The Road To Vanador

by Terry Mancour

  The visual tricks made the complex design imply that the upper rooms of the palace were where great and weighty decisions were being made. I was so impressed by that that I hunted down a junior assistant castellan – the seniormost officer on site, on market day – and quietly pulled rank on the startled man to demand a tour.

  Castle Vorone was known in the mercenary’s trade as a full drum keep. The central donjon was a massive oval, though your eye wanted to think it was circular. It was three stories tall from the main gateway, but the way the windows were set it appeared to have five levels of windows before the main roof. Around the perimeter of the “drum” were six wide towers that looked impressive, but whose machiloations and thick buttresses were only marginally functional.

  Above the keep was where things got complicated. A great hall was built at one end of the roof, nestled amidst the surrounding towers with its back to a thick watchtower that pierced the sky like Donrard’s Spire, in Castabriel. But a host of smaller chambers was clustered around the bottom and sides of the penthouse, while the other side of the keep’s roof sprouted no less than five main towers and plenty of turrets, as well as a complex series of catwalks and arches that convinced your heart that Something Important had to be going on up there, even if your mind knew better.

  Up close, the effects were even more intricate. Carmella had hired Rumel’s folk to build the place, and their penchant for grotesque decoration and complex geometric designs was barely constrained by human artistic sensibilities.

  The result was a bold series of “woodland spirits”, goblins, forest nymphs and effigies of Wilderlords, gods, goddesses, and various Alon woodland species engaging in a continuous dance around the walls of the castle. Each turret seemed to contain a menagerie of curious creatures and fascinating abstract design that enchanted the eye without recourse to the arcane. In deference to local politics, the Antlers and Anchor device was used frequently in the carvings, though the Antlers, alone, seemed to enjoy a prominent place as well.

  Carmella had wasted no space or opportunity to boast, architecturally-speaking, in constructing the outer walls. Though strong and impressive-looking, they were in fact far less thick than ordinary castle walls. Insight revealed that they were only six feet thick on the outside – less than half the usual fifteen-foot thick military standard. But Carmella had made liberal use of magic to strengthen and reinforce the walls so that the additional space could be used for better purpose.

  Indeed, the interior was ringed by chambers far larger than the masonry would suggest; but instead of stables, smiths, storerooms and barracks, the buildings contained the various ministries of government, separated by department. Those were still being finished off, though the lower floors were already in use. But unless you knew the trick, you would conclude that this castle was bristling with soldiers and knights, not clerks and courtiers.

  Betwixt the walls and the keep were numerous gardens and permanent pavilions planned for court functions, ceremonies, and luncheons. The eastern side of the compound boasted six small but distinctive chapels to Orvatas, Trygg, Huin, Luin, Duin, and Ishi, while a central circular wooden pavilion to the district included shrines to dozens of other divinities.

  Another precinct within the walls was made specifically for the delight of the palace children, surrounded by a thick berm and hedge and containing simple amusements and even more outrageous effigies for them to enjoy. Amid the wonders and splendors of the yard was a miniature model of the castle above them, complete in every detail down to the golden antlers on the summits of the topmost tower. It was enchanted with tiny magelights that mirrored the larger.

  Nearby was a wooden statue of a comical-looking dragon, seemingly fearful of the glorious castle. A wooden Wilderlord on a wooden horse on the other side of the model gave some additional reason for the dragon to cower. Both works were clearly of Wood Dwarf design and construction, and were durable enough for children to crawl upon them. I knew my kids would be delighted by a garden meant for the whimsy of children.

  Directly before the palace’s forbidding entranceway, behind a triple-arched door that appeared larger than it was, a Grand Pavilion was being built that could shelter thousands for public events. Around the western side of the keep was an elaborate garden with dozens of tiny pavilions suitable for discussion, conferences, or liaisons, depending upon the needs of the courtier. The space was cunningly designed so that even though the decorative shelters were close together, the way that garden walls and garden plots were designed one felt as if you were secluded and alone.

