“And you will need every one who can hold a spear or sword, my lord,” I interrupted quietly, as a page brought me a trencher with a slab of cheese, a slice of beef, and some over-cooked, unseasoned vegetables. “This war will not be over by autumn. It will not be over in a year. Sharuel has been preparing his soldiers for a hundred years. If we don’t get the people out of the way, they become his slaves, or worse, sacrificial victims to feed his magics.”
“Why not merely shut our frontier against them?” he asked, sharply. “Turn away all who seek shelter, and let them cry to their own Duke for aid?”
“Because we are not beasts, we are men,” I said, stiffly. “Those folk may live in Alshar, but they’re humans. And we will need them, eventually. Save them now, or lose them forever. Or do you propose putting Castali garrisons around the invasion? How many Castali nobles would be willing to stand such a watch?”
“Interesting perspective,” he grunted. “The fact is, Duke Lenguin of Alshar is a pompous idiot. My Alshari counterpart, Count Venn of Darlake, rules in earnest from Falas in the south. Lenguin feels like he has to do something, however. He’s holed up in Vorone desperately trying to raise a force in a Duchy already a third overrun. Surely he would welcome such an influx of his own people?”
“They’d never make it to Vorone,” I said, shaking my head as I cut the beef with my knife. “At least not many of them. The distance is too great for them to make the journey on foot without being preyed upon by gurvani. And Vorone is looking to its own defense.”
“As should we, wisdom says,” Kindine countered. I studied him thoughtfully for a moment. Clearly, he was being resistant to my proposals on purpose. What was he after?
“My lord, perhaps I can put it another way: would you rather fight the gurvani now, on Alshari soil, or would you rather fight them next Spring, at the gates of Wilderhall?”
“I would rather not fight them at all, but as you said, the gods had other plans,” he sighed, heavily. “And you insist that their filthy shamans carry witchstones?”
“Dozens,” I agreed. “Yet despite their great power, they lack the ability to work well in concert, as Imperially-trained magi do. We proved that at Boval Castle. A score of us were able to keep the shamans at bay. Mayhap we could have held indefinitely – or at least until the food ran out – but the Dead God arrived, and forced our departure. Every one of those stones is connected to Sharuel, too. He can see from the eyes and hear from the ears of every shaman who holds a stone.”
“And you feel you can match this power, by relaxing the Bans?”
“I feel that the only hope we have of countering the Dead God lies in relaxing the Bans,” I stated again. “There is no guarantee of victory, my lord. It would be untruthful for me to say otherwise.”
“You would have us make magelords again,” he accused. “Wizards with temporal power. Magi who can inherit their father’s estates, take their titles—”
“And swear the same oaths of fealty and service any other lord would,” I countered.
“And you in charge of them all,” he said, his old, sharp eyes boring into me. “You, a stripling spellmonger, the son of a baker.”
“If not me, then who?” I asked, the same response I’d given Dunselen. “Consider, my position, my lord. There will be a war between us and the gurvani. The Dead God’s shamans will fall in battle. Warmagi will find those stones. And without my aid, they will be, eventually, under the thrall of that dread lord. Imperially-trained warmagi, bathed with power from the irionite, enslaved by our darkest foe. Would you have him command them, or me? The weapons in this war are on the table, my lord. We pick them up in our defense, or they will be used against us.”
“I see your point,” he finally said, reluctantly. “Spellmonger, I’ve run four wars for His Grace and his father in the fifty summers I’ve had this job. Two with Remere, one with Alshar, and the Farisian campaign. I had hoped to die before I had to run a fifth. Since I have no choice, I shall do as is needed. But your proposal has the possibility of destroying the Duchy as surely as any invasion.”
“History teaches that the Magi were once respected lords of men,” I pointed out. “In the Magocracy, once they ceased fighting amongst themselves, they built a great culture of sophistication and prosperity.”
“Yet they had the Archmage to keep them in line. Do you propose electing one for that purpose?”
