The Spellmonger Series: Book 03 - Magelord

by Terry Mancour

  It just looked like a snowy field to me.

  “There was a great stand of oak and hickory there once,” he said, as we made our way through Gurisham. “Then it was forested and burned, but they didn’t remove the stumps properly – that’s where those pits arose from that they plow around. And see that little ledge up there, on the northern ridge? There was once a goodly grove, likely sallowberry tree and perhaps some pecans, but someone hacked them down about twenty years ago.

  “They’ve let sheep into that field, over there – that makes it a sweeter soil, but it prohibits it from being used for wheat or rye, at least until the soil stabilizes. And that hedge there – the man has a fortune in drewnuts, if he has the sense to cut them back and properly cultivate them. The Merwini are mad for drewnuts, and they rarely grow this well this far north.”

  And on it went. Every step of the way was a step into Sevendor’s natural history, and every bush and shrub seemed to tell a tale in its chapter. By the time we made it to the castle, at mid-afternoon, Olmeg had managed to fill all of our heads with far more plant lore than we’d ever heard, and he had convinced us of his mastery of his craft.

  But while he was lecturing the boys on the importance of proper attention to light, season, soil and water, I closed my eyes and quietly contacted Pentandra.

  Penny, did you send me a green mage? I asked, after she answered my call.

  Well, I mentioned it to my cousin, and he mentioned it to a contractor of his he liked. I don’t know many green magi myself, but Planus has occasion to use them. You know how much he likes wine.

  I recall, I agreed. So he sent me Olmeg the Green—

  Yes, she confirmed, that was the one he spoke of. Did he write to you?

  Actually, he just showed up. I just wanted to confirm that he wasn’t secretly a goblin in disguise. You met him?

  Only once. Like a big green giant. Voice like a bell-tower. I couldn’t help speculating on the size of his—

  Thanks, Penny, you’ve been very helpful, I interrupted. If she got going on comparative phallusology, or whatever she called it, she’d never shut up.

  While I’m talking to you, she said, before I could end the connection, I wanted to pass along some news. Astyral contacted me this morning to tell me that the horde to the south of the Penumbra was reinforced just after the blizzard ended. They lost a few thousands on the road, but he says there seems to be no end of them. That puts more than sixty thousand within three days march of the Riverlands.

  That . . . is problematic, I agreed. How are the Riverlords responding?

  Typically, she said, discouragingly. Half want to go to war against Rard over Lenguin’s unfortunate demise, and the other half are screaming for additional troops to fight the goblins. It looks like no less than five baronies are in the path of the horde. Astyral can brief you on the details, but it looks like the Alshari Riverlands and the Gilmoran baronies are going to be in peril this summer.

  Well, that should motivate our Gilmoran warmagi then, shouldn’t it?

  They’re plenty motivated, she corrected. They just don’t have the resources to reinforce the Gilmoran baronies and still keep the northern horde at bay.

  Then we need more warmagi. And more troops. Any word what Rard is doing?

  Master Dunselen informed me yesterday that he was already considering bolstering the Gilmoran defenses with fifteen to twenty thousand more Riverland levies, as well as those knights who’ve declared their loyalty to his ‘oversight’ of Alshar. I don’t think it’s much of a coincidence that those lands in danger of the goblins in Alshar are also those most politically volatile. Somehow I imagine that any lord who doesn’t see fit to acknowledge Rard’s control is also not going to be fit to receive reinforcements.

  I don’t like that, I said, flatly. We protect everyone in their path. Not just those who are willing to kiss some Ducal ass.

  Take it up with His Grace at the Council, then, she offered. That’s between him and the head of the Order. But I thought you should know.

  Thanks. I do need to know. And you need to come visit your new godson.

  She gave an exaggerated mental sigh. What, another squealing barbarian brat?

  She teased. I suppose I could spare a moment on my way to Wilderhall.

  Besides, I want to see what a real, live Magelord has done with his real, live mageland.

  Give me some notice so I can clean up a bit, okay?

  Not a chance, she said, and ended the communication.

