High Mage: Book Five Of The Spellmonger Series

by Terry Mancour

  I made a concerted effort to bury myself in my work at Wilderhall, conscious of the fact that the pretty little town and picturesque castle were both the center of the Family’s insidious web. Not only was Mother, Queen Grendine, in residence, but her aged executioner and keeper of secrets, Lady Arnet, the Mistress of Lands and Estates, lived here full time. I did my best to avoid them both. I thought I was pretty safe. Grendine was obsessed with her son’s impending wedding, and the decrepit old lady stayed within the crypt-like confines of her office. They had no need to bother me, I reasoned.

  But when I was taking luncheon on my third day in the town, stopping at an inn I’d seen and fancied before, I was drawn back within their web.

  I’d sent Festaran off on a few errands, so was returning from a meeting on foot when I saw the place – the Elusive Hart - and decided to try it, as it seemed favored by the locals as much as by the lower tier of courtiers and state officials. I ordered a bowl of potatoes and bacon, with a half-loaf of bread and a bottle of wine, taking my meal on the stately second floor balcony. I had only been there for a few moments when the chair next to me was suddenly occupied by a beautiful young woman.

  I was instantly on my guard. I was right to be.

  “Mother sends her regards, Step-Brother,” she said, formally. That was the Family’s code for ‘the queen sent me”.

  “Brother-in-law,” I corrected. I’d created the title after Rardine, Grendine’s power-mad daughter, tried to have me killed after the battle of Timberwatch, and her assassination of Duke Lenguin. I didn’t want to be regarded as a foster-son by the bloodthirsty maids of the Family. The partial-relation of being a brother-in-law was more accurate to my disposition. Magic and politics made poor mates, but if I was to be wedded to the Family, it would be on my own terms.

  “As you wish,” she said, nodding her pretty head. She was a delicately-boned brunette, dressed in finery suited to a courtier, but without any heraldry or insignia upon her gown or jewelry. She could have been a newlywed noblewoman, a rich man’s mistress, or an expensive whore, from the cut of her gown and the way she carried herself. I was certain that she could play any of those roles flawlessly. “Mother is concerned, Brother-In-Law,” she began.

  “Mother worries a lot,” I shrugged. “Thus is Trygg’s curse to the well-born woman blessed with a big family.”

  “I said ‘concerned’, not ‘worried’,” she countered. “Mother is concerned that her Brother-In-Law is meddling in family affairs that do not concern him.”

  “Hmm? Me? What have I done?”

  “Empowering a discredited heir like Magelord Dranus upsets the delicate balance of power,” she said, alluding to the son of a count who was diligently working on restoring his patrimony.

  “I rewarded a faithful mage for his service,” I pointed out. “He has done his time on the front lines and now he pursues his personal interests. As far as I can tell, he’s playing by the rules when it comes to pursuing his legacy.”

  “Rules or no rules, his actions are making waves,” warned the pretty girl. “What is particularly concerning to Mother is that she does not yet know the gentleman’s disposition toward the family.”

  “In that I can help,” I offered. “He is not opposed to declaring his loyalties publically . . . provided that his claim is backed by those whose loyalty he declares. Indeed, his loyalty could be absolute, if the right incentives were given. But he’s not going to declare outright for a faction that is not going to aid his interests.” I really had no idea if that was the case – I barely knew the man – but I had an obligation to protect my people’s interests. And stick my tongue out at the Family.

  “Mother appreciates your assistance,” she said, after a moment’s thought. “That does clarify things. But her concern remains. This matter was not in your purview,” she pointed out.

  “I disagree,” I demurred. “It is inevitable that these little disagreements arise, in a family as close as this one. I understand that some matters must be negotiated, and that undue interference from outside is not appreciated. But when our interests overlap I think it would be best to proceed with caution and communication . . . lest there be misunderstandings.”

  “Which is why we are having this pleasant conversation. But it might be unwise to consider this a negotiation. Mother is not in the habit of negotiating.”

