Arcanist

by Terry Mancour

  “Sir! Hold to your oath!” Grenard demanded of his friend, angrily.

  “It’s our necks!” hissed Holwyn. “We’re no use to the count if we’re dead!”

  “There is no dishonor in being fairly bested, gentlemen,” I observed, coolly. “You tried to spy on a magelord. You were caught. It is easy enough to compel your testimony by spell or torture, but I’m a reasonable man who appreciates reasonable men. Speak freely, and you may well spare your lives and a great deal of discomfort.”

  “Count Anvaram gathers his banners in preparation to ride north, as soon as the roads are clear,” Lenameth admitted. “He convenes a large host of his vassals and a few mercenaries at his seat. Our expedition was to establish the route and scout it thoroughly, as well as discover what we could about Lady Maithieran.”

  “How large a force?” demanded Gareth.

  “At least a thousand lances,” Holwyn bragged. “And several thousand mercenaries!”

  A lance was five men – that meant five to eight thousand in Anvaram’s party. A formidable force, to be sure.

  “When will he depart?” Gareth continued. I couldn’t fault the lad’s determination, but I had what I needed from these men. Further interrogation would be pointless. But that didn’t mean that the trio wasn’t useful to me.

  “He will depart two weeks after he thinks he will, and will struggle mightily along the way,” I predicted. “He will leave his lands full of enthusiasm, but soon find his every attempt to advance a challenge.”

  “You see the future?” asked Holwyn, skeptically.

  “No, I’ve just been a part of several military expeditions, and that’s how they all happen,” I countered. “Count Anvaram is no field general; this will be his first attempt at commanding such a large host for a prolonged period. As good as his advisors are, and as thorough as his support no doubt is, he will find the task frustrating long before he ever reaches a battlefield. If he makes haste, he risks spreading out his force and losing it to desertion and opportunistic raids. If he is cautious, he will lose any surprise he might have and risk his men to disease and starvation. That many horses requires a lot of silage,” I pointed out.

  “You imply that this endeavor is blessed by greater forces, my lord?” Brother Bryte asked, surprised.

  “Let’s ask,” I shrugged. “Who is funding Anvaram’s folly, my lords?” I asked, politely.

  “Our liege is a man of great wealth!” bragged Grenard, defiantly.

  “Not so great as to fund an expedition that takes the bulk of his nobility on holiday for an entire growing season,” pointed out Gareth, as he started to understand. “I suspect Prince Tavard’s influence in this, Sire,” Gareth murmured to me.

  “It would be illegal for a liege to fund a war on a fellow vassal in such a way,” Brother Bryte frowned. “To pay money to a vassal to make war on a rival is strictly prohibited by the Laws of Duin and Luin.”

  “I doubt it was an explicit payment,” I pointed out. “Anvaram’s honor would not let him act as a base mercenary. Not for mere coin. Even for his liege. I think other means were found.”

  “It is well-known that the Count receives gifts of honor from Prince Tavard,” Holwyn ventured. “At Yule he was granted six large estates . . . and a massive golden statue of a hound by the Prince. Gold, not gilt,” he insisted.

  “That would get around the matter of an exchange of coin,” Brother Bryte conceded. “Anvaram probably sold it at once, or had it melted down to pay for the expedition. Of such deceits the nobility thrives in their corruption,” condemned the lawbrother.

  “It allows the Prince to plausibly deny any involvement,” I pointed out. “Anvaram, alone, bears the responsibility for the expedition. But I’m certain that there was a secret agreement,” I said, confidently. “Anvaram is the most likely tool for Tavard’s wrath.”

  “Was exile not enough punishment?” Gareth asked.

  “This is about more than mere revenge,” Brother Bryte suggested. “There are great powers at play. Since the establishment of the Curia of the Counts to fund the kingdom, the center of power has shifted away from the dukes. Prince Tavard seeks to strike a political foe by proxy and consolidate his power base.”

  “I suppose Tavard should be upset at the poor quality of spies his gold paid for,” Gareth said, gesturing toward the three bound Gilmorans.

