Not all the lords were as enthusiastic, and one, the lord of the conveniently-named estate of Northwood was unwilling to swear, forfeited his lands, and followed Gimbal into exile. The other three were reluctant to embrace the new regime, but after speaking with them over lunch the second day after the liberation, I convinced them that faithful service, mild tribute and a prosperous vassalage were a better route for them to consider than reluctant service, punishing tribute, and a rebellious vassalage would be.
The tales of what we had done to the castles in West Fleria were starting to circulate, and by the end of the meal all three of them agreed to swear to me at court the next day.
Gimbal’s loyalists put me in a quandary. Those who weren’t willing to give up their lands for their former liege were also openly bitter about their defeat. Any who were vocally so I gave a magemark on their forehead, a broken snowflake, and declared them outlaws in Sevendor. They had until nightfall to ride away with one horse, one sword, and no armor. If they came within the limits of my domain again, they would forfeit their lives, or be sent to the Iron Ring..
It wasn’t all punishments. Arathanial and Sigalan didn’t hesitate to reward their faithful followers with gifts of the vacant lands they’d just acquired. That was how you kept the peace in a feudal system: you made sure everyone around you was a friend. If they weren’t, you take them from office and put more friendly leadership in place.
Then there were a few tougher cases, the ones Sir Cei had recommended face more serious deliberation than mere banishment. The betrayal of Railan the Steady, in particular.
As was brought to my attention at court, Yeoman Railan’s quick surrender was not inspired by fear, but by avarice. He was promised his choice of estates in Sevendor, after the new regime was established, and even had the contract he’d insisted Gimbal’s agents write clutched to his breast when he was captured in camp. I let him spend a few days in the dungeon before he was brought before me.
The charges were read: oath-breaking, cowardice and treason. Railan looked scared while they were read, but steeled himself as deliberations began.
“How is what you did not oath-breaking?” I asked him, sternly. “And what motivated you? Have I not been generous with you and your folk? Are you not far wealthier now than you were a year ago? Yet you betray me to my enemies on the field of battle, the worst sort of betrayal for a man who has sworn an oath to defend me. What have you to say for yourself, Railan?”
“You are a witch lord!” he yelled at me. “Sire Gimbal was a proper knight, a proper gentleman! He was no sorcerer, consorting with all manner of—”
I stopped his rant by enveloping his head in a bubble of silence. He had no idea we couldn’t hear him anymore, but he could still hear us.
“I am not persuaded by this defense,” I said, mildly. “When one is presented with such a disloyal vassal, how do you handle it, Baron? I am new to this sort of thing.”
Arathanial looked thoughtful and twirled his mustache. “Were he one of my sworn men, his head would be in a noose before it went up over my gate. Such treachery a wise lord does not abide.”
“I agree,” Sire Sigalan said, “though it pains me to condemn any man to death lightly, an oath sworn and broken in such a manner . . . justice demands his head.”
Railan had finally figured out we couldn’t hear him. “Did you hear that, Railan? These gentlemen would hang you or decapitate you for your crimes. Can you think of any reason I shouldn’t?” By law, technically speaking, he should have been forced to go to the Iron Ring . . . but if he was a coward here, he’d be a coward in the Penumbralands. I expected him to beg for mercy, or spit in my face in defiance. Instead he just glared at me in silence. I even lowered the spell a moment to allow him to be heard.
“If you will not even defend your own actions, then how can I?” I asked. I thought of the Sevendori who had died at the Diketower, and those wounded in skirmishes at Caolan’s Pass. There were a lot of my people in the crowd sporting bandages or splints. “You broke your oath to me when it mattered most. I’ll give you a moment to make your peace with the gods. While we can’t hear you, I assure you they can. And then it is your head.”
Railan still refused to speak, and continued to glare at me. I gave him ample time to make his peace, if there is such a thing.
“It will take time to erect a gallows, Magelord,” Sir Cei advised me quietly. “I can summon an axe or a greatsword.”
“I do my own dirty work,” I said, “especially when I take it personally. My wife and child were behind that castle wall, and this man, who swore to protect them, delivered the pass he was charged to protect without a fight, instead. His head it shall be, but not by steel or rope.”
