Good. But be careful while you do it, okay? One wrong word and you could alienate someone you didn’t know was important. But there are a few you’ll have to win over. The Duke, of course, but if the rest of the court is against it he’ll have a hard time being for it. And the Court Mage. You’ll probably have to bribe him.
Bribe the senior mage in the entire Duchy? I asked, in disbelief.
Relax: bribery is an old and distinguished custom at court, and it doesn’t have all of the unseemly overtones it does, say, in the village market. The Court Mage is as political as any other courtier, she assured me. But you have something he covets, that you can give him, and that gives you leverage.
I do?
A witchstone, remember? Promise him a hunk of irionite and he’ll offer to have your babies.
That’s a tremendously disturbing picture you’ve just forced me to think about, I said, sourly.
Next after those two will be the Lord Marshal, the head of the military. Since this is a military matter, the Duke won’t approve it without his support.
Great: kiss the Duke’s arse, then bribe the court mage. How do I win the Lord Marshal? A carefully-composed sonnet? Or slip him twenty ounces of silver and a shiny new sword?
Funny, she said humorlessly. No, you appeal to his position as Protector of the Realm. The Duchy – all the Duchies – are in danger, and whoever is in charge now came in after Farise. Which means that they were looking at a long stretch of peace, which most generals don’t appreciate. Now you can give him a war, and not a commercially-advantageous war like Farise was, but a real, honest, fight-for-your-life war with an implacable foe on the very borders of the Duchy. No matter how pragmatic a Lord Marshal is, I’m sure he can be moved by the glory in that.
He already doesn’t like me very much.
So make him like you. Impress him. You were in the army, she reminded me, unnecessarily.
Where I cursed generals like him, not enjoy a friendly glass of wine with them after a game of darts. He was a lord commander of thousands in Farise, I was just a spark in the magical corps. Different circles.
‘Spark?’
Slang term for warmagi, I explained. Because we don’t grunt, we sparkle, or something like that. I never did get the complete story. Anyway, I’ll appeal to him as a comrade-at-arms, for all the good it will do. Next?
The Ducal spymaster. The head of the intelligence-gathering apparatus always has a unique and disproportional voice in the affairs of state, from what Daddy has told me. But he won’t be in public – none of the Duchies has an office called ‘Ducal Spymaster.’ It’s always a euphemistic title, or one that’s completely at odds with the actual purpose of the position. In Remere it’s Viscount Armandulo, the Secretary of Shipping. He knows everything that goes on in Remere.
Including your father’s ‘cultural association?’
Probably, she admitted. But that doesn’t mean he finds it in the Duchy’s interest to act upon that knowledge, I think. In any case, there will be someone like that in Castal, someone close to the Duke. Maybe his bodyguard, or a powerful noble, or even a sheriff or knight courtier-without-portfolio. Look around, trust your instincts, and find him. Then make friends with him, too. If you get him, the Court Mage, the Duke, and the Lord Marshal, no one else will matter.
What about the consort? I asked. The Duchess? Shouldn’t I be kissing her butt? Honestly, it’s the nicest one there, I added, thinking about the rest of the War Council.
She’s there as a courtesy, and because she has a reputation for being bossy and wouldn’t allow something as important as a war to occur without being advised about it. She may have some influence over the Duke . . . or she may not.
She’s his wife! I pointed out. Doesn’t that count for something?
They don’t have a regular common-folk marriage, Min, she explained, patiently. Things work differently in matters of sex and family among the nobility. And this isn’t just a noble marriage, Min, this is a Royal marriage. The Dukes are kings in all but name, and they marry their houses together for reasons too obscure for most people to understand. And their marriages aren’t like . . . well, what your parents did, or what you and Alya may have someday.
May? As soon as I’m done with this, I’m headed back home to find a priest!
I know, Min, she said, an odd tone to her ‘voice.’ And I wish you the best – I really do. She’s a lovely girl, and smart and brave, and she doesn’t put up with your crap. And she truly loves you, and that’s pretty important too. But . . .
