The Spellmonger Series: Book 03 - Magelord

by Terry Mancour

  We continued going over the long, long list of projects that we had undertaken to bring the fief back to life as we headed out of the keep. In five short weeks we had actually gotten a lot accomplished, but like most worthwhile projects, every time we thought we had a problem solved it produced three new problems. As I had our horses saddled up for the day’s business, Sir Cei ran over some of the new problems.

  One issue was how the original Sevendori villagers were coping with scores of odd-sounding expatriate Bovali inhabiting their village commons. Not that the villagers were hurting – since my arrival, they had enjoyed an unprecedented amount of prosperity. But they were an insular people by nature, despised and derided in the surrounding fiefs as stupid, lazy and slow, thanks to Erantal’s neglect.

  Now they had to deal with total strangers who had grand ideas about their future, and they just weren’t happy about it. There had already been one little scuffle over grazing rights on the commons, and by Yule there was likely to be more as more Bovali families would be arriving to join those already here.

  The plain fact was, Sevendor Village was just not going to be big enough to accommodate all of those folk, not until it had been substantially built up. Even then, we couldn’t keep them all in one place. We had to split them up.

  That was where we were starting the tour today. We rode through the newly-repaired gate and over the drawbridge – both of which would be completely replaced before I deemed the castle finished – and eastward through the bare earthen track that led to the village, proper. I acknowledged the number of bowed heads I saw with a self-conscious wave. I was learning.

  We took the road through Sevendor village up towards Gurisham hamlet, and passed a levy working to build a circle of low, simple, half-buried waddle-and-daub huts that would allow folks to stay warm during the rest of the winter. Each one was a primitive affair, dirt floors and pole-and-thatch roofs, but they would stay dry and warm. Theoretically.

  Our real goal wasn’t the shelters as much, but to inspect the land and survey the site of the old village near the frontier with Brestal Vale, near the ruin of Hyer’s Tower. Actually, on the other side of the frontier, a half-mile past the misplaced boundary stone.

  We talked along the way, each step of the journey suggesting hundreds of possibilities for the future – an inn near the road, perhaps, or a willow grove in a marshy area. We were headed for the entrance to the Vales, however. The site of the old village, on the northern side of the big mountain the middle of my domain, was already level, had a good well, and was close to where our eventual frontier would be. Our ultimate purpose was to establish a whole new village where the Bovali could settle without disturbing the native Sevendori overmuch. Possibly even a proper manor house.

  Sir Cei was becoming a better companion on such tours than I would have thought, and he had already repaid my trust in his abilities as Castellan a hundred times – he was good at finding solutions to problems that didn’t cause an administrative nightmare. I’m more of a “follow me!” kind of leader, which frequently gets me in trouble.

  “So tell me about this scuffle in the village?”

  “It was nothing, Magelord, really, more of a misunderstanding than anything,” he demurred. “A matter of goats and chickens. No real blood was shed, and I sorted out the dispute.”

  “Still, I don’t like it,” I said, shaking my head. “I don’t want to have to keep them separate – they have to share the valley, after all – but I don’t want the natives to think that they’re being displaced, either. We aren’t going to get a new village started soon enough to keep more problems from arising.”

  “Perhaps the Yeomanry could use a shake-up,” suggested Sir Cei after some thought. “If we were to move the rest of the native Sevendori peasants to Genly, say – with generous stipends – then the additions in the village could progress without the conflicts.”

  “Wouldn’t they object to all leaving their homes in the village?” I asked, concerned. Sir Cei scowled.

  “Have you seen those stinking hovels?” he asked, pointedly. “Sir Erantal had established a ban on harvesting timber for domestic use, so they’re mostly mud and thatch, barely suitable for beasts. Hovel is too polite a term. Give them each an additional three acres in the open fields and a few silver pennies, and they would vacate the village before the words die in your throat. The first Sevendor villagers who moved to Genly are the envy of the hamlet.”

  “And that would free up more room for new Bovali,” I noted. “That is not a bad idea,” I nodded, impressed.

