What kind of unit? I asked, hesitantly.
Well, we’re going to need someone to replace the Censorate, in terms of civil enforcement of the Low Magi, right? And policing the High Magi, not to mention defending Order assets like this magnificent citadel. We need a school for warmagi, Knights Magi, whatever you want to call them, and this place is it. Once we clear out some of the garbage and re-arrange the living quarters, I think this would be an excellent war college for that sort of thing.
I’ll consider it, I agreed. Right now I just want to make certain it’s secure. But we’re supposed to be meeting in just a few weeks at the Robinwing Conclave – if you can convince Gerendren to come to the council, then I’ll evaluate him. It’s probably just a formality – he has a reputation. And I’ve never heard anything bad about him.
He’s a professional, Mavone assured me. And he’s just the kind of iron-balled bastard we need to crack the whip for us. I’m really too delicate for such base pursuits.
If you need him, I’ll consider it, I repeated. Anything else?
He paused – not the “oh, let me see, was there something else?” kind of pause but the “I don’t know if I should really tell you this, and if I do, how can I put it most diplomatically?” kind of pause. My heart was sinking with dread before he ever “spoke.”
There was one thing, Min, he said, casually. There was a reception the other night, the day Isily arrived. She looked a little . . . . well-fed. And she’s usually so slender. So I had a hunch, and I checked, and . . . Min, she’s at least two, three months pregnant. And by my calculations, that puts the date of her conception right around the time of the Battle of Timberwatch.
I paused. My world was shaking itself around me, and I was struggling to bring it back into focus. An army of emotions encamped in my heart, and blind rage was leading them.
Tell no one, I ordered him. Not even Pentandra. Not yet. And find some way to confirm it’s mine. It very well might not be – the lady’s virtue is at the service of her master, and there’s every chance that I wasn’t the only wand in the wench.
But . . . don’t mention this to anyone, Mavone. I’m serious. This complicates things at a level I hadn’t even considered. Until I do . . . keep it a secret.
Chapter Seventeen
I Collect A Debt And Visit A Spellmonger
“I don’t want you to leave!” Alya sobbed in my lab as I packed my traveling trunk. “What will I do without you?” She really did look stricken . . . and that was upsetting the baby in her lap. He was already starting to pay attention to her moods, I’d noticed. But best to keep her calm – upsetting one would upset the other, and that would make leaving that much harder.
“You’ll be fine,” I said, encouragingly. “I have every confidence in your ability to run this place without me. You’ve got Sir Cei,” I reminded her.
“It’s not the same,” she wept. “Why? Why do you have to go now?”
I stopped, looked at her, and sighed. “I’ve told you, Alya: the Order has to meet before the Coronet Council this summer. We have to get our Order – our Orders,” I corrected, “in order before we go before the Duke and act like we know what we’re doing. I mean, the King. So it’s important. We have to make some decisions about how things need to run, now that the Censorate isn’t keeping an eye on everyone’s shoulder, and we have to do it before the forces of chaos interfere.”
That caught her up short. “The forces of chaos?” She looked frightened.
“They’re not an actual army,” I tried to explain, patiently, “just the tendency for someone in an important position to really muck it up at a critical time. That happens to every organization, if you don’t do it right first and then keep doing it right. I saw it in the Army often enough. Miscommunication, lack of oversight, lack of instruction and training, lack of accountability – those are the Forces of Chaos we have to fight.” I was quoting Penny, but I hope I made it sound authoritative. “Even the Magocracy collapsed more from inattention to administrative detail than it did the barbarian hordes.
“In any case, if we don’t get organized and figure out how we want to run magic in the new kingdom, then the forces of chaos are going to be joined by a real army – the Censorate. And they are organized, well-funded, and well-supported. So . . . yes, I have to go.”
“I just hate to think of you so far away,” she pouted. “And for so long!”
“Three weeks,” I said, shrugging, trying to be casual about my departure. It didn’t seem to be working. “I know it sounds like a long time, but it’s just a week there, a week for the meeting, and a week back. It’ll be over before you know it,” I assured her, unconvincingly.