  “Oh, I don’t know, if this was a regular feudal war, these three would be adequate, no doubt,” I chuckled. “They might have even been successful. But your point is well taken, Gareth. They are poorly equipped for this particular war.”

  “Which war is that, my lord?” Brother Bryte asked, pointedly. “Do we not face a much more fearsome foe in Shakathet the Nemovort than in Count Anvaram the Cuckold?”

  “It’s all one war,” I countered. “You just have to see it in the right way. Very well: these three gentlemen shall be imprisoned in Anguin’s Tower, until such time as I take up their disposition.”

  “You will place us in some foul wizards’ den?” snarled Grenard, defiantly.

  “It’s actually quite lovely,” Gareth demurred. “But I have a feeling you’ll not see much more than the stables, if I know the Keeper of the tower,” he suggested. “As knights, I assume you’re well-acquainted with the husbandry of horses?”

  “Do we really need a second enemy, my lord?” Brother Bryte asked, skeptically, as the three knights were being led away.

  “You just have to look at the situation properly,” I shrugged. “Tavard was going to come after me, as you pointed out; he needs to break up my alliance with Anguin, and sees this as the most direct way to challenge that. It’s poorly conceived and doomed to failure, but it was the reasonable choice for him to make, under the circumstances.”

  “That doesn’t seem to bother you,” the lawbrother observed.

  “Minalan accumulates enemies like a poor man does creditors or a pretty girl does suitors,” Gareth snorted. “Tavard is merely the most high-born of them.”

  “But you are strangely undisturbed by the prospect of facing five or six thousand angry Gilmoran knights. I find that intriguing.”

  “Compared to fifty thousand screaming gurvani? They’re an afterthought,” I dismissed. “I don’t fear Anvaram’s fury. Or his competence, if these three are any indication. We’ll see if they make it as far as Vorone.”

  “I do find these displays of irrational confidence encouraging,” Brother Bryte declared. “It’s a brilliant distraction from the prospect of certain death.”

  “You need to trust Minalan,” Gareth suggested. “He may not know what he’s doing, but he fakes it convincingly. He gets results,” he insisted to the monk.

  “Oh, I’m aware,” Brother Bryte nodded with a sigh. “I just wish he was less messy in how he does it.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  A Goddess in My Bedchamber

  Hail, the Bearer of Burdens! Strong beyond measure!

  Hail, the Milk Mother! Provider of nourishment!

  Hail the Goddess of the Kine! Her hooves and horns bless us!

  Hail Bova! Hail the Goddess of Cows! Moo! Moo! MOO!

  Traditional Hymn To Bova, Goddess of the Kine

  From the Collection of Jannik the Rysh

  There was a decided uneasiness that bloomed across the Penumbra that spring, along with the wildflowers and the new, green shoots and fresh leaves. As promising as the vernal season was by its nature, even those settlements isolated enough to hear little about the greater world felt the coming battles in the air like warm breezes.

  There were few enough of them. Scattered across the expanse of the Western Bank of the Wildwater vales, the rolling terrain of the Penumbra concealed scores of hamlets and freeholds that had somehow escaped both the brutal onslaught of the initial invasion and its long, lingering aftermath. Those strongholds that had persisted hadn’t done so unaided, however; for many years the lonely Iron Bandsmen had been the only force keeping the gurvani at bay.

  The Iron Band had
been one of King Rard’s initial concessions to the threat of the gurvani. The conscripted order was comprised of debtors who sought to have their debts absorbed by the crown in return for seven years’ service in the Penumbra.

  Their string of fortresses that stretched from Osbury to Vorone were known collectively as the Iron Ring, taken from Rard’s inaugural speech as king. As bold as the name was, the Iron Ring was a tepid response to the threat of the gurvani; the unit was perpetually underfunded, poorly armed and poorly provisioned. Despite the annual payments from the Royal Treasury for its upkeep, the institutional resources of the Iron Band had always been thin.

