That seemed to mollify Sire Cei, which just meant he’d wait until we were alone before he peppered me with questions. I didn’t mind the criticism, usually, but I appreciated him not bringing it out in council. Sire Cei is the kind of castellan who backs his lord utterly – and if that means putting himself in an unpopular position to support him, he was more than willing to do that.
“So we’re just going to . . . pop in, like a bunch of Tree Folk in a fairy tale?” Rondal asked, looking skeptical. “Master, I know you did as much in Boval, and saved all of our lives, but . . . we have no molopor,” he pointed out. The aberration in space and time that lurked under Boval Castle had been instrumental in rescuing the Bovali from siege.
“That’s right, we don’t,” I agreed. “But we do have the active assistance of the Alka Alon, who have assured me that the process is completely harmless and certainly attainable. We also have far more irionite to work with this time. And the effect of snowstone cannot be forgotten.
“We won’t be alone, either. Just before this meeting I received word from Master Taren, the High Mage in charge of artifacts, that several mercenary troops recently released from their long-term assignments are finding it hard to find work in Wenshar. He’s agreed to hire them and start sending them down-river to us. They can be in Sevendor in four days, with a little help from the Magical Corps. That should give us five-hundred or a thousand more seasoned warriors.
“Terleman doesn’t have much time at Cambrian. Barrowbell doesn’t have much time. But if Barrowbell falls, so does the quickest and safest route from east to west across Gilmora. Without that we will lose most of Alshar and perhaps a healthy chunk of Castal. So I’ve set the date of departure for six days from today, at noon. You have six days to mobilize every sword you can, across the land, and see them delivered here. You have six days to finalize your affairs and take up your own arms.”
“That isn’t enough time to raise a decent force!” Sir Forondo insisted. “Even in Sevendor, that will only give us a—”
“It will give us plenty of time,” Sire Cei interrupted. “You heard the Magelord. He has given you honorable orders in the name of the Duke. See to them,” he insisted. That didn’t make Forondo – or anyone else – any happier. But you don’t contradict Sire Cei when he talks to you like that without a powerfully compelling reason. Time to bring up the one piece of good news.
“If it makes you feel better, everyone who survives will get double pay at the Crown’s expense,” I offered. “It isn’t much, but it’s what I’m empowered to do on behalf of the Crown.”
“That will be helpful . . . for anyone who survives,” agreed Sir Roncil, glumly. “Not to bring up a sensitive subject, Magelord, but . . . will these Riverlords pay attention to a summons from you? You’re an outlander and a mage to them, regardless of who you are at court.”
“We’ll find out,” I said, sternly. “But I want messengers dispatched to every barony and independent domain within two days riding distance relaying my summons. And I want them to keep track of just who was prompt and who was reluctant . . . and who was defiant.”
* * *
Banamor wasn’t happy with the proposed deployment either, because it interfered with the closing of the magical fair. But it also gave me a chance to appeal directly to the un-augmented warmagi who had attended in search of a witchstone. Most were already intrigued in just being involved in an Alkan spell, but once I pointed out that gurvani meant gurvani shamans, and that meant a chance at a witchstone, I suddenly had two score of seasoned, registered warmagi who were willing to walk into the fiercest battle of their lives.
I made a similar appeal to the non-warmagi, asking for their enlistment as support troops, with only mild response. Only ten or eleven were willing to sign up for military duty voluntarily, no matter what the bounty I was paying. But that was enough to ensure my warmagi wouldn’t be doing double-duty as magical support. And some of those civilian magi could be deadly in battle, as Sire Dunselen had proven.
After that, all I could do was coordinate with everyone and wait for the troops to arrive.
Terleman was optimistic about the plan, if hesitant about trusting the Tree Folk. At that point, of course, if I told him I was heading toward him with a half-dozen half-blind dotards leaning on their spears, he would have been optimistic. His watchers searched the skies constantly, looking for dragonwings. Luckily the beasts were either deployed elsewhere or so difficult to control that using them wasn’t easy. I was hoping for the latter.