“You’re right, I know,” she said, blinking away tears after staring at me unflinchingly for several silent moments. I tried very hard to be patient with her, knowing that she was still recovering from the difficult delivery.
But another part of me was a little angry that she was being so . . . so unreasonable about the whole thing. I didn’t know what she was trying to accomplish – we both knew I had to go. And it wasn’t any easier on me – this was the first time I’d be gone from little Minalyan, ever, and the first time I’d been away from her even one night since our wedding, and the thought depressed me greatly.
I continued packing while she continued to mope. It was the first time she had ventured up to my lab since she had Mal, and she teetered on the one stool, our boy in her lap. She looked down at him and studied his face. “He looks so much like you I could spit. You and my father. I don’t know, Min, I just feel a lot safer with you around – for both of us.”
“Well, I’m leaving Sir Tyndal here to watch over you both,” I reminded her. “And more importantly, I’m leaving Sir Cei to watch over Sir Tyndal.” I closed the big shapeless leather satchel and spellbound the knots with a charm. “I’ve got the whole valley warded up tighter than a mournsister’s arse, Captain Forondo has a full complement of lancers in addition to his infantry to patrol the frontier now, and the Bovali militia is just itching for an excuse to muster in case of trouble. But I just don’t see any on the horizon. I think you should just relax and enjoy the spring weather.”
“Hard to do with all that snow still hanging around,” she grumbled. That was another sore spot. A good third of the north-facing slopes were still covered in snow a foot thick, kept artificially cool by magic. It’s not like we needed the pasturage right now, as the low-lying meadows in the vale had thawed weeks ago. We needed the water locked up in that snow.
I’d put the entire area under an enchantment to keep it frozen. As soon as the dam was completed, we’d be able to let it melt, but until then the southern ridges of Sevendor were two months behind the seasons.
“But I suppose you’re right. I’ll manage,” she sulked.
“I know you will,” I smiled, and kissed her forehead. “And from what I understand from the old biddies, by the time I return, you’ll be ready for a return to a healthy marital life, too. That’s got to be alluring.”
She rolled her eyes. “Far more for you than me, My Lord,” she said, snidely. “You heard what the old wives said: the first time is going to be dreadful—”
“—followed by several weeks of just ‘really bad’,” I agreed. “This will pass, Alya, I promise.”
“It’s not like I’m even really feeling . . . randy,” she said, frustrated. “It’s just that I feel like it’s been forever and . . . now you’re going away!” And the tears were back and we were back where we started.
I spent the next ten minutes soothing her until we were interrupted by Stacsid, my new valet. I didn’t really think I needed a valet, but since we were nobles now and suddenly had far too much crap to take care of ourselves, I suppose a valet made some kind of sense. Personally, I think I can manage to put my own boots on.
Stacsid was a Bovali man, about thirty, who had a bit of a limp he picked up during the siege when one of those gurvani clubs crushed most of his knee – that’s why he wa
sn’t building houses or tilling fields or manning a post. He was smart enough, and had some idea about service. He needed a job, and I was told I needed a valet, because every lord has a valet, no matter what I or my boots thought about the matter.
Perhaps I was prejudiced, since my last manservant had ended his tenure by trying to kill me. I did have to admit that Stacsid didn’t seem the assassin type. He just wasn’t that bright. But he was attentive, and loyal, and he knew when to leave me alone. He glanced at my wife, her tears, my state, and he quietly picked up my leather trunk in both arms and took it downstairs.
Alya turned over Minalyan to Darishi, the wet nurse, when we followed him down, and came with me as far as the courtyard where Traveler was saddled and waiting with the rest of my men. I gave her one last kiss and embrace, and she called for a stirrup cup, and there may have been tears in my eyes or maybe it was just the early hour, but we spent another few tender moments before I got on my horse.
Dawn was just breaking in the east over the forest ridge. I gave a final wave to my wife, nodded to Sir Cei, who was peering down at us over the battlement, already on watch, and rode to join the rest of the party at the bailey gate.
It was a relatively small party, as I wanted to get to Robinwing and back as quickly as I could. Besides me, I was taking Rondal, Banamor (representing the footwizards at the council, at my request), a half-dozen mounted sergeants from the garrison commanded by Ancient Dalcalan, and lastly Sir Festaran.
