“He . . . His Grace seems to be preparing for war, but it is a war he does not, in fact, desire. He fears an expansive kingdom encroaching on his frontiers and undermining his authority. And he fears the great power of the kingdom’s apparent magical corps. Thus he seeks to build a robust order to counter it.”
“Good sense,” I nodded, approvingly. “So he postures, he prepares, but he has no cause to strike.”
“Essentially. But I am not in the closest of his councils. The new Lord Commander speaks of them often, however.”
“So what position does your order take on the matter?”
“We are still learning our new roles. Many of us are eager for war, but the wiser among us recognize that without a secure footing in Merwyn, first, such adventures will doom our order before it is properly established,” he said, starting to realize that he was speaking with great candor. I didn’t want to alarm him, yet.
“Have you considered what a life in Castalshar would be like, for a talented mage?” I asked. “We are seeing our profession prosper, here. And that prosperity is just beginning.”
“Such changes will bring untold disruption to the old order,” he said, shaking his head uneasily. “I became a Censor to sustain the stability of the duchies, not disrupt it.”
“Yet change comes, regardless,” I pointed out. “You can struggle against it or you can seek to become part of it, and influence how it manifests. Certainly that has some appeal to you?”
“Of course,” he answered, promptly. “Yet the wonders you perform here, the marvels that you’ve encouraged will have devastating consequences. You are meddling with powers you do not understand, and not just arcane powers. What use do lords have for villeins if the plowing can be done in a day? What use do villeins have for lords if their castles provide no protection from unrestrained magi?”
“There’s a lot of truth to what you say,” I admitted – as if I had a choice. “Those issues have not escaped my attention, but . . . why should the villein toil in the lord’s service needlessly, when magic can intervene? Why preserve the old order for the sake of the old order, instead of allowing matters to evolve naturally?”
“Can any arcane matter be called such?” he challenged. “Magic is a specialized skill, and a rare one. It is, by definition, unnatural. For a society to become reliant upon it is dangerous.”
“The Magocracy relied upon it for four hundred years,” I reminded him.
“And how did they fare? The Narasi swept over them like locusts, because they were dependent upon magic and not men.”
“Actually, I’d say that they lost because they were dependent upon magic and then did not invest the necessary work to maintain their defenses adequately,” I countered, “but that’s a matter for historians. Of more interest to me is your Order’s official position on me and my household? I allowed you and your men attendance here as a courtesy, and because it serves my desire to see all magi willing to work together to do so in humanity’s service. But if your order bears me official enmity . . .”
“From what I understand,” he said, carefully, glancing at his cup, “though the order bears you a grudge, the new Lord Commander is a practical man. It is on his orders that we attended your fair. And, if possible, to speak with you quietly and relay a message.”
“I am very eager to hear its content,” I agreed.
“Essentially, the Lord Commander wishes to assure you that there will be no direct attack on you or your household, or any renegade Censors who have taken your service, in return for some considerations.”
“And those considerations are?”
“That you do not pursue the former Censors with a vendetta of your own, that you give up any claims of Censorate assets in Merwyn and Vore, and that you respect the rights of the Order of Nablus to administer magic in those duchies without your interference.”
“The Lord Commander seems to have a very high opinion of my abilities,” I chuckled. “I have no interests in Merwyn or Vore. My concerns lie in northern Alshar. If you fellows want to play High Mage in Merwyn, that’s your business, not mine. How many witchstones do you have, by the way?” I asked casually.
“Twenty-two,” he said, automatically. Only after the words escaped his lips did he realize he had just handed me perhaps Merwyn’s greatest military secret.
“Then I see no reason to worry with such a small power,” I dismissed. “You may assure the Lord Commander that I will agree to his terms. Provided that the Order of Nablus do nothing to hinder my efforts in the Kingdom. There is no native reason that we cannot co-exist,” I decided.
“That is gracious of you,” he said, nodding.
“Believe it or not, the last thing I want is for there to be instability in Merwyn and Vore. We are all humans, after all, and we face common threats.”
