Enchanter (Book 7)

by Terry Mancour

  “What wonders did they bring?” I asked, curiously.

  “Weirwood varieties, salstagga shrubs, kirsieth, and all manner of useful herbs,” he smiled, proudly. “There’s a large parchment grass varietal Master Daltren has developed that grows the sheets twice as large as normal. He’s also bred a stringrass with thrice the tensile strength of ordinary string. I’ve secured seedstock and cuttings for both,” he boasted, pleased.

  “Anything useful for the castle apothecarial garden?” Alya asked. As lady of the castle, she was technically in charge of the large garden of medicinal herbs in the inner bailey we grew. In actuality Sister Bemia and her novice tended the garden, but Alya knew her responsibilities.

  “Aye, Lady,” Olmeg nodded, his sonorous deep voice sounding like audible calm. “Poppies, hemp, feverfew, and many other potent varieties. Mistress Ganda has gifted me with a few rare and special cuttings, too. Including a specimen of Volnaras.”

  “I’ve never heard of it,” my wife confessed, helpfully. Neither had I, but the Spellmonger is supposed to know stuff like that.

  “Volnaras is natavia perennial that grows in the wilds of Wenshar,” he recited. “It’s difficult to cultivate, as it needs an area of low magic resistance and a loose sandy soil, which is a rarity in Wenshar. When it is found and cultivated, the Volnaras flower can be crushed and boiled. The extract provides an elixir much prized by physicians for its ability to render a patient utterly immobile, compliant, and unable to feel pain during an operation. It is the gods’ own boon to difficult labor and deliveries,” he nodded, matter-of-factly, “and for delicate operations involving the brain, heart, or liver it is far superior to Bardain or Poppy Gum. The specimen Ganda gifted us with is in full flower,” he added, pleased.

  “That does sound useful,” I admitted. Alya had been through two hard deliveries, and we were hoping for a few more children. Anything that could ease Trygg’s Blessing was a blessing of its own.

  “There’s also some rare herbs from the Wilderlands Mistress Rael has brought,” Olmeg added. “The woman excels at discovering the obscure among the herbs. Come spring, we will have Ashkalot for stopping bleeding, Foxglove for maladies of the heart, and Alshari Peppermint, a powerful remedy for issues of digestion.”

  “I’m very pleased, Master Olmeg,” I said cheerfully. Banamor might be a mover and shaker among the commercial interests of the arcane world, but my investment in Olmeg had paid off just as handsomely. His toil turned Sevendor from a marginal cropland into an agriculturally prosperous domain, and transformed Hollyburrow into a nursery of rare and magical plants. Some the Tal had even begun to stockpile and export. Giving the marginal estate over to the Green Mage had been one of the better decisions of my tenure as Magelord.

  The exhibition was quite popular among those magi who grew weary of the hubbub of the Fair and wanted a change of pace before tomorrow’s Spellmonger’s Trial. Indeed, one of my reasons for visiting Hollyburrow was to make some last-minute adjustments to some of the obstacles for the contest.

  Among the wandering magi I spotted were Terleman, Mavone, Astyral, and Wenek, four magelords and comrades-at-arms enjoying an outing with a bottle. A trio of Wenshari enchanters had also taken the day to examine varieties of weirwood. I nodded and smiled to several prominent wizards – not High Magi, but professional court wizards and spellmongers I knew by sight from the Conclave, mostly – who had made their way to the Fair and were seeking useful cuttings to take home. And there were nonmagically talented herbalists, specialists in herblore invited to share their expertise.

  Dunselen and Isily also arrived, just before we departed, and I managed to escape the estate without exchanging words with either . . . although Isily affixed me with an uncomfortable look when Alya and Dunselen weren’t looking. I’d love to say that it was inscrutable, but the truth is I could tell exactly what she was thinking from her expression.

  “That was lovely!” Alya sighed, as we began the walk back to the Fairgrounds. “I don’t get out to Hollyburrow nearly enough. It’s right in the middle of everything, but you can almost forget that it’s there.”

