The Spellmonger Series: Book 02 - Warmage

by Terry Mancour

  But there were comrades missing, too. Horka, of course. Hesia had died with her troops behind the wall keeping it from being overrun. Delman had fallen on the wall, mere moments before Taren’s spell went off. At his side had been Bendonal the Outlaw, pierced by dozens of blades before he finally went down.

  As they were trickling in, Hamlan led me over to a discreet corner of the hall, ostensibly to help me dress to present myself for court, but actually to hand me a scrap of parchment sealed with the sign of the yellow rose. He watched as I broke the seal and read the note.

  My dear Son,

  I am very proud of the work that you have done, and I assure you that you will be richly rewarded for your efforts, as I agreed. In the days to come, I remind you to remember that Family ties are always more important than casual acquaintances, and I urge you to support your Father the way a good Son should. Be warned that the King of Rats is still eager for your blood. I would be quite upset should that happen, so take care.

  Your dearest Mother

  “That was ominous,” I murmured as I ignited the paper with a cantrip and watched it burn. Mother can’t resist speaking in riddles even when she had no need to. I looked around at the other warmagi, and realized they were all waiting for me.

  “News from home, Master?” Hamlan asked, expectantly.

  “Mom’s getting me a new pony for Midwinter,” I said. “And your sister is running away to marry a poxy one-eyed ragpicker thrice her age. It’s a case of true love,” I quipped.

  Hamlan nodded sagely. “I shall be sure to send them a new blanket for a wedding gift, then. Perhaps something blue.”

  “Just stick around here tonight and keep an eye on the place, will you? I don’t want anyone messing with our stuff. Any soldier out there could be a Censor in disguise. Or, apparently, one of the Rats.”

  “I shall be vigilant, Master,” he assured me in a tone so convincing it was mocking.

  “You’d better. The rest of us are going to be at that damn court for a hearty round of applause, or an execution, or something.”

  “Oh, I love surprises!” Ham smirked. “Allow me to be the first to present my congratulations or condolences, depending.”

  I shot him a nasty look.

  “Wine, Master?” he asked, handing me a cup of mulled red.

  I took it. It was hot, spiced, and sweet, just what I wanted. “You’re temporarily reprieved,” I sighed, and took a sip.

  “Sparks!” I bellowed, after my throat was wet. “Let’s everyone gather around for a quick chat,” I said, motioning them over. “We’re going to court to meet a couple of coronets. I want to make certain we’re not going to have any unpleasantness. You all know we are still technically in violation of the Bans, so there’s a small chance that the Dukes will try to double-cross us and sell us out to the Censorate or something. I don’t want that to happen.”

  “I can assure you, it won’t,” nodded Azar, grimly. There was a sly chuckle from the crowd.

  “That’s what I like to hear,” I agreed. “So everyone be prepared for anything. If I need you to do something, I’ll let you know in the usual way,” I said, tapping my temple with my forefinger meaningfully. “But this could just be a big victory celebration where they want to thank us and laud us with honors.”

  “That’s what I’m hoping,” acknowledged Astyral cheerfully.

  “Regardless, however it goes I wanted to take this chance to thank you all for your service, personally. Regardless of whether we get rewarded or condemned, it has been an honor and a privilege to know and work with you all. Without you . . . well, without you, then the legions would be marching on Vorone and Wilderhall now, not sneaking back north with their tails between their legs!”

  They gave a loud – if tired – cheer at that, and I suddenly felt a lot better. My professional peers still liked me and approved of my leadership. With that behind me, I felt like I could appear before the gods themselves and dicker for terms.

  “So we’re going to march into that tent, and we’re going to present ourselves to Their Graces, and live or die, we will stand together. For we have proven today that when our order unites, not even dragons, despair, and hordes of goblins can stand in our way!”

  All right, that was perhaps a little more dramatic than called for, but I was feeling punchy after all I’d been through. Magic saps you. So does battle, intrigue, fatigue, and administrative details. On top of all of that, I was still anxious about the responsibility for leading these people. I didn’t feel up to the task, so acting like some melodramatic epic hero was all I had left in my bag of tricks.

