The Spellmonger Series: Book 02 - Warmage

by Terry Mancour

  “Well, that decision-making is power. But it can’t exist alone. You can decide things all day, but if no one listens to you or enforces your decisions, well, you don’t have power. Correct?” she asked, leaning back on both hands.

  “I can see that,” I said, nodding slowly. I was being hypnotized.

  “So we have enforcement to support and sustain the deciders, the powerful ones, the policy makers. Enforcement means men with swords threatening violence in order to establish the deciders’ right to decide and have that decision executed.”

  “So . . . power grows from the hilt of a sword?”

  “Usually,” she concedes. “Or a wand. Or army. But the entity who can threaten the most violence to the society at large is usually the one who can enforce their decisions.”

  “But the Duke’s men don’t go around hacking off heads to get their business done,” I said, shaking my head.

  “They don’t usually need to,” she replied. “The threat is implicit: ignore the Duke’s laws, and his men will eventually come to get you and he will eventually render up justice. And it is through justice that the threat of force, on behalf of the Duke, that the Duchy enforces its laws.”

  “That seems like an inefficient way to do things,” I pointed out.

  “Efficiency is not always desirable in a government,” she countered. “Especially by the third important part of the state: the bureaucracy.”

  “Yes, my least favorite part of the state,” I chuckled. “And I’m not particularly fond of the other two.”

  “But it’s absolutely essential – more so than even the deciders and the enforcers. Without bureaucracy, there’s no way to keep track of the decisions and implement them through proper enforcement. The Duke can decide that all children under seven must attend a temple school, or all girls over fourteen must cut their hair, and the soldiers and knights under him are happy to start killing people to enforce it . . . but the goal of politics is to implement policy without the overt use of force.”

  “You know, you’re really quite beautiful when you lecture,” I said, faintly. She smiled and tossed her hair. And continued.

  “If there isn’t a bureaucracy to keep track of the rules, and also keep track of temple schools and children and fourteen-year-old girls, then the enforcers don’t know where and who to provide their force against. And randomly hacking truant kids or long-haired girls just isn’t going to make you very popular with the people you’re trying to govern.”

  I sat up, suddenly surprised. “Is that important? Being popular with the people, that is?”

  “Oh, gods yes!” she said, like I was an idiot. “Power always rests upon a decider’s ability to please the most people with his decisions. He might have an unpopular policy or hire a poor bureaucrat and be forgiven, but if a Duke started doing that all the time . . . well, there are rebellions for the nobles and revolts from the peasants. And an unpopular ruler isn’t going to attract the strength he needs to enforce his rules if he continuously makes poor decisions. So in a very real way his power rests on his ability to please the people. Or at least enough of them to keep him in power.”

  “And bureaucracy pleases the people?” I asked, skeptically. Talking political theory with a naked woman has a lot to be said for it.

  “Not in its execution,” she admitted, “but in its effect. You would miss it if it was gone, even if you’d never seen an official. We use bureaucracy as an intermediary between the State and the People. It serves to bring the policies of the deciders down to actual implementation. Take taxation, for instance –”

  “Actually, I’d rather avoid it,” I quipped.

  “Well, you can’t. Nor death. But paying all those enforcers and defenders of the state, and all those bureaucrats, and all of those workers building castles and roads, that costs far more than the Duke could pay on his own. So part of his decision is to levy taxes to spread the burden out amongst the people whom it serves. And that means he needs to know just who owes what, how much they have, and when they paid or didn’t.”

  “I can’t think of anyone who’d miss the tax collectors if they were gone,” I mused, absently creating some sparkling magelights over the bed. It was a little like magically drumming your fingers. “My father always hated them.”

  “That’s fine, that’s what they are there for,” Isily assured me. “Because your father could hate the tax collector and love the lord—”

  “The Baron,” I supplied. “We lived in a baronial village. Almost a town.”

