“What is this?” Anvaram insisted, as the stately couple passed by him.
“You summoned us, my lord?” Baron Maynard asked me, after greeting his daughter with an embrace and a kiss on the cheek.
“I wish for you and Baron Astyral to conclude your dispute over the dowry,” I said. “It is my understanding that the six estates you have pledged for the couple are acceptable, are they not, Astyral?”
“Quite lovely, in fact,” Astyral agreed. “I took no issue with their generosity. But their stubborn insistence on maintaining hunting and fishing rights to the two largest was galling. And their desire to have the ceremony in their homeland was problematic. I prefer to have it in Losara, as Maithieran will become baroness of that land when we wed. It seems only proper that the Losarans have that honor. And there were other details of the wedding that we found challenging to come to agreement about.”
“Upon reflection, my lord, I would be willing to concede to having the wedding in Losara if we may throw a reception for our daughter in Benfrandine after the honeymoon,” her father suggested.
“I would find that acceptable,” Astyral said. “And I will concede to allow hunting and fishing rights as you desired. As I neither hunt nor fish, it is of little consequence,” he dismissed.
“Which brings us to the final point of our dispute,” Maithieran’s mother said, crossly. “The dress.”
“Ah, yes,” Astyral smiled. “The dress! You have not moved on that subject, my lady?”
“The dress?” Anvaram asked, confused. “What about the dress?”
“I will not wear crinolines!” insisted Maithieran, angrily. “Nor will I consent to those silk slippers you proposed! I am not some mere maiden, I am a professional woman!”
“Crinolines expand the skirt and give volume to it,” Astyral argued. “It produces a more pleasing silhouette, and more graceful lines than a mere petticoat.”
“My lines are plenty graceful without that kind of itchy padding!” Maithieran said, crossly.
“This is all about . . . a dress?” Anvaram asked, appalled.
“It is my wedding dress,” Maithieran insisted. “I was willing to concede to my lord’s demands on cut and color, but in terms of material Baron Astyral’s tastes are questionable. Nor will I be wed in slippers, when I already have the perfect pair of shoes for the occasion,” she added, haughtily.
Astyral looked as if he was about to launch into a lengthy and exhaustive defense of taffeta and slippers, but then made a great show of sighing.
“All right, you may wear the silken petticoats,” he finally said. “You are so beautiful, and I love you so much that I can deny you nothing.”
“And the silk slippers?” she asked, sharply.
“Slippers?” Anvaram muttered. “We went to war over silk slippers?”
“And crinolines,” Astyral answered. “But the slippers accentuate the delicate nature of my beloved’s dainty feet, and the shapely nature of her leg. The silk is inherently elegant. She would look stunning in them, in temple. But . . . I will concede,” he sighed, heavily. “For the sake of peace in our lands.”
“Are there any additional issues standing on the matter of the dowry?” I inquired.
“No, Count Minalan, we are entirely satisfied,” the Baron of Benfrandine assured me, after a brief, whispered consultation with his wife and daughter. “Wedding in Losara, reception in Benfrandine, hunting and fishing rights, no crinolines, and shoes, not slippers. Yes, we are satisfied,” he declared.
“As am I,” Astyral said. “Deeply disappointed but satisfied.”
“Slippers!” Anvaram said, angrily. “Crinolines! This was the dispute that led to sequestration?”
“My lady was being quite unreasonable,” Astyral explained. “Crinolines are all the rage in Barrowbell, right now. I thought it would be stylish.”
“If my lord would consent to wear crinolines for a few days, he might reconsider his devotion to the style,” Maithieran said. “If his privates were constantly being assaulted by stiff, itchy fabric all day, I would wager he would reassess the matter entirely. Unstaran silk, on the other hand, while it doesn’t produce the billowing effect on my skirts, is entirely comfortable.”
“One must suffer for one’s art,” Astyral said, “but I will concede. I release you from your sequestration into the hands of your parents. And I shall see you at the temple.”
“Have you set a date, yet?” Pentandra asked, smiling.
