Knights Magi (Book 4) (79 page)

They opened them hesitantly, and then I got the pleasure of seeing their eyes open wider than ever before.
 In each box was a perfectly smooth sphere of irionite, crafted and enchanted by the Alka Alon.  They were each twice the size of their previous shards, and they were further soaked in the arcane sophistications of Tree Folk magic.  These were far more powerful tools than the shards they had borne.  

But then these were no longer boys.
 Tyndal and Rondal had become men in the last year, men deserving of my respect.  The stunt with their new chivalrous order was ingenious, and saved me a lot of time and energy - as they had known it would.  With the boys watching the outcropping in Taragwen, I felt it was as secure as it could be if anyone else was watching it without political risk to Sevendor.  

And this new order might have its uses, too.
 I couldn’t fault them for their antipathy toward the Brotherhood of the Rat - they had taken a very active hand in politics lately, and a couple of vengeful, scheming, terribly-powerful knights magi on their collective ass might turn out to be a good thing.

The boys looked at their new prizes in wonder, as well they should.
 The two spheres were part of a set known as The Spellmonger’s Seven, and they were unlike most of the other witchstones among the various Arcane Orders in that they had never been associated with the Dead God.  They were also laced with such a beautiful magical architecture that doing magic with them was almost intuitive.  Plus their extra mass gave them far more power than they were used to before.

“I put those stones in your hands because you have proven yourselves worthy of them,” I continued lecturing them as they began to appreciate the power at their command.
 It would take a few days for them to get attuned to them, but if the recent overhaul on the witchsphere - have to find a better name for it now - was any indication, the Spellmonger’s Stones would be as easy to uses as a glove.

“Master, we . . .” Tyndal said, and trailed off wordlessly as he began to explore his new stone.

“Thank you, Magelord,” Rondal said, more formally . . . but no less distracted by the power in his hands.  “But surely there are more worthy-”

He stopped when Tyndal’s elbow dug him in the ribs.
 I grinned.  “Perhaps more powerful, perhaps more effective, perhaps more . . .
intelligent,
” I jibed.  “But no more loyal.  You have proven yourselves as knights magi.  From now on, you will be partially in charge of magical enforcement, too -- part of the burden of the Spellmonger’s Seven.  But I think that you will be more than up to the task.  Indeed, I cannot think of a task I could set for you that you couldn’t accomplish, short of slaying the Dead God.”

Tyndal shrugged.
 “Give us time, Master,” he said, casually.  “I’m working on a few things.”

The idea of Tyndal of all magi discovering the way to slay the unslayable almost made me laugh uncharitably.
 Dara wasn’t so fortunate, earning her a look from my senior apprentice.

“Well, put those toys away until later,” I said, warmly, “fetch another bottle and tell me about this plot to smuggle snowstone.
 To whom was Pangine selling it?”

The boys were relieved, and they imposed on Sir Festaran to bring more wine under the pretense that it was part of the job of the Day Steward, a point about which Fes promised to address at the next meeting.
 But he good-naturedly headed out to the buttery while his fellows told their tale.

“It seems that a local bandit -- of noble birth but fallen estate -- discovered the value of snowstone somehow and recognized the outcropping in
Taragwen.  He was quietly mining and shipping small quantities westward, through Sashtalia and as far as Lasserport, where his partner would take delivery.  From thence . . . he did not know.  But he was very helpful in giving us the name of that partner, and the shop to which the deliveries are made.”

“Good, good,” I nodded.
 “We’ll track that down and trace it back to its source.  Let’s pray it’s just an unscrupulous enchanter, and not agents of the Dead God.  That might prove be disastrous.”  

“And just who was this local bandit?” Sire Cei asked, picking up on something I missed.

Tyndal grinned.  “I believe you know the gentleman . . . and he well knows you.  You were a defining event in his life.  Our old acquaintance, Sir Ganulan.  He still bears the magemark on his face in token of his un-payed ransom, and he hates us all bitterly.  We gave him a few additional marks before we let him go--”

“Let him go?”
I asked, astonished.  “Why in Luin’s name would you do that?!”

Rondal looked confused.
 “Master, he wasn’t doing anything
illegal.”

“He . . .
what?
” my turn to look confused.

“Master, he was mining snowstone -- which isn’t illegal.
 The Crown has not seen fit to regulate its trade, since you were nearly the only source, and he had secured permission from the rightful lord of the domain so . . . he wasn’t doing anything wrong.  That’s one reason why we had to conquer Taragwen, not just spy on it.  We could not
legally
stop the mining any other way.”

“But his magemark-”

“Makes him an outlaw . . . in
Sevendor
.  Or in the domains sworn to Sevendor.  But this is Sashtalia, Magelord, so he is free to come and go as any honorable gentleman would.”

“So now he’s just . . . down the river, somewhere, in hiding!”

“Yes, Master,” Tyndal said, innocently.  “And wherever he hides, he will be taking his magemarks with him . . . and the tracking spell we placed upon them.  If Ganulan is involved in more mischief, I figured it would be best if we could discover where he was at our convenience.”

“An excellent plan,” Lady Ithalia said, nodding.
 “He knows far too much about snowstone, now, this knight, and if he has an antipathy for the Spellmonger, then he will likely lead you to your enemies.  Knowing where he goes and who they are is strategically sound.  You reason like an Alon,” she approved.  

“Thank you, my lady,” Tyndal said with a shy smile, bowing as he poured her more wine.
 If I didn’t know better, I’d swear he was trying to charm her.  Of course the transgenically-enchanted Alka Alon, male and female, were beings of surpassing beauty in human eyes, I’d learned.  But few humans would have the temerity to even consider such a liaison.  Tyndal apparently had a secret temerity mine somewhere I didn’t know about.

