With my parents, being guarded by one of my apprentices, I answered, evenly. Just when did my private life become the subject of gossip?
Easy, Captain! I just like Alya. She’s good for you. And she’s not such a . . . she’s not as prickly as Pentandra.
Lady Pentandra is a well-respected, highly capable—
Captain! Nothing against Penny, believe me! Hell, she recruited all three of us, remember? We like Penny fine! She’s great, I’d follow her just about anywhere, but . . . just not for you.
You don’t think we don’t know that? Believe me, we’re strictly professional! I love Alya! She’s going to have my child! Penny’s just—
All right, Captain, just wanted to speak my piece. Didn’t mean to get you upset.
I’m not upset, I said, adding a sigh. Just . . . sensitive. All right, I can see how it might look like I’m bringing in a mistress, or something like that, but Pentandra is one of my most trusted counselors and advisors. There’s a lot going on that’s not readily apparent. If it matters to anyone besides me and Alya, I’m fully intending to drag her in front of the first priestess I can find when – and if! – I actually survive this campaign, all right?
Glad to hear it, Captain. Not that it matters, I guess. Just worried about you.
The whole world’s about to become a goblin playground and you’re worried about me? I snapped. Just get Lenguin off his ass and ready to ride north, okay? Let me take care of my own woman problems!
After that, I really didn’t feel like talking to anyone else, so I woke up Rustallo to take the next watch. I tried to get some rest, but the simple fact was, my relationship with Penny was becoming an issue for my men. It had already been a complication during Boval Vale, but I didn’t think that it would last beyond that.
But it was clear that Alya had her supporters among my men, supporters that didn’t like it when other women were around me. It was sweet, in an unsophisticated, romantic sort of way, but the fact was that I couldn’t do what I had to do and behave like a Hearthbrother. There were times when I would have to talk to other women, and that didn’t mean that I didn’t love Alya any less.
But obviously that wasn’t the consensus of opinion, and it was enough of an issue so that it was becoming the topic of gossip.
That didn’t bode well. That didn’t bode well at all.
Chapter Twenty-Five
A Visit From A Whore
Wilderhall, Midsummer
I arrived back at my quarters just before midnight, after stopping by the garrison kitchens tucked in at the back of the Tower of Swords, which was on the way.
The Quartermaster’s store was there, and experience told me that I could scrounge a hearty draught of brew without too much trouble. The wizened old ancient who tended the stores happily traded as much as I could drink (which turned out to be three) for an anti-pest spell to keep his supplies from vermin – he’d had a request into the Court Mage’s apprentice, but we both knew how low down on the priority list he would be. I put so much energy into that spell that I’d be surprised if there was a living mouse within five hundred feet.
Hamlan was waiting for me when I arrived, and “helped” me prepare for bed. I haven’t needed assistance preparing for bed since I was a baby, so it was a little strange having someone shadow me. But in the process I noted that he had emptied the chamber pot, and suddenly I had a new appreciation for why nobles had servants.
But it was in his capacity as spy that he lingered, I soon learned. He wanted to know all about the meeting, of course, so that he could report it all to Mother. I told him what happened with a minimum of embellishment, though he seemed a little mystified at the description of the spell I cast. I explained that the entire exercise was a conditional failure, and he seemed to accept that.
“Oh, and Master, that other matter has been arranged,” he said, knowingly. It took me a moment to catch on. The whore.
“Oh! Yes! Good, good. Is she a comely one?”
“The agent I used has a strong reputation for ladies of unmatched beauty. He caters to the finest class in Wilderhall.”
“And have any more invitations, requests, or summons appeared while I was showing the nobility their duty?”
“No, Master, it has been a quiet evening. Perhaps the whore will enliven it.”
“That’s the idea. Thank you,” I said, absently. I almost wished that it was a real whore, instead of one of Mother’s minions. Not only could I really use the release and hired companionship, I really didn’t want to get entangled with the Family any more than I already was.
