“That,” I said, after the fifth or sixth time doing it, “is some classy magic!”
“That’s something few Alkan spellsingers have mastered,” agreed Onranion.
“I just like not having to lug a mageblade around everywhere,” I agreed. “Let’s see what else we can do!”
The other stone, the ennegrammatic affixer, or whatever the technical term was, was the more difficult to master. Onranion called the thing the Alaran Stone – the Alka Alon word for ‘sustaining.’.
Creating a permanent magical fountain in the mill pond made pulling swords out of the air seem like a cheap trick. It took a day’s worth of fiddling with it, but eventually the water elemental we conjured spouted a spray of water over half of the bathing area every fifteen minutes . . . forever. The pattern of symbolic commands and logical structures that provided its simple ennegramic template did not degrade after a few hours, like normal. It was still as strong and vibrant three days later.
Both types of stone were dangerous to tinker with. We still did not know much about the ‘extradimensional spaces’ we were creating, nor about the mechanism of transport. But we established how to use some of the stones rare properties, and it gave us plenty of ideas for further research.
It had been fun, I reflected, as I watched the distant sparkle of the magical fountain in the twilight from the summit of my tower. It had been an exercise in pure research, with the ostensible utility of assisting the war effort. But it had also been utterly unassociated with my duties as magelord, baron, or head of the Arcane Orders, ambassador to the Alka Alon, or even husband to my wife or father to my son. A pure intellectual exercise with a demonstrable conclusion. It was quite satisfactory.
As distractions go, it wasn’t bad. But I had work to get back to, and had to let Azhguri and Onranion continue the experiments without me. We would follow up later – I wanted Taren and other thaumaturges and enchanters involved, eventually – but for now I had to put my funny hats back on and be important.
Of looming importance was the approach of the Magic Fair, which would also celebrate my investiture, and establish the new Barony of Sevendor in the Bontal Riverlands. All of my vassals and most of my neighbors would be there, as would most of the magi who could find their way to my little land. The vassals would require special attention, I knew – there was near revolt in Northwood domain, thanks to some agitation and two generations of managerial neglect. That would have to be dealt with.
But before that I was scheduled to meet with the Sevendor Town Council to discuss the proposed new Charter. Once I had become a baron, empowered to grant an even wider range of privileges, Banamor had rushed back to the council and re-drafted the document. Now he was ready to present it.
That put me in a delicate position. I wanted to give him the freedom to develop the town, but I didn’t want to give up my authority. Nor did I want to cut myself out of some lucrative trade. Being filthy rich, all of a sudden, didn’t mean I didn’t want my due. Sire Cei was due back from his summer tour of his estate any day, and when he arrived we (and a studious lawbrother I had retained, Brother Chervis) would go over each and every clause until the nascent burgher was squirming.
Matters were even trickier because he was also a vassal – my Spellwarden – and my business partner. He also ran the Magic Fair, which kept growing year after year. This was the third year, and it promised to be the biggest attended yet. With my investiture celebration and other festivities, it would be a busy time.
Until then, I stole quiet moments like that, watching the sun set over the ridge while the four majestic giant falcons wheeled around Matten’s Helm, and the enchanted spire at its peak. One of the larger ones made a triumphant dive, falling in the air like a stone, only to break out her wings at the last second before she struck. It was truly beautiful, watching the magnificent bird.
Until I realized I owed someone for a goat.
Chapter Eighteen
The Chartered Town of Sevendor
Sevendor was a far cry from the tiny hamlet we’d found when we’d arrived. Now it was a town of nearly three thousand souls within its loosely-defined bounds. There were entire neighborhoods that had sprung up in the last few years, and there was not a single peasant’s hut left in the place. Most of the homes were two-story exposed beam and wattle-and-daub, with some being made of brick.
Banamor’s mansion was one of these. The two-story warehouse and shop complex was one of the more imposing buildings in the town, and the steady stream of peddlers and packtraders, wagons and convoys from distant parts arriving at all hours attested to its importance. Banamor had a staff of six, now, not including his deputy Spellwarden, Gareth. The young man may have been a lousy warmage, but he understood organization. He kept Banamor’s many enterprises running in the man’s absence.
Along with his own rise, Banamor had made sure that the town, as a civic entity, had enjoyed a rise as well. Under his leadership, a far grander meeting hall was built, albeit smaller than Banamor’s manse. It had an armory with the militia’s arms at one end, and storage for communal items at the other. Most importantly it had a large meeting hall, capable of holding a hundred people, downstairs and three small offices that ran the affairs of the nascent town upstairs.
Also upstairs was the Town Council chamber, a simply-appointed room with table and chairs. It was here that the now-nine-man council had been meeting almost daily for weeks. Their hired scribe, a nearsighted monk with a permanent frown, had carefully drafted the document they presented me with such ceremony when I arrived for the occasion.
I made introductions and Banamor began to read the contract aloud, page by page. I refused to stand for much ceremony, and asked them to sit down around the table without formality. This was a negotiation, after all. They could get to the ass kissing later.
