Oh, well. You can’t have everything.
Chapter Twenty-One:
Bedding The Shadowmage
Wilderhall, Midsummer
I was half in a daze as I walked back to the cobblestoned garden where Rardine and her pretty coven of killers were still amusing themselves with gossip and gods knew what else. I waited respectfully for a break in the conversation before clearing my throat and attracting notice.
“My ladies,” I said, forcing myself into being charming despite the sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. “Her Grace suggested you would be entertained by further demonstrations of the stone’s power.”
“Yes, Mother was kind enough to suggest that,” Rardine said, looking at me with calculating eyes. That’s very disconcerting when they’re attached to girl of sixteen summers. This was a test.
“Mother was very kind,” I said, nodding. Rardine bit her lip for half a second then nodded. My initiation into the Family was complete. “What might I do to entertain you?”
“Master Dunselen always claims magic is too valuable a resource to waste on idle amusement,” Rardine said, expectantly.
“Master Dunselen didn’t have a witchstone,” I replied, withdrawing mine once again. “I delight in idle amusement. And I am still new enough to need the practice. Any requests?”
“Can you cast an enchantment on me to make me perpetually beautiful and desired by every man in the Duchy?” asked Lady Esmara, the statuesque blonde who was pouring tiny cups of wine for everyone now. Watching her bend over to serve was pretty entertaining on its own.
“My lady, such a spell would be redundant. Might I suggest finding something that is lost?”
“Your scarf, Aralai!” one of the ones I didn’t know – a winsome brunette in the prime of womanhood – said, adamantly. “You’ve been looking for it for weeks!”
“That is true,” the maiden said, spreading out the scarf she was so carefully embroidering. “I spent all last winter on it, and now I can’t find it anywhere! I know I had it when we came north . . .”
“Can you describe it?” I asked.
“Describe it? This one is its twin, near-enough. The arms of my house. My father’s house,” she amended. “I will be taking my husband’s arms, whenever I am wed.”
I examined the cloth, and tried to fill in the unfinished areas in my imagination. I asked a few questions about where the cloth from the original came from, which I really didn’t need to know, but which gave me the opportunity to stare down the top of Lady Aralai’s dress for a few pleasant moments. Then I stood, relaxed, closed my eyes, and began the spell.
Finding spells are simple – incredibly simple. That doesn’t always mean that they work, but they’re the bread-and-butter for most village spellmongers. Lost jewelry, coins, keys, documents, heirlooms, and that doesn’t even include lost livestock. Everyone loses something, eventually. Even magi.
I fixed the image of the scarf in my mind and fixed a glyph of recognition around it. Then I built a simple construct which would resonate with the object of my search, based on the potency of my visualization. The result could be gleaned in a number of ways, from revelatory divination to sketches, but for me I’d always been able to actually visualize the specific location.
As a spellmonger it might take me an hour to set up the spell, and another to complete it. Repeat if necessary. With the power of a witchstone at my command, I had the whole thing hung and operational in mere moments.
I allowed my consciousness to follow the flow of the spell, the lines of force that connected the image of the scarf in my mind with the actual scarf. That took a fair amount of subtlety on my part, but like I said, I’m good at this kind of spell. I felt my ‘self’ pulled in the direction of the town, and followed the line. When my consciousness had reached the terminus of the line, it was in a small room upstairs from a prosperous merchant – a weaver. In his daughter’s chamber, under her bed.
I opened my eyes. “Has my lady chanced to visit a weaver of late?” I asked, politely.
Her eyes grew. “Why yes, I . . . I stopped there to pick out thread and cloth for . . . so it’s there?” she asked, in disbelief.
“It is, my lady. Upstairs. It seems to have been put away in his daughter’s room.”
There was a trace of blush in her cheeks as she nodded. “I suppose I shall have to visit to retrieve it, then,” she said, quietly. I didn’t probe further – I wasn’t raised a noble, but I know how to be a gentleman.
“Is there anything else?” I asked, trying to quickly change the subject. “Perhaps something a little more . . . spectacular?”
