I had the good fortune to be under house arrest just in time for the fourth-annual Sevendor Magic Fair, just days after the morning I fired Pentandra. Banamor had done an outstanding job of keeping the lucrative spectacle operating. At this point, you would think that he would have it down to an art, but the problem was it just kept getting bigger.
The participating merchants streamed into the domain for weeks, and more arrived every day. Sevendor Town swelled with the excess, and the surrounding estates were putting up folk at a bounty. Southridge Manor and Jurlor’s Hold both added additional accommodations to rent out for the occasion. Jurlor built himself a grand new hall, into which he moved most of his large family so that he could rent out his old hall at premium rates. He made even more money with the livery stable he built on property he held just outside of the town’s limits.
My brother-in-law was doing even better at Southridge. His estate had been capitalizing on the growing fair every year, and there were now guest cottages and additional halls available for those who could afford such quarters. To his credit, he and my sister-in-law had done what they could to ensure their guests were exceptionally well-fed and entertained. The view was magnificent, with pristine Sevendor Castle on the left, Sevendor Town sprawled out below, and the eerily beautiful white spire of Laesgathel jutting serenely from the top of Matten’s Helm. Southridge was where many of the independent High Magi and magelords stayed during the fair.
But most of the common vendors who had trekked for miles filled the three inns in town to capacity, while others rented spaces for tents or booths and slept there. A few were lucky enough to rent tiny cottages that sprung up near the fairgrounds, on land that had once been owned by the extinct village of Genly. Banamor struck a deal with someone over it, I was sure, but I didn’t mind too much. We needed someplace for the important middle-class of wizard to stay, I suppose.
I insisted on a tour of the grounds two days before the official opening. Banamor wasn’t thrilled - he had work to do - but I was his boss, and he knew when it was time to kiss my ass. That was one of the things I liked about the former footwizard.
He looked almost nothing like the grizzled figure who hiked his way into rustic Sevendor Village four years before. Gone were his travel-stained cloak and well-worn boots. Now he wore a dark green cloak of rich wool, trimmed with rabbit fur at the collar, and a tastefully embroidered robe and hose under, pinned with a silver snowflake pin with the stylized banner that told him as the Fairwarden.
He wore good sturdy shoes designed for walking cobbled streets, not dusty roads, now. Where once he’d held a simple footwizard’s staff, now he bore a smart-looking rod I knew was hung with custom enchantments. Instead of his battered leather hat he now wore the pointed cap of our profession in dark blue. As he hadn’t ever sat for his exams, he did not add the three additional ‘points’ that had become mere triangles for most professional magi, now. Instead Banamor added an owl feather to the hat. It was quite striking.
Indeed, Banamor was quite striking. Fleshed out and well-dressed, his hair and beard regularly attended by the barber, he was exactly who he looked like: a powerful local figure. Banamor was Mayor of Sevendor Town, which had purchased its charter from me at a handsome price last year. And while that granted the town - and Banamor - a measure of autonomy, the man was wise enough to understand I was the one ultimately in charge of the fate of the domain. He did his best to stay on my good side.
“So, did you enjoy your holiday with the kiddies, Minalan?” he asked, when I met him in front of his store that morning. “Store” isn’t quite the right term. While Banamor sold quite a lot of magical merchandise, his business was not open to the public. He preferred to allow others to sell directly. He had the heart of a wholesaler, and he saw his greatest benefit in ensuring that there were plenty of retailers to supply . . . and charge booth space to.
“It was lovely,” I nodded, looking up at the building. Banamor had added a third story to the already large hall, including a small spire that dominated the High Street. “Nice tower.”
“It’s a spiritual retreat,” he chuckled. “When the Spellmonger’s new hall had one, how could I not? You set the style, Magelord,” he said, bowing smartly. “Besides, I can sit up there and look down on my holdings. I find it soothing.”
“And the third floor?” The topmost floor jutted out over the snowstone foundations of the first two stories by three feet on all sides. “Someplace to put all of your money?”
“Are you mad? I have the Temple of Ifnia for that. That’s their vault going up over there, on the Street of Temples. Karshak designed and built, then professionally enchanted against theft. It will have a nice dome up there, someday. No, I built the top floor as a private apartment.”
I eyed the dimensions of the place. “That’s a pretty big apartment.”
He shrugged. “I entertain a lot for business. I have three smaller chambers for select guests, and the other half is mine. I’ll have to give you a tour of it,” he grinned. “That’s where I keep my special pieces.”
“Not now. Now I want to see the fairgrounds.”
“Let’s get walking, then,” he grunted, shouldering his rod. Banamor only treated me with ceremony as much as he had to. He preferred to talk business. “We can stop for a pint on the way, if you’re thirsty,” he offered.
We walked slowly through the cobbled High Street, enjoying the crisp air of autumn and the bustle of the town’s business. The Sevendor Inn across the street from Banamor’s palace was filled to capacity. The tavern next to it was likewise busy with weary travelers and bored merchants waiting for the fair to begin conducted business or simply drink away their profits.
