Thaumaturge

by Terry Mancour

“I gave him three weeks leave myself to tarry in Enultramar,” I acknowledged. “Unless another Nemovort pops up. Then he cuts his honeymoon short.”

  “Good plan!” Carmella agreed, her eyes wide.

  I paused a moment. “Have you two considered . . . making your partnership more . . . sustainable?” I asked, as diplomatically as I could.

  The question took Carmella aback. “What, me? Get married?” she snorted.

  “To me?” Rumel asked, just as confounded by the question. “Min, you realize we’re two different races? Two different species? Just how much you been drinking?” the Wood Dwarf asked, suspiciously.

  “I see two kindred souls,” I shrugged. “What more is needed? If the Androsines can pledge their lives to each other in perpetuity, why should you be denied that pleasure? I purposefully had Brother Bryte ensure that the statute permitted such . . . unusual pairings,” I pointed out. “They’ve already occurred in Sevendor. Just in case you’re interested.”

  “Why would this little bundle of muscle and good sense want to marry me?” Carmella scoffed. “I’m as ugly as a castaway boot!”

  “And why would this pasty, hairless little waif consider a nasty piece of gristle like me?” Rumel asked, just as skeptically.

  “The answer to both questions should prove instructive, if not inspirational,” I suggested. “Drink more, and consider them. Yule is the time for such meditations. I’m a wizard. I know these things,” I told them, solemnly. Yes, I was a bit drunk, myself.

  “A union?” snorted Rumel. “Min, I know you are wise . . . but she could do so much better than me!”

  “Why would he want a second rate humani wife when he could take his pick of the Malkas maidens? Rumel is considered one of the most desirable Malkas in Vanador! He could have horny young dwarven maids lined up for weeks, if he was of a mind!”

  “Malkas girls are foolish,” Rumel dismissed. “They don’t have your intellect and vision,” he assured.

  “Do you really think so?” Carmella asked, drunkenly, and genuinely curious. “They’re far sturdier than I,” she pointed out. “They can take . . . take a lot,” she stuttered, nervously.

  “Oh, I’m a gentle soul,” Rumel assured. “Sturdiness isn’t a factor. Endurance, perhaps . . .“ he said, trailing off. Despite his seriousness, I could tell he had drank as much as Carmella. “But you realize how much that would piss off Guri? And the rest of the bloody stoneheads?” he cackled.

  “Serve them right, for ignoring talent like yours,” Carmella said, earnestly. “Really, Rumel, they wasted your vision damnably! The Karshak have no higher purpose than keeping the Malkas down! I mean, they’re keen builders, but—”

  “Lass, lass, don’t go borrowing trouble,” he warned, shaking his great shaggy head. “They’re pissed enough we’re making an honest living, without payin’ lodge dues; more trouble and the Karshak would be apt to spit! Guri’s fussing about things already. If we were suddenly to wed, that would make the old dustybeard collapse in a heap,” he assured.

  “That’s just what we should do, then!” Carmella said, with sudden viciousness. “Oh, the ignominy . . . if you could stand it . . .”

  “Don’t threaten me with a good time!” chuckled the Malkas Alon master, naughtily.

  “I do hope this will be the final celebration, for the evening?” I asked, glancing at Rumel. The Wood Dwarf seemed to be enjoying his partner’s drunken ranting . . . and considering how understated and controlled Carmella usually was, the novelty was appealing.

  “Aye, Minalan, Rael’s feast is our final fete of the night,” he told me, urging Carmella along. “Then I’ll pour my lady in bed and let her sleep until the noon bells toll. She deserves it,” he said, looking at her with open admiration. “She really did move the mountains around to protect Vanador. And a goodly portion of my folk,” he added, as we approached the Mercantile Hall.

  “And mine,” I reminded him. “I find myself satisfied with Spellgate. Gaja Katar did not even make it to our door. That is worthy of celebration. And a Yule hangover,” I chuckled.

  Rael’s celebration was among the most memorable of that particular holiday. She had performed tirelessly, providing all that her many clients – most of my nobility – had requested. The Mercantile staff had kept Vanador fed and clothed and shod, provisioned and supplied with our every need, during the siege and before.

