“His niece? I thought you were his daughter,” I admitted, as I took a sip of the beer. It was no better than I remembered it. The bacon was good, though. “What happened to the other girl?”
“Oh, Amsella? She’s just a serving maid, a village girl come to work in the city. She left with most of the others, away to Vorone.” She seemed awfully bouncy – she nearly quivered. She wasn’t a bad looking girl at all, dark hair and bright green eyes. And her shift did little to hide her bust. She twisted back and forth like she was twelve years old. “They say that you and your men saved us all,” she said.
I considered. “Well, we did our best against the goblins. We let the people escape. So yeah, I suppose we did. Those that didn’t get killed along the way.”
“But they say that you, you’re a powerful warmage, and you lead the others.”
“That’s true,” I agreed, tearing a hunk off of the bread. The bread was . . . well, it was hard, black, and would have made my father weep. Let us never speak of it again.
But while I chewed, I couldn’t help but notice that Marlet was taking off her clothes. I stopped chewing, and then forced myself to use the bad beer to wash the bad bread from my mouth. “Marlet, what are you doing?”
She stopped, and looked up at me, startled. “I just wanted to express my gratitude, milord. There aren’t many girls left in town – Whore Street is deserted, it’s said. If you’re agreeable . . .” she said, looking at me hesitantly.
I silently groaned. Because I had spent the previous day slinging around massive amounts of magical energy, and after exhaustion and hunger, that sort of thing always makes me randy, too. And Marlet was suddenly very alluring. She was too young to be jaded about such things yet, and she did seem sincerely grateful. And I was missing Alya something fierce. I was about to tell her not to get undressed when she threw back my blanket and observed that some part of me was agreeable to the idea.
“Oh, what the hell,” I sighed, as I leaned back into the pillow and watched her continue to get undressed. “I’m not married yet . . . and I could be dead tomorrow.” She was naked in an instant, and then climbing over me, kissing me lustfully. “I take it your . . . uncle . . . is going to want some . . . special considerations . . . after this?” I panted between kisses.
“He’s just grateful you didn’t burn the town, or let the goblins in. And he’s used to taking the trade of mercenaries. And me? I’m just grateful to be alive, after watching that battle yesterday. It was powerful fierce,” she said, gravely.
I couldn’t disagree. And I was pretty grateful to be alive, too.
* * *
The castle of Tudry was the former seat of the Baron of Megelin, about a hundred years ago, and it was as ugly as the rest of the town. It was a grand baronial castle, of course, but the dictates of commerce, not defense, had long ago transformed it from a true military fortification into an administrative center. The City Watch was headquartered there, a hundred and fifty men dedicated to patrolling the city. The City Guard was also headquartered there, three hundred men who formed the core of the city’s militia. The Lord Mayor had his office there, although his residence was a far more opulent townhome just outside of the gates. Or at least it used to be opulent – there had been some looting while the city evacuated.
But the castle itself was ugly. Built around a large, square, squat donjon, with two flanking circular towers (a late addition, I could tell) and a secondary keep and storehouse behind it, the thick stone castle was stout as the stone it was made from – but it was ugly. And since it loomed over the rest of the deserted city, that made it all look uglier.
But it was safe, and that counted for a lot right now. The majority of the militia had returned to their posts in the city, or left to join their families in Vorone. The leader of the City Militia was now nominally in charge of the whole place. And he had sent three messages to me before I got downstairs to confer with Ham.
“His Lordship wants to speak with you badly,” Ham reiterated, as I thumbed through the notes he’d scrawled. Handy having a servant who could read and write. Not many could. “And he’s not the only one. There’s a meeting up at the castle in an hour, Master, which is why I had you awakened. All of the commanders will be there.”
“And so will I,” I agreed, although another six hours of sleep, followed by another tumble would have been divine. “Anything else of import?”
Ham glanced around. “A note from Mother arrived, Master,” he said, quietly. It bore her seal. Her special seal,” he emphasized.
