Arcanist

by Terry Mancour

  “Oh, Azar will love that!” Pentandra snickered. “But before they meet the headsman’s axe, I wish to know who issued their orders. And who paid the coin for the mission.”

  “You will execute them?” Anvaram asked, in disbelief. “You may not! They are from of Gilmora’s leading families!” he protested.

  “Hardly leading families, but from important vassals of yours. I’m sure you will convey our sincere condolences to their families,” I nodded. “As well as those to Sir Holcot and Sire Molanar, if they are, indeed, guilty of ordering it. For that crime carries the same penalty.”

  The look on Anvaram’s face became more stricken as he no doubt imagined having to explain to the families of five of his vassals and allies how their sons and husbands and fathers had been summarily executed for their treachery – an order that undoubtedly led back to him.

  “Of what use will that be to you, Spellmonger?” he said, his voice an exasperated whine. “I don’t see —”

  “You will address the Count by his proper title!” ordered Jannik, loudly and forcefully.

  Anvaram held up his hand. “Sorry. Count Minalan, I fail to see what useful intelligence you could learn from such a course. You admitted that you tricked me into starting this war, and now that I have been of use to you, I pray that you release these men into my custody.” His tone had become a lot more reasonable, as he realized that his secrets were about to be told in front of a large crowd.

  “Really?” I asked, amused. “For I can imagine learning quite a bit about a great many things. From what I understand, for instance, Sire Molanar is a good friend of Count Moran, the prime minister of the Castali Court. And Sir Holcot has a whispered reputation for being the sort of man who can get things done – without regard to his honor or propriety.” Indeed, Planus had learned much about the men who’d sent the spies, while he and Atopol and Ruderal had been skulking about in Gilmora. Holcot was a henchman who did not mind slitting throats or dumping a body into a river, if need be. Arranging a clandestine mission into enemy territory was the least of his alleged crimes.

  “You seem terribly well informed, for someone who has been busy fighting goblins,” Anvaram noted.

  “As I told you before, my spies are better than yours. If you don’t wish to proceed in front of King Rard and Queen Grendine, then I shall continue my questioning. No matter where it leads,” I added. “Pentandra, if you will do the honors?”

  Anvaram struggled to find another legitimate reason to object, but my threat to appeal to Rard was telling. He literally bit his lip as Pentandra waved her baculus over the heads of the accused, then turned to me and nodded.

  “Gentlemen, you are under a truthtell spell,” I informed them. “It will compel you to answer every question put to you with the absolute truth. Your testimony will be recorded and entered into the records of this court, and it will be used to determine your fate.

  “Sir Holcot,” I began, “Sir Holwyn indicated that you were the one who approached him about this ill-fated mission. Is that true?”

  “Aye,” the man admitted, after struggling to stay mute. “Knew Holcot since the invasion. I helped him flee from the icy river when the scrugs crossed it,” he explained. “He was friends with the other two. He said they were willing to do the mission. For a price.” Unlike some under a truthtell spell, he did not squirm and try to find a way around the magical compulsion. He almost seemed to enjoy being forced to tell the truth.

  “And what price was that?” I asked.

  “Sixty ounces of gold, between the three of them,” he admitted. “Steep, for what they were charged to do. Waste of money, as it turns out,” he said, with disgust.

  “And who directed you to give them the money?” I asked.

  “That would be Sire Molanar,” he answered, matter-of-factly, and helpfully pointed at the man. Anvaram winced. “He told me to do it after he went hunting with Count Anvaram. He said to use the captured bride as the reason. And he said to offer them a reward if they found her and brought her back.”

  “Sire Molanar,” I said, turning Anvaram’s other agent, who looked decidedly more nervous than his fellow. “Did you give this mission to Sir Holcot?”

  “I did,” he said, swallowing. “I thought it would be useful to know the lay of the land, before we deployed. When the men didn’t return in time, I figured some mishap had befallen them.”

  “Yes, they stumbled into a giant pile of stupid and got themselves caught. Where did you get the money to fund this endeavor?” I asked, keeping us on subject.

  “From Count Anvaram,” he said, reluctantly. He cast his eyes over at his liege, but Anvaram wasn’t angry. He looked shocked and scared.