“Late autumn,” Baron Maynard declared. “On that we were in accord. It shall take that much time to make the preparations.”
“If the bride is no longer sequestered,” I continued, “then there remains no pretext for this war, Count Anvaram. Am I correct?”
“There is still the matter of your scorn for Gilmoran chivalry,” grumbled the count, defeatedly.
“That, alas, will remain, and I will not apologize for it,” I declared. “That said, my opinion has risen, somewhat, after your men charged at the battle of the east bank. While they may be deficient in other areas of warfare, I will concede that the Gilmoran knights charged bravely and effectively into the goblins. And they continued to fight against great odds, obeyed orders from Terleman, and kept peace in their own camp afterwards. Should Gilmora become invaded again, I have higher hopes for their ability to defend it, now that they have tasted real war.”
“And real war is coming to Gilmora,” Pentandra added. “The Alshari court was recently informed of a concerted effort by the enemy to establish themselves in the Westlands, in order to harass both of our nations. Already plague and undead stalk that poor country, and it sits upon Gilmora’s doorstep. No doubt there will be blood spilled there before long. If your men are improved in their response to such attacks, then you should count yourself fortunate for what they have learned in this foray, Count Anvaram,” she lectured.
“Nor are knights the best or only military response to such things,” I added. “For too long Gilmora has made a mockery of war with tournaments and fighting each other in well-controlled feuds that ignore the realities of real warfare. Why, there has not been a real army in Gilmora since the Alshari dukes brought the fury of the Wilderlords to the Cotton Lands before the secession. One might think that the Castali dukes were more interested in keeping your people divided and feuding with each other, rather than finding unity and purpose as Gilmorans. It certainly would make Gilmora easier to control that way. But that is just a theory,” I smiled.
That ruffled some feathers amongst the Gilmoran knights, who were largely confused by the proceedings. Most were firmly in the political camp that preferred Castali sovereignty over their land, of course – Anvaram’s devotion to Tavard and Castal in general had colored his recruitment for the war. But the pride the Gilmorans held for their country was challenged by the notion of interference in their affairs from either duchy.
That wasn’t my problem – it was my opportunity. While Anvaram had brought north more than two thousand belted knights who were loyal to Castal, I’d had Planus spread plenty of money around to the Alshari-loving loyalists in Nion. In the absence of opposition, they’d spent the last several weeks pushing the idea that the Cotton Lands would prosper much better under the Anchor and Antlers. By the time Anvaram came home, he might well be facing a population hostile to his Castali loyalties. And a Castali court who would see the failure of his war with me and find some way to punish him.
“As far as these spies go,” I said, gesturing to the three Gilmoran knights who had been patiently waiting to hear their fates, “I would hesitate to execute a man who went to war over slippers and crinolines. The fault is not in their loyalty, but in their leadership. Therefore, I sentence them to three years’ service in the Iron Band, where they may patrol the Penumbra and learn real warfare. After that time, they may be discharged back to Gilmora. And these two . . . gentlemen,” I said, nodding toward Holcot and Molanar, “will be allowed to accompany Count Anvaram back to Gilmora . . . at once,” I proposed.
“For he will need all the allies he can get, after this adventure.”
“Do you have anything to say about that, Count?” Pentandra prompted.
Anvaram studied us carefully, for a few moments. I thought he might stalk away without a word, for he was certainly in a foul mood. But he eventually straightened, bowed to the stage and managed to speak.
“I can see that the wiles of wizards are not merely folktales,” he began. “If there is no better lesson to be learned from this . . . incident, it is that our ancestors were correct in how they approached the deceit and treachery of the magi. Left unchecked, your powers upend the natural order, they sow dissent among the mundane, and your schemes imperial us all.”
