Footwizard

by Terry Mancour

  “Yes, tell me more about the people of Anghysbel,” I instructed Fondaras. “I’d like to know what kind of welcome we can expect, once we get there.”

  “Well, at a start, they don’t refer to their land as Anghysbel,” Fondaras revealed, thoughtfully. “That was the duke’s name for it. That is the name of the entire valley. The Wilderlords occupy only one small corner of it. They call their domain Anferny. It lies in the southeast of the land, and in many ways, it is managed and arranged like other Wilderlands settlements.”

  “How is it composed?” I asked, with genuine interest. Those Wilderlords had had a domain there, without magic or much contact with the outside world, for over a century. I was curious how they had contended with that.

  “The last time I was there old Lord Sanduin was the lord, but that was . . . eleven years ago? Twelve?” the old wizard asked himself. “But he was already in his dotage. His son, Lord Kanlan, is likely in charge of Anferny, now. It has four or five villages, and one modest castle to protect them. There’s a town, of sorts, below the castle. And a market town nearby, to trade with the Kasari and the Kilnusk. And the Tal,” he added with a chuckle.

  “Yes, I’d heard there were Tal Alon there,” I recalled, with a smile. I liked the Tal Alon. I had many of them in my service.

  “The Tal of Anghysbel are interesting. For one, they make a very potent spirit from a kind of white beet that is favored by the rest of the land,” Fondaras reported, fondly. “They do a brisk trade in it. The Tal Alon of Anghysbel . . . well, they are a very different sort than the Wilderlands variety.”

  “I look forward to meeting them,” I nodded. “Indeed, I look forward to this entire journey,” I confessed. “After fighting two wars one after another, and enduring a rivalry with Prince Tavard, I could stand a couple of weeks where no one can reach me by Mirror Array or mind-to-mind.”

  “I’ll be interested to see if bringing along that pretty thing will have an effect on the anti-magic field of the jevolar,” he said, nodding toward the Magolith floating over my shoulder. “No one has ever brought a molopor to a jevolar, before. Theoretically, it could challenge its potency.”

  “Oh, the field is very potent,” agreed Fondaras, thoughtfully. “You’ll know the moment you enter it. You can feel it – or feel the lack of magic, is perhaps a better explanation. But the field is not constant, and there are a few spots where it is weak enough to perform some small, simple spells. With great effort,” he added. “I cannot imagine whether a witchstone or your Magolith might accomplish there. But I’m curious about it, as well,” he admitted.

  I regarded the Magolith, the pulsing green sphere of irionite that enveloped an ever-changing crystalline disk within. As the center of the great Snowflake, in Sevendor, it radiated a field in which etheric resistance was ridiculously low in its proximity. It was, to my knowledge, one of the most powerful magical artefacts ever constructed. Only Sheruel, to my knowledge, was similarly potent.

  I had my suspicions that the Snowflake – and, by extension, the Magolith – was becoming sentient. My apprentice Ruderal certainly thought so. Having the enneagrammatic impression of the Handmaiden, an ancient sea creature of tremendous power and ability, grafted into it certainly had a growing sentience about it. I wondered if its unique construction would be enough to withstand the jevolar field. And then I wondered how the Handmaiden would react to such a place.

  I had to agree with my colleagues. It would be interesting.

  Making preparations to go on an expedition into the unknown is exciting. But preparing to leave your home for a few months is perplexing. Holding both emotions in my head at once was normal – it’s the kind of thing wizards do all the time. Nevertheless, there was a long list of things that had to be done before I left, from the diplomatic to the mundane.

  While Pentandra would have no trouble keeping Vanador Town running in my absence, there were other matters that needed my attention before I could depart. Among these was settling my children into the care of my trusted friends and retainers during a time when I had more enemies than a whore has regrets, with more emerging all the time. The normal servants and clergy who looked after them day-to-day would continue to do so, of course. But I could not count on them to defend the children in case of concerted assault.

