Footwizard

by Terry Mancour

“Change is change,” I shrugged, though I took his words to heart. “It matters not whether it’s a great change, or a small one. It’s the price of our experience. Knowledge always has a price. Alya is paying hers.”

  “And from where is all of this philosophy arising?” he asked. “Because it sounds to me – and of course, I could be mistaken – that you’re merely trying to rationalize the fact that you lost a fight with your wife.” It was a token of our great friendship that Cei would speak to his liege that casually about something so personal.

  “From Fondaras the Wise,” I answered, with a chuckle. “Footwizard of Alshar. He says crap like that all the time.”

  Chapter Two

  Pentandra’s Return

  Secrets and intrigue are the common fare for the Good Fellows of the Road; indeed, knowing the obscure and appreciating its importance to the world is the essence of wizardly achievement. What one man knows and another does not creates an opportunity for attainment. The footwizard who does not indulge in such opportunities and their attendant risks abandons his hope at glory. His life becomes little more than a succession of excuses for why his estate remains low. For those footwizards who cultivate good friends and suspect companions, and do not shirk the opportunities that the gods send to cross their path, the potential for reward and glory is far greater than the ignominy of the failure of not trying at all.

  Fondaras the Wise,

  Footwizard of Alshar

  “So, how do things fare in Enultramar?” I asked my best friend, casually enough as I sat down after pouring the wine. Ordinarily a simple question about work between friends would be mere informal small talk. I was hoping it would, in any case.

  Pentandra fixed me with a stare, and just quietly sipped her wine while she stared. It was a surprisingly effective strategy. I started feeling uncomfortable almost immediately, as if I had just mentioned an awkward subject at an intimate family gathering.

  “They fare,” she finally said. I didn’t like the expression on her face any more than I had Alya’s, earlier in the day.

  “Anguin has a firm grip on power and Rardine is loyally ensuring he continues to maintain that power. There have been great challenges since the fiasco of their wedding. Farise plagues our shipping with raiders, traitors hide in the shadows and snipe at us, Castal spies on us relentlessly, criminals prey upon our people in growing desperation, rebellion haunts us perpetually, and undead regularly appear in our streets and slay hundreds across Enultramar, seeking fresh bodies for the Nemovorti,” she replied, coolly. “And how goes the great cheese experiment?” she asked, mirroring my tone.

  I winced. I didn’t mean to, but it was the kind of moment where a man of good character winces.

  “The cows trampled an enemy army this winter and it didn’t get in the way of the milking season a bit. We’re looking forward to a delicious production, this year,” I said, my voice a bit harsher than I’d intended. “If you needed our help—”

  “We didn’t need help,” Pentandra interrupted. “In fact, you probably just would have gotten in the way. But while you were up here crossing swords with the nice, straight-forward armies of our enemy, we were being assaulted by them in secret. In our very homes. Often within our most secret counsels. It’s been tough,” she admitted. “There are a lot of factions, even within the Ducal Court. Anguin has had to make some tough decisions. There have been executions. Arrests. And assassinations, under the Laws of Kulin, when the Laws of Luin won’t suffice.

  “Thankfully, his bride is used to such work,” she said, with surprising admiration. “Rardine has been superb at discovering opposition before it has had a chance to rear its head and strike. And then she takes decisive action that our lad might have trouble with.”

  “Like planning counter-strikes?” I inquired.

  “Like signing execution and confiscation warrants by the hundreds,” she replied, flatly. “I’ve referred a few to her, myself – only a score or so, mostly related to the assassination attempts—”

  “They tried to assassinate Anguin?” I asked, shocked.

  “They tried to assassinate me, idiot!” she scoffed. “Thrice, now. Anguin is on his eleventh or twelfth.”

  “You, Penny?” I asked, in disbelief. Ordinarily, a Court Wizard isn’t the target of such things. Court gossip and political infighting, certainly, but rarely are magi considered important enough to murder. I suppose I changed all that.

