The three exchanged glances again. Then Rondal spoke, perhaps by previous determination.
“Magelord,” he began formally, “As you know, you instructed us to meet up with the Gobarbine Order and receive from them their charge, to avoid detection and capture by any and all parties—”
“Some of whom, I might add, did indeed try to relieve us of our duty,” interrupted Tyndal, holding up his sling as testimony to the strength of their defense.
“—and bring said charge to the safety of Sevendor,” continued Rondal. Sir Rondal, I reminded myself. He spoke like a grown man, now, not a mere apprentice. If he was hesitant in his speech it was due to thoughtfulness, I realized, not insecurity.
“Once we checked in with you at Talry, where you ordered us to change our route,” he continued, “once we were assured we were no longer being chased - you ordered us to reconnoiter Taragwen. If you recall, Magelord,” Rondal said, carefully, “when I asked what we were to do if we discovered that the clandestine mining was continuing, you told me – your exact words, in fact – were ‘I’m sure you’ll think of something’.”
“So?” I asked, warily. Had I said that?
“So we thought of something,” Rondal explained. “It’s actually quite an elegant solution, once you know the story,” he said, engagingly.
“I beg you before the thrones of all the gods to explain that to me as quickly as possible,” I replied, impatiently.
“In short, then,” Rondal said, quickly, “Upon arriving here with our charge safely in the carriage, we begged shelter for the night from Sir Pangine. The gentleman happened to be in conference with . . . a business associate when we arrived, and so he declined to see us.”
“Custom does not require him to do so,” reminded Sire Cei, looking at the lads thoughtfully. Lady Ithalia and Dara were enjoying the show, and Tyndal was enjoying the attention of the ladies. With a start I realized that it had been nearly a year since either of them had enjoyed the company of my youngest apprentice. She had grown more toward womanhood herself, and if she had yet to reach maturity, her infectious attitude gave her a charisma beyond her years. I’d have to watch that.
“Alas, too true,” Tyndal nodded. “Yet hospitality, while it must be dispensed by grace alone, should not be spared for the sake of mere trade,” he declared.
“Well spoken,” Sire Cei agreed.
“Seeing how reluctant Sir Pangine was to entertain us, and being curious as to what would alter the esteem in which he previously held us, we decided to investigate the matter,” Rondal continued, patiently. “Using certain spells, Sir Tyndal and I ascertained that the knight was, indeed, discussing the mining of the snowstone deposit on his domain. And knowing our master might be curious about just who was involved in this enterprise, we decided to act in his best interest.”
“My best interest?” I demanded. “So what makes you think you know enough to act in my best interest?”
“When the Magelord said ‘I’m sure you’ll think of something’ he was clearly investing us with that authority,” explained Rondal, confidently. “Else he would have given us better instruction. As you did not, Magelord, we took you at your word.”
“And that gave you license to conquer a domain?” I asked, a pained note in my voice.
“Since Sir Pangine had not invited us inside, clearly we were not covered by the laws of hospitality. As such, we were as any band of errants, potential foes to any weak-willed lord who does not look too closely to his security. If we were not Sir Pangine’s friends, then, by the gods, we elected to be his foes.”
“And just how did that translate into conquest?” asked Sire Cei, not nearly as angry as he should have been. In fact, he seemed to be admiring their chivalric handiwork.
“Actually securing the castle proved easy enough,” bragged Tyndal. “It may be stout, but the stoutest walls can be overcome if not properly guarded. Since we had not adequate artillery for a prolonged siege, we elected to focus our efforts on the staff, instead. After consulting and agreeing to a plan, we caused a distraction to be made that drew every fighting man in the fortress.”
“A fire outside?” I asked, coolly. Despite myself, I was finding myself interested in the tale.
“Nay, Master,” Rondal said, grinning. “We considered that, but it seemed so . . . mundane. Instead I went back to the gatehouse of the castle and begged to buy a loaf of bread and a wheel of cheese for our supper, showing a fair amount of silver. While the lord was closeted in chambers, the castellan’s assistant was eager enough for the trade and had gone to fetch the food . . . when the hue and cry went up from the top of the tower.”
