High Mage: Book Five Of The Spellmonger Series

by Terry Mancour

  “Well spoken,” murmured the son. “Since you broke the Warbird’s lock on trade, and rebuilt that bridge, the whole valley prospers, thanks to Sevendor. We are grateful, even as we are wary. But . . . as I am certain a wizard of your caliber has foreseen, Sendaria intends to wrest from Sashtalia more of what was once ours. I do not say when, but soon . . .”

  I shrugged. “I have no love for Sashtalia. I would support you in a war. Already a piece of Sashtalia interests me,” I said, not specifying why – the fewer people who knew about the snowstone outcropping there, the better. “I certainly would not hinder your plans. I might even help, though Sevendor’s strength lies not in lances.”

  “That would be appreciated, Spellmonger,” Arathanial grunted. “I remember how quickly you went through West Fleria. And how you attacked the dragon. I’m sure you could lend us some useful advice in a war with Sashtalia.”

  “Just be certain it does not interfere with the wider war effort,” I warned. “My priorities remain the same, gentlemen.”

  “Understood, Minalan,” Arathanial assured me. “We are months, if not years, away from such a campaign, though. We merely wanted to be certain of your support.”

  “The man sent me eels,” I shrugged. “I care not what happens to him. And I like eels. But I share a border with him, with one of my new estates. I’m certain that will play a role in this maneuvering. As long as the Baron of Fleria minds his own business.”

  “Oh, I think you taught him as much in Posendor,” chuckled Arathanial. “And before that with the Warbird. We will settle accounts with Fleria soon enough. But one serpent at a time.”

  I avoided the fairgrounds the day after the closing ceremonies. Too many people wanted to linger for the chance to speak with me, beg a boon, cajole a witchstone, invest in a sure-fire proposition. I stayed in my tower and got some work done, including adding the new High Magi I’d made recently to the marble board in my workshop.

  Dara was nearly useless. I had to tell her three times how to spell a name, when it came to writing them on the marbles. She was lost in thoughts of soaring heights and a Remeran lad’s dreamy eyes. I tried not to fault her too much. I knew that feeling.

  I was interrupted mid-day by one of the few people with the clout to get through the guards at the entrance to the tower. Lady Fallawen, it was, in her human form. She had no problem charming her way through.

  “Magelord, I bear a message from the council,” she said, after a businesslike bow. “Now that your festival is over, they would ask that you produce for them the gurvan you hold prisoner.”

  “Gurkarl? Why yes, I do suppose it’s time to bring him forth from hiding. I shall make the arrangements. He is in the care of a religious order, at the moment, safe and well-cared for. But I shall bring him to Sevendor. I have a place where he can be kept safely, without fear for his life.”

  “Your dungeon?” she asked, uneasily. Alka Alon did not share the human appreciation of captivity. The idea of a dungeon was dreadful to their sensitivities.

  “Nay, my lady, I have comfortable quarters prepared – but in secret. It will take a while. One does not lightly move a goblin through the Kingdom these days. But my people are able to complete the task. As soon as he is here, I shall let you know. But why the sudden interest?”

  “There have been raids by the gurvani tribes in the Kulines,” she explained. “This autumn there were attacks on the Valley Folk, the Pearwoods clans, the Kasari, even the Alka Alon. A Karshak settlement was attacked. The raiders all bore the markings of the Dead God,” she said, in a quiet voice like a muffled bell.

  “And you think that Gurkarl can speak sense to them?”

  “It is our hope he can act as our emissary, if he finds such a position agreeable.”

  “More of the council’s strategy of containment,” I said, sourly.

  “To understand one’s opponent is wisdom, Magelord. The gurvani are a tortured, tormented people, even before Shereul’s cruel priesthood enslaved them. Their hatred is not without cause, nor is our response not without guilt in our role in their history. We hope that by speaking to Gurkarl we can better understand the gurvani people, and find some better solution to their woes than the banner of the Abomination.”

