“As you wish, Sire,” I said, returning the grin with a slight bow. I took my leave then, as a long line of messengers and soldiers on errands had piled up behind me.
* * *
My trip downriver was an exciting, grand adventure that took two weeks. In retrospect it was no different than any other river trip I’ve taken, but when you are thirteen and journeying on your own such a trip is an adventure by default. I saw stevedores and polemen, merchants and river pirates, and met strange, exotic people who were not all that different from the folk in Talry. I did see a village of Riverfolk – my first glimpse of non-humans – but we passed by their little village without stopping. One of the crew taught me the finer points of dice and another introduced me to Cormeeran wine.
I arrived at the riverport a much more worldly man, ready to meet my schoolmates and embark on my career. When I first arrived at the academy, a mix of High Imperial and Post-Conquest Imperial Revival architecture, I could see the beautiful spires and hulking mass of the central building over the tops of the townhouses and shops by the gate, and I was suitably awed.
I was much less awed by it a week later. The Academy was a dump.
Six hundred years old and poorly maintained, the spires around the top were roped off due to severe structural failure – apparently the spells originally used to allow their graceful slopes to defy gravity were long lost, and not much effort had been put into rediscovering them.
Most of the buildings originated in Imperial times, which means that they were sadly neglected and in need of repair. The main hall on the first floor was built to impress, and its shabby opulence remained stunning despite the years. The classrooms on the second and third floors of the building were less impressive, but completely functional, while the journeyman labs on the fourth floor were almost as dangerous as the decorative spires. The Masters, of course, had much better facilities, usually in outbuildings built more recently.
Inarion Academy was founded almost a thousand years ago as an adjunct campus to the more prestigious Gorrinal Academy in Cormeer. Gorrinal was destroyed in the Mage Wars, before the Magocracy was established, so Inarion is technically the second oldest Academy in the Duchies, after Alar, and the most prestigious in the western Duchies.
It sits within its own section of the city wall and has been defended four times in its history. Inarion is a little city within itself, as self-contained as any castle, complete with its own attendant village known as Towertown. The Academy holds about three hundred students at any one time, with another hundred visiting scholars or guest instructors from other Academies or magical firms.
Almost every student there was of noble birth. I don’t think I really appreciated that until I showed up at the Registrar’s office, barefoot and dirty from the trip, and was told with a scowl that the kitchens were in the rear. I tried to explain myself three times and finally had to produce my letter of acceptance before I was firmly escorted to my quarters by the registrar herself.
I was assigned to the South Tower, where, I found out later, all the low-status students were housed – children of merchants, burghers, country knights, and successful farmers. Plus a few students from the petty nobility, too poor to blend well with the Imperials in the West Tower or the High Lords in the North Tower were housed there. The East Tower was the faculty quarters. We were the social dregs, which made the tyranny of the few noble-born students in South that much harder to bear.
Of course the South Tower was the worst maintained. It was rumored that the whole purpose of putting us in such decrepit quarters was to encourage us to learn those spells that contributed to comfort, and I can’t say with certainty that the rumors were untrue. I know I studied my ass off to learn how to do heating and anti-vermin spells and the like.
To be fair we weren’t treated that much differently than the other students. The instructors didn’t really care who your daddy was; they cared how well you did in their courses. But our clothes were never as splendid as the High Lords or as silken as the Imperial students, and we had no servants of our own. The entire Tower, from First Form to Fifth, depended on the good graces of two old groundskeepers, three wrinkled maids and a single cook. We ended up doing a lot of the cleaning and chores ourselves.
I was placed in a third floor suite with Dextadot (Dex, to his pals) of Harring, the sandy-haired son of a poor knight, and Timion of Lista, the son of a wheat merchant. For the next four years they would be my best friends and confidants. Both had similar initiatory experiences as I, and both had been sent to the same extra “remedial” tutors as I was. These were mostly lessons in reading, writing, elementary math, natural history, and basic rules of etiquette, i.e. how to behave like nobility and not like peasants.
(A few of the noble boys started to lord it over us about these classes, but my mates and I took this guff for only a few weeks before we got fed up with it and staged a “peasant revolt” of sorts, which turned quickly into a brawl. After that we had their respect, if not their friendship, and were allowed to proceed with our studies in relative peace.)
Magi, at least according to the Academy, were to be accorded the respect of minor nobility regardless of birth status or station. The nobles and the Ducal houses, I have noticed, don’t always adhere to this rule. Regardless, as most of our clients would eventually be nobles of one stripe or another, our professional survival depended upon knowing the rules of courts of all sizes.
These extra tutoring sessions were in addition to the regular courses. They started in heavy with Magical Theory and Symbolic Systems, and before I had been there a week my head buzzed nightly with the arcane symbols of my new craft. That didn’t leave much time for trouble, much to my dismay. When I wasn’t slogging through some dusty text in my loft, I was in the kitchen, helping the cook with the baking for an extra three coppers a week. All of the boys were required to help with the maintenance and upkeep of the Academy grounds (which provoked much grumbling from the nobility) but a few of us were good enough at what we did to get paid for it. The first time I made rolls for the cook, she had me put on the pay ledger.