While we waited I had Dara practice for hours with the Thoughtful Knife. That earned her a spat with her own bird, who resented the attention she was giving the device, but the girl had a definite facility with the weapon. Her father was understandably reluctant for her to accompany me, but agreed to allow his daughter into the battle. Since he was going with two of her brothers and two of her uncles, he figured he could keep an eye on her. Once I demonstrated how helpful she was with the Knife he understood – which was good, because right now the Thoughtful Knife was the only trick I had prepared against dragons.
The first troops from the domains closest to Sevendor arrived about the same time as the Magical Fair reached its anticlimactic finish. We quietly encamped them in front of the Diketower, where we had turned our POW camp into a staging area.
Those first vassal troops proved to be Sir Festaran and his father, who were proudly leading the eight lances that were Hosly’s contribution. On paper they should be able to deliver nine or ten, but most lords kept back enough men to guard their lands and manage the harvest. Sire Festarlan seemed determined to be a model vassal.
Other troops began to trickle in. My own new vassals were first, of course, with the lord of Bastidor bringing five lances, the lords of Karandal and Hosendor sending six apiece, but not fighting themselves. I had to send Sir Roncil to his new land with a sack of gold to coax his banners out, but he returned from Northwood three days later at the head of four lances and fifty archers eager for double pay.
Sire Arathanial arrived soon after that, leading a full sixty-one lances and a hundred additional infantry. Apparently when he’d summoned his banners earlier in the month for the hurried invasion of East Fleria, word had not reached the more far-flung of his estates to respond as quickly. Therefore when he had returned to Chepstan Castle he found a small army of men eager for battle, mobilized, and fresh to the field. Adding those fresh troops to those men already deployed in occupation of his new conquests, he had managed to fill my request and then some.
Sire Sigalan of Trestendor sent but three lances and twenty archers, but by mutual agreement Arathanial and I named him Steward over the captured estates in our stead. If anyone risked rebellion while we were deployed, I could count on Sigalan to squash it. The stouthearted castellan Sir Olsted would lead the Trestendori.
Our recent enemies were less forthcoming. Lord Trefalan had not believed I was an actual Marshal, until a messenger from Baron Arathanial confirmed it. Even then Sashtalia only grudgingly sent twenty lances from a possible muster of eighty, just enough to fulfill their obligation. They were clearly the worst twenty lances, too, and made up mostly of his political enemies within his domain. That was fine by us – we ended up re-equipping about half of them, which made them enormously well-disposed to the Sevendori, regardless of the circumstances.
The barons of Miseldor and Bocaraton sent sixty and seventy-five lances, respectively, and even the barony of Revenar, across the Bontal, responded with a healthy forty lances and two forty-man troops of archers.
What surprised me most was the response of Baron Vulric. I had counted on him for twenty lances at most, grudgingly given and of poor quality. In fact he sent me twice that number, which I found to be generous . . . until I saw who led them.
Sire Gimbal, looking daggers at me, was the officer who dutifully reported in to Sire Cei. Most of the East Flerians who had gone into exile with him were likewise mustered. As much as I disliked the man, I almost felt sorry fo
r him. Perhaps he could purge his reputation in battle. Stranger things had happened.
The Remeran mercenaries arrived just twelve hours late, which was almost punctual for Army Time. They were a mixed bag, two regular units of five-hundred each, long used to easy garrison duty, and one unit of hardened infantry who had just completed a successful assault on a castle in Remere. I didn’t know what Taren promised them, but they seemed almost gleeful when they arrived.
Surprisingly, Taren himself had come downriver with them, along with five other High Magi who had been in Wenshar at the former Censorate citadel.
“Just thought you might need them,” he explained. “They’re warmagi who have been reading books all summer. They want to stretch a little, perhaps experiment with some of what they’ve learned.”
“I won’t say no,” I agreed. “I have twenty-five High Magi and three Alka Alon here. I’m hoping that will be enough to send everyone, but every bit helps.”