  “That’s . . . that is, indeed, a wise course of action,” I agreed, almost reluctantly. “I will undertake the necessary arrangements. Was there something else?” I asked, when she began to leave, then hesitated.

  “A . . . personal matter, Magelord,” she began, cautiously. “I had occasion to notice that one of your fellows has developed an interest in . . . in me,” she said, embarrassed and confused.

  “One of my fellows?”

  “One of your vassal knights,” she corrected, after searching her mind for the correct term. “Sir Ryff. I noticed him lingering near me several times during the course of the fair. He seemed to be haunting my steps, Magelord.”

  “And you find the attention . . . offensive?”

  “The knight has been nothing but courteous,” she said, shaking her head prettily. “I just do not know what to make of his interest.”

  “He likes you,” I shrugged.

  “Likes me, Magelord?”

  “Yes, he likes you,” I repeated. “He has formed a romantic attachment to you.”

  She looked shocked. “But Magelord! He is humani!”

  “He is male,” I countered. “You are female. Beyond that, all bets are off. Forbidden love has a long and valiant history with both our peoples,” I teased.

  “Magelord! I am the daughter of—”

  “And he’s a barely-literate country knight from the Riverlands,” I agreed. “But he has been enchanted by you.”

  “I swear, I sang no spell!”

  I couldn’t help smiling. “Not intentionally. But surely you are aware that the form you wear now is very aesthetically pleasing to the humani eye.”

  She blushed. “We endeavored to cultivate a comely shape.”

  “You succeeded. So don’t be alarmed if you attract the attention of men like Sir Ryff . . . and men of lesser character while you wear them.”

  “Perhaps some warts,” suggested Dara, unhelpfully. “Or scars . . .”

  “That won’t be necessary,” I said, curtly. “Think of it as a sign of good humani-Alka Alon relations. Sir Ryff is a gentleman, and he would never do anything untoward. But he does hold a strong admiration for you, my lady. I had wondered why he lingered in Sevendor so long after his service was discharged. I thought it was to cultivate my favor. I am enlightened, now. “

  “You would . . . would send him away?”

  “Have you any reason for me too, my lady?” I asked, courteously.

  “Why no . . . he is just . . . very persistent.”

  “We humani are only here for a few short years. We have little time to waste. If a man sees a vision of perfect beauty, he will certainly do what he needs to in order to remain in her sight. But if you object to his presence . . .”

  “No! No, I shall endure it,” she said, after a moment’s confused thought. “It is an odd attraction but not . . . entirely unwelcome,” she admitted, guiltily. “It’s just . . .” she looked distressed.

  “What?” I asked, alarmed. Dara looked up with interest.

  “What?” she demanded.

  “He . . . he sings to me,” she said, as if she were ashamed. “In that low, unartful, beastly . . . sweet humani voice, he sings to me!” she said, scandalized. “He asked me to walk with him under the moonlight, last night, and I accompanied him to enjoy the stars. Yet . . . he began singing in that . . . that voice,” she said, her face screwed up in emotion. “I knew not whether to laugh or to cry. It is not too bad a voice, I suppose, for your folk, but . . .”

  “But perhaps the way to your heart lies in . . . poetry?” I suggested.

  “Spoken words? I would . . . I might enjoy that,” she admitted.

  “Then I will counsel my vassal accordingly. And do let me know if he becomes a burden to you,
and I will return him to his estates.”

  “Thank you, Magelord,” she said, gratefully. “Poetry . . .”

  When she was gone, Dara sat looking off into space, her brush and marble held in inattentive hands.

  “What are you dreaming about, Feathers?”

  “I wish a boy would sing to me,” she sighed, dreamily.

  Chapter Twenty Two

  The Passion Of Sir Ryff

  The leaves changed color and fell to the ground, and still the goblins did not march on Gilmora. The winds blew them into great piles while the peasants struggled to get in the last of the harvest, and still the legions of the Dead God remained quiet in their lairs. The legions of gurvani were maddeningly quiet. They made forays against small human habitations, but they had not attacked anything larger than a manor house in almost a year.

