“Call me Minalan,” I said, realizing that this place was a respite from formality, where two men could discuss the matters of the world as men, and not as titles. “And yes, I am curious.”
“Because you are one of a handful of men who has consistently demonstrated your devotion to the security of the Duchies, regardless of who you piss off. A man who will stand up to Duke Rard is rare. And a man willing to stand up to ‘Mother’, once he understands her true nature, is rarer still.”
“Oh, I’m sure she’ll stick a dagger in me at some point,” I dismissed as he took a cut glass bottle out of the cupboard, with two matching glasses. “I’m useful to her for the moment.”
“Then you recognize your danger, good,” he nodded. “I saw how you comported yourself at Timberwatch. And just now in council. Impressive.” He seemed to be trying to make some decision, the sighed and decided. “The gods’ truth Minalan is that I’m up to my eyeballs in vipers at court already, and a man needs allies! One of the first things that Their Majesties will do is constitute a Royal Guard and order the defense of the Realm. I have . . . knowledge that I am to keep my position for a time in the new regime.
“But I also fear that I will say the wrong thing and end up with some idiot who can’t tell a squadron from a pauldron giving orders. The defense of the Realm is my charge – I cannot fulfill it without someone watching my back.”
“Why me?” I asked, curiously, as I sipped. The liquor was hard as ice but nearly tasteless.
“Because I think you are a man I could trust not to sell me out for his own advantage. You don’t have ambition – not for position at court, at least, and you seem to have carved out one for yourself with even the Court Mage answering to you. You represent a power distinct and separate from Rard and his . . . mundane supporters. We’re all supporting Rard at the moment . . . but we’re all equally worried.”
“I’m not anxious to meddle in politics at that level,” I warned. “The Arcane Orders are concerned with defense and research, the responsible use of magic, and the use of magic for the benefit of the people. Quite a lot of the militant element will overlap with yours, of course, as we prepared to dispatch troops of both sorts. But I do not wish to be a monarch. After ruling one tiny domain for less than a year, I already know what kind of monarch I’d be – an unhappy one.
“But if you need to work . . . outside of the Family,” I said, with great deliberation, “then yes, the Orders will be glad to help you out . . . ‘under the wands’, so to speak.”
“I see where you’re leading,” Salgo said, nodding as he poured another shot. “Likewise, should the Arcane Orders wish to work outside of . . . filial notice, then a discrete inquiry, from Spellmonger to Soldier, is all that is required.” He downed the shot without visible affect.
“Then we have an understanding,” I agreed, finishing my second sip of that potent liquor. “Now let’s put on our silly hats and get back out there where we can be seen and noticed.”
* * *
There was a lot of activity at our makeshift temple home that night as messengers and ambassadors came and went. Pentandra stayed awake far into the night, preparing for the long-awaited, long-ordained, and highly-contrived “surprise” conclusion of the Council, that Rard be elevated to King to re-establish the Kingdom. When the Council of Temples presented a similar plea, blessed by the gods and the clergy alike, then Rard would appear outside of the Spire and receive the new crown, title, and swear mighty oaths on profoundly venerable artifacts.
While appearing to be spontaneous, the entire affair was elaborately scripted . . . including our part in it.
Our participation in the ceremony was as important as the blessing of the Temples – we were the pretext upon which Rard and Mother were acting. We needed to show up in force. A mighty force.
The next day at dawn, we all donned our new finery and prepared ourselves for the spectacle. I was gratified to see we were not arriving by carriage this time – a fine white charger had been found to bear me, a far more magnificent and spirited beast than Traveler, with a gilt leather saddle and bridle. And an honor guard of serious-looking warmagi.
The flowing cloak, the cheers from the people (Penny had bribed plenty of them for their cheers – she knew what she was doing) made our journey almost jubilant. People even threw flowers at me.
The gates of the Spire were decked in banners and flower wreaths. We were led into place in the Outer Palace in a spot near to the temple portico where Duke Rard II of Castal would become King Rard I of . . .
Penny! I said, mind-to-mind, what are they calling the new kingdom?
