Alya was smart, as well as beautiful – she had increased profits at her father's farm while she had been in charge of the cheese shed. She could read, which is rare in a woman of Boval (or a man, for that matter) and had actually read five or six books, which made her a scholar by local standards. She had an abiding curiosity about the world and a quick and sharp wit. And she had over a year of repressed tensions to work out. All in all, a wonderful companion during this time of stress and crisis.
In my mind her wholesome, noble image crumbled a bit when a strip of bacon popped, sending a drop of hot grease to splatter on her left breast. She shrieked and dropped the bread she was buttering (butter side down, of course) and rubbed her burned breast.
"Shit!" she yelped, her impressive demeanor instantly transformed her back to a fussy peasant housewife. I couldn't help but chuckle, which startled her again.
"Never fry bacon naked," I admonished her. "Or didn't your mother ever teach you that?"
"It was never an issue at our house, but I'll keep it in mind. It's about time you woke up." I swung my feet over the side of the hammock and stood, realizing that I was naked too. I quickly crossed the cold stone floor and bent to kiss her boo-boo. Reaching out with my mind I repaired the tiny burn without even tapping into the power of the witchstones. The effect tingles, and it had a predictable effect on her nipple.
"Boo-boo is all better now," I said, grinning.
"Great. You're a handy one to have around."
"Let me show you just how handy –"
"After breakfast, you lech. I'm starved!" She handed me a toasted trencher with bacon, fried eggs, and a thick wedge of cheese on it. I paid her a kiss in return and sat down at the small table, which I noticed she had cleared of all the debris that two bachelors can accumulate. The first unmistakable sign, I realized, that I suddenly had a girlfriend. The thought pleased me.
Alya joined me a moment later, still naked, and handed me a mug of strong country tea. Breakfast was excellent, as good or better as I could have done on my own, and the company was certainly engaging – we chatted lightly about nothing in particular for a long while. As I finished the meal, however, the way her tussled blonde tresses spilled over her chest, just managing to cover her nipples, started to get to me, and I approached her with all the subtlety of a dragon. She was spared from a thorough post-breakfast ravishing only by a knock at the door.
I groaned and let her free. She was giggling and trying to throw her shapeless chemise over her head in a token of decency, while I reluctantly pulled on a more-or-less clean tunic. After being naked for two days, wearing clothes was suddenly a novelty.
It was Tyndal. My apprentice stumbled into the room looking like refugee and smelling like a beer barrel. The look in his slitted eyes was all too familiar – I had seen it in a mirror on many occasions.
"Good morning, Master," he mumbled as he sloughed over to the stove and poured himself a scalding mug of tea. "Sleep well?"
I glanced at Alya, who had found a comb and was tugging her hair into shape. "Well enough. I'll have to find some way to thank you." Tyndal glanced up at her and smiled.
"I just thought that, you being so busy with the defense of the castle and all, that you would neglect to introduce yourself."
"Tyndal, I hope that we didn't throw you out of your quarters," Alya asked, concerned.
The boy shook his head – which he immediately regretted – and shot her a shy grin. "You aren't the only lady of the castle who is 'grateful' to the Magical Corps. I did not lack for comfortable beds. I just wish that I had declined that last pot of beer."
"Let me fix it," I said, grabbing the pouch with my sphere off of the table. In seconds I had transformed the alcohol in his blood, although I could do little with the soured contents of his stomach, or the pain in his head. Some things you should just have to suffer through. Besides, if they bothered him enough he could manage the simple spell. Still, his eyes got wider and brighter, and became a less malevolent shade of red.
"Many thanks, Master. I actually came here on an errand. Sire Koucey has summoned you and Master Garkesku to the Council Room. All the officers shall be there. It is to be held at noon which," he said, glancing out of an open arrow slit at the sun, "will be in about half an hour."
I grunted, disappointed that my lust would go unsated for a while longer. If the meeting was in the Council Room, instead of his office, that meant that this would be one of those huge councils that accomplished little. It would be long, and boring, and wouldn't be over with until every junior assistant captain of the trash disposal committee had had their say. At the least it would kill the afternoon. I sighed and grabbed another piece of bread.
"Very well, then, I guess I'll have to go. Tyndal, if you would be so kind as to fill the copper tub with water and then heat it – with magic, mind, no fires – I will have a quick bath before I go."
"I heartily agree!" Alya spoke up. "You were starting to smell."
I gave her an indignant glance, reminding her silently of why I had worked up a sweat. "Just for that wisecrack, you have to help bathe me!"
That would teach her.
* * *
For six months after the last, climactic Battle of the Doge’s Tower, I had the pleasure of being part of a conquering occupation force, with all the duties and privileges associated therewith.
Mostly that meant loot, girls, guard duty, girls, drunken stupors, girls, reprisals against rebels, girls, indulgence in unimaginable luxury, girls, interrogation of prisoners, girls, bargain shopping, and girls. It was a very pretty city (even after we got through with it) and the people were nice (even after what we did to them). I also liked the tropical climate and the exotic foods. I perfected my command of the Imperial language (which the Farisi spoke in a debased form) and managed liaisons with a number of local girls, whose strong Imperial appearance reminded me pleasantly of Penny.
