“She nearly became my avatar herself, were it not for her protections,” admitted Ishi. “She held such promise . . . but marriage is utterly ruining her.”
“Maturing her, I’d say,” I offered.
“Regardless, she could have been my champion, not my opponent. Your own marriage has not reduced your desire,” she pointed out, “even within its bounds.”
“Penny’s desire is fine,” I defended. “She’s just getting used to a new job. With great challenges,” I said, pointedly. “My own marriage is . . .”
“I know,” she answered, quietly. “I hear all that is said as an act of love or pleasure. I witnessed the whole delightfully sordid affair. I’d say I was proud of you, if I didn’t know how you would choose to take it.”
“It’s not something I’m proud of,” I sulked.
“Which is why I was proud for you,” she emphasized. “It wasn’t easy to do that, Min, I know. Many a woman has had to swallow her pride and conquer her fear and bed her rapist, for lack of an alternative. Occasionally men must do the same. In your case, it’s not merely an issue of opportunity . . . Isily truly has feelings for you.”
I paled at that notice. “I know. She’s expressed them.”
“Oh, not the ones in her secret heart – those would turn your blood cold,” she smiled. “She’s ambitious beyond reason. Queen would not be an adequate title for her. She dreams of killing Dunselen, killing Alya, killing the Royal Family, and putting you on the throne as Archmage.”
That was incredibly disturbing news. But it did explain her motives. “She’s continued to meddle with me, too. She cast a charm on Alya, similar to the one she cast on me. Pscyhomancy.”
“Oh, consider it gone,” the goddess said, dismissively. “Those spells are so quaint. She wishes to use your wife, until she can dispose of her. Well, I do applaud ambition, but this crosses some of my lines. The next time you lay with her, the charm will evaporate . . . as long as you do your husbandly chore properly.”
“I know what I’m doing, I assure you!” I said, far more defensively than I desired.
“Believe me, I of all deities know. I look forward to testing that proposition,” she smiled, sultrily. “You know you and I still have business.”
I groaned inside my head. “When things are stabilized here, then we will discuss our business. But not until. There is a conspiracy against me I have to sort out.”
“More than one,” she agreed. “But Isily’s is by far the most dangerous and unpredictable. She dallies with forces she does not understand, and does not appreciate.”
“Snowstone? Irionite?”
“Fatherhood,” she said, shaking her head. “Her own sire was a meek man, rarely present in her life. When she became Talented he sent her away. She does not appreciate just how passionate you are about your children. And how much you love your wife. That, I believe, will be her undoing.”
“That would be lovely. Just how many of these maidens do you have?” I asked, changing the subject. Every woman loves to talk about her work.
“I recruited just over a hundred from the camps, once I took this avatar,” she said, proudly. “More than half were virgins. All were comely, but not all were talented enough to learn the highest of my arts.”
“They seem pretty enough,” I ventured.
“These are the ones who made the grade,” she nodded, proudly. “Strong, proud, feminine women, intelligent enough to use their minds and their bodies in concert. Some have become quite adept at the erotic arts. The rest are useful in their own ways.”
“And you take care of them all?”
“The House does,” she nodded. “Every girl is under contract and well-provided for. We even hold classes in music, dance, and reading,” she added. “Two of the girls have married already, but we’re just getting started . . .”
“Most of them have aspirations of that?”
“Youth and beauty only last so long, for mortal women,” she said, quietly. “Some of them may take holy orders, but most seek a good match with an artisan. Or even a lord.”
“How about a warrior?” I asked, suddenly realizing how Anguin could entice the 3rd Commando to Vorone.
*
*
Once I got Ishi calmed down and willing to contribute in a more positive way, I again sought out the Duke. I found him on a balcony outside, enjoying the night air. Once he peeled the maiden off his lap and sent her for wine, I sat next to him and start talking business.
“Thank you again for coming, Minalan,” he said, seriously, after the girl had left. “But I know you didn’t come here just to escape the boredom of your lands.”
