“Thank you for bearing this news, my lord,” she said, quietly, after wiping her eyes. “I suppose I must rise to the necessity of the occasion and take leadership of my . . . my people,” she said, sounding defeated.
“It’s a hard responsibility,” I agreed. “When I took responsibilities for the Bovali refugees – who weren’t even my people – it seemed overwhelming. But the Tera Alon who fought with us at Olum Seheri were valiant, and they are loyal to your house,” I reminded her. “They were dedicated to your father, and if you invoke their loyalty they will transfer it to you. If it seems too daunting a task to lead them, then select among them a leader willing to bear the load, and delegate.”
She nodded, unconvincingly. “Here I am trying to learn to be a humani wife – no easy task, my lord! And now I must learn to be a general and a lord of Tera Alon,” she said, miserably. “How am I to manage either one?” she pleaded.
“You do your best, and hope no one notices how terrified you are of screwing up,” I counselled. “That’s what I do. You are in a unique position, my lady,” I explained. “The Tera Alon are a new people, a mixture of mine and yours. It is in their very name. The expectations that would fall upon you as an Alkan noblewoman do not completely apply. Neither,” I added, looking at her in her comparatively frumpy sideless surcoat, “do humani standards. You are as unique in your position as the people you lead.”
“And how is that to bring me comfort?” she asked, looking miserable.
“Comfort? There’s no comfort there, my lady,” I agreed. “But there is wisdom. As the Tera Alon are new, there is no one who can contest that your leadership of them falls short of tradition or history. They need a leader who can navigate through the difficult lands ahead. One who is not afraid of making decisions, even compromises, to ensure the survival, security, and prosperity of her people. That is what will matter to them. And perhaps to the Council.”
“What about the Council?” she asked, sharply.
“Well, as the Heir to Anthatiel, do you not inherit your sire’s seat on the Council?” I pointed out.
“Aeratas had a seat on the Council because Anthatiel was a great city,” she countered. “Now it is a ruin. And its people exiled. Why would I be permitted to serve when the power the seat represents is gone?”
“The strength of a land is in its people,” I counselled. “Though their city is ruined, they can build another. They are determined to drive Korbal and the Enshadowed away from Olum Seheri and cleanse the place. It follows that they will rebuild the city, after victory. They revered your father, and look to you as his daughter to guide them. You need but guide them and keep them together as they journey toward that end.”
She pursed her lips. “You are wise, Spellmonger,” she agreed. “I have been so preoccupied about what this means to me, I have forgotten what it means to my folk. In truth,” she confessed, “my lord husband said much the same thing, ere I departed Hosendor Castle, but I dismissed it. It is hard, to take the counsel of mortals, sometimes.”
“Of course,” I smiled. “What could we possibly know? You were born before my great-great grandsire, were you not? How fares your marriage? You may be candid,” I added, “anything you tell me will be held in strictest confidence.”
She stared at me a while, likely considering how candid to be.
“It is . . . far less troublesome than I anticipated, in some ways,” she admitted. “In others, it is far more. My human kin,” she said, making a face at the word, “have been nothing but kind and welcoming. They behave with deference, but not with the worship of the Tal Alon. Nor have they tried to constrain me, as I feared.”
“And Sire Ryff?”
“My lord husband loves me more now than the day we wed,” she answered. “His devotion is sincere. And his passions . . . surprisingly gentle,” she said. “Of course, this clumsy body catches his eye regularly, but he is starting to get to know the wife within.”
“He has not been abusive in any way?” I asked, cautiously. It was a delicate topic, but among most Riverlords domestic violence was common.”
“On the contrary, he has been doting,” she said, shaking her head. “Ryff is a noble man, and he desires my love freely-given. He would never wish to compel it.”
“That is good to hear,” I nodded.
“Besides, I have nearly a thousand troops in his domain,” she added, gesturing around her. “If I took offense at something he did, I have recourse to mend it.”
That startled me. “That doesn’t sound like a very Alka Alon way of handling things.”
