The Spellmonger Series: Book 03 - Magelord

by Terry Mancour

  He should have been – the jousting was one of his biggest money-makers, I’d learned, and he had a piece of every arse in the stands. And every morsel and drop consumed. More excitement meant more spectators.

  “I saw witnessed the bouts,” Lady Estret said, approvingly. “I am no stranger to the lists, and Sir Cei struck with as fine a form as I’ve ever seen on a knight. Nor have I ever seen a man play with such passion.”

  I did my best to withhold a hearty guffaw. Sir Cei is one of the most dispassionate men I know. “He is a man of great depth,” I offered, diplomatically. “He is dressing at the moment . . . but I am more than happy to tell you anything you wish to know about him as a prospective husband. Before he gets here, so I am not bound by propriety,” I added with a chuckle.

  She smiled, and the pavilion seemed to light up. “Thank you for your candor, Lord Minalan. I am an extremely practical woman, you will find, and I dislike equivocation. Can you vouch for the man’s character?”

  “There is none higher,” I said, truthfully. “Sir Cei is the epitome of the Wilderland chivalry, my lady. He has stood by my shoulder and fought valiantly. He has saved my life. He has saved the life of my Lady. He has contended against me, when he sees need. He is a mountain of wisdom and good sense, an even-tempered man hardly prone to anger. He is forgiving – he works for me even though I stirred a peasant rebellion under his last lord. He is humble – he deigned to work as my castellan, even though we had quarreled in the past. A man of – as you say – extreme practicality.”

  She nodded, very interested. Alya took the opportunity to speak up, then.

  “I’ve known Sir Cei since I was a girl,” she explained. “He came to work for Sire Koucey when I was a maiden, and quickly set to ordering the domain. He was fair but firm to the common folk, and if he was sparing with humor, it was due to his dedication to his task. Yet he only saw fit to beat a man when he had to, and only as a matter of justice, not vengeance.”

  “Has he . . . has he known many women? Has he had a wife?” she asked, hesitantly.

  “Nay, my lady,” Alya assured her. “Even when he had the opportunity to press the peasant girls for their favors, as some castellans are known to do, he never once did, to my knowledge. If a woman has warmed his bed in all the years I’ve known him, he has managed to keep it a dark secret in a small and gossipy vale.”

  “Interesting,” Lady Estret said, her lips pursed prettily. “I confess, I only saw him from afar, but he seems a . . . a very large man, but with a handsome visage. And you say he is not cruel,” she said, as if adding it to a list. “Nor is he a womanizer. Yet . . . why has not a man of his age and station taken a wife?”

  “A good question,” I agreed. “It may be that Sir Cei wanted to have something to offer a bride beside his title, or that Ishi had not saw fit to cast her eye in his direction. But that may have changed, of late,” I smiled, as I saw Sir Cei stumble across the camp, urged on by Tyndal.

  He was wearing a handsome velvet dark gray tunic that was perfect for a cool spring evening, and a silver knight’s chain around his neck. His chin was freshly scraped and someone had introduced his hair to a comb. Even his bushy mustache was trimmed until it was almost subdued. He was as handsome as I’d ever seen him . . . and the moment he saw Lady Estret was among us, he turned into a babbling idiot.

  He stumbled over his name, his rank, his position, and only a timely intervention from my wife kept him from devolving into a frightened ten-year-old boy. But Alya was aware enough of his anxiety to help steer him through that first awkward encounter until Sir Cei was able to marshal his resources.

  With a little help. As I saw him struggle under the magelights, I took pity on him and threw together a quick calming sigil. A hand on his shoulder delivered the charm, and he straightened and took a deep breath.

  “My Lady,” he said, at the next break in conversation, “it would be a profound pleasure if you would stroll with me a moment under Ishi’s moon and we took an acquaintance of each other.” It was straightforward, heartfelt, and delivered in earnest, and with such passion behind the words that Lady Estret’s eyes widened at the sudden change.

  “It would be a pleasure to enjoy the company of such a gentleman,” she said, meekly, and took his offered elbow. We all watched them walk leisurely out into the middle of the encampment, under the gibbous moon of Midsummer, and speak quietly to each other.