  * * *

  Note 5: Alya was impressed with Olmeg, which said a lot. She joined us for the evening meal, allowing the wetnurse to care for our child. The big mage enchanted her with his voice and his gentle mannerisms. And over the meal – bread, mutton stew, stewed carrots and fried potatoes (I noted Olmeg did not touch any dish with meat in it) – he explained how he worked, when I asked. It came up when I offered him lodgings.

  “Oh, nay, Magelord,” he said, shaking his big head. “The sky is all the roof I need. In fact, I plan on sleeping every night in a different location, until I’ve properly read the land. It will take me a month, likely, before I have any definitive recommendations, but I should be able to make some preliminary recommendations in a week or so. And just in time, too – plowing season is nearly at hand.”

  I wrote him out a permission to lodge any place in my domain he chose, had the kitchen provide him with food and a sack of ale, and sent him on his way.

  And as he said, we didn’t see him for two weeks.

  We heard tale of him, though, and we occasionally caught sight of him striding across fields, or standing as still as a statue with his eyes closed, seemingly listening to the earth. He avoided most of the human habitations. And he never seemed to write anything down, although he was literate. I’d almost forgotten about him by the time he returned to the Castle.

  I’d been busy, you see. Doing lordly stuff. Like avoiding a peasant revolt.

  There were starting to be grumbles among the peasantry. As the natives of Sevendor Village were quietly consolidated at Genly, they began to feel enclosed and dispossessed, and turned their anxieties on the Bovali.

  Two fist-fights broke out (providing a lucrative opportunity for legal fines) on the commons as the Sevendori tried to exercise their prerogative to graze sheep and goats there, where the Bovali happened to be living. Sir Cei ended up moving several Bovali families into the rough new hovels being built in Brestal and I cleared one half of the thawing field for pasturage.

  That didn’t solve the problem, but it postponed it a while. The Bovali kept to the northern end, the sheep and goats to the southern end.

  Then the ale house opened.

  It was a modest affair, at first, but since the end of the blizzard the Bovali in Sevendor Village had been congregating under one particular tree at the edge of the commons, a big, stately oak that didn’t seem to have any better purpose than to provide a place to drink under.

  An enterprising young Bovali named Tirnard had procured a keg of reasonable ale and sold it off at a copper a pint, and kept a fire to warm their hands around as a bonus. The workmen coming back from the construction sites or the fields would stop by and have a pint or so before returning to their shanties for the evening, and Tirnard would extend a man credit, or even spot him a pint if he was short.

  By the second week of the thaw Tirnard had erected an awning over his keg, and a few rough stools appeared. The keg was getting low, but a few bottles of hard cider took up the slack while Tirnard brewed more. Business was good, though, and Tirnard paid a couple of young lads to start gathering stones in anticipation of building a proper fire pit and, perhaps, a wall.

  The boys eagerly collected as many of the bright white river rocks from the stream as they could, amassing quite a pile in just a few days. Around that time a few native Sevendori workmen or herders would wander in and actually spend a little of their new-found wealth. I was paying out for work in coin, and there were far more coppers and silver pennies flo
ating around Sevendor than there ever had been.

  By rights I could have put a stop to the incipient ale house, but in truth I wanted people to have a place like that to congregate. Besides, I like a good tavern, and Tirnard seemed to have a knack for the trade. I stopped by one afternoon on my way to the lumberyards and got a complimentary pint, warmed to take the chill off – one of the perks of being the lord of the domain. I enjoyed a few moments talking to the workmen around the fire, bitched good-naturedly about the weather and the mud, heard a few dirty jokes, and generally felt more at home than I had in a long time.

  Sure, the men were deferent to me, but almost all of them had seen me when I was trading chickens for spells.

  Then Tirnard asked me for a boon. This was another custom I was getting used to: any free peasant (and I didn’t have any serfs) who felt brave enough could ask his lord’s permission to do something – a boon. Sometimes it was to take a child into service at the castle, or the right to grow peas on the roadside, or something equally simple.

  A boon was a favor, granted out of the grace of the lord and according to his best judgment. And as a favor, it was expected to be repaid, either in coin or in kind or in service. Tirnard’s request was fairly simple: he wanted to build a tavern around the oak.

