High Mage: Book Five Of The Spellmonger Series

by Terry Mancour

  “I would make them permanent centers of communication,” I proposed. “Each city would have a Mirror that would be tied to a central location. Messages could be sent to the hub of the wheel, and then re-directed to the appropriate spoke. Our Order would run the service,” I continued, “and charge a moderate fee for public use. But it would allow vital messages to be given immediately, securely, and without mistake. The hub could be located in our Order’s tower, near to the court, where information could be disseminated quickly.”

  There was a strong burst of discussion among the court as the ramifications of the system were considered aloud. Finally the King called for silence.

  “What would you need from us to make such a plan work?”

  “Merely a charter for the service and permission to build the towers,” I decided. “I need regional chapterhouses for the Order, anyway, and this will help cover that expense.”

  I had nine sets of enchanted stones now, and we were planning on setting up the system regardless of the king’s permission. I had brought the nine halves to Castabriel, where a chamber had been prepared in an old storage room at the temple with nine basins. The other halves were being sent to important magelords and high magi across the kingdom. Sevendor, of course, but also Wilderhall, Remera, Inarion Academy, on the coast; one to Alar Academy in Wenshar, one for Darise, in the Remeran delta, one for Darkfaller castle in Gilmora, and one for an as-yet undecided location in the southwest of the kingdom. As most of that region was now rebelling against King Rard’s rule, that placement would be tricky. One I would take to Tudry, in the Penumbra in the north. I was scheduled for a tour of the fortifications there in a few weeks, and that would help tie together the great net nicely.

  There would be more basins added as we identified appropriate places for new towers. And having someone on-call, day and night, required a certain amount of upkeep. But Banamor’s proposal included fees for the service that would support the magi manning the basins and then some, if his projections could be believed.

  I saw it as a great service in general, and forced him to keep the fees reasonable. It would also speed Order business. Each Tower would serve as a chapterhouse for Order business in the region: recruiting, testing, administration, licensing, and so forth.

  I left court that day with smiles and even a few embraces, and was asked to return the next afternoon for a private audience with Their Majesties, as well as other consultation. Of course I was at Their Majesty’s service.

  I insisted on a quiet dinner with Alya and Pentandra that night, instead of accepting any of the dozens of invitations we’d received when word of our arrival had spread amongst the aristocracy of Castabriel. The last thing I needed was to be beset by sycophants and mindless admirers when I was dealing with the King. I was going to be facing Mother the next day, I knew, and the last thing I needed was an over-stuffed head or a hangover.

  Pentandra wanted to know everything, and Alya was curious about the meeting as well. I gave an honest account, particularly promoting how well they received the idea of the towers with their Mirror Relays.

  “An official charter would be lucrative,” Pentandra noted. “Our expenses are already over the top of the tower.”

  “I don’t like the idea that they can call upon you, day or night,” Alya said, shaking her head while she nursed the new baby. “You are gone far too often already.”

  “This will keep me from having to run to Castabriel every time Rard needs something,” I pointed out. “That means far less trips on the river. Trust me, this will save time in the future.”

  “I still can’t believe you thought of it,” Pentandra said, shaking her head.

  The next day I dealt with a bit of last-minute Order business before returning to the palace for my meeting. This time we were out in the gardens, where the yellow roses the queen favored were starting to bud. A few had even bloomed.

  “Not as pretty as the garden in Wilderhall,” she commented, once I was shown in to where she was seated, “but with all the work we have in front of us, we can barely afford the time to journey there this year. Pity,” she said, shaking her head. “But then we have an open rebellion on the Alshari coast. The Duke of Merwyn is grumbling, and we have a wedding to plan.”

  “Wedding?” I asked, curious, as I took a seat.

  “It isn’t public knowledge, but we have negotiated a match for my son. A Remeran girl, a niece or some relation to the Duke. She’s on her way here now for an interview. And we are trying to get Rardine a husband by next year. That will be more problematic.”

