Arcanist

by Terry Mancour

  That brought him in conflict with his neighbors. When Axlan tried to extend his oversight to an independent village a few miles from Traveler’s Tower, and the freeholders threatened him with weapons given to them by Aori, the Wilderlord had threatened to attack Traveler’s Tower. And Aori had threatened to reduce his Axlan’s modest castle to gravel. Relations had been tense ever since.

  Then there was the power that Carmella had inadvertently gathered at Salik Tower. While diligently overseeing construction projects from Vorone to Lotanz, the headquarters and construction yard at Salik had quickly become a thriving small town in its own right. Hundreds of workmen, engineers, masons, carpenters, smiths and other specialists had made the unlikely fortification their home. Subsequently Salik Village, the sleepy rural hamlet nearby, had become Salik Town, a vibrant scene of artisans and tavernkeepers eager to take the coin of the well-paid workmen.

  Carmella was reluctant to take credit for it – indeed, she seemed completely mystified how a town had grown so quickly, under her nose, as it were. That was an odd perspective from someone who was literally building a city, herself. But I’d watched Sevendor do the same thing, and it was clear to me: when people sensed both security and opportunity, they applied themselves. Salik Tower provided just that.

  Salik Tower was now home to hundreds of warmagi and workmen, including a fair number of Rumel’s folk. The fortified enclave was the seat of the entire Hesian Order, including an entire hall, complete with clerks and countingmen, to administer the support order of warmagi. Salik Tower boasted warmagi, professional men-at-arms, skilled combat engineers and plenty of rough-looking craftsmen, and they were formidable enough to scare away anything but an infantry column . . . and once they saw the wild array of siege engines Carmella’s students were experimenting upon, they might reconsider the effort. Salik Tower was safe, and that made Salik Town secure.

  Salik Town wasn’t just boomtown, however; the commerce it invited also demanded provisions and plenty of lower-level laborers at the workshops of Salik were also smallholders in the surrounding lands. Carmella had wisely delegated civic administration to one of her deputies, Magelord Gurmalan, and he acted as both reeve and mayor in her name. The stability encouraged the market, the market encouraged commerce, and commerce encouraged both industry and agriculture.

  Boom. Instant feudal domain.

  As a result, Carmella was considered one of the wisest and most important magi in the Magelaw, despite the paucities of her titles. The people of Asgot, Yellin and Lorvay all looked to her guidance and regarded her counsel with gravity. They had been the beneficiaries of her support and aid since the tower was built, and every new project I commissioned from her produced a new wave of paid workers into the region. Even the dour Wilderfolk in the hardscrabble hills spoke of the Lady of the Tower in kindly and respectful tones. The other magi of the Towers deferred to her as a matter of course, and the wizards of Vanador admired her as a pioneer in her field.

  But Carmella was uneasy and uncomfortable with the admiration and the deference. She just wanted to build, to learn, and then to build better. She didn’t want to be the leader of anything more complicated than a finishing crew. But when politics well and truly came to the Magelaw, she was naturally at the center of it, whether she wanted the honor or not.

  Thankfully, none of her immediate Wilderlord neighbors had taken issue with her rule, despite the large number of “foreigners” – particularly the Malkas Alon who had made Salik their second home. There were a few skirmishes over timbering, and the usual arguments over frontiers, but no one was stupid enough to try to attack Carmella, Keeper of Salik Tower. One look at her walking catapults was enough to dissuade any dissent to her rule.

  “Each of those places needs more work,” Sandy continued, as he continued the tour. He showed me into Cormoran’s private chambers, which were a mess. “Even the Pele Towers. Even Salik,” he assured me. “They each need at least twice the garrison they have and walls ten feet higher than they have. I’m trying to convince the local Wilderlords to consolidate their forces there, but they are . . . resistant,” he said, his eyes narrowing judgmentally.

