The Spellmonger Series: Book 02 - Warmage

by Terry Mancour

  “No, my lords and ladies, these men are not going to risk their lives and their newfound powers over mere gold. They can get gold. If they had a mind to, they could make more gold using their stones peacefully than this Duchy has in the treasury.”

  “But to relax the Bans?” Dunselen repeated. “That is unthinkable! Who will hold the misuse of magic accountable? Who will license and regulate magi? Relaxing the Bans would be . . . it would be anarchy!”

  “It would be different,” I agreed, “but far from anarchy. Who holds those warmagi accountable? I do,” I said, boldly. “Each one of them who took a stone from my hand swore an oath to me to surrender it when asked – and to pursue those who refused at my direction. So I will take the place of the Bans to ensure their accountability. But I somehow doubt the warmagi will use their newfound powers to dupe honest peasantry or petty lordlings, Master Dunselen. They’re going to be busy – very busy – for the next few lifetimes. Busy fighting your war.”

  “But no one has held that kind of personal authority over a mage since the Magocracy! That smacks of the wiles of the Archmage, Spellmonger!” Lord Maron said, warningly. I found out later that he had a fair number of brushes with my eastern-style brethren, and therefore held a low opinion of the Archmagi who had ruled them for centuries. “The Censorate operates at the behest of the Kingdom – it’s one of the only institutions that survived the shattering of the realm. But not even the Censor General takes personal oaths of loyalty from his men! The oaths are to the Censorate, not the Censor General.”

  “Correct,” I agreed. “But my men swore the Oath nonetheless, and I will hold them to it. Regardless of whether you can meet our price. I’ll not tolerate my men misusing such powerful spells. I’ve seen first-hand what that can do,” I added a little darkly.

  “Well, that’s all very well and good, Master Minalan,” Master Dunselen said, his old eyes narrowing. “But who is to keep you accountable?”

  “That would be me, as well,” I answered diplomatically. “Or my wife, depending on how you look at it.” Okay, Alya and I weren’t officially married yet, but that caused a few titters around the table. Not much, but I’d take it. I saw even more frowns. “The only way you’re going to be able to get these men to keep from taking their witchstones and moving east to enjoy a long and comfortable retirement – until the goblins make it that far – is to give them something they don’t already have. And with a witchstone, that doesn’t leave a lot of territory.

  “So if you promise them lands of their own – held in fief, just as any other lord might win in service to the Duchy – then you might interest them. Mere gold? They gave me bags of emeralds that they policed from the gurvani corpses, because they had no real value to them. Gold won’t work, no matter how much of it you stack up.”

  All of that wasn’t entirely true. The fact was that I had to restrain my men from running off and using their new stones to kill as many gurvani as possible, just to play with all the ways they could do it. The fact was, none of them were particularly interested in going east and retiring rich, not until they’d explored the possibilities of the stones. The fact was, not one of them was pressuring me to get the Bans relaxed. They had accepted the way things are a long time ago. This was my initiative on their behalf. I had to get them something, for what the Duchies were going to ask of them. Something they didn’t even know they wanted yet.

  When my ancestors slashed apart the Magocracy and built the Five Duchies on its ashes, the Bans had been designed to forestall the power of the remaining practicing magi in the East by uncoupling their magical power from their temporal power. If you were going to be certified a mage and licensed to practice by the fictitious Crown, then you couldn’t inherit your ancestral estates, the law said, simple as that. And you couldn’t buy them, or marry into them, either. That merely meant that the non-Magically Talented amongst those eastern nobility were vested with the estates while the magical side of the family actually brought in an income.

  The Bans didn’t make sense anymore – at least, not as they had been decreed. We would need every magi in the Five Duchies if we were going to counter this threat. As a class they weren’t going to be eager to help, either, considering how poorly our profession had been treated over the years. The Royal Censorate as an institution had the authority to do just about anything in its considerable power to enforce the Bans. And they were a zealous lot. Because of the fervor they employed in their duties, the Censorate had strongly limited the attractiveness of my trade.

