Arcanist

by Terry Mancour

  “That . . . is Vanador?” he asked, swallowing hard. “It is a hardened place!”

  “Nay, my count, that is but Spellgate, Terleman’s seat, and the gateway to the plateau on which my city stands. This very field was where some of the fiercest fighting took place, this winter past,” I said, pointing out the stains of the battle that remained on the landscape. There were still the remains of the many siege worms we slew dotting the fields, quietly rotting away. There was a pile of thousands of Gurvani skulls, nearly three stories high, stacked in a pyramid near the road. The Gilmorans gawked at the spectacle of fortress and remains, and then Anvaram spotted the tall, looming shape of Mother Lightning, Carmella’s signature siege engine, a gigantic trebuchet that towered over the fortress.

  “Duin’s axe!” the count swore, when he spotted it. “That is a rock thrower?”

  “Among other things,” I agreed. “We used it to great effect in the war. It stands ready against another sally, at all times. Spellgate ordinarily has a garrison of a thousand, but it can hold as many as ten thousand. Most of the men are deployed at the moment, of course, but we keep vigil here against the inevitable day when another horde threatens us. Or any other threat,” I added, casually.

  I made a great show of riding ahead and climbing the steep causeway first. I rode to the top, then spread my arms out as if I was invoking some god or casting some spell. In actuality, I was signaling the gatewarden, who recognized me and lowered the great drawbridge as the Gilmoran party approached. It was a visually impressive event. When the massive redwood door finally thudded into place and the great maw of the gate was opened, I think half of the Gilmorans started worrying about treachery. The other half were thankful that they had not been ordered to attack the forbidding fortress.

  “And you’re saying that you built all of this since last autumn?” Anvaram asked, skeptically.

  “Last summer, if you want to be technical,” I corrected. “But it only took us months to put most of it in place. Magic is a tremendous aid in such things,” I pointed out. “We in the Magelaw have had to use magic when circumstances insist, otherwise we would have fallen before Yule. This is but one of the many projects we undertook when I came here,” I added. “My personal estate is but a mile or so down this road,” I said, as we entered the grand courtyard, and I indicated the proper track. “Spellgarden, it’s called. A small, quaint little domain, but well situated in case I need to get to Spellgate quickly.”

  “But where is Vanador?” Anvaram demanded.

  “Twenty miles hence,” I promised. “Don’t worry, the roads are good, and the riding is easy, this time of year. There is a nearly steady stream of commerce betwixt city and fortress, to keep it good supply. And we will pass the village of Tolinder, where once there were nearly a hundred thousand rescued slaves encamped. The Great Emancipation, they call it,” I chuckled. “To be frank, it was a mere distraction while I prepared for the surprise assault on Olum Seheri. But those freedmen now comprise the peasantry, the artisans and the militia of Vanador,” I said, proudly.

  “Yes, though many of them are sworn to bondage, back in Gilmora,” he said, sourly. “You have many of our folk, here, escaping their financial and feudal obligations, Spellmonger.”

  “And here they will stay,” I agreed, quietly. “There are no bondsmen in Vanador, by statute,” I informed him, and not for the first time. “Nor do their debts apply. If any Gilmoran lord attempts to defy that law, then we might have to take this war seriously,” I warned.

  “We shall allow the lawbrothers to sort it out,” Anvaram said, evenly, as we came to the gate that led to the plateau, proper. “But there are many who enlist in this army for no better reason than to reclaim their obligations.”

  “I would not encourage such a course,” I said. “Else they find themselves on the wrong end of a sword. I have trained my people in defense. They are now armed with weapons and armor that are, objectively speaking, superior to those your knights bear. And they are trained in their use. They will keep them, when the war is over,” I warned.

  “What?” Anvaram asked, shocked. “You permit arms to the peasantry? What keeps them from revolting?”

  “Good governance,” I chuckled. “We have a great land, here, but it is sparsely peopled. I need every hand that can wield a sword to be well-practiced in its use, due to the danger to my realm. My people know that they live on the edge of ruin. Only by everyone contributing to our defense do we hold any hope for survival. My people will not rebel,” I predicted, “as long as they know that they have a wise and benevolent lord looking to their defense.”