  Regardless, it did the trick. Everyone seemed to become more relaxed, walked a little taller, and felt a little less like they had been fighting for their lives for two days straight. “We have a lot of organizing to do in the future,” I continued. “The Order must have some order. We have to face the challenge of the Censorate, and the changes that will come about after the Bans are relaxed. We have to see to the defense of the realm against the Dead God, to the building of a standing army to guard the Penumbra, and a means of regulating the witchstones. We have to study them, how they work and the extent of their powers, and what we can do with them. We’re going to have to talk to the Tree Folk, the Stone Folk, and, unfortunately, some of our fellow human beings to find some way to protect ourselves. And, ultimately, we’ve got to find a way to kill the un-slayable, or none of the rest of it will make any difference.

  “All of this must be done. But it must not be done tonight. Tonight we take the acclaim that is rightfully ours, and we represent ourselves in dignity and honor as the professionals we are. I want you to march in there as proud as the shiniest knight and I want everyone who sees you to know that they owe you their lives. Because they do. As do I. Now let’s go.”

  And I started walking toward the Dukes’ encampment. Someone had thoughtfully cast a magelight over us, to keep us from tripping. I felt Penny sidle up beside me, give me a little hug, and then place something on my head.

  I took it off and looked at it. A blue four pointed wizard hat in the traditional style, only the three points around the brim were in yellow and stitched to the main central cone. The Ilnarthi death rune we had adopted as our sigil was embroidered prettily on each yellow triangle.

  “What’s this?” I asked, dully.

  “You said you wanted to wear a silly hat,” she explained. “Remember? After Boval Castle? So I had one made.”

  “Thanks,” I sighed, oddly pleased. I placed the cap on my head at a jaunty angle. “Now I really do feel like I’m important.”

  “It’s only a hat,” she said, rolling her eyes. “But you do wear it well.” I offered my arm, and she took it, and together we walked bravely into the Ducal camp and, ultimately, the presence of the two most powerful men in the western world.

  And it really was a very silly-looking hat.

  .

  Chapter Forty-Four:

  Acclaim And Intrigue

  Timberwatch, Second Day of Autumn

  The massive tent that Duke Lenguin had brought along and used for a traveling palace was surrounded by guards from both Duchies, and a phalanx of officious retainers buzzed in and out like thirsty bees in a hive. As we approached we were met by one such, a thin herald wearing armor that clearly wasn’t made for him.

  He verified our identities (as if the floating magelight over our heads wasn’t proof enough) and lectured us on proper behavior before a growl from Azar sent him scurrying away to announce us. We were called a moment later.

  Both Dukes were seated in state, side-by-side, their personal and ducal banners arrayed behind them. As a courtesy the Lord of Timberwatch was seated nearby, but he had nothing to do with the proceedings.

  I’ll give you the short version, since I don’t remember much about the long one. We got knighted. All of us, every mage in the magical corps was ennobled by arms, in violation of four hundred years of proscription. I myself was knighted by both Lenguin and Rard. Rard l
ooked majestic. Lenguin looked weary and haunted, as if he was having a hard time concentrating. Perhaps he was drunk, I reasoned. I wanted to be, myself.

  But I took a knee as Minalan the Spellmonger, and rose as Sire Minalan, Knight Magi. Both Dukes put their hand on the sword that did it, a high honor.

  I thought that was sufficient – it certainly impressed me – but the Dukes weren’t done. One by one, they knighted every warmagi there, included Pentandra, Tyndal, Rondal, and the rest. That took a while, but I enjoyed every moment of it. When you can see good people get rewarded for a hard job well done, it’s extremely gratifying.

