“Don’t be anxious, boy,” I soothed as I swung my legs over the bed. “The king summons me from time to time for all sorts of reasons. Even in the middle of the night. Fetch my second-best tunic and my best cloak,” I ordered, tiredly, “And do it with magesight; don’t wake up Alya.”
Being summoned before the king for a private discussion is always unsettling, even if you’re a founding member of the Royal Court; perhaps especially if you’re a founding member of the Royal Court. But when your monarch summons you, you go, by the most expedient means necessary.
I came through to the royal palace at the Waystone I’d set outside of the Court Wizard’s offices, where my friend Loiko met me, before escorting me to where his majesty was waiting.
“It’s the bloody prince,” he told me, not bothering to whisper in the night. “His vassals have some sand in their skirts about you and Astyral, and Tavard’s gotten the king involved. A bunch of foolishness, if you ask me,” he added, crossly. “And word has come from Farise. Certainly not worthy of a midnight meeting!”
“What’s Rard’s disposition, if you don’t mind me asking?” It might be helpful to know what I was walking into, I decided.
“He’s about as annoyed about the situation as I am,” Loiko said, shaking his head. “He’s far more concerned about Farise and Wenshar than squabbling Gilmorans. Domestic disputes between his vassals are not where he wishes to place his royal attention.”
Rard met us in his solar – not the grand, extravagant chamber where he met with dignitaries, but the smaller, cozier and darker room in which he did most of his actual work. He sat in the chair, which was his throne by virtue of him sitting in it, and patiently waited.
“Majesty,” I said, with a respectful but casual bow. He nodded in return.
“Bide, Minalan, while my son fetches his vassals,” Rard ordered, indicating a chair. I took it, and it remained a mere chair even though my butt was using it. Kings get all the good perks. “I’ve heard that you are at war,” he said, as if making conversation.
“Between wars, actually,” I shrugged. “We defeated one army. Another prepares to strike. That’s just life in the Magelaw.”
“That’s more excitement than we’ve had,” he admitted. “Here, everyone is gossiping about the opening of the new tournament season,” he snorted. “Meanwhile, I have Farise in the hands of pirates and Merwyn menacing Wenshar. Dragons in the sky and wight-lords raiding my subjects,” he said, shaking his head sadly. “All the world seems to be unraveling, and here I am entertaining . . . this!” he scowled.
“Might I ask what ‘this’ matter might entail, Your Majesty, if it requires the head of the Arcane Orders?” I asked, soothingly.
“It doesn’t,” he admitted. “You are here in your capacity of Count of the Magelaw. One of my son’s vassals says one of your men has kidnapped a woman. Well, one of Duke Anguin’s men, but he’s a magelord, so that involves you.”
Astyral, I realized. Ishi’s tits, was I being summoned to a midnight council with the king over this? My plan was working better than I anticipated.
“The sorcerer’s name is Astyral, Baron of Losara,” Prince Tavard declared, as he entered the chamber, followed by four of his vassals. Two counts, including Count Anvaram, and two barons. “He kidnapped the woman to whom he is engaged, during dowry negotiations, and now he won’t release her back to her family,” Tavard reported.
“Ah, Astyral!” Rard said, nodding. “He is a baron now, isn’t he? So, he’s kidnapped this woman?” the king asked, confused.
“Most cruelly, Your Majesty!” Anvaram agreed, his voice thick with exaggerated anguish. “By tricks and spells, he ensnared the guards placed around the maiden and then stole her away. We’ve searched the scoundrel’s lands thoroughly, aye, and the lands of his kin, too, but she is nowhere to be found!”
“You suspect foul play?” Rard asked, surprised.
“It’s hard to know, when we don’t know what’s come of her!” said the count, sounding aggrieved. “It’s as if she’s vanished into the darkness! There’s no telling what that sorcerer is making her endure . . .”
“Astyral would never harm a lady!” I insisted. “Indeed, he had no desire nor intent to.”
“So, you are aware of this affair, Count Minalan?” Rard asked, frowning.
