Arcanist

by Terry Mancour

  Brother Bryte nodded and shuffled off, as the castellans led us all to the dining chamber. Plenty of others were ready to monopolize my attention once the lawbrother had left. But I credit Brother Bryte’s observation with leading us to the man. It would later prove incredibly important.

  Chapter Four

  The Spellmonger’s Sow

  A spellmonger lived with his goodwife in town

  A wizard of great learning and vision

  From his four-pointed cap to his elegant gown

  The man was just oozing with wisdom!

  His pretty goodwife was the most gentle of souls

  Though not, neighbors said, the brightest,

  She’d married him when at his journeyman scroll

  Though her grip on his scroll, not the tightest!

  They made a living selling potions and charms

  Dispelling rats, finding cats, or easing monthly pains

  He could make your pecker stiff or find water on your farm

  Offering reasonable terms for his services arcane

  A pretty peasant lass perchance hired the mage,

  To make her abundant bodice attract more attention

  The wizard had a wand that he was willing to engage

  ‘Twas potent with power if not the greatest of dimension.

  From The Spellmonger And the Sow

  By Jannik the Rysh

  “You know, we’re going to have more of those bloody councils, don’t you?” Lawbrother Bryte complained upon our return from Vorone. Most of my men returned to their own homes or went on other errands. Only the monk accompanied me back to Spellgarden, long past nightfall. Most of the hall was already asleep, though Ruderal waited up for us in the great hall. He took our cloaks, as the monk continued to grumble. “It was a pleasant enough affair, once you bribed them senseless, but did every lordling and squire have to tell their sad tale of woe? I never knew war required so much bloody consultation!”

  “War is a complicated business,” I conceded, as we gravitated toward the fire. “Especially this war. It’s not like the last one – and in some ways, that’s good. We’re going to have to depend more on the outlying domains for support. That was one purpose of this council, in this game. If we place our pieces properly, perhaps Vanador will be spared and all of our good works won’t be in vain.”

  “Oh, I understand bribery and charm,” the monk agreed. “I’m a lawyer. And I understand your reasoning. I just wish it wasn’t so . . . damn . . . long and boring. And I find the prospect of more such councils depressing.”

  “Only one or two more,” I soothed. “We’ll have to meet about the regional defense, for instance. I’ll need you at that one. But I can probably handle the local councils without your advice.”

  “Praise Luin’s lumpy liver!” the monk swore. “Speaking of which, could I trouble you for a nightcap, Ruderal? Spirits – something strong. It’s still as cold as a banker’s heart, out there. It’s not that I don’t enjoy endless, largely pointless discussion, Minalan – far from it. But those Wilderlords know nothing about brevity. They take an hour to tell you something that could be said in five words.”

  “It gives them each a chance to participate in council. And we did learn a few important things. Details, mostly, but useful toward the war. Thank you, Ruderal,” I said, accepting one of the two cups he brought us. “It also gave us a chance to issue a warning and give them some time to prepare. As well as identify a few spies. And my private discussion with Marcadine was useful. All in all, a productive day.”

  “It was boring as hell, once I learned the players,” he complained. “But I did learn a thing or two about the scribe who wasn’t a scribe. I asked around. No one knows how he got into the chamber. But I had him followed. Turns out, he’s a luthier’s apprentice.”

  “Is that significant?” I asked, confused.

  “It might be. I’m following up on it,” he assured. “Whoever he’s reporting to, he’s . . . I don’t know, he’s unusual. Even for a spy.” He sipped the spirits generously. “I’m starting to see your point about a counterintelligence officer. I really don’t know what in three hells I’m talking about. What does a spy look like? How do they act? They didn’t teach that in temple,” he snorted.

  “I consider your instincts adequate enough to pursue it. You’re a canny judge of character,” I praised.

  “Which is why I’m a cynic,” he chuckled, finishing his drink.

  “Which reminds me,” I said, pouring him a second, “tomorrow I want you to begin drawing up a charter for a new territory: the Dain River valley.”