  Scattered between the pavilions and gardens were a number of beautiful ponds that no doubt doubled as cisterns in times of emergencies. The gatehouse of the castle was far more useful, militarily, than the rest of the structure. Containing the barracks for the Palace Guard and the residence for the Lord Steward and his men, the two massive square towers that loomed over the gardens and public square below provided a sense of protection and a promise of ducal authority, doled out by mailed knights, if necessary. It was a far more reassuring edifice than the old palace had been.

  Carmella had chosen to leave the supporting buttresses (which didn’t seem particularly necessary, to my eye) unfaced stone, and had finished the exterior walls with a deep brown ochre that gave the impression of treebark. The upper stories were more lightly colored. And at dusk an eruption of pre-cast magelights lit up the spires and chambers brilliantly.

  Militarily, it was only marginally better than the original palace had been. But as a statement of political power and sovereign authority, it was ideal. This was the castle of a Duke who fancied himself a Wilderlord. A Wilderlord with an excellent Court Wizard.

  I was intrigued to discover during our brief stay that the folk of Vorone were continuing to prosper, even in the absence of the Duke in the palace. In fact, there seemed to be a more relaxed atmosphere at the upscale inn near the new castle we dined at, that night, than I recalled from my last visit. There were the usual mixture of courtiers and mid-level bureaucrats who haunted such places, as well as senior artisans, merchants, and a few burghers. I wondered if Ishi’s influence lingered, still.

  But while the serving girls were attractive, they had no suggestion that they were anything but seductive. Friendly, even flirty, but not possessed of the wide-spread divine glamour that Ishi, in the guise of Lady Pleasure, had imposed upon the town. Ishi had kept her promise, I confirmed. She had turned her divine attention to other areas which needed it.

  Dad was delighted by the novelty of the place, which was far more richly and entertainingly ornamented than Barrowbell had been. I had to explain that Vorone was not typical of the oftentimes dour ideas of décor most Wilderlords have, and gave him a brief history of the town, without explaining how Ishi had been protecting it in her spare time. I found he enjoyed the rustic charm of Vorone far more than he had the sophisticated feel of Barrowbell. He was still intrigued by the well-rendered scenes of Wilderlords hunting, hawking, and fighting that were colorfully painted on the walls of the inn, for example, and the many outrageous hunting trophies that were displayed everywhere.

  Unsurprisingly, Brother Bryte was more intrigued by the curious state of legal affairs in Vorone, now that the Duke had left to take control of Falas.

  “I presented my credentials and paid my fee to practice in Alshar,” he reported, “but there doesn’t seem to be much law going on, at the moment,” he related, as he hungrily worked his way through a bowl of thick venison stew. “Apparently Anguin tore through almost all of his backlogged cases before he left – really unheard of, in a seated duke. All that’s left here are contract disputes between burghers and artisans, a few unresolved inheritance cases, and the usual petty crime. And surprisingly little of that,” he admitted. “I expected Vorone to be more exciting than this.”

  “It was, a year ago,” I consoled him. “But Anguin’s court was efficient, if small. And from what Lady Pentandra told me, when much of the ruling class has been wiped out and th
e lands over which they fought were conquered, it was pretty easy to resolve the docket. Besides, Anguin needed the money,” I added, a bit cynically.

  That didn’t seem to brighten Brother Bryte’s disposition. “The place seems almost depressingly well-run, now,” he nodded, somberly. “The new Lord Steward is quite the taskmaster, hardly prone to the kind of fits of whimsical tyranny that leads to the employment of a lot of lawbrothers. Worse, he’s utterly reasonable about most things, according to the gossip at the temple. He prefers to negotiate and compromise instead of having recourse to the law,” he sighed.

  “He’s likely sensitive over his father’s execution and reputation for corruption,” I pointed out. “Baron Edmarin’s death was really the inaugural event of Anguin’s reign. Though the Lord Steward is nothing like him in temperament, he no doubt wants to escape his sire’s tarnished legacy. The castellan I spoke with mentioned that he’s forbidden the men of the palace, and even the city guard, from taking so much as a penny for a bribe under pain of expulsion.”

