The Spellmonger Series: Book 03 - Magelord

by Terry Mancour

  “Weren’t you the one just telling me about the horrors of the Mage Wars?” I reminded her. “This could help avoid that. Besides, our unexpected bounty frees up some of the stones I was going to give to the militants. I’ll soothe the medical and educational orders with an extra stone or two. I even have an idea that might make everyone happier with how they’re being apportioned.” I explained what I had in mind, and she shook her head and laughed.

  “That may be the most dangerous and yet most intriguing idea you’ve had yet,” she admitted, after she got control of yourself. “But no one would dare say anything about it. I love it!”

  It was rare enough that I got Penny to like one of my ideas that quickly. She must have been exhausted, I reasoned. I decided to quit while I was ahead for the day.

  * * *

  On the third day of the coronation, we held a Conclave of the Arcane Orders to work through some business that had mostly been already settled behind closed doors.

  The tradition of a full Conclave, where any High Mage from any of the orders could speak, was seen by Penny, Taren, Terleman, and others as an important institutional function, and I couldn’t disagree. It’s almost never a bad idea to give everyone a chance to talk.

  Since there were less than a hundred High Magi in the city, it was easy to do – the temple sanctuary was ample, and the hardest part was finding that many chairs. And there were some surprisingly lively debates from some unlikely quarters, such as whether or not enchanters should fall under the educational order, or have their own.

  In the end it was decided to establish a separate order for them because of the anticipated need for so many enchantments in the days to come. Master Cormoran volunteered to begin the charter-writing process and a committee was appointed to oversee the matter.

  I also brought up the subject of magelords using warmagic – or any magic – in inter-domain disputes. While a lot of non-warmagi were willing to discuss restrictions, the warmagi of both orders felt that would be an unnecessary infringement on their prerogatives.

  There was passionate and colorful debate before it was decided to table the matter for further study. Master Dunselen in particular championed the right of a magelord to defend his domain . . . even if the “defense” involved an issue from a generation before.

  There were only a handful of landholding magelords at that point, so it was more of an academic interest than anything else, but I could tell a lot of the younger magi saw Master Dunselen with new respect.

  And of course there was the presentation of witchstones to the new High Magi. The candidates had been discussed and examined, selected and approved by the head of their various orders, and one by one they came forward and gave their oath to me in front of the entire conclave.

  And then, of course, we had to celebrate.

  One doesn’t gain access to the powers of the universe without having a drink afterward. I confess, among my friends and colleagues I was a little looser than amongst the general nobility of the capital. I got stinkin’ drunk and shot off my mouth a dozen times. After those stuffy parties, it was nice to be my crude, casual self for a few hours. And by that time, I felt like celebrating.

  A little after the full moon rose, a group of us retired to the roof of the building, eleven long staircases up, with the magi who had been presented their stones. We spent the next few hours casting more and more elaborate displays of fireworks and other magical displays, a tradition for the newly-risen magi we kept intact from that first day with them becoming attuned to their stones, way back at Boval Castle.

  Rondal followed me around to ensure I didn’t anger anyone too much, and that I made it to bed intact. I slept until noon the next morning, and the city was astir the entire day over the brilliant light show in the sky.

  The Coronation Ball was on the fourth day of the celebration. The Arcane Orders were well-represented, and I was obligated to go by command of the King. I made several of the newly-risen warmagi attend, just for practice. If the Knight Mage was to become a regular feature at court and in the kingdom, I wanted the magi who represented their various Orders to be able to do so properly.

  By Pentandra’s order, everyone carried their impressive-looking toy staves with them and wore their headgear, or their armor, depending on their vocation. All in all we cut a splendid figure, funny hats and all. There was food and music from a hundred different minstrels and dancing – and once again I was a very popular partner. And not because I know how to dance.

  Just after the inevitable address by our new monarchs, I was quietly summoned to an anteroom to meet a young woman. Under other circumstances, that might have been lovely – but the manner in which I was summoned told me whom I would be seeing.

