Enchanter (Book 7)

by Terry Mancour

  “That’s . . . horrible!” I said, appalled. “And these are our leaders?”

  “These are always our leaders,” she said, miserably. “I’ve learned much about the way things are done in other places. As awful as the Family’s approach is, it is almost civilized compared to what other states do to ensure the loyalty of their agents. Only my gaining of a witchstone and the successful assassination of Lenguin gave me the credit and prestige I needed to retire from more active service. Now I am merely to be mother to my own little family of killers, ready to strike at Mother’s direction.”

  “It seems a rather full retirement,” I observed.

  She laughed mirthlessly. “Dunselen’s frail and pasty body is to be my ‘reward.’ I am to keep him in check and steer his policies while enjoying the wealth and prestige of his position. It is a decent life,” she said, looking almost relieved to hear the words escape her lips. “I could have it much worse. Indeed, I never hoped I would achieve such a position in my lifetime. But I have, thanks to you,” she said, putting her hand on my arm.

  I didn’t move it. “I could offer you protection,” I whispered. “I could keep you safe from the Family.”

  “But not yourself,” she pointed out, “or all that you love. No, Minalan, my fate is my own, and I’ve enjoyed far more fortune than I deserve for my crimes. In fact, even should I covet your wife’s husband, I would never consider myself worthy of such an honor, thanks to the blood on my hands. You have proven your nobility on the battlefield and in court, and deserve a far better lady at your side than me. Dunselen, as disgusted as the sight of him makes me, is more suited to my crimes. I am being repaid for those poor souls I seduced as part of my mission, one agonizing night after another.”

  “Surely the old coot doesn’t lack for vitality,” I chuckled again, despite myself.

  “Oh, he’s as randy as a goat,” she said, a little savagely. “That’s part of the problem! Hence my sudden appreciation for selective breeding. While of course I am trying desperately to give him the heir he desires,” she said, rolling her eyes, “I have used that stratagem to placate his lusts between the loins of village girls, instead. I whisper to him of an army of Talented bastards in his domains, and of arcane legacies to last a thousand years. He’s an idiot. He knows not if a girl I’ve procured is truly Talented, nor does he care; he merely seeks an excuse to sate his lusts. When he learned I would give him approval to do so at his whim, and even assist in finding tasty young morsels from his estates, he left off inflicting his passion on me.”

  “Isily!” I said, horrified. “That’s . . . that’s . . .”

  “That is what a woman will do to survive, Minalan!” she said, evenly. The tears on her face were drying, but those eyes were still moist as they bored into me. “I betrayed my best friend in the world to a horrific torture, rape, and likely murder, because it saved me when I had no other power to do so.

  “Now that I am faced with this awful indignity, I do have the power to deflect it. A few village sluts, culled from the hinterlands and brought quietly to the castle . . . a few days of good treatment and flattery, to prepare them, and a light sedative. He toys with them and uses them at his whim for a few days, pretends he’s waiting for them to get pregnant, and then sends them away when he tires of them. I ensure they get a fat purse and a stern warning about silence before they leave. They go home, bear their brats if they were misfortunate enough to get them, and marry stupid village boys who don’t mind wedding a girl with a bastard in her belly. Everyone’s happy,” she said, throwing up her hands.

  I was afraid of what I’d say if I opened my mouth, so I didn’t. Or at least not about that.

  “So our daughter . . . what plans do you have for her?”

  “Eventually, once I have firmly established myself at Greenflower,” she said, referring to Dunselen’s stately ancestral halls, “I will send for her. If she proves ripe with Talent, I shall send her discretely to Alar to be trained. If she does not, then I will pay for her education in a convent, and then try to arrange a decent marriage when she’s of age.”

  “Should I not get some opinion in her nurture?” I asked, a little offended.

  “You were not to even know she existed,” she reminded me. “If that fact becomes known by the Family, you put both of our lives at risk.”