  “That’s part of its charm,” I agreed. “It’s like a piece of another country, right here inside Sevendor. The Westwood is kind of like that, too.”

  “I’m so glad you’ve done what you have with the estate,” she sighed. “All Ela could do was complain about it.” I’d given the place to her sister Ela and my brother-in-law Sagal for a year, when we first arrived in Sevendor. He had done remarkable things to repair the manor and reduce the damage from neglect, but the small Yeomanry was never destined to prosper as the other agricultural estates did. It was too marshy, shady, and cool. “Besides, they’re much happier in Southridge. Who knew Sagal had the makings of a good innkeeper?”

  “That’s more than an inn, he’s running,” I said, glancing over the fields toward the distant estate. It had tripled in size since Sagal became Yeoman. Now, in addition to raising most of Sevendor’s horses, the estate also hosted visiting guests in several new halls . . . at premium rates. “That’s like owning a gold mine, this time of year. He’s already approached me about adding a string of smaller cottages along the road, to rent out like Banamor does the fairgrounds cots.”

  “You should grant it, my lord husband, for the prosperity of all,” she advised. I nodded absently. “What is troubling you, my husband?” she asked, quietly.

  I started, and gave her a stare. “You sounded suspiciously like a Riverlands noblewoman, there, and not an Alshari Wilderlands rustic!”

  “I’ve been listening to them, and learning,” she agreed, chuckling. “I noticed that the servants were more apt to follow orders when I sounded that way. The human servants,” she amended. “The Tal don’t care how I sound. Except for Daisy,” she added. “She’s able to detect some of my nuances, now.”

  “It’s an amazing transformation,” I nodded approvingly. “Not that I dislike your Wilderlands brawl and forthright manner, mind you, but the way you’ve managed to adapt to the Riverlands culture is admirable, my wife.”

  She smiled, showing her dimples. I do love her dimples. “Thank you, my lord husband. As I admire the way you so adeptly deflect my question with a subtle flattery. Shall I scream at you like a Wilderlands woodwife, my lord, or will you answer my bloody question?” she asked, sweetly.

  I sighed. It’s hard to keep things from your wife. But I had to be careful. “I’ve got a lot on my mind. This has been fun, today . . . but there is a lot going on. A lot of changes coming. A lot of old enemies and new friends, and I’m just trying to keep everything under control.”

  “But Min,” she said, frowning, “things are under control!”

  “See what a good job I’ve been doing?” I said, smiling weakly. “You’d think that a wonderful excursion like this would make me forget about the important things I’m responsible for . . . but the fact is, I know that Olmeg and the Tal Alon would never have been given a chance to thrive, without my patronage. And protection.”

  “But they have,” she pointed out. “The other lords are noticing, too. Our Tal servants are so well-behaved that some of the other lords have inquired about them.” We had utilized more Tal Alon than human servants in our new hall, which had produced some grumbling. But the industrious little guys were outstanding at basic cleaning and took direction admirably. They were also utterly incorruptible.

  “They really don’t have many settlements around here,” I agreed. Most of the Tal under human sovereignty were vassals of the barons in southern Gilmora and the central Riverlands, as well as a few tribes in the Wilderlands of Alshar and Castal who had adopted human culture. “But with the war, there are plenty of groups open to resettlement. But they aren’t human peasants, and they aren’t animals. If the Riverlords are willing to accept them, then they need to understand a little about their culture before they extend that invitation.

  “But that’s just one of the many things on my mind,” I finished. “I’m just glad I c
an finally spend some time on them, back here in Sevendor.” Last year’s war in the Mindens and the Great March had taken my attention away from my domains for too long, I knew. It had also been a strain on my marriage, which Alya did not hesitate to mention, in a nice way.

  “Not nearly as glad as I am,” she assured me, taking my arm and sliding more closely to me. We spent the rest of the afternoon browsing the stalls at the Fair before going back to the castle for a bath and a change of clothes. Tonight was an important night, after all. It was the night of Pentandra’s wedding reception.