“I recall hearing something about it,” I demurred. “I’ve been a little busy, this winter, if you remember. Astyral was in negotiations with the maid’s parents about the dowry. Things got heated, and he invoked some old Gilmoran custom,” I dismissed. “But I don’t see how this is a matter requiring the attention of the crown or the Royal Court, at this late hour.”
“I’m starting to wonder about that, myself,” Rard agreed, staring at the Gilmoran nobles.
“This magelord must be brought to justice!” declared Anvaram. “I demand that he is summoned before Your Majesty and be forced to answer for his crimes!”
“I think that would be fair, father,” Tavard added, his arms folded across his chest. Clearly, he was enjoying the spectacle, and my role in it. “Kidnapping is a serious matter.”
“I shall issue a summons for Baron Astyral, then,” Rard sighed, pulling a sheet of blank parchment toward him.
“Yes, a royal summons is just the thing to put the rogue in his place!” Anvaram said, eagerly. “Put the Royal Guard on his trail!” No doubt he had visions of a grand chase through the countryside, a valiant fight with a rebellious wizard, and the ultimate triumph of seeing Astyral in manacles before the throne.
“There’s no need to waste the sealing wax, Your Majesty,” I said. “Please bide.” I closed my eyes and had a quick conversation with Astyral, mind-to-mind. I quickly filled him in on what was happening and urged him to play his role.
“He is on his way,” I said, a moment later, opening my eyes.
“What?” Tavard asked, confused. “He’s here at the palace?”
“Nay, he is . . . elsewhere. But he is a High Mage, one of the mightiest. He will arrive anon. In the meantime, I have heard rumor that there is word from Farise?” I asked, hopefully.
“There is,” Rard agreed, uncomfortably. “It arrived this morning by messenger from the coast. Why they didn’t use the Mirror is beyond me. But it came direct from a sailing ship bearing the flag of Farise – Old Farise,” he added, darkly, “not the royal banner of the governor. It was the black diplomatic ensign bearing the Three Flames – the banner of the Doges.”
“May I ask what it said, my liege?” I asked, boldly. Tavard shot me a look – the fall of Farise was still a sore subject with him.
“It is a matter for the Ministers of State and War, but as you are in the Royal Court, it could concern you, as well,” he sighed. He pulled a folded piece of parchment from under his empty plate, the seal of the Doge pressed deeply into the black sealing wax. “This is a letter from Pratt. He’s been named the acting Doge of Farise, in the name of his uncle, by the Council of Farise. He claims the title as the last true magelord of the Magocracy. He is supported, ironically enough, by the Royal Censorate of Magic, who were founded to fight the Magocracy.
“More importantly, he enjoys the support of the Farisian Navy, as well as goodly portion of the Alshari Navy – the rebel portion,” the king added, unnecessarily. “Together, they are declaring an interdiction zone around Farise and give fair warning that no ship should expect to cross the straights without being stopped,” Rard said, mournfully. “You can expect the tolls they will charge to be high – if they allow them to pass at all. And with Pratt and the Censors armed with irionite, they can control the seas at will.”
“We will conquer them, once again, Father,” Tavard assured, trying to sound confident. “Worry not: the Castalshari will never submit to such brigands and pirates!”
“Oh, shut up, Tavard!” Rard snapped, as he seethed. “This matter is your responsibility. You’ve undone what it took a generation and a fortune to take in the first place! If Pratt is to be believed, we’re no b
etter off than we were in my sire’s day!”
“My King! I took the initiative and—” his son began to defend.
“Spare me your rationalizations,” Rard said, tiredly. “I have heard them all too often. The province is lost, and I know not how it will be regained.”
“Even with magic, it would be a feat, Your Majesty,” I agreed. “How comes the new navy, my Prince?” I asked, innocently.
“Slowly,” Tavard admitted, sullenly. “I continue to raise funds for its equipage. But I am confident that we will sail soon enough to—”
“Enough of that talk,” Rard said, sharply. “We have more pressing matters at hand, apparently: a dowry gone awry. With Merwyn menacing our frontiers in Wenshar, and undead infecting the west, and gurvani in the north, we have a misplaced bride to contend with. Gods save the realm!” he nearly spat.