“Then consider yourself instructed,” Pentandra said evenly, her eyes narrowing. “I dislike this attitude you have toward magelords. It seems to have brought you much anguish. Perhaps if you led with your brain and not your lance you might have seen through some of Count Minalan’s strategies. Thank you for your service to the Magelaw, Count Anvaram. I wish you and your men a safe journey back to Gilmora. And a speedy one,” she added. “And while you ride, perhaps you will contemplate where you erred, during this adventure, and consider the power of silk slippers, crinolines, and a solid gold dog that nearly led you to ruin.”
As Anvaram bowed and left without another word, I had to question Penny’s use of the word ‘nearly.’ Anvaram would be facing hostilities from all sides, when he returned to Nion. If the Castali court was angry enough, then it could even cost him his seat as Count of Nion. Even if he maintained it, his influence would be severely diminished. The price he paid in his little war would haunt him for the rest of his life, I figured.
It couldn’t have happened to a nicer count.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
A Letter to the Prince
“Ambition and revenge are wolves who are always hungry.”
Wilderlands Folk Saying
From the Collections of Jannik the Rysh
Count Anvaram’s party left Vanador before dawn the next morning and rode directly to his encampment on the banks of the Wildwater. Within a day he began the return journey to Gilmora, earlier than he’d expected. He was defeated, poorer and humiliated, but, perhaps, a little wiser. When he left, however, it was only with about a third of his army. Almost three thousand Gilmorans had volunteered for service in the Wilderlands to fight for the Spellmonger’s gold. They rode out of Vanador just after Anvaram departed, escorted by a thousand Magelaw volunteers and the Vorone Free Company. Count Marcadine would receive his reinforcements in time.
There was plenty of aftermath left for me to clean up, when the war was done. While the mundane duties of visiting the sick and wounded, approving spending requests and making necessary policy decisions was important, having Pentandra and so many other important wizards around was an opportunity I couldn’t pass up. After the Great Oxenroast I invited select friends and colleagues out to Spellgarden for a few days. We had much catching up to do. And much preparation to conduct.
“Things have cooled down in Enultramar,” Pentandra reported, as she relaxed in my workshop at the top of Spellgarden’s keep, “at least for the time being. The rebellion is all but gone, the rebels are in prison or dead, and people are beginning to accept the new Duchess. There’s enough normalcy that Anguin feels comfortable coming to Vorone for a few weeks this summer to oversee his affairs there.”
“Then I will likely miss him,” I answered, as I poured the wine, “as I am planning an expedition this summer. Now that this war is over, I need to execute our plan to investigate Anghysbel.”
“I almost wish I could go with you,” she sighed. “But it appears a summer in Vanador will be the only holiday I get, this year. Duke Anguin wants to spend a few weeks in Vorone, too, with the court, and I’ll have to attend some of those functions. But it will give the girls some time to experience the Wilderlands and time for Arborn and me to oversee our respective domains. Perhaps I can finally get my hall built.”
“That hedgewitch’s croft is still available,” I pointed out. “Carmella and Gareth won’t let anyone near it.”
“That’s where it will be, built over that croft,” she agreed, fondly. “Old Antimei, the greatest witch in the Wilderlands. I wonder what she’d say if she saw the place, now.”
“Of course, you and your family are invited to use Spellmonger’s Hall, in town, and Spellgarden while you’re here. I’m certain Alya and the children would love the company.”
“When will you be leaving?” she asked.
“In a few weeks. Forandas is preparing the expedition. He’s been there before, apparently, and knows what to expect,” I said, taking a seat across the table from her. It was cluttered with wine goblets, parchments, scrolls, inkpots and quills. I hadn’t touched much of it in weeks, I realized. I’d been so preoccupied with the war that I’d neglected my scholarship. “It will be a small expedition, but important. But I want to meet with the Beryen Council before we set out. I’ve called a meeting of it in Carneduin. I’ve already sent my request to Lady Fallawen. I’d like you and a few others to attend, to represent the human side.”
“I insist,” she agreed. “I suppose it would be best to secure the assistance of the Alka Alon, if we’re going to chase after an Alka Alon . . . princess? Noblewoman? What would you call her?” she asked.