  Technically it was the annual fete hosted by the Order of the Secret Tower, but Penny had taken over the entire affair and transformed it into a celebration of her wedding. As the actual ceremony had taken place deep in the sacred groves of Kasar, at the base of a grand ninety-foot tall waterfall, there was little occasion for the feasting, gift giving, and merriment that Remeran tradition demanded.

  This reception was her compromise for that. She and Arborn had been staying in the grand suite she’d had installed in the hall when the Order had it built (mostly at her insistence), and without actually going home to Remere this was as close as she could get to friends and family for now.

  Alya insisted on a grand showing, even more than I had been prepared for. She insisted it was a matter of feminine honor to give such an important person in my life and within the Order a glorious demonstration of respect and affirmation. It was only fitting, she insisted.

  I didn’t argue with her. I’d learned better than to get between a woman and her social obligations. I allowed Alya and Estret to spearhead the planning and the gifts, and I limited my participation to preparing a few special gifts and a willingness to toast the bride and groom.

  Arborn looked splendidly handsome in what I can only assume was the Kasari formal uniform – a darker green than the usual, with each badge and achievement carefully embroidered on the breast and sleeves. The cloak he wore was the one I’d gifted him with for the March, now trimmed with some luxurious-looking white fur. Pentandra’s was a white version of the same mantle, in a more feminine cut and with more fur. She looked adorable and radiant.

  It was a great party, more elegant than the Enchanter’s Guild’s fete. It was a wild mix of Remeran decadence and Kasari folksy wholesomeness. Arborn had brought a dozen men along with him, though whether they were guards, servants, or merely comrades I was not sure. The dour-looking rangers stood at the entrance, their uniforms augmented by green and gold sashes bearing what I assumed was Arborn’s device. They drank not a drop, ensuring that the other patrons did not get too rowdy in their enjoyment.

  Planus had arrived with a full retinue for the occasion. His entourage included cooks and servants from Pentandra’s home estates, dancing girls, and specialists in libations I’d never heard of. They performed admirably, loading the trestles with an amazing array of delicacies, the aromas filling the room while their artistry delighted the eyes. Hundreds of bottles were available for sampling, and the Priestess of Trygg was singing hymns of blessing that grew bawdier as the night grew long. Musicians filled a small gallery overhead and filled the hall with stately melodies or raucous rhythms the dancers could gyrate to.

  An entire chamber had been set aside for gifts, which ranged from the extravagant (Pentandra’s family) to rustic and practical (the Kasari) to the arcane (most of our professional colleagues) with a few odd ones thrown in.

  I gave the happy couple several small gifts I’d enchanted that I thought they may find of use in their life together. As Penny already had a magical chamberpot (as if I could resist giving her one of the first) I aimed for something more Pentandra’s style: a wardrobe filled with magical pockets in which she could store hundreds of gowns, shoes, and such. Yet the cabinet would only ever weigh but a hundred pounds.

  I gave her something else I’d worked on in the last few weeks. It was a weirwood rod about four feet long with an oversized witchstone in the head. It once belonged to the renegade warmage Mask, and after I had relieved her of it in battle it had stayed tucked away until I could get it back to my workshop. Once I removed the taint of the Dead God and the residue of Mask’s personal spells, I took out the pocketstones and other tools I’d developed and reconstructed it from scratch.

  I was proud of that rod. It was the first major foray into enchantment that I’d done since I’d returned from Alshar. I took a couple of days after I’d returned from the march to work on the enchantments in the rod. Since it was for Pentandra, I spared no attention to detail or expense in its construction.

  Technically, it was the first great magical rod, or baculus, that I created. It was an impressive first effort, and served to guide me in the similar rods I constructed after it. There were fifteen different magical pockets in it, now. I prepared several of them, allowing her to conjure forth with a word a table, chairs, a brazier, her new magical wardrobe, a beautiful brass bathtub, and a casket filled with as thorough a selection of alcohol as I could manage. Another chest was stocked with basic thaumaturgical supplies and copies of essential texts. The rest I left for her to fill.