Why does there have to be a ‘but?’ I demanded.
There’s always a ‘but,’ she answered, sadly. Min, you aren’t just the village spellmonger anymore. Or even a warmagi. You’ve got a unique position and a unique set of responsibilities. We’re all counting on you – not just me and the Order, but all of us.
I slumped, and I apparently uttered some kind of disturbing ‘noise’ through my telepathic link that alerted Penny.
Hey! I didn’t say that to make you feel overwhelmed. No, I just wanted to put it in perspective. Last year you were fixing horse’s teeth and curing warts . . . and now you’re dining with the Duke.
He hasn’t actually offered to dine with me, I said sullenly.
My point remains. You aren’t who you were when you fell in love with her. And she needs to understand that . . . and so do you. You do love her. You even need her. She’s good for you. But you’re never going to have that hokey peasant dream life of a sprawling shack full of fat brats you want so desperately. Alya is going to have to adapt to your new role. And you’re going to have to adapt as well.
You wouldn’t be speaking out of jealousy, would you? I asked, stiffly.
She ‘sounded’ shocked. What? Me? Jealous of Alya? Oh, goddess protect you from falling into a well, you silly boy, no!
Well, you didn’t have to be mean about it, I sniffed. I’m not that bad . . . of course, your father wouldn’t approve, and your mother, and—
No! It’s not that – If I wanted you, you know I wouldn’t let something like—
‘If’ you wanted me? I said, knowing it was getting under her skin, and enjoying her discomfort far more than I’d like to admit. I have my petty moments. So now that you’re done with me—?
She sounded even more panicked. Min! I knew a long time ago that you and I weren’t . . . that there wasn’t . . . that I couldn’t—
Don’t hurt yourself, I said sourly. I know what you mean, Pentandra. But I also know that you’re devious enough and catty enough so that if you didn’t like Alya, you’d conceal it – especially from me – under a ruse of thoughtful consideration and act just like you’re doing now, until you were in a position for an opportune strike. Wouldn’t you? I accused.
She sounded more thoughtful. You have a point. Still, I mention her only in passing, because she’s important to you, and you’re important to us. And both of you are going to end up making compromises that you’ll be uncomfortable with. I’m just trying to warn you . . . prepare you. I don’t want to hurt you, and if keeping you happy with a lusty, busty peasant lass and a barn full of brats is what you need, then I’m all for it.
Just so we’re clear, I said evenly. I intend to wed her. And raise a bunch of brats. That’s not going to change.
That’s fine. Just don’t be surprised when you find your perspective changing. Things might not be as simple as you hope.
Time will tell, I said, nodding. It was over time to change the subject. I looked up at her pulsating, whirling essay in the arcane arts. So, just what is this . . . spell? I decided to call it. It had several elements that were clearly ‘active,’ so it was more than a mere exercise.
It’s my attempt at exploring the stone, she admitted. You know Salanit’s Rule?
‘Two objects in proximity retain an affinity after separation?’ I answered by rote, like it was second year Thaumaturgy again.
Right. I knew that your master stone severed the bond between the other stones and the
Dead God’s sphere – thank Ishi! – but I wasn’t sure if it also severed the bonds they had with each other.
That’s an interesting approach, I admitted, impressed.
I thought so too, she agreed. So I began designing a spell that would . . . facilitate communication through that link.
What? Really? I asked, astonished. The implications . . .
Yes, really. I think I’ve got it almost perfected, too. Here, let me establish a connection between our stones . . . She seemed awfully proud of herself.
I could see the pebble in her hand in the Otherworld, a bright green pulsating star of light in her palm. A silver tendril erupted from the stone and drifted into the ether, almost like smoke. I observed as Penny directed the tendril to the stone in my hand, where it was attracted like a lodestone, once it came near. The moment the two touched, the tendril snapped taut, like a fishing line, and from then on no matter where or how I moved it, that line remained connected.