I summoned a little power from my sphere. The magical bubble that kept sound in was transformed. Now it formed, for one brief moment, a solid plane, just like the magical planes of force we used to split wood or stone. Railan’s head tumbled to the ground, followed by his body, both spurting blood as I let the spell fail. “Next case?” I called, mildly.
I tried very, very hard not to be sick at what I’d done. It’s easy to murder with magic, once you realize how delicate the human body is. But whatever my personal qualms, I couldn’t let him get away with such treason and live. If my vassals knew the penalty of treachery in advance, they’d think twice before considering such madness in the future. I had enemies. The justice of a magelord must be swift, if he’s to be respected, I was learning.
The next cases also required a capital decision. Sir Erantal had been captured leading a raiding party over the pass the first day of the siege, and had been in the dungeon he had once presided over for almost two weeks.
He growled and spit and cursed me to the gods. His head joined Railan’s after only a few moments of his vitriol. As did the heads of five others caught engaging in treacheries varying from banditry to rape. All five were found guilty and executed. For their crimes their blood stained the white soil of Sevendor commons.
I felt faint and I called a break for lunch while they dragged the bodies away. I needed wine. A lot of wine.
Railan wasn’t alone in his treachery. Seven of his henchmen had been as staunch against me as he. In front of a jury of their fellow Sevendori, one witness after another testified to their antipathy toward me and my wife, and their willingness to betray us to Sire Gimbal. The jury found them guilty of several different counts of oathbreaking.
I condemned them all to bear magemarks of the broken snowflake on their faces, and be enlisted in the Iron Ring. Their chattels were forfeit to the domain, their lands confiscated, and their families exiled. A few begged for mercy and abjured their husbands, and I mercifully let them live with relatives or neighbors. I’m not a monster.
Another dozen Genlymen had been complicit in Railan’s treachery. I gave them the choice of the Iron Ring, or losing their freedom and becoming full serfs, owing five days a week service to the manor. The timid took to serfdom, the stupid took the Ring.
It wasn’t all punishments and executions. There was heroism to reward among my people, too,.
First to Sir Festaran, for his valiant service to Sevendor in a time of need I released him from his ransom and sent him to his father’s joyous arms. I also gave him an exquisite war sword, one borne until recently by Sir Bromul, and his pick of chargers from our loot.
To Sir Forondo, who commanded the Diketower during much of the siege, I gave one of the finer destriers we captured and a hundred ounces of gold. His eyes bulged at his riches – he could buy a small estate with that much. In fact, considering the bumper-crop of them now available, that’s precisely what he planned to do.
Sir Roncil had led two brave sorties against the invaders while they were in retreat, capturing several West Flerians in the process. I gave him a spirited destrier of his own, a beautiful bay stallion, and fifty ounces of gold – more than double their ransoms. He had broken his sword on an enemy shield the day before we arrived, so I gave him his choice of t
he hundreds of blades we had just captured.
My brother-in-law, Yeoman Sagal, had led the militia’s defense of the Diketower when Forondo and Roncil were leading the lancers, and had bravely covered their retreat. When one of Gimbal’s advances threatened to overwhelm the Dike, he led his archers in a punishing shower of volleys that drove them back, and then supported the warriors defending it against the remnants by wading into the fray hand-to-hand, leading the militia himself.
To him I gave twenty ounces of gold, a fancy suit of armor he looked afraid of, and a battle-axe. I knew he was a poor swordsman and a keen bowman, but I’d also seen him split wood. He knew how to use an axe. He accepted the gift with some trepidation. Yeomen Rollo and Loas each received a similar gift, though they bore the arms a bit more stoically than Sagal.
A dozen or so other acts of heroism were brought to my attention and gained my reward. Particularly the Westwoodmen. Kamen and his folk had responded to the banner call enthusiastically, and had done their best to re-take Caolan’s Pass after Railan’s treachery.
I rewarded several, at Sir Cei or Alya’s recommendation, including giving young Kyre a beautiful brown charger from our loot..