  “You want to start a settlement now?” he asked, surprised. He sipped this drink, instead of devouring it. “Is this the best time?”

  “No, but it isn’t for us, exactly,” I explained. “I want to give it to the Tal Alon. Exclusively. Any who want to settle there, under their own leadership. But with my blessing and encouragement.”

  The monk looked at me skeptically and took another sip of brandy. “You want to give away a domain to the Tal Alon?”

  “I do,” I assured. “There are tribes of them all over the Wilderlands who have been dodging goblins since the invasion. I want to invite them all to the Dain River valley, which isn’t much in terms of good cornlands but might be suitable for their style of horticulture.”

  “You must really like potatoes,” he suggested, shaking his head.

  “It’s to fulfill a promise I made to a goddess,” I explained. “She wants the Tal protected and allowed to flourish on their own. I’ve got the space in my realm. Once you set up a charter for it, I’d like to spread the word that it is available.”

  “Thus ensuring thousands of Tal Alon come scurrying out of the bushes to infest the land,” he reasoned. “What could possibly go awry?”

  “Yes, the goddess said something like that, too. You object?” I asked.

  “What? Me? No, no, not at all,” he assured. “It’s not the oddest thing I’ve been asked to do. It’s not even the oddest thing I’ve been asked to do today. But working for a wizard has definitely proven the most interesting position a lawbrother could have.” He finished his brandy with one swallow and set down the glass decisively. “Good night, Min. I’m too tired for real drinking, tonight.”

  Once the monk headed to his quarters, Ruderal joined me at the fire, warming his own hands. I could tell the boy had something on his mind he wanted to discuss with me in private.

  Ruderal had gone through a bit of a transformation this winter. Meeting his father, Moudrost the Seamage, mere days after single-handedly slaying Gaja Katar in battle had changed my apprentice. Not only was he suddenly hailed as a great warrior in Vanador – which we both knew was stretching the truth – he had learned a great deal about the larger world around him. The simplicity of childhood had been struck from him, when Moudrost entered his life. He was still sorting through the ruins of that.

  “Master,” he began, after a sigh, “I understand why the councils are so important. We need men to challenge Shakathet,” he agreed. “But I don’t understand why we haven’t . . . well, why we haven’t tried to take more direct action,” he said, boldly.

  I was surprised. Ruderal wasn’t the kind of boy who looked for a fight – far from it. Unlike Tyndal, who was always ready to scrap, Rudy was far more cautious when danger appeared, as a rule.

  “I don’t see what action we could take,” I admitted. “Do you have a suggestion?”

  He thought hard, for a moment, before sighing. “No. I wish I did. I’ve been thrashing my mind, trying to think of one. It just seems . . . I don’t know, I suppose I feel like we’re sitting here, waiting for a bully to strike us, and not doing anything but flinching. I don’t like that.”

  “Shakathet is quite a large bully,” I reminded him. “I don’t much like it, either, but I think you will find that wizards’ work often consists of waiting for the right opportunity to strike. As you did with Gaja Katar. You waited until he was distracted elsewhere, in t
he heat of battle, and you struck from an unlikely and unexpected direction. That’s the sort of thing we’ll have to use against Shakathet. As valiant as our Wilderlords are, and as powerful as our magelords have become, it will be some sneaky trick at the last moment that will give us our best chance against this Nemovort.”

  “You have a plan?” he asked, suddenly intrigued.

  “Several. But for this particular fight, it’s more like I have several vague ideas ready to assemble themselves into a plan. We’re still collecting information,” I reminded him. “As fast as this war will play out, right now the best we can do is prepare as much as possible and study the enemy, searching for weaknesses.”

  “Have you discovered any?” he asked, hopefully.

  “I wish I could tell you I have,” I confessed, not wanting to disappoint the boy. “Shakathet is far more careful and thorough than Gaja Katar. He commands a much greater force. He’s as arrogant and demanding as all Nemovorti, by his reputation, but unless we gain some insight into . . .” I said, trailing off as my imagination supplied a notion.