The Coronet Council had installed Master Venaren as the military commander of the city, and in return for our noble service in the battle he made the quartering and boarding of the magical corps a top priority. That meant the pick of the lithe, limber, and exotically dusky Farisi women, for one. After we won the war there was a bumper crop of widows and maidens around, not to mention slaves whose masters had been killed in defense of the town. Master Venaren kept order, making it a civilized occupation. But he didn’t discourage fraternization, and I took full advantage of it. Had I not been careful to do the proper spells, likely I’d have a dozen half-dusky bastards crawling around by now.
But after six months, even cushy garrison duty gets old, and about the time we started growing restless we began receiving orders to return to the Duchies and be discharged from service. I was a little shocked. I had grown used to the soldier’s life. My return to civilian life put me right back where I had been on graduation day.
Well, not quite. I had a pile of loot and a fairly big payoff from my service, more than my father made in ten years. One of the reasons the Magical Corps was the first to be discharged, I’ve heard, is that we were comparatively expensive. Once the overt magical threat was gone, regular infantry could be used to pacify rebels. We were paid off and shipped out as fast as the clerks could write the orders. I had enough treasure for a real stake. I just needed to figure out what to do with it.
On the stormy, rat-infested trip back to the Duchies I thought about my future. I had made up my mind to return to Talry, visit my folks, and maybe look around for a court job, when a baron from the Giram Hills who was also heading back offered me a handsome sum to help him attack his neighbor’s castle, seeing as how the man was still on duty in Farise. While I questioned his ethics, I welcomed his gold.
When he stood triumphant on the donjon of his hereditary enemy’s stronghold four weeks later, I decided to go back to Talry and visit my folks. On my way out of the keep, a mule bearing my treasure at my side, a fellow warmage mentioned a count who was involved in a boundary dispute with his cousin and was looking for h
elp resolving the issue. After that it was a knight who wanted assistance settling an inheritance dispute. And after that . . .
A year and a half later I had four mules to tote my treasure and a growing reputation as a reliable mercenary. Oh, I tried my hand at regular magic between military gigs; I worked with a few spellmongers, studied a few weeks with this court mage or that, but the lure of quick gold for doing a simple, if dirty, job was just too potent to ignore. My reputation was growing. My financial reserves were growing. My skills at warmagic were growing.
I also had a growing dissatisfaction with my lifestyle. The problem was simple: I didn’t like violence.
But I was very good at it.
* * *
I was right about the meeting on all accounts. It was a propaganda piece, designed to pat ourselves on our backs for the accomplishment of still being alive. I couldn't argue with Koucey's logic – we needed all the morale we could muster.
First the old knight, sitting on a chair that was one point away from being a throne, gave a long, solemn speech about his ancestors first coming to this land, their brave defeat of the gurvani, their effort to build a peaceful and prosperous domain in this fertile valley, etc. etc. Koucey looked a little less like a condemned man today, and a little more like the leader he was.
Someone had found a clean surcoat for him, and someone else had shaved his cheeks and brushed his hair. His sword was laying across his knees, and in one hand he held his mace-of-office (a little ceremonial club given to him by his liege as a symbol of his dominion). He seemed upbeat and positive, which was a welcomed change.
Others assembled around him included the castle's officers, the representatives of the peasants of the Outer Bailey, and the leaders of his fighting men. We cheered at the appropriate times during the speech, and I tapped into the power of the irionite to make the cheers seem louder than they actually were. It amused me.
When Koucey was finished with his speech, he turned the meeting over to a succession of officers for reports – quartermaster, stores, physician, and pretty much anyone who had a title and wanted to brag about how well they were doing. Then the war leaders had their turn. When they were done Koucey asked for a report from the Magical Corps, and Garkesku and I stood up at the same time. I gave him a glance – I didn't mean for it to be threatening – and he sat down again.
"My lords and goodmen, the Magical Corps can report that the counterattack three days ago was an utter and absolute success. Due to proper planning and execution the enemy's means of breaching our defenses were taken from the field, significant casualties were inflicted, and the Corps captured several items which will greatly aid in our future defense."
"Sire Koucey, my lords, if I may," Garkesku interrupted, standing again. I felt like glaring at him, but I was kind of curious as to what he would say. I bowed and let him take the floor.
"My good lord, while I have every confidence in Master Minalan's ability to direct our magical defense – he is a trained warmage, after all, and we are all damned lucky to have him here – I feel bound to inquire as to the disposition of the magical items mentioned in his report. I would not endeavor to bore a layman with the specifics of it, but while I do not question Minalan's ability or genius at the arts of war, I do wonder if he has disposed of the booty of the counterattack to exploit its maximum effectiveness."
He wanted the stones. I blinked.
"I think it would be appropriate," he continued, trying (without using the Voice) to sound both apologetic for questioning my command and righteously indignant about not getting the stones, "for Master Minalan to consider carefully how best to distribute these assets among our Corps." He looked at me with raised eyebrows.
