The Spellmonger Series: Book 03 - Magelord

by Terry Mancour

  “That, at least, is good news,” he agreed, gravely. “But that does bring us to our . . . allies, as you call them. The Alka Alon. Why have they chosen you to host their embassy with the kingdom, when the capital is elsewhere?”

  “Because their embassy is not with the Kingdom, Majesty,” Pentandra said, respectfully. “It is with humanity. The Alka chose Sevendor for their own reasons. They will not be bound by human custom. If they wish to speak to us in Sevendor, then I counsel Your Majesty to accept their proposal and their alliance . . . for Barrowbell would have been lost without their aid.”

  “Still, it is unseemly,” he said, shaking his uneasy head. “But I suppose one could go mad trying to compel the Tree Folk to do anything they don’t want to. Very well, I suppose I will have to accept their embassy – and their help – when and where I can get it. But I am wary of such mystery, Magelord.”

  “As are we, Majesty,” I agreed. “But until we know more . . .”

  “Now, you have slain a dragon for me,” he sighed. “There will be a reward, of course – a thousand ounces of gold or something appropriate – but now I have more important work for you to do.”

  “More important . . . than dragonslaying?” I asked in disbelief.

  “To what task does His Majesty do us the honor of proposing?” Pentandra asked diplomatically.

  “Simple: I have a rebellion on my hands. When news of my coronation reached the coastal fiefs of Alshar, suddenly three Alshari counts rose in rebellion and called into question the death of Duke Lenguin at Timberwatch.”

  Since I knew for a fact that Rard (or, more accurately, his wife’s pet assassins) had indeed killed Lenguin in the Wilderlands, the irony of that was potent.

  “They’ve responded to my Royal messengers by posting mercenaries at their frontiers. They deny my legitimacy, but they have fifty or sixty thousand mercenary troops and followers to enforce that denial.”

  “That is a thorny problem,” I agreed. “But what can we do about it?”

  “I need you to use your influence and perhaps even your magical powers to bring this rebellion to heel,” he said, reasonably. “Locate and eliminate the leaders, discover who is funding them, and shut down the opposition. It’s bad enough the gurvani have chewed up a quarter of my realm. To see another portion taken by rebellion . . .”

  “That is a thorny problem,” I repeated. “I regret we cannot assist with that.”

  “What?” asked the King, sharply.

  “Your Majesty,” Pentandra said with only slightly exaggerated patience, “if you recall under the Royal Charter you, yourself signed but a few moons ago, the Arcane Orders can only be summoned to defend the kingdom against existential and external threats to the realm. Threats like the Dead God and the gurvani. Not the political troubles within your borders.”

  King Rard didn’t look happy about that. “You . . . refuse?”

  “We must,” I insisted, having heard this lecture from Penny often enough in private to recite it almost word-for-word. “Majesty, if the Arcane Orders can be called upon to settle matters on behalf of the King, then we either become your unwilling weapon or we turn on you or each other as the vagaries of feudal politics pit us against each other. That is why we were so careful about how we wrote the Charter you signed.

  “Magic must remain separate from politics, or at least not be a tool of political power, lest we begin to resemble the Magocracy in unflattering ways: either the magi will eventually seize power for themselves, which would be unthinkable; or the Throne would begin dictating policy and procedure to the Arcane Orders, and that would effectively do the same.

  “Instead we took great pains to establish ourselves so as to be alluring neither as a threat to be vanquished or a tool to be used. You may call upon us to defend the Kingdom . . . but not to defend the Crown. If we start taking sides in politics beyond our own, we run a danger for ourselves and the Kingdom.”

  “Yet here I am faced with a threat as clear as that of the Dead God,” he said, testily. “Three counts – comprising nearly a hundred domains – have rejected fealty to me OR Lenguin’s son, claiming he’s my puppet.”

  Which proved the rebellious counts were good observers, if nothing else. “That would be a minor matter if they had not spent so much time and treasure fortifying and preparing for this day,” he continued. Now I would have to lead almost twice as large an army as I brought with me to re-conquer those provinces.

  “Or I could get my Spellmonger to do it for me,” he finished, and looked at me intently.

  I wasn’t willing to be intimidated. I can pay respect to his pointy hat, but I knew that underneath that warrior-king persona Rard was a schemer and plotter of the highest order.

  “Your Majesty, even if I could do it under the charter,” I complained, “that is hardly my area of expertise. Indeed, you might find a better candidate for that even closer at hand . . .” I said, a subtle reminder that his intelligence network was well-versed in such skills as subterfuge, bribery, assassination and revolution.

  “I am investigating all of my resources,” he said, dryly. “But I cannot let this rebellion stand. Unfortunately, these counts are well-established, have deep pockets, and are in a very defensible position. Where arms cannot prevail, magic may suffice.”

  “Diplomacy may suffice even more,” Pentandra suggested. “Just what are the objections these lords make to Your Majesty’s rule?”