  “What did you do?” Alya asked in a harsh whisper.

  “I just banished his nervousness,” I whispered back.

  The change was noted by Baron Arathanial, too. “Gods above, Magelord, did you chance to cast a love spell over the man?”

  I shrugged. “I rarely dabble in love spells, Excellency, and in this case I had no idea of his attachment until this afternoon. As far as I know, this is the first time they’ve met, face to face.”

  “Tell me,” Arathanial continued, conspiratorially, “how came this country knight to find the strength to best Count Ewen, when I have seen him knock knight after knight off his saddle?”

  “Count Ewen fights for coin,” dismissed Alya. “Sir Cei fights for the heart. The day the thought of coin can inspire a man more than a woman, on that day Ishi will weep.” It occurred to me that Ishi weeps a lot in some circles.

  Sir Arathanial took that moment to confer with Sir Festaran, whom he met the previous year at his knighting. And Alya took that moment to snuggle into my arms and watch the silhouettes of Sir Cei and Lady Estret speaking earnestly to each other. I considered magically augmenting the conversation so we could hear it, but that would have been rude – and I said so, when my nosy wife asked.

  “Minalan,” she said, after feigning disappointment at me not misusing my powers, “I don’t know why exactly, but I want Cei to win tomorrow, and marry that delightful lady.”

  “You like her, then?”

  “She’s very nice. Even to me, after she learned of our common origins. And I think . . . I think it would be good for Sir Cei. A little recompense by the gods for the horror of the last few years.”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” I agreed in a whisper, as the couple came back to the pavilion, looking slightly guilty.

  “So how did you two get along?” Arathanial asked, merrily. “If I’m any judge, you have a lovers’ look to your eyes!”

  “That depends on what tomorrow holds,” Sir Cei said, grimy. “Should Duin strengthen my arm, and I prevail at the joust, then so be it. I shall have her as my bride . . . and I pity the man who would impede me.”

  Chapter Twenty–Eight

  Lady Estret Of Cargwenyn

  “Here’s what we’re going to do,” I sighed, as I watched my wife wander wearily back to our tent, the warmth of her persuasion still on my lips. She hadn’t quite made me promise to ensure Sir Cei’s victory on the morrow, but she had offered it as a challenge. Now it wasn’t just my Castellan’s happiness I had to look to, but my own. I didn’t want to disappoint Alya.

  But I knew I couldn’t just help Sir Cei win with magic, either – he would consider it dishonorable, and withdraw from the lists. He was just that way. So I had to abandon sorcery and resort to common skullduggery. I summoned my most trusted associates – Tyndal, Festaran, Banamor and my brother-in-law Sagal (who was getting more sleep at the busy fair than he would have been with my colicky new nephew) to the pavilion, after the Baron and his party departed and I’d sent Sir Cei to bed.

  They all gathered around eagerly, even though they all looked properly tired; a day’s fairgoing can take it out of you, particularly when it involves a scuffle with the Censorate. Or shopping for a new baby. But they responded to my summons with enough alacrity and enthusiasm to demonstrate their loyalty – both to me, and to my Castellan.

  They looked to me for orders, so I gave some. “Festaran, you and Sagal head over to the top contender’s campsite tonight and see what you can learn. Take some silver and a sack of wine, buy some drinks, and ask some questions. Look for weaknesses, fears, thing
s we can exploit. Don’t just look at the man, look at his kit, his organization, what he has for breakfast, everything. Find out who he trusts, who he hates, who he wants to be when he’s a big boy. Tyndal and Banamor, you do the same for Number Two in the rankings. By dawn I want to know everything you can tell me about them.”

  They all nodded and went eagerly to work; they liked Sir Cei, in their ways, and the idea of skullduggery at this level appealed to the adolescent boy in them. I still had no real idea what to do with the information they would gather yet, but I was reasonably clever. I’d think of something.

  I was about to go take a nap with my wife and let the wine leave my head when I got the tingle of a familiar mind-to-mind link.