Those first few years are a long, pleasant, hazy smear in my life. I attacked my lessons with glee, pushing ahead beyond my classmates at every opportunity. I had a strong Talent and a quick mind, and I mastered the basic lessons easily. This got me enough attention from the journeymen who instructed us that I was selected for special tutoring that first year.
Most importantly, to my eyes, I was introduced to the magic of the written word, and then turned loose on one of the best libraries in the Duchy. I learned to master my mind and force the elements of nature to do my bidding. I was guided down the intellectual path trod by generations of students before me, back to Lost Perwyn and the first Archmage.
I actually went home between my third and fourth years for my youngest sister’s wedding. Urah had finally talked a stuttering blacksmith apprentice into marrying her. I had made a little money doing spells on the side (completely against Academy rules, but those rules were often overlooked) and I managed to secure transport on a river barge hauling iron ingots up to Talry and points north.
It was a complete surprise to my family, of course – my Dad didn’t even recognize me when I first came into the shop – and my reunion celebration nearly overshadowed my sister’s nuptials to the point that I earned several evil stares from her – this was her celebration. It was my first time meeting my nieces and nephews, though, and I wasn’t about to fade into the woodwork until I had a chance to ooh and ahh over them.
I saw several of my childhood friends, most of whom were farming or running their fathers’ shops, and spent some important time with my very proud parents. After the wedding I caught up with Master Tilo, who looked even more wizened than the last time I saw him. He was almost as proud of me as my parents, and he even allowed me to show him a thing or two in the way of technical advances on some minor spells. He had another apprentice, now, and I was put in the uncomfortable position of being held u
p as a good example of a good mage. I wasn’t used to being a role model (I still am not) but the acknowledgement was good for my ego.
Something troubled me that entire trip. I just didn’t fit in Talry anymore. My sisters’ husbands had the shop well in hand, Dad rarely worked at anything but the most demanding of bakes, Mama was deeply involved in her grandchildren. I was an exciting curiosity to them, but not much more. Oh, they still loved me, without a doubt. But I was a stranger to them after just a few years. I suppose that after spending all that time at the Academy being homesick that I expected the clouds to part and Trygg and Briga both to welcome me back home. Instead I stood in the bakery and tried not to get in the way while my family worked.
In an effort to console my self-pity, I went by Hedi’s cottage (remember the miller’s daughter?) to visit. Her husband, a prosperous farmer, was in the fields of course, but she introduced me to her two-year-old, and let me pat the tummy in which her second kid was growing. It was the same old Hedi, though, wild at heart. With a wicked gleam in her eye she pointed out that, as there was no way she could get pregnant, that there was no obstacle to us reliving old times. I was in a weakened condition and didn’t have the courage to turn her down. We did it on her kitchen table while the baby was asleep. While she was just as enthusiastic – and far more skilled, marriage had been good to her – than I remember, I knew that this was an illicit thrill for her, not a heart-felt homecoming. I left her home feeling even more out of place than when I arrived.
Talry was just not really my home any longer.
* * *
Garkesku had, indeed, taken over the second (and most comfortable) level of the West Tower for his own use and that of his apprentices. He had three, all touched by Talent and somewhat knowledgeable in the theories of magic, but none of them the equal of Tyndal. The boy had learned more in six months of study than they had learned after years. Unfortunately, they made up for their lack of skill by parroting their master’s attitudes and mannerisms, which made the whole second floor unbearably unpleasant.
Garkesku had managed to move a fair amount of his equipment and much of his overstuffed furnishings into the quarters from his shop. The West Tower was inside the inner barbican and attached to the main donjon by a series of buttresses and bridges, which made it unnecessary for defense until the outer bailey had been penetrated. It was as draughty and cold as any other place in the castle, but I noticed as I climbed the stairs that Garkesku had an insulation spell going to supplement the brazier burning in the center of the room. That could only mean that my floor, above, which should normally benefit from the heat from his fire, would be ice cold.
The two older apprentices were unpacking crates moved from Hymas town and looked at me with barely-concealed sneers when I walked in. Garkesku himself was overseeing the third apprentice, who was unpacking his master’s bedding. He still wore that colorful robe and ridiculous looking hat.
“Master Garkesku, it is good to see you settling in,” I said, a friendly tone in my voice that belied the expression in my eyes. The bastard was enjoying more comfort in here than the peasants who camped in the outer bailey could dream of.
Garkesku looked up, his eyes growing wide when he saw who it was. Then they narrowed.
“Master Minalan, good of you to join us. I took the liberty of choosing these accommodations in your absence, due to the larger size of my party. I trust you and your apprentice will have no difficulty with the next level up? I figured that a man of action such as yourself would prefer a vantage point where he could oversee the field.”
It was a thinly veiled challenge, meaning I dare you to try to move me out of my quarters! Had I more time and less patience I might have tried. But he was right: the third level would be better for me and Tyndal, as I would have access to the uppermost battlement and therefore would be able to see farther at my convenience. It also made for a better position for launching defensive spells. Magic or artillery, high ground is usually more defensible. I still remember how effective such a position had been when Orrill Prak had defended the Citadel.