  It wasn’t so bad on me, of course – I didn’t have an estate, and while I would probably be able to inherit my father’s extensive bakery in my home village on his death, the fact is that he had four burly former apprentices who were now his sons-in-law who would be better equipped to keep the place running than I.

  But most of the Imperially-trained magi were younger sons of minor nobility who gave up the right to their lands the moment they began their training. That discouraged anyone with a real inheritance, or even ambition, from pursuing the trade, and that had to stop.

  Likewise, the high standards for certification by the Censorate made it almost impossible for a poor commoner to apprentice or train. Those poor souls who were born with the Talent but not the means to develop it properly ended up becoming hedgemagi, foot wizards, or clandestine spellmongers. You could make an honest living that way, as long as the Censorate didn’t find out. That had to stop, too. If someone had Talent, any Talent, it needed to be cultivated and groomed and trained. It didn’t matter where they came from, or who their fathers were, what mattered was the Talent.

  So I had decided to throw this on the negotiating table: the complete relaxation of the Bans, so that the nobles among us could inherit their lands, and so that peasants could be trained as magi. We’d deal with the Irionite issue afterwards. Between the two, that would allow the ranks of the magi to swell. Maybe even enough to make a difference. And once magi became magelords, well, it was far less likely that they would disappear over the horizon when the Dead God inevitably came to their homes. Owning property would keep them honest – or at least greedy – enough to stand and fight when the time came.

  Or at least, that was my plan.

  But the Royal Censorate stood in the way. Dunselen was right: it was the only pan-Duchies remnant from the brief few years when the Five Duchies were one kingdom. The Censor General swore his oath to the Coronet Council as representatives of the King. Theoretically, only he and the Lord Admiral of Nodarra were considered beyond the reach of any particular Duke. As such, the Censorate enjoyed far greater freedom to follow their mission than any other institution in the Duchies. And as such, the Grand Censor and his regional representatives were jealous of their traditional prerogatives. They would not be happy about this at all.

  And that was the rub: they could either meet my demands, or they could fight the gurvani and the Dead God without witchstones for a few years, and see how far they got.

  “So releasing the one control we have over you magelings, that’s the price for your assistance?” Lord Maron asked. “Within a week, you’d have all five coronets and be ruling us all. Out of the question!”

  “That’s the first part of my price,” I agreed, swallowing and trying not to look like I was nervous. “Magelords would be subject to the same oaths that other vassals to the Coronet are. But without that . . . well, there’s no use talking further. We can discuss the rest when you’ve decided that you can meet the first term.”

  “You want more!?” Count Sago asked, horrified. “What you ask is impossible. You would have Castal be the only Duchy with . . . with . . .”

  “With really powerful, magic-wielding vassals who owe service to the Duke?” I finished. “And how would that be a bad thing for the Duchy, come the next squabble with one of the others?”

  “If Castal relaxes the Bans, then Alshar must, as well!” Lord Angrial declared.

  “See?” offered Sago. “We give in to this Spellmonger, and
the next thing you know all of the Duchies have. And then where we be?”

  “Alive,” I pointed out. “It’s just a question of how much that is worth to you.”

  “And the good behavior of these warmagi would be guaranteed by you?” the Duchess asked.

  “Absolutely,” I assured her. “I’ve told you of the oaths they swore. I have authority over them.”

  “But could you bring an end to one who rebels?” asked Master Dunselen. “Without power, authority matters not.”

  “Agreed. But since my fellow warmagi have all agreed to follow me in enforcing my word, then it would take a great many of them to pose a serious threat.”

  I was dramatically understating the problem – when Ulric, an unfortunate eleven-year-old apprentice of the other village spellmonger in Boval Vale went mad with the power of irionite it had taken all of my skill and that of my own apprentice to neutralize him. Even more unfortunately, the act had killed Ulric. But his rebellion was the reason I had insisted on anyone who took a stone from my hand to swear to me, personally. The witchstones were my responsibility. If I gave one to you, it was like an extended loan. And they all knew that.