  Master Andalnam’s oldest daughter looked tired, after contending with the demands of the war. Just nineteen years old, Rael had left the comfort of a stable and lucrative position under her father’s purview and struck out on her own, here in Vanador.

  But she reveled in the responsibility, I noted. Whereas her sire was one of the most staid of Sevendor’s enchanters, Rael the Enchantress had emigrated to Vanador and eagerly embraced the freedom my realm had provided in abundance. In the process, the rebellious young wizard had become a carefree social fixture in the City of Magic.

  While she was an adept businesswoman, she also enjoyed the wild nature of the town to its fullest. And due to her position as a procurer of all manner of items, from commodities to luxuries, she had a relationship with every major wizard and a great deal of the commonfolk in Vanador. Her Yule party was, therefore, eagerly anticipated by all.

  The ramshackle Mercantile Hall was reflective of her rebellious streak. Far from either a proper enchanter’s shop or a general merchandise market, the Mercantile Hall featured a variety of amazing and intriguing features designed to inspire conversation. Rael had a fetish for oddities and rare items, and she’d displayed her entire collection down the length of the long, low hall for the Yule party.

  In between bizarre specimens of unusual natavia flora and fauna from across the Wilderlands, artefacts from Enultramar and specialty enchantments from Sevendor, her staff had erected trestle tables so laden with food or drink that I wondered if she’d strengthened them with magic.

  The entertainment was similarly varied. At one end of the hall was a band of the best local minstrels she could find, playing festive tunes in the background. At the other end a hired piper from Enultramar blasted his sea pipes so loudly it could be heard over the band though I was standing right next to them. Magi hired from the Sevendor Enchanter’s Guild performed arcane entertainments of all sorts. They weren’t powerful spells, but they were sophisticated, innovative, and, in some cases, breathtaking.

  Among them mingled the most important magi in the kingdom, with a few exceptions. Several Sevendori magi had persuaded their powerful fellows to bring them through the Ways for the party. And even Pentandra and Arborn made it to the fete, arriving late in the evening after the official palace celebration at Falas.

  If the magnificent city outside of the hall had captivated my attention, these folk deserved at least as much of my consideration, this evening. Each of them had contributed in some way, even if it was merely their enthusiasm for the project. Vanador had become a refuge for wizards at the edge of the kingdom, as it was designed to be. Before me was the beginning of a singular culture of magi, I realized. Even in Sevendor we hadn’t been so free to chart our own destiny – not merely as a profession or class, but as a sort of people.

  I wished Alya was there to see it, but she had volunteered to put the children to bed and prepare the household for the hectic Yule morning to come. I made do with poaching the Baroness of Sevendor from the Baron of Lotanz and stealing away with her to an alcove that had, until recently, been filled with smoked sausages.

  “You know, I just won another war,” I said, in mock seductive tones. Pentandra giggled and rolled her eyes.

  “As if you haven’t done that before,” she dismissed. “Really, Min, you supervised winning a war. I’ve been keeping track.”

  “Well, it wasn’t the biggest war, or the worst enemy, so there’s that,” I conceded. “I almost wished you were here for it. It was visually impressive. And decisive,” I added.

  “Arborn says you have at least one, perhaps two more Nemovorti to fight,” Penn
y countered. “It sounds as if you were just tuning up, with this one. I wish Anguin could have sent more help, but he really has had his hands full. Since the attack at his wedding the upper nobility have been demanding that he does something about the undead situation.”

  “And has he?” I asked, curious.

  “He’s stationed troops near the frontiers of County Caramas, where they are the most worrisome. But it’s the infiltrators that are the biggest problem, not the lurching hordes of walking corpses. Since midsummer we’ve had several almost human-looking Nemovorti sneak into Enultramar’s larger cities. And stealing more magi,” she said, troubled. “We’ve been lucky, but they’re still targeting them specifically. Hundreds, perhaps. Like that poor girl Sandoval married, Ardra,” she reminded me. “They walk home from their shops or head out to a client call . . . and never return.”