  “And I’m sure that the baron – the local ‘decider’ – made sure that even if you hated the tax collector, he got his taxes collected, didn’t he? Even though everyone hates the tax collector. Because those taxes pay for the fortifications and the horses and the upkeep on all those things he needs to keep his lands safe. And the tribute he pays to his liege supplies the same, over a larger area. And thence to the level of the Duchy.”

  “But wouldn’t it make more sense if everyone just paid for their own local things?” I complained. “Why should my father have to fund a castle some idiot noble a thousand miles away wants to build?”

  “Because the castles and the knights and their men guard the Duchy, and not all fiefs are wealthy enough to afford to build decent fortifications,” she explained, patiently. “And some things, like the Duke’s Rangers, who ride the roads and the rivers and keep them safe for bandits, or the Lampmasters who keep the lighthouses on the coast, or the masters of post who speed messages across the land, the universities and colleges and schools of magic and engineering and the temples devoted to healing, the legal system, they are all expensive, they benefit the entire Duchy, and the cost should be borne by all. But that wasn’t why I brought up the tax collectors.”

  “Why did you bring up the tax collectors, Isily?” I asked, admiring how her body looked under the magelights.

  “As an example of how the bureaucracy serves the people, even if they hate it. The people can hate the tax collectors, even as they love the nobles who impose the taxes. And if the people get too angry at the policies – say, taxes – then the nobles can always hang and replace the tax collectors, adjust their policy – say, grant some generous exemptions – and proceed.”

  I sighed. I wasn’t in the mood for a lecture. “So why do I need to know all of this?”

  “Because, you idiot, you just walked away from the table with a huge helping of power, and you haven’t the faintest idea what to do with it.”

  “All I want to do is fight goblins and defeat the Dead God!”

  “And you think you can just wave your wand and it will be done? Seriously, Minalan, armies cost money. A man will stand and fight for his life if he has to, but if he doesn’t have to you have to pay him gold. And buy him armor and a sword and a horse, and then pay a blacksmith to keep his armor and weapons in good repair, and provide fodder for his mount, food for his belly, warmth for his bed . . . and where do you think that money is going to come from?”

  I stared at her dully. I hadn’t thought about that. “Um . . . the Duke?”

  “And where do you think he’ll get it? From his people. New taxes. And the only way you can make people accept a new tax is by proving that it’s going someplace that benefits them. That should be perfectly clear after the Three Temples scandal in Merwin.”

  My blank stare caused a pretty eye-roll. “The Three Temples scandal? Three years ago? Everyone was talking about it?”

  “Sorry, I was on an extended holiday in sunny Farise,” I pointed out. That took her aback.

  “Oh. All right, the Duke of Merwin – not this one, but the last one – levied a small tax on salt in Merwin for the construction of three temples in Drenden. Only the temples never got built, and the tax continued to be collected. Well, after a while – over thirty years – some bureaucrat finally realized that the money had been collected, but never spent. And the need for the temples wasn’t as strong by then, since two of the gods fell out of favor and the third had a temple
constructed by a grateful patron. But when the news got out, there were riots across Merwin because the Duke wasn’t planning on building the temples, nor was he planning on ending the tax. It was his father’s tax, after all, and he didn’t see any reason why he shouldn’t collect the revenue.

  “After six weeks of riots he changed his mind and ended the tax. He also donated the collected tax – which had been considerable – to Yttra’s temple houses for widows and orphans. But he – and every other Duke – learned a valuable lesson about taxation. If you don’t have something to show for it, then the people won’t tolerate it.”

  “So I’m going to have to . . . raise a tax to pay for the army?” I asked, my heart sinking.

  “No, no, the government does that. And the people will pay for defense, even if they don’t see the immediate results. They just have to know that if they don’t, well, they’ll wish they had. And that’s what your job is. You are to provide the glorious tale of the war against the evil goblins, the gorier the better. The people have to be scared enough to want to feel safe – and be willing to pay for it.”

  I groaned. “This is starting to sound a lot more complicated than I thought.”

