milord,” she said after a brief coughing fit. Maelgyn looked on at her in concern, but she obviously didn’t notice. “Just why do you think Sir Leno’s magic would fail to be a help in battle?”

“Oh,” Yergwain sighed. “I’m sure it aids him some. But it can’t be as useful a tool as a true mage is. He calls
himself
a second-rate mage, so he can’t be that good.”

“What?” Maelgyn asked, startled. “Don’t you even know what that means?”

“What what means?”

Even Valfarn seemed disturbed. “Milord Yergwain, I have no knowledge of magic, yet even I am less ignorant than you are if you believe a Second Rate mage isn’t very good.”

“I... I’m afraid I don’t understand, milord,” Yergwain answered.

Gherald smirked. “Indeed. Well, I can explain, if you like.”

Yergwain gritted his teeth, but remained courteous. “If you please, Master Gherald. I fear that my, and perhaps my family’s, lack of knowledge is doing great injustice to my brother. Enlighten me.”

“It’s difficult to become a mage,” Gherald began. “You must be taught from birth, and it’s impossible to tell at that point in a person’s life just how much magical potential they might have. It is rare that parents are willing to expose their children to such a burden. However, once they’ve learned magic and their abilities with it have matured, they can be judged according to a scale established several thousand years ago to ‘rate’ their magical power. An official certificate can be issued, if you want proof of your magical strength, but any mage is advised how to assess their own power properly if they don’t require the paperwork. Most usually they don’t bother, instead using those guidelines for self-assessment. There are five rates, according to the standards set by the Porosian Council of Magic—”

“Six,” Euleilla corrected.

Gherald raised an eyebrow at her. “That has never been proven possible among Humans. Nekoji mages are aberrations, with only a handful known to history, and the number who have reached that mark can be counted on one hand. No human mage has even come close to that level since the rating system has been established.”

“So?” Euleilla asked. The smile Maelgyn remembered her carrying when he met her was on her face – it had disappeared at some point while she was ill, and had only made infrequent reappearances since then. Maelgyn did not know why she had lost it then or why it had returned now, but was glad to see it.

The senator huffed in frustration, but conceded the point. “Very well. While only five rates were established initially by the Porosian Council of Magic, a sixth came into being with the first Nekoji to learn Human magic, for he was well off the scale. But that is not the point.