“The goblin king?” he asked skeptically.
“Sheruel is no myth,” I assured him. “He is frighteningly real. He may have been quiet for the last year or two, allowing his minions to serve his interests, but he is still there, in Boval Vale, studying one of the biggest molopors in the world.”
“It seems a fantastic story,” the man said, darkly. “A thin pretext upon which to base the overthrow of four hundred years of law.”
“I encourage you to tour the Alshari Wilderlands and see the result of this fantastic story,” I countered. “The refugees. The burned out villages. The ruined castles. Thousands slain, hundreds of thousands enslaved. And then return through northern Gilmora, where one year of invasion and despoilment has laid the land low. See the devastation for yourself, before passing judgment on our response to it.”
We chatted for a little while longer, but there was little else said of value. I had what I wanted, and by the time I dismissed the mage, without him realizing that he had been subjected to a truth spell, I felt confident we could put aside our worries over the Censorate for awhile.
Even better, it gave me an excellent pretext to confer with my second guest of the evening. Baroness Isily was escorted into my chamber about fifteen minutes after the Knight Commander left. Lesana was back in her position, her amulets switched.
Of the two interviews, I was far more wary of the shadowmage than the warmage. Partly because she looked and smelled better. Partly because she was far more likely to be responsible for my eventual demise than was he. Isily arrived with a voluminous mantle covering her gown, her hood thrown up over her head, and a dweomer around the cowl to obscure her features from easy notice. Clearly she didn’t want to be seen coming to visit me.
I appreciated her discretion. I welcomed her formally and had Lesana pour wine for us both, before resuming her deafness enchantment . . . and activating her gift.
“How are you finding the fair?”
“Quite remarkable,” she agreed. “A lot more fun than I anticipated. Tomorrow is your Spellmonger’s Trial? Where you give away a witchstone?”
“That’s what the schedule says,” I agreed. “It’s almost always an eventful contest. So, are you enjoying married life?”
“With Dunselen?” she asked. “I’m enjoying the life more than I’m enjoying the husband. He’s an utter boor,” she informed me, unnecessarily. “But being married is interesting.”
“I had assumed that it was done just to get close enough to him for an assassination,” I observed.
“That was one contingency,” she admitted. “But Rardine has specific plans for Dunselen.”
“Oh, really?” I asked, interested. “Any idea what they are?”
“Only some. They involve me being Baroness, is all that I know. And gathering other magi loyal to the Family into a coven.”
“Isn’t that interesting?” I said, as if it wasn’t. “So what was your real reason to come to Sevendor?”
“To see what you have been up to,” she replied, sipping her wine. “For the Family, of course, but also because of my own interest in you.”
“And what do you intend to report back to Mother?”
“That you’re a busy little wizard playing castle with his wife, possessing moderate ambitions of regional power and only a tepid interest in interfering in kingdom-level politics . . . despite your pissing off Tavard this summer,” she added with a pleasant smile. “That went over quite well in certain circles.”
“I have no doubt. He’s an ass. But I appreciate you keeping Mother’s thoughts off of me. That’s a level of scrutiny that would make any man uncomfortable.”
“She still sees you as useful,” Isily assured me. “Vital, even, if that’s any consolation. Now that she’s seen what some of our colleagues are capable of, you seem more and more like a moderate voice of reason, as opposed to a dangerous revolutionary. It is unlikely that she will order your death.”
“That’s . . . gratifying,” I said, truthfully, as I swallowed. Then something else occurred to me. “You haven’t been sent here to end anyone, have you?”
“No,” she admitted. “This is purely an information-gathering mission. I’m to assess your loyalty to the crown, the strength of your forces, and your possible ambitions.” She blinked. Then her eyes narrowed. “You have me under a truth spell!”
“I have both of us under a truth spell,” I corrected. “One that is nearly impossible to counter. I find it keeps communications clearer, when both parties cannot dissemble.” I knew that admitting that I was compelling us both to speak the truth was giving up an advantage, but I didn’t really have much choice. “So if there’s any burning question you really want to know about me, now is the time to ask.”
