The Spellmonger Series: Book 03 - Magelord

by Terry Mancour

  “First, let’s get milady’s tent set up here in the courtyard – I won’t let her in that place until every inch has been scrubbed down to the bare stone and wood and all vermin eliminated.”

  There was a general murmur of agreement – everyone had been appalled at the state of the castle. It was six weeks before the first official day of winter, but the weather was yet mild. We’d slept in worse plenty of nights on the road and river, and to my eye the weather was likely to be fair enough for a few days, a light snowshower not withstanding. We wouldn’t freeze out here any more than we would if we were in the keep.

  “Second, Sagal take the two scrawny excuses for cows in the byre here and have some of your lads slaughter them. Then take one down to the village with the compliments of their new lord. Cook the other. Take what’s left of that cask of wine we found in Erantal’s room, too. Tell them they have a day of holiday tomorrow, which will give us time to get organized, and two days of work detail at the castle after that. Sir Cei, escort the fare down there, introduce yourself, tell them how bright their future just became. Pass out some pennies, even. Rollo, you go with him, try to see what the people think.”

  Goodman Rollo – now Corporal Rollo – was another Bovali peasant who had taken up arms for the siege and who had forgotten to put them back down again. He’d been a crofter until his wife and daughter had been slain at his home in the first wave of the invasion. He and his brother had made it to Boval Castle and safety. His brother had perished in the siege, leaving him all alone in the world.

  He was a burly man, barrel-chested and well-muscled. A peaceful man forced to arms by tragedy, his constant smile, mail shirt and sword masked the man who lost his family. . . but you could tell it gnawed at him powerfully within.

  He would have made a good Ancient in an army, I think, but he would have made an even better family man. I could give him a task and count on it getting done, without messing it up, so he’d acted as one of my aides along the journey.

  “Oh, and let those two poor fellows in the stocks free in celebration of my investiture. Unless they’re rapists or murderers, that is.”

  Rollo nodded gamely. He’d tend to it.

  “Captain Forondo, post sentries tonight. Your own men, not the . . . locals. Take the spearholders who live here in hand and evaluate their fitness for duty.” The Captain nodded, simply. I could be sure it would be done. He’d done well enough drilling the Bovali, back during the siege. Putting the right people in the right job was the only way I was going to get anything done.

  “Now, for the cleaning,” I continued. “Starting at dawn, I want every man and woman who isn’t pregnant with my child to bring everything out of that castle and into the yard. We’re going to attack the place with lye and water. I want a full inventory and accounting, down to the last nail and button. And clean out that floor! Matron Peg, if you will show my people where fresh rushes may be cut, I’d appreciate it.”

  “Yes, milord,” she said, wide-eyed. She bowed way too low, unsure of how I would react. She was frightened, I realized. For all she knew, I could throw her out of the castle and make her a beggar. It occurred to me that I might get a better response if they knew better what to expect.

  “Um . . . let me tell you all my plans for this place,” I said to everyone, a little nervously. Time for my speech. I looked to Alya for support, and she favored me with a confident smile.

  “I am the first mage to hold noble title and land since the fall of the Magocracy. This little experiment of His Grace is to prove that the High Magi can be trusted as model subjects and not oppress their people or destroy their neighbors. He gave us shit-all to do it with – this estate is a bad joke. But I aim to prove him right, and I’ll need your help to do it.

  “We all saw the same . . . conditions as we rode in. Compared to what you’re used to, Sevendor will be hard, for a time. But there is great possibility, here. With hard work – and a whole lot of money – we can restore this little land to prosperity again. It’s barely peopled, with plenty of room for more folk. It’s near enough to the river, yet has little to trade now. I intend to change all of that.

  “We’ll get a smithy. A tannery. A creamery. A temple. A mill. A bakery. Whatever we need. Whomever we need. Except a spellmonger – I think we’re fine on that account.” That brought laughter from my Bovali.

