It was a gorgeous late spring morning, the war was over for now, and Alya’s cows were back. We raced across the field toward the keep, laughing and enjoying the exercise, like children ourselves. I admired my wife as she plunged through the door and dashed up the stairs ahead of me, taunting me and laughing the entire time. When we made it to my office, where Cei waited, she nearly leapt into his arms in an embrace.
The knight seemed just as happy to see her as she was to see him, by the smile under his bushy mustache. He looked a little older, his hair a little grayer and he had put on a bit of weight in the way middle-aged men who are enjoying fatherhood often do.
“I’m thrilled you came to see us,” I admitted to him, after I poured wine for us all. “I’ve missed you, Cei. Our exile is but half over, and it seems like a century.”
“To us, as well,” he agreed. “Sevendor fares well, in your absence. But it doesn’t feel the same without the Spellmonger in residence.”
“The prince hasn’t caused any trouble for you?” I asked, curious.
“The prince? No,” he assured. “But that doesn’t mean we haven’t had trouble. There are a lot of strange creatures prowling around the edges of the barony, now; Banamor tells me they are allured by snowstone. Nor is it confined to Sevendor, proper. I had a run-in with one of them myself at my estate.”
“News!” Alya insisted, sprawling in a chair, “forget about the magical crap! Give us real news, Cei!”
“News . . . well, Olmeg the Green and Lorcus both got married . . . to sisters. They are brothers-in-law now, which is odd,” he began. “Nice girls, too – witches – but the lads seem happy. There was a bit of a scandal with an ecclesiastic estate that saw the monk who ran it flee in the night. I think Lady Fallawen had a hand in that, from what Zagor says. Darishi had her baby, both are doing well – her third, I think. Sister Bemia pines for the day when we have our proper baron back and she received a promotion from her temple. Banamor got a cat. I got a dog. That’s . . . that’s the fun news, for now.”
“What is the not-fun news,” I said, as I saw his expression turn troubled.
“We were attacked,” he said, then shook his head. “Actually, it was the Holy Hill Abbey that was attacked. During a funeral for one of their old abbesses.”
“Bandits?” Alya asked, disturbed.
“They wouldn’t dare,” sniffed Cei. “Nay, it was the Enshadowed, from what Dara said.”
“The Enshadowed?” I asked, confused. “Why would they attack an abbey?”
“We knew not,” Cei admitted, “but Dara has a theory. She and the young baron of Taravanal rallied their forces and drove them off. But not before they got what they came for.”
“What could they possibly desire at a run-down rustic abbey?” Alya asked.
Sire Cei gave me a searching look before he emitted a sigh and answered. “Isily. They took Isily. Or what’s left of her.”
So much for my beautiful morning.
After the Greenflower War, when I was despondent and desperately searching for a way to cure my wife, Cei had arranged to have Isily’s mindless body brought to Holy Hill Abbey, to ensure her security and care. She had been in a convent in Greenflower, but Taren, the steward at the time, had worried that Isily’s crimes would poison her caregivers against her. She and Dunselen had been all but tyrants to the poor people of that barony, and there were many who held a grudge.
So Isily had been moved to where we could ensure her care . . . and I had all but forgotten her, there. Once Alya was back – more or less – I never wanted to think about my rapist and mother of my children again.
But the news that she had been acquired by the Enshadowed disturbed me mightily.
“Dara was involved?” I asked, mystified.
“Yes, and she meant to tell you,” Sire Cei said, indulgently, “but with the war and her other distractions, she seems to have forgotten. So I’m telling you. They got away with her body about six weeks ago.”
“That’s . . . that’s . . . not good,” I said, mostly to myself. My mind was abuzz. I knew for a fact that Isily’s mind was even more badly damaged than Alya’s had been from the blast at Greenflower. It had taken the construction of the Magolith to bring my wife back from the brink. Not even that powerful artifact could have rescued Isily. For three years she had been lying in a bed like a cabbage, being fed broth and cared for like a baby. At my expense. Perhaps it would have been simpler to just let her die, but I could not do that to the mother of my children. Even though it would have delighted me to do so for my rapist.