  I said yes. Hell, I liked him, and I like what he was doing to bring some cheer to the place. Everyone cheered, and I got another free beer, and I went off to the lumberyard and cut slightly crooked boards for a few hours until I sobered up.

  Two days later, his pile of stones had re-arranged itself into a single wall at the back of the camp, about four feet high and twelve feet long. Tirnard started charging a penny and a fist-sized rock or larger for beer, and the wall grew. And for some reason, that was the last straw for the dour Sevendori.

  Just after I set Olmeg loose on Sevendor, I got an official visit from the Yeoman of Genly, Railan the Steady, who was not at all happy about the alehouse.

  Railan was much more richly dressed than when I had first seen him, and quite a bit better fed, despite the recently short rations. That meant that his homespun tunic was dyed a bright yellow, and he now wore both a leather doublet and thick fur mantle. But his taciturn manner remained.

  “Magelord,” he began with a bow “I feel that the ale tent in the commons has become a problem.”

  “How so, Railan?” I asked, as he accompanied me to the barren space between the castle and the cliffside to the south. The whole mountain was now glistening white snowstone, and the rough slope up to the steep escarpment cried out for further consideration.

  I only had so much room inside the bailey – why not use the cliffsides to expand? I wanted everyone in the vale to be able to take refuge in the keep at need, and there was no way that could happen unless I expanded the fortifications back into the cliffs. Besides, that snowstone would make beautiful building material.

  “It attracts drunkards and inebriates,” he said at last. “The men of Boval may be fair laborers, my lord, but they are rough and uncouth. Their laughter can be heard across the stream, all the way to Genly, and it disturbs the folk.”

  “I can tell them to keep it down,” I conceded. “That won’t be as much of a problem, once the tavern walls are built.”

  “Magelord, I must question the wisdom of allowing such custom in our fair vale,” he said, judgmentally. “The Sevendori have always been a temperate people. The gods find virtue in sobriety,” he said, with conviction.

  “Perhaps,” I said. “But the people find virtue in ale. Tirnard is a good host, and it keeps spirits bright.”

  “There has never been an alehouse in Sevendor!” he said, as if it was holy law. And there probably hadn’t been, at least not in recent memory. Indeed, I had seen how scandalized some of the Sevendori were about the way the Bovali drank. It wasn’t that they couldn’t hold their liquor – quite the contrary. But the raucous behavior seemed very much at odds with the stern demeanor of the Sevendori.

  Perhaps some lord in the past had been pious for one of those temperate sects like Oris or Fenea, and closed them. Farant had been disreputable for supplying spirits, but even weak ale had been a rarity outside of Erantal’s quarters.

  “There is one now,” I said, quietly. “Say, do you think that the cliff face would hold if we cut back fifty or sixty feet?”

  “My lord Minalan,” Railan said, pained, “such trade encourages other vices. Dancing. Singing. Impious jests. They demoralize the peasants and keep the tradesmen from their work. And for what? Nothing but sensual pleasures and immoral talk!”

  “Some people like that sort of thing,” I shrugged. “You are free to keep such things from spreading to Genly. But Sevendor Village is governed by council, now.” That was another new development and cause for complaint among the Sevendori. Instead of confirming a new Yeoman for the village, as tradition dictated I had instituted a seven-man town council to oversee its affairs. There was no set number, and though I appointed the members I did so taking the wishes of the people into account.

  Currently Baris the Carpenter, young Gowel the smith, Andaron the carter (who made the trip from the village to Brestal Tower and back twice a week), Banamor the Mage, Burton the Broad (a popular Bovali farmer who had taken over managing the nascent Sevendor market), Goody Missa (a Bovali matron who represented the women of the village) and Nandol the mason were members. They’d only met twice at that point, but they were making progress on properly ordering the new buildings I envisioned for the high street.

  “That is another thing, Magelord – there are no Sevendori on the council! You have Bovali and even foreigners, but there are none to speak for those who were born in the village!”