  “There is hard work aplenty in the days ahead,” I continued. “And I think you all know I’m not the type to sit back and sup on sweetmeats when there is work to be done. So all I ask is that you work as hard as I, and in the coming days we shall rescue this poor neglected estate from squalor and build Sevendor into the most prosperous little land in the Duchy!”

  There were cheers after that, and I ordered a cask of cider breached for the occasion.

  As I stood by and watched the tent go up in the twilight, Alya sidled up to me as sultry as a woman shaped like a watermelon could.

  “Brilliant speech, Spellmonger,” she murmured. “I think they even believed it.”

  “Which part?” I asked, seeking her hand. Her fingers were cold.

  “The part about you working the hardest,” she whispered.

  “Good. That was the most important part,” I whispered back.

  She stifled a giggle. “How does it feel to be the lord of the land?”

  “Hmm. Well, my ass hurts from being in the saddle for too long, I’m starving, it’s cold, and I think I’m allergic to something in the castle. Apart from that, pretty damn good.”

  “Good enough to . . . service the lady of the castle?”

  “What? Already?” I asked, surprised. Not that she had been at all demure during her pregnancy. In fact, since our wedding night . . .

  “It would be a propitious start to your rule if you should consecrate your new land by a life-affirming consummation,” she explained, as reasonably as any high-born lady.

  “That’s the classiest case for a late afternoon quickie I’ve ever heard.”

  “Good. Did it work?”

  “We’ll see. I’ve only got about eight thousand details to see to before tonight.”

  “I’ll take that as a ‘yes’. As soon as the pavilion is set up.” She leaned up and kissed me. Thoroughly.

  “Oh. Okay,” I agreed, dumbly, when she broke it off.

  “Men are so easy,” she said with a satisfied smile as Sagal and a few lads began assembling our portable home.

  After Alya had gotten her lusty exercise and gone to sleep, I stayed awake and enjoyed the feeling of castle ownership far into the night. It was peaceful, once the chill was chased away by a fire. We sat up around the fire in the bailey late into the night and talked about everything that would need doing while we killed that cider. We got to know our new retainers and learn a little about the people of Sevendor, such as they were.

  They were suspicious, of course, with good reason. After Erantal’s disgraceful governance, they had seen nothing but neglect and decay haunt Sevendor in their lifetimes. The idea of a local lord who was working in his own interest frightened them, as well as excited them.

  That pretty much described my own feelings on the matter. Excited at the prospect of the possibilities of Sevendor, but frightened of the amount of labor and effort and money it would take to bring to fruition. With each passing cup it became alternatively easy and impossible to make it work in my mind. All I had to do was make a List, and it would be done in no time.

  Just before I went to warm my cold hands on my warm wife in my tent, I looked up into the night sky and saw a massive snowflake descending, the harbinger of a sprinkling to come.

  I decided to take that as a good omen. It was the Magelord’s prerogative.

  Chapter Three

  Housekeeping

  The next morning dawned cold but clear, with frost and a light dusting of snow on the peaks of the pavilion over our traveling bed. We were up before daybreak, and after a quick breakfast of biscuits, oats and dried apples, washed down with hot, strong tea, w
e got properly organized. And it hurt a little.

  My head was a little tender from the previous night’s cider, and I wasn’t the only one. Perhaps to spite me Sir Cei and Sagal both seemed to take great pleasure in shouting their orders, but I very graciously refrained from having them executed on the spot.

  One team of locals worked under Old Peg, cleaning the castle out. They were a sorry-looking lot, scared half to death of the chaos and change, malnourished and dressed in rags. The better rations were smoothing out any grumbling about working so hard in the winter – last night’s roast was the first time some had ever tasted beef. And they did know how to clean, once they were properly motivated. But most were sullen and resentful of the intrusion.

  Another team of locals was working with my Bovali subjects to reinforce the drawbridge. We had to. We had more wagons coming, a lot more, and it was all too easy to break an axle or a mount’s ankle on that treacherous thing. While it left us in a weakened state of defenses, I really didn’t think we’d have to worry about attack for at least six months.

  See how optimistic I was?