“Did you not just say I was unique, a Tera Alon lord?” she countered. “A race without tradition? Perhaps it is my humani heart that speaks. If my people give me their loyalty, I have no qualms about spending it to defend my dignity.”
“You make a compelling argument, my lady,” I agreed. “But if you wish to maintain the humani hearts of the Tera Alon, I would encourage you to celebrate their feats in human style.”
“My race understands flattery, Minalan,” she chuckled. “I have already planned a gathering to weep for the dead and celebrate the living. I will take the opportunity to laud the brave, as well.”
“Presents,” I advised. “Give them presents. As tokens of your gratitude. Praise them, tell them how big and strong they are, and they’ll follow you.”
“So I have seen,” she smirked. “Sire Ryff is a generous man, and since his rise in station and fortune, he seems to have acquired quite a following.”
“I have no doubt. These hills are filled with errants who seek a man worthy of their loyalty. Encourage that – be just as magnanimous with them as you are with your own folk, and you will win their loyalty as well.”
“So, what now?” she asked, folding her hands in her lap. “We have raided the foe and dealt him a grievous blow – yet he stands stronger now than when we struck,” she pointed out.
“That will be for the Council to decide,” I pointed out. “Officially, this was just a reconnaissance-in-force mission that just got out of hand. But we must report both your father’s fall and the intelligence we’ve gathered to them. Onranion has set a meeting of the full council at Midsummer. Once they know all the details, then they will decide the course of action.”
“And you are willing to meekly submit to their decisions?” she asked.
“Oh, hells no!” I chuckled. “I’ll likely go do something stupid and brave, if I don’t like what they say. But they must plot the course, first. I can’t very well rebel until I have something to rebel against.”
“And your own kingdom?” she asked. “I may be the lady of Hosendor, now, but I remain an Emissary to humanity. What consequences will fall on you, from this raid?”
“Actually, it’s been a boon, at this point. For me and the magi. But I am keeping a firm watch on the politics of Castalshar. Our best hope lies in a strong, well-organized state. For all his personal issues, Rard has been doing a good job of that, particularly by getting the government out of Castabriel, proper. I’ll let you know if I think their faith in our alliance is fading.”
She shook her head. “It never ceases to amaze me how quickly things change for you,” she marveled. “Alliances among the great houses of the Alka Alon endure for centuries – even temporary alliances. With you humani we’re lucky to persist for a decade. It’s almost not worth the trouble.”
“Which is why I’m building strong institutions,” I reminded her. “That is how humanity persists in maintaining its pledges. Men may come and go, but institutions can endure, if they are well-wrought and well-tended.”
“So you do,” she nodded. “You have far more foresight than most of your race . . . no offense.”
“None taken,” I chuckled, rising. “There is one other matter I’d like to discuss: your father’s killer. Mycin Amana.”
“What of her?” Falawen asked, sharply.
“I have her stashed away in a cell in my mountain, at the moment, magically blinded and bound by cha
ins of her own design and Dradrien manufacture. But I fear keeping her there. Could I impose on you to build a suitable prison for her? She doesn’t eat much,” I reminded her. “She’s undead.”
“You . . . want me to become the gaoler of my father’s killer?” she asked, her pretty eyes wide in disbelief.
“I need a secure place to keep her. I can’t kill her – she’d just return to Korbal, then. I could just stuff her into a hoxter and forget about her, but I need her interrogated by someone motivated and trustworthy. And kept by someone with an interest in keeping her secure.”
“I would be able to question her?”
“To your human heart’s content,” I assured her.
“I shall have a place prepared at once,” she agreed. “And I am very much looking forward to meeting the woman who has caused me such grief. Now I must return to Hosendor and prepare for the Chepstan Fair,” she sighed. “Where I will be gawked at and prodded by my new humani noble . . . peers,” she said, her eyes narrowing at the word. “I understand my lord husband wishes to show off his new bride, but . . . the society of women in the Riverlands seems obsessed with gossip and inquiries into our personal lives,” she said, troubled. “It is very disturbing.”