  Now they were threadbare. The Iron Band had been recently replenished, after an influx of rebellious Alshari noblemen who preferred exile to execution. They weren’t the most enthusiastic of recruits, but as many of them had families in the south they wanted to see again, they were as loyal to the order as could be expected. Service in a foreign land against an intractable foe with crappy equipment and virtually no training will do that for you.

  I’d always tried to support the Iron Band; they weren’t glamorous, like the Knights of Megelin or the Estasi Order, but they were dutiful and dedicated. They also tended to be horrible gamblers, which was always popular. They did tremendous work with little resources, under trying circumstances. I’d spoken to the order’s leadership at length, in confidence, over the years. Most of their recruits never made it beyond the half-way point in their seven-year service before they fell while on duty.

  As military outfits went, they were slightly better than the average garrison unit and far below the combat units with whom I was familiar. Some of them had true military talent, as well as training from their old lives. Most were clueless noblemen with little real experience with a sword until they arrived in the Wilderlands and went on their first patrol. They learned fast, or they got buried at one of many chapel graveyards at glamorous Iron Ring fortresses.

  The unique nature of the corps shaped its growth as an institution. Those bandsmen who managed to survive the harsh conditions were afforded great honor and position in the order, and that increased their dedication to the mission. Those were the ones who treated their oath with seriousness. Those who did not were prone to accidents or incidents on their patrols. Those who performed faithfully were rewarded with advancement and praise. That led to each outpost commander and garrison marshal along the Iron Ring becoming nearly fanatical in their devotion to their charge.

  For what they were, the Iron Band was surprisingly effective. They had escorted trade caravans and rescued escaped slaves from the Penumbra for more than five years, now, and provided a decided line of defense against the gurvani. But that success had been largely because they were unchallenged; though the band had enjoyed more action than most. Since their establishment they had rarely faced a concerted threat against one of their compounds.

  Shakathet was going to bring that impressive record to an end, alas.

  We were fairly certain, after Mavone’s careful intelligence gathering, that Fort Destiny, the headquarters of the Iron Band and one of Bendonal’s flanking fortresses, was going to be among the first of our citadels to be challenged by Shakathet’s legions.

  By its very nature Fort Destiny was on the forefront of our defenses. It had been established purposefully inside the zone of the enemy’s influence: the entire purpose of the garrison was to challenge the idea that humanity had abandoned those lands. For years the regions around the old hill-fort had been held by the gurvani or left wild, attracting bandits and refugees, escaped slaves and deserters. Fort Destiny, once known as Castle Dardafan, had been a force for order since the early days. Indeed, it was the very first of the fortresses and outposts garrisoned by the Iron Band.

  Beginning as a recaptured ruin manned by a skeleton staff, Fort Destiny had grown to hold a garrison of a thousand men-at-arms, and the surrounding lands were now pacified and somewhat settled. There were tiny hamlets and farmsteads now, within the sight of its towers. The old castle and its impressed garrison provided elusive security in this chaotic and dangerous land. The Captain of the Band ruled the fortress and the surrounding lands like a normal lord, and the caravans that ran between the far-flung outposts of the band, across the entire Iron Ring, brought supplies and trade to places where only strife and bloodshed had reigned, before.

  Yet its forward-projecting position made it an irresistible target for Shakathet’s generals. The castle could not be ignored during an advance, as it would spew raiders to harass its passage and challenge his supply line. It was just too large, the first of several difficult obstacles to the Nemovort’s advance. None of my advisors saw a way for Shakathet to go around the Iron Band headquarters without inviting attack.

  The famous commander of the corps, Sir Sastan of Presan, made that all but certain. While his troops were not designed to prevail in open battle, the Iron Band had tenaciously clung on to their precious outposts during the very worst of hostilities. They’d paid a terrible price for doing so – one man in three who took service with the band were slain before their seven-year term expired. Those who survived were adept at guarding caravans, garrisoning outposts and fighting the brutal bush war that was daily life in the Penumbra.

  Nor did the Iron Bandsmen shy away from a fight. They were not the enthusiastic warriors of the Megelini Knights or the warmagi who had built Vanador or even the dour Alshari 3rd Commandos. They were practical men serving out sentences because they had to, and they were fighting to live because they had no other choice. That said, the chance to cross swords with the foe who had harassed them nightly was something each of them seemed eager for.