  Not that they hadn’t been busy. They had spent that time depopulating northern Gilmora as much as they could, and there were ominous signs of future plans arising there, but still there was nothing decisive. No great army from the north. No attack. No legions of goblins and hobgoblins, riding these new Fell Hounds of theirs into battle. No huge columns of siege beasts, dragons, trolls and worse descended, as we’d dreaded. Raids, skirmishes, slavers, and ambushes on the road, but no concerted attack.

  So we just waited. And things settled down.

  The troops that had been brought downriver were quartered in southern Gilmora, ready to face a threat whenever it appeared. The Royal Wedding between Tavard and the daughter of a Remeran count was announced for the following Spring. Peasants cut firewood for winter and counted their stores. Work continued on the castle. And my apprentices finally came home.

  Rondal and Tyndal’s tenure in Gilmora had been a productive one, and I hadn’t minded rewarding them with a cushy mission to fetch Gurkarl from the Gobarban Order before Yule. I’d sent Sir Festaran with them, to keep an eye on them, and they were able to make it cross country with a live goblin and not get into too much trouble.

  As an afterthought I’d asked them to check on the clandestine snowstone operation in Sashtalia on the way home, figuring they would spy a bit and return to Sevendor quickly . . . but they conquered the damned domain, instead.

  I didn’t ask them to. They seized the initiative and took it upon themselves. Then they rationalized it by claiming that they had not, indeed, conquered it on my behalf, but on behalf of the new order of Knights Magi they were forming, the Estasi Order. They had the Writ of Conquest filled out and filed, and had even found a way to rope Sire Cei into the deal. It was all very legal and proper. And I now had the snowstone deposit under my control again. But the Lord of Sashtalia was not going to be happy about it, come Spring.

  Still, it was wonderful having the boys back around. The vale seemed empty without them, somehow. Alya even wept a bit when she saw how much they had grown. They were men, now. Young men, but all trace of their boyishness had evaporated, to be replaced with calm confidence.

  They weren’t the only new arrivals. Dranus had assumed the role of Court Wizard with quiet purpose, traveling back to his lands in Remere for just a few weeks before returning to Sevendor with a baggage train and an apprentice. He moved into the tower on the outer battlement, overlooking the deserted village of Genly. It was a quiet and remote part of the castle and the view was lovely. The tower, on the other hand, was old and decrepit.

  Dranus didn’t complain. On the contrary, he invested a week of time to make the place not just livable, but comfortable. He even cast his own version of a magelight over it, when he was in residence, just as my apprentices and I did.

  But he was far from the stereotypical court wizard, the useless fop sponging off of his master’s table. Dranus knew his business. He took two or three informal meetings with me, to ask me questions about my expectations and resources, and then he left me alone and got to work. At first that was largely comprised of walking around Sevendor, asking people questions and taking notes. But just as Winter began to make itself known, Dranus began acting like a Court Wizard . . . and suddenly I wondered how I’d ever gotten anything done without one before.

  Dranus began by compiling lists of children in the vale who had the likelihood of manifesting magical Talent. While there is no certain way to discern whether a particular child will have Talent, there are indicators, and a good Court Wizard knew what to look for. Dranus was particularly interested in whether or not the proximity of a mountain of snowstone would influence the number of children who displayed Talent, and the potency of that display. I was somewhat curious about that myself.

  He later reported that no one was yet displaying the tell-tale signs of the emergence of their Talent, but he was now vigilant. He assured me that, come Spring, he would survey my other domains to look for similar potential magi.

  Dranus established a set of protocols for using magic in and around the castle. I’d slapped spells together constantly since I’d moved in, as had Tyndal and Rondal, and now Dara was adding her share. That was on top of the dozens of warmagi who had done magical service for me on the place. The magical architecture of the castle was a wreck, and Dranus began to untangle it almost the moment he got there.