  When the polite young page told me that my sister-in-law was waiting for me by the hearth, and said it in a particular way, I could tell it was Family business . . . with someone in the Family I strongly disliked. My ‘sister-in-law’ was Rardine, who had added a title the moment her father did. She looked utterly gorgeous, and even a little attractive. As meetings with nubile young women go, I’d rather kiss a goblin.

  “Princess Rardine,” I said, bowing deeply when the page brought me in and shut the door behind me. “Congratulations on your coronation.”

  The new princess was splendidly dressed in a bright yellow gown with a voluminous skirt festooned with elaborate embroidery in thread-of-gold. She wore her shiny new princess crown and drank wine from a golden cup. An empty glass bottle on the table beside her told me she’d had more than one cup.

  She looked at me thoughtfully, and smiled. It was not a pleasant smile. At sixteen years old she had already ordered the deaths of dozens of political opponents.

  “Master Spellmonger – my dear brother-in-law! Thank you for attending. I thought it would be prudent for us to speak a moment, before the rush of business compels us away from the moment. I see you faithfully executed your half of the bargain. I trust you find we did the same?”

  “I have no complaints, Your Highness,” I said, the word feeling strange in my mouth. No complaints yet, I amended in my head.

  “Good,” she said, simply. “My father is concerned that the goblins are making better progress than they should.”

  “That is a concern of us all, Highness,” I assured her. “Me more than most.”

  “He’s also concerned that you may have made some bargain with the Alka Alon of which the Family is unaware. Their unexpected appearance at coronation was disconcerting.”

  “I assure you, Highness, I have made no bargains with the Alka Alon in His Majesty’s name. My discussions have been exclusively devoted to the war effort and magical research. Indeed, their appearance was as much a surprise to me as it was to everyone else.”

  “Can they just do that? Appear out of thin air?” she demanded, a little drunkenly.

  “Apparently, they can, Highness,” I admitted. “What we don’t know about the Tree Folk could fill libraries.”

  “So how do we protect against it?”

  “As I have no idea how the spell is done, Highness, I have no idea how to counter it.”

  “That’s disturbing, Spellmonger,” she said, turning the nickname into a slur. “You’re supposed to know things like that.”

  “I’ve only been Master Adept for as long as you’ve been a princess. I’ve been busy going to parties and kissing high noble ass for the last week, so I’ve been a bit remiss in my studies,” I said through gritted teeth.

  “Don’t get insolent with me,” Rardine said. “I did not get to be a princess by ignoring important matters like that.”

  No, you got to be a princess over a pile of bodies as tall as an ogre, I thought.

  “I was merely pointing out the novelty of my position, Highness. I assure you, I have people working on the matter.”

  “Very good, Spellmonger,” she said with just a little too much enthusiasm. “You know, Mother thinks we can still be good friends within the Family.”

  “Go
od friends rarely plot to stab one another in the back, at least in my circles,” I countered. “But I’m almost as new to the nobility as I am to a position at court, Highness, so perhaps I have been misinformed.”

  “In Castabriel? A dagger in the back is more common than a kiss when departing,” she said, almost boasting. “Betrayal is a hobby. Plots are a way to pass the time. It would be wise for one so new to court to consider that.”

  “Oh, I have, Highness,” I assured her. “And I appreciate your tutelage. But I fear that the Family has put me on my guard, after you ordered my manservant to stab me.”

  She shrugged. “You will grow used to it, Spellmonger,” she said with a sigh, and then drained her cup. “Don’t take it so personally. Think of it as a test. A less-fit man would have died on that field. It’s always best to have a secret or two about everyone. That’s our stock-in-trade. But I did not summon you to lecture you Spellmonger. I wanted to extend the peace banner, and thank you for your efforts on behalf of the Realm. And I wanted to know just when you would be returning to the field,” she added, almost casually.

