And I could afford it. Harrell produced a large, heavy bag from within a satchel and laid it out on my bed.
“Three hundred ounces of silver,” he said. “And here is a draft on my kinsman’s shop for a further four hundred, payable upon demand. Minus my fee, of course,” he added smoothly.
“Excellent,” I nodded, and took out twenty pieces of silver. “Hamlan, here’s your first month’s pay, plus a month’s bonus. I want you to start in the morning. Until then, get yourself a decent set of clothes, something befitting a . . . well, I don’t quite know my social status, but just pretend I’m a baron and garb yourself accordingly. Oh, and arrange for appropriate clothing for myself, as well. We’re near enough the same size. Get me a suit in blue, and one in dark green. Something tasteful – I don’t want to be taken for a Vorean dandy,” I snorted.
“I know just the tailor, milord,” Hamlan smiled. “Shoes, as well?”
“Riding boots,” I sighed. “Sturdy, but well-made. Harrell, will it be possible to find quarters for Hamlan nearby?”
“There is a servant’s dormitory in the River Tower, Master Minalan,” the castellan assured me. “I shall make certain that there is a place made available.”
“How should I address milord, if I might ask, milord?” Hamlan asked.
“Master Minalan, in most circumstances. Master, in others. Minalan, when we’re alone. Min when we’re drunk.” That brought a grin to his face. “I don’t need a lot of bowing and scraping. You’re not here to inflate my sense of importance. And I prefer a companionable servant to a formal one, when we’re on the road, if you understand.”
“Of course, Master Minalan,” Hamlan agreed, nodding. “It’s often been said I’m a jolly companion. I can sing, at need, and know a bit of poetry. And I’m no stranger to drink or the places that serve it. I can play at cards or at dice, if you please.”
“Any special Talents I should know about?” I asked, when I couldn’t think of anything else to ask. That brought a startled look from Harrell, and a meaningful glance between the two men. Hamlan looked a little guilty.
“My cousin has, um, a bit of a reputation,” Harrell said, delicately. “He has a propensity for . . . for knowing things before they happen.”
“What?” I asked, intrigued. “You know the future?”
“Oh, not as such, Master Minalan,” Hamlan said, shaking his head. “That is, I couldn’t tell you how many ladies you’ll love or whether you’ll find your long-lost brother. But there are times when I just . . . know things.”
“Such as?” I prompted. He looked guilty again.
“When I served my last master,” he sighed, “he became irritated with me, over time. Because I would presume to know what his lordship wanted before he asked for it. He found it . . . disconcerting. Also, it sometimes manifests at dice or cards.”
“You’re prescient,” I nodded, professionally interested. That was not unheard of. While the full ability to use magic was given to comparatively few, many people had natural abilities that gave them profound strength or insight in a particular area of magic. Water dowsers, for instance, are one of the more common ones. Others can be more subtle, such as a knack with horses or crops or outstanding personal abilities. Prescience was relatively rare, and damnably hard to test for. But there were plenty of documented cases. “That’s very interesting. Would you mind if I . . . examined you?”
He swallowed, but nodded. “Of course, Master. Will it hurt?”
“Not at all,” I said, eagerly digging out my witchstone from the bag around my neck. I held it in my palm and closed my eyes, calling upon magesight in a very specific sort of way. Instead of looking far away or at something small or seeing in the dark, I used it to look around Hamlan. At his Shroud.
We all wear a Shroud, a field of energy our bodies produce naturally. It waxes and wanes in size and manner, but it is through our Shrouds that we are able to work some forms of magic. Even ordinary people use their Shrouds to communicate feelings to each other – it is the primary medium for our empathy.
Sex magic, for instance, has a series of rituals for attenuating the Shrouds of the participants (in the east they call them auras, if you are taking notes) and it is through their combined Shrouds that the most powerful magics can be created. You can learn how to extend your Shroud, and even use it to affect other things and other people. Good warriors can use it to intimidate an opponent without making a sound or moving a muscle. For some, they can use the sensitivity of their Shrouds to tell if someone is lying, or if someone has a sickness inside them, or if one chicken is going to lay more eggs than another.