“Guardian,” I supplied. “That’s what ‘aronin’ means in Alka Alon. Ameras inherited her father’s title along with his legacy of guardianship. I’m hoping that the council can give us some insight on just where to find her. And what we should do if we do find her.”
“Don’t forget, you won’t have magic to depend on,” she reminded me. “Although I wonder if the nature of your little toy might have a mitigating effect on the jevolar,” she said, pointing to the Magolith as it floated around my head. “If the Snowflake is concentrated snowstone, or whatever, and the Magolith’s core is a slice of it, then it might permit some flow of arcane power, theoretically.”
“Yes, I’ve been speaking with the thaumaturges about that,” I agreed. “They’re very interested in the results. I’ve considered taking a few with me, and Taren has agreed to go.”
“He’s a good field thaumaturge, which sounds oxymoronic,” she conceded. “But he’s probably better in a fight than most of the other thaumaturges. Even without magic. Didn’t you have someone who is supposed to study all of the stuff you’re looking for?” she asked, her eyes wrinkling. Indeed, I saw wrinkles, something I never thought I’d see on Pentandra’s face. Motherhood was hard for her, I knew.
“Heeth the Butler, now Heeth the Arcanist,” I nodded. “He’s preparing a report for us in a couple of days, actually, to review our progress on our various endeavors. He wants to deliver it before I leave. You should hear it,” I added. “It will be informative.”
“I look forward to it. Perhaps it will give me some answer for the Farise problem,” she complained. “Their corsairs are harassing shipping fiercely. The Alshari fleet is scheduled to move out soon. But not to challenge the corsairs – we’re forming convoys for protection,” she explained. “It’s the only way we can manage to get around the peninsula and to Castal and Merwyn and Remere. But it will keep us from going after them. As long as they hold Farise, they can close off the bay against us. Anguin wants me to find out if there is anything to be done about it.”
“Farise is a big job,” I pointed out with a sigh, after considering the matter for a moment. “I’ve turned it down three times, from Rard. I don’t think I can take it from Anguin.”
“I just told you what he wanted me to do,” she protested. “I didn’t ask you to conquer Farise. Although, from a legal perspective, you could,” she added, thoughtfully.
“Ishi’s tits! Why would I want to do that?” I exclaimed.
“I didn’t say you did,” she stressed. “I said that you could. Theoretically, as a Count Palatine, instead of just a regular count, you have the power to conduct your own forei
gn policy. Including what is known as ‘foreign adventures.’ Wars of conquest designed to increase the count’s lands and holdings,” she explained. “As long as they don’t interfere with the rights or sovereignty of your liege, the King, you are free to conduct them. In theory,” she reiterated.
“So, I could declare war on Merwyn?” I asked.
“No, not unless the King allowed it,” she admitted. “Or, maybe, perhaps you could. The lawbrothers would have to decide.”
“How about if I entered into a treaty with the Goblin King?” I asked, hesitantly. She looked at me sharply, as if I had admitted something, and perhaps I had.
“You could, indeed, do so, since he is on your frontier and his diplomatic disposition is of interest to the security of the kingdom,” she reasoned, a far-away look in her eye. “I mean, if you had an opportunity to settle the war with the tribal gurvani in a way that did not harm the integrity of the kingdom, why wouldn’t you? It is certainly within your purview as a palatinate. If it settled some security issues and allowed you to focus your attention on Korbal and his brood, then you certainly would have the justification with doing so.”
“I’m so glad you said that,” I blurted out. “I’m considering just that sort of thing.”
“What?” she asked, sitting bolt upright. “You’ve been in contact with Ashakarl?”
“Through the most unlikely of agents,” I chuckled. “Jannik introduced us. Or re-introduced us. Sire Koucey is working for King Ashakarl now, in exile. He gave us valuable intelligence, which allowed us to prepare for Shakathet. He seems completely free of Sheruel’s domination, now. I suppose that Korbal didn’t see much point in it. With free will, he decided to betray the Necromancer and ally with the Goblin King. He swore an oath, or something, and he still thinks he’s some sort of knight.”
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