  I thought about the vicious, bloodthirsty little bitch and tried to imagine being married to her. “I can see that,” I agreed, without elaboration.

  “It’s the consanguinity issue,” she said with a frustrated snort. “And finding a suitable candidate. The sooner the Heir can be wed and produce an heir of his own, the more stable the realm.”

  “Inarguable,” I agreed. “But surely Your Majesty did not ask me here for my matchmaking advice.”

  “What? No, Spellmonger, I want to know how soon you can finish up this war against the goblins,” she said. “It was politically useful, but now it’s becoming distracting.”

  I just stared at her. “You Majesty, were you not in council yesterday? The war will not be done until Shereul is destroyed. And not even the Alka Alon can manage that.”

  “I’m not talking about destroying the thing,” she said, frustrated, “I’m talking about ending the war. This uncertainty in Gilmora is making a mess of things. It was one thing when the fighting was all out in Alshar, but this is just unacceptable. What must be done to drive them back to the north? I know what that dullard Salgo thinks. What is your opinion?”

  What was I to say? “Majesty, if there was a simple way to do it, I would have figured it out by now. But not only are Shereul’s plans unknown, they cannot even be reasonably guessed at. He is not just not human, he’s not even alive. And his . . . condition gives him perspectives we cannot even guess at. I know he wants to exterminate all humanity, and likely all of the Alka Alon, too. Just how he plans to accomplish that is his secret to share.”

  “Yet, every army can be defeated,” she pointed out. “Or subverted.”

  “Were the gurvani in Gilmora led by a living shaman, prone to the weaknesses of the flesh, we might have a chance. But Shereul is not going to respond to us the same way. His legions are motivated by fear, awe, greed, and revenge, but also by his power. They would rather face death than their dreadful lord. They know they are pieces on the board to be expended, and they accept that role gladly. Defeating foes who do not mind dying is difficult.”

  “This is just unacceptable,” she fumed. “Salgo said as much, though he put it in more military terms. But it is hard to sustain a banner call for troops when the goblins aren’t on the move.”

  “I find that troublesome too, Majesty. I’m looking into that. The Alka Alon are helping,” I added. “In small ways, now, but soon in much larger ways.”

  “As to that,” she continued, her mind switching subjects, “I am unsure that I am altogether comfortable with the idea of you negotiating treaties with other realms. Particularly . . . those people.”

  “The Tree Folk?” I asked, surprised.

  “The Alka Alon have been lurking on the edges of human territory for years,” she said, her eyes narrowing. “That’s where I would keep them. As helpful as they have been, history is replete with examples of the Alka Alon’s interference bringing deadly consequences to humanity.”

  “To be fair, most of those examples are legendary, not historical,” I said, although I knew she was correct. “The Alka Alon have an interest in defeating Shereul, too. They have little interest in the affairs of men, otherwise.”

  “Yet it comes to me that they have begun to transform themselves into human bodies,” she accused.

  “Humanish,” I corrected. “That’s more for simplicity’s sake, when dealing with our people.”

  “Mayha
p. I still find it disturbing.”

  “As I find the tales of gurvani torturing children in front of their mothers before sacrificing them and eating their flesh,” I pointed out. “Majesty, we live in a strange age. The Alka Alon admire beauty in much the same way we do. They have no designs on our lands, they simply want to help.”

  “They are useful,” she admitted. “Their appearance at the coronation convinced plenty of peasants that Rard was ordained by the gods. But I do not trust them, Spellmonger.”

  “They have not betrayed us yet,” I pointed out. “They’ve helped us. And we, in turn will help them, at need. We couldn’t have slain that dragon without them.”

  “I know they are powerful,” she said, patiently. “That is why I fear their meddling. We have no leverage with them. No way to . . . express our displeasure. Or manipulate policy.”

  “You mean, no way to spy on them and assassinate them if they don’t do what you want.”