  Ah, Penny! What brings you to my attention this lovely summer’s evening?

  It’s more of a report. A bad report. I’m sure Terleman will give you the details in the morning, but I thought I’d give you some advanced warning. Our scouts inside the Shadow say the goblins are force-marching a column south from the Umbra along the Lumber Road, west of Vorone. It’s a big one.

  How big?

  At least eight legions. That was the rough grouping we used to describe goblin numbers – it corresponded roughly to their own military organization. But for our practical purposes a legion was two thousand fighting goblins plus another five-hundred or a thousand in support. And they are not alone. A great number of hobbed eunuchs are marching with them. A few hundred humans are riding as a cavalry screen, probably Soulless. But the worst news is the long column of trolls has been spotted, too, over two hundred strong. That has been confirmed by both by scrying and by scouting, and they are armed for siege work.

  They only had fifty at Timberwatch! I exclaimed in my own head. I thought they would have brought their greatest strength there!

  Apparently the Riverlands are a more tempting target than the Wilderlands, she offered. But they join the five legions already investing the area. And there are signs that there are further reinforcements preparing.

  I sighed in despair. How long until they reach the Riverland front?

  Three weeks, five weeks if they get slowed down and meet resistance. If they continued down the Lumber Road, they’ll spill out directly into Gilmora. Min . . . I’m no strategist, but the dragons destroyed the better part of the garrisons in Gilmora already. Terleman is rallying as many as he can further south, at a castle sixty miles north of Barrowbell, but if they come against they others then they won’t be facing stalwart defenders, they’ll be walking into a hospital camp! The Horkans are trying to shore up the secondary castles in Gilmora, but there are already advanced raiders moving down into the northern baronies.

  Damn them! Thanks for the warning, Penny. Any idea when the Duke’s southern levies will be ready to go?

  No. I could tell you what I’ve been told by Count Salgo, which is weeks, but I’ve also been told that the banner call has been resisted in the south, since this is plowing season. Those reports say at least a month, maybe more.

  It’s goblin season, I corrected. This was the problem with trying to raise an effective army in a feudal government. It took ages to pull together your forces, especially in a crisis. Thanks for the warning, Penny. I’ll think about what we can do, but unless we can stop that column, Gilmora is going to get pounded. Stopping that column is going to get bloody. I’ll speak to Terleman and see what help I can be, but the answer is probably going to disappoint him, I promised. Right now, if you could pass along to everyone that anything they can do to slow down that column and buy us some time has my gratitude and that of the Arcane Orders.

  I’ll see what I can get set up – but you should definitely speak with Terleman tomorrow. He sounded . . . concerned. He’s mentioned that he would like to see you come back to the field, but he’s admitted that there’s not much you can do right now that other people can’t. But try to check in with him for a dispatch tomorrow. That is, if you can pry yourself away from your bride long enough . . . she teased.

  In all sincerity, I’m actually trying to get Sir Cei laid, not myself, I spoke indignantly.

  That . . . that is a worthy endeavor. I leave you to carry on, then, she said with a guilty mental giggle, and was gone. Here I was contemplating seduction and gambling at a fair while in the west that terrible column of gurvani and assorted abominations was plowing down Lumber road, killing everything in their path. It made me feel profoundly guilty, and I drank the rest of the bottle before I sought the solace of my marital chamber. I snuggled extra close to Alya that night and tried not to dream of goblins.

  Terleman contacted me early the next morning, before dawn, having spent the night receiving reports and making sense out of them. He had several magi scrying the Penumbra lands and the Wilderlands around them, as well as a few tough Knight Magi ranging the enemy’s flanks and reporting.

  The first castle outside the Penumbra that they’d come to, a motte-and-bailey with a wooden palisade, defended by three hundred men, had fallen in hours after the trolls smashed through the walls. Long lines of captives were being herded back north, and the stock was being used to feed the armies as they advanced.