  The problem was, there was little hope that Fort Destiny, for all of its tradition and importance, could withstand a direct and concerted assault by Shakathet’s forces.

  We could have devoted a tremendous amount of resources to stiffen its defense; Sandoval sent some trusted men to investigate just that possibility. But the castle was originally built to ward against neighboring Wilderlords, not legions upon legions of gurvani animated by the hatred of their fell masters. The walls of the fortress were proof against cavalry charges by Wilderland knights. They were not prepared for siege worms and trolls. The sheer size of Shakathet’s army could overwhelm Fort Destiny.

  From Terleman’s perspective, that was a benefit, not a liability. He said as much at one of our impromptu strategy sessions at Spellgarden. It was a controversial decision.

  “Shakathet has to lay siege to the place, no matter what,” he argued, over wine, that evening. “Even with his magical bridge, there are limited passages his army can take to get into our interior. All of them put his flanks in danger of raids from Fort Destiny.”

  “So we evacuate the fortress and re-distribute the troops to better-defendable positions,” insisted Sandy. “Those men would have a better chance fighting at Megelin, which is prepared for such a siege, than defending a doomed castle.”

  “Which would cede the route to Shakathet,” Terl countered. “Allowing him entry into our lands unopposed. Not to mention capturing a strong point from us he can use as a depot or position of retreat,” he continued, as he cast a magemap into the air between us. “That’s giving him an unearned advantage that we can ill-afford.”

  “So, what does condemning a few thousand men to a brutal death buy us?” Sandy riposted.

  “We know where the enemy will be,” Terl said, triumphantly.

  “Yes. Completely surrounding our men,” Sandy replied, dryly. “How convenient for us.”

  “If we want the opportunity to deploy powerful spells against the massed might of our foes,” Terl patiently explained, “Fort Destiny gives us the greatest opportunity, when they are freshest, and where they will be tightly massed.”

  “You have a spell in mind?” I asked, curious.

  “Several,” Terl admitted. “But that’s not the point. We know where the battlefield will be, if we allow them to approach unchallenged and besiege the pla
ce.”

  “Just like we did with Tudry,” Sandy reminded him. “We let them walk in, settle down, and then suckered them in with a few cheap spells before we toasted them. I think they might be wary against that sort of thing again,” he predicted.

  “This won’t be like Tudry,” Terl argued. “The goal there was to entrap the army within the town. The goal here will be to befoul the army with as many spells as possible before splitting it into parts that are easier for our forces to manage. At Fort Destiny, we can begin the process of grinding Shakathet’s great armies into dust.”

  “You’d better think of something damned impressive, then,” Sandy sighed. “Something along the lines of that Millstone of yours.”

  “I’ve got some ideas,” he shrugged. “So does Wenek. A lot of people have ideas. Give me a few days, and I’ll have something more definite. But we have never lacked the capacity to cause great harm. Fort Destiny and its men allow us the opportunity to use it against their gathered might. I don’t aim to waste it.”

  For the Iron Band’s part, they were eager to fortify their headquarters ahead of the battle. At least the leadership was. The wave of recruits resulting from Anguin’s restoration were more sullen about their opportunity for a glorious death. Rebellion, apparently, is easier to raise than a determined defense for those Alshari noblemen. Though technically volunteers, they had the look of conscripts as they drilled, dug and stocked the keep with essentials. Fighting under the command and for the coin of a king that they did not consider legitimate was particularly galling. Fighting under the command of wizards somehow made it worse.

  The Iron Band actually had a small Magical Corps, a handful of wizard bandsmen whose fortunes had brought them to the debtor’s battalion. I’d quietly granted three of the warmagi witchstones over the course of our acquaintance, and all three were gathered to defend the fortress along with Terleman’s team of defensive warmagi. There was a limit to how many additional sparks we could add to the defense – the castle was only so large, and a great number of the men had to be infantry. Nearly all the cavalry was withdrawn, save a few patrolling riders. Horses weren’t very useful in a siege.