“The lack of opposition brings its own troubles,” the monk pointed out. “Still, it is a fascinating prospect,” he admitted, licking his thin lips. “An empty land, barren of law and order, with but a few magelords and a bounty of poverty-stricken peasants to contend with. Facing an enemy too dire to contemplate, with no real support from outside. Duke Anguin will be unlikely to assist in his internal exile.” Apparently, the news had not yet reached Brother Bryte about the Restoration currently occurring in the South.
“That’s not entirely true,” I sighed. “I have the friendship and support of Duke Anguin of Alshar. But he is a little preoccupied, at the moment. The Four Counts Rebellion unexpectedly collapsed, and His Grace has re-taken power in Enultramar,” I informed him. The startled look in his eyes confirmed that he was unaware of the development.
“Duke Anguin no longer sits in Vorone?” he asked, confused. “I was under the impression that the Orphan Duke was attempting to re-establish a power base there!” he said, dismayed. “I was going to ask him for a job,” he added, a little guiltily.
“You’re an Alshari?” Dad asked, surprised. “Your accent would suggest you’re Riverborn,” he suggested.
“Aye, before I was Brother Bryte the Wiser, I was once Bryte of Hunter’s Wood, the barony of Callot, in the upper Riverlands. My father was a well-regarded man-at-arms for the baron. A most canny commander, for a mere commoner, according to his reputation and acclaim. He was not pleased that I took up the scroll and not the sword, as he did,” he added. His tone suggested that there was considerable conflict involved with that decision.
“Aye, it breaks a father’s heart when his son discards the carefully-laid plans he’s made for his future,” Dad agreed, wryly.
“Dad, I’m a Count Palatine of a region larger than your county, answerable only to Duke and King! I’m the head of the Arcane Orders, a knight mage, and acknowledged master in my field! I’m accounted one of the greatest thaumaturges of all history! Not to mention being rich beyond the dreams of mortal men,” I added, which made Brother Bryte perk up.
“But you could have been a hell of a baker, you have to admit,” my father countered, dismissively. “You had real promise in that, promise I was ready to fuel. In just another year, I could have taken you to apprentice, and then set you up over in Hoxly Village, under Old Samfar, as a journeyman. He died two years later with no heirs and no recent journeymen. You could have had that entire bakery before you were nineteen,” he said, regretfully.
“And that’s . . . better than being the Spellmonger? A noble? A baron? And a Count?” I asked, shocked.
“It’s honest work,” he grunted. “Not the kind that sees you fleeing your home in the middle of winter because you pissed off a duke.”
“So all of my accomplishments mean nothing to you?” I asked, in a teasing manner.
Dad sighed, shaking his head. “Of course they do, Son, and I’m proud of you. Always been proud of you. Always will be,” he added. “You’ve done great and mighty things. More importantly, you’ve made a family, which makes my family larger. Your wealth and power are impressive, but it’s your character I’m most concerned with. As for that, I’m satisfied.
“But when a man has a son and a life’s work, it’s something he wants to share, to pass along,” he sighed, wistfully. “My girls – gods love and protect each one! – they are my joy, but you are my pride. I wanted to leave my legacy to you, and work beside you until I could be satisfied you had mastered the trade and even bettered me in it. That was my dream,” he emphasized. “That doesn’t mean I’m unsatisfied with the result.”
“So you’re proud of me, even though I’m rich, famous, and of high position?”
“Of course I am. But a man dreams his son will live a rich, happy, and secure life. Secure in a stable trade. Not killing, not ruling, but working, and earning the respect of his fellow men. I’ve oft thought it would be better if you quit all this magelord nonsense and went back to being a regular spellmonger. Alas, that cake is burnt,” he sighed.
“To ashes,” I agreed, heavily. While I understood the simple reasoning and sincerity of his explanation, it didn’t make me feel much better. No one likes to disappoint their father.
“But that’s water downstream,” he sighed. “I once wanted your sister to – never mind. No need to tell tales you won’t want to hear. We’ve all had eventful lives, in one way or another. Yours has just been more dramatic, in some ways. All turns out right in the end, I suppose,” he concluded, philosophically.
