Chapter Thirty-Five
Future Plans
The two spent the next few weeks in Vorone, helping to tidy up after a small army of workers swept through the ruins, salvaging everything they could. The few remaining storehouses that had escaped dragonfire were packed with ornaments and objects of art from decades of collection by generations of nobility. Those which escaped damage completely were put away against a happier day. Those which were too badly burnt were melted or added to the great pile of rubble.
Carmella oversaw the entire operation, riding around the site on her construct, trying not to scare the horses used to cart away the salvage. She had already drawn up plans for a new fortress, as she’d described at a meeting in the big canopy that had become her temporary headquarters.
“The problem with this place isn’t that it isn’t defensible. It just wasn’t designed for defense in the slightest,” she explained as she used her stone to display a magemap she’d prepared. “With the palace and the barracks gone, however, a third of the city is now available for reconstruction. If we tear down the northwest wall and rebuild it another three hundred feet further upstream, we open up a large section of riverfront along the northside of the city. Enough to build . . . this,” she said, with more excitement in her voice than Tyndal had ever heard her display.
What she showed them was fully-imagined castle rendered in light and shadow, powered by her stone so that even the non-Talented could see it.
The castle was a series of circular double towers, eight in all, surrounding a central square keep at one end, and a neat but tightly-packed domestic range at the other. A large bailey encompassed the southern side of the keep, with crenelated curtain walls more than twenty-five feet tall and twelve feet thick surrounding it. Mural towers were spaced every fifty feet along its expanse with solid-based fighting decks suitable for artillery spaced on the walls at intervals.
Behind the domestic range on the eastern end of the long castle was a powerfully built gatehouse, seven stories tall and wide enough for a baronial keep. Beyond that was a secondary bailey, enclosing the old gardens and large enough for much of the town to take refuge behind.
Surrounding the outer curtain wall was an earthen wall in front of a moat that connected to the river on both sides of the castle, rendering it technically an island. And the space where the present listfield was located was now a massive storehouse with its own, slightly smaller, gatehouse, also surrounded by the moat.
“Behold, Castle Vorone,” she announced. “A round great barrel keep on enclosed mound, large enough for a permanent garrison of two thousand men. Round towers with stone machiolations. A gatehouse that can act as a secondary keep if the western end is compromised. A river access, to supply the castle or permit escape. And the river, itself, protects the towers from being undermined.
“The central section is the kitchen complex and the new Great Hall. There’s a secondary hall here for the use of the garrison and guard. Storehouses below and in these two towers, along with cistern and latrines.
“The eastern end is the palace complex. On the north side are four floors of offices and chambers, each with a series of inward-facing windows. Eleven suites in all. On the south side are the more minor offices, a few reception halls, and over here is the visitors’ tower. The gatehouse at the far end is almost as strong as the keep, although it is only slightly raised. It has sally ports here and here, and a separate dock through this river gate by the gardens.”
“This . . . is ambitious, Carmella,” Minalan said, studying the map. “Very ambitious.”
“Not as much as you might think,” she said. “By using magi to handle the earthmoving and foundation work, we can have the site prepared for construction by Briga’s Day, late winter at the latest. That includes the foundation, the moat, the motte, the wall foundations, and the outer bank. After that . . . well, with bricking and setting wands, not to mention hoxter pockets for transporting stone . . . well, I can have the keep and the gatehouse built in two years. The walls will take another year, as will finishing the interior of the palace. A year after that I can have the extensions to the town wall completed, as well as the series of mural towers I’d like to build. Oh, and a moatwork and ditchwork across the southern bank of the river, as a first line of defense. Probably with a secondary fortification, of some sort,” she shrugged. “I don’t know, I haven’t planned that far out. I’ve been busy with . . . another project”
“You . . . can build all of this . . . in three years?” asked Anguin, astonished.
“If we don’t run out of stone,” Carmella admitted. “Or money to pay my crews. Even with magic, we’re talking about a couple of thousand men. But that’s another problem. We need proper bosses for these crews. The civil works projects you’ve started will help, but getting good crews and decent bosses is going to take time.”
“We can import some,” suggested Taren, thoughtfully. “There is always a construction project finishing up, somewhere. If we let it be known that there is coin and work to be done, we’ll have your bosses.”
“Some,” agreed Carmella. “But I want to train as many as I can, too. This is a test project, a practice piece.”
“Practice for what?” asked Master Cormoran, curiously. He’d led a crew of three hundred Tudrymen to Vorone to assist in the clean up.
“For Vanador,” Carmella said.
“Vanador?”
“After much discussion,” Minalan said, helpfully, “His Grace has agreed – nay, insisted – that the Arcane Orders build a new capital in the Wilderlands. He has secured permission from King Rard, and while this new keep is a stopgap measure, His Grace has decided to build a new city, from scratch, in the northeast of the Wilderlands. A city built with magic’s aid,” he added. “Carmella will be its architect, and oversee its construction.”
“If we are building a new keep here, what purpose is the expense of building an entirely new city?” asked Count Angrial, the Prime Minister.