  “That seems an awful risk,” Anvaram said, shaking his head. “One that invites peasant’s revolts. We do not take such chances in Gilmora,” he informed me. “The lower orders cannot be trusted with arms!”

  “Which is why so many elected to become free subjects of the Magelaw, instead of returning to Gilmora to become disarmed villeins. I have fellows who were doomed to becoming stable boys for life now running their own estates. If they take up arms against me, it will be because I was a poor governor of their fates or mistreated them.”

  “I think you will find that such indulgence will ultimately lead to chaos,” Anvaram pronounced. “I know you are recently come to the nobility, Spellmonger, but there are some things that are universal. If you permit your peasants arms, you will get rebellion, revolt and sedition. They think they are as good as knights, if they possess them.”

  “In some cases, they are,” I said, lightly.

  We continued to discuss the merits of arming the populace all the way to Tolinder and beyond. Anvaram just could not imagine a world in which everyone, not just the nobility, enjoyed the right to own weapons. It challenged his sense of order.

  Thankfully, other topics came up, after we first sighted the imposing structure of the Anvil, in the distance. If Spellgate disquieted him, then Vanador made him succumb to awe.

  “This is my city,” I said, casually, as we crossed the outer precincts. “Founded by Baroness Pentandra, Court Wizard of Alshar, it is the home and haven to all manner of folk. While it is a city of wizards, there are also many other exotic peoples who live here.”

  “It is as large as Asgot?” he asked, genuinely curious.

  “Far larger,” I assured, with a smile. “And it is almost entirely under that rocky ledge up ahead. Many of the citizens were originally tradesmen from Tudry, but we’ve developed quite a bit of local industry in the short time we’ve been here. Your Gilmorans have added to that. Many a man has improved his station after having arrived at Vanador a penniless slave.”

  Anvaram didn’t seem impressed with that notion, but he was decidedly impressed by the size and scope of the city, as we approached its gates, and with the fact that most of Vanador was, indeed, contained within the overhanging rock.

  “When you said the city was under the rock, I thought . . . dear gods, it really is under it!” he gasped.

  “For resistance to dragons,” I explained. “There are magical protections, as well, and thankfully we haven’t had to test them. But it reduces the area which the dragon could reach. And wyverns. The walls are still being built, but they will be forty-feet high and twenty-feet thick, when they are done. The stones are melded together by magic and then mage-hardened. But I wonder how it would fare against giants . . .”

  “Giants?” snorted Anvaram. “Now you are just treating me the fool, Spellmonger!”

  “Actually, we faced one not a week ago,” I promised. “Fifty feet high if he was an inch. First one I’ve seen,” I admitted, “but if there’s one, there’s more. We call him ‘Lord Tiny’,” I smirked. “We drove him off with giant falcons and scary lights, but there was, indeed, a giant.”

  Anvaram shook his head in silence for a few moments as we continued to approach the gates. He stared at a Wood Dwarf pulling a cart heaped with straw in the other direction.

  “Was that a really ugly man?” he asked, openly gawking.

 
“That is a reasonably handsome Malkas Alon,” I corrected. “And they have excellent hearing, so don’t be rude. They’re good folk. About a thousand of them have made Vanador their home. There’s even a quarter of the city devoted to them. And another for the Tal Alon,” I counted off, “one for the Tera Alon, and one for the Alon Dradrien. Vanador is wealthy in cultural influences.”

  “You permit nonhumans to live in your city?” Anvaram asked, both intrigued and disgusted.

  “Live in it? They are citizens of it. They pay taxes and live under my law. Just as my human subjects do,” I explained. “The Malkas Alon have built most of this city, and the Alon Dradrien have built most of the industry. The Tal Alon help tremendously with local food production and some artisan work. And the Tera Alon . . . well, they wander around, laugh a lot, and make the place look and sound pretty.”

  “And you have a thousand of these creatures here?” he asked, skeptically, as he looked around at the gates.