I thought about it for a moment, and was forced to concede that Garkesku had a point. I had eight stones in my possession, and they were now safe from influence now that they had been in contact with my sphere. I was still getting accustomed to the power available from one stone – it was getting easier, but I was far from plumbing the limits of its power. Trying to use all of them would burn out my brain. There was no good reason to keep the others from using their vast potential in our defense, after being carefully instructed in their use. I shrugged.
"I don't see why not. Have the, uh, magical corps convene on the roof of the tower two hours before dusk."
He bowed to me graciously, and the meeting continued. I sat back down and endured another dozen reports on how successful the fire prevention effort has been. It didn't get interesting until it was time for acting Petty Captain Goodman Loas to report. Loas was a big man, barrel-chested and broad shouldered, a well-respected farmer in the Hymas district.
He was kind of an aberration in that he raised mostly sheep, as opposed to cows, but no one argued with his knowledge of husbandry. He had been elected captain of a few dozen men who made up one of the militia companies, who had taken the robust name Boval Defenders.
"Lord Koucey, gentlemen, goodmen. My company performed as well as can be expected, and lost only one man, old Barner, who had his neck broken by one of those beasties. My son Werin lost a little finger that he'll miss. But that's neither here nor there. What I want to ask you, Lord Koucey, is . . . just what are we doing?"
The old knight was taken aback. "Can you be clearer, goodman? We are defending ourselves against a vicious invader. I would think that that would be obvious. Or perhaps I have misunderstood your question?"
Loas leaned on the spear he carried like it was his more-accustomed shepherd's staff and spoke like he was talking about the weather with a neighbor, instead of an ex officio military officer contending with his liege during a time of emergency. In other parts of the world he would have been dragged away and hanged for his insolence. Here the crowd looked back at him like he and Koucey were debating in a pub.
"Sire, I know what we're doing, I'm no simpleton. A month ago, I was worried about how many sheep the wolves would get this summer. Now I'm a soldier in a castle surrounded by enemies, with no help in sight. Not that I'm ungrateful, Sire. We struck 'em a good one, we did. But for what? Are we to be rescued? Will the Duke send troops – enough to stop that whopping big army out there? And what if he does? He can drive those monsters back up into the mountains, but what's to stop them from returning? I can't tend to my stock when I'm worried the likes of them are lurking about, just waiting to brain me with one of their clubs. I love my lands, but my life is worth more to me."
"Aye!" shouted one of the other farmers-turned-militia. "You sent word to the duke weeks ago. What of it? And what of the spellmonger? Can't he send for help?"
A raucous murmur built up around the far end of the hall, where the peasants congregated. I watched Sire Koucey struggle to answer the uncomfortable questions, and I could see he was not up to it.
The problem was that Loas had a very good and very valid point. He could count, as all shepherds can, and he knew how many of the foe faced us. They were arriving at our doorstep like leaves in autumn. Even if every man in the Western Duchies took up arms and rode to Boval's defense, it would be hard to drive back the tide. The aftermath of such a battle would leave the valley a scorched wasteland, and the prospect of eternal guerilla raids on the farmsteads was all too real. So why were we holding out here, instead of making a dash for the passes and living to fight another day?
I had been thinking the same thing, lately. Currently Boval Castle was a lifeboat, a place of refuge against the onslaught of the gurvani. But what were we waiting for? The Duke would see the loss of Boval a minor concession to the gurvani that could be won back at a later date, after he properly prepared. The cavalry would not ride over the hill, swords flashing. We could hold out for a good long time, but for what? The inevitable result would be the same.
That great green glow I had glimpsed in the West was coming toward us, a concentration of irionite so large that the Tree Folk had warned of its potential to warp reality itself. It was becoming increasingly obvious that it wouldn't be a question of if we would b
e overwhelmed, but when. I watched Koucey try to respond, his face twisted up in a mixture of anger and frustration. I knew an explosion of emotion would be bad for morale, so I intervened.
"I would like to answer petty captain Loas, if I may," I said, bowing toward Koucey. He looked relieved and anxious at the same time, but nodded permission for me to continue. "You are correct, petty captain. But you have confused the subjects of tactics and strategy. Our primary goal has been to persist in this place, which affords us good protection, and defend ourselves against the foe. That is a tactical problem. Where we go from here is a strategic question, and one that has been on all of our minds – Sire Koucey's most of all. But the tactical situation must be settled before we even know what our options are."
"What about you, Spellmonger? Have you no spells to send for help?"
I nodded, solemnly. "Aye, and I did. And help may be on the way – or it may not. I have not been able to penetrate the magical cloak that the gurvani shamans have placed around the castle to find out. I say to you again: worry about keeping the goblins from our walls, and your lord will worry about our ultimate course."
Loas took a long moment before he sighed and nodded his head in agreement. Koucey looked to me gratefully, and asked for the next report.
It was a temporary fix to a serious problem, though. Every day we were here our odds at survival grew less, and everyone knew it. It would be against human nature to surrender to the inevitable, and rescue seemed a dim hope at best.
Damn it, Koucey, I thought to myself as we left the hall, just what the hell are we doing here?
The Spellmonger Series: Book 01 - Spellmonger Page 25