Castalshar, she replied, after a pause. It leaves Remere out of the name, but I think that’s where the Remeran dukes prefer to be anyway. And it appeases a lot of the wild Alshari nobles who think that Castal and the new king have forgotten them.
Castalshar, I repeated. I suppose that’s not too bad.
Remeracastalshar was considered and rejected, she pointed out.
That demonstrates far more good sense than I’d expect from Mother. Thanks.
At the appropriate time, Duke Rard came out to the cheers of the crowd. Count Salgo reported publicly that the Realm was in danger. The Duke asked if the Count could defend the Realm, and he replied that it was beyond his power. Then the Skyfather for Castabriel tottered forward and insisted the gods were powerless, and that perhaps magic could aid. Master Dunselen, looking considerably younger than the first time I saw him, answered the Duke that magic as it stood was insufficient, but that there was hope from the Arcane Orders that had been defending the Realm.
Then it was my turn. Rard summoned the Heads of the Orders, and Terleman, Carmella and I rode calmly into the midst of the crowd in front of Rard, bowed, and said,
“Your Grace, as your designated Marshal I report to you that the Realm is in grave danger, and though the Arcane Orders have hope to defend her, the Bans prohibit us from doing so. You must address this with the Royal Censorate.”
And then I shut up, and Censor General Hartarian came forth wearing his dreaded checkered mantle and declared that as the Censorate was an agency of the King, only a Royal decree could change it.
Then the Skyfather said (in a creaking voice) that the gods demanded their Realm be defended. That’s when the Duke of Remere and the newly-confirmed Duke of Alshar came forth and pledged support to Rard’s leadership, each bearing the hereditary Shard of the Crown of King Kamalavan and giving it to the Skyfather. The Skyfather (with a lot of assistance from his fellow clerics) put the three pieces together in a metal circlet forged for the occasion. Then the Skyfather implored the dukes of Vore and Merwin to add their support, pledge their fealty, and honor the commitment of the gods.
Both Dukes paid a very visible show of respect for the Skyfather (he was highly venerated in the capital city, and no monarch lightly irritated a popular priest) but declined his proposal: they would bend no knee to a brother duke. They did agree to bear witness to the establishment of a united Realm, to be called the Kingdom of Castalshar, and the Skyfather gave a long, rambling prayer and put the broken crown on Rard’s head. A hundred doves were released, flower petals were thrown from the spire to cover the entire place, and one of my wizards (Lanse of Bune – pyrotechnic magics are a hobby of his) shot a beautiful display of magelit fireworks into the sky.
We had a king. Yay.
Rard’s first act as monarch was to declare an emergency, and sign the official end of the Royal Censorate. Censor General Hartarian formally dropped his cloak and foreswore his oath to the new king. My entire order burst into cheers at that. He had a vested interest in doing so, of course – not only was he the proud owner of a witchstone, he would also become the first Royal Court Mage. Before that happened, however, King Rard, his beloved Queen by his side, put his seal and signature to the charters of our various Orders, making me – officially – the most temporally powerful mage since the last Archmage. Yay.
While Rard was handing me the blanket
-sized vellum scroll that stood as token for the hundreds of pages of parchment that detailed the charter, the very unexpected, unscripted happened. There was a flash of light and suddenly there were a dozen Tree Folk surrounding us.
Chaos ensued, as the new unchartered Royal Guard panicked and drew swords; my own warmagi were just as unprepared, and some of them drew blades or wands, and I felt a lot of defensive spells suddenly go up. The Tree Folk were armed, after their fashion, I saw, but were not holding their weapons. They were holding various parcels. I’m amazed that no one was shot or stabbed or killed during that chaotic moment.
It seemed like an opportune time for someone in authority to intervene, and I realized with horror that I was the authority. I summoned power from my sphere and amplified my voice a hundredfold.
“HOLD!” I shouted. People screamed and put their hands over their ears, but no bowstrings twanged, no orders to attack were given. The Tree Folk stood serenely and calmly, waiting for us to stop panicking.