  “They can’t afford to be resistant. There’s a war coming. If we can spend a few weeks getting those castles provisioned and strengthened,” I reasoned, “Shakathet will have to face them. I want to be in a position to attack from there, should he pass them by.”

  Sandy threw back his head and groaned. “We just spent a duke’s ransom building perfectly good fortifications in the north – why can’t he be a good Nemovort and attack us there, where we’ve already went to the trouble?”

  “They’re pesky, that way,” I agreed. “Get a man under your command in each of those castles and towers to coordinate defenses. Figure out how many men we can comfortably stuff into each of them, and make sure there are warmagi and Waystones at each castle. Now tell me about Vorone?” I prompted, before he could launch into a hundred reasons why what I asked was too hard.

  “Vorone,” he said, settling behind the topic. “Vorone is actually pretty secure,” Sandy admitted. “I was shocked, but Lord Steward Kersal made civil defense a top priority. The walls around the town are in good repair and manned. A third of the garrison is now Alshari 3rd Commando veterans, and they are well-armed and horsed. Most importantly, he’s established a perimeter around Vorone of fortified manors and fortlets to give brake and early warning of any intrusions. Including on the road to Cleston,” he chuckled.

  “Well, I appreciate his thoroughness,” I smiled. Cleston was the first town inside Castal, and fortifying the route meant that Kersal took the threat of feudal war as seriously as the danger of goblins from the west. “Does that mean he anticipates any large armies from the east?”

  “I let him know that there was a possibility,” Sandy nodded, grimly. “He appreciated the warning. And he understands his political role – of that, I made certain. His loyalty is to Vorone and Duke Anguin.”

  “Well, that’s to be expected,” I sighed. “Still, it’s good to hear I won’t have to run to Vorone’s defense, most likely. That would upset my plans.”

  “It would be helpful if we all knew what those plans were, Min,” Sandy frowned.

  “That would ruin the surprise,” I smirked. “Enough people know enough about what they are so that you could put it together, in my absence.”

  “That is not reassuring in the slightest,” Sandy snapped.

  “It will have to do,” I shrugged. “You know more than most. Be happy about that.”

  “Do I appear happy?” Sandy asked.

  “The problem is that we face not just a military struggle,” I explained, “but a political one, as well. And the two have an effect on each other. I have to bear that in mind when I scheme. And sometimes that means obscuring or even deceiving my own people, when necessary. I apologize, but it’s how it has to be for the plan to work.”

  “Can you at least tell me what the goal is?” he complained. “It might be easier to bear my ignorance if I didn’t feel we were careening into the abyss.”

  “Fair enough,” I sighed. “As far as you’re concerned, the immediate goal is to defend against Shakathet. The ultimate goal is to end the goblin threat in the Wilderlands for our lifetime.”

  He considered, chewing his lip. “That’s a reasonable goal,” he conceded, with a sigh.

  I was surprised. “You don’t think that’s a crazy idea?”

  “Min, I’ve seen you turn a shithole mountain village into the premier magelands in the world when you pissed on it. I was skeptical about Vanador, at first, but it was a steady job . . . and now you’ve turned it into a nice place. If it doesn’t get sacked,” he added. “If you told me you were going to turn Tal Alon into charging knights, I’d at least have to give you a chance to prove it.”

  I chuckled. “Don’t tempt me. But I do think there’s a very faint chance that I can accomplish that. The thing is, if I talk too much about the plan, it won’t work,” I explained
. “And too many people will try to talk me out of it.”

  “I trust you, Min,” Sandy assured. “It’s just easier to work when I know what I’m really doing.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Matters Mighty and Trivial

  “She who tends to little things ensures the great hath room to prosper.”

  Wilderlands Folk Saying

  From the Collection of Jannik the Rysh

  As much as I wanted to continue to dwell upon the end of the world, the extinction of humanity on Callidore, the peril my new realm faced, the quiet inquiries from King Ashakarl, the subtle treachery of the Alka Alon, the overt treachery of Prince Tavard and the bleak future of a world beset by evils beyond my control, I didn’t. My wife wouldn’t let me.