  “Minalan, if protecting the Duchies from the Dead God is what you want to do, then yes, it’s going to be a lot more complicated than just raising an army. If he isn’t going away, you’re going to have to handle this institutionally. And we don’t have an institution to handle this. You’re going to have to build one.”

  “You sound like Pentandra,” I said, miserably.

  “If I recall correctly, she was pretty intelligent.”

  “Like you’re pretty naked,” I agreed. “Smartest person I know. That’s why she’s organizing this order, I guess. She’s the one who suggested that fake livery for my warmagi. I suppose she understands all of this intuitively.” I looked at her thoughtfully. “So do you – a lot more than an ordinary mage would.”

  She shrugged, which was mesmerizing. “My father was the Master of Revenue and the Paymaster for Count Blaine of Wenshar. I overheard such talk my entire childhood, when I was supposed to be just doing needlework, sitting next to my father and looking pretty. He was cultivating me as a wife of some official or lord when I came into my power . . . but I never forgot him explaining all of this to me, in between appointments.” She smiled, and dimple erupted. “It was one of the few times I think I impressed him.”

  “I’m impressed,” I assured her. “From eligible maiden to ruthless magical assassin in . . . well, less than a decade,” I said, trying to estimate her age. “What I don’t understand is what you get out of . . . being a Daughter.”

  “I get a position at court, for one thing,” she pointed out. “That’s not a common thing for a mage who isn’t Court Mage. I get to do work that matters, instead of being a common spellmonger—”

  “Hey!” I protested. “The common spellmonger does do work that matters!”

  “That’s not what I meant!” she said, rolling her eyes again. That reminded me of Alya, too. “I do work that matters to thousands of thousands, not just helping a farmer find a lost cow.”

  “It’s not as easy as it sounds,” I muttered.

  “But what do I really want?” she asked, almost surprised at the question. “I get . . . I get to be important. I get to matter. I get to go to exotic places and do exciting things that my sisters, Yttra bless their bulging bellies, will only dream of. I get to bed handsome, innocent spellmongers with hearts of gold, who give me magical trinkets and intrigue. And power. Not yet, but someday. I will be a decider, not a bureaucrat. A player, not a piece on the board.”

  “Ambitious,” I agreed. “And strong. And quiet . . . until you’re alone. Then you become a strategician.”

  “I do my best work alone,” she admitted, shyly. “That’s why I’m a good Shadowmage. And why, some day, I shall have my power and I won’t have to share it with anyone. In fact, the witchstone you gave me is a step on that road, I think. I’ve never felt so . . . overwhelmed with energy before!” She reached out and pushed a lock of hair out of my eyes that wasn’t really obscuring my vision all that much. “So what does the humble spellmonger want out of all of this, if not power?”

  “I don’t mind the power, I just don’t know how to use it. What do I want? I don’t know . . . wealth, the respect of my peers, a world without an abomination like the Dead God in it, to get back to my paramour and make her my bride, settle down in a cozy little shop somewhere and make babies . . .”

  “I have heard that your paramour is a . . . commoner.”

  “Most people are,” I agreed.

  “You know you have realized an immense amount of power, both magical and temporal. That power can be delegated, and it can be shared. Are you sure she’s . . . the right person to share it with?”

  “You mean . . . I shouldn’t marry Alya?”

  She shrugged. It didn’t seem as pretty, this time. “I’m sure she’s lovely, but is she prepared for the kind of power that will naturally accrue to the Spellmonger’s wife?”

  “I’m not even sure I’m prepared for it,” I said, sitting up. “Why would she be in any worse position than me?”

  “I don’t mean offense,” she said, biting her lip. “But Minalan, if you are successful you will have every noble in the realm trying to marry off their daughters to you, to cement an alliance. If you are already married, that isn’t going to be possible.”

  “So?” I asked, warningly.

  “So,” she said, pushing forward, “you could compound the power you have with such an alliance. If you are a magelord, no house in all the Duchies would shy from having you an in-law.”

