Tonight it was guarded by two knights in formal surcoats as the boys arrived with their guests. Atopol and Gatina had been thrilled to be invited, almost as thrilled as being suddenly presented with witchstones. Both had been eager to take their oaths and begin the process of learning how to use them to great effect, and word was sent to Master Hance that a third stone was available for his use.
But when Rondal formally asked Gatina to dinner with the Spellmonger and his guests, he thought her pretty purple eyes would explode, they got so wide. She couldn’t even speak for a moment.
Atopol was more gracious, but no less excited. Minalan the Spellmonger was a legendary figure, now, and a man of great power. Just meeting him was an honor to the two young wizards. They hurriedly agreed, and then scrambled to the best tailors in Falas to secure new clothes for the occasion. The four spent the afternoon shopping, lavishly spending on the finest wardrobe and shoes they could without thought to the price. By late afternoon the tailors had done their business and all four were sharply dressed.
Rondal had chosen a rust-colored doublet with pointed shoulders, new tights in dark green, and added a formal gilded leather sword belt he didn’t even bother haggling for. Tyndal went with a much lighter green velvet doublet, adding a broad-brimmed hat with a firebird feather in the band. Both bought mantles in matching Sevendor green, and pinned them with their snowstone snowflake clasps.
The Salainesi siblings were no less dashing: Atopol found a new sable-colored cloak trimmed in actual sable, under which he wore a doublet of subtle gray, embroidered with black. His sister was fitted for a dark gray gown that clung to her lithe curves delightfully, by Rondal’s estimation, with a modest bodice and a beautiful black cloak.
“The family colors,” Atopol explained.
“They look kind of morbid,” Tyndal said, sneering good-naturedly. “Like a funeral.”
“They’re the colors of night and twilight,” Gatina explained, annoyed. “They’re not supposed to attract a lot of attention.”
“Maybe this will,” Rondal said, drawing a silver necklace of finely-wrought chain out of the sleeve of his new finery. He’d found it amongst the Rats’ trove, and found it striking. The charm was of two silver cats playing with a large diamond. “I saw it and thought you should have it.”
“That comes out of your share,” Tyndal said, warningly.
“I know,” Rondal said, rolling his eyes. Gatina squealed and let him put it on her.
You know, now that you gave her expensive jewelry, you have to keep her, Tyndal said, mind-to-mind.
I already gave her jewelry, he reminded her. That ring?
Oh, right, Tyndal conceded. But that was business. They were magic. That thing is pure glitzy prettiness, and she’s playing with it like a kitten does a string. So it counts. You’re really screwed, now. Do you want this girl to drag you in front of a priestess? he accused.
Would that be so bad? Rondal responded, defensively.
For your career, yes, Tyndal snapped. Look, I like the girl . . . I really do. She’s a lot better than . . . well, you could do worse. But that’s not a reason to get married.
We’re just having dinner, reminded Rondal. That’s all.
We’re having dinner with the Spellmonger and the most famous warmage in the world. That’s certainly how she’s going to see it. Striker, I’m starting to think you’re falling for this girl, Tyndal replied, thoughtfully, after a pause.
So what if I am? Rondal asked, pointedly.
Nothing, Tyndal agreed. I just don’t want you to . . . make a mistake.
Why would being with Gatina be a mistake?
I don’t know if it would be, conceded his partner. Just . . . be careful.
By the time they’d returned to Sevendor and ridden from the Rat Trap up to the castle, both shadowmagi were enchanted by the experience. It helped that Minalan’s court wizard, Dranus, had lit the place gaily with magelights hovering over the towers and battlements, including a big one over the massive new gatehouse that led to the mountain. The various hues bathed the white castle in a rainbow of magic that sparkled in the distance. Once they had the knights at the hall announce their presence, Rondal proudly extended his elbow for Gatina to cling to, and escorted her within as Tyndal and Atopol followed behind.
Master Loiko and Minalan were already present, as were Dranus, Banamor, and Master Olmeg – Magelords Dranus, Banamor, and Olmeg, Rondal reminded himself. The Tal Alon servants their former master preferred were scurrying around, setting up the trestle tables and laying them with trenchers while the cooks began bringing in dishes from the kitchen outside.