“Let’s consider the problems one at a time, my lord,” I suggested. “Right now the issue of the gurvani is paramount. The issue of the magi is secondary. And right now you can use the one problem to mitigate the other. I’m merely giving you the opportunity to take advantage of the talents of me and my men. That is an option that you did not have before I arrived.”
“Before you arrived I had thought to retire after this winter. Yes, you have given us an option, a weapon on the table, so to speak. But it is a weapon I fear will turn on us, if we pick it up. And a weapon we cannot put back down once wielded. Not to mention the complaints we’ll get from the other Duchies. Remere will be offended, Merwin will be livid, and Vore will be simmering with discontent. There are still plenty of old Imperial families who practice your trade, Spellmonger, who would see our order overthrown and a new Empire built on its ashes.”
I knew that. My ex-girlfriend was one of those Imperials, and her father and other family members were part of a secret order that had been working on that steadily for the last three centuries. And as part of my bargain with Penny to get relief at Boval Castle, I’d had to pledge a single witchstone to their order, finally giving the insidious underground movement the power it needed to prosecute its secret war with the Duchies of Merwin and Vore and Remere.
Best not to mention that part.
“I understand, Excellency, but under the circumstances, perhaps a decision can be made to deal with the crisis without capitulating to politics for once?” I challenged. I thought he might get angry. Instead he threw back his head and laughed heartily.
“Without politics? Are you mad, Spellmonger? All such decisions are made in regard to politics! Because the politics never goes away. Even while Lord Angrial begs for troops to defend his Duchy, he’s insisting that they serve under Alshari commanders, because it would be a violation of Alshar’s sovereignty to allow Castali nobles to run armies through Alshar. And not just any nobles – he wants Lenguin’s favorites, no matter how incompetent they are.
“The emissary from Remere was here at dawn, protesting the banner call as a needless provocation. The lords of the Wilderlands are already calling for more troops from the Duchy in the north, while those in the Riverlands are resisting the banner call because it is almost harvest season. There are noble houses who will be offended if I do not give them a place of honor in the van of any army, and those who will rebel if I do. The Duchy owes money to half of the great lords and is owed taxes by the other half.”
“How did things get into such a state?” I asked, troubled. As a commoner, you always expected that the nobility had things under control. Even my broader experience rarely put me in a position to appreciate politics at that level. Be victimized by it, yes, but that rarely leads to appreciation.
He cackled again. “Things were as bad or worse when I took the post. After fifty years, despite my best efforts at governance, they are still as bad as they were my first day. And Castal is known as the richest and prosperous of the Duchies, after Merwin!” he laughed. “I expect my future replacement a century from now will be complaining of the same things. I just keep the wheel turning, now, I quit trying to repair the machinery long ago.
“Yet if the Duke agrees to your proposal, all the progress I’ve made after four wars and a lifetime of careful watch will be swept away in one blow,” he said, bitterly. “Within a year, I shall see the treasury bankrupt, the Duke embattled, the Duchy in ruins. And magelords, no doubt, to become our masters while honest lords and honorable knights are slain in waves on the battlefield. How is this not ruin, Spellmonger?” he de
manded.
“Ruin, my lord?” I asked, curiously. He was putting a little too much emphasis into the negatives. On purpose. He wanted to see how flexible I was. “Change, certainly,” I admitted. “But change is thrust upon us, whether we want it or not. There are twenty-odd shards of irionite in the hands of competent, experienced magi. That isn’t going to change.”
“You don’t believe the Yet my proposal is open to some negotiation.”
“Such as?” he asked, intrigued despite himself.
“Regular lords pledge a tithe of their income to the Duchy in tribute. If magelords were to give fifteen percent . . .”
“A tax on the magi?” he asked, almost grinning. “That might smooth some ruffled feathers. And be a valuable precedent for the other Duchies, should they follow suit. There must be twice as many magi in the east as here.”
“Thrice, easily,” I agreed. It didn’t hurt that magic was still a respected profession in the east, whereas from central Remere, west, it was regarded with near-universal suspicion. “The magi would be happy to pay it, I assure you.”
“And what of these magi who wield your witchstones?” he asked. “Far more powerful than their brethren. That will have to be countered, as well.”