  “Somehow I don’t think a marriage to some noble bint would suit me,” I said, evenly. “I love Alya. She’s wonderful. She’s smart, almost as smart as Pentandra, though not nearly as educated. She ran a very successful business in Boval, before the new management took over. There’s nothing ahead of me that Alya can’t handle.”

  “So adamant,” she said, quietly. “You must love her. You’re very loyal to her, when a noble scoundrel would have seen the wisdom of my words and left her with a bastard as he pursued his own interests.”

  “I do love her,” I said, insistently.

  “Yet you are here in bed with a naked woman,” she observed.

  “You were here when I came in,” I pointed out. “I’ve had a very long, stressful day, thanks to your uncle, I’m exhausted, I’m far from home in a strange place, completely out of my element, acting out of ignorance and making it up as I go. In two weeks I could be a rotting corpse on a battlefield or get my throat slit in some dingy corner of the town. I love Alya,” I repeated, “but she’s a long way away from here, you’re here, and . . . well, to be honest, you look a lot like her. Not that you aren’t beautiful in your own right, but I have to admit, I find you comfortable to be intimate with partly because you do remind me of her, and I’m homesick.”

  She looked at me with an odd expression. “Minalan, I’ve bedded men I’ve been ordered to murder in their sleep, and told them outrageous lies to do it. I’ve done what I’ve had to, when I needed to get into a dungeon or bribe my way past a guard. I’ve taken masquerade as a whore a dozen times to complete my quest, and oft been forced to prove my trade. I’ve taken lovers on my own, from time to time, for love or sport. I’ve been told every lie that man can imagine to open a woman’s legs.

  “But this is the first time I’ve ever taken a lover as a cure for homesickness, because I resemble his paramour.”

  I studied her carefully. “And you find that mis-suits you?”

  She glanced down, demurely. “In fact, I find it touching and charming, and very endearing that you would seek comfort with me whilst thinking of her. She is a very lucky woman.”

  I had that to ponder while I slowly undressed.

  Chapter Thirty-Two:

  Preparing The Battlefield

  The Timberwatch, Late Summer

  The castle of Tim
berwatch had been designed to shelter lumbermen from the depredations of both the Pearwoods barbarians and the gurvani, but since both potential enemies were unsophisticated in how they attacked, the castle itself was pretty unsophisticated.

  The keep was sturdy enough: a broad, square stone donjon four stories tall, with two large square towers at the corners facing the gates and rising to five stories. The third tower was at the tallest point of the hill the keep was built on, and it stood nine full stories into the air, four stories over the next-largest. It was also a round tower, and it was used primarily for scanning the horizons for foes or fire. There had been a lot more of the latter than the former for several decades, but the vast woods around the fief made quickly identifying the former a vital preoccupation for Lord Sigarlan of Timberwatch.

  The keep was surrounded by three stout wooden palisades, creating a largish inner bailey and two respectably-sized outer ones. The crags and fissures in the rocky hill of Timberwatch had been cunningly employed to aid in the defense, making potential attackers fight on rickety bridges over gaping chasms, against steep rises in the rock, and the largest features had been incorporated into the defenses. Should an enemy wish to take the place, he’d have to fight through a punishing maze of rocky death and flung projectiles for his trouble.

  Since the treasure of the Timberwatch could be kiln-dried and measured in board feet, there just wasn’t that much portable wealth around to tempt any respectable band of thieves, man or beastie. But it was green gold to Lord Sigarlan, a distant cousin of House Vetiny, and his men served the Watchtower night and day, alert for fire.

  It was said that on a clear day you could see the furthest peaks of the Pearwoods in the east, clear to Castle Green Hill in the west, from Grimly Wood to the south to the long line of the escarpment in the north. It was tall enough that the men of the Timberwatch had sighted the first wandering bands raiding across the north and west weeks ago, and they had raised the alarm. The furthest villages of the land had evacuated behind the safety of the castle’s walls, and the knights had been able to patrol in force before the bands had crossed their frontiers.