Finally, to Sir Cei, who had overseen the defense of the domain, I gave three hundred ounces of gold, five horses, ten suits of armor, ten swords, and other sundries. He was grateful at the largesse -- embarrassed even – but did not understand my reasoning, at first.
“You have an estate of your own, now, and you have military obligations,” I explained. “I have an armory stuffed to the rafters with captured arms, thanks to Sire Gimbal’s foolishness, and now you have enough to outfit four or five lances . . . should your liege call your banner,” I said, winking at Baron Arathanial.
“In truth, I don’t foresee a need for much military service on the horizon, thanks to Magelord Minalan. But it’s good to know it’s there if I need it,” his liege assured him. “And it is good to know just how capable a man is in war, as well as on the tourney field. Well done, Sir Cei, well done!” Sir Cei blushed at the praise..
“Now, as soon as these prisoners are disposed of and the domain is in good order, I’m giving you a few weeks off to visit Lady Estret. No doubt she’s been worried by news of the siege.”
“Thank you, Magelord,” Sir Cei said, humbly. “That would be a comfort.”
“Don’t tarry too long,” I reminded him. “Your leave will be up just around the date you’ve set for your wedding. I wouldn’t want to be late for that if I were you. I hear Alya spent most of the siege planning it, and if you messed it up then you’d best join Gimbal in East Fleria.”
* * *
“So, Magelord,” Lawbrother Hamaras said that evening at a quiet banquet in the Great Hall, where we were bidding our new allies good-bye. “I see you made my prophecy come to pass, after all . . . and a lot sooner than even I expected.”
“I had good counsel, good intelligence, and gold,” I shrugged. “All I lacked was a reason to act. Sire Gimbal and the Censorate provided that.”
“I hope this proves to be the beginning of a long and profitable alliance,” Baron Arathanial said, approvingly. “I can see great things coming to the Bontal vales. Great things. My son just wrote to me from Chepstan,” he added. “Two Sashtali domains are suddenly very interested in renewing their fealty to Sendaria, thanks to that bridge your young mage built. Brilliant sorcery! Not a soul wants to enter from the Sashtali side, now, and I hear he conjured a tidy little inn there in the bargain.”
I had yet to see Birchroot Bridge, but by all accounts Rondal had crafted a clever piece of enchantment and illusion. More importantly, he had re-opened an important economic and military route . . . one that would allow the former liege of those domains to start re-asserting his power.
“I’m hopeful,” Sire Sigalan agreed. “The lourdin mine is already profitable, and we’ll likely see much more demand for it. I’ll need the income – I have a few domains and estates to re-build. And re-people. Half of my new lands are deserted. I’ll be spread thin just protecting them.
“Well, the mercenaries are paid up through the end of the month,” I pointed out. “After that, well, I’d suggest you have your people in place. But as far as folk to work the land, I wouldn’t worry. This time next year, the waves of refugees will be moving east searching for safety. In two years the problem won’t be not enough labor, it will be too many mouths to feed. But if you prepare to receive those folk, and have crofts ready to be filled, I daresay you can restore them to their former glory, once again.”:
“What of your new lands, Magelord?” asked Sir Olsted, Sigalan’s gray-haired old castellan. “Half of them suffer from neglect as bad as Sevendor did, near enough, under Gimbal’s rule. Will you pour gold into them as you did this beautiful vale?”
“If I need to,” I admitted. “They are now magelands, and they will be entitled to some of the benefits of that. But for the most part I will let their lords govern them as they see the need . . . within reason.”
“I wonder what the rest of the Riverlands will say when news of the eradication of the Warbird is heard,” mused Sigalan.
“They will know that the magelands are not to be trifled with,” I declared.
“They will know not to toy with the allies of the Magelord, too,” pointed out Sir Roncil, eyeing the Baron. “If nothing else, it will make Bocaraton and Miseldor more cautious in their dealings with Sendaria, now.”