  There were to be no more personal magelights in the Great Hall, for instance. Instead he enchanted six large white magelights to appear at a command, using some thaumaturgic glass, allowing the castellan or butler to invoke and devoke the lights at need without a mage around. He also cast similar magelights for various parts of the castle, a uniform white ball of light to illuminate the kitchens, the gates, the stairs, the stables, the kennels, etc. The result left Sevendor Castle beautifully lit up at night.

  He and his apprentice also ensured that the buildings of the castle were as snug from drafts as possible, as the nights turned more chill. I had long ago done that with the tower and Great Hall, but Dranus made certain that every hall and cot on the place was also tightly sealed. He regulated the warding and defensive spells on the gatehouses of the castle, initiating a clear protocol for each post. He oversaw the spells against spoilage laid on the castle’s siege supplies, and took special care to inspect and enchant the cisterns against algae and contaminants.

  He took over a portion of Dara’s training, for which I was grateful. While she was progressing as a student, her lessons had been unequal and haphazard in nature. Her work with the falcons had been amazing . . . but she still lacked competency at more basic forms of magic. Dranus began tutoring her every three days in the boring, reading-intense areas of her education I had too-often skipped over.

  Dara was reluctant, at first, but when I made it clear that there would be no flying without demonstrable progress, she agreed to hit the parchment under Dranus’ instruction. That girl loved to fly her giant beasts. Since the Fair, she had trained two more of her first specimens to the harness and saddle. She spent as much time in the air over Sevendor as possible.

  One of the most valuable things he did, however, was organize my library. Every Imperially trained mage has a professional library of reference works. Copying those basic texts and charts is a major focus of your training. I still had my basic set I’d made at Inarion, and I’d added to it.

  For the last two years any time I was in a large city, like Barrowbell, Castabriel, or Wilderhall I would visit the booksellers to add to my collection. Vorone had been particularly rich, as many had sold their books to feed themselves. When the hawks had arrived from Vorone, so had a packhorse loaded with texts I had acquired at very good prices. I had also received plenty of books as gifts from friends, colleagues, admirers, vassals, and overlords in the last few years. I had not begun to read but a few of them, unfortunately.

  The accumulated result of my acquisition spree meant my library had over three hundred volumes, now . . . largely heaped in a stack in one corner of my workshop. A few essential texts had been dug out of the pile at need, but the remainder was a chaotic mass of thaumatugic wisdom. Scrolls were gathered in a barrel, the rest of the volume
s resting in a haphazard pyramid of knowledge on and around a sturdy wooden table.

  Dranus quietly relocated many of the books to his tower, after properly preparing and securing a room therein against dampness and insects. There he organized them into a proper library, cataloged them, and made lists of future acquisitions he recommended. Further, he imposed on the Arcane Order chapterhouse, the Order of the Secret Tower’s mansion (Pentandra and Planus, essentially) and even the Enchanter’s Guild for lists of texts that they possessed, to formulate a complete catalog. All told, there were over 500 different books and larger works available in Sevendor, most of them on magic. From what I understood, that gave us the fourth or fifth largest magical library in the Kingdom.

  When Dranus informed me of that, a month after he took office, I was pleased. Pleased enough that I gave him a hundred ounces of gold and directed him to make us the third largest library. There were dozens of works on his list I coveted, for reference purposes if not for general greed.

  Storage space for that many volumes was going to be problematic, we both knew, but we had some time to plan for that. The Arcane Orders chapterhouse had plenty of room, for instance, and the new castle would have entire rooms devoted to books and copying.

  Mostly, I didn’t notice the things that Dranus did, and when I did they were almost always improvements and refinements. He also got along well with most of the castle staff, which was a relief. Many Court Wizards took advantage of their position to lord it over other staff members, I knew, but Dranus managed to get along with everyone. By the time Yule rolled around, he seemed a permanent part of the place.

  That didn’t mean everyone was happy with his new position. Her Majesty arranged a special conference by Mirror, the official royal one I’d given Rard, to express her disapproval.