“Aye, he was the one who warned us about you,” Sir Lanulan said, before Sir Bromul could stop him. “How you rousted him from bed with a crew of thugs and cast him out.”
“He was properly dismissed from service to the Duchy, and paid for his services,” I countered. “Whither he went when he crossed the frontier, I care not.”
“This is getting us nowhere,” sighed Sir Bromul, impatiently. “You are newly come to this region, it is clear. So you may not yet have heard of the honor and puissance of Sire Gimbal, the Warbird of West Fleria.”
“’Tis true,” I conceded. “I’ve been otherwise occupied, and haven’t kept up on the news. Tell us, wasn’t it he who was responsible for the rescue of Tudry, in the Alshari Wilderlands, against the goblin hordes this summer?”
“Uh . . . no,” Sir Bromul said, confused. “But Sire Gimbal—”
“Wasn’t he the one who convinced the Dukes of Alshar and Castal to raise their banners in common might against the gurvani hordes?” asked Sir Tyndal innocently. I could tell he was enjoying this. Well, I suppose we all were.
“Nay, that was another,” Sir Bromul dismissed. “But the Warbird of West Fleria is renowned for his—”
“Was he perhaps the man who valiantly and brilliantly led the defense of Boval Castle against said invasion?” Sir Cei asked, pointedly. “I hear that was a hard fought battle, where he slew thousands . . .” I was surprised by the admission – it was the first time I had heard Sir Cei’s critique of my leadership during the siege. Valiant, from him, was quite the compliment.
“No!” Sir Bromul said, testily. “My lord of West Fleria is reputed throughout the Riverlands as a great captain of war. He is mighty at arms himself, a demon on horseback with lance and shield. Those who face him on foot, sword in hand, feel their ancestors flee them, so certain is their doom—”
“He sounds like a pretty strong fellow,” I observed, thoughtfully.
“Perhaps we should just give it back, Master,” Tyndal said, clearly joking. “I wouldn’t want to provoke his ire.”
“Best you don’t, young knight,” Sir Bromul said, darkly, missing my apprentice’s sarcasm entirely.
“Then your lord leads many men?” Sir Cei asked, curiously. “Fighting men?” he amended, pointedly looking at the troops we faced. One actually looked like he might spill out of his saddle.
“Well, certainly, all the brave men of West Fleria would rally to the banner of the Warbird!” he declared. “He has the command of at least twenty strong knights of his own household, many vassal knights, and four score men-at-arms!”
“That is a lot,” Tyndal nodded, sagely.
“Over a hundred,” Sir Cei agreed. “A hundred fighting men. Or more. And they could be summoned quickly, no doubt.”
“Within days,” Sir Bromul assured us, pointedly. “Days.”
“And he has allies,” Sir Lanulan said. “Should he call upon them, you can safely add fifty or more, good knights all. What say you to that, Sir Mage?” he asked, boastfully.
I reached out and contacted Rondal, mind-to-mind. Are our troops in position?
We’re set up just behind the dike, he assured me.
When you see the signal, march the archers and infantry out, quickly, to fill in behind the horsemen. But hold formation. No one nocks, no one draws without my say-so.
Of course, Master. Would the Horn of Perundara be appropriate? I’ve studied it, and I’ve even attempted it successfully.
That’s a very good suggestion, Rondal! Just the thing. Yes, when they emerge from behind the barricades go ahead and cast that one. Good thinking.
I could tell he was pleased – his former master, Garkesku, had been intimidated by Rondal’s intelligence and had discouraged his curiosity with learning new spells. And when he had succeeded, he was stingy with praise. But the lad deserved it for this idea.
The Horn of Perundara was a flashy spell, and one that had actually played a role in history a few times. Developed in the early days of the Later Magocracy, the spell involved expelling air rapidly between to planes of magical force in such a way as to cause a low, deep rumble to sound. If you did it just right, and managed to project a sonic vibration of the right frequency, all sorts of things could happen. Like shattering Archmage Fisandulas’ legendary glass pavilion, or bringing down the seawall of Gotha Bor.
