Arcanist

by Terry Mancour

  “I’ll be honest, Anvaram, my purpose in redirecting your army was twofold: one was to add strength to my own and repel the threat of Shakathet’s horde.

  “The other was to teach your men what real war looks like and how to fight it. When they return from the Magelaw, they will have learned both, as well as a little courage. They will have seen how knights and warmagi can fight in concert. And they will have experience with a foe they did not believe really existed . . . though it laid waste to their own land. They will come back from the Magelaw much wiser and practice that wisdom as fate and circumstance challenge all parts of Gilmoran society.

  “For you have a foe, on your western frontier,” I warned. “The Nemovort Karakush has established secret strongholds in the Westlands. He is not a soldier, like Shakathet and Gaja Katar. But he is no less a warrior. He is not a conqueror, but an infiltrator. He counts his strength not in legions of goblins and trolls, but in subversive magic and treachery. And he aims to hollow out the Westlands and use it as a base against Gilmora, the Wilderlaw, Enultramar and the Magelaw.”

  “How do you know this?” he demanded.

  “Because my spies are better than his spies . . . and far better than yours,” I added. “The point is that you have an evil dark lord on your frontier, Count Anvaram. And you will need all your strength, cunning and prowess to combat it. That includes the expert help of the magi, without which you will be easy prey for Karakush. He will have all of Gilmora on their knees without us.”

  “We will not bow before the darkness!” Anvaram assured me, offended at the very idea.

  “Then accept our help and stand strong,” I admonished. “Within the year, I would say, you will face a challenge as dangerous as the invasion. Prince Tavard will be of little use to you if he keeps squandering your strength on me. You count yourself his friend. So please let him know, privately, unofficially and informally, that if he fucks with the Magelaw or Sevendor again, I will come after him in earnest. And, by Briga’s bright flame, I will destroy him. Oh, look, they’ve set up the banquet pavilion!”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  The Great Oxenroast

  “Banners raised victorious the men come marching back!

  Battlestained and glorious our champions repelled the attack!

  All good men and womenfolk praise and honor to them bestow!

  Revels and celebrations to the victors we owe!”

  Victory Song of the Wilderlords

  From the Collections of Jannik the Rysh

  When Vanador throws a party, it’s always a spectacle.

  My conversation with Count Anvaram concluded just in time for me to stop near the Temple of Crouthr, where I could drop back in line of the parade and spend a few minutes just waving, smiling and laughing. It’s good for people to see their leader calm and relaxed, enjoying victory and a lot of ego-stoking adulation. I was wearing my pointed spellmonger’s cap, with the Magolith flying spirals around my head, and I used Insight to launch a couple of dazzling optical effects to amuse them.

  But I was actually waiting for my warmagi to catch up. I’d been informed that the emergency reinforcements Terleman had sent to the Wilderlaw a few days before had returned, bearing news. I was assuming it was good, as no one was screaming at me to rescue them. I found that encouraging.

  I was gratified in short enough order. After the last of the Gilmorans passed the Temple, a unit of heavy infantry – one of the city’s militia companies – marched by, their steel hauberks gleaming and their halberds held high. Then a line of horses, four a-breast, came through. It was my warmagi. And they looked magnificent.

  I don’t know who’d organized it, but the first nine ranks all bore the tabards of the Horkan Order of combat warmagi and included my command staff. Mavone, Terleman, Sandoval and Astyral rode proudly down the High Street, leading many of the elite warmagi who had fought so hard against Shakathet.

  “How was the Wilderlaw?” I asked, conversationally, as I joined the lead line.

  “We prevailed,” was Terleman’s report.

  “It was a tough fight, and the Wilderlords were in a grim spot,” Astyral explained. “Their keep was cracked and their moat was gone. They were surrounded. But when the enemy is expecting an anemic magical response and you suddenly thrust two-score high warmagi into the mix, it changes the flavor of the soup dramatically. Half of us went through the Ways to shore up the defense, while the other half arrived outside the castle and attacked the foe there.”