Astyral chose that moment to appear through the Ways, directly on my Waystone, as invited. He stumbled a bit as he arrived, and nearly fell into Rard’s lap. But he recovered with a display of grace a dancer would envy.
It was the middle of the night, but Astyral looked as fresh as a new-cut flower. His long cloak of sable wool was trimmed with some dark fur and was clasped with a brilliant silver chain I was certain was enchanted to shine. His doublet was attractively cut and immaculately brushed, and he wore his baronial circlet, which was likewise enchanted to gleam.
“My apologies, Your Majesty,” he said, smoothly, before tugging at his heel. “I just got these shoes, and the heels are slightly off,” he said, showing off his shiny leather shoes. They were delicately tooled and dyed deep black, then polished to a high shine. Clearly, he was taking the opportunity to show off his taste in footwear to the leading gentlemen of the kingdom. Astyral’s vanity knew no frontiers.
“Of course,” Rard said, with a sigh. “I remember you, now. Warmage. The dapper one,” he recalled.
“I’m honored to be remembered so by Your Majesty,” Astyral returned, with a bow. “To what service can I be to the crown?”
“Astyral, there has been an accusation of kidnapping laid upon you by this gentleman, Count Anvaram,” Rard explained, gesturing at the Gilmoran. “My son brought it to my attention and insisted it be treated, at once.”
“Of course, Sire,” Astyral agreed, amiably. “As to the charge of kidnapping, I must demure – I merely sequestered my lady, as Gilmoran custom permits, until the dowry is completed and agreed upon,” he explained. “I assure you that Lady Maithieran is safe and secure, chaperoned by priestesses of Trygg, as custom also demands.”
“Where?” demanded Anvaram. “We searched every estate in Losara, and your other lands, and even the lands of your kin!” he said, angrily. “You say she is safe, but there is no abbey in Gilmora that admits her presence!”
“I didn’t say she was in an abbey, nor did I say she was in Gilmora,” Astyral informed them. “The customary law is clear, in this case. But it does not specify just where her sequestration must be. Just that she be watched and guarded by nuns, preferably of the Tryggine order, allowed to visit chapel at her demand, provided appropriate accommodations, adequate food worthy her station, at the groom’s expense,” he added. “I give you my word as a gentleman that all of the statutory obligations have been filled. I had my lawbrother check precedent most thoroughly.”
“But where is she?” asked Tavard, pointedly. “If she is not in your castle, where have you hidden her?”
“Why, in a townhome I own . . . in Vanador,” he said, casually.
“Vanador?” scoffed Tavard. “I’ve never heard of the place!” He might have been lying, but it was clear that he wasn’t particularly familiar with my seat.
“It is the capital of the Magelaw, my Prince,” I explained.
“Then you are involved in this, more than I suspected!” Anvaram gasped, glaring at me and Astyral in turn. “You stole her away by sorcery, and now she’s imprisoned in a desolate, frozen wasteland by an even greater sorcerer!”
“You hold the daughter of my vassal captive, sir!” insisted the other count, Count Asmartan.
“Ah, that girl. Yes, she is a guest in Vanador – far to the north,” I said, with a flamboyant flip of my hand. “She’s comfortably lodged, fed as befits her station, and warded by nuns. In accordance with custom,” I added.
“Did you not mention that you were in the middle of a war, Spellmonger?” Rard reminded me.
“Between wars, Majesty,” I corrected, politely. “I don’t expect the next one to start for a few weeks.”
“War?” squeaked Baron Maynard, on cue. “With whom?”
“The very gurvani who invaded Gilmora a few years ago,” I answered. “Fear not, your daughter is as safe as my own wife and daughter,” I assured him, calmly. “Guarded behind an army of burly Wilderlords. And warded by the finest magelords in the land. Nothing could get to her,” I said, with especial emphasis, as I looked toward Anvaram. “Indeed, it would take courage beyond that of most knights to challenge such defenses,” I said, haughtily.
“Yet we have no assurance but your word!” her father moaned, appropriately.
“My word is sufficient,” I said, sharply.