  But that wasn’t all – to the oversized witchstone in the head I’d added a Waystone, a sliver of blood coral to bind the enchantments to her, and a nugget of yellow knot coral so that she could magically manipulate the rod if she desired.

  I had the Karshak lapidary, Guri’s cousin, wrap the reddish shaft in argentium wire and added tiny oak leaves of the same material. Instead of acorns I had it set with rubies, just because they suited Penny. The wire culminated in a new fitting at the head of the rod, an acorn-shaped lattice of argentium that allowed the glow of the irionite within to be seen. I added a simple magelight enchantment on a drop of thaumaturgical glass to allow Penny to control the glow. I filled in with additional rubies to the fitting in tasteful abundance to please her vanity.

  Finally, I’d had a beautiful ruby ring commissioned with a two-carat stone supported by five tiny acorns. The rod was designed to disappear into a pocket within the ring and reappear upon command. It saved on carrying the thing around when you weren’t using it. It was a little hefty, now.

  I’d done one more enchantment, something of an experimental nature in the field of parcletion. It was a bit of a whim, late one night when was in the tower late at night and probably not completely sober. But I’d had an odd idea, and without really thinking about it, I impulsively added it to the rod. I used the Grain of Pors to install the enneagram of a relatively benign but very self-aware ghost of some long-extinct sea creature in the rod as a paraclete – a magical intercessor that could assist the user by doing the hard work of spellcasting, for her. It was akin to conjuring a simple elemental, or installing an enneagram in a magical construct; but the complexity of the enneagram allowed a far, far more sophisticated effect, almost a personality within the baculus.

  Why did I do it? Perhaps because when you work on an enchantment you tend to anthropomorphize the piece if you spend enough time with it. Blizzard and Trailblazer were both almost living creatures to me because I’d invested so much of myself into their creation.

  But this was a step further than that. Using my recent experiences with the Grain during the battle against Mask that had won me the rod in the first place, I’d searched the magical pebble of Ghost Rock for just the right sort of pattern for the tool I envisioned. Something that would be compatible with Pentandra’s personality – sharp, intelligent, lively, lusty, and careful.

  I went through dozens of possibilities before I found what I was looking for. The Grain contains enneagramatic patterns of every creature who touches it long enough to impress it, and it had laid at the bottom of some ocean for eons before it found its way into a river in the rugged northern vales of the Kulines. There were a lot of patterns to choose from, and to be honest I only had a vague idea of what I was doing. Enneagrammatic work is tricky, as the symbols within the patterns are difficult to understand and even more difficult to appreciate in context. I was learning,
and I had a growing sophistication with the art, but this was still more essay than anything.

  The one I eventually selected was likely once some sort of territorial bottom-dwelling creature who had come across the Grain at some point. It was an elegant pattern, decidedly female and with a surprisingly complex array of intelligence and perception – probably developed as a defensive measure. I had no idea what that long-dead ocean world had been like, but I couldn’t imagine it was peaceful.

  The pattern had self-awareness, it had a strong social component, it had robust sexual and maternal symbols, and it had a sense of both agency and compassion that I felt worked well with Pentandra’s style. It wasn’t aggressive, but it could be dangerous. It wasn’t belligerent, but it had a strong sense of self-preservation. And it was social enough to have some capacity for loyalty, which I felt was important. There’s nothing worse than a magical stick with a mercenary attitude.

  It wasn’t my best work, not compared to the effort I had expended on my warstaff, Blizzard, or my traveling staff, Pathfinder. But it was still a highly potent and extremely pretty magical artifact, one of the most powerful in the western lands. A suitable tool for the challenges to be faced by the new Court Wizard of Alshar. And a very pretty one. The red shaft, the silver leaves, the sparkling rubies, the magical glow – once it was finished, the sparkling rod was as elegant an accessory as a powerful sorceress could ask for.

  The fact that it also looked kind of like an abstract form of a giant erect penis was my little joke. Penny got it instantly, of course, but she was so charmed by the gift she didn’t comment at the time.