  “The Magelord continually astonishes me with his keen observations,” Sir Cei said, dryly.

  “Do you think Railan the Steady would take a demotion like that?”

  “The Reve of Sevendor Village will do as the Magelord of Sevendor Domain instructs him,” Sir Cei replied, as if there was never any doubt. “His happiness in the matter is not a concern.”

  “Still, Railan is about as close to a unifying figure the Sevendori have. I don’t want to piss him off any more than I have to.”

  “What if we built him a residence? The nicest one in Genly—”

  “That wouldn’t take much,” I quipped.

  “—and grant his Yeomanry the right to mine clay from the riverbank, in addition to the grain revenues,” he suggested.

  “We don’t even have a potter yet,” I pointed out.

  “The soil is too cold to mine in winter anyway,” Sir Cei countered. “But this summer it will not be. And the clay is of sufficient quality, I am told, to have a market. Should it prove lucrative, then a monopoly on mining it would be likewise lucrative. And that would satisfy Railan’s hurt feelings.”

  “Money does that,” I agreed as our horses began to climb the gentle slope of road that lead to Gurisham. “Feel him out on the subject. Let him know that any Sevendori villager who wants to make the move will get help building a house, three acres in the common fields, as well as two goats and five chickens.”

  Sir Cei paused. “That seems like an abundance of fowl, My Lord.”

  “I like eggs,” I reasoned.

  “As the Magelord wishes,” he said, noncommittally. “Sevendor has seven Yeomanries. But there is plenty of room for more.” Boval Vale, the far western valley that Cei had administered before it had become the center of a new goblin empire, had been replete with Yeoman – indeed, it had been one of the ways the old lord Koucey had populated the remote valley, by promising land and rights to enterprising peasants. Malin, Winakur, and plenty of other estates had been cared for by his deputies. “We could easily set six new yeomen from the Bovali,” Sir Cei pointed out, as we rode through Gurisham hamlet.

  I waved at some kids, and threw a few pennies. The kids just looked at me dumbly. I don’t think they had ever seen real money before. “I have the fellows in mind who would be best,” I agreed. “And we can elevate another Sevendori, if we have to. To do that, and raise their status thusly, would go far to alleviate the need to keep my subjects separate . . . and peaceful. ”

  “Likely my countrymen would object to taking residence in those huts, as they are, but they will do in this mild clime until they can be rebuilt well-enough. Compared to a Bovali winter, this has been almost pleasant,” the knight observed, looking at the overcast sky. “Our people won’t have a problem with that, at least.”

  “It is pleasant,” I agreed. “What’s next?”

  “The new blacksmith, Goodman Gowal, is also due to arrive by Yule. ‘Twould be nice if he had a shop ready to conduct business in. I am having a forge built on the western edge of Sevendor, near to the bridge, for him. That way he can service either castle or village as needed.”

  “I concur. Make it happen.”

  “The Magelord is wise,” Cei murmured.

  “The Magelord is learning,” I corrected.

  We continued our ride past the “real” houses and came to the Gurisham “commons” – a small, mostly-level grassy field where the villagers could graze their goats
and sheep. I saw another knot of kids, I threw another handful of coppers. These were older, and apparently knew about money, because they scrambled for it in the cold dirt. I saw one of the older boys grab a copper sliver out of the hand of his younger brother and stopped my horse.

  “You!” I called out in my best lordly voice. “Come here!”

  The boy – no more than ten – approached me wide-eyed, his brother even more wide-eyed behind him. The ten-year-old gave a rough bow. The brother (about seven, probably) just stood there. Both were as dirty as any peasant kid ever gets.

  “What is your name, son?” I asked, quietly.

  “Feleg, Lord!” he squeaked.

  “Feleg, I am the new Lord of Sevendor. Magelord Minalan. Do you understand what that means?”

  He nodded, gravely. He was frightened, but he wasn’t running.

  “That means that my word is law, here,” I growled. While that wasn’t precisely true – I ruled in the name of the Duke, and enforced his laws first – it was true enough as far as Feleg was concerned. “And if I toss a copper to a child, I fully expect that child to keep it. I detest bullies,” I said, severely. He shrank.