  “I have told only a few of my most-trusted counselors,” I assured her.

  “And your wife?”

  I paused. “I haven’t told Alya. I’m not certain I want to. I want to be honest with her, but this kind of revelation could damage my marriage. If I’m not to know for the Family’s sake, then I would caution you likewise. If anything disturbs my family, then the Spellmonger will go to war in ways not seen since the Magocracy,” I vowed.

  “I believe it, Minalan,” she sighed, looking at me. “It’s near torture, being so near to you after dreaming of you for so many years. But you have nothing to fear from me. I have no designs on your life, and wish you only happiness, a happiness you could never have with a wretched soul like me. Our daughter will remain our secret from everyone, as long as we need her to be. And only because of your damned spell,” she continued quietly, “I can tell you that you have an ally in me, whether you wish it or not. After the depths of misery I have been witness to, I cannot help but admire a man who has lifted himself above it all, and taken so many with him.”

  Damn it, she was even more attractive to me, now, for some reason.

  “Then let us make our secret alliance,” I agreed. “If you will keep me appraised of the mind of Mother, and warn me of any danger, then I will do what I can to aid you in your goal to make a secure place for yourself . . . for Ismina’s sake. I will tell no one of this – not even Pentandra, for now. I trust you will likewise keep this discreet?”

  “As it means my head if I do not, yes,” she agreed. “Now, I had better shake off the remnants of this spell and return to my randy old husband, who sees every journey we take as an excuse to make love in an exotic locale. He’s insistent that our passion not grow stale, and the last thing he needs to hear is what I honestly think about his pathetic efforts.”

  Chapter Six

  Dodging Isily

  INDAGATION

  “It behooves the enchanter to seek counsel and lore in a process of indagation, before he embarks upon his chosen path. For much has been done before which may be learned from; and much will suggest itself as the enchanter explores not just the artists of the past, but his contemporaries and colleagues, yay, even his students may have something of value. The importance of a thorough process of indagation is essential if a successful enchantment is desired.”

  The Florilegum of Basic Thaumaturgy

  The next morning I woke up feeling both more and less secure at the same time. The Family was not considering assassinating me – which was a relief – and the Censorate’s successors were too busy with their own problems to be of serious concern to my plans. Even with the Alka Alon still away attending to their crisis, I felt a sense of relief about both issues I hadn’t known I was carrying.

  But both interviews also proposed additional problems. How would we deal with magical trade and such between duchies, now? Could the Knights of Nablus be counted upon as partners or would the end up rivals? Could we find some way to work together, despite the differences in approach? And, more importantly, could we do so without developing any lasting antipathy?

  More importantly – to me, personally – had been Isily’s revelations. Particularly her feelings for me and her assurances about little Ismina. While I did not share her feelings, I was still very attracted and very sympathetic to her, now that I knew what she had been through.

  She was still a devious shadowmage assassin in the service of a ruthless monarch. I tried very hard not to let my personal feelings distract me from that fact. If commanded, Isily would slay every member of my family, thanks to her conditioning. While I was feeling more secure about my illegitimate daughter’s current condition,
her future as the pawn of those murderous bitches was not something I could stomach. Not after what Isily had told me.

  As stunning as the revelations and our new secret alliance was, life went on – and the fair went on. All day that day I made a point of being by Alya’s side, as I judged the competition between warmagi out on the list field. With all of the visiting warmagi from the Penumbralands, it was an impressive display. I presented the victor with his prize.

  After that we took a scenic carriage ride up the road to Hollyburrow, to see the results of the Green Magic exhibition. I couldn’t help but feel that the Tree Folk were missing out on what would have likely been their favorite part of the fair, but that couldn’t be helped.