“My lords,” Rondal said, with a deep bow, “may I present Lady Gatina anna Salaines, and Lord Atopol, of the same House. Now High Magi of Castalshar . . . the rebellious parts, that is.”
“A pleasure to meet you two,” Minalan said, warmly . . . but not as warmly as he used to, Rondal noted. Since the Magewar he’d been distant on the best of days. But at least he was engaged in the experience. “I have heard much about your extraordinary efforts on behalf of the Estasi Order and Duke Anguin, and I am eager to hear much more.
“Lord Loiko, these are the two young men I spoke of: Sir Tyndal and Sir Rondal. Former apprentices, the inaugural knights magi, and two of the best warmagi it is has been my experience to command.”
Rondal fairly beamed at the praise . . . and he could feel the smug sense of glory rolling off of Tyndal’s already-too-big-head in palpable waves. Gatina looked at him with even more appreciation.
Lord Loiko was a shorter and less-broadly built man than Minalan, and he’d cropped his hair close to his scalp in the Farisi style. But his hawkish eyes seemed to drink in everything around him, and he moved with a preternatural grace that suggested Rondal did not want to duel him . . . ever.
“My lords,” he said, in thickly-accented Narasi as he nodded to them. “My host has spoken highly of you and your efforts. And your ingenuity. Is it true, did you really invade the Tower Arcane when it was full of Censors? With irionite?”
“Actually, only Atopol invaded it, my lord,” Tyndal said, patting his friend on the shoulder. “He is a Shadowmage of rare talent and ability, from a House of shadowmagi famed for such,” as everyone began taking their seats. A brace of Tal servants began moving from seat to seat with a basin and towel.
“It wasn’t that difficult, with the riot and all,” Atopol demurred as he took his own seat.
“Riot?” Loiko asked, one eyebrow cocked.
“The Estasi Order prides itself on approaching its missions creatively,” Rondal explained, as diplomatically as he could. “It was a pretty small riot, as such things go. And only involved our enemies: the Censorate and the Brotherhood of the Rat.”
“It also had me flying through the air and landing in a cold river four hundred feet away from the summit of the tower,” reminded Atopol. “I nearly soiled myself.”
“Trebuchet,” explained Rondal to the master warmage. “It was the only way to escape the tower. We planned for that,” he added, quickly.
“Remarkable,” nodded Lord Loiko, as he washed his hands. “Things really have changed since I’ve been in Farise. I left the Five Duchies and come back to a kingdom. I conquer the Mad Mage, and come home to face a country full of them.”
“How fares Farise, these days, Lord Loiko?” Minalan asked, politely.
“On the brink of rebellion,” admitted Loiko, darkly. “There are conspiracies and rebels around every corner. The council that rules the city is appointed, and few understand how to run a city, much less that city. And, of course, keeping the pirates at bay is a constant challenge. One that I failed. Hence my presence here.”
“How so, lord?” Tyndal asked.
“Princess Rardine came on an inspection tour – seeking a husband, but Farise has few men who would make a suitable match for . . . a princess of such rare temperament,” he said, diplomatically. Rondal and Tyndal exchanged glances. “I provided constant security for her
visit and even foiled a native assassination attempt.
“But after she left port, her galleon was taken by pirates,” he sighed. “She is kidnapped, and held for ransom . . . not the sort of thing that a king takes lightly. Even less so a doting father. His Majesty’s letter was quite . . . terse,” he said, leaving much unsaid about the matter. “But I am now at liberty to pursue my own interests,” he added with a contended sigh.
“Are you not resentful of your dismissal, my lord?” Rondal asked, politely.
“Five years of occupation duty is enough. Too much, as it happens. My daughter could not contend with it, and left us. We thought she was out in the jungle, studying magic with some of the tribes out there, but she vanished from Farise altogether. For a time, I commiserated with poor King Rard . . . but then I received word that she had re-appeared in Sevendor.”
“With a brief but brutal holiday in the service of Sheruel, in the Penumbra,” Rondal added.