  “Yes, Min, me!” she said, her voice hoarse. It was part exasperation and part plea for understanding. “Me, Arborn, the girls have all been attacked – three attempts, so far. All three failed. The former slavers who were making such good profits before we took over are attempting to convince us to restore their trade. They’re taking very active measures to do it. Bloody measures.

  “That’s one reason I agreed to come to Vorone with the rest of the court for a few months,” she admitted. Just to stay out of the line of fire for a while. There are bodies dropping all over Enultramar, and we’ve had to replace a number of officials at the Ducal Court because they suddenly quit or turned up dead in their beds. So I’ve endured three attempts on me and my family. Only one of them originated from the Nemovorti,” she added. “The other two were from other quarters. But Rardine countered them all . . . handily. She really does have a knack for that sort of thing,” she said, with reluctant admiration.

  “Three assassination attempts . . . Ishi’s Tits, Pen, that’s horrible! Why didn’t you let me know?” I demanded.

  “Because you were busy where you needed to be busy,” she said, shaking her head. “You needed to be focused on your Nemovorti. I had to contend with mine. And the Black Censorate. And the Family,” she added.

  “What? Grendine went after you?” I asked, appalled and concerned. That could spell trouble. That violated the agreement I had with the royal intelligence service, run by our fair queen. “Do I need to take action?”

  “It turns out the order didn’t originate from her,” she conceded. “Thanks to Rondal and Gatina, we learned that her local lieutenant – a woman known as an ‘aunt’ – made a policy decision without Grendine’s authorization. Thankfully, we were able to identify her entire network in Enultramar and neutralize it. Most of them are in a cell, awaiting Azar’s visit. He’s scheduled for a few busy weeks in the south while we are at the Summer Palace,” she informed me. “Don’t worry, he’ll be back before you will.”

  That made me feel a little sick to my stomach. I’d signed execution warrants – hells, I’d executed execution warrants. But only of a few traitors at a time. The idea of there being hundreds of necks waiting Azar’s grace in the dungeons of Enultramar disturbed me, for some reason. True, a lord has to take direct action, to defend his domain, and to punish treason, and that went double for a duke protecting his duchy. But hundreds . . . it made my soul shudder.

  “I’m not worried about Azar,” I said, patiently, “I’m worried that someone has tried to kill you three different times – and Anguin eleven times! What in nine hells is going on down there, Penny?” I demanded. It really sounded as if I needed to be involved.

  “A restoration, Min,” she explained, patiently. “Enultramar endured five long years of rebel control. Vichetral and his stooges managed to bend every institution to their will. Corruption wasn’t just rampant, it was endemic. Slavery, confiscation, assassination – it’s been going on all this time. It’s the latest fashion from Enultramar. We’re just catching up with it.” She sounded disgusted, although I couldn’t tell with whom. “Thank the gods for Rardine. She just seems to know when something doesn’t smell right. The court is filled with bad agents and traitors. But she has a knack of getting them to expose themselves. I’m impressed by how quickly she’s taken over the intelligence of the duchy.”

  “So she’s establishing her own ‘Family’?” I asked. I wasn’t really surprised, I just wanted confirmation. I’d had intelligence issues, myself, up here in the Magelaw. Now that I finally had a decent counterintelligen
ce officer in Jannik the Rysh to complement Mavone’s command of battlefield intelligence, I was starting to appreciate what a good clandestine agency could do for a realm. I had no doubt that Rardine would start her own, I was just curious about the timing.

  “She doesn’t really like that metaphor, after she was abandoned in Olum Seheri,” Pentandra assured me, with a cold smile. “But she’s surprisingly keen on gardening.”

  “Gardening?” I asked, confused.

  “Her Grace has started the Alshar Garden Society, to promote the beautification of the duchy,” Pentandra said, with a knowing smile. “It’s by invitation, only. Only the best and most prestigious gardeners are allowed in Her Grace’s society. I’m honored to be a member,” she added, “as is Rondal. And others. We’re hoping to expand membership in the northern provinces, this summer.”

  “A garden society?” I asked, not quite understanding. “I’ve never known you to so much as plant a potato. And Rondal isn’t exactly the earthy type.”