  “And do you from whence Count Anvaram secured those funds?” I asked.

  “From . . . a moneylender,” Molanar said. Anvaram looked relieved. “Tarat of Garlsy. He’s a goldsmith in Nion, and he often extends loans to his clients. I—”

  “A goldsmith!” I said, glancing at Pentandra. “I could see how a goldsmith might do that, of course. But they rarely have the finances to pay for an entire war,” I reasoned.

  “Sire Molanar,” Pentandra asked, sweetly, “Do you know how Count Anvaram managed to find the money to pay for this adventure?”

  “Yes,” Molanar said, as if the word were pulled from his guts.

  “Sire Molanar,” Pentandra continued, “How did Count Anvaram convince this goldsmith, Tarat of Garlsy, to extend him the loan?”

  “He . . . he left certain items in the man’s care, as collateral,” Molanar admitted. “A statue of a dog made of solid gold. Along with the deeds of six estates.”

  “And were these estates originally Anvaram’s?” I asked.

  “No. They were recent gifts,” Molanar said, through clenched teeth.

  “From whom?” Pentandra asked.

  “From . . . from His Highness, Prince Tavard,” Molanar said, struggling to keep his mouth shut. Truthtell spells are compelling, depending on the ability of the caster. I knew Pentandra had made certain that hers were forceful. I’m glad she didn’t know that spell when we were romantically involved.

  There was a gasp from the crowd, as Tavard was named as a party to the case.

  “So, you’re saying that the Count accepted gifts from the Prince, and then turned around and used them as collateral to fund a war . . . with me,” I said, for the benefit of the crowd. “How do you know whence these gifts came?”

  “I was there when they were given,” Molanar spat. “At Wilderhall, at a tournament. His Highness granted them to the count for his good and faithful service. And he admonished him to use them wisely. To preserve the honor of Gilmoran chivalry and . . . and . . .” he said, struggling mightily against the spell.

  “And what else did dear Prince Tavard say?” Pentandra asked.

  “That Count Anvaram was to use it to ‘see to that annoyance in the Wilderlands’,” Molanar said.

  “And Anvaram was supportive of that?” I asked, my eyebrow arched. “Or did he counsel against it?”

  “My lord, he nearly begged for the opportunity,” Molanar said, his eyes downcast in humiliation. “He told the Prince that with the bride sequestration as a pretext, he had every recourse to a war with the wizards. And now he had the funds. And then he pledged to redeem the statue out of pawn when he returned laden with wizard gold, as a trophy of his triumph over the Spellmonger,” he said, nearly babbling now. “He then told me to secure mercenaries, arrange for the estates and gold to be pawned for coin, and to incite a spying mission to see where and what the Spellmonger’s defenses were.”

  “So, by saying ‘annoyance in the Wilderlands,’ your master understood the Prince to be speaking of me,” I reasoned.

  “It could have been me, Sire,” Jannik interjected. “I’ve often been known to be annoying!” That got a burst of laughter from the crowd, which broke some of the tension. I ordinarily would have been irritated at an interruption like that, but in the last few months I had learned tha
t Jannik never did anything without a purpose.

  “I am thinking it was me,” I chuckled. “Indeed, I am convinced of it. It sounds as if Prince Tavard was paying Count Anvaram to wage war on his behalf. Against one of his own vassals. That seems at odds with the law and customs of Castal.”

  “These men are liars!” Anvaram finally said, forcefully. He had tried to maintain his composure as long as he could, but as he was being publicly accused of making war on the behalf of the Duke of Castal, he could be mute no longer. “They know not what they saw! What they heard!” he said, contemptuously. The denial was obvious to everyone in the crowd, perhaps except the Gilmorans. Truthtell spells were a part of Vanadori society, now. And people were learning that one did not lie under the influence of one.

  “They speak the truth as they know it,” Pentandra dismissed. “They cannot lie. Which begs the question, Count Anvaram, if you dispute the truth from their mouths, would you be willing to step forward and have the same spell cast upon you?”

  “Nay!” he said, adamantly.