But she had promised protection from the Censor General. I couldn’t ignore that kind of bait.
“That will be all, then, Ham,” I said, tiredly. “Return at the first hour after dawn with breakfast. Um, that is the sort of thing you do, right?”
“Oh, it is no problem, Master, as I’ll be fetching my own. Enjoy your doxy,” he called, as he let himself out.
I sighed and stripped off most of my gear, sliding the blasting wand under my bed, within reach. I hung my belt up, splashed a little water on my face, and laid back down to doze.
I wasn’t sure what time it was, when the knock came on my door, but I felt a lot more refreshed than I had when I’d fallen asleep, so it had to have been at least an hour.
“Yes?” I asked tiredly, when I opened the door. There was a figure clad in a long scarlet hooded cape of satin, trimmed at the hood and hem in black embroidery featuring figures entwined in various sexual positions. Nice touch.
“My lord wished for warm comfort on this cool evening?” a warm and silky voice came from beneath the hood. And the perfume she was wearing was intoxicating.
“Come in,” I said, simply, and opened the door. I closed and latched it quickly, and added a binding spell while checking the passageway briefly to see if she’d been followed. That’s the problem with working with spies, it makes you paranoid.
“Thank you for meeting me,” the woman said, as she drew back the hood. It was the same one, the tall one who looked kind of like my girlfriend.
“You have a name?” I asked, cautiously.
She smiled, showing dimples. Really adorable dimples. “Many, but you may call me Isily. Isily of Brawin.”
“Brawin is near Wenshar, is it not?” I recalled.
“It is Wenshar – just the part of Wenshar claimed by Castal,” she agreed.
“So why are you meeting with me tonight?” I asked. I noticed that Hamlan had left a bottle of wine and two cheap silver gilt glasses. I poured and handed her one.
“Mother said she needed a stone. I am the one upon whom you will bestow it.”
“You are a mage?” I asked, surprised. Then I saw her with magesight, and realized that she was enrapt in a dozen subtle spells. So that’s why she smelled so good . . .
“You may consider me the Family’s court mage,” she nodded. “I am trained and licensed, although that is not well-known by the court. My father was one of Mother’s vassals. When I showed the Talent, she arranged for me to be trained in Wenshar. I’ve known her since I was a girl.”
“Interesting,” I said, sipping the wine. If it was poisoned, the poison hadn’t corrupted the vintage – it was delicious. “So you are ready to take my oath? And prepared to keep it, absolutely?”
“I would like to hear what I’m swearing to in its entirety,” she said, cautiously. “But from what you told Mother, it should not deter me from my service to the Family.”
“Probably not,” I admitted. “You merely swear to understand that the stone belongs to me, and is loaned to you, until such time as I recall it. You will surrender it when I ask, and you will assist in enforcing my recall on any other mage’s stone. You are free to use it as you will, with the understanding that if I need your assistance, you will render it to the best of your ability to protect humanity from the Dead God.”
She considered each term as I named them. “There should be no difficulty with those terms. If you should peri
sh, to whom do I surrender the stone?”
That was a very good – and very morbid – question. I’d never thought of that before. Luckily, my tongue had an answer my mind didn’t realize. “Then you surrender it to Lady Pentandra, my lieutenant, upon her command. She has the same dedication to our cause and has taken the oath of – other magi I have given a stone to.”
“Lady Pentandra,” she nodded. “I think I knew her at Alar Academy. A theoretician?”
“A thaumaturge,” I nodded. “We did some advanced studies at Inarion. She’s utterly brilliant.”
“Advanced thaumaturgical studies?” she asked, intrigued – or at least faking it well. “In what field?”
Oh. Now I saw the trap I she had set for me. She had to have known all about me, or Mother’s spy network wasn’t what it should be. As she threw back her soft cape, I could see that she was exposing quite a lot of flesh under it, almost as much as someone actually in the trade she pretended. “Sex magic,” I answered, my throat almost catching. “Really very traditional work, for the most part, almost purely theoretical—”
“The tale is that you and Pentandra used sex magic to open the portal that allowed everyone to escape, before you stared down this evil goblin head.” She took a step closer to me.