  “It took them a day to prepare,” Mavone said, taking up the story, “but they had assistance. The lords of Primolar, Sealgalen and Amsalet were only lightly attacked, and when we assured them that they faced little danger, they rallied and sent a combined sortie to Preshar for relief. We coordinated with them and they linked up with our warmagi. After that,” he said with a smirk, “it was easy to evacuate the ruined keep over their heads.”

  “You . . . flew them out?” I asked, confused.

  “No, no, I sent them our new magical bridge,” Mavone explained, with a twinkle in his eye. “It was just long enough to bridge the area between the lower bailey and the shore. We prepared a counter-attack to distract them, then brought out nearly five thousand across the bridge. They sent a force to capture the bridgehead, but they ran into our second force and fifteen hundred mounted Wilderlords, and they melted like ice.”

  “But the best news is that the Nemovort commanding them was slain,” Sandoval said, adamantly. “A really nasty piece of work named Viscozen. Not terribly imaginative, but brutal.”

  “Thankfully, Azar is more brutal,” chuckled Astyral. “The Nemovort decided to lead his troops personally against the bridge. He ran into Azar. It didn’t end well for him. Our friend led a charge of five hundred of his knights magi and slew Viscozen personally. And his guard. Azar has a few new witchstones for you to distribute, now.”

  “All excellent news,” I sighed, a feeling of relief washing over me. “Where is the Count, now? And his forces?”

  “Marcadine is in Sealgalen Castle, now,” Terleman reported. “We took him there by the Ways. Most of his men made it as far as Primolar, which has broken its siege. He is organizing a counter-attack, in the field, before Viscozen’s tattered force can renew the siege.”

  “A sound plan,” I agreed. “It reduces the advantage the Enshadowed sorcerers can bring to bear. It is good to hear that our friend survives.”

  “Survives? With proper support, he might be victorious,” Terleman snorted. “Viscozen’s force was half of what Shakathet fielded. Half of that is gone, now. If we can send reinforcements and return the Megelini Knights to the field in force . . .”

  “We could have victory, north and south,” Sandoval finished. “Really, Min, Gaja Katar had better troops than Viscozen. He got the dregs of the Umbra’s garrisons,” he assured me.

  “I’ll see what we can do,” I murmured, as ideas began to bloom like marigolds in spring.

  We enjoyed the adulation of the crowd all the way to the central circle of the city, just as dusk was falling. The streets were packed the entire way. Burghers and artisans, goodwives and refugees sheltering in camps all crowded in to see the brave men who had protected them twice in half a year.

  I turned my reins and horse over to an attendant once we made it to the square, and then mounted the steps to the platform Gareth had erected for the occasion. It was broad, as wide as a stage, and clearly of the Malkas craft. Already, Anvaram and his three senior aides were seated in campaign chairs provided, along with the commander of the Vanador Company of militia.

  But when my men and I climbed onto the platform, the crowded square went wild with cheering. There were fewer people in the crowd than Barrowbell had boasted, after the dragon was slain, but their enthusiasm and the Overhang made them seem far louder.

  I was pleased to see Gareth appear, shortly thereafter, along with Jannik.

  “I thought he would be the best at leading the celebration,” he explained. A raucous cheer
from the crowd proved him right, as most of the folk of Vanador had borne witness to his performances in one tavern or another. The Rysh delighted in the cheering, bowing flamboyantly and blowing kisses as he pranced across the stage.

  “He all but insisted,” Gareth continued, using magic to allow us to be heard over the cheering. I don’t think I could have managed mind-to-mind communication with that kind of noise. “He said you would approve, and I couldn’t think of anyone who could do it better,” he admitted.

  “He is the Rysh,” I shrugged. “It is his prerogative. He is the voice of the people and the voice to the people. I trust his judgement,” I said, with a nod.

  “And Pentandra and Arborn have arrived,” he added. “They were coming to Vorone, anyway, but when news of your victory came she insisted on attending the festivities. Also, Lawbrother Bryte asked me to tell you that all is prepared, whatever that means,” Gareth continued, as the first of the Tower Keepers arrived, at the head of her troop. “Luin’s balls, I swear that lawbrothers gain extra grace for being obscure,” Gareth said. We watched as Carmella pumped her fists in the air as the cheering got louder. Despite her awkwardness around most people, Carmella had been tireless in continuing her construction projects in addition to providing material for the war, and everyone knew it.