  “Which is why I had misgivings about marrying into this family,” I pointed out. “But Mother should look at this as a challenge and an opportunity.”

  “Mother is likewise concerned about the number of High Magi suddenly appearing,” she countered, her eyes shifting. “There seem to be a great many of them.”

  “Our men are very good at harvesting irionite,” I shrugged. Mother was the last person I wanted to know about my trove of stones. She was the one I was worried about seeing them as a threat to the regime. That’s why I had been bestowing them as quietly as possible. “I give them only to the most worthy. Considering how many have been granted, the few problems we’ve been having should demonstrate that.”

  “They do not seem like small problems. The petty nobility are unhappy with the sudden change in power. The barons, likewise. There is uneasiness among the nobility.”

  “And the peasants are scared shitless of goblins and dragons. Surely a few ambitious magelords isn’t going to offset the benefit we bring to the kingdom? As to those very few problems, they are being attended to.”

  “Too slowly,” she said, shaking her beautiful head. “Magelord, we are not trying to cause friction in the family. But you do understand the delicate nature of the regime, right now. We understand the burdens of the task which you have undertaken. But importance of stability in the kingdom should not be underestimated.”

  “We have been very supportive, I would say. Even appreciative. Threats and leverage aren’t going to make us more so. We need High Magi to fight the war. We need them to support the war effort. As long as Mother is agreeable to that and allows us to govern our own affairs, we should be able to keep the conflicts to a reasonable minimum.”

  “Assistance in the rebellious regions would be more of a token of your loyalty,” she said, directly.

  “There aren’t any gurvani in the rebellious regions,” I pointed out. “That would be operating outside of my purview. Mother has her own magi,” I reminded her. ”If she needs arcane assistance, she has it.”

  “I will relay that to her,” the nameless agent agreed. “Good day, Magelord.”

  “M’lady,” I nodded, not standing as she departed.

  Suddenly I wasn’t so hungry anymore.

  It wasn’t a direct threat, I reasoned, so I shouldn’t do anything hasty. At most it was an attempt to put me – put the Order – in its place. I could understand the reluctance to see a bunch of High Magi strutting around, toppling their neighbors at a whim. It had happened before in the Magocracy.

  But I wasn’t an Archmage. I was the Spellmonger. I wasn’t playing politics for my idle amusement, I was defending the kingdom that I was partially responsible for creating.

  It irritated me that Mother could be so bold as to send one of her pretty Daughters out to speak with me, yet I had to admit it was an improvement over those clandestine personal interviews. The scenery, if nothing else, was far better.

  I got up and decided to take a walk, leaving a few pennies on the table. As I walked, I could not help but feel the eyes of Mother’s spies upon me.

  It didn’t bother me, really – I wasn’t doing anything suspicious – but it amused me to pause and light my pipe during my walk back to the palace . . . and cast a sigil in the road that my tail was destined to walk through. Sure enough, a few moments later the ‘wandering errand boy’ who always seemed to be doing something innocuous when I looked back gave a strangled cry as he stumbled into my guthammer sigil.

  He shat himself on the spot and passed out in a pool of his own waste. I considered recommending he re-think his career in espionage, but I doubt it would have done
any good. That sort is addicted to pursuing power through manipulation.

  Power. Why would anyone want it? My life would be far simpler, I reflected as I crossed the river to the palace, if the goblins had stayed in the mountains and left me to be the spellmonger I was now only in name.

  I liked WIlderhall. It’s a good city to be in, if you are wealthy, and I spent the rest of the day sightseeing, drinking, and enjoying myself in solitude as I wandered through the city streets. I even found a dice game in a tavern frequented by guardsmen, and did them the courtesy of losing more money than they make in a month while entertaining them with stories from the war.