“Can you do something to cool us off, Master Spellmonger?” asked one buxom lass a few years younger than me, one with brown-gold hair and eyes that looked . . . well, a lot like Alya’s. Which instantly made me homesick for her. And horny.
“Let me think . . .” I said, studying the area, and noticing a small pool at the bottom of the terraces that reflected the image of a thousand yellow eyes back toward us, upside down. I closed my eyes and ‘felt’ around the area.
Elemental magic isn’t hard, really. It’s just hard to gather the power needed to do anything productive with it. I could have just summoned a cooling breeze, but I was shooting for ‘spectacular’. Breezes are rarely spectacular. Earth elementals, however, are.
Once it would have taken me days to prepare a spell of this magnitude. But I tapped into the reservoirs of the witchstone, and it was as simple as breathing. I summoned the energy necessary to begin, and then probed around the hillside upon which the castle was built and, sure enough, I found dozens of likely suspects. I selected a strong one, and then willed it toward the surface, emerging nearby within a flower bed. Of course.
I stirred the glyph in my mind and encouraged the earth spirit to take form, and around me I heard gasps as suddenly the dirt from the flower bed flowed up into the air like water, and settled in a kind of vaguely humanoid shape. It was about seven feet tall, and broad-shouldered, without a distinguishable face. Left to its own devices it would probably have stomped around in a stupor before it got bored and left its temporary body. Earth elementals are strong forces of nature, but they aren’t particularly bright.
Luckily, I was looking to impress the ladies with my magic, not its witty banter. I had the man-shaped mess of dirt and clay and stray roses shuffle down the stairway to the bottom, and plunge it’s ‘arms’ into the water of the pool, instantly turning it muddy.
Oh, but I wasn’t done. While maintaining the elemental spell, I hung another one. Water, this time, with just enough air thrown in. I gave it shape in the water, and in reality the pool seemed to churn and boil. But a few moments later the enthralled earth elemental dutifully stooped and pulled a large disc of pure – well, dirty – ice from the surface of the water.
Making ice is easy and impressive. Take water. Remove heat. You have ice. Without recourse to a mountain top or the depths of winter. Even without irionite, it was an easy spell. There were even Icemavens, people with a gift to do that one thing, like having perfect pitch or a gift for dowsing for water. With a witchstone, however, I could probably go into business doing nothing but making ice for people and retire a wealthy man.
The earthen giant lifted the heavy burden and carried it up the stairs to our level. At my direction, it set the four-foot wide disc on the pavement in the center of the courtyard. In the summer’s heat, you could feel the cold flow off of it in a very pleasant manner. As a finale, I had the elemental give Rardine a deep bow before I made it return to the flower bed, appear to collapse, and rejoin it’s fellows under the castle.
“Good goddess, what was that?” exclaimed Lady Esmara, eyes wide.
“An earth elemental,” the pretty brown-haired girl said, smiling at me. “A really big one, too!”
“Oh, he’s not that big,” I said, nonchalantly. “And all the women I’ve met have told me that size isn’t important, anyway, and I take them at their word. Is that cool enough for yo
u, my lady?” Yes, I was flirting. She looked really, really good and Penny had said it was important that we ensure good relations with these people. So I was just doing my job.
“Oh, quite, Master Spellmonger!” giggled the assassin who could kill a man twenty different ways with poison – the perky harpist and whose name I couldn’t remember. “Now can you enchant me a bauble that will let me tell when a man is being less than truthful to me?”
“I would not be the one to unleash such powerful spells on the world, my lady,” I said, smoothly. “For how would we men lure you into our clutches if we cannot lie to you?”
“Is that so offensive to the gods?” asked a raven-haired beauty, “a man who cannot lie?”
I was pretty confident the male gods probably would back me on this. “No more offensive than a woman who cannot conceal her imperfections. What women do with blush and rouge, men must do with words and . . . imagination.”