“I had climbed the exterior and caused a few select cantrips to activate,” the taller apprentice said, smugly. “A bit difficult in a sling, but I managed well enough. I used a few Blue Magic charms to agitate the guards on duty into a panic over things they thought they saw and heard. It only took a moment or two to convince them all that they were being robbed.”
Rondal took up the tale again. “The cry aroused most of the men – of course I was immediately suspected, being so near to the hall and a stranger. Alas, I was taken into custody. My blade was taken from me and I was told to stand in the hall against the capture of my supposed confederate. Being a gentleman,” he said, a gleam in his eye, “I of course surrendered my sword to the lord upon request, and rightly denied being a party to any petty theft. They left a single man to watch me while the rest charged up the tower stairs, certain they had cornered a thief caught in the act.
“Once I was certain nearly all of the fighting men in the castle had gone into the tower . . . I easily overpowered my guard and closed the door to it. With only one way in or out, it was simple to turn a refuge into a jailhouse. A quick spellbinding, and they were effectively imprisoned.”
“I subdued the guard at the gate,” Sir Festaran said, proudly. “I used that sleeping charm I can just barely manage,” he added, proudly. “He went down like a pregnant sow. Once he was in captivity, we had effectively taken the castle, as there were no more defenders.”
“And the domain,” Rondal reminded him. “Taragwen was ours.”
“And . . . the . . . domain,” I repeated, my head spinning. “You just figured you would do something utterly stupid and impetuous and get me involved in a war with Sashtalia. You know the Lord of Sashtalia is not going to appreciate losing a domain, even a pissant little estate like this, to a couple of up-jumped ruffians.”
“On the contrary, Magelord,” Rondal said, smoothly, “we were quite straightforward in our execution, and obeyed all of the applicable rules of warfare. Indeed, not a drop of blood was spilled. It was a most gentle conquest. Sashtalia’s men surrendered to us the next day, once it was clear they could not escape the tower without our leave, nor eat more than bread or water without our permission.”
“And where might they be now?” asked Sire Cei.
“They pledged token ransoms, to be paid by next spring, and we allowed them to take their personal weapons and belongings and quit the fief on parole against those ransoms. Even Sir Pangine, though he made many empty threats about the lord of Sashtalia’s willingness to commit to total war to retain this pissant domain. The others, however, were happy to find other employment, considering the alternative to ransom. I do believe they will be gentlemen of their word,” Rondal said, thoughtfully.
“The mage stars on their brows will help ensure that,” Sir Festaran said, smugly.
“And why will the Lord of Sashtalia not immediately answer your rash act with a full-scale invasion of Sevendor?” I asked, patiently.
“Two reasons, Magelord,” Sir Festaran said, with the others’ permission. “Firstly, there is the matter of his preoccupation with the antics of Baron Arathanial, who it is well known is toying with the idea of invading Sashtalia himself, from the north in the future. Now that there is a good and secure bridge through Birchroot, he could march a host through into the heart of Sashtalia directly,” he said, as
if he was lecturing.
“Which is why Sashtalia would not entertain so much as a skirmish with Sevendor - who had nothing to do with the conquest. The Sire of Sashtalia knows that if his banners are involved with an internal war,” Tyndal added, “Sendaria could not pass up such an opportunity to fish in troubled waters.”
“But the main reason he will not go to war with Sevendor is because Taragwen was not, in fact, conquered by Sevendor,” Rondal picked up, smoothly. “As will be plain to any and all who read the utterly-legal Writ of Conquest filed with the Duchy, you had nothing to do with this at all, Master Minalan. The conquest was executed and the domain was claimed by the Estasi Order of Arcane Knights,” he said, with a certain sense of theater.