At last the leader, an Alka male I didn’t know, stood forward and bowed his head in the slightest hint of respect. When he spoke, everyone in the castle could hear him as if he was standing right in front of them.
“I am Prince Almasarvala, of the House of Felarsamas, representing the Alka Alon who support the effort against the Abomination. Do you, Rard of House Bimin, swear to defend this land against it until your dying breath?” he asked, in perfect Narasi.
“I . . . I so swear,” King Rard said, after a moment’s hesitation. “Until my dying breath, mine, and my house’s.”
“Then the Ferangallan Council of Alka Alon shall aid thee in thy efforts as we can,” he continued. It sounded almost condescending, but that’s just how the Alka Alon are. Something bothered me about that name, but I filed it away for later study. This was more interesting than linguistics.
“To that end, we present our friend, Magelord Minalan called the Spellmonger, Adept and Master, with these gifts to aid in your struggle, to be distributed in your wisdom to whom you see fit,” the Prince of the Alka said, gesturing with his head. The other Alka began piling up boxes in front of me, most of them no bigger than my hand.
One was brought right to my attention, however, when the Prince opened it in front of me.
A glittering tray of irionite, each piece a smooth sphere about a centimeter wide, dazzled my mind and delighted my eyes.
“Twenty-one stones, the lesser works of our house, given by the Council to the Magelord for use in the war against the Abomination. Not since our own wars, long ago before the Void spawned the humani have these stones been used. They are of especial potency and crafted to devastate and destroy. With them you might afford a credible defense against the Abomination’s armies . . . and its other minions.”
“We accept them gratefully, Lord Prince,” I said in what I thought was passable Alka. They got the spirit of it, at least. I bowed very deeply . . . and then heard in my head,
You, Spellmonger, shall be the ambassador of your kind to mine in this struggle. You shall make in your lands a place for a representative to tarry, so to bring our peoples to close counsel if need arises.
It shall be done, Lord Prince. Yeah, I’ll tell off a room full of Dukes, but the Alka Alon scared me. They had literally forgotten more magic than humanity had ever learned.
So shall an ambassador be sent to thee, to dwell with thee and offer thee the counsel of the Alka Alon in the days ahead. They will instruct thee in the meaning and use of all of these gifts, and tell thee deep mysteries. For those who can sense the days to come speak constantly of our peril in the face of the Abomination.
Yet since winter last our soothsayers have felt hopeful for the first time, he continued, as the boxes and bags piled up in front of me. For through barbarous magics was born what perhaps may be our salvation.
Lord Prince? I asked, confused.
The stone your folk call snowstone, he explained. Never has the like been encountered by the Alka Alon. We wish to procure some to aid in our researches.
It would be an honor to aid thee, I replied, formally, in Alkan.
Please don’t try to speak in our language, the Prince said, interrupting me. Not until you . . . understand it better.
My apologies, Lord Prince.
We shall send thee an envoy. An embassy. Treat them with respect, and perhaps an alliance between our folk can suffice where neither of our efforts alone might be of avail. We shall see, he finished.
“So does the Alka Alon add our blessing to those of the gods: King Rard, we challenge you to use thy might to defend these ancient lands from the Abomination. Let all Men see this and take note!” he said, his voice getting slightly louder . . .
. . . and then they were all gone again.
Crap! Penny swore to me, mind-to-mind. They could have given us some warning!
They like surprises, remember? I pointed out. Twenty-one witchstones, Penny! Almost two dozen new warmagi to put into the field!
I know, I know, she assured me. But I’m wondering what other goodies they just handed us?
Hopefully something proof against dragons.
That would be nice, she admitted. But the Alka Alon have huge resources, whole systems of magic that human minds can barely understand! Just rooting through their magical garbage would be instructive. This . . .this is amazing, Min!
Yes, I know, now let’s wait until the end of the ceremony before we open our presents, I chided back for a change.
The rest of the ceremony was pretty boring, actually, consisting of pledges of fealty by every major noble in Alshar, Castal, and Remere who was present, a few more Royal Appointments, and then Rard designated Nine Days of Festivities to celebrate the new Kingdom.