“Most of you need more practice, then,” said one maiden, sourly. “I don’t care how many times you men tell me six inches is ten, I will still not believe it. If all men were carpenters, then all houses would be but four feet tall.” That provoked a chorus of titters, in which I joined. I’ve never exaggerated about such things, but luckily I had no need to.
“If there is nothing else, my ladies, let me then go prepare for the evening,” I said, bowing to them all. A few wanted private words with me, either to welcome me to the ‘Family’ or to ask me specific questions. Countess Rardine was one of the last. She clasped my hand in hers and leaned in to whisper in my ear:
“Instruct your servant to order a whore to arrive at the second hour after midnight,” she murmured. “And ensure that you are not disturbed.”
“May I ask why, my lady?” I whispered back, intrigued. I mean, it was the first time a beautiful woman has ever instructed me to order a whore. You take notice of things like that.
“Do as I bid, and it will ensure your safety against the Censor General,” she said. “And it may not be unpleasant in other ways.”
“As you command,” I nodded. I hope I looked cool and collected. Because I’d just invited an assassin to my room, and I was terrified and trying desperately not to show it. It’s just not a wise idea to piss off a woman who knows her way around exotic toxins and thinks nothing of sending men to their deaths.
* * *
“How did your interview go with Her Grace, Master?” Hamlan asked, innocently enough when I finally returned to my quarters that afternoon.
As pleasant as an afternoon in a dragon’s den,” I muttered. “So, you were sent to spy on me,” I said, a note of accusation in my accusation.
“Oh, yes, Master,” he agreed readily. “That was explicitly stated.”
“And it doesn’t bother you,” I added.
“Begging my Master’s pardon, but I am greatly relieved now that I do not have to hide the matter from you.”
I gave him a long, searching look. “And if your Mother required you to stick a knife in my ribs?”
“It would be one of the saddest days of my life to leave the service of such a benevolent master,” he assured me, without revealing what he would do about it.
I continued to study him, until I finally sighed. “All right, as long as we know our roles, I don’t think there’s any reason to concern ourselves further with it. By the way, I’ve been made one of Mother’s Sons.”
“I was so informed, Master,” he nodded. I didn’t ask how – Mother apparently had her ways.
“I will retire for a while, I think, and then—”
“Begging your pardon, Master Minalan, but I don’t think you have time,” he said, reasonably but with a trace of urgency in his voice. “A message arrived while you were meeting Her Grace. A few, in fact. Firstly, you are invited to attend a small affair this evening hosted by Lord Maron, Counselor of the West, at the Hall of Trophies in the Tower of Steel.”
“Crap,” I sighed – my interview with the Duchess had exhausted me. “All right, I hope he’s not expecting too much from me. What is the occasion?”
“Officially? It’s a weekly meeting of distinguished gentlemen of the realm. Unofficially, my sources say Lord Maron, Count Moray, and Viscount Poramar will be the highest ranking gentlemen attending, but that there will be several lesser nobles of some standing – important advisors or ministers or wardens of this or that.”
“How important?”
My manservant looked thoughtful. “The Duke would not make a decision based on their opinions alone, but he would think carefully before making one that would arouse their ire.”
“And the other three advisors?”
“Far more powerful. Lord Maron is Warden of the West, which means he is in command of the frontier garrisons, which means he has a say in Alshari-Castali affairs. It is widely known that he aspires to the Prime Minister’s seat, when next it is vacant. Count Moray is Ducal Advisor on the Treasury, which means that he arranges for the financing His Grace requires to run the Duchy. And Viscount Poramar is one of the leading nobles among the Riverlands Baronies. Not the most powerful, but perhaps one of the most influential. He is considered their representative at court.”
“Any chance they’re well-disposed toward my proposal?” I asked, hopefully, while I began changing into my other set of clothes.
“Ambivalent, at best, Master,” Ham said. “They are a conservative bunch, and missing from their midst is Count Chorlan of Tristany. He represents the wealthy port cities and mercantile interests, particularly the wine trade. His Excellency is currently in Farise, looking after the Duke’s affairs there.”
“I seem to be in a charming mood today,” I said, glumly. “Hopefully that will be sufficient to win them over. Any more good news?” I asked, sarcastically.