  “Suppose that we do agree to this – radical – departure from our custom,” Duke Rard said, diplomatically. “What else would you demand from us? And what could you deliver for that demand?”

  “A fair point,” I agreed. “What I can deliver – in the short term – is to lead a force across northern Alshar and meet the main force of the foe before they get to the Riverlands. Further, we can promise to scout and scry that whole region, and identify the enemy’s number, strength, and location. We can organize a local defense, magically shore up strategic castles in the area, and – most importantly – counter the spells of the gurvani shamans.

  “That may not seem like much, I know. But it is. When a warmage scouts territory, he doesn’t just spy on the enemy and note the terrain. He collects samples of rocks and trees and such, and uses them to continuously see it through magesight and other spells. And I mentioned some of the horrors the shamans threw at us at Boval Castle. Consider how long we would have survived if there had been no magical corps. Sire Koucey may have held out as long as a week, without magic. And it would have been a long, slow deadly week.”

  “’Promises don’t plow the fields,’ my sire used to say,” pointed out Lady Arnet. “The Duchy doesn’t lack from vacant lands – I have hundreds available, in my office – and it would be interesting to see what use these magi would make of them. I see no use for the Bans – silly things, really – but I say none of this comes to pass until we see the Spellmonger work his magics on our behalf.”

  “It would be hard to un-defeat the gurvani in the field, if you chose not to honor the bargain,” I pointed out. “My sire always said ‘the flour is loaded before coin is spent.’ How are we to ensure that you will indeed relax the Bans, if we’re successful?”

  “Is the word of the Duke not enough?” the Prime Minister sniffed. “Would you have him swear on the crownshard?”

  “Perhaps,” I shrugged. “I will speak to my men about it. But consider this: should we indeed be victorious, and you tried to renege on the agreement . . . well, as much hold as I have over these warmagi, I don’t think I could stop them from voicing their displeasure at such a betrayal.”

  “Are you threatening us?” Sago asked, warningly.

  “I’m letting you know the consequences of a particular action in advance,” I corrected. “I think that will help clear up any misunderstandings in the future. If you make this pledge to us, do not fail to honor it, or the consequences will be dire. For everyone.”

  “Relax the Bans and destroy the status quo, or be eaten by goblins,” sighed old Kindine. “Shall we offer up our daughters to these warmagi, too?” he asked in despair.

  I paused. “Could I look at the daughters, first?” I quipped.

  That brought howls of laughter, and a welcome break in the tension. When things calmed down again, I spoke up before anyone else could. “That’s not all, Your Grace. I would also have the command of all warmagi and magi who take witchstones from my hands. They must take the same oaths as everyone else.”

  “You have . . . more?” Dunselen asked, licking his lips unconsciously. He had a sudden hunger on his face that was almost frightening.

  “Seven more, at the moment,” I nodded. I dug into a pouch and pulled one forth and laid it on the dark wooden table. Dunselen’s breath stopped for a moment, and everyone else looked uncomfortable.

  “Such a tiny thing,” the old master mage said in a near whisper. “I can . . . feel it pulse with power, clear across the room!”

  “I have seven such,” I reminded him. “I will give them only to those who prove themselves worthy and who will swear an oath to me, personally.”

  “Why you, personally?” demanded Sago. I was getting sick of him. “Why not the Censor General? Hartarian of Gaaz, the Voran? Isn’t that his job? To bind the magi?”

  “So tightly they cannot fight for you,” I nodded. “But that’s not ‘why.’ They must be bound to me because I alone possess a stone capable of breaking the corruption of the Dead God from another stone. It was so enchanted by the Tree Folk of Boval Vale. And using an un-cleansed stone would allow the eyes and the ears of the Dead God to see and hear all that the mage did.” I had no confirmation of this, actually, but that was the impression I got from the Tree Folk, when they had schooled me in the use of my irionite sphere.