“In my case, I saw the future my father envisioned for me as tedious, dangerous, and . . . sweaty,” Bryte said, distastefully. “Two summers drilling with the levies in preparation for service convinced me that literacy was a better skill to develop than swordplay. My father was disappointed when I announced I was taking holy orders, but also, I think, a little relieved. I was never going to be a decent soldier, and I think we both knew it. I certainly did.
“But let us return to this news of the Orphan Duke – he is returned to Falas?” he asked, dismayed. “There is no court in Vorone?”
“Vorone remains the Summer Capital, but the Magelaw and the Wilderlaw, two Counties Palatine, now lay astride it. I command the north, Count Marcadine commands the south. Anguin has returned to Falas with the bulk of his court, leaving a Steward to rule Vorone in his place. But as many of his current court are loyalists cultivated from the Wilderlands last year, I can assure you that His Grace will return to the summer capital frequently. Especially now that he has powerful magelords in his cabinet. Likely after his upcoming wedding to Rardine of Castal.”
“That is . . . a lot of news,” Brother Bryte admitted, as his dark eyes revealed a mind furiously at work. “To answer your earlier question, Goodman, I was seeking Anguin’s court at Vorone because such daring political moves can provide opportunities for employment,” he admitted. “Indeed, such marginal states oft provide an excellent chance to practice the kind of law I enjoy. Arguing petty crime or banal commodities contract disputes is . . . well, it’s just simply boring!” he spat.
“Having sat baronial court, I cannot disagree.”
“Oh, with respect, Your Excellency, you had the easy part of the proceedings. Most of the legal work is done out of a proper court. But rarely do you get a case that isn’t as numbing to the senses as a pint of spirits . . . and far less wholesome. I was looking forward to at least a bit of intrigue, either working for the court or in opposition—”
“You would oppose the court at Vorone?” I asked, surprised.
“Legal opposition,” he clarified. “For where there is a strong court, there is the need for strong advocacy for those caught up within it.” That earned a snort from my father.
“That figures,” he chuckled. “Reminds me of the story of the poor lawbrother who came to a prosperous village and near starved for a year . . . until another lawbrother showed up. By the next Yule they were both rich men, though the village wasn’t nearly as prosperous before.”
“Yes, an old and tired cliché regarding my profession,” Bryte agreed, his nostrils flaring. “But therein lies a kernel of truth. Negotiated conflict requires relatively equal advocacy on both sides of the scales, or corruption results. No doubt that mythical village was prosperous, but rigidly corrupt.”
“Aren’t they all?” Dad asked, rhetorically. “Seems like most goodmen would prefer to hash out their differences honestly, between themselves, without paying a bunch of lawbrothers to do it for them.”
“That is the preferred method, but when something goes awry ‘tis better to have recourse to courts than the sword, would you not say, Goodman? But we digress. I am still trying to understand the current situation in the WIlderlands, as how it affects my own. And yours, to find out. May I ask what plans you have for your new lands?”
“Work like hell to build a civilization more or less from scratch,” I admitted. “I’ve called in a bunch of my friends and comrades to help. I’ve got a lot of magi
c to throw at the situation. And some coin. Beyond that . . . well, despite my commitment to planning for the future, I am making it up as I go along.”
“As we do,” Bryte agreed. “Have you selected an official seat, yet? Or are you planning to work from Vorone?”
“My official seat will be at Vanador,” I informed him. “And no, you’ve never heard of it. We’re building it from scratch, too. On a site in the eastern highlands, on a plateau at the base of the Kulines.”
“So you’re trying to simultaneously build a city, a county, and a thousand villages,” he said, shaking his head in wonder. “You must be very confident in your magic.”
“I’m very confident, in general,” I countered. “That doesn’t mean that things don’t go horribly wrong with frequency. My lands in the east were attacked by a dragon just months ago, for example. That’s hard to plan for. But I can supply and fund the enterprise for a while, and I believe I have the raw materials to begin the effort. Indeed, it has already begun. My primary duty will be to keep the goblins out of the way while it gets done.”