  “You have an idea!” Ruderal accused. “I just saw it in your enneagram!”

  I shot him a glance. “Don’t you think that’s a little rude, spying on my enneagram, Ruderal?”

  He snorted. “As if I could help it! That’s like saying it’s rude to see the color red,” he pointed out. “It’s just what I do.”

  I sighed. As apprentices went, Rudy was a wonder. He had become well-trained for service, he excelled at his magical lessons, he was reading without difficulty now, and he had been as attentive and observant as I could ask.

  But part of the reason he shone so brightly was his sportish ability to see every living creature’s sense of self-awareness. To him, it was writ large, as inescapable as facial expressions. He could pretend to not see it, but he couldn’t ignore it. It gave him some incredible advantages in life, but it had also led to much tragedy. He still blamed himself and his ability for allowing Korbal to escape his tomb.

  “I know, lad,” I soothed. “It’s just disconcerting when you use it on me. Yes, I had an idea. I realized where I could secure intelligence on our foe. I will pursue it tomorrow,” I decided, a yawn hijacking the end of my sentence.

  “After the Choosing,” Ruderal reminded me. That took me by surprise. I’d almost forgotten.

  “That’s right, that is tomorrow, isn’t it?” I muttered to myself.

  “You insisted that it be done soon,” Ruderal agreed. “Tomorrow is officially ‘soon’.”

  “It shouldn’t take all day,” I decided. “In fact, it shouldn’t even take all morning, if Thinradel is in charge. I should have time to explore my idea. But that settles it – no more musings or late-night contemplation for either of us. To bed! We have a busy day tomorrow. Bank the fire and find your pillow, and we’ll be fresh to attack the day’s challenges in the morning.”

  ***

  “Asbarden of Vorone! Traveler’s Tower!” Thinradel called, as he read through the scroll he carried. There was a tension in his voice that I’d rarely heard as he read the names and their assignments.

  “Isina of Frandon, Lotanz Tower! Lomarchis of Conlay, Salik Tower! Andely of Racine, Rognar Tower! Limberlin of Sevendor . . .”

  On and on Thinradel called the names of the hopeful students who had arrived after Yule, by foot, wain or Waypoint. Once word had gone out that the Spellmonger was sponsoring magi to positions in support of the seven towers of the Magelaw, offering advanced study and access to the vibrant new bouleuterion, magical candidates from across Castal and Alshar had made their way to Vanador. Indeed, Vanador, the new capital city of the province, was a kind of eighth tower, for our purposes.

  I had challenged Master Thinradel back in Sevendor to construct some method of improving the education of wizards in my lands beyond the traditional master-and-apprentice scheme most of us relied upon. With only the two magical academies in the kingdom, Alar and Inarion, there was a limited amount of formalized instruction available to the magically Talented. I aimed to change that.

  I’d secured the right to charter more magical academies from Prince Tavard, after a hefty bribe, and that was my long-term goal. But such institutions take time to construct, and we had people who needed to be trained now. When Thinradel had proposed some sort of advanced study program, I’d enthusiastically agreed – and then put him in charge of it.

  The Choosing was the result. All the candidates who had arrived and applied for a position had been interviewed and assessed for ability and training. Then Thinradel and his associates – a kind of temporary committee pulled from the bouleuterion and the nascent thaumaturgical institute we were developing – sorted them and assigned them to whichever tower they thought would be best served.

  Thinradel announced the results that morning in Vanador’s central market square. His voice called out the names and destinations for each candidate. With just under a hundred in all, the various apprentices, journeymen and footwizards were sorted out to the eight towers, giving each about a dozen magi of various skill levels for each master to work with.

  We were hoping to bridge the gap between traditional apprenticeship and the esteemed corridors of the magical academies with this strategy. The towers would combine the sort of personal attention an apprenticeship gave along with the academic approach of the academies, to ensure a proper grounding in Imperial magic was attained by all. But each tower would specialize in some element of the craft, from thaumaturgy to green magic, and ensure that specialized Talents found the instruction they needed to excel at their individual art.