“The Order – quite recently constituted,” Tyndal added, slyly looking at his fellow knights, “is a small but select band of knights magi dedicated to furthering the ideals of chivalry and enlightened magic through productive errantry. Accepted members of the Order are required to conduct themselves according to the highest standards of chivalry, pledge themselves to at least one act of errantry a year, one week in residence at Estasi Hall as Day Steward, and to defend the lands of the Order to the best of their ability. They are to gather once a year, as their duties allow, and give tale to their errantry and renew their pledge to the ideals of the Order . . . and we’ll also have a really good party,” he added.
“The Rule of the Order grants members a wide latitude in the performance of their duties, but the hall shall be open to any member at any time, in perpetuity,” Sir Fes said. “And in addition to the Knights, there is provision for a certain number of sworn sergeants and men-at-arms who may aspire to the ideals of the order, but lack noble birth or chivalrous recognition. We didn’t want to leave out a worthy candidate, just because they hadn’t been knighted . . . yet.”
“Upkeep of the Order’s lands, specifically the Domain of Taragwen and the keep known now as Estasi Hall, will be paid by the Order through payment of dues, rents from the village, and other regular business of the estate,” Rondal recited. “Tribute is likewise to be paid from that treasury. In addition, a permanent castellan – preferably a member knight of the Order – shall be hired to oversee the operations of the estate and maintain its defense. At the direction of the Head of the Order and its Council—“
“Which,” Tyndal interrupted, “currently is comprised of the three founding members and the Head, each having an equal vote in the affairs of the Order.”
“—the castellan of which shall be in residence, or his designated assistant, for the entire year. To him would fall the responsibility of overseeing the watch on the snowstone outcropping.”
“We’ll probably have to build a fortified installation at the site,” Sir Festaran remarked, apologetically, “and man the tower constantly. And ward it tighter than a baron’s daughter.”
“But that’s just the public mission of the Order,” Rondal continued, before I could speak. “Secretly it will be dedicated to pursuing and destroying Pratt the Rat and his slimy brethren,” he said with a surprisingly severe sneer of contempt. “After what he did to Estasia, and Tyndal, and then to the rest of us on the way here, it’s clear he has a vendetta against us, regardless of what we do, what we did, or what we might do. So we use the Order as a cover to hunt him. Relentlessly.”
“No one else is dedicating themselves to that,” Tyndal pointed out. “Your contacts at Court are only mildly interested in what the Brotherhood does. They certainly don’t have an interest in hunting Pratt. The Brotherhood is a minor inconvenience, politically, mostly active in a province outside of the control of the Crown. Yet Pratt and his rat-folk have an enmity against us that should – that must – be challenged. The Order gives us the tool with which to challenge it, and Taragwen gives us the resources.”
I stared at the three of them slack-jawed for a moment, my head spinning. Thankfully Sire Cei was thoughtful enough to speak before I could once again.
“So you gentlemen,” he began, without a trace of irony in the term, “have taken it upon yourselves to not just insert yourselves into a delicate regional political situation, but have decided to take your interests beyond the borders of the Kingdom, itself.”
Again the three knights looked at each other, seemed to confer by expression alone, and turned back to face their elders.
“Yes,” Rondal said, as the other two nodded.
My head had yet to stop spinning. The implications of what these youngsters had done were impressive. In one stroke, they had . . . they had accomplished a lot.
I stood. The three young knights stood as well.
“Sir Rondal,” I began, “Sir Tyndal . . . surrender your witchstones to me.”
They both went pale as death. They hesitated, but their hands were already moving toward the silk pouches around their necks as their eyes flashed in panic.
Both stones eventually appeared, and with shaking hands they gave them over to me. Both boys had bowed heads. Both looked terrified. As well they should.
“I entrusted the two of you with responsibilities,” I began, my voice low. Only the crackle of the fire joined me. “I have invested tremendous energy, resources, and money in training you for my service. I have armed you with both knowledge and weapons unseen since the Magocracy, and provided for you as you were raised in your station. I gave you a home,” I pointed out, pleadingly, “I tried to give you a family. By all the gods, I tried to give you the guidance you needed to become, gods willing . . . men.