  “Is everything prepared for the banquet?” I asked, curious. “It will be an important political moment.”

  “Of course,” he sighed. “I have had hundreds of Tal Alon cooking oxen in great pits around the city for two days. Rael has brought in more wine and ale. And the seating arrangements are just as you ordered, in the banquet tent, according to my staff. That’s where you plan to hold court?”

  “Indeed,” I nodded. “Be sure to attend. It should be memorable.”

  The Great Oxenroast became a legendary event, in Vanador’s history. After the divine stampede, we had been presented with literally thousands of pounds of freshly slaughtered beef, as hundreds of cattle had died in the attack. That much beef would have gone to waste, had we not tucked it into hoxters and brought it back. A goodly portion was being distributed back at the army camp on the eastern bank of the Wildwater, to help the men celebrate the victory. I’d purchased two hundred hogsheads of ale and three hundred of wine to for them.

  But that was poor fare, compared to the feast I’d ordered prepared to fête the victors of the War of Spring. As I had at Yule, after the War of Winter, I spared no expense to make the occasion of victory memorable in the minds of the people.

  Three hundred Tal Alon, all told, had been hired to prepare most of it, while victualers and cooks from across the city volunteered to cook the hundreds of oxen carcasses in great pits. The air was filled with the tantalizing aroma of roasting beef that gave the feast its name. But that was far from the only delicacy provided.

  The bakeries provided thousands of loaves, to complement the beef, and nearly every goodwife insisted on preparing her specialties to vie with their neighbors. Casseroles, pottages, sausages and sweet confections were produced by all who could. Great vats of gravy and cauldrons full of cooked vegetables were provided by inns and taverns, and the Temple of Crouthr donated a hundred roast sheep and goats.

  Great stores of ale, wine, mead and beer were deployed to one and all, at no expense. Every street that night featured a line of trestles bearing an unfathomable amount of food, while magelights twinkled merrily overhead. Only was cheese lacking from the menu, due to the disappearance of every cow in the Wilderlands.

  Everyone attended the great feast and the revelry that followed. Tera Alon, Malkas, Tal and Dradrien mingled with Kasari rangers and artisans from Tudry and former Gilmoran peasants who had never seen such a thing to Wilderlords thankful for the preservation of their land to magelords eager to sop up every tasty morsel of glory.

  But I was not prepared for the reception that the Sky Captains received – all three of them. Dara, Nattia and Ithalia arrived leading their combined Wings, marching in formation and all wearing the demi-capes that had become the uniform of the Sky Riders. While each of the captains differed in their dress, each was well known to all: Lenodara the Hawkmaiden; Nattia the Kasari; and Ithalia the Emissary of the Alka Alon. I think all three were unprepared for the love and adulation that they received, for all blushed mightily at the noise. They would be more uncomfortable later, at the feast, I knew, for I had seated them all together, along with the Lord Steward, Gareth. I had no doubt that would be an interesting dinner conversation.

  One by one the last commanders arrived at the circle, their guards adding to the teeming crowd as they took to the stage. Jannik, with some magical assistance from Heeth the Arcanist, announced each new arrival and added intriguing details of their service. I had to admit, Jannik was masterful in how he managed that throng. He had them laughing, cheering and applauding until they had gathered a great amount of social energy.

  Finally, the time came for me to speak. Jannik spared no adjectives in his introduction and seemed to know just how to persuade the crowd to express their innermost enthusiasm for me. It was . . . overwhelming. Certainly, I have a robust ego – every good wizard does – but it humbled me that so many were willing to yell their guts out to add to the din associated with my introduction.

  I gave a nod of thanks to Jannik as I activated the spell that would amplify my voice.

  “Got them good and warmed up for you,” he muttered. The Rysh rolled his eyes expressively, his back to the crowd, and happily took the seat I’d vacated.

  “My friends!” I began, once the cheering had died down. “I come from the battlefield,” which wasn’t exactly a lie, “and I am proud to report that WE ARE VICTORIOUS!”