  But they didn’t stop there, to my surprise. The two Dukes announced that they were prepared to distribute the former Alshari lands around the Penumbra amongst the new Knights Magi, to be kept in surveillance of the dark land and act as a defense for the realm. Sire Azar was raised to become the new Baron of Megelin while Sire Astyral was raised to Magelord of Tudry and installed as liege there. Wenek, too, was elevated to Magelord of the Pearwoods, and given sovereignty over all of the clans. Not that I thought they would pay the slightest attention to that, but he seemed happy about it. From thrall to Magelord – that was about as big a success story as you could ask for.

  Even more to my surprise, Sire Rustallo was granted the fief of Grimly Wood (Geston of Grimly having fallen in the last push of the battle) – apparently he had impressed Lenguin on the battlefield before he’d ridden off and almost gotten himself killed. I was surprised, but I was pleased, too. He wasn’t the smartest mage in the Duchies, but Rustallo was a stout fellow, bred to the aristocracy, and he’d be up to the task of running the small fief. Carmella was likewise made the Lady of the Honeyhall, since old Sire Escut had inconveniently caught a goblin’s arrow in his throat.

  But then it was my turn. I was called before Their Graces and granted a fief (to be determined later) in Castal as a reward for my service. And I was offered overlordship of the Penumbra lands to see to the defense of the realm. I accepted the post in the name of my Order (which still didn’t have a firm name, so we just kept saying ‘the Order’.) and agreed to meet at a later time, perhaps in the spring, to determine the extent of regulation magic needed in a Duchy without Censors. I assured Their Graces that the Order stood ready to defend the realms to our last drop of blood – although to be honest we probably couldn’t raise enough power in our weariness to defeat a rampaging band of toddlers.

  In accepting the honors, however, I begged a boon of Their Graces, and appointed Terleman leader in my stead for the defense against the Dead God, speaking before the war court in great detail about how masterfully he had directed the battle, and how no one else was better suited to oversee the defense of Alshar..

  Both Dukes looked at me strangely when I finished.

  “Why have you given this noble task away, Sire Minalan?” asked Rard, confused.

  “Because I have a woman with my child I very much want to marry, Your Grace,” I said, my head swimming. “The Dead God is stopped, for the moment, and there are better men than I to watch the frontier this winter.”

  “But was it not you who moved the earth to bring our armies to bear against him?” asked Lenguin. “Not to mention annoying two Dukes. From what my brother duke tells me, you nearly destroyed half of his court in your insistence. I know for my own part you held me hostage and used extortion to get your way. And now, when you can be accounted the Mage Warden of the Penumbra by all – a wholly unique honor – you pass it away?”

  “Your Graces, it was not for personal honor or glory that I undertook this task,” I explained loudly enough for everyone in the tent to hear it. “I did it because it needed to be done, and I was the only one who seemed able to do it. I didn’t do it alone, and I didn’t do it the way I really wanted to, but I got the job done. If I was still a simple village spellmonger I’d be accepting your chickens now and we’d part ways.

  “But I’m not a simple spellmonger. Nor even a simple warmage, nor a simple scholar. I’m . . . I don’t rightly know what I am, save I am hunted by the Censorate and the Dead God both.

  “I do, however, know that I am going to be a father,” I continued. “And sooner than I’m ready for. If you wish to laud me with honors, let me take my peace in the country, see my child born, my bride properly wed, and let me plan for a season or two before you put this piece back on the board again.”

  A new voice emerged from the back of the tent, and nearly the last person I expected to see pushed his way forth.

  “I cannot speak for the Dead God, thankfully,” General Hartarian of Ganz said, as he entered the war court. “But as for the Censorate – at least my part of it – I shall lay aside the matter of your violation of the Bans, upon my discretion.”

  I looked at him, confused. My men were bristling behind me, and Landrik looked positively embarrassed.

  “You’ve had a change of heart, General?”

  The Censor looked at me sternly. “His Grace said to depart Castal by the most expedient means, and I took that to mean through Alshar. I have been here for three weeks, investigating the claims you made.