“Well, it was a command position,” Tyndal pointed out. That didn’t seem to mollify her father.
“I forbade her to undertake study in warmagic, but she insisted,” he sighed. “How does one argue with a girl that age? The moment she could escape the palace, she was off. Now I find she’s been consorting with . . . those things,” he said, shuddering. “It makes me feel a failure as a father, as well as a commander.”
“Believe me, my lord, if Lady Mask is your daughter, you had a challenge from the gods from the start,” Tyndal assured him. “She is tough. Stubborn and emotional, sometimes, but tough. With a witchstone she was incredibly difficult to beat.”
“I’m gratified that you did,” he said, grimly. “She has always been a willful child, determined to prove herself worthy in my eyes, when she should realize that it is not her skills I judge in her. We have had a . . . complicated relationship since I remarried. Her mother died before we left for Farise,” he explained. “And once there, I had little time to spare for her. Before I lost the king’s daughter, I fear I lost my own.”
“I have given Lord Loiko a witchstone and taken his oath,” Minalan said, quietly. “As a High Mage, he shall have custody over her.”
“But . . . she tried to kill you!”
“She did,” Minalan said, his voice tight. “And all in my family. But she was under the influence of Sheruel, having had use of his stone: an important warning for those who would dabble with the irionite from the gurvani. Her feeling was entirely under his dark influence. Even without the Dead God’s direct instruction, it was potent enough to color her perspective. She will recover, in time,” he assured.
“But will she stop trying to kill you?” Rondal asked, cautiously.
“We shall see,” shrugged his former master. “She’ll have to cue up with the rest of them, I suppose, if she does. But I reasoned that if anyone could restore her, it would be family.”
“I do hope your faith in me is not misplaced, Baron,” Loiko said, shaking his head. “My daughter is not fond of me, at the moment.”
“As you are sparing her a trial for treason, I’m hoping she is willing to be cooperative,” reasoned the Spellmonger.
“Your daughter is still an infant, Minalan,” Master Loiko said, shaking his head. “She’s about as cooperative as a daughter gets.”
“I have five sisters,” Minalan said, knowingly. “I am no stranger to the whims of femininity.”
“Then you understand why I am not particularly hopeful. But I will try. Of course, since I do not have a home to take her to, looking after her myself will be problematic . . . I was given lands in Castal, but I have not yet taken them.”
“Then I encourage you to take residence, my lord,” Minalan offered. “There is something magical about building a mageland. Your daughter made a passable start at it in the Penumbra, where she commanded a garrison of hobgoblins. I think if she were invited to help in that endeavor, you might be surprised at her response. Until then, you and your wife may remain here as my guests for as long as you’d like.”
“I confess I’m fascinated in this remarkable little domain,” the warmage agreed. “If I could manage a tenth of what you have accomplished . . .”
“A full set of agricultural and forestry wands, and you’d have a great deal of it,” Tyndal offered.
“Indeed,” Master Olmeg spoke for the first time. “With my spheres and a goodly set of enchantments you should be able to raise the yields of your peasantry to near double.”
“I would also advise that you invest in a complete set of sentry rods,” added Dranus, wiping his mouth after finishing his soup. “Few magelords have taken residence in their lands without being challenged by those knights who mistake a mage’s robe for a nun’s habit. I’ve ordered twenty of them myself,” he boasted.
“Ishi’s tits, why?” Tyndal asked.
“Because in a few months the Council of Moros will meet to elect a new Count,” replied Minalan. “Dranus plans to advance his name in that cause against his brother.”
“Half-brother,” corrected the court wizard, politely. “The county is a prosperous one, and my lands there give me an excellent base from which to press my case. But that does mean I shall have to leave your service, my lord, at least temporarily,” he added, apologetically.
“Well don’t look at me to replace you!” Banamor insisted, suddenly concerned. “I’ve got far too much in my bowl as it is!”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Minalan said, although he did not explain his reasoning. “In fact . . . I was going to ask Master Loiko if he would be interested in the position.”
“The most famous warmage in the world?” Tyndal asked, stunned. “Your court wizard?”