  Sevendor was clear of Tree Folk. Since late last year the Council that governed the non-human masters of magic, including the five greatest lords of the Alka Alon, had recalled nearly every one of its agents to assist with the ongoing crises associated with the loss of the great City of Rainbows in the Mindens. When one of the greatest and most magically secure fortresses in the realm gets defeated by goblins, the results are going to be chaotic, and the Alka Alon were not a race that dealt well with chaos.

  I hadn’t seen one of my Alkan friends since my return to Sevendor. There was a single Alkan attendant left in Lesgaethael, atop Matten’s Helm, but apart from their ability to relay a message, they were singularly unhelpful. We were, at least for now, on our own.

  I had mixed feelings about that. While it was true that our alliance brought about some strategic victories that were key to our survival, it hadn’t been particularly smooth. It didn’t help that the Alkan lords of the Council often bore grudges against my species that I had no idea about. Nor did it help that the recent rise of the Abomination, as they styled Sheruel, had provided a resurgent interest in humani culture among the Alka Alon. That had led to a political fracture between pro- and anti-humani factions, which had led to a dangerous stalemate in a time of crisis.

  I didn’t know exactly how the issue would end up resolved, but for the time being, at least, we had been left to our own devices. That was both good and bad. Bad, because if things got out of control in the Penumbra, for example, or if Castabriel was attacked by a dragon, we didn’t have much recourse without the Alka Alon. It was good because the Alka Alon tend to take a patronizing and conservative approach to trusting humans with powerful magic, culturally. Only the exceptions to that rule had given us the advantages that we’d developed.

  But if the Tree Folk weren’t going to stand around and watch what I was doing, then I counted that an excellent opportunity to do things that I knew they likely would not approve of me doing. I had a long list of thaumaturgical experiments that I wanted to try. The Magical Fair and my house arrest gave me the opportunity to start quietly recruiting good enchanters to help me with that. With the Tree Folk standing around, watching, I knew the willingness to dare to experiment would be curtailed. Innovation is not particularly prized in Alkan magic.

  But they would have loved the Green Magic Exhibition. Master Olmeg sponsored and oversaw the bigger-than-normal event, for which he prepared for the last two years. He took residence in a snug little cottage the Tal Alon built for him, using their native techniques, while transforming the former dilapidated manor hall he’d inherited from the old Yeoman, Farant, into a kind of laboratory for visiting green magi.

  The hall and the yard of the shady little vale were now filled with greenery of all sorts. Nearly a dozen of Olmeg’s colleagues brought cartloads of seedlings, saplings, and cuttings from their private nurseries and shared them among each other, along with a wealth of knowledge on how to propagate each variety. Olmeg’s herbal gardens doubled in size after the fair, and his experimental orchards were growing robustly where discouraged fields of wheat and barley had once languished.

  The Tal Alon took the opportunity of the event to throw a festival of their own. Our colony of furry brown nonhumans had prospered dramatically, and in two years the place was overrun with little brown balls of fur chasing after their portly parents.

  The River Folk’s mastery of horticulture was profound, but limited. They specialized in vegetables and roots, fruits and berries, not grain crops.

  But they knew what to do with malted barley. There were four taphouses in Hollyburrow, more than any Yeomanry but Sevendor Town. The River folk liked to brew, and they loved to drink, and they had a culture that encouraged charming little pubs. It was their chief cultural expression, it seemed.

  Chief among their taphouses was the expansive Hollybush, favored of the Karshak during their construction of Lesgaethael. But there were also the Green Onion, The Happy Kettle, and the Pinecone. Each appealed to a different subculture within the confusing Tal’s society, but there was plenty of comingling by all. Each also served food, in cheap abundance, if you were kind enough to patronize their alehouses.

  That made Hollyburrow a popular excursion for visiting wizards visiting the fair on a budget. You could even have lodgings among the Tal, if you weren’t too picky about the smell and the cramped quarters. The day of the Green Magic exhibition, all four taverns had set up tables and chairs outside and were offering liberal tastes of their wares, and there were plenty of travelers taking advantage.