  “Until they show up here with scars, tattoos, and some very old-fashioned values about us humani riff-raff,” I agreed. “How are you protecting them?”

  “Education, mostly. But Gatina and Her Grace have been working to hunt the hunters. With some success. In the last month we’ve cornered two of them in their lairs and managed to drive them away.”

  “Not kill them? That seems short-sighted of you.”

  “We’d love to kill them, if they would stay dead. But they’re getting better, Min,” she warned. “They’re learning more about us with every passing month. They’re discovering our weaknesses and learning how to exploit them. Anguin sees the Nemovorti as a priority, but there’s only so much he can do.”

  “Has he considered marching troops into Caramas and cleaning it out?”

  “It’s come up,” Pentandra sighed, dryly. “Count Salgo even led four companies into the port cities to try to root them out. They fade into the woodwork, or go underground – literally, in one case. Then they strike our men when their backs are turned or they get separated from their units. Nasty business,” she said, shaking her head. “Salgo pulled out after three weeks of occupation because he’d lost more men to slit throats or draugen ambush than in pitched battle.”

  “I remember that sort of duty in Farise,” I agreed, glumly. “It’s tough on morale.”

  “Funny that you should mention Farise,” Pentandra said, setting her cup down. “I actually have a message, of sorts, from Anguin about that subject. Unofficially.”

  My ears perked up at that. “Why unofficially?”

  “Because it’s well-known that Prince Tavard is scheming to re-take Farise after he lost it, and he’ll do so in the name of Castal. And Duke Anguin knows you’re already in the chamberpot with him, so he doesn’t want to add to your jeopardy, politically speaking.”

  “I’m already in exile,” I shrugged. “Unless he wants to execute me, he’s out of arrows in his quiver.”

  “Agreed. But you still have vulnerabilities that can be exploited to ensure your good and loyal behavior,” she reminded me. “Anguin would appreciate your consideration of how we can regain Farise and put down the Censors before Tavard does. They’re recruiting more of their fellows, now that they have a base of operations. And they’re giving away a limited amount of irionite in exchange for that loyalty.”

  “It’s troubling,” I agreed. “But I don’t happen to have a navy.”

  “We do have access, however,” Penny reminded me. “Right now the Censors are still getting their feet under them and trying to occupy Farise. Anguin wants you to quietly study the matter, perhaps take a trip through the Ways in disguise, and do some investigation. He seems to think that magic has a way to ensure a victory his navy can’t possibly accomplish.”

  “He places a lot of store in magic,” I said, shaking my head. “That’s dangerous.”

  “He places a lot of store in us,” she corrected. “And I think you should do it. Not right now,” she said, before I could object. “But soon. Just a quiet look around, perhaps in disguise. Not that anyone would think to look for the Spellmonger in Farise, but . . .”

  I sighed. “I’ll see what I can do. My bowl is pretty full, but Anguin is my liege,” I reasoned.

  “Whatever insights you can provide will be greatly appreciated,” she nodded. “And Anguin has a reputation for generosity about such things.”

  “No more lands!” I insisted. “I do appreciate his generosity in granting me the Magelaw, but no more. It’s too much work, running a province. I never wanted to be the Archmage.”

  “There are other ways to reward a good and loyal vassal,” she soothed. “And don’t be so skittish about titles, it’s tacky. But I’m glad you’re content with your holdings. The stories I’ve heard about you swinging your wand around in Gilmora made me think that you were considering invading.”

  “No, no, quite the contrary,” I chuckled. “Just one of my little schemes.”

  She looked startled. “You have a scheme about which I am unaware?”

  “Many, I hope. Nothing that should concern you, though, just a little politics.”

  “Politics always concerns me, especially about the Magelaw,” she said, with more seriousness than I would have imagined. “I don’t think you properly appreciate what we’ve built here, Min.”

  “The singing mushrooms are nice,” I agreed.

  “When I came here for the first time chasing after Alurra, the place was wide open, absolutely beautiful, and nearly empty. Now . . . now Vanador will soon outshine Vorone in the north,” she predicted. “Its remote location and precarious circumstances will transform these people into magnificent warrior-magi. Even the Alka Alon will have to admire it, some day.”