  It was an ambitious proposal . . . on parchment. Thinradel’s plan would see the apprentice-level candidates being moved from tower to tower every six months, until their examinations, to expose them to as varied instruction as possible. Journeymen would move annually, and advanced students would remain at their posts for a few years, it was decided. I, of course, was funding the entire thing. At least for now.

  In practical terms, the first Choosing was held hurriedly and without much ceremony, with Thinradel hoarsely belting out the assignments as quickly as he could to get in from the dreary weather. He finished the announcements with a short commission to the new students.

  “That’s where you will all be, for the next six months. Some of these places may be under attack, at that time,” Thinradel said. “I understand that’s not the most ideal condition for scholarly study, but that is the price you pay for learning your craft in the Magelaw,” he said, somewhat sternly. “You’ll find more detailed instruction in an individual packet you can pick up under your name at the Thaumaturgy Institute. You’ll also receive instruction about when you will depart by the Ways, those of you who are not assigned to Vanador. Those who can read are kindly asked to assist the illiterate with their instructions,” he added, looking at a couple of young people clustered near the front who were unlikely to have learned the art, yet.

  “Now go get some breakfast, and welcome to . . . well, we haven’t really sorted out a name for it yet,” he admitted. “But you are all now wards of the Spellmonger, officially speaking. Try not to screw it up,” he finished, before stepping down from the platform.

  “An inspiring speech, as always, Thinradel,” I said, clapping sincerely.

  “Oh, blow it out your arse, Minalan,” the wizard grunted, as he approached. “Do you have any idea how exhausting that was?” he demanded.

  “No, which is why I gave the job to you. Well done,” I added. “Although the delivery could have used a bit more ceremony, perhaps . . .”

  “It didn’t seem particularly magical,” added Gareth, as he joined us. “I expected something a little more . . . I don’t know, mysterious? Arcane? Wondrous?”

  “What would you prefer?” demanded Thinradel. “A magical talking hat? An enchanted oracular pig? I’m running an educational program, here, or at least I’m supposed to be. Almost a hundred, so far. Everything from water witches to advanced thaumaturges. And
more coming,” he added, patting the satchel he wore at his side. “I’ve received correspondence by messenger and by Mirror Array, and at least two dozen more will be arriving late. We may well have to do a second Choosing this summer,” he lamented. “Let’s find a tavern,” he added, starting in the direction of the Scrying Glass tavern, located conveniently next door to his home. “I need a drink!”

  “I happen to have a spare moment and a thirst,” Gareth said, as he fell in next to Thinradel, “To be fair, a great many more students will be coming than have written to us. I doubt that there is a wizard left in the Westlands, with all the undead there, and there are many more from Enultramar who are eager to get away from the kidnappings.”

  “Astyral will be adding to the total,” I agreed. “He’s gathering a number of magi at Losara. Many of them will be heading to Vanador, particularly if Count Anvaram decides to attack Astyral over this sequestered fiancée affair,” I pointed out. “We should expect a generous summer class.”

  “That’s just bloody lovely,” Thinradel grumbled, miserably, as we walked. The town was still crowded with countryfolk seeking security against the possibility of invasion, and most of the open spaces between buildings were crowded with tents and shelters. “Perhaps we can lodge them out at the old refugee camp. There damn sure isn’t a spare spot in the entire town!”

  “It will be better, come summer,” I soothed, as we approached the tavern. “Either we will be secure from invasion, or we will be destroyed by it,” I reasoned. “Either way, it won’t be this crowded.”

  “That’s a morbidly optimistic way of approaching things, Minalan,” complained Gareth.

  “He’s a master at that sort of thing,” Thinradel said, shooting me a look as he opened the door to the tavern. There was already a decent crowd inside, even at this time of day, I saw. It was a bright and cheerful place, not quite as elegant as the Alembic, in Sevendor, but with a bit more sophistication than most of the drinking establishments around town. “With Minalan it’s always either festive banquets with the gods or horrific dragon attacks. The man has no sense of moderation!” he observed.