“Welcome to human femininity,” I laughed. “Perhaps our greatest weapon.”
I was riding back across the bridge that afternoon when I was overtaken by another rider.
That isn’t as hard as it sounds. While most bridges in the Riverlands were small, narrow affairs, usually barely large enough to permit a single horse or narrow-gauged cart, I had purposefully instructed Master Guri to design the Sevendor Bridge across our gigantic moat to be wide enough to permit two carts to pass each other without entangling. He’d spaced the risers accordingly, and had filled in the surface with a thick layer of mage-hardened wood.
The bridgehead on the Hosendor side was still barely developed, with a single shack for the tollman and the foundation of a future inn nearby. Toward the center were the piers that would, eventually, guard the entire bridge and support a three-story fortress that would control the massive drawbridge. Additionally, there were platforms that would eventually house a few small businesses or permit folks to fish. Master Olmeg had not yet stocked the growing lake, but he was scheduled to do so before Midsummer.
The horseman proved to be my very own assistant castellan, Sir Festaran, returning from a trip to visit his parents. He was garbed in traveling armor, as any Riverlord knight would be, and he rode a fine gelding, not a warhorse.
“What think you of your new bridge, Excellency?” he asked, after we exchanged pleasantries.
“I like it,” I assured him. “Hopefully it will distract from the missing mountain it replaced. Was there any trouble, while we were deployed?” I asked. Sire Cei was still recovering at his home in Cargwenyn, so Sir Festaran had been in charge.
“None to speak of – it’s been thankfully quiet,” he reported, as we rode side-by-side. “My father says that this is the most peaceful the Bontal has been in generations. His estates are prosperous, his peasants are happy, and commerce in the markets abound.”
“Good to hear,” I sighed, sincerely. Keeping my vassals happy was always a priority – when push came to shove, they were my military force. “No stirrings from East Fleria?”
“Just ‘Fleria’, now,” Festaran chuckled. “Nay, my lord, Baron Vulric is reluctant to test his fortunes against the mighty Spellmonger. Though there are many who would induce him to do just that,” he added, suspiciously.
“Oh, really?” I asked, intrigued. “Whom?”
“People who may have once worn checkered cloaks,” he answered. “But Vulric wants none of it. He’s turned away all who would tempt him into war with you or your allies.”
“Nor do I covet new lands to manage,” I pointed out. “If he is willing to maintain the peace, I certainly am.”
“’Tis best to keep good relations, particularly ahead of the Riverlord’s League meeting,” he agreed. “If we wish his support for Arathanial . . .”
“Arathanial wants to be Count of Burine?” I asked, startled.
“Old Count Mesterel wishes to retire,” Festaran reported. “He announced his intention at Yule. While he has daughters married to good lords, none have the stature or reputation the office demands. The League will choose the new Count after the harvest. Baron Arathanial feels he has sufficient reputation, after the war against Sashtalia, and should he prevail and rise his station, he has two sons running two baronies to elevate his stature. He has a strong case,” Festaran said, hopefully.
“Am I supposed to attend this meeting?” I asked. Peasants often assume that the feudal government is as straightforward as manorial government, but the opposite is true.
“It is a moot open to all Riverlords in the county,” he affirmed. “By tradition, the League selects the house to hold the title, but also by tradition House Lensely is favored to take it.”
“Are there other contenders?” I asked, intrigued.
“Oh, yes, there usually are,” he agreed. “I’ve never been to a moot of the League before, but my father assures me that there are usually a score or more of contenders, at the start. Most lose favor quickly, leaving only a few from the established houses. The final victor of the vote is presented to His Grace for affirmation. Purely a formality.”
He paused a moment, and gave me a searching look. “There are those who whisper that you should seek the office,” he proposed. “You have gained the admiration of many in the vales, even among the Sashtali who fought against you.”