  “Well, you can’t go around making it known that you’re assembling a spy network, Min,” she pointed out. “People would talk. So Rardine found a useful metaphor that most people will misunderstand. It’s already proven useful cover for intelligence gathering, inside the duchy. By this time next year, it will extend into Gilmora and beyond. Once it includes sufficient resources in the Magelaw and the Wilderlaw, I think it will be a quite useful counter against the Family. Rardine has an especial appreciation for them, after her long captivity in Olum Seheri. So flowers are the order of the day,” she informed me. “Anything but yellow roses. Those . . . those have special meaning.”

  “Of course,’ I nodded. They were Queen Grendine’s favorite. “All right . . . should I take up gardening, then?”

  “Haven’t you?” she accused, setting down her cup. “You live at Spellgarden, Min. You were one of the reasons she adopted this ruse. Each agent has a code name based on a flower,” she explained. “It becomes your symbol, your clandestine heraldry. It’s code,” she emphasized, as if I was an idiot.

  “So, what’s your code name?” I asked, expecting a joking response. The entire thing seemed a bit ludicrous, to me.

  “I am Andrimony,” she said, quietly. “The magical flower that seeks in secret.”

  I was silent, for a moment. Andrimony was, indeed, an important aid in magical research. It was used to detect magic in a variety of ways, thanks to some chemical or compound or innate magical nature it possessed. It was a pretty thing, too, I knew from my academy days, a natavia orchid that grew wild in the hot, humid climes . . . like Remere. And Enultramar. It had an elegant stalk and a flamboyant, flame-red bloom. Its sap was highly prized, both as a yellow dye for cotton and as a component in many thaumaturgically-oriented spells. I nodded.

  “And Rardine?” I asked, intrigued.

  “The Blood Red Rose of Enultramar,” she said, proudly. “The Matidine Rose, to be precise. Named for Rardine’s Alshari grandmother, Matidine, first wife of the Black Duke.”

  I only recalled snatches of that dark and interesting time in Alshari history, and only because my allegiance to Anguin had forced me to read some of that history. I recalled Enguin, the Black Duke, whose first wife spending her time in her country estates, famously devoted to her roses while her estranged husband fiddled with the results of the Gilmoran Secession.

  “That seems . . . fitting,” I sighed. “She really is bloodthirsty, isn’t she?”

  “Rardine? Not nearly as much as her mother. And not as much as she seems. Half of the executions that were ordered were commuted to compulsory service, on her orders. Several hundred rebel traitors are now serving in the Iron Band, rather than losing their heads. Their wives and sisters are employed with various holy orders,” she related. “Rardine is more concerned about having access to resources than she is eliminating witnesses. Trust me, every commuted sentence comes with a dedicated watcher,” she promised. “One false move, and the weed warden comes and weeds.”

  “And the weed warden is . . . ?”

  “A state secret,” Pentandra assured me. “A . . . a disinterested party who is happy to execute the orders of the Gardener. Rardine,” she added, just in case I was unsure. “This is an ugly business, Min. Did you know a highly toxic – lethal, in most cases – poison can be derived from the Matidine Rose?” she proposed. “It takes skill and knowledge to know just how to do it. But once you know, you also learn that the toxin mimics a heart attack. That sort of thing happens all the time, in men of a certain age,” she said, pointedly.

  “Well, that’s helpful,” I said, sarcasm lining my voice.

  “I’d just as soon not involve you more than you have to be,” Pentandra insisted. “You’re actually more useful if you are ignorant of most of what is going on.”

  “Ignorant?” I scoffed. “I know more about what is going on than just about anyone. More than perhaps Rardine suspects. But I’m a major count of the realm,” I countered. “How can I not be involved?” I didn’t mean for it to sound like a plea, but that’s how she chose to take it.

  “Fine!” she said, crossing her arms with a sigh. “Just for you edification, you are now Snowflower, one of those lovely six-lobed natavia wildflowers that look like stars. All the magi in the network are named after natavia flowers. Mavone is Nightwort. Non-magi get importasta flowers. And, according to a hedgewitch I know, it’s also a powerful purgative,” she added, with a sniff.