And for some people, the Shroud seems to warp the ether around them into defying probability, or allowing them to sense future events. Prescience.
Hamlan’s Shroud was bright and lively, a swirling vortex of energy with a very distinct edge to it. It’s almost impossible trying to describe how a Shroud presents itself, since every magi senses it differently. I could tell you what color I saw or how it felt or what consistency it was or how it made me feel – or even how far from the body it was extended. But you’d see it or sense it in some other way, so that’s not terribly useful.
Suffice it to say, Hamlan’s Shroud was kind of . . . slippery. Like an eel, or a greased pig, or a wet piece of ice. It was as if it didn’t want to settle down. It was constantly churning around him, and doing interesting things at various points. It was utterly fascinating to observe, but eventually one gets tired of being a specimen. When Hamlan cleared his throat I sighed and put the stone away.
“Yes, there’s defiantly something there. Quite intriguing. And possibly quite useful. Don’t worry, Hamlan, I won’t get annoyed if you hand me my hat before I know I want it. That could be quite handy, actually.”
“Well, if you still want to employ me even after you know,” the young man sighed contentedly as he rattled the silver around in his palm, “then call me Ham.”
Chapter Thirteen:
The Battle Of Tudry
Tudry Town, Late summer
I wish I could say that I got a good night’s sleep before the Battle of Tudry, but that would be a gross overstatement. I managed about two hours, after I oversaw the preparation for battle. Of course, much of what I was doing looked like sleeping to Hamlan, who made sure I ate and drank sufficiently while I was . . . generaling. My eyes were closed, my breathing was steady, and I didn’t speak much. But behind those eyelids, there was a lot going on.
It started soon after I dismissed my general staff to go prepare their men, when I felt a tingle that I was quickly coming to associate with the telepathic linking spell. I found a quiet corner and gave the communication my full attention. It was Azar, who had arrived at Castle Megelin without problems and had informed the Baron of my brilliant plan.
The result wasn’t encouraging.
Min, the old fart thinks that we should be able to handle the horde on our own, without his help. He’s sitting safely behind his walls and doesn’t want any of his men to go out.
That’s not going to work, I ‘said’. We need those men or this whole thing falls apart! How many does he have?
That’s the thing – he’s got almost three hundred knights and squires, excellent heavy cavalry all, and then another four hundred men-at-arms and sergeants. But on top of that, he’s called in two of his own vassals from smaller keeps, which adds another three hundred. So almost a thousand horse . . . if we can convince him to ride.
What seems to be staying his hand?
He doesn’t want to risk his troops, but he also doesn’t want to lose Tudry Town. To the goblins or to us – if we evacuate the city, he’ll lose a lot of revenue, and he’s not having it. At least, that’s what his court mage says. I had to show him my glass to get him to speak up, but . . .
Does he have any influence over the Baron?
Not nearly as much as Sire Leisdal, one of his vassals. Leisdal depends on trade from Tudry to fill his coffers, too, and considers losing Tudry an
unacceptable loss. He’s the one telling the Baron that this is the Duke’s problem, not his.
Damn it! It’s his lands that are burning! I thought to myself for a moment – hard to do without revealing your mind to the person you’re linking to, but I was getting the hang of it. What could possibly rouse a reluctant baron to venture forth and defend his lands?
Tell him that if he doesn’t ride to support us, I’ll start giving away parcels of his lands to the men of Tudry who do. Then he can take up the issue of ownership when Duke Lenguin has time to hear such grievances – his grandchildren may still be alive by then. But in the meantime, tell him I’ll give away every square foot he’s not willing to defend, and he’ll have a peasant revolt on his hands if he’s not careful!
That might do it, Azar conceded. And if that doesn’t work, I can start throwing my weight around. They haven’t really seen what one of us can do yet, he added, smugly.
Just be careful, I warned. I don’t want to alienate them, I want to motivate them. Do what you have to do. But come dawn, I want every one of them horsed and ready to ride.