  It felt good, somehow, to indulge in the camaraderie of strangers when I had so many problems to contend with. But by the end of the night I felt much better for the time alone. As I approached the palace I was favored with a beckoning from a pretty whore who was casually examining the flowers along the wall, while simultaneously displaying her wares in a subtle enough way to be a credit to her craft.

  “Lonely, my lord?” she asked, with just the right amount of receptivity and lust in her voice. She was adorable, maybe sixteen or seventeen, the bloom of youth fresh on her lips and eagerness in her eyes. Perhaps some nobleman’s bastard, or a noblewoman herself fallen on hard times, she wore her allure like a silky mantle.

  “Sometimes,” I admitted, knowing that wasn’t exactly the clear-cut interest she sought. She bit her lip just a little and came closer. Close enough for me to smell her. It was a hot night, and her perfume wafted up over me like a shroud.

  “I’m Fari,” she purred, leaning into my chest and putting her hand behind my neck. “A big, handsome lord like yourself should not be wandering around in the dark, feeling lonely.”

  “Sorry, lass,” I smiled, enjoying the attention for once. This whore did not know me as the Spellmonger – I thought. It was possible that she could be a plant by the Family, I supposed. But if she was, I didn’t mind make her work at it. “I am wed.”

  “What Ishi whispers in the darkness need not be spoken of by Trygg’s bedside,” she pointed out. A theological rationalization of infidelity – how novel!

  “How would I know it would be worth the coin?” I asked, not grabbing her but not pulling her off of me, either. Her breasts pressed up against my tunic, her hips thrust square with mine. I had no doubt she knew she’d had the desired effect.

  “My lord,” she said, sweetly, “I was tutored at the crimson arts by the joysisters of Ishi,” she bragged. “I have skills beyond what your poor bride can boast. Skills that will call me to mind in your bed for years to come.”

  I considered just that very thing. I dug into my purse, rooting around for a coin, and realized that the guardsmen had taken nearly all of it. But one thick new ounce of gold remained in my purse, along with a bit of silver. “Fari, have you ever earned an entire ounce of gold for one assignation?”

  Her eyes bulged. “No, my lord!” she whispered. Then she swallowed and paused, before looking down. “What would my lord have me do?”

  No doubt all sorts of horrible things ran through her mind, and I admit that part of me considered finding out just how much of her virtue an entire ounce of gold might purchase. But I had a better idea.

  “Fari, I want you to go into the palace – yes, the palace, I’ll get you in – and I want you to go up to my room. There you will find a young, somewhat handsome knight with the tiniest bit of a stutter and all the innocence of a novice hearthsister. Now, I want you, Fari, to go into that room and I want you to earn this gold. I want you to do your best to give an entire ounce of gold’s worth of value to that young man.”

  “Is he . . . poxxed?” she asked, skeptically.

  “No. A couple of blemishes. He’s trying to grow a beard.”

  “Is he . . . cruel?” she asked, in a whisper. I’m not certain that would have dissuaded her.

  “No, he is the very model of the idealistic country knight.”

  “Then why must you spend so much for a night with him, when much less would suffice?”

  “Because I have power, my dear,” I said, with a heavy sigh. “And power, believe it or not, gets boring as hell if you don’t use it for something worthwhile every now and again. Like rewarding a loyal vassal for honorable service, or making the night of a pretty young whore. If one little ounce of gold can do that . . . well, as long as I have enough to have a few more drinks at the tavern while you go to work, then I will count myself satisfied, for the moment, with my damned power.”

  Fari looked at me strangely. “My lord? Are you all right?”

  “Never better, my sweet,” I assured her. “I’m just getting old. And I’m finding . . . that’s actually not such a bad thing, sometimes.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  The Wonders Of Sevendor

  The moment we came out of the transport, I had the sense that we were being watched. I didn’t move sharply, not having any context for the feeling, but as Sir Festaran and I came into existence on top of Matten’s Helm, there were definitely eyes on me, besides those of Lady Fallawen. I turned slowly and looked around the place, but didn’t see anyone in the serene little mountaintop garden . . . until I looked up.