  There was even a band of Tal Alon musicians trying desperately to play popular humani tunes, in between impressive renditions of their native music, which favored either outrageously bawdy lyrics or ridiculously fast dance numbers. You wouldn’t think the chubby little rodents could dance, but I was surprised by how well they moved.

  Master Olmeg oversaw the festivities with the serene patience of a master. The Tal Alon treated the tall, quiet Green Mage with a respect and reverence they usually reserved only for the Alka Alon, or occasionally the Karshak.

  In Olmeg’s case, however, that respect had been earned, not genetically contrived. Olmeg had proven a fair and understanding Yeoman for the little pocket of greenery and brown fur in the middle of my domain. Heavily shaded by Matten’s Helm to the northwest and the hills around it to the south and east, the damp little land had never been good for the kind of farming that humans tended to pursue.

  But when Olmeg had taken a look at the land with a mage’s eye and his knowledge of Green Magic, he was able to select crops that were well-suited to the microclimate and easy for the Tal to grow. Once the farmers stopped working against the land and started working with it, Hollyburrow blossomed like a wildflower in the swamp. The Tal now grew far more than they needed, particularly potatoes, yams, and onions. The Hollyburrow stall was always bustling on market days.

  That prosperity had helped develop the loyalty the Tal felt for Olmeg, but it was the big mage’s willingness to treat the Tal with the same respect and honor he showed other humans that really secured their loyalty.

  The Tal are not particularly liked by most humans. Peasants saw them as inhuman competition, and lords saw them largely as slightly-useful parasites. The domains in the western Riverlands that employed them tended to treat them as subhuman and exploited them ruthlessly.

  Master Olmeg treated each of the little furry guys like a fellow human, and treated their leadership with the same deference and courtesy he paid to his fellow Yeomen. He granted them his protection while allowing them to order their own affairs. Olmeg respected their customs and was scrupulously fair in his judgements in settling their internal disputes.

  He had employed them on behalf of his position as Greenwarden, and paid them the same wages he would have paid hired villeins. He even appeared in court on their behalf and advocated for their interests with quiet passion. After three years of working together, he was a nearly mystical figure among them.

  The Tal Alon weren’t alone in their adoration. Green wizards from around the kingdom had made their way to Sevendor at his invitation, and he was accorded a professional respect and deference for his mastery of craft by them in a way that had to be professionally gratifying for the Green Mage.

  Green magi
are an odd lot; you’ve never seen anyone get so intense about pollination, fertilization and predatory fungus until you see a couple of Green magi get together. Each one of them seemed to specialize in some obscure area of the field: Master Minnik was an arborealist, Mistress Ganda was an expert in flowers of all sorts, Master Daltren was the foremost authority on grasses, that sort of thing. Olmeg was accounted a master of systemic horticulture – that is, using different types of plants in concert to achieve particular magical effects.

  To many of his visitors, the Enchanted Forest that he’d grown to protect the approach to the Diketower had been the most impressive thing about the fair. While others walked through it, ignoring the gallows oaks and other trees around them, the Green magi were awed and impressed by the intricacies of the defense.

  It was a pleasure meeting and mingling with this obscure part of the arcane world. Green magi don’t get near the respect they deserve, largely because it’s just not as impressive to plant a seed and wait patiently for it to grow as it is to produce a flash and a cloud of smoke and instant results. But the subtle magics and living spells of green magi had tremendous power, if you understood it properly. In the last three years Olmeg had done much to improve my understanding of it, and thanks to our partnership we both benefitted from his tenure in Sevendor.

  “The entrants are quite impressive, Magelord,” he told me after properly greeting Alya and me with a cup of cider before leading us around the many raised beds the Tal Alon had prepared as showcases. “I prepared several soil varieties, and sprinkled each of them liberally with snowsand before the entrants arrived. Almost all have survived transport and are thriving,” he said, proudly. It took me a moment to realize he was talking about the plants, not the people.