“It’s not a bad post,” Minalan said, pushing away his porridge bowl half-eaten. “Dranus has ironed out most of the operational details and gotten it down to a routine that any decent wizard should be able to pick up.”
“I’m honored that you consider me,” confessed Loiko. “But is that wise, Minalan? I am hardly in favor at the royal court, since I let Rardine get captured. Hiring me might put you at odds with the royal family.”
“I live at odds with the royal family,” Minalan pointed out. “I’ve just come off of internal exile because I pissed off young Tavard. I survived. I’ll survive this, too. In fact, it helps preserve my independence from them.”
“Min has no problems pissing people off,” agreed Banamor, enthusiastically. “In fact, I think he lives for it.”
“It’s a natural talent,” he said, smugly. “Five sisters, remember?”
“I . . . I will consider your kind offer,” Loiko agreed, after some thought. “It will at least help me get my feet in this bold new world you’ve created in my absence.”
“And it will make Queen Grendine anxious, so there’s that,” Tyndal nodded.
“She’s anxious enough, with Rardine missing,” Loiko said, gravely. “I tried to tell her that I was not responsible for her daughter once she left Farise, but she will not hear of it. But this has proven one thing to me, beyond doubt: Enultramar cannot remain under rebellion, not when it is providing a haven for such a large fleet of pirates.”
“Oh, they’re more than mere pirates,” Rondal assured him. “A lot of them are the old Farisi navy. Expatriates who were dispossessed after the occupation.”
“I know them well,” Loiko nodded. “They are the backbone of the rebellions we faced in Farise. They are responsible for Rardine’s capture, then?”
“Actually,” sighed Rondal, “we know precisely who is to blame: Rellin Pratt, the nephew of Orril Pratt. He’s a pirate who works with the Brotherhood of the Rat. Or did, before we . . . cut off their tail, so to speak.”
“Yes, I don’t think Rellin and the Brotherhood are going to see each other in good favor for some time,” chuckled Tyndal. “But while we were going through some of the parchments we captured at . . . well, we had a busy year in Enultramar, but we had a chance to steal Pratt’s manifest,” he said, summoning the incriminating scroll fro
m a hoxter pocket in his ring. He handed it to Loiko. “If you read through the list of prisoners, you’ll see that the third one down is Rardine.”
“A Pratt has the daughter of King Rard?” the warmage asked, alarmed. “The man responsible for his death?”
“Don’t worry, he didn’t hurt her,” Rondal assured. “At least, I don’t believe so, from what he said. He understands her value. Enough to sell her ransom to the highest bidder.”
“Dear gods, those gangsters have her now?” asked Banamor. “Those poor gangsters!”
“Actually,” Tyndal said, slowly, “I doubt if the Brotherhood has enough coin on hand to buy a street vendor’s sausage pie, much less ransom a princess. But there are . . . other buyers in Enultramar.”
“I will inform Her Majesty that I have a name of the kidnapper, at least,” Loiko said, gratefully. “And at least a general idea of where Rardine might be. But thus far there has been no demand for ransom.”
“My lord, allow us to investigate the matter,” Atopol suggested. “House Salaines has many clandestine connections in Enultramar. Discovering which party purchased the ransom should not be difficult to establish.”
“I would be in your debt, Lord Atopol,” Loiko assured him, pleased. “Until Rardine is recovered, my fortunes won’t be. And I must think of my daughter’s future, as well.”
“Perhaps you should arrange a marriage for her,” suggested Banamor. “A girl that age has got to be thinking about her wedding day, doesn’t she?”
“It is frequently a favorite topic for most girls,” Loiko sighed, “but my daughter is more concerned with warwands and mageblades than flowers and dresses.”
“All the more reason to consider it,” Banamor insisted.
“A woman can be a wife and a warmage,” Gatina suggested, though she had been silently observing up to then. “When Sir Rondal and I are wed, I shall spare no more time for motherhood than I must, before I return to my vocation.”
Watching Master Minalan, Olmeg, Dranus and Banamor all simultaneous snort and choke on their meal must have been gratifying to Tyndal, from the look on his face.
Shadowmage: Book Nine Of The Spellmonger Series Page 48