  She looked at me sharply. “You endanger yourself, Spellmonger!”

  “Mother, let’s dispense with the innuendo for a moment. You’re right, they can’t be trusted, entirely. While some kindreds of the Alka Alon are admirers of humanity, others are decidedly not. Some even harbor ill will. And no, there is precious little way to infiltrate the Alka Alon.

  “But we can’t win without their help, and I don’t think they could win without our help. The necessity of an alliance is seen on both sides. And at their council I . . . I essentially bribed them into helping us. I have things that they want, thanks to some magical experiments—”

  “The snow that never melted,” she supplied, a faint smile on her wrinkled lips. “I’ve heard the tale. Remarkable!”

  “A happy accident,” I dismissed. “But useful. The Alka Alon love the stuff. So do the Karshak. I’m using that as my leverage, right now. And I’m studying the situation to see if I can gain more leverage. But the Alka Alon trust me, not the . . . royal house. I assure you, I negotiated with only the best interests of the kingdom in mind.”

  “That remains to be seen,” she said, impatiently. “Just keep us informed of your discussions and progress in the alliance. I suppose if you are the only one the Alka Alon desire as an ambassador, we are left with little choice. Just see that it does not become a distraction.”

  “To the war effort?”

  “To the consolidation effort,” she replied, swiftly. “While we were meticulous preparing the way to the throne, there is still plenty of resistance to our rule. At least a dozen noble families of great power are uneasy with the regime. And that is as important a war as the one in Gilmora. The Alshari rebellion sets a bad precedent. If even one of those major houses decides to rebel, it could be disastrous.”

  “I’m afraid I cannot be of much help to you there, Majesty. I’m a Spellmonger and a warmage, not a courtier.”

  “You are The Spellmonger,” she corrected, “and this is a war. One where the battlefields are banquets and balls, court functions and hunting parties. While your point about the power of the goblin king was well-taken, Son-in-law, in truth power is power. And war is war. In this war the troops are daughters to be married and sons to inherit. The armies are dynasties, and the swords are gossip, reputation, and honor. And in this war even you, Spellmonger, are a piece on the board. “

  “I barely know any nobles,” I protested. “None of the important ones, anyway. And I don’t usually attend that kind of party. Majesty, if the Magocracy taught us anything it was the danger of magic and politics mixing. I’ve gone out of my way to keep arcane affairs separate from the mundane. Yet you’re asking me to do just that.”

  “Don’t be a fool,” she said, sourly. “You know as well as I that politics and magic always mix. Like that idiot Dunselen, who thinks he’s a warlord, now. You need to see to him—”

  “I already have someone on it,” I said, truthfully.

  “Or the string of petitions to restore nobility to every mage of noble descent who can write that have flooded the capital. Magic and politics always mix. It’s how they mix that’s the question. If you and I,” she said, staring at me intently, “can manage it, we may come to some permanent understanding. As to that . . . I do have a favor to ask.”

  “What may I help your Majesty with?”

  “It would be very advantageous if a witchstone found its way into Mistress Argastina’s hand,” she said, as if she were asking to borrow a horse for a day, not hand someone untold power.

  “And just who is Mistress Argastina?” I asked. I’d never heard of her.

  “She’s the eldest daughter of old Count Argolan. She came down with the Talent before she could be wed, poor girl, and suffered an apprenticeship before getting her mage’s papers. Now she’s the court wizard of some baron, somewhere, but her brother has been pressuring me to raise her.”

  “Is she any good?”

  “How should I know?” she demanded. “I cannot take the measure of a mage any more than I could judge hogs. And who cares? Her family holds the keys to the central Riverlands, and having them firmly on our side would be invaluable. I’ve offered lands and titles, but they want a witchstone . . . and a restoration of nobility for Argastina.”