  Thankfully, I had recourse to some of the best warmagi in the world. Unfortunately, I’d be taking my first choice with me. My friend Taren was at the top of the list to watch over them, but he was going with me because he was an expert thaumaturge as well as a warmage. He had already become something of a foster-father to the Greenflower children, during their stay in that land. My Sevendor children had also warmed to him during his stays at Greenflower Hall in Spellgarden. While he was a little uncomfortable with their attention and adoration, he also had a genuine fondness for them. I could count on Taren to defend all my children with his dying breath. Unfortunately, he would be more valuable on the expedition than he would be babysitting.

  So Ruderal was staying behind to watch over my children. He wasn’t as adept a warmage as Taren, of course, but he had other means at his disposal to be a good watchman.

  His unique expression of Talent allowed him to detect threats by their enneagrams, alone. He was also sensitive to the undead. Most importantly, he was extremely loyal. I’d allowed him to keep the dagger he’d stolen, made by the Dradrien of a magical metal that destroyed the enneagrams of the undead. He’d slain Gaja Katar with it, this past winter. I had no doubt he would employ it just as adamantly should a Nemovort decide to attack. Rudy doesn’t look like much, compared to the beefy warmagi who patrolled Spellgarden, but his dedication was not to be taken lightly.

  I left nothing to chance. I had also hired three additional warmagi to guard the premises in my absence. And I doubled the number of Vanador Guards who patrolled the grounds and manned the towers of the small castle. And I increased the defensive spells around the place. And I took every other precaution I could think of to ensure I still had all the kids I’d left behind when I returned.

  If you think I was over-reacting, or was perhaps too cautious, then I probably shouldn’t mention the daily overflights and constant patrols the Vanador Mewstower was providing for me. That might seem excessive.

  Just in case, I went over a dizzying array of contingencies if anything unfortunate should happen with Azar and Terleman. I could count on them to avenge any attack or foil any attempt to kidnap my children as much as I could trust myself.

  Even with all of that protection, I lay awake, at night, anxious about leaving them behind.

  That wasn’t my only duty before we departed. I was also meeting almost daily with Lawbrother Bryte, who was drafting a proposed secret nonaggression treaty with Ashakarl, the Goblin King. Considered rebels by the Nemovorti and their leader, Korbal the Necromancer, the gurvan had led his regime into exile to the ancient, flinty hills of the northern Wilderlands. He was supported by thousands of tribal gurvani, as well as a few loyal legions, shamans, and some humani servants who had joined his cause.

  Ashakarl wasn’t looking for a fight; he was pursuing survival. His realm was preserving the original tribal gurvani culture that the Enshadowed had perverted into an invading army. That was little use to Korbal now that he’d taken the revered leader of the invasion and made him an ornament.

  Without Sheruel’s great power behind him, Ashakarl didn’t have much keeping the tribal gurvani together, save the bits of human feudalism he’d adopted during his brief reign. He was willing to put aside his enmity toward humanity in exchange for recognition and peace. Neither one of us needed another enemy. While that didn’t make us allies, it certainly took a couple of logs out of the fire. Negotiations had been going on, clandestinely, for months, now, and a final version of the treaty needed to be approved. Brother Bryte was insisting that I look it over before I left.

  “We’re granting him title to the entire northwest, below the Osbury River, and everything west of this point, here,” he said, t
apping on a new-made map of the Wilderlands. “It’s called Sarluresh, in gurvani, but we know it as Makaman Mountain. Not much of a mountain, but Ashakarl accounts it as the beginning of his folk’s sacred hills. For us, it’s just marginal farmland and adequate pasturelands, so we aren’t losing much,” the monk admitted.

  “How far south are we granting him title?” I asked, curious.

  “The treaty is notably silent on that matter,” Brother Bryte said, diplomatically. “Of course, our mutual enemy controls the Penumbra south of his hills. If Ashakarl manages to expand there, the treaty does not forbid it. He just can’t come east, or north, and bother the Kasari. He can chew on the boot of Korbal all he wants, according to this agreement.”

  “As can we,” I agreed, with a murmur, as I studied the map. “What of the rest of the Penumbra, then?”

  “We can take as much as we wish, until we come against Ashakarl’s frontiers. In that contingency,” he said, flipping through his sheaf of parchment, “ambassadors from each side will convene and set the boundaries. If and when such an occurrence arises.”