  “That explains the cautiously optimistic attitude of the artisans of Vorone, then,” Bryte agreed. “I abhor such corruption, of course, but it’s indicative of greater issues in a municipality. The sort that lead to legal cases. Content artisans don’t oft resort to lawbrothers,” he lamented.

  “It’s an odd world when a monk complains the people are too well-governed and happy,” my father observed, philosophically. “Like a physician complaining that his patients are too healthy.”

  “A baker needs hungry customers,” I reasoned. “A lawbrother needs contentious clients.”

  “I’m a patient man,” Bryte countered, with good humor. “Human nature is irresistible. Corruption and dispute will return here soon enough. Some laws are eternal,” he quoted. “It just means I’ll have to take work as a scribe or counting-man until it does,” he said, discouraged.

  “That doesn’t sound so bad,” I suggested.

  “Would you prefer to trade your fancy magical globe and titles for performing tricks for children on market day?” he countered. “It’s well within my capability. It is not, alas, what I have trained for. Nor is it particularly lucrative.”

  “A religious man would look upon such an occasion as a sign from the divine,” my father told the monk. “When my son came to me and asked me to give up my regular trade to help him out with the Great March, I was hesitant. But I had a vivid dream that night in which the Flame that Burneth Bright appeared to me and gave me sanction for it.”

  I winced when he said that, and I’m glad he didn’t catch it. Of course Briga sent him a dream to ensure his cooperation. She was working directly with me at the time. I felt a little guilty about that, but things had worked out well enough.

  At least Brother Bryte had the wit to recognize the irony in my father’s words. He grinned, stretched, and looked around. “Perhaps you’re right, Goodman. Where I’ve suspected the unlikely intervention of Luin I my life, I’ve always been skeptical. In retrospect, perhaps I shouldn’t have been so willing to disbelieve. On the other hand, I could be the Lawgiver’s little joke,” he suggested. “It must be terribly amusing to see one so devoted to the Law treated so harshly by the world he strives to serve.”

  Dad snorted. “Now you’re just bitching,” he corrected. “I don’t know much about Luin,” he admitted, “but a sense of humor is rarely one of his attributes.”

  “Not unless you have a deep appreciation of irony,” Brother Bryte said, mostly to himself. “If Luin brought me here, through the agency of you two gentlemen, the question is why?”

  “Perhaps because Vorone is not our final destination?” I suggested. “We travel north from here, on the morrow. I go to construct and order my realm. I could use a good lawbrother to do so. Hells, I could use a poor lawbrother – things are pretty chaotic in Vanador, at the moment, with the wizards in charge.”

  Dad grunted at that but didn’t comment. He’d seen both the good and bad that had accompanied the rise of the magi. He wasn’t particularly impressed with the way we sometimes went about things, even when the effect was wondrous.

  “Are you offering me a . . . a job?” Brother Bryte asked.

  “Indeed, I’ve been waiting for days for you to ask me for one,” I smirked. “For a lawbrother you seem to miss opportunities most would suspect you’d leap upon.”

  “Blame my upbringing,” he said, sourly. “I did not want to presume on your graciousness after you have already carted me half-way around the world and fed me at your expense. My mother was very insistent about such things.”

  “Well, I have a job if you want it,” I offered. “It pays standard rates, whatever they are, and include standard duties, which I hope you’re familiar with because I’m not. Not particularly,” I corrected. “I’ve recently spent far too much time with lawbrothers. Enough to convince me I need one.”