  “Fitting,” I admitted. “If a bit obvious. So I’m Snowflower. To whom do I report?” I asked, with practiced dignity.

  “To me, you idiot,” she said, her nostrils flaring. “Anguin and Rardine trust me to sift through all of the arcane-oriented issues facing the realm and report to them properly. As you reminded me, you are a major count of the realm, one of the few in the north, at the moment. But I’m still planting seeds,” she said, shaking her head. “That’s another reason I’m spending my summer in Vanador. And Vorone.”

  “You need to meet my Arcanist and my Rysh,” I decided. “They would be worthy additions to your garden. To what purpose, policy-wise, is this garden being planted?” I asked. I felt I should know what kind of clandestine organization I’d just been signed up for.

  “To safeguard Alshar,” she said, with a sigh. “Against all foes. To preserve the Ducal line, but first and foremost is the security and prosperity of the duchy. Rardine was clear about that,” she reported. “One of the issues she had with Mother was how willing she was to oppress the general population to advance a political motive. Once Rardine was entrusted with Alshar’s welfare, she made it a primary point of her intelligence efforts. Especially against slavery,” she added. “Her Grace has a very low tolerance for slavers.”

  “We have a common ideal, then,” I agreed. “One of the factors I had expressed in the new laws of the Magelaw forbids any formal bondage, outside of proscribed judicial punishment for crimes. There are no serfs nor villeins in the Magelaw. My people are free.”

  “Yes, and that’s caused a bit of a stir, down south,” she frowned. “The law itself was brilliantly written – I’ve been assured by a few lawbrothers that it is divinely inspired based on its elegance, alone. But the implications are disturbing to lords who currently hold thousands of peasants in debt bondage. Your status as a magelord is the only excuse they seem to accept for such a radical departure from tradition.”

  “Yes, well, they can continue to suffer under that illusion,” I smiled. “It pains me not at all. I’ve already dealt with one Gilmoran count who took issue with my law. I’ll have the same response to an Alshari count.”

  “You are nothing if not consistent,” she agreed, finishing her wine. “I take it with you going on this expedition, you’ll expect me to run things for you?”

  “Well, as I’ve been running them for you in your absence, I thought it a fair trade,” I pointed out. “You are the Baroness of Vanador. With you managing civil affairs, and Terleman in charge of our defense, I’m fairly certain the place
can manage without me for a couple of months.”

  “Agreed,” she nodded. “Minalan, you’ve done a magnificent job with Vanador—”

  “Don’t credit me with that,” I interrupted. “This has been the work of Gareth and Carmella, more than anyone else.”

  “I wasn’t about to accuse you of brilliance in urban planning,” Pentandra snorted. “I know who’s been doing the hard work. But you’ve ruled over their hard work admirably,” she said. It was what she was leaving unsaid that was unsettling.

  “But . . .?” I asked. “There has to be a ‘but’ involved in that thought,” I observed. “Or at least a casual ‘however’.”

  She snorted again. “Very well. While you have presided over Vanador’s inception, there are certain . . . civic matters that I think need to be addressed. Matters that the Count of the Magelaw might overlook . . . but the Baroness of Vanador feels compelled to address.”

  “Go ahead, muck around with the place,” I offered, with a certain pompous arrogance. I was getting good at that sort of thing. “This has been a collaborative effort. One that you began,” I reminded her. “Honestly, I’ve felt like I was watching your baby, more than mine. Terleman can run the military, but as far as civil and political affairs go, you have my blessing. You can’t screw it up more than I can,” I challenged.

  “Thank you, Minalan,” she sighed. “Not that I would have listened to you if you’d said otherwise. But it does matter whether you endorse my . . . my rule, here,” she said, self-consciously. “It will be important in the future that you have people you can trust running Vanador.”

  “And it’s important to my sanity that I know that there are trustworthy people like you – and Arborn and Terleman and Azar and so many others – that I can entrust something that important to, and not have to worry too hard about disaster. I want to return to Sevendor, someday,” I proposed. “I’ll need good people running this place when I do.”