“Because the war that has brought us to this dire situation is not over,” Anguin said, shaking his head. “Indeed, I fear it has just begun. At some point in the future, the gurvani – and worse – will send their legions forth from the Penumbra again, and as stout as this keep is, it is still . . . not . . . dragon-proof.”
“And this new city would be?” asked Count Salgo, the Warlord of Alshar, in charge of its defense.
“It would be designed to protect far more than a mere keep on a river,” agreed Carmella. “The site we’ve selected is extremely well-positioned. Natural rock formations would shield a great deal of the town from dragonfire. It sits in an unpeopled but fertile valley, within a double ridge of hills. It has other advantages,” she added. “But it’s the best-situated, defensible site east of the river.”
“The region was overrun before and after Timberwatch, when the legions travelled through it,” added Tyndal, who remembered how terribly the folk of the region suffered. “Most of those folk were slain or driven south.”
“Large enough for a city that could contain most of the folk in the Wilderlands,” Rondal added. “Two of the pele towers were built on the outlying hills, so we already have a presence there. It is far enough away from the frontier to protect not only against the gurvani, but against any human threats.”
“That seems an expensive indulgence, even with our newfound fortune,” Count Angrial said, doubtfully.
“It is necessary, if you wish to afford the folk of the Wilderlands any security,” Pentandra insisted. “As impressive as this keep is, it would still fall to siege, eventually. It is between the Penumbra and the rest of the Kingdom. It was only spared being sacked because the Cotton Road was a more direct route for the gurvani plans. As lovely as this castle is, Vorone will fall, one day, and all its people with it,” she said, with especial urgency. Tyndal wondered if her pregnancy was tainting her perspective.
“Vanador would give the people a place to flee, out of the way of a general invasion,” Minala
n explained. “It lies at the foothills of the Kulines, where many of our Alka Alon allies yet dwell. And the Kasari have a presence there, too.”
“But Vanador will only function if it is constructed quietly, nearly in secret,” Pentandra agreed. “We will not be able to disguise our intent in the long run, of course, but if we prepare quietly, under cover of building this castle, then we can accomplish much through deception before any of our foes realize what strength we have conspired to stockpile there. Then, when things seem dire, we can direct the folk of the western lands to the eastern fortress. Slaves freed from the Penumbra can be resettled there.”
“And when Vorone and Tudry eventually fall,” Anguin continued, “would you have our people be refugees in Gilmora? The Riverlands? Remere? For when that day comes, it will be a dark one that stretches from the Umbra to the distant shore. From Vanador we could strike on their flanks, keep them from committing wholly to the invasion. And if we persist and survive, then we lead our people against the diminished foe and beat them back into exile!”
“How do we do this . . . by building this castle, then?” asked Angrial, whose doubts were clearly in the minority.
“Stone,” Carmella said. “That’s where we star. I can salvage enough from the old palace and local sources to begin the construction here, but that won’t be enough, not for a project this size. We need a quarry, and while there are sites as good, closer, there is a thick vein of granite on the southern slopes of the hills that would be ideal.
“We open the quarry there, build a proper road connect it to the south, and use it as cover for the larger operation. We can staff a camp with engineers and stonecutters, magi and workers, and send a couple of carts down the road every week. But most of the stone will be cut and shipped magically, through enchantments and hoxter pockets,” she said, excitedly. “And the vein is huge. As we cut, we can prepare to lay the foundations to Vanador, and lay out the villages and farms to support it. By the time we’re finishing up on Castle Vorone, we’ll be ready to start the main buildings and defenses of Vanador . . . and have plenty of trained people to do it.”
“How many High Magi do you have?” asked Minalan.
Carmella shrugged. “Hesia’s Seven, and eleven beyond that.”
“Would another ten witchstones help the effort?”
“Avital’s Lever, yes!” she declared. “I’ve got more than twenty journeymen at Salis who are desperate for a stone. Some go hunting shamans in the Penumbra. Some are planning to enter the Spellmonger’s Trial. Ten stones might improve the attrition rate. Or the mortality rate,” she added.
“It shall be done, then,” the Spellmonger agreed. “Make lists of the enchantments you need. We’ll work out the costs later – we may have to establish a second baucletere in Alshar, but that probably isn’t a bad idea, either.”
“And King Rard has agreed to this?” asked Master Cormoran, doubtfully.
“I myself was witness to his permission,” Tyndal said. “Of course, when he made the pledge, I’m sure he was envisioning something far simpler for his nephew. He just doesn’t suspect the resources Anguin has at his disposal. But permission was secured,” he assured everyone.
“Then there is no impediment toward building Vanador. And this castle,” Carmella declared. “The realm needs them both.”
Count Angrial still looked pained, as if he was trying to digest broken glass. “It will still be expensive. Very expensive, even with magic to aid the feat.”
“And dangerous,” Terleman reminded them. “There are still stray bands of gurvani in the region, the odd troll, bandits, and runaway slaves. We will have to establish some security for the place, if we wish to open a quarry and keep it open.”