But mostly it just made a low and intimidating noise, like a giant blowing his nose or a dragon farting, or something else equally as dreadful and harmless. There were variations on the spell that could manage two or more “horns” at once, creating harmonies – or disharmonies – that could drive men mad, or to soil themselves, or to flee in fear. But the sheer volume and mysterious nature of the noise was reputed to be very disheartening. Just the sort of thing you want to use on unwelcome guests.
“What do I say about it, Sir Lanulan? I say that raising a force of two hundred – or even half that number – in a few days is, indeed, a notable achievement for a jack baron like Gimbal,” I paused to let my words sink into his thick skull.
“But I am a Magelord,” I continued, casting back my mantle and rising in my stirrups, much to the annoyance of Traveler. “What your lord can do in days, I can do in moments.” With that I launched a bolt of light from my fist. It shot up in the air a hundred feet. The Flerians cowered uneasily under the bright display against the gray winter sky. No doubt they expected some deadly bolt to emanate from it – and were surprised when it just faded away without apparent effect.
Sir Lanulan was about to say something snide about the spell, when a hundred Bovali – no, they would be Sevendori, after today – marched through the gap in the embankment brandishing swords, spears, and shields, while another fifty or sixty bowmen climbed up the berm behind them, their great Wilderland bows visible. In conjunction with the sudden appearance there was a low, rising blare, the Horn of Perundara filled the air around us until all of the horses were annoyed.
“Dear gods!” Sir Bromul said, his eyes wide in wonder. “That’s . . .”
“That is the new Sevendori militia,” Captain Forondo said, proudly, as the invisible horn’s call faded away. “The first company, that is. They will be settling in the Brestal Vale, just on the other side of the pass, and they are not likely to yield easily. Vicious, half-wild Wildermen. They will also be garrisoning Brestal Tower, and patrolling our frontiers. If provoked, they will be the ones raiding West Flerian territory, and defending Sevendori lands with their lives. This is their new home. They will not lightly yield it.”
“You dare arm your peasantry?” Sir Lanulan said, fear in his eyes. The threat of peasant revolt was a constant worry for the nobility, and keeping the commoners unarmed was the gentry’s best defense against them – apart from actually treating them decently. “Are you mad?”
“I’m getting there,” I promised. “Yes, I have armed my peasantry – that’s how we do things in the magelands. You bring war to our doorstep and you will be taking a portion home with you.
“Now, all of those deeds we just asked if your precious Warbird had done?” I said, trying to get just the right amount of arrogant contempt in my voice – they were already shocked out of their boots by the sudden appearance of a company of soldiers. Time to remind them whose land this was. Time to brag like I was trying to get into their skirts. “Those are things that I’ve done. “ I paused a moment, making sure I had their attention.
“I’m a damned good warmage. I’ve incinerated goblins by the thousands. I’ve survived a hundred engagements. If that was not worthy enough for you, I fought down every inch of the Farisian peninsula, on foot, back during the campaign. And if even that isn’t worthy enough for you, my lord, I’ve pissed off two dukes, held a warwand on a countess, and threatened to raze a populated town . . . since Midsummer.
“So I’m not worried about Sire Gimbal or his mighty warriors. In fact, I’m giving you a warning that you should find some diplomatic way to pass along to him: if West Fleria dares to interfer
e in the affairs of Sevendor again, then I will not hesitate to teach the Warbird a lesson in the art of war the likes of which he could not possibly imagine.”
I fixed them both with a steely gaze, trying my best to emulate the look of stern defiance Duke Rard practiced so well. If I needed to intimidate them, then I succeeded. Sir Bromul looked pale and Sir Lanulan looked anxious and afraid. I think Rondal’s spell was helping, but the naked threat of a small army at my back probably had something to do with it, too.
“The Warbird will not look kindly on this,” Sir Lanulan said, darkly, spitting insultingly at my feet. “You’ve stolen away the estate of his son.”
“Which he stole first. I don’t care. If I even suspect you’re molesting my domain, then I shall take notice. If he wishes, Gimbal may steal another – but if he comes against Sevendor again, he’ll regret it sorely.”