  Lady Alya oversaw the clearing of the great hall and the sorting of the merchandise, and took inventory of the stores and the weaving. That was simple – there was no weaving. Sir Erantal hadn’t kept a wife, or any kind of “lady” of the castle besides Old Peg, which meant no one to organize the constant industry required to produce adequate clothes for a large household. Everything was purchased from outside of the estate, which explained the poor attire.

  Alya was especially disgusted at the state of the kitchen. It was a ramshackle wooden affair just to the west side of the donjon, a dark, filthy little hole from which the daily meals were prepared. The chimney smoked badly, the midden pit was right outside the door, and there were vermin in all three bags of coarse flour in the stores.

  Alya ran her family’s creamery, from the accounts to the cows, and she had a cheese maker’s contempt for dirt. Perhaps it was a husband’s enchantment with a new bride coloring my perceptions, but she looked positively adorable as she fumed and waddled through the place – as if she took its foul condition as a personal affront.

  Alya directed every bucket and pot in the castle be filled with water (which she then had me heat up to near-boiling with magic) and then every surface, wall, and floor was scrubbed to the bare wood and stone as their lord had commanded. Great heaps of trash were hauled away, years’ worth of debris and rubbish embedded in the rotted rushes of the Great Hall’s floor.

  Another party of Sevendori peasants began cutting fresh rushes for the floors. They were down in the marshy floodplain of the stream, no doubt thankful that they were avoiding their new lady’s ire.

  Goody Nanily, one of the Bovali matrons who accompanied our advanced party, took over the kitchen and began re-organizing it to cook for everyone, which irritated Old Peg to no end. Sir Cei had to break up an argument that looked as if it would come to blows between the two, and then gave Old Peg the job of cleaning out the round tower, instead. I didn’t care who cooked, as long as there was food when it was time to eat.

  Out of respect for my father and the craft he’d tried to teach me, I inspected the ovens personally. I found them disgraceful, poorly maintained and horribly inefficient. I vowed on the spot not to eat so much as a crumb from them until I could have proper ovens built.

  Captain Forondo inspected the fortifications and was unimpressed. He got a gang of his men to begin clearing the concealing underbrush around the perimeter of the bailey. He didn’t even bother inspecting the “garrison” – the slovenly gate guards Gorker and Gurk were apparently the cream of Sevendor’s native soldiery. He just put them to work, and when one gave him a poor attitude he released him from service on the spot. There were no more arguments after that.

  Gorker explained that most of the proper soldiers had been called to service in Farise, and then lost at sea. Only a fever had spared him a similar fate – or so he said. He followed us everywhere, patiently telling us the history of various features of the crumbling old heap. He didn’t hesitate to heap scorn on Sir Erantal for his neglect, and I soon got the feeling that he genuinely cared for the place. He expressed excitement over having a proper lord, and looked forward to going into battle beside me.

  I hoped for both our sake that would be a while. As it was, the castle was barely defendable. Walls were in need of repair, wooden stairways were rotten or broken, roofs leaked, chimneys smoked, vines overgrew large portions of the walls and donjon.

  That afternoon Captain Forondo reported what he’d discovered. The newer tower on the wall overlooking the village was in the best shape, he indicated, but that wasn’t saying much. I detailed Gorker to remove his residence to it and prepare it for proper garrisoning; pointing out that the work on the drawbridge would make his old post uninhabitable for a few days. Out at that lonely tower he and his boy could do no mischief, and they might even actually get it into reasonable shape.

  The armory in the eastern square tower was a pitiful collection of axes, rusty swords, and simple spears. There were some bows, but few arrows. There were only four crude crossbows with no more than a dozen iron bolts for each. The armor was all but unusable, a few rusty old iron pot helmets and coats-of-plates with the leather rotted through. Gorker seemed to have the best of the lot.

  I wandered around and looked lordly all morning, giving encouragement, casting helpful spells where I saw a need, and making a List of everything that needed to be done. It grew to gargantuan proportions almost immediately.