  “A thousand Malkas,” I corrected. “About that many Tera Alon. Two thousand Tal. But only a few score of the Iron Folk. As well as forty thousand humans. Though there are twice that many sheltering in Vanador against the war, at the moment.”

  “And you built all of this in less than two years? I cannot believe that,” he said, though the proof was right in front of his eyes.

  “All it took was magic. And dedication. And a crap-ton of money,” I admitted, as we finally came to the gate. “Welcome to Vanador, Count Anvaram, the City of Wizards!” I spread my arms, and the great redwood gates were flung open. Thousands of people crowded the streets as I led the Gilmorans down the main boulevard.

  “Here we have several excellent markets, featuring all the charms of the Wilderlands and delicacies from afar. We have a fully-functioning bouleuterion – that’s a manufactory for enchanting,” I explained, “and the world’s only College of Thaumaturgy. We’re working on getting a more basic school of magic set up, but we’ve been preoccupied with this damned war. A city by, for and supported by wizards,” I concluded. “The only one of its kind on Callidore.”

  As we rode past the cheering crowds, the Gilmorans puffed up, realizing that they were being hailed as heroes by the very people they had come to fight. It must have given them highly mixed emotions. Anvaram got caught up in the jubilation and started waving back and giving the occasional bow. The Gilmoran count was accustomed to pomp and circumstance, honor and acclaim. I was giving the little shit exactly what he wanted.

  “The people are ecstatic that the Count of Nion would bring his knights to our aid,” I said, using magic to ensure he heard me over the crowd. “Many of them are Gilmorans and see it as a sign of friendship. There is to be a banquet tonight in your honor,” I informed him, “to celebrate the victory. All of the city will participate, but we shall hold a public court in the city square – which is actually a circle. There, at court, I will dispense honors and justice. I will introduce you to the people whom you wished to fight. And we shall settle the matter of Lady Maithieran and Magelord Astyral. If you are not satisfied with the result, you may ride back to your men in the morning and prepare to continue the war. I will remain here and prepare our defenses accordingly.”

  “We are not equipped to besiege a city such as this,” he admitted. “Indeed, we had little idea that this city of yours even existed. And we certainly did not know how large or well defended it was. Even if I wanted to assail it, I would have to cross that frightful fortress of yours, first.”

  “Spellgate is a powerful defense,” I agreed. “But the spirit of my people is greater. The Vanadori are happy, Anvaram. They are proud, and rightfully so. They are defiant. They are brave. They are protected by the best warmagi in the world. And they are heavily armed and trained in their use of arms.”

  Dara chose that moment to lead all three wings of giant falcons on a swirling circle around the entire Anvil, including flying under the Overhang over the city, proper. Each bird that passed by inspired moans of joy and gasps of awe.

  “The Vanadori will not bow to the Nemovorti. They will not bow to Korbal. Or Sheruel,” I said.

  “They do seem very . . . robust,” he agreed, as a busty burgher’s wife jumped up and down, throwing wildflowers in our path. “I can see that the forces of darkness would have a difficult time, here.”

  “Any forces would have a difficult time, here,” I corrected. “Including yours. Including any army that Prince Tavard could put together,” I said, drawing a frown to Anvaram’s face. “I know whose coin it was that filled your purse to pay for this adventure.”

  “His Highness is a generous and beneficent duke,” Anvaram sighed.

  “His Highness needs to understand that he cannot expect to wage war on the Spellmonger and the Magelaw through proxy,” I said, with especial meaning. “Not without consequences. I will ignore the matter for the moment, because I made it serve my purposes. But please inform him that further efforts to undermine me or my realms will have serious repercussions,” I said, allowing my voice to get deeper and darker.

  “Prince Tavard is my duke, and I serve at his pleasure,” Anvaram said, stiffly.

  “Then advise him well: your Prince has better places to spend his money than pointless wars of vanity. Starting a conflict with a powerful noble is not wisdom. It endangers the entire kingdom. He has already exiled me from my beloved Sevendor for three years. I have accepted that because it serves my purpose. But if he continues this feud, I will not be held responsible for the consequences. War with Gilmora would be one of the minor ones,” I added.