I’ll make sure of it, Captain, Azar told me, determinedly. I didn’t doubt that he would. Azar is imposing when he’s asleep – once you get him enthusiastic about something, he doesn’t stop until it’s done.
I had just enough time to wolf down half a biscuit and a few bites of cheese before I became aware of the next tingle. I sighed and sat back down – it’s just easier not to have distractions when you’re communicating like that.
Captain, I made it into Tudry, Astyral reported once I acknowledged the spell. I’ve been meeting with the local defense commander and the town council. No one likes hearing that you want them to leave. Well, that’s not entirely true – there are hundreds of refugees from further west that made it this far, and they’re desperate to leave. But everyone else, the ones with property here, are just as desperate to stay.
Then tell them that I’ll burn the town to keep it from falling into gurvani hands!
I did, Astyral said, casually. That wasn’t real popular. I had to pull my stone and put a couple of guards to sleep before they would see reason. But once I demonstrated how serious I was about this, I won over the militia commander, the one that actually runs the town’s defenses. He told me he could put four thousand infantry on the field. Mostly armed peasantry and city guards, of course, but there are a few real mercenaries around, too. Oh, and I met the other warmage in town, the sword smith? He wants to talk to you. He wants a witchstone.
Master Cormaran? I asked, recalling the stately, semi-retired old gentleman fondly. If he can help us keep the Tudry militia from folding up and blowing away at the first assault, then I’ll consider it. He’s an enchanter, too, did he tell you that?
No, admitted Astyral. But that would come in handy. I’ll tell him. Oh, and there’s tons of food here, too. The council confiscated a couple of local granaries, and the slaughterhouses have been working day and night to thin down the number of herds that were brought in before the attack. So feeding the refugees when they go won’t be a problem.
That’s good, I agreed. So you think you can persuade them to work with us on this battle plan? They are kind of essential.
I don’t know, Min. They’re pretty skittish, especially after all the Ducal bannermen left for Vorone. They’d much rather try to ride out a siege, even though they’ve seen some of the goblins’ magic by now. But I’ve nearly got the militia commander convinced. He’s the important one. If he agrees, then the rest of the council will probably back it.
If he doesn’t, then we’ll select a new militia leader. Or kidnap their daughters. Or bribe them. Do whatever it takes, Astyral, but there had better be men with spears and swords in front of the city gate at dawn, or this whole thing goes right into the chamberpot! You might want to mention that the Baron of Megelin is riding at dawn, and if he doesn’t see some support from Tudry, then he’s leaning toward revoking their charter and re-taking control of the place.
Is he?
No, I had to threaten him with a peasant revolt if he didn’t ride, but they won’t know that. Tell them the evacuation is temporary, if you have to, but they shouldn’t take anything they couldn’t carry or anything they don’t want to lose. And get them moving the moment dawn breaks. Then join the infantry and wait for that southern band to move toward you. When they do . . . break them.
Consider them broken, Captain, he promised, boldly.
I really wanted to finish eating and sleep before I did anything else, but no sooner than I had taken a bite of sausage and a swig of beer, I got yet-another tingle of awareness. This time from Mavone, at the court of Vorone.
Hey, Your Excellency! he called to me, rudely. Thought you might want to know about this. I haven’t been able to speak directly to the Duke, because he’s always ‘in council.’ The highest up the ladder I’ve been able to meet with has been the Marshal of the Wilderlands, Count Brayan. He’s pretty pissed off himself, since he rode here when the banner call went out with five hundred knights and a thousand men-at-arms, and he’s been stuck here waiting for Lenguin to do something – anything – and he’s itching for a fight.
Sounds like a good contact to have, I agreed.
Well, it would be if Lenguin would listen to him. But anyone who tells him anything except that he should sit tight and gather his forces and wait gets booted from council pretty quickly, from what I understand. Count Brayan has been cooling his heels in camp and stirring up dissention.
What about his Court Mage? What’s his name again?