“Ah!” the Baron chuckled. “Your Wilderlands knights waste no time in learning the local politics, Magelord – beware of that! But I admit, I feel more at ease about our frontiers, despite the new lands to administer. Now that I face Vulric, and not that pimple Gimbal, I know what I have to deal with – he is much like his sire, moreso than Gimbal. He will only attack if he sees weakness or gain, and not lightly.”
“And we sent his brother back to him ruined and in disgrace,” Sire Sigalan observed. “One would think he owes us something for that, alone.”
* * *
While I was attending to getting my domain back into shape, Pentandra, Planus, and Sarakeem enjoyed the hospitality of Sevendor.
I was interested to watch how Penny and Alya got along, now that the issue of my status was resolved. I credit Minalyan with sustaining their relationship on the basis of cuteness alone. Alya had to concede that he adored Pentandra, and Penny freely admitted that Minalyan was the most adorable baby in the world, and Alya the perfect mother. After that, they got along fine. But Penny was still distant from the baby, and spent more time observing him than playing with him. For someone who is so involved with sex, it’s amazing how little regard she holds for its non-magical products. Her interest in Minalyan I can only credit to the fact that he was also a magical product, of a sort. Penny was fascinated with his role in the snowstone spell. So was I, but I just saw a baby when I looked at him.
Planus was particularly fascinated by Olmeg’s innovations with crops, the proof of which was bursting our granaries and forcing folk to dig more root cellars. When he found that grain yields had gone from three to one for wheat to six to one, and that we now had more maize than we could handle, he commissioned Olmeg to review his own grain-producing estates for efficiency.
Pentandra, ironically enough, was soon fascinated by Banamor’s plans for the upcoming magical fair, once she got over her native snobbery. She was a little off-put at first, by an un-credentialed footwizard-cum-entrepreneur having a witchstone, but Banamor’s no-nonsense ideas about magic and willingness to consider her suggestions made him acceptable to her.
“It’s a new era,” she admitted, when I called her on her growing friendship with the man. I was having a private dinner one evening with my High Magi visitors on the roof of my tower. “He wasn’t Imperially trained, and his Talent is . . . limited, but he understands the culture better than most.”
“Why Penny,” Planus teased, “your mother would find your associations shocking!”
“Hasn’t she always? We must
begin to reach out to our more-ignorant colleagues and encourage them to better themselves. Oh, and the things he told me went on downstairs at the Robinwing Conclave while we were re-writing the magical universe . . .” she said. “He’s a lot more shrewd than he looks!”
“I am not denigrating the man – quite the contrary, cousin. I do find his proposals for rebuilding Sevendor Village to be intriguing,” agreed Planus, as he choked down what passed for wine in my cellars. “Permanent magelights on the High Street, an underground sewer system, a permanent breeze to keep the wood smoke from becoming cloying, more public privies, an artisans quarter for crafting enchantments . . . the man speaks as much like a burgher as a mage,” he said with good-natured scorn. “He also asked me to register with him as your . . . spellwarden? I’ve never heard the term.”
I shrugged. “I made it up. I put him in charge of magic in the vale, to keep me from spending my time arbitrating between magi, or between magi and the townsfolk. If you can have a haywarden, why not a spellwarden?”
“But I thought you gave him a half-sized stone, just a fragment,” Sarakeem asked, his own witchstone glowing in his left earlobe. Unlike most of us High Magi, Sarakeem was not only willing to put his stone in a piece of jewelry, he wore it on his ear, where it wouldn’t be parted from him. “And he isn’t even trained in war. He’s a merchant,” he dismissed.
“He doesn’t have to be as powerful as any other mage, he just needs to be able to use his head and call it to my attention if someone is misusing their powers. Then I send someone powerful, or come myself if needed. Banamor is a bureaucrat, but I’m finding bureaucrats as necessary as archers these days.”
That was a deliberate nod to Sarakeem, who had been working daily with the militiamen on duty, honing their skills with the Wilderland bows they had used so effectively at the Diketower and defending Caolan’s Pass. The man was almost useless for most kinds of war, but his talent with a bow rivaled his Talent as a mage. And neither had left much room for a talent in humility.
The Spellmonger Series: Book 03 - Magelord Page 73