Banamor frowned when Brother Chervis came in. A cherubic man with an infectious grin, the monk had negotiated several charters before, on behalf of both townsmen and lord. Magelord Forandal of Robinwing had recommended him, and I had secured his services at some expense. Sire Cei was also with me, as my witness and bannerman. I’d have Alya read over it too, once we were done, to see if she could spot any unanticipated issues.
After the flowery preamble, most of the basics were easy enough to understand. In return for an annual fee of twenty ounces of silver per hundred citizens, the townsfolk were exempt from communal duties to the castle, though individual contracts of servitude would still be honored. The town would give up all right to farm the fields it traditionally did, northwest of town. That area was once again now mine to control – and since much of the fields had been affected by the Snowfall spell, it was insanely valuable.
In return the town would now have the freedom to order its own affairs as to organization and administration, formulate and enforce its own internal regulations, and regulate commerce in the markets.
Sevendor town would have its own jurisdiction, the rights of sake and soke, for its fee, as well as exemption from tolls throughout the barony. In terms of defense, the town owed one lance or five archers for every one hundred citizens or a scutage fee of twenty ounces of silver every year. The town was responsible for maintenance of the streets and roads, including the two bridges. The mill remained under my direct control, as would the bakery I planned to build. I would continue to maintain the dam.
Included in the townlands was a new parcel on the other side of the Ketta which would become the new commons and listfield. That was a generous gift, but one outside of the Snowstone circle. Also included was a stretch behind the Spires, north of town. That was Jurlor’s property, and he retained title, but its inclusion made it much more valuable now. It also gave Jurlor more of a say in Sevendor Town’s affairs, and as my Yeoman he would help represent my interests.
I reserved some of the land in the neighborhood of the listfield for baronial use. If I had to be responsible for housing Ducal tax collectors and liquor inspectors, they could live out there. Having a fe
w parcels of my own within town also suited me.
The town would run its affairs on the collection of two major assessments, a landgable on all properties of a silver penny per plot, and a head tax to be collected at Yule and Midsummer. It was effectively a membership due in the town, allowing a man to be considered a burgess of Sevendor. The assessments were not steep – I had heard the landgable in Sendaria Port was three pennies, and the head tax significant. But the benefits of membership were usually far in excess to the cost. Town courts tended to be more lenient than manorial courts, and burgesses were usually exempt from tolls within the domain.
The town would be organized by quarter, with six wards designated. Each would be organized into hundred-person (or twenty families or hearths) districts for assessment and organization. A man would be legally responsible to his district, and each district would designate a representative to the town’s reeves.
Specifically forbidden in the town’s charter was permission to encircle it with a wall, though a hedge was permitted. A wall would have helped defend the place, in case of an attack, but it would also eat up valuable real estate and cost like the dickens to maintain. Sevendor Vale was as secure as the townsfolk could ask. Besides, towns with walls had a disturbing habit of acting independently.
Included in the charter was the right to hold the gates, that is, to establish a watch on the entrances to the town to monitor – and collect fees from – travelers and tradesmen wishing to do business in town.
I scribbled a note to the lawbrother to have them propose a schedule of reasonable fees for my approval, even though I wasn’t asking for a cut. That would be valuable revenue for the town, and while I could get greedy about it, letting Banamor and his people have that revenue in its entirety made good business sense. I just wanted to keep them from getting greedy about it by keeping entrance fees artificially high. The four gatewardens would collect an annual salary of ten ounces of silver, plus one percent of their monthly take.
The constitution of the proposed City Watch was included. It accounted for a Captain of the Watch, paid twenty ounces of silver per year, and six watchmen who would pocket twelve ounces every year. It also accounted for the hiring of up to a dozen temporary deputies during the Magic Fair and other celebrations at two silver per use. That was reasonable, but I penned a note to increase the number to sixteen, if needed.
The matter of jurisdiction was important. The town wanted the right to appoint a magistrate over civil matters, including trade regulations. While I had no problem with that – I disliked hearing such cases myself – I wasn’t happy with Banamor having the right to pick his own judge. I whispered to Brother Chervis, and we made a counter-proposal. An independent lawbrother would be hired to run the court for a three-year contact, nonrenewable. Banamor or any of the council could propose a candidate, but they had to meet with my approval.
Mandated in the fourth page of the document was a section regulating the building of any future temples and shrines, hastily appended to the rest of the document. As a baron, I had the power to authorize such institutions and it was widely anticipated that I would be doing so. Banamor had designated a strip of land outside of the Old Commons – soon to be Sevendor Square – as Temple Street to that end.
He wasn’t wrong. And having all the houses of worship congregated in one quarter wasn’t a bad idea, necessarily. It was a choice section of real estate, along the entire southern side of the new market square he envisioned. The proposal required each new house of worship so constructed to undertake to celebrate appropriate feast days in conjunction with craft guilds, the town council, and the baronial representative.
“As to the nature and person of that office,” Banamor began, “we would pray that Your Excellency choose a man who can best exercise the interests of all the people of Sevendor, not just those outside of the town limits. The charter provides for a ceremonial representative, designated by Your Excellency as a token of your authority and grace.”