  “But I’m also a pretty forgiving lord,” I added. “Now that we’ve had this talk, I don’t expect we’ll ever have to have it again, will we?”

  “Nay, My Lord!” he said, swallowing hard.

  “You may keep your penny as a reminder of that. As for your brother . . . ?”

  “Nat. Short for Natgig.”

  “Well, little Nat there gets a whole silver penny for his trouble, today,” I said, tossing it to the boy. The glint of silver in the winter sun was unmistakable – and rare enough to these poor folk as to be legendary. He scrabbled it out of the dirt and clutched it triumphantly in his hand.

  “I would be very concerned if young Nat didn’t keep his new riches,” I said to the children at large. “For while I am a forgiving lord, I am also a just lord – and pray you never have to face my justice!” I said, and added a loud flashing cantrip at the end for effect.

  I made my point. The kids squealed and scattered, all except Nat and his brother Feleg. The latter was eyeing me suspiciously.

  “You’re really a mage?” he asked, as if my rank didn’t matter. Hells, to a ten year-old, how could it?

  “I am really a magelord,” I agreed. “The first in four centuries.”

  “And you rule Sevendor, now?” he asked, as if he was still skeptical. “Not ol’ arse-face Erantal?”

  I had to chuckle at his apt description. “I truly do,” I assured him. “My Lady beside me.”

  He gave me an even more searching look. “I guess you’ll do,” he grunted, and led his brother – who was still staring at his coin – away to tell his parents. Sir Cei and I continued through the hamlet toward the ruins.

  “Very well done, my lord,” he murmured when we were out of earshot. “You have made a powerful impression on them today. It is best if a lord is seen frequently, but does not over-stay his welcome. Always leave their hearts longing for more.”

  “That doesn’t seem like a lot of fun,” I grumbled. “And that was just a bit of showing off for the kids. I doubt I’d be so bold with their parents.”

  “Being a noble is rarely fun,” he pointed out. “It might seem so, from a commoner’s perspective. But a noble should always feel the burdens of his office before he seeks his own pleasures. You have a higher duty, now, Sire.”

  “So I’m learning,” I sighed. “But that was fun. Good peasant relations. And don’t tell me the family couldn’t use the alms. Besides, they’re going to have a whole brand new village just over that rise, come spring. That’s going to put some stress on this place.”

  We talked a while more about the plans for the village, and then we came to the far end of the hamlet’s commons, where the land fell off a little. I stopped us at the top of the rise, so we could overlook the big mount in the center of the vale – actually, it was the main reason Brestal and Sevendor weren’t one valley.

  Compared to the surrounding peaks, it was small and cute. But it rose at least five hundred feet over the next highest hill in the vale and was capped with a firm crown of mostly bare rock three hundred feet wide at the top. The lower slopes were either forested or pasturelands.

  “That rock is just begging for some adornment,” I said, finally. “Why wasn’t the castle built there? It seems like a naturally defensible point.”

  “It would be, if Sevendor Castle’s position wasn’t better,” Sir Cei reminded me. “Here you could be surrounded by armies on all sides. There, you have the cliffs to your back and need face them on only three sides.”

  “A good point,” I conceded. “Still . . . I just have to put something there.”

  “A watchtower, perhaps,” he nodded. “From that point you could see through the frontierlands deep into West Fleria.”

  “Not a bad idea,” I said, not totally convinced. “Right now it’s the border of my domain, and it should be in the center of my domain. That bothers me.”

  We continued down the road until it re-forded the stream before it ran through the gap into Fleria. “I’ve been thinking about this,” I said, thoughtfully. “We do need a mill. Not a huge mill, but a mill would be good for the vale. And so would a millpond. Most importantly, it would act as a reservoir. I’m thinking we put it on the west side of Sevendor Village, in front of the castle. We raise it level with the wide bank of the flood plain, and create a pond . . . about six, eight acres, eventually, I think.”