  “If you’re a sovereign count, you’ll need an entire set,” he counselled, suddenly looking more hopeful. “Not just for internal administration, but for taxation, criminal proceedings, and international relations. But I’m hardly the man to oversee all that,” he said, in a rare display of humility. “I’ve only been ordained a full brother for a few years. You don’t want a young, idealistic lawbrother to order your realm, if you’re smart. You want an old, cynical coot who has been practicing for decades,” he advised. “One with real gravity and skepticism in his heart. Lawfather Ambrose was appointed regional justice for Vanador at Yule, I’m informed,” he added. “He would be perfect as a count’s adjunct.”

  “He’s already got a job. If I was a Wilderlord or Riverlord, I might consider it,” I conceded. “Especially if I was assuming control of an existing land. But I’m not. I’m a Magelord, and I’ve got Trygg’s own chamberpot of a mess that I’m suddenly in charge of. I need some of that youthful energy and idealism to contend with that.”

  “You realize that such an offer is obscenely appealing?” the monk asked, thoughtfully. “So appealing that I am automatically skeptical of its allure? Every time I have taken such a chance during the brief course of my career, it has seemed doomed to misery and heartbreak. Whereas the boring cases, they have been the most financially lucrative.”

  “Never have I seen a man of faith present so little actual faith,” Dad said, shaking his head in wonder. “A man offers you a dream job, you accept it! The gods work in our world, in subtle ways, usually. They don’t often invite you in and have an ale with you and discuss their plans. Either you have the sense and wit to recognize it and cooperate, or you should consider another occupation,” he pronounced, as he flagged down a girl to refill his mug.

  “How can I not question the offer?” he whined. “What have I done to deserve it?”

  “You won your last case,” I pointed out, helpfully.

  “And got beaten and tied to a tree while an idiot peasant took a dump in my satchel!” he fumed. “Hardly the kind of divine affirmation one usually seeks!”

  “Unless one has a deep appreciation for irony,” I countered. “My father is right: you were steered into my path just as I was steered into yours. I know about as much theurgy as I do law, but I do understand the principal of divine guidance. From what I understand, it’s usually pretty messy.” I recalled conversations of with the gods that confirmed my suspicions.

  “Come now, Minalan,” he said, quietly. “I respect you, as you are clearly an educated man. Yet you act as gullible as a peasant when it comes to discussions of the divine. The gods are important, in abstract, to our functioning society . . . but to ascribe coincidental events to them as purposeful actions . . .” he said, shaking his head doubtfully.

  “There’s a forty-foot eternal flame in the middle of my barony that says otherwise,” I informed him. “Perhaps the Temple of Luin can pretend that the gods are useful abstractions, but as a wizard I can attest to their agency. To the skeptical layman, it does often appear that such things are reasonable coincidences. But, as you said, I’m a learned man. And
magic is the science of coincidence,” I concluded.

  Brother Bryte started to say something, then closed his mouth when he caught a paternal glare from Dad. He has a way of silently directing a man to think, rather than speak. I learned that the hard way, as a boy.

  Finally, the lawbrother sighed, and tossed his shock of black hair out of his eye. “I would be grateful to consider such a posting,” he said. “It will likely see my neck in a noose, once again, but I cannot deny the . . . compelling nature of the coincidences at hand. At some point, even a reasonable man has to accept the highly unlikely as mathematically impossible. All right, you have yourself a lawyer, Your Excellency,” he said, his voice growing deeper. “May I ask what the position pays?”

  “Three ounces of silver a week,” I said, figuring that was a reasonable fee.

  “Three . . . ounces?” he asked, his dark eyes flashing with wonder. “A successful practicing lawbrother rarely makes half that!”

  “It helps to be unreasonably wealthy. And makes you more resistant to bribery. Three ounces, plus livery and housing allowance. And an allowance for your office shrine, as needed.”

  “And my duties?” he asked, suspiciously.

  “You’ll work directly for me, as Count, and advocate thoroughly on my behalf. Your duties may include things you think are outside of your purview – I expect you to do them, with no complaints, unless you have a compelling reason not to. I expect your absolute best work, your unquestioning loyalty, and a willingness to contend with the sometimes colorful personalities of the magi in my court.”