That’s amazing, Pen! I praised, chuckling. What is it?
A regular old forleth line, she said, augmented with a binding charm. Easy.
Forleth was a metaphor for an attachment between two objects. The runes involved are full of binding and communication and action and all sorts of other factors, and the construct was useful for, say, locating an object you didn’t want to lose but might. My staff had several forleth lines binding it to me with the brown knot coral inside. Well, binding it to the silver ring on my left hand, also with a shard of brown knot coral. I’d made powerful enough to pull the staff to my hand, an impressive pre-irionite piece of spellwork. Now I could whip out a forleth line just by thinking about it.
I’m just getting started, she said, turning her attention to her elaborate construct. Let me just . . . there, and . . . there! she said, triumphantly. She turned back to me, her illusionary breasts – definitely larger than in real life – bouncing perceptibly. That doesn’t usually happen in the Otherworld, but Penny was just that kind of girl.
Here, she said, reducing a large piece of the construct to something more portable – in this case, a yellow, apis-like glyph with a whirl of energy surging inside. Establish an affinity, please, she directed as she presented me with the result. I nodded and began the process.
Affinity is a binding of a very personal nature, the sort of thing you do to your best enchantments. My sword, Slasher, was enchanted with a powerful affinity that helped bind it to me. If you destroyed Slasher, I’d feel it, although not much. Some magi are really, really good with affinity, so good that they can do it with living creatures. That’s a whole different level than this, though.
I pulled the glyph within the green sphere in my palm, and as I watched and carefully fitted it around the witchstone, it attached itself to the swirling swarm of magic constantly surrounding the sphere. And, suddenly – I could hear Penny.
It’s difficult to explain – in the Otherworld, you aren’t exactly talking, you’re communicating, and the medium of the ether provided the means for that communication in something that our minds usually interpret as speech or communicative gestures. It took some study and practice to be able to form your representation in the Otherworld to the point where you could even ‘talk’ – much less have bouncy breasts and glittery hair.
But suddenly, I could hear Penny as clearly and without the use of the ether as a medium. I could hear her directly in my head.
How’s that? she thought at me. Her image didn’t move.
I can hear you! I thought back. That’s a lot easier!
It gets even better, she thought, happily. If I did it right – and I’m sure I did – the link remains even after you leave the Otherworld.
You mean . . . ?
Anyone who employs this spell on a shard of irionite from the Dead God will be able to communicate with anyone else. Telepathically. Without resorting to out-of-body travel.
Penny, that’s . . . that’s incredible! Telepathy has been done with magic before, of course, but the spells involved are complex, and they usually only work in line-of-sight and with great concentration. There are other spells that use the medium of the Otherworld to communicate simple images and symbols from one waking-mind to the other, but they were fiendishly sophisticated. How do I . . . get in touch with you?
Easy. Just think about me. And form a cartra of your desire in the shape of that glyph. Then think of the Rocanic glyph made up of my name, linked to the spell’s symbol, and it will activate through my stone. Even across the whole continent, she added, proudly. A cartra is an Imperial-style technical term for a type of very specific wish. It’s complicated, but yes, there are different types of wishes.
And if you want to get in touch with me?
You’ll recognize the cartra, when you feel it, she assured me. At least, you should.
And we’ll be able to speak mind-to-mind? Any time?
That’s the general idea, she agreed. Which you should have understood by now.
I’ve been distracted, I thought, sardonically. Can I share this with the others? The other warmagi, I meant.
I was just waiting for your approval.
“What? You were waiting for my approval?” I asked, confused. Why would you need my approval?
“You’re our leader, remember? she asked, patiently. I think it’s a lovely spell, but I’m not going to do anything like that unless you tell me to.
Come on, Pen, since when do you listen to anyone?
I said I’d listen to you, she said, a little defensively. I was under your command at Boval Castle, remember?
Penny, you know very well you’re not a warmage! You’re a scholar. You were there out of academic interest, remember?