“We insist on proof of her well-being,” Anvaram said, his lip curled into a sneer. “If you think we’d accept the word of a scheming mage . . . for all we know, she’s been transformed into a sheep or something!” he snorted.
“She’s in as good as health as ever and looks nothing like a sheep,” I replied, patiently. “If you want to lay eyes on her, then merely conclude the dowry. Or you can visit her yourself . . . but I suggest you bring an army,” I added, disdainfully. “The Magelaw is replete with dangers.”
“Don’t think I would shy from such a challenge, count!” Anvaram snapped. “It is unseemly to negotiate under such circumstances – why, he could be ravishing her every night, and we’d be none the wiser! And with magic involved, there is no telling what unseemly spells they’ve placed upon her! Majesty, I implore you to command her release at once!”
Rard looked back and forth between us, his eyes shifting. I think he suspected that there was more at play here than a simple dowry. The intent expression on Tavard’s face, alone, should have told him that.
He cleared his throat and pronounced judgement.
“It seems to me that this is, indeed, a lawful sequestration of a bride, under Gilmoran custom,” he decided. “There was nothing untoward about the . . . kidnapping, and Baron Astyral was within his rights to place the girl in a secure location. I take Count Minalan at his word that Vanador is such a place, and that this girl is being properly cared for and escorted.”
“But, Your Majesty, I—” Anvaram began.
“If you object to this, then either conclude the dowry . . . or take action, according to lawful custom,” he reasoned. “If you want to fetch this girl from Astyral, then send your men north and contest the matter properly. Though why you would undertake such a task for one girl is beyond me,” he admitted, throwing his hand in the air. “A matter of honor? It’s foolishness. But if you want to contest Astyral’s possession of her, then proceed with the customary remedy. That is my ruling.”
“So, if you want her, you may come and get her,” I agreed. “But you’d best come prepared to fight.”
“That is a fight you would lose, Spellmonger!” Anvaram seethed.
“Why? Are you bringing someone other than Gilmoran knights?” I mocked.
“You dare insult Gilmoran chivalry in front of the king?” he asked, his mouth open.
“This isn’t a tournament, Anvaram,” I said, hotly. “You would face real warriors, should you dare the Magelaw,” I promised. “The journey alone would kill you,” I predicted.
“The knights of Gilmora are the finest in the kingdom!” he boasted.
“If you ask minstrels, coinbrothers and brothel owners, I’d have no doubt they’d agree!” I laughed.
“Dare speak ill of them again, and you will see how deadly they can be,” A
nvaram agreed, his eyes staring daggers at me. “I lead more than a thousand knights, myself. None would favor your words with anything but swordplay!”
“Well, thank goodness for that,” I quipped. “If it was dice or horse racing, I might be concerned.”
“Enough!” Rard called, sharply – though I could see he was entertained by the banter. “I have made my decision. Anvaram, either wait for negotiations to be complete or attack the Magelaw,” he said, amused at the proposition. “But I warn you, Count Minalan is a formidable foe. And the Wilderlands is an unforgiving battlefield. But do as you wish,” he dismissed. “I have made my decision.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Astyral said, with a low and respectful bow. “And to you, gentlemen. It’s not often I get to wear my evening garb in such esteemed company. Please let me know when you wish to renew negotiations . . . at your leisure.”
With that he took his leave and left through the Ways.
“Your friend is impertinent, Count Minalan,” Tavard observed, coldly.
“The gurvani thought him so, as well,” I agreed. “But he is in the right. And it is not in your power to challenge that,” I sneered to Anvaram. “Now, I have more pressing matters to contend with. My wife is making cheese tomorrow,” I said, with all seriousness. “And there is the matter of the gurvani. Do I have your leave to depart, Sire?”
“You are dismissed, Minalan,” agreed Rard, apologetically. “At least the news from Farise made this productive.”
“Oh, it was far more productive than you might think, Majesty,” I agreed . . . and with a mischievous glance at Tavard, I pushed myself through the Ways.
Chapter Six
Parley in a Ruined Tavern
I sing a song of good company,
Of nutty ale and fire,
I sing of good tavern friends
With whom you can conspire.
I sing a song of tales of old,
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