“If the Duke’s vassals owe one month’s service a year,” I considered, “then magelords could be required to provide one month of magical service, in addition.”
“That . . . might work. Especially if they would work at our direction.”
“It would be an opportunity for them to display their civic-mindedness,” I offered, reasonably. “Think of all the bridges and walls that could be shored up, at no expense. The charms against fire and theft.”
“There will be a great outcry amongst the petty nobility,” he warned. “If they must share borders with magelords, they will be screaming to the about the unfair competition. Many will say that magi won’t be able to administer estates properly.”
“Only the idiots. Minor matters, my lord. And we have plenty of time to deal with the practical details, at a later date. The Duchy will prosper, I foresee. Once magic was used in the service of man, to improve the lot of everyone in the Magocracy. A mage who uses it on behalf of his people will prosper. A mage who uses his power unwisely . . . well, he won’t deserve his witchstone.”
“It is my experience that no man is above abusing whatever power he has, if it serve his needs,” he remarked. “And there’s no reason to believe that magi will be any different. Oaths or not, a man will do what he wills, and the more means he has the more he wills.”
“Surely our own lord is wise and just,” I said, smoothly.
“Rard? Wise enough, perhaps. Just? As just as he needs to be. He’s better than some would be, worse than others. The land has prospered under his reign, but is that his doing? And if it didn’t, would he be to blame?”
“Matters far beyond my head,” I said, shaking it gently. “I am a simple spellmonger, after all.”
“A simple spellmonger? No, Master Minalan, you are far from ‘simple.’ Tell me, why did you come here, to Castal, when your lord owed his allegiance to the Alshari Dukes? Why here, and not in Vorone?”
Now that was a good question – and one I hadn’t thought to ask myself. “Honestly, my lord? Because Alshar is already doomed. As brave as her people and as valiant her knights, they have been beset before they knew they were at war. Duke Lenguin is mustering at Vorone, and he will have to fight the gurvani, but if the Dead God intends to take Vorone, he will. Alshar will not be able to withstand them. They are too few, too disorganized, to sparsely settled.
“But Castal . . . that is where the wealth of the Western Duchies lies,” I said. “And Castal will be next to fall. Yet Castal is also the best place to mount a defense – a real defense against the Dead God. The remnants of the Alshari will be useful, but they are a rustic folk, who are more hunters than warriors. They don’t have the discipline of the Castali cavalry.”
“And what if Duke Rard decides to reject your offer?” he asked, a glint in his ancient eye.
I shrugged like a peasant. “Then I go talk to Duke Clofalin of Remere and make him the same offer. After he sees what happens to Castal, I’m sure he’ll be in a more receptive mood,” I said, meaningfully. To my surprise, Kindine laughed, heartily.
“Oh, you play a dangerous game, clever Spellmonger!” he cackled. “Threaten our Duchy with treason to our rivals using our own fear as leverage! You are a crafty one, wizard!” He allowed himself to laugh a little longer than I felt was justified, which made me uneasy, but eventually he sighed and set his empty wine cup back down on the table.
“I’ll tell you what’s going to happen,” he said, after regarding me for a long moment. “You’re going to be summoned to see the Duke and Duchess at dinner tonight. They will ask you all the same questions I have, and probably more of their own. But you’re right, we don’t have much of a choice. Alshar is in ruins. Remere would pounce on us at the first sign of weakness, using us as a shield against the gurvani while they prepare.
“So we will take your bargain, bitterly, but we will take it. But know the final terms are not yet set, and won’t be until the Censor General has had a chance to speak with His Grace. But I’ve seen enough to know what will happen, Spellmonger, and you will get your way. Just be certain that you do not disappoint, if you do.”
“My lord, I assure you I bargain in open faith. By now you should know I’m not going to promise you I can kill the Dead God. Indeed, I’ve told you repeatedly I cannot. But if His Grace will but give me a chance, I can show him what is possible. And perhaps allow Castal adequate time to prepare.”
“I hope you understand your business, Master Minalan,” he said, darkly. “The fates of millions may hang upon you, now.”