  “So you say,” Sago said, slyly. “Yet you are the only one making this claim.”

  “Test it yourself,” I offered. “At your peril. See how long it takes before you have a mage as powerful as the Mad Mage of Farise behind your lines, doing the work of the enemy.”

  “So you wish the Bans relaxed, and all future wielders of Irionite be sworn to your hand,” repeated Dunselen. “What else?”

  “You must organize a long-term defense,” I stated, flatly. “This is not some summer-war you can spend two months fighting, and then take a ten-month break from before resuming. Our foe is relentless. His forces are enormous. If we do not take strong steps to see to our defense, long term, then the battle we win today will be merely the first of our defeats.”

  “So what do you recommend?” Sago asked, almost mockingly. I was starting to think that was the only tone he knew.

  “I recommend that after we identify the extent of the enemy’s incursion into the Duchies, we also identify the castles and fortresses best equipped to stand against them – and then fortify them heavily. We will not be able to defeat the Dead God on the field. We will not be able to defeat him magically. But we can contain this blight to western Alshar, if we are diligent, expedient, and willing to sacrifice a little treasure to gain some security. Maybe enough time to figure out how we can possibly defeat the Dead God.”

  “At last, some sense from the baker’s son’s mouth!” gasped Lord Angrial. “Defense! That’s what’s needed, now! We must raise a mighty army, every man who can hold a spear—”

  “Which will be slaughtered, if you were stupid enough to employ it. The Dead God could not resist so ripe a target. And somehow I don’t think you would be as enthusiastic about my plan, if you knew what it entailed for Alshar.”

  “It can’t be worse than what’s already happening!” said Lord Angrial, heatedly. “We sit here and talk, and with every heartbeat that passes a thousand gurvani have taken another bold step into fair Alshar!”

  “What do you propose, Master Spellmonger?” asked the Duchess, patiently, ignoring the Alshari ambassador.

  “I propose that we curtain in the gurvani. Raise a mighty army, yes – but it must be a standing army, garrisoning those forts and patrolling those borders as we define them. Screen as much of the civilian population of Alshar and Castal from them as possible. Build ditches and walls. Fortify fords and bridges. Fence in these goblins like a bunch of errant cattle, and then once we’ve contained them, we can begin pushing back.” Maybe
. I hoped. More probably, the Dead God would just redouble his considerable efforts and eventually break through his fence. But that could take years, if we were prepared, and that could buy the Duchies much-needed time.

  “That may be a sound strategy,” Sago admitted, very grudgingly. “We would have to study the specifics, of course, but if you are correct about the permanent nature of the threat . . . Your Grace, we may have no other reasonable choice.”

  “Cannot some small, powerful group of warriors and warmagi break through the lines, fight their way to the Dead God, and slay him?” asked another noble, who had been quiet so far. “We hear of such tales of heroes all the time—”

  “Your pardon, my lord,” I said, smoothly and patiently, “but that would be inadvisable. And foolish. And impossible. Suicide—”

  “Yes, you made your point young man!” Lady Arnet said, sourly. “What about the temples? Surely they have some magic of the gods which could be employed . . . ?”

  “You are at liberty to petition them, my lady,” I said. “But if there is a priest in this world as powerful as a warmagi armed with irionite that would be a sight to see. Besides, I’m a thaumaturge, not a theurge,” I explained.

  “So once again we are back to you and your warmagi, and how you’re the only ones who can possibly save us from this crisis!” said Sago, testily.

  “It’s your crisis,” I said, volleying in return. “I’m not a duke. I’m not a count. I’m not even a lord, as has been pointed out thoroughly at this meeting. I’m a Spellmonger and a warmage, and my responsibilities at the moment extend to making sure my woman is safe and secure and that my parents and apprentices are provided for. You are the ones responsible for the security of the Duchy, not me. I’m merely offering you a means to help achieve that security.”