“An admirable pursuit. But have you considered the legal and political form your new charge will take?” he challenged.
“I’ve invited the clergy to Vanador,” I nodded. “They will get that sorted out.”
“They . . . well, of course they will . . . eventually,” the monk said, with a sour face. “But without any kind of sovereign guidance on the matter, they will be doing so in a haphazard manner. Not the best way to make law,” he added.
“We have the Laws of Luin to guide us,” I pointed out, a little annoyed. That much should be obvious.
“They are adequate as a start,” he agreed, “but they are only the foundation of our great legal tradition. Every region develops its own body of laws and regulations suited to local conditions, each in need of application and interpretation. Every country is different, in regard to how the law plays out. What precedents are acknowledged and used as guidance are dependent upon that law. It is often whispered in my circles that adequate foresight in a law’s inception is a damn sight better than a poorly-managed and frequently-mis-applied precedent.”
“You seem to be asking for a job,” I suggested.
“I am merely investigating an opportunity,” he insisted, proudly. “You have a whole country without such laws. Precedents involving the Wilderlords will mean little in a land with few of them in it.
“But have you considered what kind of advantages you could bring to the quick and wholesome development of your country with the clever establishment of law suited to your country? And not to the Wilderlaw, or the Riverlands, or Gilmora or elsewhere?”
“Won’t that come in time?”
“How much time do you want to waste? And money?” he countered. “Really, Minalan, I assure you that establishing a lot of thoughtful law early on will not only reduce the kind of headaches you had as a baron sitting court, it can actually make your realm more prosperous.”
“You have an example?”
“Hundreds,” he assured me. “It’s a bit of a hobby of mine. You say you have naught but peasants and wizards with which to make a nation? Then do not penalize your peasantry for the aggrandizement of your wizards,” he suggested. “Craft laws designed to encourage a prosperous agriculture, and fair access to the marketplace for all. Sand away at the hoary laws of inheritance that keep so many in poverty. Establish good, common-sense laws that do away with feudal privilege and legal theft, so that your people know the ground upon which they walk.
“Most lords attempt to obfuscate their ambitions behind a miserable fog of regulation. Make yours clear, clean, and easy to interpret. Then merchants will flock to you, peasants will be able to prosper in peace, without fear of losing their holding over some obscure text, and tradesmen can practice confident in knowing their claims will be supported by a fair and equitable judiciary,” he concluded, triumphantly.
“My primary duty is to security,” I reminded him. “Civil administration is left to the Baroness of Vanador, Pentandra. Current Court Wizard to Anguin. Or her steward, Gareth, I suppose. But he used to work for me, too.”
“The security of a state lies ultimately on the prosperity and loyalty of its subjects,” Brother Bryte agreed, thoughtfully. “Without the chivalry and nobility to compel them, getting them to fight in their own defense might be difficult without good laws. It would certainly help encourage the effort.”
“So how would you contrive my son’s realm, Brother?” my father asked . . . inviting Bryte to launch into a three-hour long lecture on the best-possible body of law that would see my fallow realm flower . . . in theory.
I’ll give the monk credit: he sketched a society where each class and occupation knew where it stood under the law, where bondsmen were discouraged or prohibited, where the focus of the law would not be to enforce feudal privilege, but the ability of each man to work toward his ambitions freely.
I won’t go into the detail of that speech. It was fascinating, listening to a man who had clearly fantasized about such a thing his entire life, being given the opportunity to present his plans to a man who could actually see them come to fruition.
But there was much in Brother Bryte’s proposals that went hard against the old feudal order. We argued for an hour over the needs of the military in the Magelaw – particularly as it was in a state of perpetual war in the Penumbra. But once Bryte recognized my focus was not the elevation of the chivalry, but the protection of the realm, he compromised. He was surprisingly willing to do so, when presented with compelling arguments.
“You two are jabbering like a couple of young girls,” Dad complained, when we stopped to water the horses and pee. “I thought you were bad, but that monk could talk a starving dog off of a wagon full of meat.”
“I think I know why we encountered him, now,” I offered, apologetically. “I have a lot better idea of how screwed I am with Vanador, now.”