“Sire Gimbal—” Sir Lanulan began, loudly.
“Shut up, Lanulan,” growled Sir Bromul. He, at least, understood what was happening. “It’s bad enough you’ve lost the vale, do not compound your folly by getting us killed during a parley. This news must be brought to Gimbal, at once. Then the matter will be in the Warbird’s hands. Let us depart, before your mouth sees your heart stopped.”
Sir Lanulan sneered at me. “By sorcery, perhaps. But in honorable combat? I think not! Magelord or not, this stripling could not stand up to a fight with a real knight.”
I ignored the provocation. “I’ve told you how it’s going to be, from now on. The law is on my side. The Duke is on my side. And all these seasoned warriors are on my side. My side wins. Relay that to your master. “
Sir Lanulan started to speak again but stopped at Sir Bromul’s harsh look. The two men turned their horses and rode back to their escort without another word.
Well done, Rondal, I said to my apprentice, mind-to-mind. That was a focused execution. The spell and the troop deployment.
“So, I suppose we’ve seen the last of them,” Tyndal smirked, sarcastically.
“We established our dominance,” Sir Cei nodded. “That was what was needed. No doubt we will have more trouble with West Fleria, but not before spring, I think.”
“And I think that we need to raise that embankment another five or six feet, and start firming it up into a real, properly dressed stone wall,” I decided. “In fact, I envision a proper gatehouse there, eventually, an iron culvert in the stream, the dike faced with stone, the tower rebuilt and a full watch, regardless. If Sire Gimbal is anything like his brat, then he’s not going to be very happy about this at all.”
“It occurs to me to expect a raid soon, Sire,” Sir Cei agreed, thoughtfully.
Captain Forondo nodded. “At the very least, Magelord. He’ll try to slip a few dozen men past our defenses and to burn as much as they can. Kill a few peasants. Slaughter some stock. That’s about all he can do, between now and spring. And the worst of the winter is yet before us.” He glanced warily at the sky. It looked snowy.
“Then I want the watch doubled. Until we can settle in properly, that’s about all we can do. But maybe we can augment the defense magically . . .” I said, trailing off in thought.
We spent the rest of the afternoon doing just that, after I thanked my troops and dismissed them. They marched back to the castle proudly, Sir Cei and Captain Forondo leading them.
I made the defensive effort a practical exercise for my apprentices. It’s not often you get to play around with such things, and for a few glorious hours we were like boys in a sand lot. It was an excellent opportunity for teaching my apprentices the basics of summoning earth elementals to move dirt and rocks around, how to prepare alarm spells, and how to cast sigils of foreboding in the areas nearby the gate. I wanted anyone who was considering crossing the gap to feel deep in their heart that it was a very bad idea to consider doing harm to Sevendor. It wouldn’t stop them from doing it, perhaps, but they’d feel really bad about it, if they came with the intent to harm.
The boys picked up on the defensive magics quickly, too. They were both smart lads with ample Talent. But they were still lads. I could detect some rivalry starting to build between them, but I didn’t discourage it. That kind of thing could force both of them to strive a little more. Tyndal was bold, ambitious, and audacious. Rondal was thoughtful, subtle, and cautious. All traits valuable to a mage, regardless of his position.
But convincing each other of the advantages of the other’s strength would be difficult, I quickly learned. Tyndal seemed to attack everything he did like a dog pouncing on a nest of silksnakes, and was openly contemptuous of caution as an unmanly vice. Tyndal was addicted to excitement and adventure, but cursed with rashness and bravado.
Rondal, on the other hand, preferred to thoroughly consider the implications before he acted, like a cat watching a mouse hole, and considered impetuous action a sign of stupidity. He liked to study a spell and know it thoroughly before he tried it, and then only with the minimum power. If Tyndal’s failing was too much confidence with too little merit, Rondal’s was the opposite. Indeed, they were opposite in many ways, and that became a problem. Before an hour had passed they were both angry with each other, and forced me to intervene.
I didn’t mind – they needed guidance as much as instruction. After I had finished the technical lesson, I sat them down and gave them a stern lecture on the importance of teamwork and complementary styles. I’d like to think they listened to me.