  Her creamery, you see, was starting to receive the all-important first milk of spring, as the herds fed on the tender green shoots bursting forth from the muddy soil. This milk was highly prized, she assured me – daily – and the most exquisite care had to be taken to convert it into curds and begin the cheese-making process. Milksister Dawnza was quite adamant about that. And that, apparently, was more important than the minor matters with which I was contending.

  I admit, I was conflicted on the point. I felt responsible, somehow, for the ultimate failure or success of humanity on Callidore. She felt responsible for the production of the best possible cheese, and she felt that was of more immediate importance. Since this was the most animated and invested I’d seen her since my return from Olum Seheri, I was hesitant to bank her enthusiasm with a broader perspective.

  Every evening I was at Spellmonger’s Hall in Spellgarden, I received a lecture on cheesemaking: humidity, temperature, curdling agents, the intricacies of milking, proper aging and storage, and a hundred other factors responsible for the production of a quality cheese. I listened until my ears threatened revolt and my eyelids demanded some respite from the endless sermon on dairy cow selection and beneficial molds.

  And then it hit me: this is what other people heard when I discussed thaumaturgy. Even when they might understand the basics, the minutia of the art was incredibly boring.

  That gave me some solace, as I steeled myself against yet-another discussion of the day’s cheesemaking. Alya’s tendency toward intense focus on the subject was a little disturbing, but I had to admit that it was also refreshingly human. All of us, I reflected, as my eyes glazed over while she discussed proper curd-cutting techniques over dinner, have a weakness to indulge in our professional passions, whether such a discussion was welcome or not. Once we become proficient at some art or craft, we feel compelled to display our mastery of the subject to reaffirm our passion for it.

  I indulged her. I’d fought too hard, and too many good men had died for me to cast aside her desperate attempt at reclaiming her humanity. As painful as it was, I shut up and nodded and gave the appropriate responses to what she was saying as if I was even remotely interested in the outcome. It wasn’t that I disliked cheese or its creation; it was that I had only the barest, passing interest in it. Learning more than I wanted to about cheese was a testament to my devotion to my wife.

  But the distraction of fermenting curds also admirably kept me from plunging into melancholia over the fate of humanity on Callidore. There was something wholesome and human about Alya’s near-obsession with her work, though it had little bearing on anything but what we had for supper. She was as serious and committed to her industry as I was to mine. The consequences of her work were not vital; they had little impact, beyond my household. They would not preserve a life or defeat our enemies, they would not prevent catastrophe or protect our lands, but they kept her grounded in our reality in a way not even magic could.

  I couldn’t explain it. But I couldn’t fault it, either.

  The mixture of mighty matters with the seemingly trivial in my household soothed us both, I think. I took as much of an enthusiastic interest as I could, under the circumstances, and that kept me distracted from an existential crisis that was threatening to overwhelm me. And my interest kept Alya from giving up in her quest to find the perfect cheese for our manor.

  She knew I was paying attention to her and her efforts. She also knew, at least intellectually, the dangers I was facing on behalf of the Magelaw. She did not take that for granted, nor did she pretend that her matters were more important than mine. She merely took advantage of my indulgence, and when she was done reporting her efforts, she was happy to consult with me on my own matters.

  Not that she was particularly helpful. When the problems you face are more on the cosmic side than the agricultural, there’s not much more the layman can offer the wizard than sympathy. I couldn’t very well not tell my wife what was bothering me, but I spared her most of the details of my struggles, and I tried to keep our conversations as simple as possible. I took the sympathy. I needed it. It helped keep my melancholia at bay.

  That was important. As we were preparing to face Shakathet’s legions, having a despondent Spellmonger would not help our cause.