“I can think of only one reason why they might want her,” I said. “To get leverage on me. Perhaps they misunderstand the nature of our relationship,” I offered, diplomatically, “but it might be known that Isily had my kids. They might think she has some special meaning to me.”
Alya looked at me sharply, at that. “Why would they make that mistake?” she asked, swallowing.
“They barely know humanity, much less understand us,” I considered. “I really don’t know. It has to be part of some greater plot. A really irritating, annoying plot designed to get under my skin.”
“I hesitated to tell you,” Cei said, clearing his throat, “for I know how busy you are. But I thought you should know. I just wish I had done it sooner, but it was clear you were preoccupied with the war and other serious matters. It did not seem to be so great a matter,” he said, clearly realizing that it was.
I wasn’t going to chew Cei out. It was, perhaps, a mistake to keep the information from me, but that was a minor thing, considering all he did for me.
“Thank you,” I said, absently. This was a blow from out of nowhere, an unexpected turn of events that had foreboding all over it. “I’m glad you told me before I left for my trip. That way I’ll have nine weeks to ponder it.”
“Is this trip really necessary, Minalan?” Cei asked. “If we could persuade the prince to lift your exile—”
“That’s highly unlikely,” I said, shaking my head. “I just sent him a letter taunting him for paying for my cavalry for me, when he thought he was making war on me by proxy. I’m good and exiled. And yes, the trip is necessary. It’s a mission for the Beryen Council. Multiple missions, actually, but they’re all in the same place.”
“That’s unfortunate,” Cei sighed. “I am managing well enough at the mundane manors of baronial government, but with Sevendor the magical always intrudes.” That reminded me of something, and it took a moment to come to me. But then I realized that I had been just as tardy with information as Cei had.
“That reminds me,” I said, slowly. “I want you to have the Westwoodmen clear the forests on the southern frontier. From that mountain behind Rundeval.”
“How much of the forest?” Cei asked.
“All of it,” I said, a bit grimly. “In a year’s time, that mountain won’t be there anymore. We might as well harvest the timber,” I reasoned.
“Why not?” Cei asked, confused.
“Because I’m going to sell it to the Sea Folk, like I did the mountain to the east of the castle. Actually, they are demanding it, and offering to give me a little something in return . . . provided I can make more snowstone.”
“Dara will not be happy about that,” Cei grumbled.
“I’m sure she won’t,” I agreed. “But I have no choice. She’ll get a nice lake out of it, though,” I said, knowing that would not mollify her. The Westwoodmen of Sevendor revere their precious trees as much as the Kasari do their giant ones.
“I shall attend to it,” he promised. “But I think it would probably be best if you explained your reasoning to her, before you go on this journey.”
“I’ll try,” I agreed. “But it wasn’t my first choice. It was the best option out of a lot of bad ones. I’m sorry if it messes up the Westwood, but better that than have the entire snowstone zone taken from us without warning.”
“These creatures are powerful and cruel,” he said, heavily.
“These creatures barely acknowled
ge that we creatures exist,” I corrected. “We just happen to have something they crave. The only thing they crave. So we will use it as leverage while we figure out how to give them more. It’s just ironic that I have to go someplace where there’s no magic to find the key to a magic spell.”
“If I cannot dissuade you from going, perhaps we could meet upon your return, then,” he suggested. “There are some minor matters to attend to. And I think you will want to make policy about a few matters in the barony. Matters requiring the authority of a baron, not a steward.”
“Why not a baroness?” I asked. “If you have any major policy issues while I’m gone, just consult Alya. She’ll be here all summer,” I suggested.
“No, I won’t,” Alya said, suddenly.
I looked at her, confused. “What? Why not?”
“Because I’m going with you on this expedition,” she said in a tone that was both confident and committed. “Can I get you more wine?”
The End
Arcanist Page 74