That got my attention. You don’t ignore a note from Mother. He handed over the folded envelope without hesitation, and then made certain I wasn’t being observed while I read it. I broke the yellow wax seal and read the neatly penned letter.
My Son,
it read,
I am so proud of you for what you have accomplished so far. You have done very well by the Family, and we couldn’t be more pleased. Your sister wrote me recently and told me about the estate you sent her to for holiday. Her host is apparently not very agreeable, but luckily we have plenty of family around in case she gets uncomfortable.
You should be on the lookout for a couple of your cousins who live in Tudry. They would not have abandoned the town without letting me know, and it may be helpful for you to have family to count on, should you make it by that town. But be careful. I hear it can be dangerous, even in the good parts. You might want to find your own accommodations, however: it is rumored that the local castle may be infested with rats. I hate to trouble you further, knowing how busy you are, but if you could check in on your younger brother, Volerin, if you get a chance. It’s possible he would like to see a familiar face, being so far away from family for so long.
Once again, you have brought significant honor and prestige to the family, and we’re all very pleased. We are all counting on you, I’m sure you know. And it would be lovely if you could bring me a new hat before the Solstice. You know how much your Father and I would like that.
Love, Your Mother
“Trouble, Master?” Ham asked, curiously. “Is Mother well?”
It was a coded message, of course, from Castal’s adept spymaster. I’d been recruited into the organization at Wilderhall, and had done so only reluctantly, because I wasn’t really given a choice. Anyone who didn’t know the code could hardly guess what it was about, or even to whom it was addressed, but I read it clear as day.
“She’s in a fine mood,” I sighed, as I ignited the note with a spark of magic and watched it burn to ashes in my hand. “But she thinks we – well, I – might be in danger, here. She must have sent this after she heard about the Battle of the Lantern. She wants me to look in on some . . . family.”
“I believe we have a couple of cousins in town,” Ham nodded, sagely. “Shall I seek them out?”
“That might be wise,” I agreed. “And apparently we have a brother, too. Named Volerin. He hasn’t written home in a while,” I said, quietly.
“I’ll keep my eyes open,” he nodded. “And my ears. And as many other ears and eyes as silver can buy.”
“Good. I think I’m going to keep my quarters here, while I’m in town. There are rats at the castle. And this place will do for now.”
“Understood, Master. I shall have your things brought here, and make arrangements for your horse with the host. Anything else?”
I considered. “Just keep my chambers secure,” I decided, “and have them ready for tonight. I could still sleep for half a day and not feel guilty about it.”
I was about to ask him for my staff and hat – both had been in my baggage, which was in his charge – but he handed them to me before the words were out of my mouth. He added my leather folio, which I merely said thanks, ignored his smug-looking expression, and was about to order him to have Traveler brought around.
“I took the liberty of having your mount saddled, Master,” he said, before I could ask. “He awaits you outside.”
“Thank you,” I s
aid with a sigh. Okay, precognition and pure thoughtful consideration were assets in a manservant, I told myself, but I could also see how they might get frustrating.
Tudry was nearly deserted, of course, more than seven-eighths of its population fled. That made the streets a lot easier to get through, of course, but as I rode by the market that served Old Town, I could tell that losing most of the city’s supply infrastructure overnight was going to get problematic. There were still plenty of mouths to feed, and while there were likely significant stores already in place, if we were going to keep any decent sized force here, we’d need more.
I was hailed for a password at the gate to Old Town and the castle, proper, by two armored City Militiamen bearing halberds. I didn’t know the passwords, of course, so they had to send for their superior, who only let me pass after I demonstrated that his commander had summoned me. He was apparently not as familiar with my heroic stature as Marlet had been.
After that it was easy to ride to the castle gate, which I was gratified to see was well-manned by attentive guards. The last time I had been to this part of town, there had been a single unarmored watchman with a cudgel and a dagger, purely there to keep the poor away from the rich. Of course most of the rich, it seemed, had fled the city already.