“But I don’t like some of the provisions,” I pointed out. “This representative is not entitled to be present during the council’s meetings or vote in the council. What use is it to have a representative, when they are not present to represent your interests?”
“Yet to have Your Excellency have a vote in town matters is precisely why we wish this charter,” he reminded me. “Need your representative have to vote on every cobble and street sign?”
“I don’t think it’s necessary for my representative to have a vote at all,” I countered. “Just a presence. I dislike being left uninformed about the tidings in my domain. While this charter sets you apart from the rest of it, the town remains within my domain.”
“So a nonvoting representative?” he asked, eyeing Sire Cei appraisingly. No doubt he suspected that I would have my Castellan act in that capacity.
“Yes, but a nonvoting representative with the right to be heard at council,” I added. “I hereby name Her Excellency, Lady Alya, to that post.”
There was a bit of a gasp in the room. “Lady Alya?” Banamor asked, curiously.
“You object to her representing the barony?” I asked.
“Not at all, Your Excellency,” he said, with a shrug. “She is a woman of rare wisdom and clearly holds the welfare of all Sevendori sacred. Of course she would be welcome at council.” Well, that proved Banamor was at least a wily diplomat. That was about the best thing he could have said.
The rest of the council would be made up of twelve burghers elected from the burgesses, to serve for a two-year term. From the council the mayor would be elected as chief executive. I could tell Banamor had his eye set on that office already.
Duties of the council included regulating the markets, the Watch, keeping the roads and public spaces in good repair, appointing reeves and inspectors, maintaining and ensuring the water supply and the removal of refuse, and undertaking to light the town after dark.
That last part would be what set Sevendor apart from other towns. Instead of torches or lamps posted at crossroads and corners, Sevendor Town would use magelights. There were already four along the nascent High Street, semi-permanent enchantments that deployed after dusk, bathing the street in a cool but helpful glow. They were the remnants of various warmagi demonstrating their skills or one of my apprentices showing off. There were two more at the current market, but the town wanted to commission them all over town. That would give Sevendor Town a beautiful unearthly glow at night.
It would also keep costs down. Lamp oil is a regular expense, while magelights are a one-time cost. They also don’t catch buildings on fire. The new buildings in town were required to use slate or wooden shingles as roofs, but there were still scores of houses with thatch.
The duties of merchet and heriot were suspended in the charter. From now on, a burgess of Sevendor Town would not have to pay a fee to me to get married, just a civil registration fee to the town. Only if a burgess married a villein would merchet apply. Nor would they have to give me the best pick of their inherited herd or lands, as heriot demanded. Instead a flat inheritance tax, assessed by the town’s reeve, would be paid.
I didn’t mind that one. I’d always found the practice of heriot a little ghoulish, particularly in the cases of the very poor. I’d refused my heriot dues several times, among the folk of Brestal and the ridgetop cottages. A peasant family in grief over losing a revered member of the household did not need one of my agents showing up and taking away their best goat. Most of those folk were villeins, already entangled in an oppressive web of fees and services due.
That brought up the dangerous matter of freedom. In the legal sense. By custom and common law, a chartered town was “free” – that’s what the charter was purchasing. The burgesses were all freemen, entitled to full protection of the law and support of their town. As long as they paid their taxes, they were beholden to no man.
But also by custom and law, any villein who left the manor and managed to live in a town as a burgess for a year and a day was
considered free. There were a number of ways this could be established, but the result was the same. The manor lost a valuable resource in terms of owed service, rents and dues.
Of course, any villein enterprising enough to elude capture and establish himself as a free burgess was likely well worth the price of petty rebellion. Such men often became highly successful in business or a trade. But such defections played havoc with the smooth and efficient running of a manor farm.
Banamor had cagily considered this dilemma. In the charter he specified that a man had to pay his head tax, enroll as a provisional burgess, and if he could find three neighbors to swear an oath to his character then any demands of a lord would be referred to the town’s sitting reeve for judgment. That wasn’t a bad system, I decided. Any man who could convince his neighbors to vouch for him was likely more valuable as a burgess than a villein.
When Banamor’s presentation came to a close, Brother Chervis stood and addressed the three townsmen with a list of duties we had decided were to be included in the charter.
By losing the castle village, the castle was also losing a lot of extremely valuable services normally provided by the village, particularly service dues owed for work on the place. Many of those were covered by the annual fee paid to the castle. Many were not. I wanted the charter to include some particular exceptions and make the town responsible for certain things.
For one thing, I wanted to be able to draft work parties from the town in times of emergency. I had Chervis add a duty for the town to provide servers and attendants for various Castle entertainments and events. The town was required to provide porters to and from the Gatetower to unload military wares. Further, just to be a pain in the ass, the town was required to provide porters and attendants should I or any of the gentlemen of the castle decided to go hunting. I was not a fan of the sport, but Sire Cei occasionally led the hounds across the wooded ridge that separated Brestal Vale from Sevendor Vale, and it was nice to have a few folks at the edge of the wood, warning away wanderers.
High Mage: Book Five Of The Spellmonger Series Page 33