“My lands are actually quite interesting, at the moment. But no, I didn’t. I came to discuss an idea I had last summer.”
“And what idea is this?” he asked, almost reluctantly.
“You understand that Vorone is poorly defended by men who are not quite professional?”
Anguin scowled. “It has been brought up once or twice in court,” he agreed.
“Well, the next time the Dead God breaks the treaty and rolls out of the Penumbra, after Tudry and Megelin, where do you think it is likely that he’ll strike?”
“Vorone,” agreed the duke, miserably. “He’ll come right for us, before he moves south into the Riverlands.”
“Indeed,” I nodded, lighting my pipe. “Unless he has a more dangerous target to go after.”
“More dangerous? Like what?” he asked, intrigued.
“During our journey across the Wilderlands last summer, Magelord Carmella and I discussed the possibility of raising a great fortress in the west, before the Pearwoods, to act as such a lure. He could not strike Vorone without exposing himself to the new fortress. And he could not attack the new fortress without exposing his back to Vorone and Tudry.”
Anguin looked thoughtful. “Castles are expensive,” he began.
“Don’t I know it. I’m building a massive one, and I built six small ones last year,” I reminded him. “This one would be very expensive. But,” I added, “by employing magi and using construction enchantments, you can keep the costs down. Further, it would provide jobs for thousands, for years.”
“Jobs I would have to pay for,” he countered.
“The Duchy would,” I agreed. “What are your revenues, now?”
“Anemic,” he sighed. “A tithe of what my father received, even amongst the Wilderlords. So far, barely a few thousand gold. But it is improving, as our influence goes,” he added. “But not nearly enough to pay for a new castle. It’s not even enough to cover our present expenses.”
“True. But as your realm develops – particularly if you can control it with a strong military presence – then you will be able to increase taxes, fees, and tribute.”
“But for how long, before the Goblin King strikes?”
“The more you build, the more he will have to strike at – and the more men you will have to defend it. What would happen, Your Grace, if he went against Tudry and Megelin? And the valley fiefs on the edge of the Penumbra? Where would those people flee?”
“Here,” he groaned.
“Yes, here – Vorone, which is poorly defended, overcrowded, and with few resources. A flood of them, doubling your refugee population . . . and making it quite easy for the gurvani to surround the town and reduce it at their leisure.”
“A quick end to the short reign of Anduin II,” he sighed. “That is not the legacy I wish to leave.”
“Nor should it be. But if we invest in this new fortress, make it a focus of their efforts, then we can also quietly improve Vorone’s defenses, remove some of the surplus labor back to the countryside, establish some industry and some farmsteads . . . and give the folk of Tudry and the Penumbralands a place to flee to in refuge. That isn’t your palace,” I emphasized.
“Still, how to pay for it?” he repeated, frustrated. “Can you continue to conjure gold?”
“No, not indefinitely. But I can pledge some funds to start the project, if
you will match them. If,” I added, “you can commit to employing magi in the project. And commit to staff it with professional soldiers.”
“What kind of cost would such a structure entail?”
“At least fifty thousand ounces of gold. And take at least ten years to complete, even with magic. If we do it correctly.”
“Ten years? And fifty thousand ounces of gold?” he asked, aghast. “For a castle in the wilderness built against a day that may never come?”
“It will come, Your Grace,” I assured him, calmly. “It’s inevitable. It will likely come before the castle is finished, but that will be doubly true if it is never started. And there are other benefits,” I added. “Political benefits.”
He stared at me. “Go on,” he encouraged.
“Right now you are either viewed as Rard’s puppet, as the rebels see you, or as a brash young fool, as many of your high nobles undoubtedly see you.”
“Your candor is refreshing,” he said, sarcastically.
“I do you no favors by telling you lies,” I chuckled. “That is the situation, and flattering your vanity will not change it. But if you were to embark on an ambitious project, such as this fortress, none could say that you were prepared to abandon the north nor that you are Rard’s toy. Such a fortress has never been built in the Wilderlands, by your sires or Rard’s.”