“That’s rather risky, isn’t it?” she challenged.
“It’s a calculated risk,” I replied. “I pride myself on being genuine, if not always forthright.”
“Interesting,” she grinned. “Well, there are a few questions I find I’d like to know. Do you love your wife?” she asked, unexpectedly.
“Deeply and passionately,” I replied.
“Pity,” she sighed. “I was hoping that you’d be willing to cast her aside, should anything unfortunate happen to Dunselen.”
“Why? Do you have feelings for me?” I asked, surprised.
“Every day,” she agreed, uncomfortably squirming in her chair. “You were one of the most captivating lovers I ever had. Charismatic, powerful, and strong even in your vulnerabilities.”
“Yet I love my wife . . .”
“Which makes you that much more attractive to me,” she said, with frustration. “To know you found me alluring, yet were more enchanted by the charms of . . . your wife,” she said, carefully, “was a great blow to me.”
“Found you alluring? You are still beautiful,” I found myself saying, uncomfortably. Then my tongue compounded my folly. “I still find you immensely attractive. Despite my love for Alya.”
“Then I feel somewhat better,” she sighed, smiling awkwardly. “I confess, when my . . . husband insists on his prerogatives, it is your face and body I imagine above me.”
“That’s flattering,” I said, swallowing painfully. I was very glad that Lesana could hear not a word of this conversation. “I’ve thought of you intimately many times myself. Yet it does not lessen the commitment I have to my bride. You should put aside any thoughts of disturbing that relationship. I would take such a move as an attack on that which I hold most dear.”
“Fear not, Minalan,” she assured me. “I have what I need from my marriage: title, position, wealth, even some power. And not a little bit of influence. I would not see all that taken from me due to scandal. I am not so obsessed with you that I cannot accept my destiny. I have what I wanted most from you, after all,” she said, pointedly.
My mouth went dry. “The child.”
“Our daughter,” she emphasized. “Her name is Ismina. She has your eyes,” she said. “She’s in one of my family’s estates in Wenshar.”
“I know,” I croaked. “I’m having her secretly watched.”
“How long have you known?”
“Since right after I was married,” I said, miserably. “I hated you and feared you, since then.”
“I mean you no ill will, Minalan,” she assured me. “I was under orders from Rardine.”
“Why did she make you do such a thing?”
“She wanted leverage over you,” Isily sighed. “She didn’t trust you, and she felt that her mother was too trusting of you. That was before you proved yourself loyal, after Timberwatch.”
“After I didn’t announce how you assassinated the Duke of Alshar, that is,” I pointed out.
“It was a watershed moment,” she agreed. “When you killed our agent, that day, we thought you were about to start a rebellion. Ismina was one of the strategic pieces in that game. But when you quietly went off and got married and took over your lands without mentioning it, the Family began to relax, even if they still didn’t trust you. Then you appeared loyal at the coronation, you held your lands, and you kept the magical world from intruding overmuch on the mundane. Lastly your victory over the dragon ensured that the Family could not touch you, unless you became a direct threat. Knights and castles the king has aplenty, but no one to slay a dragon.”
“I’m glad my work was appreciated,” I chuckled.
“Oh, it is,” she agreed. “Last year was . . . trying, but Mother put the best face possible on things, and felt it a minor victory. There was some mumbling about you having outlived your usefulness, but then you built the Mirror array, and once again you became too important to touch. Even when that little brat Tavard complained to his mommy about the mean ol’ spellmonger who had the temerity to know the law well enough to circumvent his asinine objections to relocating refugees, she told him to shut up and tread lightly. ‘The Spellmonger is essential to the prosperity of the kingdom,’ I believe were the very words she spoke to him.”
“Wonders, I’m essential,” I smiled. “What did he want to do?”