As the appointed day got closer, the dispatches from Cambrian got more dire. The few reinforcements who had been able to re-deploy from the Penumbra and arrive to help had faced such overwhelming odds that they hadn’t even tried to relieve the siege yet. While the men inside the castle were well-fed and dour-handed, they were grim about their chances.
Meanwhile Sevendor Village and the commons filled up with friend and foe alike. Keeping order became essential as various factions with long histories of feuding clashed. I had to send Tyndal, Cei and Planus down to help sort things out.
Keeping everyone fed was another chore, and not for the first time I praised the gods for Olmeg the Green. I could bill the Royal Treasury for reimbursement later, but for now I was just happy that we had enough food and fodder on hand to keep my little army fed.
The Alka and I had been working closely together, along with Pentandra and Taren, to “translate” the basic transport spell from the Alka Alon’s elegantly difficult magic system to the more basic Imperial system we humans used to best effect. Even then Penny and Taren had to learn some spells on the fly to understand how to work the thing.
“It’s a lot more complicated that they let on, Min,” Penny said when she stopped by my lab one night, long past midnight. “You aren’t so much transporting someone as moving the rest of the universe around them. Or something like that. Honestly, some of those translations look funny,” she admitted.
“I don’t care if its pidgin gurvani, will it work?”
“I think so,” Penny said, quietly. “If we can raise enough energy, and if we can direct it properly, then it is quite possible that it might work.”
“Quite possible that it might work?”
“This is my first spell of this kind,” she reminded me. “Give me a little grace.”
“This is my ass about to go into battle and possibly die gloriously – and that’s a best-case scenario if the spell actually works. Worst-case?”
“Worst case . . . you just don’t come back out. You stay in a neutral state of being for eternity. Or you just don’t go in the first place. I’m not fully certain which.”
“Well, can’t you test it?”
“Set for tomorrow morning,” she agreed. “I’m sending Sarakeem through.”
“Sarakeem?”
She shrugged. “If you can think of a more expendable High Mage . . .”
Sarakeem often was indeed that obnoxious. “Good point. So how will you know if he made it?”
“Mind-to-mind, remember?” she said as if I was the village idiot. “As soon as he gets there, he should be able to let us know.”
“Right, right,” I said, apologetically. “Sorry, not much sleep.”
“You aren’t the only one. Lady Varen is planning on establishing three different transports, using three old Alkan transfer points. She says she can handle them better in smaller groups like that, even with snowstone. And that way the High Magi can help, right up to the point where they vanish.”
“Good idea,” I agreed, although I’d discussed it with Lady Varen earlier that week. “That way we can put the cavalry in the furthest position, the infantry in the nearest. Then they can show up at the same time.”
“That was our thinking,” she nodded. “I’m no soldier, but I’ve always heard that surrounding your enemy was wise. This way you will have forces entering from the north, the southeast and the southwest.” She paused as she poured another glass of wine. “How is Alya taking it?”
“Honestly?” I asked, surprised. “She told me that she didn’t mind the war or the spell as much, as long as I didn’t have to sleep with my ex-girlfriend again to save the day.”
She giggled girlishly. “That’s hysterical! I thought about that, actually, but with this many High Magi around to power the spell we shouldn’t need to go to those extremes. But imagine if we did . . .” she said, her pretty dark eyes going dreamy. Penny’s biggest professional aspiration was to use a full-blown magical orgy to fuel a really big spell . . . only there weren’t enough people who knew the esoteric realm of sex magic in the world to fulfill her vision.
“She’s serious. She doesn’t exactly see you as a threat anymore since our wedding, but she does still see you as her rival.”
“That’s comforting, in a strange way. How is she, really?”
“She’s pissed as nine hells I’m leaving her for the third time in a year. And this time to go to war. She keeps making jokes about being a widow,” I said, glumly.