The High Street looked like a proper town thoroughfare, now, not the dirt track I’d ridden through four years before. The street was cobbled in local basalt, with liberal use of snowstone cobbles in regular intervals. At night municipal magelights would shimmer into existence and light the entire way - one of Banamor’s innovations.
The spells were buried within the cobbles we walked on, among other enchantments he’d cast or hired out. The High Street would never become packed with snow, despite the importance of the substance to my livery, for example, nor would grass grow from between the stones. That saved a lot in maintenance costs and made the street rather pleasant.
.
There were other important tradesmen along the route: the blacksmith, the carpenter, the barber, the stable, their shops all of stone and timber on the lower levels and wattle-and-daub on the protruding second stories, where the prosperous tradesmen lived with their families. Halfway down the street, where it opened up into the new cobbled market square we came to a surprise: a fountain.
It was a simple thing, merely a ring of snowstone magically affixed and sealed water-tight. But Banamor paid to have a six-inch wide clay pipe extended from the millpond, uphill from the square, to keep it perpetually filled. A secondary trough spilled the overflow in six small stone basins at the proper height for animals to drink from. And Dranos my court wizard installed a special magelight enchantment that burned constantly, searing the water with energetic light that killed the atomi that spread disease.
Now everyone in town could have fresh, clean water without a well, and with far less risk of disease.
“Oh, well done, Banamor,” I said, clapping him on the back. “I hadn’t heard about this!”
“Water was a big problem,” he agreed. “Some of the larger homes have wells,” he said in such a way that convinced me his was one of them, “but the common folk and travelers really had no good supply. There are four of these, around the square,” he said, proudly. “Enough to serve everyone.” Then his expression change. “I just wish we could do something about the privy situation,” he grumbled, stepping over some waste in the gutter.
“I’ll think about it,” I agreed. “Perhaps there’s a magical solution.”
We continued through the market square, which was crowded with locals who had
used their traditional spaces and booths to sell what delicacies and dainties they thought the influx of travelers might enjoy. “How is attendance looking, so far?”
“We’ve already taken more attendance oaths than last year,” he preened, “and the fair isn’t even open yet. A lot of warmagi are taking advantage of the break in fighting to visit and spend their coin. That’s giving us a lot of newcomers. And the Wenshari are finally paying attention to this fine festival, nearly on their doorstep. Two large caravans from Wenshar pulled in last night.”
“And the contests?”
“Well, there’s the Dragonslayer’s Tournament,” he pointed out, referring to the event that Sire Cei, my castellan, was sponsoring at the fair this year in celebration of his anniversary to his wife, Lady Estret. “That has drawn many locals who otherwise wouldn’t be visiting the fair. It’s also provided a lot of new customers,” he said, as two petty noblewomen strode by, mesmerized by the twigs enchanted with magelights that were being sold for two pennies each. “Many have been intrigued how we do things in Sevendor. But the pageantry is certainly traditional enough.”
It was helpful for Cei - his tiny domain of Cargwynen was too small to host a proper tournament, and it was a strong social expectation for Riverlands knights to sponsor one for him to fail to do so. But Cei didn’t want to make too much of it, either. He was well-aware of his status as a social outsider to the Riverlands chivalry. If he tried too grand an event, he would be seen as too bold. He had therefore limited participation to squires and commoners only. He had also given a well-trained charger for the top prize, a magnificent award for such a small list.
“Then there are the lectures,” Banamor continued. “The Arcane Orders have taken the opportunity to conduct a few discussions at the chapterhouse on select topics. Academic magic,” he scowled, shaking his head. “Bunch of pompous arseholes, if you ask me. Of course, their coin spends as well as any and their tastes are more expensive than most.”
“Is there a theme?” I asked, genuinely curious.
“Enchantment, actually,” he admitted. “One of the more useful arts, I grant you. Making the mundane magical has always been an interest of mine. But in general . . .”
“You’ve never had to sit through a Thaumaturgy lecture,” I dismissed. “You don’t have a proper basis to hate academic magic. What else is planned?”
“Well, when the Guild of Enchanters heard about the Arcane Orders’ plans, they couldn’t let them get away with it, could they? So they’re holding some classes on elementary enchantment, too, with a focus on using snowstone. Since we get a piece of that, I didn’t put up a fuss, even if the local chapter head of the Arcane Orders wasn’t too happy with the competition.”
Technically the Arcane Orders were the “official” voice of magic in the kingdom, but I hadn’t discouraged a band of itinerant footwizards and spellmongers from renting a lot from Jurlor on the north end of town - right next to the Arcane Order’s magnificent chapterhouse and the Remeran-styled spire of the Order of the Secret Tower’s mansion (Penny’s unofficial residence while she was in Sevendor - she found castles “quaint.”) Their initial membership had pooled their paltry resources and constructed a ramshackle hall on the land, one unencumbered by any kind of unity of design, materials, or purpose.