  In addition to the sad state of the castle, I was anticipating the arrival of at least a thousand Bovali within the next month. They would have to be fed, clothed and sheltered through the winter. So I sent Sir Cei and a few men to survey the village to determine just how quickly additional housing could be built. The first caravans of Bovali could be arriving as early as a week and I wanted to be ready.

  He and his men returned near lunch, sour expressions on their faces. The news wasn’t good. In a lot of ways. I led them down to the courtyard temporary kitchen where one of the Bovali wives was serving journeybread and lentil stew with beef and dried flosins. I’d already had one serving, but I wouldn’t have felt right not joining my men in their meal. Besides, doing magic makes me hungry.

  “Magelord, there are no less than a score of foundations that could be put to proper service in short order,” Sir Cei began, “but even with dozens working through the winter I cannot imagine we could raise more than two or three homes before spring with the lumber we have.”

  “You aren’t considering the advantages of spellcraft,” I pointed out. “I think I can speed up the process. But even twenty foundations won’t be enough for all of our people,” I said, as he held out his mug for me to charge with watered cider.

  “There are four more cots that lie abandoned that could be put into immediate service, for the larger families, perhaps. And there is some space in the outer bailey. Perhaps other places I haven’t seen yet. But for the rest, tents and wagons will have to do for now.”

  “What about the other fortress, in the eastern vale? Could that not be employed?”

  I hadn’t seen it yet, but the state of Sevendor castle was not encouraging. I was holding out the faint possibility that it was in better repair . . .

  “That is the very bad news, Sire,” Sir Cei sighed. “In speaking with the village headman, Railan, called the Steady, I discovered something disturbing. Apparently the eastern vale is . . . occupied.”

  “Occupied? By whom?” I asked, not really understanding at first. Sir Cei looked very serious, though, and then I realized exactly what he meant. “It was conquered?” I asked in disbelief.

  “Yes, Sire,” he sighed. “Four years ago, by the Lord of West Fleria, Sire Gimbal, called the Warbird. It was a private war, and technically illegal. And it was hardly any great conquest. If I inferred properly from what the man said, it seems Sir Erantal gave no more than a token defense of the fief. Railan e
ven suggested that Sir Erantal had taken compensation from West Fleria for his lack of valor.”

  I nodded, my nostrils flaring. “That wouldn’t be too far off the track, I’d say. West Fleria gets the most fertile part of Sevendor, and Erantal has half as much fief to administer. Pray tell why this development was not in the records at Wilderhall?”

  Sir Cei shrugged. “I know not, Sire. But it is not unknown for accounts to be late, mislaid, or mysteriously vanish. Sire Koucey sent his accounting with his tribute to the Duchy every year, but not all nobles are so fastidious.”

  “Can West Fleria even do that?” I asked, my jaw clenching. “Legally, that is?”

  “From what I know of the law, Sire, an estate administered by the Duchy is prohibited from being attacked for conquest in a private war,” he related, thoughtfully, “but in practice, who would complain? And to whom? And expect them to do what? At the most, the Duchy would hire troops to restore the conquered land, but I doubt it would be worth the cost in this case. In a generation it won’t even be remembered as such, and the documents to counter West Fleria’s dominion would mysteriously appear. Who checks the authenticity of such things?”

  “I would,” I admitted. “But then I’m a suspicious commoner. Was a suspicious commoner,” I corrected. “Now I’m a suspicious magelord. And I’m not about to allow a third of my domain to be improperly and illegally taken from me before I even have a chance to defend it!”

  “It occurs to me, Sire, that picking a quarrel with your neighbor before your people cross his lands to get to yours would not be wise.”

  This was how Sir Cei told you that he thought you were messing things up, by saying “it occurs to me, Sire.” I was learning that he was often absolutely correct when he said it. That didn’t make it more endearing.

  “Oh, I know,” I sighed. “We wouldn’t be able to do anything until spring, anyway. I guess we’ll just have to ignore it for now, but I will going to get my rightful fief back.”