“Me? Count?” I snorted. “I’ve already got about six jobs – why do I need a seventh?”
“Prestige? Position? Glory?” he suggested.
“Prestige is a fickle bitch who can’t hunt,” I observed, “and not one that I seek. As far as position, I am already a member of the Royal Court. And I’m too much a soldier to invest in glory.
“Nay, let Arathanial take the prize, if he wishes it. He has my blessing and support,” I added, knowing that the word would travel quickly to Arathanial’s ears. While not a spy, Sir Festaran had many friends among his fellow Riverlords, the Sendari knights of Chepstan Castle. I did not discourage the relationships. Such casual channels of communication were as important as actual spies, in the world of feudal politics.
“His Excellency will be happy to hear that, I have no doubt,” Festaran agreed, as we came to the six massive piers the Karshak had built to support the future bridge tower, and stopped to enjoy the view.
“Excellency,” he said, after a moment’s quiet contemplation, “there is another matter I wished to discuss with you,” he said, in an entirely different tone.
My heart sank. I could guess the topic.
“Go on,” I said, not taking my eyes from the pretty water. In the sun, at this angle, the entire lake seemed to glow as the white stone under the water reflected the light. I wondered what it would look like if it had a scattering of magelights that activated at dusk . . .
“My lord, I have enjoyed the acquaintance of Lady Lenodara since before she was ennobled,” he reminded me. “Indeed, I have developed a growing affection toward her, and feel that it is – in part – returned. Perhaps you have noted this?” he asked, suddenly sounding like an insecure teenaged boy, not the soldier I entrusted with the management of my castle.
“I have noticed her friendship with you,” I nodded. “I’ve seen you dance together.”
“Then you understand how the affection I bear has blossomed into love,” he professed. “I am at an age where any man of station and rank would consider taking a wife and starting a family, and I find myself considering Lady Lenodara more and more suited to that end.” It was hardly an ode to Ishi, but the boy was trying.
“Do you, now?” I asked.
“Indeed,” he said, with growing confidence. “In fact, the purpose of my visit home was to propose the idea to my sire and dame, and they both favored it. They have developed their own aff
ection for her, and see it as a means of further binding the alliance between Hosly and Sevendor through matrimony.”
“That’s well considered,” I offered, still watching the water. And the ducks. We had ducks, now?
“I intend now to put the question to her father. If he is agreeable, I would like to ask for her hand.”
“Have you discussed this with Dara, yet?” I inquired.
“Nay – not explicitly,” Festaran admitted. “Hence my approaching her master. She is yet your apprentice, as well as your vassal. She cannot enter into any agreement without your permission.”
“Perhaps you should discuss it with Dara, before you ask everyone else,” I suggested. “Unless you think she would object . . .”
He looked troubled. “I do not think she would . . . yet I am unsure. She seems distraught, since the Holy Visitation. Since . . . since Gareth left.”
“You think her heart is confused by that?”
“I don’t know!” he complained, almost whining. “Since Frightful nested, she’s been moody as Trygg’s moon. She says one thing, yet does another. Then Gareth . . . he professed his love and she insisted on his friendship. When he would not accept the one without the other and left . . . she stopped talking.”
“I’ve heard her talk,” I pointed out.
“She’s stopped talking to me!” he corrected. “About anything of consequence. As if I bear some part in his departure. And since she’s returned from Olum Seheri she’s been positively morbid,” he complained.
“She lost men under her command,” I reminded him. “And birds she’s raised from the egg. Give her an opportunity to grieve, before you suggest she change her life around,” I suggested, gently.
“I yield to your counsel, Excellency,” he sighed. “That is wisdom. Yet I must ask if the thought of such a union is pleasing to you,” he continued, quietly.
“If it is mutually agreeable, nothing would make me happier than to see you wed – in theory. But she is still a maiden, and one with great responsibilities. While I appreciate your enthusiasm, I caution your approach. Give her time. And invest in yourself.”
Necromancer: Book Ten Of The Spellmonger Series Page 80