  “Reasonable,” I conceded. “What about trade?”

  “While it’s not covered in this, the treaty leaves open room for further agreements. Mostly, we get them to forgo their genocidal policies, end war on the Magelaw and other humani territories, free human slaves, and stop eating people,” he said, with a shudder. “That’s what we get in exchange for some crappy farmland.”

  “I count it a bargain,” I nodded. “And perhaps we can consider some limited trade, if the treaty holds. But that brings another issue to mind. I am technically making peace with a sworn enemy of the kingdom,” I pointed out. “They haven’t surrendered, and they might be a problem in the future. What kind of trouble am I in with the Crown if I proceed with this?” I asked my lawbrother.

  “I thought of that, of course,” Brother Bryte said, his eyes narrowing above his hawkish nose. “Technically, as a Count Palatine, you are delegated certain state powers, including the power to conduct foreign policy in your region. That’s the essence of a palatinate. So you should be able to advance the treaty as an exercise in your sovereignty over the Magelaw. King Rard’s own treaty with Ashakarl provides the precedent for this.

  “But then there’s another way to look at it,” he continued, a small grin forming on his shaven lips. “You are, in essence, granting Ashakarl the same rights you would a vassal,” he pointed out. “Even though he’s not human, and he was at war with us, you’re giving him no greater rights or prerogatives than a normal vassal, under the law. He is free to make his own laws, rule his own people for their benefit, and defend his interests, as long as he respects your ‘don’t eat people, eating people is wrong’ laws.”

  “A vassal?” I asked, surprised. “Are you certain that’s legal?”

  “In the eyes of the law, it is,” he agreed. “Well, mostly. But you’ve already established precedent for it,” he reasoned. “When you granted the Tal Alon their own little land to run as they see fit, under your auspices.

  “Our agreement with Ashakarl is similar in scope. They’re both nonhumans, they’re essentially vassals, under the law, and you are ultimately responsible for the consequences of their actions. If they rebel, you invade. If they appeal to you for judgement or justice, or to redress their grievances or beg a boon, you are obligated to hear them. Technically, you should be able to call upon them for military service, but I would advise caution when considering that,” he said, laughter in his eyes.

  “I wonder what Ashakarl will think of being my vassal?” I wondered with a chuckle.

  “Oh, that’s just our side’s legal system,” he argued. “He won’t even know about it, most likely. The treaty will serve as his oath of fealty, as you’ve defined the terms. But he need not know where he stands, legally, in our society. He can keep ruling over the scrugs in the flinty hills with his accustomed brutality, and as long as he doesn’t enslave or consume his humani servants, he’ll likely never realize that he’s technically your subservient vassal.”

  “That is an interesting perspective,” I agreed, nodding. “Hopefully, it will never come up in court, but if it did it’s nice to know we have an argument.”

  “Oh, we have more than an argument,” he nodded. “I wrote the law, remember? Including the section on foreign policy and the rights and privileges of your vassals. I left certain parts of it purposefully vague, just for this sort of reason.

  “Most Narasi law doesn’t even mention nonhumans. We have a unique circumstances, here in the Magelaw, as we have to deal with the Alon both individually and as civilizations. And the law has to recognize that with appropriate circumspection. Sometimes you must treat with them as allies, sometimes as enemies, but treat with them you must. Your sovereignty as Count Palatine is required to contend with this unique situation. You’re well within your rights,” he argued.

  “I just hope the lawfathers agree with you, if it comes to it,” I sighed.

  “Well, they had better,” he snorted. “I happen to be right!”

  That was the kind of confidence you like to hear in your lawbrother.

  One of the last bits of preparation I had to do was a quiet meeting with my thaumaturgic council. It wasn’t that they needed instruction or protection from me – they were well-funded and hopelessly uninteresting, to most people.

  But I’d founded the Thaumaturgy Institute for some very specific reasons. One of them was research into the snowstone spell I’d accidentally cast. That was one main reasons I was going to Anghysbel. There was a particular thaumaturgical substance I was trying to acquire that legend said could be found there.