  “Not if we don’t solve the snowstone spell problem,” I reminded her with a grumble. “It’s been a year, and we’ve only got a vague idea of the thaumaturgical theory to show for it.” That problem was bothering me more and more, especially with the Seamage still in town and our deal unresolved. “This Spring – assuming we aren’t conquered by the next Nemovort – we must develop at least a working idea of how to perform the spell. I managed to get a three year extension on the Vundel’s forbearance, but it’s costing me another mountain. I’d like to have an answer before they take a third . . . or just cart off the rest of Sevendor in a sack.”

  “It will work out,” she promised. “You will discover the spell. But it might take a few field trips to do so. Say, to Farise . . .”

  “There are actually good reasons why a trip to Farise would be wise,” I conceded. “There are temples there with records that go back to the original settlement. There might be some clues, there . . . but only if we know which questions to ask.” I heaved a sigh in frustration. “You’re the only one I’d ever tell this to, but . . . I’m starting to get worried about finding the answer. Dunselen’s work was helpful, and we’ve made some interesting conclusions from it, but we’re really no closer.”

  “What about Lilastien?” Penny asked. “We really haven’t explored the Alka Alon’s take on it.”

  “Well, I’ve had Onranion go through it with me, and that was somewhat helpful, but thaumaturgy is really outside of Lilastien’s field. Perhaps Lady Varen can give us some insight,” I mused. “As for the rest of the Council, I think that they think that I did it completely by accident and have no idea how it happened.”

  “Largely because you did it completely by accident and have no idea how it happened,” she quipped. “You can see their point. And I can see the limits of Imperial magic attempting to describe the spell, much less activate it. We don’t even have a working vocabular for discussing divine magic. That’s Theurgy, and no one wants to do that. I wouldn’t even know where to find a theurge.”

  “Well, we’ll need a theurge, I’m guessing, to get us all the way through this spell, since it involves divine magic. The gods, while powerful, are not particularly self-aware. At least the ones I’ve met. Briga and Herus have the best perspective on their own powers, but they’ve mostly picked up second-hand through gossip and . . . innate knowledge, perhaps?” I ventured.

&nbs
p; “More like an astute guess, I’d say,” Pentandra countered. “My brief conversations with Trygg and Ishi gave me a feeling that the gods might have more insight once they have more enduring experiences. And none of the lot we’ve made persistent really have magic – thaumaturgic or theurgic – as their specialty. I thought Herus was going to try to raise Avital?” she recalled.

  “The attempt failed, he said. He’s hopeful he can try again soon, though.”

  “I have a feeling that might involve you,” she grinned. “He likes you.”

  “He likes me to keep moving, it seems.”

  “I think you can count on that. He must be possessing my girls,” she added, with a smirk. “All three have learned how to run, now. And fall. I’ll bring them for a visit, when it warms up,” she pledged. “They’re adorable, when they aren’t awful.”

  From there we were distracted by exchanging stories about our children, which was fun . . . until we both realized, about the same time, that there was a drunken Yule party happening around us.

  “You know, I think we’re old,” Pentandra observed, as I helped her to her feet. “It’s not yet midnight and all I can think about is going to bed.”

  “It’s not your age, it’s being a parent,” I corrected. “Sleep is more important than sex, now. And a party, however good, is always going to stand in the way of both.”

  She paused, started to say something . . . and then yawned.

  “I hate how ‘mature wisdom’ is really just being too tired,” she sighed.

  “Once again, Yule brings us the boon of insight,” I chuckled.

  And then I yawned, too.

  “The truly fascinating portions of the law in the mind of most lexits is not the grand, sweeping ordinances that guide and regulate our behavior as subjects of a sovereign. To a Lawbrother, the truly intriguing portions usually lie in the customary laws of the manor, or of entire regions, that have evolved in their own peculiar ways to meet the specific needs of the people. When one sees the customary laws of each duchy and barony laid next to each other, beyond common statute the true culture of a people is displayed.”