Nine days of parties. Nine days of court intrigue. Nine days of politics and maneuvering and obsequious courtiers and bribes and all the stuff I hated and Penny gloried in. Okay, I didn’t entirely hate it, but there are limits to what a man can take.
“There was one thing that was bothering me,” I told Penny later that night as we celebrated at the old Temple and new Order headquarters. “How’s your Alka Alon? Language, that is?”
Alka Alon was the basis for a lot of Old High Perwynese, the official court language of the Magocracy for centuries. A lot of old magical texts are translated from or written in the debased form we had adapted for our use. She shrugged. “Professionally? Pretty good. The Alka didn’t write much about sex magic, though, so my interest isn’t acute. Why?”
“Something got my attention during their show,” I explained. “Note that they weren’t an ‘official’ delegation, they represented some sort of council, remember?”
She nodded. “Yes. But the Alka great houses often band together, and—”
“I know, I know, I’m aware of their history. Which is why the name of their council, intrigued me.”
“What was it? I was a little distracted,” she admitted.
“The Ferrangallan Council,” I repeated. “From ferra, I’m guessing, which means ‘to alter’”
“And galla,” she finished, the implications finally occurring to her. “Which means ‘attention’ or ‘notice’. The ‘Council to alter attention’?” she asked, confused. “I’m not an expert, maybe—”
“When you alter someone’s attention,” I explained, patiently, “You are distracting them, correct?”
“Well, yes, I suppose,” she agreed, still not quite understanding.
“That’s what we seem to be to our Alka Alon allies,” I said, glumly. “We’re what they’re using to distract the Dead God.”
“Distract him from what? Them?” she asked, even more confused.
“That’s what I’m worried about,” I said. “While he’s distracted with us . . . just what in seven hells are they planning on doing?”
Chapter Thirty-Six
The Kingdom of Castalshar
I wasn’t wrong about the nine days of festivities – I was invited to over a hundred parties and receptions,
hawking and hunting, gaming and drinking. My fondness for Rushes was used against me. As was my fondness for nubile young women. My popularity was due, of course, to my instrumental role in founding (or re-founding, depending on your politics) the Kingdom, and my new high and theoretically powerful position at Court.
While the Royal Court Mage was still in charge of administration and enforcement, as Master Adept of the Royal Court I was in charge of policy – something Pentandra had insisted upon in the Orders’ charters. More, my seat at Court was permanent, I was to be included in any war councils or councils specifically concerning magical policy, and unlike nearly every other position, I was not subject to His Majesty’s dismissal.
Only the Master of Rites, the symbolic reprehensive of the clergy at Court, enjoyed the same freedom. I didn’t plan on being around Court much, but when I was in town I had a seat at Rard’s table that he couldn’t pull out from under me. That ruffled some feathers in some circles, but considering Rard had just exploded the chicken coop, that didn’t bother me much.
There had been some initial agitation to name my Royal Court position Archmage. There had been far more resistance, particularly among the Imperially-descended High Magi, in making the change for political reasons. The descendants of the invading Narasi-barbarians had a skewed idea of what the word meant, and the Imperials’ idea was as much or more political than it was arcane, and that meant different things to different Imperial families. So we went with Royal Master Adept, because it was descriptive.
So I got invited to a lot of parties. I only went to a dozen or so, usually when prompted by Penny that Countess Such-and-so was an important ally, and Master Whosit’s invitation cannot be ignored. I went, I told a few war stories, I played up the Goblin Threat, I did a little showy magic, made a gracious good-bye and then went on to the next one.
I was also exceedingly popular with the ladies, which I appreciated. Some of them were quite willing to duck away for a little private discussion, but as appealing as the notion was sometimes (especially considering all I had to drink at each affair) there just wasn’t time to consider a dalliance. I always seemed to have another reception to attend, another party at someone’s palace to drop in on, another temple to visit.
The Spellmonger Series: Book 03 - Magelord Page 68