“He wanted her to rebuke you publically, strip your lands from you, something nasty like that. She told him that the most he could get away with was a temporary order to remain in your lands, as your overlord . . . but for him not to push it. She’s scared of you, Minalan, just as much as she wants to use you. She isn’t a threat to you now, but that could change at any time.”
“I’m aware. Why do you think I resort to magically extorting intelligence out of her agents? I know she’s dangerous, and she should know I’m dangerous. Fine. But we do need each other. And as a token of my good faith, here is some intelligence in return that I’ve learned but an hour ago: the Duke of Merwyn has no intention of invasion or more than some skirmishing; he is wary of the kingdom’s strength and fears for his own position, as well as the kingdom’s powerful magical corps. Further, the Censorate warmagi that he adopted have but twenty two witchstones in their arsenal. A potent force, but a fraction of what Their Majesties have at their disposal.”
“That is intriguing news,” she agreed. “And useful to pass along. Thank you, Minalan. The Family can be heavy-handed, at times, but things have smoothed much since the prince’s wedding. Now they seek for a suitable match for Rardine, to increase the stability of the realm, and the reconquest of southern Alshar. They are likely to leave arcane matters alone unless they demand their attention.”
“Tell me,” I said, suddenly, “what is the hold that Rardine has over you? Why would you conceive a child at her direction?”
Isily grew very uncomfortable-looking. She looked away, at the fire, then looked back at me. “I have never spoken to anyone of this,” she whispered.
“If I haven’t demonstrated my trustworthiness by now . . . I will not betray you,” I promised. “On the life of our daughter, I will keep discretion about anything you tell me.”
She still didn’t look convinced, but she continued, anyway. “When we were girls, I was one of Rardine’s attendants – a high honor for the poor girl who had been cursed with rajira and was denied the life of the aristocracy. We even went to the convent schools together, before I went off to Alar to stud
y magic.
“But at one of the estates we stayed at in Wilderhall, the girls were often left alone, without any but servants to oversee them. During those times, Rardine indulged in her nascent cruelty to the utmost. Encouraged by the other girls, even meaner girls, as so often happens they chose the weakest to play their jokes and pranks upon. And as we got older, those pranks became more vicious, more cruel, and more . . . intimate.”
I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. “What happened?” I asked, simply.
“Rardine and a few of her closest allies contrived to teach me a lesson . . . many lessons,” Isily said, through clenched teeth. “Unsavory lessons, as I was unwilling. But that was part of the process,” she revealed. “Part of the Family’s way of ensuring loyalty through the generations. It has been going on for years at this quaint little equestrian manor.
“It was during these excursions that our loyalties were tested, and our punishments dealt. We were paired with another girl, and as partners we did everything together. That turned out to be a lot more than we could have imagined. We were forced to beat each other. Pleasure each other. Help each other kill. As part of our process, we were given a peasant girl just a few years younger than we were, and were instructed to beat her to death. We did,” she said, simply. “We took hours.”
I was horrified. I had no idea that the Family was so brutal. She continued, still staring into the fire.
“I beg of you not to make me speak of the details of the tortures we endured and inflicted. We were tested constantly and judged ruthlessly. We were forced into the worst sorts of perversions, learning the intricacies of pleasuring men and women – and their weaknesses. We were given tasks to test our wits and initiative. My partner and I contrived to get another team of girls attacked and ravished by soldiers on one test, for instance, so that we would be the ones to earn the all-important praise from Mother.
“Finally, we were given one last test: we were to betray our partner. We were each tortured until one of us broke, and begged to have the other one sent away. We knew not where the other would go, merely that they would not return from the journey . . . and their suffering would be perverse and unimaginable. The Family has a cadre of unsavory men who enjoy such tasks. I’ve met them. I have no doubt that whatever happened to her, her last few days were spent in pain and torment. And I loved her greater than any sister,” she confessed, tears rolling down her cheeks. “After what I have done to her in the name of loyalty and self-preservation, I cannot walk away from the slightest command Rardine and the Family gives me. The guilt would be too great for me to bear . . . by design.”
Enchanter (Book 7) Page 8