  “They are mere justifications,” he dismissed. “They cite tradition, ancient law, custom, treaty . . . but it is all merely a rationalization of their rebellion. They seek to run their fiefs without paying tribute, without contributing to the army, without enforcing my edicts,” he said, as if that was the most barbarous thing he’d ever heard. “Meanwhile we keep the Dead God from their doorstep.”

  “Ignore them, then, Sire,” I proposed. “For now, at least.”

  “But are they not a threat to the realm?” he pointed out, patiently. “Do you not have an obligation under the charter?”

  “The rebellious counts are not attempting to overthrow Castalshar,” Pentandra pointed out, “they merely do not wish to be a part of it. That is not the same as fighting aggressively against it. They don’t want your head, Majesty, they do not even want your crown. They just do not want to be subject to it.”

  “That is unacceptable!” he demanded.

  “That is not my problem,” I said, boldly and flatly. “I gave you a pretext upon which to base your throne, Majesty. I did not guarantee that the land would rejoice in your ascension. In fact, I’m surprised there hasn’t been more resistance. But what there is, you must deal with. Call us if there are goblins or dragons, but truculent counts are fall under ‘mundane affairs’, not ‘arcane affairs’.”

  “This does not please me, Spellmonger,” Rard said, sternly. That voice had power. It was used to being obeyed to the letter.

  “Pleasing you was not my goal, Majesty,” I shot back. “In fact, preservation of the Duchies against the Dead God was my goal. The people of the Duchies, not their rulers. If you and these counts want to squabble, then do so – but without magic.”

  “Damn it, Minalan!” he said, slamming his fist against the table hard. “I need you to pacify those counts and bring them in line!”

  “Damn it, Rard,” I swore back, “I need time and energy and resources just to plan the decades of war that are ahead of us, and chasing down your personal squabbles is just not high on my priorities right now!”

  There was a bit of a tense moment, until both of us eased down. I expected Penny to roll her eyes, but she has outstanding decorum. Instead she addressed us both, calmly and rationally.

  “Majesty, Magelord, while I have not studied the matter of the Alshari Counts in depth, the political situation seems clear enough. These counts may not hold you as their liege, but neither are they prepared to invade those who have sworn fealty to the Crown. Therefore if they are not going to obstruct you, spending time on dealing with them while the
Kingdom is in crisis is not wise, Majesty.

  “Neither is allowing the political entity upon which your position is based to suffer such rebellion a wise move, Magelord. While our charter does specifically forbid acting as an agent of the Crown against political threats – which was included for very good reason, Majesty – that does not preclude our involvement in matters of grave concern to the Crown. Indeed, your position at the Royal Court is predicated on that,” she pointed out.

  Damn it, Penny! I thought you were on our side! I sent to her hastily, mind-to-mind. She didn’t respond non-verbally.

  “To that end,” she continued, ignoring my pleas, “I propose that the Arcane Orders agree to – quietly – cooperate with such matters. As long as our involvement does not become public knowledge, then I think we can lend assistance clandestinely.”

  “Penny, that flies in the face of everything—”

  “I said cooperate, not lead a full scale assault,” she pointed out. “These counts are not going to be beaten on the battlefield, not if they are strong and entrenched. They must be beaten from within. It may take a few years, but if we help the process, then they can be brought to heel slowly, over time.”

  “I don’t have that kind of time!” Rard insisted. “If the Alshari counts can rebel, then what is to stop the counts of Wenshar from doing likewise?”

  “The willingness of Merwin to invade them if they do,” Penny pointed out. “Wenshar alone could not resist that. Wenshar as part of Castalshar most decidedly could. Leaving these Alshari counts in rebellion does nothing to harm you, Majesty, save bruise your pride and diminish your coffers. Let them pretend to independence for a while. See who joins them. Then as you have infiltrated and scryed their strengths, you can take a moment to turn from the war with the gurvani to strike.”

  It sounded reasonable, but I wasn’t feeling very reasonable. “Penny, that’s as good as going there and slitting some throats myself! If we involve the Order in this—”

  “Then we demonstrate that we are a power to be reckoned with and no one will screw with us,” she taunted. “His Majesty is right about a few things here. If these counts can successfully rebel so easily, it’s a sign of weakness. Not just for Rard, but for us, too. It’s as good as admitting that we can’t do anything about it not because we don’t want to, but because we can’t.

  “So we don’t. We let them rebel. And then we allow every politically disaffected exile across the lands drift in to their sphere of influence. Before long, Merwin will see an opportunity to cultivate an ally right on our doorstep, and they will start sending money to support their resistance.

  “Conversely, it’s possible the gurvani will strike out for the coastal cities, in which case I think we can count on the Counts willing to change their song. They might be well-defended and well-armed, but they cannot stand up to the gurvani by themselves.

  “When a year or two has passed, then you put the structure and people in place to strike. Create enough chaos and trouble for the people and they will be clamoring to be part of the Kingdom. But until then, you conserve your strength, make some idle threats, and wait for the Counts to let their guard down before you strike. You infiltrate, learn, and then when the time is right, you can conquer and confiscate any of the estates of the rebels for the Crown. And then commute their executions to lifetimes of service in the war bearing the Iron Ring.”