“You needed divine help to see that?” Dad chuckled. “I could have told you that before we left Sevendor.”
“He’s just the kind of young firebrand I can use to start off Vanador properly,” I decided. “He’s enthusiastic, well-read, visionary . . . we’ll be doing new things, in the Magelaw. We’ll need a fresh approach.”
“Check with the temple, when we get to Vorone,” Dad suggested. “See if he’s in any kind of trouble.”
“You think he might be?” I asked, surprised.
“I think any lawbrother you meet who’s wearing a noose, you need to be cautious of,” he said, after a moment’s consideration.
It was a fair point.
We stopped in Vorone for a day for no other reason than we were sick of being on the road all the time, and wanted a break. After Barrowbell, Vorone seemed small and quaint, rustic and unsophisticated. That seemed to suit my father just fine. The Summer Capital offered great diversion for Dad, who had seen but a few large towns, and for Lawbrother Bryte because it allowed him a chance to register with the local Temple of Luin and present his credentials.
I spent a good part of that day inspecting the area damaged by last year’s dragon attack, and the rebuilding effort as part of my survey of the recovery. Most of the palace debris had long been carted away or stuffed in a hoxter. I noted some of the stonework had been salvaged to ring a memorial garden that lead to the new complex: Anguin’s Castle Vorone. Designed by Carmella and built partially with Malkas Alon craftsmen, the visible symbol of the Orphan Duke’s authority in the north continued to be constructed, though Anguin himself had returned to Enultramar.
I noted with approval how subtle Carmella’s design was as I walked around the outside of the massive structure. The keep was forty feet tall at the battlements, and had towers that stretched to over sixty . . . so far. Raised on a motte of magically compacted earth, the castle loomed over the rest of Vorone like a protective falcon, preening in the glory of Anguin’s rule. It could be seen from every point in the city, I noted, and though the uppermos
t spires were still climbing behind a curtain of scaffolding, it seemed impossibly tall and lofty already.
I examined the place more closely with the help of Insight, my thaumaturgical baculus. Every powerful wizard has a collection of wands, staves and rods to assist his professional life, and Insight was among my most powerful tools for this sort of thing. Within a few moments of directing its attention at the castle, I realized what Carmella had done . . . and I had to chuckle.
Castle Vorone was imposing, it was true . . . but Carmella had used dozens of optical illusions to amplify the impressive visual effect of the keep without compromising its function in the limited space it occupied.
It was delightfully subtle work. The massive bricks used at the base of the walls and towers, and those of the great keep, were oversized, compared to usual foundation stones in castle walls. They lent the impression of great, impenetrable mass to the viewer, a tangible symbol of Anguin’s power. But as your eye traveled upward to encompass the height of the structure, it was fooled by the use of increasingly smaller bricks that your mind did not realize were dissimilar to the large stones at eye level. That gave the castle a far more formidable appearance than could be accounted for by its actual height.
Further, Insight revealed to me that many of the structures on the upper floors and towers of the place boasted additional features among the machiolations and turrets that weren’t particularly functional for defense . . . indeed, they appeared to be purely ornamental. There were turrets, windows, and balconies that had no purpose other than to provide distraction. But in aggregate the mind saw a complex and active defense, with strong lines and intricate purposes. Though much of the fortress was designed as one of the more advanced castles of the Wilderlands’ plain style, some elements from Enultramar and even Gilmora had been included in the topmost portions of the castle – that is, the areas everyone could see.
Carmella had finished the top chambers with a cunning mixture of wood and stone, and favored both the broad windows of the South and the use of Gilmoran-style decorative columns in intriguing patterns. Where chambers were being covered, I saw that the high-peaked rooves were being shingled in a dark green slate tile . . . once again using overlarge pieces at the bottom and much smaller tiles at the top to give it more impact. Dozens of small turrets, with more traditional Wilderlands’ style wood-shuttered windows, each sported a miniature balcony that implied a minister hard at work within. Upon close inspection with Insight I saw that more than half of the “balconies” and “windows” were mere decoration.
The Road To Vanador Page 13