  “Then kindly keep your peace, and allow these proceedings to . . . proceed,” Pentandra insisted. “You will be spared such testimony in deference to your rank, but the truth will emerge. And I assure you,” she added, “no man alive can evade a truthtell I have cast.”

  “Now, Pentandra, let us not be brusque to our . . . guests,” I said. “Count Anvaram, you deny the veracity of the story? The Prince’s gift? The six estates? The golden dog?”

  “It sounds like a flight of fancy to me, Count Minalan,” he said, carefully, after a pause. “A golden dog?”

  “It might,” I conceded. “Thankfully, I had some of my men look into the matter. Would you like to hear what they discovered? Jannik, call Planus and Atopol, please.”

  In a few moments, the confused Gilmoran count watched the Remeran adept and the Alshari shadowmage and thief appear, as if summoned. He was speechless as they were admitted to the court and asked for their testimony.

  “You!” Anvaram said, when he recognized Planus. “You’re that merchant!”

  “Ah, yes, you knew me as Antibus of Drenevere, I believe,” Planus acknowledged, with a little bow. “Purveyor of corn, victuals and feed across the western kingdom!” he said, with a bit of flamboyance thrown in. “But, in actuality, I am a simple High Mage, Planus of Remere. Of late in the service of Count Minalan.”

  “Another godsdamn wizard!” Anvaram said, shaking his head in disgust.

  “Two, actually,” Atopol revealed. “For I was known as Skup, in your camp, if you condescend to recall. The dark-haired boy you screamed at about your boots? Alas, I am merely Sir Atopol of Furitus, a shadowmage. I specialize in learning secrets and recovering hard-to-find items,” he explained.

  “In this case, when we learned of the payment the Prince made, I had Atopol investigate the reality of the golden dog. What was the conclusion of your investigation, my lord?”

  “Why, under Planus’ direction, I had the opportunity to visit the goldsmith in question,” Atopol agreed.

  “And was there, indeed, a golden dog?” Pentandra asked, amused.

  “Judge for yourself, my lady,” Atopol said, drawing a wand and then making appear in front of the court a statue of a dog, nearly four feet long, sparkling with gold. “From my assays, it is nearly pure. Around five thousand ounces, if you trust my professional opinion.”

  “I can verify the six estates that were likewise given as a gift to my lord count,” Planus said, withdrawing those same deeds from a satchel. “All very lucrative and proximate to Count Anvaram’s holdings. And it appears the bearer of the deed is the owner, by these notations, until they are registered with the Castali Ducal Office of Lands, Estates, and Tribute in Wilderhall. Which I have been assured they have not been,” he commented, as he studied the documents. “Pity they are no longer in Count Anvaram’s possession.”

  Anvaram’s eyes were uncomfortably wide, at that point. Not only had his war been frustrated and his men hired away from him, but his enemy had captured the funds he had secured to pay his men in the first place . . . as well as the deeds to the properties the prince had granted him as a bonus for his efforts. His men had been stupidly captured, his camp infiltrated, and his plans upset. More importantly, the entire matter had exposed the patronage and support of Tavard – a sitting duke – for a war against one of his vassals. Too many of his own men had heard the damning evidence, and there was no way to keep them from speaking of it. I’d make certain of that.

  I had no doubt that Tavard would survive the exposure of the plot. Nor was it that serious, in terms of ducal court politics. But it would be highly embarrassing. I also had no doubt that the repercussions would land on Anvaram, first and foremost, damaging the cozy relationship he enjoyed with Tavard and his court. That was apparent from the distraught expression on his face.

  “But . . . but the bride sequestration was real!” he insisted. “You kidnapped Lady . . . lady . . .”

  “Lady Maithieran,” I supplied. “One would think that you would know the name of the maiden for whom you went to war, Anvaram. But you do raise an interesting point. In fact, Baron Astyral sequestered her over a dowry dispute, as is permitted by Gilmoran custom – you are aware of the custom, are you not?”

  “I am,” he replied, looking a little offended. “Yet it is not the custom to whisk a bride away from her own country and deposit her in some rustic prison! A Gilmoran lady is entitled to proper treatment under such circumstances!”

  “Then let us call Lady Maithieran and inquire as to her treatment under Count Minalan’s care,” Pentandra declared. She nodded to Jannik, who made a great show of calling forth the sequestered bride.