“That’s a slight exaggeration,” I said, retreating to the edge of my bed. “But we did use some basic techniques to activate and steer the molopar.”
“That’s utterly brilliant,” she said, allowing the cape to drop to the floor. “I never would have thought of it.”
“So what’s your area of specialty?” I asked, hoping to change the subject away from the sex marathon me and my ex-girlfriend had.
“Going places I’m not supposed to, hearing things I’m not supposed to hear, seeing things I’m not supposed to see, and doing things I’m not supposed to do.” She licked her lips, her ripe, full, heavy lips. Damn her. “Shadowmagic. It’s the equivalent of being a warmage, only for espionage instead. Not just battlefield spying, but learning all sorts of things by magic that Mother needs to know.”
“That’s quite a list,” I agreed, quietly. “You realize that the power of the stone will be so intoxicating that you’ll want to explode, using it for all sorts of things. The period of attunement is anywhere from a few days to a few weeks. It can be rocky. Don’t be afraid to use it, but do so in increments. Until you get used to it, there’s a danger of going power-mad. That’s what happened with poor Uric.” I told her the brief version of the story of Uric’s Rebellion, and why the oaths were there. She nodded as she sipped.
“I understand. If madness is a danger, then it’s best that there be some control. And if you can’t rely on self-control to police your actions, then you have to rely on the other magi who . . . understand the process.”
“Actually, other magi who can stop you,” I corrected. “Because precious else will be able to. That’s why we have the oath. That’s why the stones are lent, not given. And there is more.”
“More?”
“If you accept this stone, you will be connected with all the others to whom stones have been given. We are an order, if you will, dedicated to fighting the Dead God. Should you prove trustworthy, it may be that we invite you to join this order, and be privy to its secrets. And they are secrets you could not betray to Mother or anyone else in the Family.”
“Every trade must have its secrets,” Isily said, reasonably, tossing her hair back. It really was lovely, the same shade as Alya’s. Her face looked kind of similar, too. Damn it. “I am no stranger to keeping secrets. And the defense of humanity is a noble enough goal. I can keep your oath, Master Spellmonger.”
I sighed. “I know you will. And after I help you attune yourself to the stone, you will be forever grateful to me for introducing you to such power. Just . . . don’t let it go to your head. As powerful as you are, the Dead God is more powerful still.”
“This process of attunement,” she asked, coming closer, “is it painful?”
“Not exactly,” I said, staring at her. “It’s a lot like getting used to using a couple of limbs you didn’t know you had. Or speaking a language you didn’t know you knew. While riding a runaway horse. It’s . . . exhilarating. There’s nothing you’ve ever experienced that’s even remotely like it.”
“Administer your oath,” she whispered. “Do not make me wait any longer.”
“As you wish,” I breathed, taking the small bag from inside my tunic. I withdrew one of the wild stones that had been shorn of its connection to the Dead God by touching my stone. It was three centimeters wide, four long, about one and a half centimeters thick. Rough on one edge, smooth on the other. It weighed as much as a tablespoon of sugar in my palm.
“Do you, Isily of Brawin, swear by your soul and your powers as a mage, to keep this stone in my name, a loan not a gift, to use with wisdom and discretion? Do you swear to surrender it when called upon by me or my representative, and do so without resistance? Do you swear to aid me and your fellow members of the order in recovering a stone fallen from grace?”
“By my soul and my powers as a mage, I, Isily of Brawin, so swear your oath without reservation,” she said, solemnly.
“Open your hand,” I instructed her. My mouth was suddenly very dry. She knelt in front of me, cupping her hands together, and I gingerly placed the stone within them.
The effect was immediate, and spectacular. Her pretty mouth twisted into a big, girlish grin as the tendrils of energy washed through her for the first time. Her eyes lit up as she tentatively tapped the potential of the stone, and suddenly the room was ablaze with magelights and simple spells.