As it was, we got some good work accomplished that afternoon. While the curious guards looked on, we directed a trio of earth elementals to continue to excavate a deeper ditch in front of the dike and used the material to raise the height of the embankment. That’s trickier than it sounds, particularly in this stony environment. The earth elementals were strong, but difficult to control, particularly for the boys. They really had to push to get them to work, and twice Tyndal lost his focus enough for the magical template to break up, forcing him to re-cast the spell. Tyndal doesn’t have the same affinity with earth that Rondal does, and it showed.
By late afternoon the earthen wall was a relatively level ten feet high, with a ten foot deep ditch directly in front of it. An earthen causeway behind it allowed archers and defenders to get to the top of the dike quickly, once proper wooden stairs or ladders were added. And we strengthened the two tiny archery redoubts the watch had built at either end of the dike. No more than a slightly raised platform, protected by a berm of earth, I could envision small stone turrets providing covering fire in the future.
“This will have to do for now,” I nodded, finishing my thought out loud. “I wish I knew more about earth magic, engineering, or construction. I mean, I can dig a hole, I can pile up dirt just fine, but we’re going to need something a little more substantial to guard this pass, eventually.”
Tyndal looked at me surprised. “You think that we’ll keep having trouble with West Fleria after we just sent them running?”
“No, he thinks that the Dead God isn’t going to be stopped, and eventually the Penumbra could extend to here,” Rondal said, a little scornfully. “Isn’t that right, Master?”
“That . . . is correct . . . but I expect we have years, perhaps decades, before that comes to pass, and I hope we can find a way to stop him long before then,” I said, philosophically. “You have to prepare for the worst and hope for the best. Even if all you have is a pile of dirt to work with.”
“That was quite philosophical, Master,” Rondal observed, diplomatically.
“It was quite practical, Master,” Tyndal said, with a glance.
“Oh, stop it, the both of you. You both did splendidly today, quit trying to compete for my favor. It’s . . . ignoble. And that’s something we have to start paying attention to. Today proved that.”
“If those idiots were nobles, I’m not sure I want to be,” Rondal griped.
“You didn’t even have to talk to them,” Tyndal dismissed. “But they were a bunch of bone-heads,” he admitted.
“Wel
l, you two aren’t,” I reminded them. “I know how intelligent you both are, so there’s no excuse for you acting like a couple of peasant kids. You’re both Knights Magi. You need to act like it. But you’re also my apprentices, and you still have a hell of a lot to learn before you’re ready to take your exams. “
“Huin’s hairy sack!” Tyndal burst out. “Ten minutes ago we were preparing for the future goblin onslaught, and now you want us to study for exams?”
“No one said that being a magelord was easy. Or fun.” I looked at them, maybe a little harshly. “We have a lot of people depending on us. And now we have another enemy. Need I remind you how many others we already own? I’m not particularly concerned about Sire Gimbal, but that’s no excuse to get lazy about the important stuff. We’ve got a lot of winter left to get through, and we’ve got a lot of work to do before spring.
“For one thing, I want one of you two to be at the watchtower as much as possible, so you can warn me mind-to-mind if we have any invaders. And while you’re here, I want you to take turns making this place more defensible. Its good practice and we need the stronger defense.”
“You want us . . . to stay in that ruin?” Rondal asked, incredulously.
“It’s not the worst place I’ve slept, Minalan,” Tyndal whined, “but—”
“That’s ‘Master Minalan’,” I reminded him. “I could care less about titles of nobility, but in matters of craft I insist on respect. Understood?”
“Yes, Master,” they both said, properly chagrined. The wind picked up, and I realized how chilly it would be tonight. I felt a little guilty about consigning them to the tower like that, but . . . damn it, we needed someone there. A High Mage.
One of the advantages we had was our ability to communicate. I wanted to be able to react swiftly in case of a raid, and having a High Mage at the gate was my best way to do that. Besides, I hadn’t been lying – they did need the practice. Perhaps if they had to live out here, they’d be inspired to improve the place a bit, too.
The Spellmonger Series: Book 03 - Magelord Page 17