  “That makes uncommon good sense, Penny,” I agreed, after thinking about it for a while. Gods, her mind had more gears than a millworks. Rard seemed to agree too, but his royal dignity wouldn’t let him admit it.

  “And in the meantime, what shall I do about the estates I run already within their territory?” he asked. “There are some twenty that are – were – the property of the Alshari Coronet. A few of the Duchy’s appointed stewards have joined the rebels, but most have stayed loyal – to Lenguin, who’s dead. As I rule Alshari lands through his son, one would think that the transfer of oaths would be obvious – but we are dealing with insidious people. They refuse to swear fealty, they refuse to acknowledge the crown. But they must be managed.

  “Yet I loathe to send a good man there with the knowledge that he will be subject to assassination, bribery, scandal, and even domain war, if he stands for me. What man of honor would accept such a commission? And who could maintain the discipline to stand against those who saw him as a representative of the crown?”

  “Then don’t send a good man, Majesty,” Pentandra urged. “Indeed, I would counsel that a good man isn’t necessarily your best advocate, in that circumstance. A wicked man, who would attract the sort of folk who could help you topple the counts, would likely be better suited. And if he turns traitor on you, you can always hang him later.”

  “Perhaps,” he said, pursing his lips in thought. It was an almost girlish gesture in such a masculine man. “Perhaps a righteous advocate is not what I need. I know some of the Archmagi would appoint their political opponents to dismal positions, and then punish them later on for oppressing their own people. If the right man is chosen for the job, then he may serve my purposes and yet not become so cozy with the local lords that he turn his coat. Or so inspires the loyalty of his vassals-in-trust that he becomes a rebel in his own right. I suppose what I need, if I am not to go to war against them, is an iron-clad son-of-a-bitch smart enough to run the estates but too stupid to use them against me.”

  “Your Majesty,” I said, snapping my fingers, “I think I know just the son of a bitch,”

  * * *

  For all of the friction with Rard, the King was actually pretty pleased with the Arcane Orders for keeping his lucrative fief of Barrowbell from falling to the gurvani. Once you got beyond politics Rard was actually a decent guy . . . away from his wife. That wasn’t to say his wife’s representatives weren’t always around him, and twice they tried to attract my attention with various code words. I didn’t bite. I was too tired to play palace politics.

  But with Rard’s arrival, as well as the southern troops he’d raised, our work was essentially done in Gilmora. And as much as it would have been helpful for the Alka Alon to transport us back home, that was magically just not feasible. We had to go the hard way, up river on a leaky barge.

  I was more than ready. The near-constant drizzle of the season contained a cold hint of the season to come. Winter was coming, and autumn was full upon us.

  As pretty as Barrowbell and the surrounding countryside was, I was missing home something fierce. So was Sire Cei, who had had his fill of being everyone’s hero. He missed his new bride and step-daughter, too. The other Bovali men who had bravely accompanied me into danger and dragonfire deserved a long, safe winter with full bellies, warm beds, and no worries.

  The last part, at least, I could help with. Rard had grudgingly admitted that I had used my powers as Marshal in an approved manner, and had therefore approved my requisition from the Royal Treasury to pay them.

  Every infantryman, no matter how common, would return to the Riverlands with twenty newly-minted one-ounce silver Stags, bearing the antlers-and-anchor seal of Alshar in his pocket. Every common-born cavalryman or common mage received fifty Stags, more than twice the mercenary rate, and every noble-born cavalryman or registered warmage got a purse with twenty Stags and a brand-new one-ounce gold coin, called a Rose, for the flower on the obverse. That was a rich reward even for such meritorious service.

  There was more – on my recommendation little Dara was ennobled by Rard and given a hundred Roses for her part in the killing of the dragon, and Sire Cei the Dragonslayer was given a magnificent black charger the color of the inside of night, a new set of armor, and a thousand gold Roses for his service. Far more than he needed to restore his tiny estate. And that was in addition to the gifts heaped upon him by a grateful populace.

  But the day when we finally embarked on our own barge and said good-bye to Barrowbell couldn’t come fast enough. I was homesick.

  * * *

  Pentandra didn’t come with us –
she was quitting Barrowbell a few days later, and would return to Castabriel to continue to work on the Order’s organization through the winter. Planus would accompany her, as would several other newly-made High Magi.

  With both the attrition from the battle and the capture of six new stones, altogether, I had over a dozen new High Magi to make and (thankfully) plenty of good candidates for them. The Remerans would help them acclimatize to their stones, as well as train them in their use back at the Temple.

  The other magi were busy, too. Sarakeem was still happily hunting gurvani all over Gilmora, along with the Order’s other warmagi. Baron Arathanial had agreed to stay one more month with his men at a highly lucrative rate and help with the defenses. Lady Ithalia just . . . disappeared one day. I had a feeling we’d be seeing her again.

  So it was just me and my – three – apprentices who were heading home with Sire Cei and the other Sevendori. I didn’t mind. These were my mates, my comrades, my extended family, and they were some of the few people I felt I could be my casual self around.