  Of course, we had Maithieran prepared for the spectacle. She was waiting in the Temple of Ishi – still largely under construction – and was brought forth by three priestesses. She looked stunning, having taken considerable effort to prepare herself for her big moment. Her gown was gorgeous, a light blue crushed velvet cut in the traditional Gilmoran style, and she bore a baculus of her own creation – she’d made the most of her time in Vanador, and I’d given her free run of the bouleuterion. There was an audible gasp from the Gilmorans as the object of their war appeared.

  “You summoned me, my lord?” she asked, when she was brought to the square.

  “Lady Maithieran,” Pentandra began, “during your captivity, were you mistreated in any way?”

  “Why, no, Excellency,” she declared, shaking her head. “My accommodations have been every bit as favorable as if I had been in my own home. My escorts and chaperones have demonstrated nothing but the highest respect for me and have sought to ease any difficulties I’ve had. Indeed, it has been a most pleasant sequestration.”

  “From the lady’s own lips, Anvaram,” I pointed out. “Are you satisfied? Or do you wish to inspect her for rope burns and the scars of beatings?” I asked, scornfully. That brought a titter from the crowd.

  “She is still being held in a foreign country!” Anvaram insisted, crossing his arms defiantly over his chest.

  “It occurs to me, Count,” Pentandra said, addressing me, “that the easiest way to conclude this matter is to conclude this matter: let us settle this dowry dispute here and now, to end the sequestration and remove the offence which these gentlemen have rode so far, fought so hard, and spent so much coin to redress.”

  “That’s a fine idea, Baroness,” I agreed. “Jannik, call Baron Astyral to the court, please.”

  Jannik announced Astyral, including all of his many titles and a few I think he made up just to please the crowd. There was a great deal of applause and cheering as he emerged from the crowd.

  Astyral was highly popular in Vanador, as a goodly number of the citizens recalled his wise governance of Tudry, before I burned the town, and many Iron Banders who’d served in the Penumbra and settled here after their terms had gotten to know him when he was one of the few lords who would offer them aid. Astyral had been a frequent and flam
boyant guest in Vanador for the last year and a half and had a reputation as an attractive party guest and a heavy tipper.

  When he appeared, he made as much of a visual stir as his bride. He chose a pure white cloak over his fancy Gilmoran doublet, also of blue velvet, but in a much darker hue than Maithieran’s, with a matching mage’s cap made of the same fabric. I had no doubt that he coordinated their outfits, because that’s the sort of thing Astyral would insist upon. Instead of carrying a baculus, he wore his mageblade over his shoulder, though he did not wear his combat harness, and instead had it affixed to a rich-looking red leather baldric bearing the arms of Losara. He looked both regal and martial, the very picture of a Gilmoran gentleman.

  “You summoned me, Sire?” he asked, after a stately bow.

  “Baron Astyral, I think it is time that you settle your differences with Maithieran’s parents,” I instructed him. “If there can be a resolution to the dowry discussions, I think it would be timely.”

  “I think we can come to some understanding,” he said, glancing at his intended bride with undisguised affection. “Don’t you, beloved?”

  “I am certainly willing to try,” she agreed, with a smile. “I grow frustrated with these delays to our wedding, for it is my fondest desire to wed you, my lord.”

  “The dowry discussion cannot be concluded without the girl’s parents!” Anvaram insisted.

  “A good point, Count Anvaram,” Pentandra agreed. “Jannik, please call her parents to the court.”

  “What?” Anvaram asked, confused. “They are in Gilmora! I saw them before we departed! It will take weeks to summon them!”

  “Only if you insist that they travel by land,” I chuckled. “We wizards are a bit more efficient. Do call the Baron and Baroness, Jannik,” I commanded. My herald did just that, their names ringing out across the square. In fact, I’d had Astyral cross through the Ways and bring them to Vanador the previous evening. They’d enjoyed a small feast with their daughter and caught up on the news. They emerged from the Spellwarden’s Hall, Gareth’s main office in town, where they had been waiting. Anvaram looked confused and outraged over their sudden and unexpected appearance. The Gilmorans in the crowd predictably gasped.