“May the gods be kind, Master,” he said, unhelpfully. “There was another invitation. From His Grace. Bearing his Ducal seal. You are summoned to Court before Their Graces to answer charges from the Censor General tomorrow, at the third hour after noon in the Great Hall of the Duke’s Tower.”
“I was expecting that,” I sighed, and then realized that the news had dropped the pit of my stomach through the floor. We’re taught to fear the Censorate. “I’m surprised it’s taken this long. That doesn’t leave me a lot of time,” I admitted. “But I still need to accomplish a few things. Give me a little peace to make some arrangements, and I’ll proceed to the Tower of Steel. Oh, and . . . do what ever it is you do to arrange for a whore for the evening. Second hour after midnight. I expect that I’ll want one, after dealing with nobility all evening. Make certain she’s admitted, and make yourself scarce while she’s here.”
He nodded sagely before excusing himself, as if such a request was common for someone’s manservant to arrange. Perhaps it was, at Wilderhall. I don’t know. He was my first manservant.
But I needed the counsel of another kind of tart at the moment. I tried to compose myself, withdrawing my stone and beginning the ritual to make contact with Penny. It took slightly longer this time. I guess I was tired, or she was busy. But eventually I “heard” her voice.
Min? she called faintly to me. What is it?
I’ve just finished my interview with the Duchess. She will support me. For a price.
What price? she asked, her voice a lot firmer. And why should her support be worth anything? All she does is screw the Duke and make babies. Oh! Don’t tell me she has an eye for—
No, that I could almost contend with. I can hold my own with an older woman. But as to the importance of her support, well . . . I’ve been recruited into her spy network.
Oh! Min! Duchess Grendine? Her? The Ducal Master of Secrets? Really?
She runs Castal’s whole intelligence network, apparently, I explained. She’s got an agent in every important barony and city of more than a thousand people, here, in Alshar, in Remere, hell, probably in Vore and Merwin, too. And assassins. So while the offer was extended courteously enough, there was a compulsory aspect of it
that disturbed me.
I can see how it would, she replied, philosophically. Well, I did warn you.
And if my day wasn’t complete at that, I have to go to another meeting of nobles tonight. And tomorrow . . . well, I’ve just been informed that I’m to defend myself before General Hartarian. And I’d hate to do it alone. Any chance that a couple of fellows from the Order could find their way here? I might need a timely rescue.
I just heard from Taren and Rustallo a few hours ago. They’re within forty miles of Wilderhall, now. They should arrive before morning.
Good. My meeting – actually, more like a trial – before the Censor General is set for the third hour after noon, tomorrow. Having them around would make me feel a little more secure about the outcome.
Aw, Min! she thought, mockingly, are you scared of a little supreme magical authority?
It can be a little intimidating, I admitted. You know the Censorate’s reputation. I just had a Duchess threaten my life and the lives of my family for the sake of political expediency. Yesterday I got walloped by the Lord Marshal on the practice field and grilled by the envoy from Alshar. At this point, I’m actually looking forward to a hopeless battle.
I’ll remind you that you said that, she promised with a mental giggle. Just relax. There’s nothing that they can do to you, really. If they were to put you to death, the whole Order would rise up and destroy them. You would be avenged.
That’s not very comforting.
It is to me. I would be most vexed. Oh, and I finally established a telepathic link with Tyndal. I had a hard time, since he didn’t have the background in Imperial magic—
Hey! He’s only been an apprentice for eight months! Under the circumstances—
Yes, yes, I know, he’s a bright kid. Lots of Talent, for a barbarian peasant, and very smart, apart from his hopeless devotion to you. But he would benefit from a classical education. Anyway, I talked him through the spell, and now he’s in our spy network. He’s with your . . . with Alya at your parent’s house. He reports that things are fine, Alya and the baby seem in good health, except that one of your nieces has a crush on him which makes him uncomfortable and Alya and your mother have . . . had words a few times.
The Spellmonger Series: Book 02 - Warmage Page 39