  Terleman related how a couple of mercenary units and a barony – about seven hundred lances – had been alerted to the advance, and were planning on making a stand. That would amount to four or five thousand troops against more than twice that number of gurvani, not counting the trolls. He was sending warmagi to help coordinate the defense, but he did not sound hopeful. We talked for a while, and I made a few suggestions, but as mighty as we were in magic we had no good answers, without troops on the ground to give them.

  Before breakfast, my own spies and scouts reported, although I was less enthusiastic about our schemes than I had been the night before.

  Sir Festaran and Sagal reported first – they split up and infiltrated the camp of Sir Jinsalan of Stoves separately: Sagal as a common fairgoer and Sir Festaran as an admirer. After mingling with the folk for a few hours they were able to inform me that Sir Jinsalan was far more enamored of hearing his own name spoken in reverent tones than he was of lands or wives.

  He had a small but devoted entourage of admirers around him, even some other professional jousters, who had to constantly assure him that he was, indeed, the champion he suspected he was. His desire for gold was eclipsed by his desire for fame and glory . . . but his youthful face and strong arm was enough to get plenty of it all.

  Sir Jinsalan was managed by an older uncle, Sir Resilad, a canny sort better suited for a career as a coinbrother than in arms. Sir Resilad was rarely out of earshot of his young charge and ensured he had a steady supply of whatever he fancied, as long as he kept winning. But the string of ribbons on his campaign banner demonstrated his facility with tending his skilled nephew.

  Tyndal and Banamor’s target was the Wenshari knight, Sire Mavoxigon, who collected estates the way a child collects pretty pebbles. He was an older knight, twice-widowed, wealthy enough to spend his summers touring fairs, and a respected war leader in his own lands.

  He was a stern and dispassionate man for whom war and power were the only true stakes, Banamor reported. While not technically a professional jouster – he rarely strayed from the northern circuit, whatever that was – he was a regular enough contestant that even professionals were wary of his mighty lance. Indeed, several professionals had already fallen in the previous day’s bouts.

  Each of the top three competitors would face one of the next three competitors to begin the day, the victor in each contest to advance to fight each other, round-robin style. The victor of that contest would win the fair domain and the fairer hand of Lady Estret.

  I dismissed them to eat while I thought about their reports. Just as the fried breads were served, dipped in sugar and ginger, I had a plan.

  “All right,” I decided, after that first glorious bite of fried bread – fried breads are a guilty pleasure of mine; growing up in a bakery, frying bread dough in oil was seen as a common peasant’s att
empt to cheat Briga’s ovens out of their due; we ate properly baked breads, religiously. I still half-expected the old man to waddle out and slap my wrist with a spoon for the temerity . . . which made the bread all the sweeter. “Here’s what I want you to do. Tyndal and Banamor, it’s your turn to go to Sir Jinsalan’s encampment with a message, and Festaran and Sagal, you head over to Sire Mavoxigan’s. And when you get there, here’s what I want you say . . .”

  They all looked at me wide-eyed and incredulous when I was done.

  Sir Festaran looked at me, his young face anxious. “Magelord, are you sure?”

  “Of course he’s sure,” Tyndal said, shaking his head and grinning. “I know what he’s doing.”

  “As do I,” chuckled Banamor. They explained it to Sagal, whose mind just doesn’t naturally work that way, thank goodness, and then they left on their various errands as the fair woke up around us.

  After I woke up my pretty wife and changed the baby – no spell to do that yet, I’m afraid – we enjoyed some more fried breads and then attended to Sir Cei, who was earnestly preparing for the bout by alternating stretching, punching the air, and praying.

  We watched while he was armored and broke his fast, and I got a new appreciation of just how large a man he was. The deft way he moved with lance and sword as he warmed up belied his size. But I could tell he wasn’t quite on the point of the spear yet: his eyes kept shifting away uncomfortably, or filling with doubt for but an instant.

  “Sir Cei,” I comforted him, after bringing him some herbal tea. “Fear not: I dispatched emissaries to the camps of the other two contender’s and told them that you will make generous offers to them for Lady Estret and this estate she loves. I have, myself, pledged to aid you in whatever way I can, as a token of what you have done in the restoration of Sevendor.”

  “Magelord, I—” he began, choking up.