“True,” he considered.
“Further, such a fortress, staffed with doughty men and warmagi, would present an inherent threat to Castal,” I offered with a smile. “A direct challenge to Castal’s domination of the Wilderlands. Something to make Prince Tavard – and perhaps eventually King Tavard – respect the might of Alshar as a power, again.”
“And where would I get these warriors? The 3rd Commando?”
“They would be a good start,” I agreed. “Professional soldiers who dislike Rard, can’t join the rebels, and who need a home. Offer them lands around this fortress in exchange for their service. Bring them here, first, for training and to make them loyal to you. Then cycle them through the land, to the castle and back. If Rard can employ a Royal Guard, you can employ a professional army for your defense.”
“That has happened before,” he pointed out. “History has rarely seen such experiments turn out well. It often leads to tyrants. And rebellions.”
“Agreed. So we will handle this delicately. Divide them into smaller units, emphasize their training of your folk, and make joining their corps a point of national service.”
“Those are all the sorts of ideas only a duke in the fullness of his power could employ,” he sighed.
“So we put you there – slowly. Carefully. Quietly.”
“And you really think these commandos will come to Alshar, if I simply invite them properly? And pay them a pittance? And promise them lands?”
“I think I’ve thought of a way you can entice them further,” I smiled. “Let me tell you of the conversation I had this evening with Lady Pleasure . . .”
Chapter Twenty Seven
Ishi’s Dubious Blessing
We returned to Alshar late that night, after conferring into the wee hours with Penny and Arborn back in their apartment. She was relieved I had extracted some concessions from our wayward goddess, and I told her to contact me if she had any more trouble. I explained to her that I had promised to remove her continuity, if she dared disturb our efforts again. Pentandra was impressed that I had developed that power.
So of course as we were transporting back home, I was furiously trying to imagine how to develop that power.
But once we were back in our hall, in the privacy of our chamber, Alya yawned and wordlessly undressed, brushed her hair, and prepared to retire. I did likewise, staring at her brushing her hair, looking off into space.
She was beautiful. Still. After two children and years of hard country life, she was still more beautiful in my eyes than Ishi. That was a highly subjective opinion, but it was a highly informed one, too. It angered me that Isily would dare interfere with my wife – angered me more than the offense she had committed with me. Combined with her stealing from me a child without my consent, it made me want to commit a sin.
But as I gazed upon my wife all thought of Isily left me. Alya was who I had chosen, who I had devoted myself to, regardless of my past. Of all the women in the world I had met in my life, she had warmed my soul and inspired my imagination more than even the goddess of love and beauty.
One might see it as a mark of maturity, I suppose, or a consequence of long attachment. The clergy would tell you that the holy sacrament of parenthood bound our souls together . . . but it was more than that, as powerful as those forces were. My love for her transcended our parenthood. Even our marriage. She had been with me in my darkest hours, when I was certain I would be responsible for the deaths of thousands – including my own. She had never lost faith in me. Even when Pentandra had shown up into our lives, unannounced.
As I watched her and tried to imagine how my life would be without her, I felt a force come over me. A certain power seemed to seep from the center of my soul, outward to my extremities, energizing and invigorating me. I recognized the special tingle of divine magic. I stood, for a moment, and just stood in the dim light, watching, mesmerized by her femininity.
It was power – magical power, but of a different tone than pure thaumaturgy. It was wild and exuberant, but not undirected. It filled me and flowed through me, but it didn’t jar the way regular arcane power did. Divine magic, I realized. Ishi’s spell was upon me.
I went behind Alya and took the brush from her, finishing the task with a sensuality that transcended my usual efforts. As my hands touched her hair and her shoulders, she shivered. I could feel her vibrate with the power, too.
I leaned down and kissed the top of her head. She tilted her head up for an upside-down kiss.