  Theoretically, it would give us the means to predict what kind of magical effect would manifest with the divine spark that apparently occurred during the birthing process. I didn’t quite understand how, thaumaturgically speaking – that’s why I employed experts. But my experts told me that I needed the stuff, so I was going to look for it.

  “According to the records,” Master Theronial, the head of the institution, reported, “it should be a glassy substance, smooth to the touch, irregularly translucent with a vaguely yellow color. It definitely came from Anghysbel, that much is clear. But there is no indication what its origins are,” he confessed, apologetically. “It could be an inorganic mineral, an organic mineral, a resin,” he listed, “a crystalline compound, or any combination of those. So I don’t know if to tell you to search underground, in a tree, in a swamp, on a mountain, in a cave, or anything. I’m sorry,” he sighed.

  “If it was easy, it likely wouldn’t be a quest worth doing,” I pointed out. “I’ll ask the locals, see what they know about it. Of course, the lack of any magi, whatsoever, might be a problem. I won’t be able to use magic to find it. So asking around is probably the only way I’ll even have a chance of finding it.”

  “Well, if you can procure samples of anything even similar, it might be helpful,” the mage pointed out. “Indeed, from what Fondaras tells me, Anghysbel is filled with odd wonders and exotic substances. All produced in a unique environment. There’s no telling what properties they might have, once they are subject to the arcane fields,” he suggested.

  “So bring back as much esoteric junk as I can?” I smirked. “I don’t see why not. What will you use it for?”

  “Oh, I have no idea,” he shrugged. “But we cannot hypothesize if we do not collect and observe. Indeed, there might be thaumaturgically active substances that could lead to just about anything. Or they might all be magically inert. If nothing else, you’ll have an impressive collection of souvenirs.”

  “A bit of exotic clutter around the workshop is nice,” I reasoned. “I’ll be taking what readings and observations as I can. So will Gareth, and maybe even Tyndal.”

  “To that end, I’d like to present to you a blank record book I had prepared,” he said, pulling out a small but thick book from a shelf in his office. “Just so that you can keep your observations in one place. There’s
a pen and an ink bottle built into the spine,” he demonstrated, pulling them forth before replacing them, “and the leather cover should protect it from the elements. I placed some preservation spells and other useful enchantments on it, not that it will do you much good in Anghysbel. But please be as detailed as possible when you make your observations,” he pleaded. “And don’t restrict yourself to your own thoughts. Record everything, from everyone that you can. Sketches. Maps. Interviews with witnesses.”

  “I’ll do my best,” I promised, taking the neat little book. “I’ll be busy, but I’ll try. I can get Tyndal to add his thoughts and observations, too.”

  “And Lilastien’s,” he reminded me. “She has a neat hand, and she’s scientifically trained.”

  “Good point,” I agreed. “Well, I hope to bring it back to you stuffed with knowledge. If I don’t make it back—”

  “My lord! Do not even jest about such a thing!” the old thaumaturge said, nearly offended. “If you die on this expedition, then I lose this incredibly cushy job pursuing my life’s ambitions. Please consider that when you’re considering doing something dangerous,” he begged.

  “Well, I wouldn’t want to put your job in jeopardy,” I said, sarcastically. I knew he was – mostly – joking.

  But you never knew, with academics. In my experience, their devotion to their specialty often colors their perspective in unreasonable ways. Theronial had spent the last year amassing a library of impressive proportions, hiring a staff of expert thaumaturges, setting up laboratories and workshops, and employing sufficient support staff and craftsmen to support the endeavor.

  I couldn’t argue that he had something important to protect. So far, in the Thaumaturgic Institute he had produced what had to be the most notable cenacle of thaumaturgic and scientific wizards the world had ever seen, each a specialist in the most obscure bodies of magical thought. And he was just getting started building the institution. I had been openhanded when it came to funding, considering the urgency of the need to find out how to make snowstone, and Master Theronial had spent lavishly as a result. While the snowstone project was the focus of his efforts, the institute had already blossomed a dozen theories in other areas of thaumaturgy, thanks to the deep minds involved in the effort.