  “You threaten the Prince?” Anvaram asked, concerned and alarmed.

  “No more than he threatens me,” I answered. “I have done everything in my power to protect the realm that he is to inherit. He does not have to like me, nor I him, but he does have to realize that antagonizing me when I am defending his legacy is a foolish idea. It does not build confidence in him as a monarch.”

  “It is not your place to lecture Prince Tavard on being a monarch!” Anvaram said, sharply.

  “Well, someone should,” I replied. “He’s mucking it up, on his own.”

  “Wizards do not rule us, anymore, Spellmonger. This is not the Magocracy!” he said, fervently.

  “Actually, as someone pointed out to me recently, this is the Magocracy. Or, at least a magocracy. But that nothing to do with wise governance. Or Prince Tavard’s . . . shortcomings in leadership. Had he prevailed against the rebels in Enultramar, and not lost all of Farise as a result of his adventure, he might be hailed as a hero. But he didn’t prevail. Nor did he learn from the experience, as wise dukes do. Instead, he bribes his vassals to indulge in unnecessary vendettas, and challenges the power of the throne he hopes to one day sit upon.”

  “Perhaps you think a mage would be better suited to that throne!” Anvaram snapped.

  “No, no, the magi are not necessarily any better rulers than knights,” I admitted. “Magic can actually make a poor leader worse, as it can conceal and obscure the authentic problems a leader faces. Good governance can come from any profession, and any class or station. But,” I continued, “as I have been entrusted with the Magelaw as my realm, I will continue to practice good governance, as I can. And that means protecting my realm from those who wish it harm.”

  “Really, Spellmonger, you place yourself above your betters,” Anvaram said, shaking his head. “His Highness comes from a family who has ruled for four hundred years,” he reminded me. “What has your family done for four hundred years? Bake bread?” he jibed.

  “His pedigree doesn’t interest me,” I shot back, ignoring the attempt at insult. “Nor does his station. It is how he rules that matters. You were at the Curia, the same as I,” I reminded him. “You saw his reaction to King Rard’s rule. The Castali court is in trouble, financially, and he doesn’t care. There is unrest in the Riverlands, and he doesn’t care.”

  “The Prince is his own judge,” Anvaram insisted. “It is not our place to criticize. It is our
place to support our liege!”

  “A monarch’s primary responsibility is to defend the realm and support the prosperity of his people,” I said, thoughtfully. “To administer justice and enforce the law. To make wise policies and retain dedicated staff to carry them out. King Rard and Queen Grendine have done that, though they have left a trail of bodies and blood behind them. Prince Tavard, should he become king—”

  “When he becomes king!” Anvaram said, hotly.

  “If he becomes king,” I repeated, “then he would be wise to adopt this philosophy. The consequences for the realm would be disastrous, otherwise.”

  “It sounds as if you are threatening rebellion, Spellmonger,” Anvaram said, warningly.

  “I am predicting the future,” I answered, calmly. “Without recourse to magic. Count Moran is a decent prime minister, for Castal. Yet the Prince ignores his advice more than he takes it and surrounds himself with selfish and greedy counsellors. Men far more concerned with their own honors and wealth than the prosperity and happiness of their people,” I said, speaking of men just like Anvaram. I don’t think he got my point.

  “Prince Tavard has always looked out for the interests of the people,” Anvaram insisted. “It is not his fault that he is beset with problems not of his own making!”

  “Yet he presses this foolish war and convinces vassals like yourself to waste their time and resources on it,” I countered. “Every ruler faces conditions not of his own making. That’s the godsdamned job,” I enunciated. “Blaming fate and circumstance does not change the result. Either he can do it, or someone else, inevitably, will.”

  “And is that why you allured me and my men north?” Anvaram prompted, angrily. “To humiliate the Prince? And myself?”

  I gave him a long, searching look before I answered, the kind that is designed to make someone extremely uncomfortable.