  There, at various points around the spire’s architecture above me, were perched four falcons . . . the size of horses.

  “Oh dear gods,” Sir Festaran whispered, his eyes cast overhead.

  “Those . . . those . . .”

  “They had to perch somewhere,” Fallawen explained, quietly.

  “Those are . . . giant falcons,” I finally managed.

  “Yes, they are,” the Alka Alon woman agreed, as she took a step closer to them. “This is the special project we’ve been working with Lenodara on.”

  “Growing really big birds?”

  “Transgenic enchantment,” she reminded me. “Shifting one genetic essence between templates is difficult. Merely enlarging the scale of a creature is actually quite a bit easier.”

  “And so you made giant birds?” I asked, my mind whirling.

  “It helps solve several problems,” she said, utterly reasonably, while a raptor the size of a destrier eyed me like a plump mouse from overhead. “We need better surveillance on the ground, and while the smaller birds are useful, with beastmagic, the larger the bird the more ground they can cover. Then there’s the matter of defending against dragons. There is little one can do, if a dragon hovers overhead and sears the land with flame. These proud fellows are big enough to at least discomfort a dragon. Properly armed and trained, they could provide an effective defense.”

  “Where did you get them?” I asked, confounded, while Sir Festaran tried to control his desire to seek a corner.

  “Why, you sent them to us, from the Wilderlands,” Fallawen said. “When Lenodara told us they had arrived, we were thrilled. We thought you had intended on them being used?”

  “I did,” I conceded, “but I had more mundane plans in mind. But . . . why didn’t you ask me about this?” I asked. “These are magnificent, surely, but . . . Ishi’s sweet smile, Fallawen, these are big enough to ride!”

  “That’s the intention,” she nodded. “In time we will train them to the saddle, and they will be able to bear a rider. A few years from now,” she said, looking admiringly at the closest female. “But eventually these raptors will see their way into battle.”

  “You did say I could talk to the Alka Alon,” Dara reminded me, defensively. “You said I could practice magic and, and read. Quietly. But I got bored. Then all these new birds arrived, and the two new hawkmasters, and when Lady Varen suggested . . . well, it seemed like a good idea.”

  “This . . . this . . . I don’t know what to think of this,” I said, as the birds’ heads darted back and forth. “I think it’s a good idea, but I would have preferred to be consulted. I guess . . .” I said, as I suddenly put together a number of little things Dara had said over the last few months, “I guess I was, but . . . I just wasn’t ready. How many are so transformed?�
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  “Only these four and Frightful,” Fallawen said, enjoying my discomfort a little, I think. “Frightful was returned to normal size. But the enchantment remains on her, latently. Once we get a few pairs of these beasties breeding . . .”

  “What, you intend on making this permanent?”

  “Only as permanent as the Dead God,” she declared. “But this gives us some advantages, at least for now. As I said, the enchantment was relatively simple, and the council doesn’t mind transforming animals as much as sentient beings. But a few breeding pairs will ensure the line will continue. And there might be other creatures we can employ in a similar manner,” she said.

  “They really haven’t been that much trouble,” Dara insisted, defiantly, as she peered up at one of her hungry-looking charges. “They stay out of everyone’s way until you call them. And they do eat a lot. I’ve had to pay for four goats from Jurlor’s hold, since we started nesting them here. That is, until we figure out where we can put them permanently,” she added, a little guiltily.

  I envisioned stables the size of palaces, kennels as big as feast halls. Ten men to a horse? Or should they just ride their hounds into battle? What about a savage tabby cat the size of a leviathan? The possibilities beckoned.

  But so did the headaches, I noted, as I took a last look at the four massive falcons. “We’re going to need a bigger mews,” I said, simply, and started down the trail to the foot of the hill. I was tired. I wanted to go home. And not as a falcon’s lunch.