  “Highness?” I asked, curiously. “What—?”

  “Oh, I know how the war is going – how the war is really going,” she amended. “I also know the men would feel more steadfast in their defiance if their glorious Spellmonger was leading them.”

  “Knight Commander Terleman is an able and wise war leader, Highness,” I said, evenly. “Should he have need of me, he knows the trick of letting me know.”

  “I am not taking issue with your command structure,” she said, sourly, “it’s a matter of the public’s perception. When the hero of Timberwatch sulks hundreds of leagues behind the lines, people wonder about his dedication to the cause. Baroness Gessa of Gilmora was asking me just an hour ago when the relief troops would arrive in her lands, as currently Gessa’s castle is under siege and her husband’s life in danger.” The princess eyed me deliberately. “I assured her that our valiant warmagi were on the task. Then she asked if Minalan the Spellmonger was among them, and when I said not currently, her face fell.”

  Min should have an internal dialog that 1. she’s right and 2. he’s being told something he should have known by someone he dislikes

  That galled me. It wasn’t that she was wrong – I had been neglecting the war in favor of politics, enterprise, and institutionalization. But it galled me that someone I had so little respect for – hells, someone I actively disliked – was telling me what I already felt guilty about. And her presumption was particularly irritating. “Do you expect me to go rescue a friend’s castle . . . personally?”

  “No, of course not,” she dismissed. “Gessa’s a cunt, always has been, always will be. But she’s not alone. We’re swamped with vapid, idiot Gilmoran ladies who have fled south. While our social life in the city has never been better,” she said, with icy sarcasm, “it would be nice if I could tell them that the estates and lands they depend upon to support their time at court weren’t falling into the hands of filthy mountain folk,” she said, using the polite term for the gurvani.

  “Yes, it would be nice,” I said, mocking her tone. “A lot of things would be nice. But it takes time, Highness. Your father has managed to send only twenty or thirty thousand troops yet, and that took nearly a year to do. More are being called from the east and the south, but do you have any idea how long it takes to march an army overland? Or provision them along the way? We do magic, Highness. Not miracles.”

  “I bloody well know it’s a problem, Spellmonger, that’s why I’m telling you!” she yelled, losing her temper a bit. Then she caught herself and attempted to compose herself. “I merely suggest that – from time to time – some news about the heroic victories of the hero of the day would be pleasant on my ears.”

  “You’ll get your victories, Highness,” I said, nearly in a growl. “And when I know how I’ll achieve them, I’ll let you know. But do attempt not dictate military policy to me based on politics.”

  She scoffed. “All military policy is based on politics! Perhaps the soft living of a magelord has ruined you for the field,” she mused, insultingly. “Or perhaps you enjoy that peasant wife of yours overmuch. Either way, Mother expects to see some action soon, perhaps even the rescue of Barrowbell, if you can spare the time. And I would stop that insolent retort before it passes your lips,” she added, darkly. “You never know what secrets I have against you.”

  Actually, I had a pretty good idea: Isily’s child by me, the product of a wartime indiscretion. I didn’t know how Rardine and her bitch of a mother planned on using the kid against me, but there had to be some scheme. That the child had been ordered to be conceived by Rardine was insult enough – to have her raise my daughter to hate me and turn against me somehow in the future was unacceptable. I very nearly told her so, too.

  But I stopped myself. I’d be a fool if I revealed too much in my pride. I was working on the problem of Lady Isily, but I did not want to make Rardine aware that I even knew of her.

  “Congratulations again, Your Highness,” I said, giving her a curt bow instead. I turned on my heel and left un-dismissed, with her calling her servants for more wine.

  Pentandra would have been proud of how I’d handled the delicate situation. I was just angry. I made an excuse and left the ball soon after that. Rardine’s crack about my “peasant wife” got me missing Alya, Minalyan, and everyone in Sevendor something fierce. I only wished that there was a High Mage left in Sevendor who I could contact, but neither Banamor and Olmeg had been taught the spell to speak mind-to-mind. I cursed myself at the oversight.