After turning my horse over to a livery boy, I found my way into the antechamber off of the great hall where a council meeting was going on. There were at least thirty men in there, discussing and arguing and shouting and posturing for each other. I could see most of my commanders amongst them: Rogo Redshaft, Bold Asgus, Sir Kavial and Kaddel of the Hellriders. The Baron of Green Hill was also there, with several of his men, and a lord who apparently represented the Baron of Fesdarlen, to the south. The Mayor, the captains of the City Watch and Guards were there, as were several burghers who hadn’t been willing to abandon their town, even in the face of disaster.
They were fighting about the spoils, when I walked in. Particularly just who would command Tudry and who would take over Castle Megelin, to the north – and their attendant revenue streams. The Barons of Green Hill and Fesdarlen both had claims to them, thanks to a couple of common ancestors, and they both thought that it was only proper that the Mayor submit to their respective lords. Meanwhile, the Burghers’ council was demanding independence from overlordship with the death of the Baron of Megelin and his only heir. My captains were trying to keep the two sides apart, while the City Watch captain was trying to figure out which side he was on (that is, which one could bribe him the most). With everyone trying to talk to everyone else – or over everyone else – there wasn’t a lot of consensus happening.
I spotted Astyral in one corner, watching the spectacle with a bemused expression on his face, while Azar was scowling stoically. I decided a few moment’s intelligence might be worthwhile before I waded in, so I summoned the glyph and initiated a link with Astyral.
So who’s winning? I asked, once the contact was established.
The Dead God, at the moment, he said wryly. He’s the one who will take this territory. And I don’t want to be the bearer of bad and obvious tidings to the assembled nobility, but my guess is that their rents and revenues are not going to be what they expect. If someone is harvesting a crop in northern Alshar, I haven’t heard about it.
So tell me about the players? I asked without preamble. Gilmorans have a well-deserved reputation for being skilled at etiquette, politeness, and diplomacy – as well as sensual excess. Astyral was almost as adept as Mavone in terms of observing and understanding the dynamics between people, and possibly more insightful in some ways.
The fat old Burgher is Master Uncramp, head of the guilds – he’s genuinely invested in the town as a whole, and doesn’t want to see it die. I think he’ll take any deal that has the best shot at doing the job. Baron of Green Hill you’ve met. He’s greedy, and wants whatever he can get his hands on. Thinks the goblins are a ‘temporary problem.’
So is life. How about the man in green with the imperial mustache?
That’s Lord Tondine, senior vassal and emissary of the Baron of Fesdarlen. He’s a little more cautious, a little more realistic, but he wants as much of Megelin as he can carve off – preferably the whole piece. He’s smart enough to know that he won’t get it, but he’s not going to back off unless Green Hill does.
Traditional rivalries are like that, I admitted. And the City Watch and Guard?
They’re riding high on a hero’s welcome, and are feeling suddenly important now that just about everyone else is gone. And they did spend all day yesterday killing goblins. So they’re feeling their oats. The Watch is led by Sir Istabal, there, and the Guard is led by Captain Volerin.
Volerin. The brother Mother told me about. So he hadn’t checked in with his secret master in a while? I could see he’d been busy . . . but you don’t ignore Mother like that. Not if you valued your life.
And the Mayor?
Lord Gesaran. He just wants someone to take charge and take responsibility for the mess. Take charge and take over, because he’s smart enough to know he’s just not equipped to handle this. He’s a manager, not a war leader. And he’s clinging to the letter of the law on his precious charter like his life depended upon it.
I see. Thanks. I thought for a few moments, as Lord Tondine was expounding on the virtues of the ancestors of Fesdarlen, then I contacted Azar the same way.
Which one should get it, Azar? I asked him over the link. He looked up at me with a sudden, but small smile.