Master Thinradel, Astyral supplied. Elegant gent, and an Adept of note. But Lenguin listens to him less than he does Brayan. The Duke distrusts magic, apparently, and has little use for his own Court Mage. Gossip is father’s Court Mage, old Master Vitrik, used to tease him and play cruel jokes on him on behalf of his big sister, and he never forgave him. It’s said he even grumbled about abolishing the position, but someone has to administer the Bans. I’ve managed to speak to Thinradel without quite revealing for whom I am working, but he sensed the power in my stone enough to figure it out – the man is not dumb. But he’s also not powerful in court, avoids other courtiers, and he barely speaks to the Duke.
So perhaps an ally, but not a useful one. Not even to persuade Lenguin.
Want more good news? He asked, sarcastically. As of last night Lenguin is playing host to three Censors – including the one Azar beat up. They figured out I have irionite, too, and informed Thinradel last night. He quote ‘thinks it’s scandalous’ that I’ve got a witchstone, and officially he’s torn between fascination and official outrage. Unofficially, he’s just fascinated.
What about the Censors? That was a worrisome development. I could fight the goblins or the Censorate, but not both at once.
They have been making noise about arresting me, but no one seems to be paying them much attention. They’ve been waiting to get inside His Grace’s councils, which makes it hard to chase me. Meanwhile, Lenguin sits in his study and broods and pouts and pounds his fist and blames everyone and makes elaborate plans . . . but that’s it.
Well, there might be something you can do about that . . . I began, and told him about what I’d discovered at Kitsal. . . . so you can blame some of this hesitation on sorcery. I think you could counter it, if you put a solid enough warding up around the Duke. The court mage will feel it, and probably the Censors, but to everyone else it will just make them feel a little more normal.
Good, because right now there’s a general sense of doom and despair around the whole town. And that’s a shame, because it’s hard to do a whore when she’s filled with dread. Puts a man off. I’ll pop up a few glyphs and runes and see if I can’t bring some sunshine into their lives. That might help.
Do what you can, I agreed. But you might want to mention that Minalan the Spellmonger is about to relieve Tudry, evacuate it, and send him thirty thousand new refugees to deal with.
What? Captain, have you lost your
—
It needs to be done, Astyral. It will be done, in a few hours. And then afterward . . . well, if there are any of us alive afterward, Tudry will become our new base against the goblins in these parts.
If you say so, Captain, Mavone said, sounding unconvinced. But I warn you, you aren’t going to win any friends in Vorone.
After Mavone contacted me, I felt compelled to jot down a quick dispatch to Duke Rard and send it by messenger, just to make him feel included. When that was done, I was about to catch a nap when Azar contacted me and told me he had convinced the Baron to attack, though he was vague about what he’d said to motivate him. Less than ten minutes later, Astyral assured me that the Tudry militia was ready to march at first light. My own men were as ready as I could expect, and at last no one else wanted my attention, and I could close my eyes.
* * *
Dawn broke bright and sunny in the east, and our scouts reported that the horde began to wind down its nocturnal activities and rest.
But right at dawn, the gates of Tudry Town opened, and a long column of soldiers, mostly peasant militia with ringed jacks or a helmet to accompany their spears, marched defiantly out into the light.
The goblins noticed almost immediately, of course – they had sentries patrolling and scouting during the day just as we did during the night. Before the first five hundred militiamen had emerged from the gate the drums at the gurvani forward post sounded, waking the large band of a hundred or so whose job it was to keep anyone from getting into or out of Tudry without a fight.
I hoped they’d had an active night, and were as tired as I was. Even refreshing spells can only sustain you for so long, and I wanted another three hours of sleep the way I’d needed to pee at Grimly Wood. The goblins began rushing toward the first line of men, thinking it was a mere foray, until some of the few cavalry (maybe a hundred, two hundred at most) Tudry still had swept out and screened them off. The commander of the band withdrew when it was clear this was no simple attempt to run their gauntlet. He did what any decent commander would do. He sent for reinforcements.
The Spellmonger Series: Book 02 - Warmage Page 24