  “ I have to admit, Sire Minalan, that when you first spoke of the goblin threat, I thought you exaggerated. But when Duke Rard suggested – nay, commanded – that I see it with my own eyes, I saw that you had the right of it. The Bans must be laid aside, no matter the internal cost, at least until the threat to the realm is diminished. It gives me no peace to say so. But after my niece, Isily, spoke with me so convincingly, I could not in justice condemn you and your brethren after the sacrifices you’ve made on all of our behalf without disproving the threat first. I stand corrected – and you stand free of all charges.”

  It was odd – I felt a relief I hadn’t known I was suffering from lifted from my shoulders. I mean, staring down an army of bloodthirsty goblins, angry trolls and a dragon was bad enough, but there’s a certain special anxiety to being in violation of professional regulations that mere mortal peril can’t compare to.

  “I must tell you, even though I am currently head of the Censorate, that my decision is not binding on the regional Censors. It is merely guidance. And the Lords Censor in the East, particularly in Vore and Merwin, are far less . . . persuadable than I. If they choose to pursue you and the other High Magi, then I cannot intercede. Indeed, it is as likely that they will condemn me, strip me from my position, and issue a death sentence for this decision . . . but it is nonetheless the right decision to make,” he finished, firmly. There was even scattered applause.

  “If Their Graces will excuse me,” old Master Dunselen, the Ducal Court Mage of Castal croaked as he waddled forward, “I think I can provide a solution. I have asked His Grace, Duke Rard, to end my tenure prematurely, and His Grace has kindly consented. More, since the Bans seem to be relaxed, he has restored me to my ancestral estate, to which I will repair for my retirement.” He sounded a lot older than he was – I had an suspicion that Dunselen’s idea of “retirement” included research, a young wife and a couple of heirs.

  “But I have recommended a mage of sterling quality and unquestioned power to replace me,” he continued. “I have recommended that His Grace invest General Hartarian of Ganz as Court Wizard, in my place.”

  Hartarian looked as surprised as I was. “I . . . may I have leave to consider the matter, Your Grace?” he asked. Rard assented. He seemed to be paying rapt attention to what was happening, while Lenguin was looking bored, and maybe even a little more drunk.

  That sounded grand, to me. I needed to be drunk. Drunk, laid, fed, and rested – I craved sleep most of all, and would have gladly traded my new knighthood for a pillow and blanket. But a bottle would get things started right. The pear brandy I’d had earlier in the day was a distant memory.

  Thankfully the gods heard me, for both dukes obliged me by presenting me with a lovely double-handled gold cup filled with an exceedingly good red wine, and then in the presence of the court shared it with me – a very high honor.

>   “It’s a Perrinsalar, a Gilmoran varietal,” Lenguin informed me, almost giggling with pleasure at the sip. “From back when the Gilmoran baronies were Alshari. Peppery, citrusy, with an unmistakable, unique undercurrent of ginger. No other wine is like it. From my private cellars – I had a case brought with my commissary. It’s exceedingly rare.” He looked at Rard pointedly. “The vintage just hasn’t been the same since Gilmora became Castali.”

  Rard graciously didn’t rise to his brother-in-law’s jibe. “It is a noble vintage,” he agreed, passing the cup to me after taking a sip. “Well-suited for celebration. Delightful!”

  I had to agree. The first sip was like fire and ice on my tongue, the gingery flavor nicely supporting the citrusy high notes. I may have been born a commoner, but I have a lord’s palate for wine. Rard was wrong though – it wasn’t noble, it was kingly. I swallowed gratefully, letting the unique aroma entertain my nose as I enjoyed the aftertaste. Lenguin was right – there was no other wine like it.

  Me and my people were dismissed with the promise of more honors later, and I had Hamlan lead me back to my tent.

  The taste of Perrinsalar still haunting my mouth, I was unconscious before my head touched the ground.

  * * *

  I needed twenty hours of sleep. I got seven, which had to suffice. When I awoke the next morning, the entire camp was in an uproar. Shouts of dismay and despair filled the air around me, and after I managed to wake up enough to remember where I was, I stumbled out of my tent and grabbed the first lad running by on an errand.