  “The Vanadori have prevailed over Shakathet, as we have over Gaja Katar before him,” I continued, when the noise faded back to a rumble. “Two mighty armies have broken before they have even come to the Anvil,” I said, gesturing to the rock above. “They were destroyed because of the strength of the Magelaw! For you are a people strong and brave!” I said, eliciting another roar of cheering. Everyone likes being told how godsdamned special they are.

  “Not only did we prevail, with the manifest blessings of the gods, but I have been told by warmagi returning from the relief of Preshar Castle that Count Marcadine of the Wilderlaw prepares a counter-attack that will preserve our sister realm! Yet he needs our aid. Warmagi we can send him, but he requires more mundane troops to clear his lands of goblins. Yet, we still have need of the army we have built together, to keep our own lands secure.

  “Yet, we have our brave Gilmorans, so recently tried on the field, who will be returning soon to Gilmora. I ask them to consider the peril the Wilderlaw is in, before their long journey home, and whether their swords are yet needed for a last bit of errantry, before they leave the Wilderlands.

  “Yet, I would not ask any man to fight for glory alone, when war is such an expensive endeavor. I will therefore pay any man who marches or rides forth tomorrow in defense of the Wilderlaw, under Count Marcadine’s command, five ounces of gold before he goes, if he swears a solemn oath. Ten, if he is well-horsed, and another two if he be of noble birth,” I added. The crowd stirred, particularly the gaudy Gilmoran contingent. “And for all who return, a helm of finest Yltedene steel!”

  Anvaram wasn’t stirring. He was glaring. At me.

  I had just offered his men almost twice as much as he’d paid them to come to the Magelaw to desert his command and risk their lives in defense of another count. And the offer assumed that Anvaram’s war was concluded and they were free to contract with another lord. Nor would they be too keen to fight against a man offering such generous terms. As I’d learned in Sevendor, sometimes money is the best magic.

  I went on about each of my officers, after that, bringing them to the front of the stage and celebrating their achievements on the field and off. I wanted to make certain that everyone knew their faces, their names and their reputations. These were the magelords that kept the Magelaw safe and working p
roperly. The foundation of a new magocracy, if Jannik was to be believed. I promised honors and acclaim at the evening’s court, to be held in the square after the feast, and then I began introducing important guests.

  As a surprise, I brought up Baroness Pentandra and she delivered a quick message of support from Duke Anguin (no doubt quickly cobbled together or altogether fabricated, but it suited the moment) and told the people how proud she was of them. Arborn was with her, and stood behind her solemnly in his half-Kasari, half-Alshari formal clothes, looking like a quiet force of nature.

  I concluded with praise for Gareth and the other leaders of the city, who had kept things running smoothly during both wars, and thankfulness to the physicians and nursing sisters that cared for the wounded. Then I sat down next to Anvaram.

  “What is the meaning of this?” he snapped. “You seek to hire my men?” he asked, incredulously.

  “I need soldiers. You have soldiers. I have gold. Soldiers love gold,” I reasoned, with a shrug.

  “I will forbid any one of my vassals from hiring out to you, Spellmonger!” he hissed.

  “That’s between you and them . . . but if they have the opportunity to make that kind of coin for such a brief deployment, and you forbid it, then I think you’re going to have some political problems,” I counselled.

  The feast that afternoon was magnificent in every way. A great banquet table was set up in the pavilion, and under twinkling magelights I feted my friends and teased my enemies over delicious roasted beef. Around us scores of other tables were prepared, and the Great Oxenroast began, after a benediction from the clergy. Everyone feasted.

  After exchanging witty banter with Pentandra and Alya, who had arrived the day before from Spellgarden with the children, I got up and wandered around to speak to people and ensure they were having a good time.

  I was pleased to see that the Gilmorans were enchanted by the City of Wizards. The novelty of talking wooden mushrooms and amazingly beautiful Tera Alon maidens and burly Dradrien smiths and more magelights than any of them had ever seen conspired to charm them completely. That, and the discussion of what so much gold could do for their fortunes, if they took me up on my offer, was dominant at their table. They asked me several questions about the specific terms, just how far away the Wilderlaw was (few had any clear idea of geography, I noted) and the nature of the foe they would be fighting.