And on that happy thought, my luncheon was over.
* * *
When I finally found my way back toward my new quarters, the castellan Harren was waiting for me with his kinsman, Hamlan. They had similar features, although Harren had the maturity of age instead of Hamlan’s youthful face. He was a boy of twenty, the son of Harren’s cousin. He had served his old master faithfully, and had a treasured scrap of parchment to attest to his service.
“So are you familiar with my trade, Hamlan?” I asked him, as I poured a glass of wine for all three of us. “I am a mage, a scholar, a warmage, and a spellmonger.”
“I have had the acquaintance of a count’s court wizard,” he admitted, “and I employed a spellmonger before on behalf of my master, but that is all I’m afraid.”
“It’s not so different than any other profession, ordinarily,” I admitted. “Even though we take great pains to disguise that fact. I use magic to provide a service for a fee. Ordinarily,” I repeated, “your duties would be that of any domestic servant for a prosperous merchant. Tend my horse. Prepare my meals. Care for my clothing and equipment. Run errands and messages. Keep my confidences, guard my valuables, whatever else servants are supposed to do. Act respectful to your betters, don’t bring trouble into my house, avoid gossip, keep an ear open . . . under ordinary circumstances, that would be the extent of your duties.”
“Milord implies that your circumstances aren’t ordinary,” he ventured.
“Exactly. I have come into a lot of power, recently. That will mean money and such things, eventually, but right now I am the most powerful mage in the Five Duchies – or one of them – and I’ve attracted a lot of attention.”
“Attention, milord?” Hamlan asked.
“People might be trying to kill me soon,” I explained.
“People, milord?”
“The nobility, the Duke, the Censor General, a disembodied magical goblin head and a few hundred thousand gurvani,” I said. “There are also secret orders of magi and a pregnant fiancée you’ll have to deal with,” I added. Best not disguise the truth.
“Milord has accumulated an impressive list of foes, if I might be so bold,” he said, grinning. “I assume that you are �
�� will be – in danger?”
“I think it’s likely,” I admitted. “In fact, I may end up going to war in the near future. Then again, I may not. But either way, I’m going to be doing some traveling and at times it may be perilous. If you’re looking for a life of quiet reflection, this isn’t it. Do you have the courage to stay with me, and perhaps die in my service?”
“All men must die, milord,” Hamlan said, philosophically. “And I have courage enough. Moreover, I know how to draw a sword in my defense, though I’m no warrior. As for travel, I have always wanted to see the world.”
“The idea of danger doesn’t bother you?” I asked, surprised. I wouldn’t have taken that job. I think. Then again, I used to be a romantic, back before I got drafted.
“It occurs to me that in a dangerous situation, a good place to be might be by the side of the most powerful mage in the Five Duchies,” he observed. “Moreover, such a position, as hazardous as it might be – and if I understand milord correctly that the danger might indeed be fatal?”
“If I go to war, then it’s a distinct possibility.”
“Such a position could well lead to riches and fortune. Or at least infamy. And that is a consideration. That and the potentially fatal nature of my proposed service.”
“You seem to keep drifting back to the dangerous aspects of the job,” I pointed out. “I’m curious: do you fear death so much?”
He looked at me, puzzled. “Death, milord? The gods teach us that death must come to us all. It is not to be feared.”
“Then why . . . ?”
“Oh! Well, milord, if there’s a chance of fatality in the position, I think that should probably factor into my fee, don’t you think?”
I chuckled. I thought I was going to like this man. “You would be a fool not to,” I agreed. “And clearly, you’re no fool. I don’t mind a man with a sharp mind, as long as he knows his role in our affairs. But I must demand loyalty, above all else. I will not tolerate an unreliable servant.” I could barely tolerate the idea of a servant at all – an apprentice is a different matter. But since I was thrusting myself up into the nobility, I needed someone to watch my horse and fetch my supper and go grab my sword out of my quarters or find me lodgings while I was off trying to save the Duchies.
The Spellmonger Series: Book 02 - Warmage Page 23