“What news of the war, Sire?” Rondal asked, trying to break Tyndal’s attention away from her.
 

“Thanks to your helpful reconnoitering,” I said, after trying to decide just which parts to tell them, “we will be much more prepared for the offensive this spring.
 The gurvani have spent most of the winter gathering forces in the Penumbra, so we’re anticipating a very big push in Gilmora and preparing accordingly.  It will be a bloodbath, but they want Gilmora and we don’t want them to have it.  

“Are we going to be part of that?” asked Tyndal, eagerly.

“Mayhap,” I shrugged.  “But you’ll start the campaign year on detached duty.”  That was the big piece of news they needed to hear.  “Lady Ithalia bears news from a council of the Alka Alon, and they have asked us to participate in a . . . conference?  Moot?  Gathering?  Party?” I asked, unsure of what the proper term was.  I looked to Ithalia for help.

“The council of high lords in this region merely desires an opportunity to discuss the Abomination, snowstone, and other issues of mutual importance to our peoples,” she said, her voice like bells.
 “The events of the past few years have attracted the attention of some long-sundered from the affairs of this world, among my people.  They wish to know what is happening, and more importantly who this brave new humani leader is who has rallied his own folk to war so quickly and adeptly.”

“Which is polite Alka Alon language for
we’re in trouble
,” interjected Dara.  I shot her a look.  She had overheard far too much and had guessed far more in the last few months, particularly since she had begun working directly with the Alon on her hawk project.  

While that gave her some insight into their affairs that I found valuable, I also wished she had a better sense of discretion.
 Lady Ithalia, at least, seemed to be acting in humanity’s interest, but some of the things Dara had passed on to me had given me some doubts about other Alka.  I looked forward to the Springtime moot with the Tree People as much as I did my next audience with Her Majesty.

“We are not
‘in trouble’
, my lady,” Lady Ithalia corrected with as much of an impudent grin her breathtaking face was capable of making.   “Far from it.  The elders just wish to know more about snowstone, and about the mage who crafted it.  It is the first novel thing that they have seen since your people fell from the Void.  They are curious, and they are as worried about the Abomination as you.  There are two large Alkan settlements that will be endangered soon, if the gurvani continued their advance.”

“Alkan settlements?” asked Tyndal, curiously.
 “In the Wilderlands?  Like the one in Boval Vale?”

“These are much larger, and much more important,” she said, shaking her head.
 “Ancient cities of great power, once, but now they are but shadows of their former glories.  Some are but half-empty with our folk.  They remain all but hidden behind veils of magic so thick even our own kind have difficulty seeing them . . . but the evil horizon of the Umbra threatens to strike away those protections.  If that happens . . . well, this war will begin to look very different.”

I wasn’t sure what to make of that statement, but that’s what the proposed council was ostensibly for.
 “We’re not the only ones going,” I pointed out.  “The Karshak and some of the other Alon have been invited.”

“In an
advisory
capacity,” stressed the beautiful nonhuman woman.  “This remains a council of the Alka of this region.  Six lords from four kindreds will be represented,
aronin
of might and power.”

“Well, good,” grumbled Rondal.
 “Maybe they can help us fight this war!”

“Their priest-kings are not exactly the rough-and-tumble kind,” I warned.
 “The Alka are deadly fighters, but from what the ambassadors have been telling me, their numbers have dwindled.  And not all of them are eager to take on the Dead God.”

“As they are neither priests nor kings,” Ithalia said, amusedly, "I would hesitate to characterize them thus.
 And many bear humani almost as much antipathy as the gurvani do.  But some are much more in favor of close relations to your people, particularly among my kindred.  There have been hundreds who have volunteered to take up arms and join your fight.”

“
Our
fight,” I corrected her.  

“Our fight,” she agreed, reluctantly.
 “So many, in fact, that the few songmasters who know the old transgenic enchantments are growing weary with the transformation songs.”

“You mean . . . there will be
more
Alka Alon around like you?” Tyndal asked, excitedly.  He was so obvious about his interest I wanted to cringe.  Is there anything more relentless than the libido of a seventeen year old?

“Yes, Sir Tyndal,” she smiled and giggled, which made me think of sugarcakes for some reason.
 “So many that some of our lords grow fearful of the movement and seek to prohibit it.  Already more than a hundred have taken on new, taller, stronger bodies.  While we lose a bit of our power in doing so, I cannot argue that the strength and vitality in a human-cast body is exhilarating!” she said, her eyes flashing.  

I cleared my throat to regain the lads’ attention.
 “But the upshot is that we will be departing from Sevendor just after the Equinox to . . . well, parts unknown.  They’re still figuring which magical tree city in which to hold the council, but they at least agreed on a time that won’t interfere with the campaign too much.  After that, we’ll have a lot better idea of exactly where to deploy you two new . . . tools.

“But that’s next year, and this is this year.
 We’re going to escort you and your charge back to Sevendor, have a truly drunken Yuletide, and then get ready for the battles ahead.  Assuming the head of your new order sees fit to release you from your duties,” I added, dryly.

“Well, that is a good question,” Rondal agreed.

“We probably
should
ask him,” Tyndal nodded.

“Yes, you are released from your new duties long enough to go to Yule at Sevendor and fight a few battles before you get back to the important job of guarding a pile of rocks,” I said, rolling my eyes.

Rondal blinked.  “I beg your pardon, Master, but you seem to be under the impression that
you
are the head of the Estasi Order.”

“I’m
not?
” I asked, confused.  “You mean one of
you
snotlings is the head?”

Rondal looked appalled.
 “Magelord!  We are but new-made knights, still learning the trade.  For one of us to make ourselves head of the order would be to invite ridicule, when we dearly wish to see this institution taken seriously.”