“Don’t be afraid to experiment,” I instructed her, “but ease into it, and adjust the potency of the spell accordingly. Otherwise you’ll summon a breeze and get a gale.”
“It’s wonderful!” she said, her eyes filled with awe as she studied the stone. “It’s like . . . it’s like someone finally took their hands from my eyes and ears, and all is new and vibrant again!”
I smiled despite myself. “You’ll get used to the feeling,” I promised. “And you’ll have a lifetime to practice. You’ll tire easily, at first, too. And you know how doing a spell depletes your resources? Using the stone overmuch usually has one of three effects: hunger, weariness, or . . . arousal,” I said, unsure of just how to proceed around that delicate topic. This woman was not Pentandra, after all, and most noblewomen have very rigid ideas about sexuality. Which is why tumbling peasant girls is much more fun.
“Randy?” she asked, cocking an eyebrow. “Won’t that be interesting?”
“It can be,” I admitted. “But it’s almost as bad as the overpowering hunger, or the profound weariness. And we’re still learning the details of what happens, but in general err on the side of caution. There is a limit to what restoration spells can do for you, even with the stone. Drink lots of water, too.”
“You have opened a door to a new world . . .”
“Just use the powers wisely. Try not to be overcome with the feeling of invincibility. And know that the flow of energy, while great, is not inexhaustible. After a while it, too, flags. Merely rest for a few hours, and the stone will restore itself.”
“This is the stone that built the Magocracy,” she whispered. “That made ancient Perwin prosper, and was its doom. And all that power lies now in the palm of my hand. How can I ever thank you?” she asked, shaking her head in amazement. Before I could come up with a witty reply, she decided on her own, and suddenly my lips were locked in mortal combat with Isily’s.
And I was losing.
It had been a long day, and I was emotionally exhausted, and suddenly she was in my lap and her curves were wrapped around me in a heated embrace. Then she was on top of me, staring down at me with magic in her eyes as her shift vanished and her charms were displayed for me in all their naked glory. In the heat of the moment, at my weakened moral state, and with her looking so very much like Alya, there was no serious resistance in my mind.
“Use magesight,” I whispered into her ear at one point. A moment later her mouth formed an O as she saw the incredible spectrum of color and feeling a mage produces while they’re having sex using a witchstone. Not that we were using the witchstones . . . well, you get the idea. It’s different. It’s spectacular. And unlike my last marathon tryst with Pentandra, which opened the portal and allowed the Bovali to escape the siege, this unexpected union had the added novelty of a new, beautiful partner who just happened to resemble the woman I was in love with.
Now I know you might think less of me for indulging in such an intimate act with someone I had just met while the mother of my unborn child was living with my parents, hundreds of miles away. The fact was, I was tired, I was mentally exhausted, I was highly anxious, and I was destined to face the highest authority in magic on the morrow to defend my very existence. The comfort and release of sex with a beautiful, magically-adept partner was just too alluring. Sure, I was weak.
But I wasn’t technically married yet.
Don’t get me wrong – I loved Alya with all my heart. And in my heart it was her that I was caressing and holding.
But the rest of me was utterly enchanted by Isily’s charms, and the comfort that lay within. She was just what I needed. And as our mutual ecstasy wound up to the inevitable climax – or the succession of climaxes, depending upon your gender – I subconsciously tapped my own stone and allowed my feelings of joy and contentment manifest as part of the dizzying lightshow in the room.
And, apparently, out of the room. The next morning the castle was aflutter with the tale of how the River Tower was lit up by magical fireworks of unique and spectacular magnitude. The effect was seen for a mile away, and alerted some of the guardsmen. Only my stalwart manservant, Hamlan, kept us from being interrupted, telling the guards that his master was merely entertaining a whore, and such outbursts of excess magical energy were common – and harmless – under such circumstances. Ham was smart – he caught on quickly.
The Spellmonger Series: Book 02 - Warmage Page 46