  “True, but then you got a much better deal in Genly,” I pointed out. “As soon as it thaws, you can start harvesting that clay – it’s probably white now, too. And it’s possible that its new condition could make it very valuable. But it’s yours, as is that new house, and whatever you can do for Genly, may the gods speed your hand. Come spring, I’ll be hiring several of your people to help construct the new dam, and even more coin will flow your way. Genly can become a productive, prosperous little community, featuring all the best that Sevendori culture has to offer.

  “Sevendor Village, on the other hand, is going to be the new civil and commercial center of the magical world, if I get my way, and I’m not going to hamper that because you don’t like to drink.”

  “It is far more than that, my lord,” he continued, just this side of respectfully. “The Bovali in the alehouse, they . . . entice our girls there. And dance. I’ve seen it with my own eyes,” he said, as if they’d been consorting with goblins.

  “I’m sure you did,” I said, soothingly. “Railan, you’re going to have to get used to the idea that your girls and Bovali boys are going to make the new generation of Sevendori babies. Alehouses have been used to facilitate that for centuries.

  But,” I said, as I saw a new argument begin to form on his face, “I am open to compromise. I gave Tirnard a boon, I’ll grant one to Genly to balance it. I give you the right to construct a shrine to the god or goddess of your choice in the village center.

  “In addition,” I continued, not wanting him to argue, “I will tax the alehouse one silver penny per cask of ale they sell, the proceeds to be given to the support and maintenance of the shrine. If people want to get drunk in Sevendor and pay for the privilege, the least I can do is let them go to Genly to pray for sobriety. And as the Yeoman, you’d be compensated for administering the shrine.” I watched his expression.

  “I . . . think that would be acceptable, my lord,” he said, finally. It had better be. It was the best deal he was going to get.

  I was starting to understand that bribery works on just about everyone, regardless of class. I wasn’t above using it to keep the peace. Besides, a shrine would give people a reason to go to Genly, because there was damn little reason to go now. “Now,” I continued, “I’m thinking of putting a whopping big keep back h
ere, all in gleaming white, of course, with a three-hundred foot tall pinnacle tower at the center. What do you think?”

  He looked up at the mountain he had seen every day of his life. “Are you proposing . . . building into the mountain, Magelord?” he asked, astonished at the prospect.

  “With magic, yes,” I answered. “And the more I think about it, the more it seems reasonable. I mean, this keep is hardly adequate as it is, and if Sevendor becomes the kind of place I envision, it won’t be remotely sufficient. So we’ll have to build. But let’s build big, while we’re at it. Maybe a four-story keep and an inner wall. Something extremely defensible, but big enough to be comfortable.”

  “My lord,” he said, shaking his head, “It’d take a dozen stone masons a dozen lifetimes to build what you propose. I know you have been free with your coin, but . . . on whose backs will this great castle be built?” he asked, suspiciously.

  “Oh, relax,” I soothed. “I’m not about to raise taxes to pay for it. No, if I can build it, I’ll have to raise the funds some other way. Don’t worry, Railan, I have only the best interests of the Sevendori – both old and new – in mind. I want everyone to prosper. And believe it or not, if I can build what I envision then everyone will prosper. Mage folk from all over the Duchies will come here, and they’ll need stables, inns, taverns, and food.” I saw the man visibly shudder at the thought.

  “So many changes,” he murmured, shaking his head. “My Lord Minalan, I hesitate to speak of it, but it is my duty. There are those who fear serving under a Magelord. The . . . transformation, the strange lights, they feel it is too much. Just a few,” he added, being sure that I understood that he did not share their feelings. “But they agitate, my lord. Agitate to leave Sevendor.” He said it like it was a death sentence.

  “Let them, with my blessing,” I nodded. He looked shocked. “No, really, if they are not happy here –” I stopped myself. It felt like time for a lordly proclamation.

  “If any man should fear for his safety or his family for holding me liege, he shall be released from his obligations and paid a sum before he leaves . . . never to return. I want no man under me who is not here freely. Tell that to those people. I’ll give them enough to hire wagons and seek their fortunes elsewhere. And no, this is not some wicked noble’s trick – I’m in earnest, Railan. Understand?”