  “Intriguing plan, Magelord,” Sir Cei agreed, thoughtfully. “That will take considerable effort, however. A few hundred men, a few dozen oxen, wagonloads of soil and rock . . .”

  “Or two really good wizards with witchstones,” I reminded him. “I was going to have Rondal l and I do the hard parts, when he gets here at Yule. Moving boulders and such. He’s good with earth magic. But the pond will not only have enough fall for a real mill, the water will work well as irrigation for the upper fields. I think lack of water is one reason this dusty vale hasn’t performed well.”

  “The soil is poor, my lord,” Sir Cei reminded me. “That will have to be addressed as well.”

  “Yes, well, I can’t magically crap everywhere yet, so we’ll have to deal with that after we have adequate water supplies,” I grumbled.

  Sir Cei studied the terrain and made a few suggestions, which I countered as we continued down the increasingly rough road. On either side were empty, increasingly overgrown fields. It was a long fallow stretch of marginal land.

  Once those fields had been prosperous, or at least a step above subsistence level. Now they were choked with weeds and small trees, unused for a generation. If I had my way, they would be planted by canny Bovali farmers by next year.

  We had gone about a half-mile from the village when I stopped at a rough patch between the fallow lands and an overgrown, sloping pasture land on the north side of the road. The rough area was only a few hundred feet wide, a little raised above the road level, and rocky. We had crossed the misplaced border stone a hundred yards back.

  “And what shall the Magelord place here?” Sir Cei asked, patiently, as he slipped his horse a carrot.

  “I’m thinking a shrine,” I answered. “Or perhaps a temple. I know you Bovali don’t hold much with priests, but a real temple would inject some very useful skills into the estate. A priestess of Briga, Luin, or one of the other folk gods, perhaps. Trygg. Huin, even. Keep your eyes out for a likely candidate. Maybe more than one.”

  “I shall make a note, Magelord,” he agreed. “The prohibition against temples was the idea of Sire Koucey’s house. Where I grew up in Ganz, there were several shrines and a temple. I had always encouraged Sire Koucey to reconsider, for precisely the reasons you name, but he said he had his reasons. A small shrine would be most welcome in this desolate land.”

  I grunted, wondering how sincere he was being. Five weeks working with him on a daily basis, and I still didn’t know wh
en he was joking.

  We continued along for another half hour, through ostensibly “foreign territory”, until we came to the ruins.

  I had seen the ruins of the old village on the eastern end of the fief when we’d first arrived. Sire Gimbal had put it to the torch during his conquest of Brestal.

  It was a good location for a hamlet, better than most of Sevendor boasted, really, with clean water closer at hand and plenty of arable land gone fallow around it.

  Whoever the lordling in Brestal was, he hadn’t done much with this stretch of his ill-gotten fief. None of the original buildings still stood, but there were two or three stone foundations that could be recovered, given sufficient effort and money, and spaces for dozens more.

  It could easily hold a lot of our refugees. The ruined border tower on the eastern side of the road would also have to be repaired and put to proper use. After I recovered Brestal.

  But as I stared out at the border with West Fleria, a thousand feet away and marked only by a roughly shaped rock, I couldn’t help but wonder when Sire Gimbal would decide to burn it down again. I began to get angry at losing a village that wasn’t yet built to a man who wasn’t yet at war with me over a fief I had yet to regain.

  “Let’s start with the guard tower,” I muttered to myself.

  “What?” asked Cei, as he rode behind me.

  “Before we nail one stick to another on the new village, let’s rebuild the guard tower – nothing elaborate, just two or three stories – to keep the Flerians from just walking back in. Just an outpost, at first, where a few men could shelter a beast or two, and rain down arrows on anyone who dares enter my domain.”

  “Why, Magelord Minalan, you sounded positively bloodthirsty just then,” Sir Cei said, appreciatively.

  “Just anxious to protect my investment,” I replied, matter-of-factly. “We can use the old foundations and build it up with lumber until we can get dressed stone. Something a little more substantial than the bell tower in Minden’s Hall, but not much. Not yet.