“Don’t worry about it, she’s just nervous,” Penny said. “She’s got the baby to occupy her time, now that she doesn’t have to worry about invasion. And my godson is adorable. I don’t know how you do it with your face, but you do make cute babies.” She got a hint of a guilty expression that I found highly interesting.
“Then you’ll be thrilled to know that Alya thinks she’s pregnant again,” I sighed. “She was throwing up a bit and missed her moon twice, now. She told me last night, after I told her I was going back to the war. I haven’t confirmed it yet, but she’s pretty sure.”
“Oh, Minalan! Congratulations!” she said, sincerely, her eyes wide. “How come I missed that?”
“How come I missed that?” I complained, wearily. “I’ve been so busy with the invasion and the fair and the occupation, and now this war, that I’ve slept next to her nearly every night and not noticed. How does a magelord do that? How does a husband do that?”
“We’ve been busy,” she shrugged. “Or at least I have, and I’ve been making you look busy. Min, don’t be hard on yourself about this. Women like to keep that sort of thing private until they’re sure.”
“Well, thanks,” I said, tiredly. “Actually, I’m thrilled that Minalyan will have a little brother or sister.” Another one, I said to myself. “And so is Alya. But I’m far less thrilled that he or she might grow up without a father.”
“Don’t worry about that, Min,” Pentandra said, clearing the dregs of her wine cup. “Alya’s pretty, and she’s a noblewoman, now, with a prosperous domain. She won’t have any trouble at all finding them a new father if you get yourself killed.”
Penny always knows just what to say.
Chapter Forty-Five
The Great Transportation
Surprisingly enough, as the hour of our departure drew closer, I began to get resistance to our plan from the most unlikely of quarters: King Rard.
His Majesty was in the process of deploying an army of 30,000 upriver but was running into serious logistical issues. The swarm of refugees arriving from Alshar and Gilmora had taxed the resources of the regional lords to the point where they were reluctant to let barges pass their shores at all. While the King and his advisors tackled that problem, they wanted me to stay put in Sevendor.
Does His Majesty realize he is risking the loss of Castle Cambrian and Barrowbell every hour he delays?
He does, Master Hartarian told me on the morning of our departure, mind-to-mind. He finds it an acceptable risk.
Duin’s hairy sack! I don’t, and I know the
people of Barrowbell sure as hell don’t!
That has also been brought to His Majesty’s attention, Hartarian said wearily. By no less than Count Fierine, in whose domain Barrowbell lies. Duke Rard seems steadfast in wanting to be the one to relieve the city. He plans on leading the troops personally. He might take a premature relief force amiss.
He can take it any way he wants it, I warned, I’ve been working my people night and day for a week so I can make this happen. I have almost five thousand troops gathered now. That’s not enough to stop the Gilmoran invasion, but it might be enough to lift the siege. Then the troops in the castle can help stop the invasion.
I will pass along to His Majesty what you have said, agreed the former Censor General, who was clearly not as used to taking orders as he was giving them.
“Why in the name of all that is holy is Rard dragging his feet on this!” I exploded to Penny as my servants were dressing me in my new armor. Culled from the pile of loot kindly donated by Sire Gimbal’s men, I’d found the right pieces to fit my body. Ordinarily warmagi avoid metal armor as it can interfere with some kinds of spells, not to mention being loud, heavy, and hot. But I wasn’t merely leading a Magical Corps this time, I was commanding everyone.
“Because Rard wants to be the one who saves the kingdom,” Penny explained. She was getting into her own armor.
Her panoply was a compromise between material protection and arcane utility. It began as the heavily waxed, sleeveless leather armor of an archer, strengthened by steel in vulnerable places and heavily enchanted. It would fend off most basic offensive spells and provide her protection. It would be exceedingly difficult for an archer to aim accurately at her, for instance.
She’d even accepted a very ladylike mageblade from Master Cormoran. Not that she’d likely use it – Penny’s command of offensive magics is limited, but included some powerful nastiness.
The Spellmonger Series: Book 03 - Magelord Page 83