“Absolutely correct, Master Garkesku. In fact I will have my apprentice bring my things up tonight. But I wanted to steal a moment of your time to discuss the overall defense strategy.”
He gave me a sour look, but motioned me over to a table he had fetched from his reception area. Cleared of the useless clutter it seemed fairly serviceable, and I was surprised to see an accurate map of the castle and the surrounding lands already laid out upon it. At various places Garkesku had inscribed symbols for spells he was apparently planning. I glanced at them and was mildly impressed. It was by no means complete, but it did have some clever essentials at more or less the right place. Just because I didn’t like the man didn’t mean he was incompetent.
We went over what he had done, and I suggested a few more – things like preservative spells on the stores and cisterns, strength runes on the gates and portcullis, that sort of thing. We managed to complete the conference without arguing, which I counted as a minor victory, and then I told him about my next trip. He was not happy.
“So you wish me to cast all of these spells on my own, then?” he asked, sarcastically.
“None of them seem too difficult, between you and your apprentices. If you aren’t up to the task, however, I can always send for Zagor or--”
“I am quite capable, thank you,” he said, haughtily. “And if makes the difference between victory and defeat, I will do all I can.”
“I’m sure you will,” I said, and went upstairs to inspect our new quarters.
Garkesku had done me no favors in selecting the lower chamber. The third level, a three-story section of tower with wooden floors and lofts, was perforated with arrow slits. While there were wooden shutters on them, the sheer number made the entire chamber as draughty as a belltower. Still, it was more than enough room for Tyndal and me to work in, and I knew I could rely on the boy’s ingenuity to make it as comfortable as possible in my absence.
I made a few mental notes of items I would want from the shop, and others that would have to be purchased in Tudry. Then I went to the roof. Garkesku was correct – from the peak I could see all around the castle, save the spot just beyond the East Tower, which was the same height as the one I was on.
I had no problems with the quality of the fortification – indeed, it was among the better ones I had seen on my travels. Most Baronial castles were ancient things, whose stones were held together by two-hundred year old mortar; or they were the remains of Imperial buildings that had been added to, not really designed for defense but pressed into service by need and kept because of the expense of building proper defenses.
Boval Castle, though, was almost brand-new, compared to the castles of Castal and Alshar that I was familiar with. Begun by Koucey’s father at the start of his reign, the fort had taken twenty years to complete, and had employed hundreds of local laborers and dozens of imported masons, carpenters, and other craftsmen.
Cut out of native gray basalt from the quarry north of Minden Hall, the walls and towers of the structure were well designed and resolutely strong. It was also roomy, about three times as large as the population of the Valley warranted. House Brandmount was foresightful enough to know that their lands would prosper. They built large in anticipation of a larger population.
The entire castle was surrounded by a twenty-foot wide ditch with a ridge of earth ten feet tall on the inside edge. A twelve-foot thick stone barbican, surmounted by an impressive battlement, protected the castle should the ditch be overrun. The outer wall was punctuated with nine small round towers spaced fifty feet apart or so, as well as a large stone gatehouse to the north and a double-sized round tower at the southern point. This last feature was a miniature fortress in its own right, including the siege engines ensconced in the top of the structure and the separate well and stores at its base.
The Outer Bailey was separated from the inner by a curtain wall six feet thick. This made the Outer Bail
ey an ideal killing zone, should the gate be overwhelmed. Until that happened, it was also the main residence of the peasantry who took refuge here -- and their herds. A make-shift corral had been set up near the stables in the Outer Bailey, and it was filled to overflowing with pigs, sheep, and an astounding number of cattle.
The roadway between the main gate and the inner bailey had been kept clear, as had a path to the stables, but every other square foot of space was being used for tents, wagons, dogs, cats, children, laundry, and the like. The only other clear space was one in the center of the largest grouping of shelters on the larger, eastern side of the bailey, where refugees from Hymas had gathered. The central clearing was used as a public gathering space.
It was interesting; not only had Hymas congregated together, the folk of Minden Hall had clumped near the main gate on the Western side, and the few people who had made the trip from the tiny hamlet of Winakur had created a kind of village-in-exile along the curtain wall near the stables.
The Inner Bailey was less crowded, as it was reserved for exclusively military personnel. That made it far, far less crowded than I would have preferred. With the militias and the few professional soldiers, there were about two hundred men-at-arms (and many that were not that well armed) available. It took a minimum of forty men to patrol the walls and man the various fortifications, but that was far from ideal. There was a recruiting effort going on among the people, and about twenty men a day were pressed into service, but it was clear that we were limits to what these peace-loving farmers could do.
Our tower was one of two that straddled the wall between the baileys. They were empty of people (except for us) and used for storage. Or people, should circumstances warrant. The first level of each was two stories high, stacked with firewood and other consumables. In addition, each was topped by a small wooden observation tower. Perfect for us wizardly types.
The Spellmonger Series: Book 01 - Spellmonger Page 15