I was there to pull your stones out of the fire, if you recall, and to grab a witchstone. Thanks to you, I have two. And I fought out there, as you very well know. I might not be a warmage, but that doesn’t mean I’m not part of your . . . Order? Squad? Unit? Army?
I don’t know what to call it, I admitted. Warmagi rarely form into units, because we’re too expensive that way, and who wants to spend that much on magic in the middle of a war? I’m essentially hiring us out to the Duke as mercenaries. But you’re right, not all of us are the throat-slitting, sword swinging, bolt-of-death-in-each-hand type of warmagi. And if we are going to win this war, it won’t be because we have more or better swords – we’re going to have to out-think and out-perform this monstrosity. We aren’t entirely a military unit, then. But we can all be of use to the effort. So yes, maybe ‘order’ is the right term.
I volunteer to be the . . . whatever you call the person who coordinates everything and actually gets things done.
In a military unit, it would be an executive officer. A steward or quartermaster or staff sergeant, depending on what kind of unit. But for a paramilitary order . . . let me think about it. What did the old Archmagi call their executives?
Prime ministers, in Perwin. The Voice Of The Archmage, in the Magocracy. Neither one really fits.
For now, just call yourself my . . . steward, the Steward of the Order. We’ll get around to naming it later. Do you think you can contact the others through the Otherworld and set up the new links?
I’ll do it, she promised. I can reach at least four or five, with no problem, and I can pass the word to others in other ways.
Make sure Terleman is one of them. He’s commanding the troops in my absence. Which means he’s riding herd on the dozen magi who didn’t have pressing business elsewhere. I had him encamp at an old castle a few hundred miles from here, an old client who owed Hesia some money. You can reach the some of the rest of them there, too. But I want to be able to get in touch with Terleman, if I need to.
For whatever reason, it’s easier to use my stone that way, than to try to forge a link from theirs. I’ve been experimenting, she confessed. Penny’s stone was special, like mine. Mine had been tampered with by the Alka Alon, the mysterious, magical Tree Folk. It used to be all lumpy. Now it was a smooth sphere, and it wor
ked more smoothly, too.
Penny’s stone came from a type of special shaman, one of the Dead God’s elite priesthood, the urgulnosti. It was the same mass as mine, more or less, but it was shaped in a smooth torus, with a hole in the middle. We had discussed the differences during our journey from Boval, and recognized that our two stones didn’t just look different, they performed differently. We just didn’t know exactly how, except that mine could sever the bond with the Dead God, and hers couldn’t.
If this is the kind of work you do, keep it up, I thought enthusiastically. Do you realize what this will do for the war effort?
Do you realize what this will do for the art of gossip? she countered. One wrong fart at the wrong time, and suddenly everyone in the Five Duchies has heard about it!
Your priorities are seriously off, Pen, I rebuked.
I just wanted to point out there was more than one use for my little spell, she thought, smugly. I’m not blind to its strategic value. But we should keep it a secret, outside of the Order. It’s the sort of thing that could be invaluable someday.
Let’s test the theory, then. I’m going to go back, and let’s see if it works.
Yes! she thought, excitedly. Go back to your smelly old castle!
It took a few minutes to reel my ghostly image back to my body, but eventually I settled back into my mortal vessel and opened my eyes. My room was dark – the lamp had gone out. My arms and legs had mostly fallen asleep, and I realized that my body was chilled, even in the warm summer air.
I took a deep breath and thought about Penny. Naked, because back when we studied sex magic together, that was how I usually saw her. Then I formed a cartra around the image in my mind, and pushed . . .
Penny?
I hear you Min!
This is incredible! This will give us a huge advantage!
That’s true, she said. But then the question is, just who does it give us an advantage over? The gurvani, to be sure. But also the Dukes and the Ban. That was some inspired thinking, Min. If we can get the Bans lifted . . .
The Spellmonger Series: Book 02 - Warmage Page 13