Give me two minutes and I’ll pile their screaming heads at your feet, he promised.
I wish. No, we’re going to have to use a political, not a military solution here. Just be ready to back me up. I’m about to put the fear of Sharuel into these gentlemen, and I want to be able to present a strong and able alternative to any of these. One that equally dissatisfies everyone. Penny says that’s usually the kind of policy that works best.
That’s a magic of which I want no part, the warrior mage grunted, out loud. You just keep telling me who to kill.
I left him with a mental chuckle. I thought he was joking.
I waited until the Green Hill knights had made their tired rebuttal to the Fesdarlen noble, including a highly glamorized account of their actions in the two recent battles, and then I interrupted. But not by politely clearing my throat.
I did it with a flashy little spell that sent a shower of sparks fountaining from the center of the table. None of the sparks was flammable – different kind of spell – but it was spectacular, and instantly quieted everyone in the room. Then I cleared my throat and stepped forth, as the illusion died away.
“Gentlemen,” I said, quietly enough so that they had to be quiet to hear me. “Now that I have your attention, I think I can provide some answers to your questions.”
“What questions?” the Baron of Green Hill asked, boldly. “It is clear that my house, by right, has the sole legitimate claim—”
“Stuff it,” I growled. I was never fond of that man. “There are ten thousand stinking goblin corpses outside the walls and plenty more where they came from. These lands have no peasants, no miners, no woodsmen. It’s not a viable property any more.
“But take a good look. Feel free to ride through Tudry Commons, and out into the deserted villages and hamlets. See the burned cots and gutted huts. See the crops rotting in the field and the unlucky strung from the trees by their guts. Take a really good look, my lords, because if you don’t get your priorities straight, each of your lands will look like this, with your own lifeless head to stare out at your ruined domains for all of eternity stuck on the point of some stake.”
That smacked them in the face a bit, as it was designed to. “The fact is, Megelin is no longer a viable fief. It’s not going to produce anything, any more than Stut, Horane, Glandon, Denar, Locare, Ganz, or Boval Vale itself will produce. The land is blighted. And yours will follow. If you don’t get your shit together, and fast.”
“You have no right—” Lord
Tondine said, shrilly. The Baron of Green Hill cut him off.
“Watch your tongue around Marshal Spellmonger, Sir,” he said, warningly. “He can fry you to cinders with a look, if you aren’t respectful.”
“True, but unhelpful,” I observed. “All of you just shut up for a moment,” I said, crossly.
A conversation Penny and I had returned to me, one of the many we had on the ride across southern Alshar after we escaped Boval. I was still worried about being a good leader, when Penny informed me that the key to leadership in just about any capacity was establishing your authority and your competency so naturally that there’s never any doubt in anyone’s mind just who is in charge.
As a commoner, I’d been slow to grasp that subtlety. But the more I considered myself a warmage, not a mere spellmonger, the more I’d come to appreciate it. If you act like you’re in charge, then people are just naturally going to assume you are in charge.
“The fact is,” I said, with a heavy sigh, “neither of the baronies has a claim on this land, because I am placing it under the direct protection of the Duchy. Furthermore, you are both to return to your castles and begin preparations to remove your women and children east, if you haven’t done so already. And then prepare your castles for an extended war. I’m declaring an end to your infernal feud that has made my life difficult not once, but twice in one summer. The temple of Huin is now attached to Tudry, under the protection of the Duke, as are all its lands. You don’t have that to fight over any more.”
I turned to face shocked faces on the other side of me. “Furthermore, Tudry town has also reverted back to the Duke, and its charter is null and void. There will be no more revenues from this town, because there will be no more regular trade here. This is now a military outpost of the Duchy.
“So, for that matter, is Castle Megelin,” I continued, watching jaws drop all around the table. “All women and children shall be evacuated east, and the castle shall be put under the guardianship of the Coronet.”
The Spellmonger Series: Book 02 - Warmage Page 32