  But then I remembered the gift I’d given Alya before I departed, and cursed myself for forgetting about it all this time: the magic mirror. I nearly ran back to the temple, where I took out the enchanted device and activated it.

  There was little chance that anyone was nearby – it was late, as I said. Which was why I was surprised to be staring at Darishi, my son’s nurse, when I activated the spell.

  “Darishi?” I asked, confused. “Why are you . . . ?”

  “Magelord Minalan!” the young peasant woman said, her eyes wide with relief. “Thank Ishi and Duin you responded! We’ve been trying this fool spell for days, and had almost given up!”

  “Wait, what? Why?” I demanded, suddenly alarmed. On closer inspection, the nurse did not look well, as if she hadn’t been asleep in days. “Is there something wrong with the baby? Alya?” I asked, urgently.

  “No, no, Magelord, your lady and your son are fine!” she assured me. “I will fetch her!”

  “Not until you tell me what’s going on!” I demanded.

  She looked scared, but nodded respectfully. “It is just . . . Magelord, I did not want to be the one to tell you but . . . Sevendor is besieged, for the last six days.”

  “Huh?” I asked, confused.

  “Sire Gimbal has invested the vale, and set soldiers to watch the high pass. None get in or out of Sevendor, now. Our frontiers are sealed and guarded. Scores have fallen in the defense. Magelord, we are at war.”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Sevendor Under Siege

  Thankfully, the news wasn’t nearly as grim as I’d imagined.

  Sir Cei and Alya took turns with the device, filling me in on all that had happened in my absence. It took a few hours, because I kept stopping and asking questions, but by the time someone brought me lunch I’d gotten most of the story.

  It seems the Warbird of West Fleria had been watching my movements, apparently having secured the services of a spy or two within Sevendor’s borders. When they witnessed all of the High Magi leaving for the coronation, that’s when Gimbal began his plan.

  It started with his “bandits” harassing folk on the road again, about the time we departed from Sendaria Port. Then some of them found Olmeg the Green and a few River Folk assistants in the Enchanted Forest and attacked them while they worked. One of the little people was killed, and Olmeg was beaten pretty badly, which infuriated me.r />
  Olmeg is one of the most gentle people I know. As large as he is, you’d never suspect him of having a bellicose bone in his body. Apparently he did not go quietly. Despite being almost completely ignorant of warmagic, he had killed two of his attackers and driven the rest off. Any High Mage can be dangerous if he has a witchstone handy.

  That enraged my folk, as they had grown quite fond of the Greenwarden as he had shown them which crops would enrich them and keep them from starving this winter. Sir Cei and Master Olmeg urged caution, but the attack had struck at the Bovali’s honor.

  Some of the hotter heads among the Bovali went after the “bandits” in a series of raids, and that was all the provocation Gimbal needed. The next day his emissary arrived at our gate to declare that we had broken the treaty and declared war on Sevendor to the disbelieving Sir Cei.

  Sir Cei insisted on arbitration through the graces of Landbrother Mison, as agreed, but Gimbal wouldn’t hear of it. About the time I was arriving at Castabriel, he had deployed his army – quietly gathering since the moment I’d left – and quickly sent surprise sorties against the Diketower.

  They hadn’t made it past the Dike, Sir Cei informed me, proudly. Our homemade fortification was crude, but it was efficient, and stalwartly defended. Casualties were heavy in that first surprise raid, but things settled in quickly after that.

  Sir Cei tried to send an urgent message to Landbrother Mison, who theoretically had the power to stop the war and arbitrate, but Gimbal launched a surprise attack on the Dike before the message could be delivered. Simultaneously, the Warbird had another contingent of his men invest Caolan’s Pass, so Sevendor was effectively under siege and unable to communicate.