  I took some solace in the splendor of my vassals – the officers of my county. When I’d been given the Magelaw, I’d done my best to bring the finest wizards with me to defend it. Thankfully, I have a lot of loyal and not terribly bright friends whose personal weaknesses I’d exploited to enlist their aid. Their courage and ingenuity in the fight against Gaja Katar had raised them from mere warmagi to something akin to heroes, in the minds of my people. It was inspiring to witness.

  If the battle against Gaja Katar saw Terleman as the hero, then the battle against Shakathet saw Sandoval as the magelord most responsible for our defense. Terleman had worked with Carmella extensively on the concentrated defenses at Spellgate. Walls, ditches and redoubts were the most effective against the hordes of Gaja Katar. Against Shakathet, our armies would have to serve, and Sandy was the man responsible for building them.

  In the southern vales there was no such easily-defensible bottleneck. That was our clear weakness. The entrance to the great eastern plateau encompassed two long gentle rises punctuated by a single cluster of highlands, thrust out over the vale below like the prow of a ship or a plow in the dirt. There were many pathways that led from the fertile fields and woodlands of the Danz River valley, but few remaining fortifications overlooking them. The best defense came from the presence of Anguin’s Tower, on the southern bank. But there was really nothing else keeping an army from climbing the paths up the hills to gain access to the plateau.

  Once we realized how likely it was that Shakathet’s plan was to rush our defenses to attack from the south, it was clear that this would be a far more wide-spread fight than last winter’s battle. The avenues available to him comprised several miles, unlike the western entrance at Spellgate. We just didn’t have time to establish permanent defenses against our foe. That meant using men, not walls, to meet the enemy, and Sandoval was the officer in charge of those men. He left his new bride only a few weeks after his wedding and went to Anguin’s Tower to oversee the defense, while thousands of his troops made the march across the plateau to join him.

  Sandy did not concentrate his attention solely on Anguin’s Tower and the Danz vales, of course; once his position was strong enough, he directed the placement of the main companies of the Vanador Guard in other strongholds in the southwest. He consulted with Azar, at Megelin castle, and began planning the forward defenses. That largely involved arranging for reinforcements there, and at the other local castles, but it also involved overseeing the best places to bivouac our troops before the invasion.

  It was busy work, but a charge Sandy was well-suited to. Just as Terleman was adept at strategy, Sandy had a knack for working with his men, as opposed to just leading them. He understood armies, how they were put together, how they trained, how they functioned. He’d always been a good soldier; I knew from personal experience. I suspected some part of Sandy perversely enjoyed army life; a concept I found a bit horrid.

  But he was good at what he did. As the guardsme
n marched south from Vanador, Sandy ordered them to tarry at Anguin’s Tower a few days before he assigned them to some post along plateau or out among the fortresses destined to stand against Shakathet’s hordes. Some he deemed better for garrison duty, while others he assigned to field duty or some special task, according to their abilities.

  Sandy understood how to size up a unit in the field and know their strengths, weaknesses, and where they would best fit into his plans. Personnel and material, as limited as they were, functioned as his palette as he sketched out a defense against Shakathet that was at once both profound in its resilience and flexible enough to respond to a very fluid situation.

  No one who’d seen the intelligence reports from Mavone thought that this would be a straightforward attack, as Gaja Katar had gifted us. The enemy’s legions were large and diverse, and their potential avenues of attack were many. Nor could we count upon the advantages that had aided us in previous battles. That was brought home by Mavone at the War Council at Megelin, in early spring. He was even more direct in his private briefings with me. Mavone had just provided him with fresh intelligence, and both were eager to share it with me, for entirely different reasons. Mavone wanted to prove how adept his intelligence was. Sandy wanted to show me how dire the situation was.

  “I just received this from one of my most capable Ravens. I’m afraid we cannot depend upon the gurvani’s traditional aversion to getting their furry feet wet to keep them at bay, this time,” Mavone reported, sadly, as he spread out three parchment leaves covered with sketches. At first, I thought they were details of some siege engine – we’d seen a lot of those – but upon closer inspection I could see that this was no catapult.