The independent enchanters skulked around the periphery of magic in Sevendor, occasionally causing trouble, occasionally being helpful. There were always a dozen or so of these low magi looking for a quick bit of coin to further their research or just eat another day. The more established orders looked down upon them, but the Enchanters Guild had a lot of low-weight talent. If you needed a mage for a dirty job, that’s where you looked. Many of them habituated a tavern called the Spark and Scroll a street over, the name of which was the grandest thing about the cottage turned taproom.
Banamor supported them for his own reasons. While he was now a man of means who owned half of the town and was mayor of all of it, all too recently he was a footwizard himself. He had some pride in how well some of his former colleagues had done in Sevendor. He certainly didn’t mind giving the Arcane Orders the competition.
“Enchantment is a great subject,” he continued as we crossed over the bridge to the fairgrounds proper, along with a throng of other folk who were trying to get set up for the event. “We’re making a lot of money with enchantments these days. The Mirror business is booming - I can’t keep them in stock. Heatstones, charms and amulets, magelights . . . and of course, your latest improvement,” he said knowingly.
“Mine? What improvement? I didn’t approve any improvements!” I mocked.
“The brick wands,” he said, conspiratorially. “The ones you used on the march? Brilliant! I made a dozen of them for a client in Sendaria.”
The wands to which he referred were simple, really, a solid application of magical force to a practical problem. They could transform any old rock into a rough brick shape, on command. It took some power to enchant, but once it was done it was pretty self-sustaining, if you used snowstone in the components and powered it adequately. All the waste from the sides, bottom and top of your new solid rock brick was useable rubble. A mage with a brick wand could do in five minutes what it took a master mason hours to do.
“Really?” I asked, surprised. “I didn’t expect there would be that much interest. It was mostly to save time in the field.”
“What saves time in the field saves money in the purse,” Banamor said, with the authority of scripture. “Why do you think castles are so expensive? This reduces the need for expensive skilled labor. One of those wands saves hundreds of ounces of silver, in the long run. Even at the price I charged. I’m starting an entire new line of construction enchantment, after the Fair. But back to the entertainment,” he said, as we walked past the wary-eyed fairwardens who were ensuring only those with legitimate business entered the grounds. Each one carried the traditional staff, but I also knew those staves had some useful spells on them, too, if things got rough.
“Of course there’s the Spellmonger’s Trial,” he grinned. “That’s the biggest draw of them all. And the Champion’s Feast afterwards. But I’ve hired no less than six troupes of jongleurs to keep the mood festive during the day. And at night, many of the local ladies have begun to offer more . . . traditional entertainments,” he chuckled.
That was an unfortunate side-effect of holding a fair. Lonely men on the road, far from home, were more than willing to spend some of their profits on companionship. Sevendor had little in the way of professional whores, but around fair time we saw a steady increase in talented amateurs seeking temporary riches.
It wasn’t all just the lower class of woman from Brestal or Gurisham, either. Bovali girls, town girls and even a few older married women who were willing to lay aside their vows for a few days in return for coin to help get through winter made themselves up festively once the sun went down. Then they invaded the inns, taverns, and fairgrounds looking for opportunities. And there were plenty to be had.
It wasn’t really the kind of element I wanted to encourage in Sevendor, but then again I knew that you couldn’t successfully dictate human nature, either. I had been in the army. Some things are as natural as falling leaves, even if the consequences can be as disastrous as a forest fire. I wasn’t going to forbid the practice. There were plenty of pretty villein women from poor Gurisham Village who saw this as a way to help their families, or even find a husband. As long as no one got hurt, I didn’t see any reason to intervene.
Besides, not all of them were whores. There were plenty of girls who just wanted to dance, meet exotic magi from far-away lands, and enjoy themselves. If that led to a tryst, who was I to second-guess Ishi’s blessings?
“But the big news is what we’re doing at the Arcane Orders’ fete, the night before the Trial,” he grinned. “That’s Pentandra’s fete, in honor of her wedding. Planus is paying for it all, courtesy of our Remeran friends. I’m looking forward to that. They do have such exquisite
tastes in dancing girls.”
“That will be interesting,” I said, unconvincingly. I had a history with Remeran parties. But Penny’s fete I could not miss.
““Among the entertainments, there is of course the Warmagic Challenge,” he continued as we walked through the fairgrounds. “Nonlethal, as instructed, but it will use blunted mageblades and only a pre-approved list of spells. And of course, two classes, for High warmagi and regular. Though we have yet establish the prize . . .”
“A special mageblade, commissioned by Master Cormoran and enchanted by me,” I answered. “I’ve already arranged it. He has several new ideas about the subject, and wanted a way to test them. I figured a prize would be the easiest way to avoid a customer being unhappy. Enchanted blades are so touchy,” I said, shaking my head.
“I wouldn’t know,” Banamor said. He was not a warmage, and he had a mageblade only because I gave him one. He was a businessman, not a warrior. “But the spectacle should be attractive enough. Last year’s crowds were huge. And we’ve opened the contest to any warmage. I’m hoping it will be entertaining.”
“As will the Spellmonger’s Trial. I’ve added some obstacles inspired by the Great March. It will be quite a challenge.”
Enchanter (Book 7) Page 3