“Not just men, but knights of the realm. Men of honor,” I said, sharply, turning on my heel in front of them. “Men who know how to do their duties. Knowing that it means surrendering your witchstones, gentlemen, are you still ready to answer for what you have done . . . here and elsewhere?” I asked, pointedly. In truth I had very little idea of what my apprentices had been up to in the last year while I had kept Sevendor from falling apart, help raise my children, held the hand of the King, and dealt with the increasingly-complicated Alka Alon situation.
But I was sure they had done something they should feel guilty about. I expected them to look at each other, at least, before they answered. Instead they stared straight ahead.
“Yes, Master,” Tyndal said.
“Yes, Magelord,” Rondal said, at nearly the same moment. Both had a stubborn gleam in their eye and a resolute set to their jaw. “Even if it means our stones,” Rondal added. “We did what was right . . . if not perhaps what was expected of us.”
That brought a snort from Cei and a giggle from Dara. I thought Sir Festaran would cower a bit, but he stood as well.
“You are not my apprentice, Sir Festaran, you are my vassal. As such I will address your actions in a moment.”
Festaran did not budge. “I shall stand with the other members of my Order, Magelord,” he said, quietly.
Interesting.
“I suppose one could argue that you only half fouled this up,” I sighed. “After all, you did deliver your charge from the Gobarbans, did you not?”
“He sleeps in the cellar below,” agreed Rondal. “Safe and hale.”
“I sincerely hope so, or this would be a total disaster. So one could argue that you failed half of your mission. Should I return one stone, then?” I asked, a bit sarcastically. “And if so, which of you is the more deserving?”
Again I expected to see them look at each other for support. Again they stared stubbornly ahead. But Tyndal spoke first.
“Master, Sir Rondal deserves the stone far more than I,” he said, quickly. “His mastery of warfare and strategy make him a far more valuable asset in the war than I am.”
“Magelord, I must disagree,” Rondal said, finally looking at his fellow. “Sir Tyndal has demonstrated uncommon valor and a unique approach to situations that make him a profound asset in the field. His daring and willingness to take initiative has proven to be a decisive element in several of our encounters. Sir Tyndal should take the stone,” he pleaded.
I
tried to keep my face expressionless. Instead of handing a stone to either of them, I opened the pouch at my belt where I keep such precious things and set them gently inside. I closed the pouch with a bit of ceremony.
“By your actions you clearly have demonstrated your unsuitability for a shard of irionite,” I said, as both boys blushed with embarrassment. ““Gentlemen, when I sent you out of Sevendor a year ago, it was with the intention of forging you into useful tools and potent weapons. You learned magic at Inarion, warcraft at Relan Cor, and knightcraft at Cargwenyn. Trygg only knows what you learned in Gilmora, but even Marshal Brendan was impressed with you, so you must have learned something. I sought to see you transformed into knights of the realm, warrior magi who could lead as well as follow.
“Yet when I give you a simple order – the simplest of orders – you take it upon yourselves to . . . to seize the initiative and conquer a domain I distinctly do not recall telling you to conquer. You founded a chivalric order that for the life of me I don’t recall asking you to found. You decided -- on your own -- to cultivate a deadly enemy when, Trygg knows, we have a gracious plenty already.”
I looked at them but they were no longer looking at me like guilty boys, they were looking at me like men being harshly criticized . . . and ready to respond. Powerfully.
Time to end their suspense. No use torturing them too long.
“In other words, you have both exceeded my wildest expectations. And Sir Festaran, I commend you as well for your assistance and loyal support of these two miscreants. It does you all credit.”
“Does . . . does that mean you aren’t mad at us?” Rondal asked, confused.
“Does that mean we get our stones back?” asked Tyndal, excitedly.
“Yes . . . mostly. And no.”
That took them by surprise. So did what I did next. I held out my hand and Lenodara placed two small wooden boxes I’d had prepared for the occasion into my palm. I handed one to each of them.
Knights Magi (Book 4) Page 58