“I love you,” I said, half plea, half invocation.
“I adore you,” she replied, her eyes seeming to see for the first time in days. I pulled the folds of her nightmantle over her shoulders, exposing her shift. A few laces later, it, too, fell from her shoulders.
“Come to bed, my wife,” I said, pulling her up.
“I would like nothing better, my husband,” she assured me, with a loving smile. We tarried for a kiss.
By the time we arrived in our magnificent bed, I could think no coherent thought as the tide of intimate emotion overwhelmed me, and passion took control of my limbs.
All was Alya. All was love.
*
*
We awoke the next morning to the terrified squeals of our oldest child, who ran in to waken us for breakfast and found his parents naked, sound asleep . . . and wearing mountain lion masks.
I won’t go into the details of just how we handled it. Call it Ishi’s revenge. The bitch.
After we got Minalyan calmed down and properly distracted (I was considering a spell), the hilarity of the situation descended upon us, and we broke down in hysterical laughter that seemed to shake the last of our problems from us. Our intimacy and trust seemed restored. I felt as close to her as I’d ever had. Despite the awkward, fantastic, and only remotely plausible-to-a-four-year-old explanation we gave Minalyan, our collective guilt at being so discovered bound us together.
I was whistling and happy as I headed across the yard to the Great Hall to meet with Sir Festaran to go over the morning’s business at breakfast. I’d left Alya soaking in a hot tub, the children eating porridge with their nurse, and all felt right with the world.
That’s when I started noticing it. The stares.
Not at me – everyone seemed to be staring at each other. That is, folk who had seen each other daily for years in the course of their work and not spared each other more than a glance and nod, according to rank, seemed suddenly fascinated by the smallest glimpse of others . . . particularly others of the opposite sex.
The squires in the yard on their way down to the listfield to practice tilting for the day were struck dumb by
the sight of a pair of maids lugging laundry down to the well. The maids weren’t particularly comely, but the boys seemed struck by their every movement. The maids, for their part, seemed infected by giggles to a dramatic extant. I would be surprised if any laundry actually was completed today. Or much jousting.
The Great Hall was worse. As the night watch came in for a bite before they hit their billet, and the day shift of guards and officials mingled with servants, every man’s eye seemed peeled for every woman. Even the older and well-married wives attracted attention. And they gave as good as they got, gossiping like schoolgirls in the corner over the sight of a young guard stripping off his mailshirt.
The powerful energy of lust hung like a cloud over Sevendor Castle.
“Oh, holy shit!” I said, aloud, as I realized what had happened. On purpose or by accident, Ishi’s curative blessing had leaked all over Sevendor.
I should have expected something like that, I realized. Had I consummated the spell in Alshar, likely the effect would have been lessened – or perhaps not, in proximity to the goddess, I had no real idea.
But here in Sevendor the power of the snowstone was lowering the etheric density everywhere. We were sleeping over it – within it, if you wanted to be technical. Snowstone reduces arcane resistance to almost nothing. Resistance to all magic . . . including divine magic. That’s why Briga was able to initiate and sustain the Everfire, because of the power of the mountain.
Ishi’s spell must have magnified her power, likewise. I wasn’t certain of the extant, yet, but at breakfast I could look around and realized nearly everyone seemed incredibly distracted. Even Sir Festaran.
“Good morning, Excellency,” he said, automatically rising as I approached the table. His eyes flickered on me, then on a pretty drudge who was raking through the rushes for refuse.
“Good morning, Sir Festaran. Is . . . is there something amiss with that maid?”
“Pardon?” he asked, abruptly looking back at me. “No, Excellency! I just . . . I didn’t sleep well, last night,” he confessed. “I was possessed of troubled dreams. So this morning I awoke and sought clarity in morning services. I came down to the chapel before dawn for lauds and to pray . . . and found myself alone with Sister Bemia in the chapel.”
Enchanter (Book 7) Page 45