  I thought about the sudden bounty of irionite I had, and was glad that I’d elected to keep it a secret. “Witchstones are not baubles, Majesty. They are rare and precious, and cannot be put lightly into anyone’s hands.” I saw her wrinkle up her brow and prepare herself for an assault. The Queen was not used to being told no. “That being said,” I added, before she could reply, “I am always on the lookout for worthy magi to elevate. If I meet the lady, and she is of sound mind and goodly Talent, then perhaps a stone of lesser power could be found.”

  “I don’t care if you give her a glass bead and a pat on the head, just find her something! Count Argolan is a tired old coot, but his son Argrendon plays politics amongst the Riverlords like a master. He’s already been stretching his muscles in the new regime, never quite declaring for the crown, never quite advocating open rebellion. And he’s just one of a dozen power-hungry wolves sniffing around the legs of the throne.”

  “I will see if a bone cannot be dropped,” I agreed, quietly, “And I understand that a similar favor will be accorded to the Order by the Crown, when asked?”

  “That is the way the game is played, Spellmonger,” she nodded. “Since you do not want to help us in southern Alshar . . .”

  “You know my thoughts on that, Majesty,” I said, warningly. Fighting goblins was one thing. Fighting against the King’s human feudal enemies was another. I had expressed a strong reluctance – all right, a straight refusal – about the subject after the battle of Cambrian, and I hadn’t changed my mind. That was just the sort of political trap I wanted the Order to avoid. “Getting magi involved in an entanglement like that would serve no one.”

  “So you say. Though your assistance in Alshar would be invaluable, if your conscience does not permit it I will not insist. I have other tools at my disposal. But that does not mean I do not value your wisdom and counsel, Minalan. I would like for you and your lady wife to join us at a small court ceremony and banquet this evening while you are in town.”

  I was confused. “Why?”

  “We would like to officially recognize you for your valor at Cambrian. Many have presented petitions to see you honored, and politically it’s a good thing.”

  Cambrian seemed like such a long time ago, but I realized it had been but half a year since we had slain the dragon. “Majesty, I have received honors enough for that—”

  “Yet the crown would be remiss if the Magelord of Sevendor visited the court and was not honored,” she insisted. “And the great nobles we fear will rebel will see us as ungrateful and unworthy of support. Between the Moros situation and the dynastic squabble over County Insmere, we have to show everyone that the crown cares, and knows how to reward its most trusted . . . and successful servants. Just a token, mind, but while you’re here . . .”

 
; “Majesty, I am honored!” I said, bowing at the waist.

  “If you must be. You will not be the only one there to appear before the throne, I assure you. We have about two of these bloody things a week, now,” she said, sounding weary.

  Chapter Eight

  Investiture

  “A royal banquet?” Alya asked, her eyes as wide as wagon wheels the moment I told her – casually – about the evening’s activities. It was not the reaction I was expecting. “Tonight?! Ishi’s sodden twat, Minalan, what are you trying to do to me?” she said, bursting into tears.

  “Huh?” I asked, not understanding in the slightest what the problem was. Alya just glared at me, like I had insulted her. “What’s the matter? I thought you would enjoy seeing the palace, meeting the King and Queen—”

  “Dear gods, you have lost your mind,” Pentandra said from the doorway. Her eyes were almost as big as Alya’s. “You just told your wife she has mere hours – hours! – to prepare herself for a formal state dinner with the most important people in the Kingdom. At the palace.”

  That was, as far as I knew, exactly what I had said. Only I didn’t see how that was tantamount to torturing my bride. “So what is the problem?”

  “What is she supposed to wear?” Pentandra demanded in a tone like a condemning lawbrother. “This is a formal state function, meeting the head of state . . . and you have given her no warning, no notice, no time to prepare . . .”

  “Oh, dear gods I’m done for!” Alya said, still in tears. “Nothing I brought from home will work, and I haven’t had time to have something made . . .”

  “Minalan, you are such an idiot!” Penny spat.

  “It wasn’t my idea!” I defended. “The queen insisted!”