“The Kasari can help with that,” Pentandra nodded. “Arborn has told me of a major settlement they hold in the western eaves of the Kulines. They know the territory between there and Bransei like their tongues know the back of their teeth. If we enlist their aid to run screening patrols around the place, that will reduce the potential for problems.”
“There is another factor,” Master Cormoran pointed out, thoughtfully. “That region is near to Lady Mask’s old fief. Since her capture it has been taken by another renegade, who has been building his forces.”
“What colorful nickname have you given this one?” Rondal asked with a groan.
Master Cormoran smiled. “We’re still working on it. I’ll let you know. All we know is that the traitor is a renegade warmage of indeterminate origin, but who knows how to order troops. He’s got his hobs drilling daily, and he’s recruiting more regulars from the hill tribes to his west. He’s refortified a small tower, but we think he has designs on something more grand. But he’s the one most likely to contest a resettlement of the northeast.”
“I look forward to learning more, and then killing him,” Terleman said, cheerfully. “My friends, this is a massive undertaking,” he said, “both of them. But it looks like if this is to go forward, then it will be largely on the backs of the magi. Not to sound ungrateful, Sire, but apart from steady work . . . what is in it for us?”
“I don’t fault a man for self-interest, Marshal,” Anguin informed his vassal. “The lands in the region will be parceled out to the magelords who are invested in the construction of Vanador. As well as a few mundane nobles of loyal bearing, such as the 3rd Alshari Commando and Wilderlords of note.”
“You will have the quiet assistance of Sevendor in this,” Minalan pledged.
“And Greenflower,” Taren agreed. “While the resources there are not as grand as Sevendor’s, there are things from Salesius that could prove invaluable to this effort.”
“As Court Wizard, I will oversee the settlement and construction efforts for the duchy,” Pentandra declared. “What concerns me most about this is not concealing our efforts from the gurvani, but from Prince Tavard.” News – gossip, actually – had spread amongst the wizards of Alshar about the young Duke of Castal’s reaction to the news of the destruction of his cousin’s palace: he threw a party.
Ostensibly to raise funds for the survivors, Tavard’s gala in Castabriel was an extended joke at his poor cousin’s expense. The entertainments included minstrels singing of a love affair between Ifnia and Anguin gone wrong, after he rejected Ishi for her, and featured a jongleur in a dragon costume chasing a dwarf dressed in golden antlers and bearing a begging bowl around the hall. He’d made Anguin’s tragedy an opportunity for entertainment.
“The goal here,” Minalan said, softly, “is to get this castle built too quickly for Tavard to try to intervene. It’s almost as large as his castle in Castabriel, and he will surely find it threatening to his Gilmoran possessions. Once he does take note and objects, he will be far too focused on Vorone while we prepare Vanador.”
“And once Vanador is built, proof against dragons and goblins, Castali lances would break on it like waves on the shore,” Astyral smiled. From what Tyndal understood, the magelord was more and more in favor of restoring Anguin’s rule not just over the south, but over the lost Gilmoran lands of his birth. After the invasion of northern Gilmora, he’d heard many Gilmoran nobles express displeasure with their Castali liege.
“Thank you, my friends,” Anguin sighed. “I confess, sometimes I feel adrift, being responsible for the Wilderlands, and so much more. To undertake an enterprise like this, while protecting my people, rebuilding this province, and plotting to retake the south, while dodging my political opponents and keeping the government running and funded . . . well, without good and loyal vassals such as yourselves, I think I would have thrown myself in the river long ago.”
Tyndal smirked. “Your Grace, that river isn’t going anywhere. And the day is young.”
*
*
*
As Vorone recovered and adjusted to the loss of the palace, Tyndal and Rondal were needed less and less. Eventually they returned to Sevendor and the Rat Trap. The days were growing shorter, and the Sevendor Magic Fair was near.
“Basking in glory shouldn’t be too tiring,” Tyndal reasoned.
“I’m just glad we’re not in the Trials,” Rondal agreed, over breakfast two days before the official beginning of the Fair. “I don’t think I could face all of those fresh-faced, determined magi this year and not end up killing a few.”
“I’m actually looking forward to attending a few lectures,” Tyndal said, innocently. “Perhaps focusing on some meatier academic subjects.”
Rondal looked at him as if he’d just burst spontaneously into song. “Why in three hells would you do that?”
“Because after you get married, I’ll have to figure out something to do with myself,” Tyndal sighed.
“Hey! Did you forget our fake sacred vow not to wed until Anguin sits on the throne in Falas?” Rondal demanded, irritated.
“No,” Tyndal shrugged. “But then I proposed the more impossible task of toppling the Brotherhood of the Rat to your girl, and it took her less than a summer to arrange for it. How long do you think she’s going to wait around? She’ll assassinate the Count of Rhemes, if she has to.”
“But what makes you think that is going to happen any time soon?”
“The look in her eye when she danced with you in Vorone,” Tyndal pointed out. “It was as if Ishi, herself, were inspiring the girl to some mischief.”
“I still haven’t agreed to marry her,” Rondal said, sullenly.
Shadowmage: Book Nine Of The Spellmonger Series Page 55