The captive knight had been granted use of his arms and armor, and despite his status as prisoner he accompanied us as any faithful retainer knight might his lord. He seemed excited by the adventure of it all – this would be the farthest journey he’d ever taken from home – and he was doing his best to impress me with his puissance and his chivalry as we departed. That was annoying. Once we got on the road, however, he quieted down a bit.
Sevendor village was astir, as the peasants began the arduous task of leading the oxen and mules out to the waiting plowshares. As lord of the domain I had plowed the ritual First Furrow in my own demesne (or at least Sir Cei said it was mine – there were dozens of strips of land in the fields of Sevendor) only a week before, and the new plows I had purchased and rented to the peasants were seeing constant use.
The artisans were getting about their day, and cotters were beginning their daily rounds, selling ale and barley pottage for a copper on the commons for breakfast or asking for work at construction sites in town at three pennies a day. Thankfully there was more work than there were cotters. We trooped through the village and up the rise toward Gurisham at a goodly pace.
I wasn’t in any hurry to get there, but I did not want us to tarry in West Fleria any longer than we had to, even if it meant speeding past perfectly good inns and spending the night on the road. Sir Festaran had advised that we spend as little time on the road in Fleria as possible, and I agreed. Besides, with a two-horse cart instead of a train of pack horses, mules, or llamas, we should be able to make pretty good time.
Banamor acted as teamster for us, driving the single wagon with our baggage, with one of the guardsmen sitting on top of the bundle, a bow in his hands. The formerly-itinerate mage seemed quite pleased with his duty. Footwizards rarely get the luxury of a horse or wagon, otherwise they wouldn’t be footwizards. He was doubly pleased because he hoped to make a clean profit from his first foray into the trade of rare magical resources. And a part of that was the cask of snowstone and soils from Sevendor in the cart.
The wagon itself was filled with a number of chests containing everything from my underwear to a hundredweight of snowstone, most to be distributed among the High Magi for research purposes but some reserved for sale. Its unique properties would likely fetch a high price among our colleagues – being able to carry around a low etheric resistance in your pocket, or including one with your enchantment, had to have a great market. Great enough so that I could foresee Sevendor having a prosperous future ahead no matter what the crops were like – and that wouldn’t be a bad thing, I’d decided.
We stopped at the Diketower to confer with Sir Forondo about the domain’s defenses and provide some last-minute instruction, and then by mid-morning we were off down the road toward distant Sendaria-on-Bontal, where we would hire a barge downriver.
It was a gloriously pleasant early spring day, which made my mood that much more sour. I hated leaving Alya and the baby. And I hated leaving Sevendor. I had just started to feel settled-in, and had begun to relax for the first time since . . . well, since the bell tower in Minden’s Hall started ringing a year ago.
“Toll, milord,” Ancient Dalcalan announced, pointing ahead. We’d gone about six miles, and were thinking about considering where to stop for lunch, when we came across the toll man.
He was a free peasant, I could see, a young one. And he looked vaguely familiar. Then I recognized him.
“Korl, son of Farant,” I recalled. “Formerly of Farant’s Hold. I see you didn’t wander far.”
“Pay the tollman!” he sneered. “That’s right, we landed on our feet. We’ve got friends in Fleria, I told you. Pa paid to set me up as tollman. So I’ll need . . .” he looked at the lot of us, the horses, the wagon, and his lips moved – a lot – as he figured in his head. “Thirty-eight silver pennies!” he said triumphantly, at last. “Eight for the wagon, ten for the men, and twenty for the lords!”
“I’d like to check your figures,” Rondal murmured. I held out a hand to stop him.
“So Sire Gimbal truly has tripled the toll,” I said, sadly. “All right, pay the man, Rondal.”
My apprentice looked at me like I was crazy, but I nodded in affirmation. He shrugged, then pulled a purse out of a bag and carefully counted out thirty eight silver pennies – over three ounces of silver.
“Are you sure about this, Master?” my apprentice murmured through clenched teeth as he counted.
“Do as you’re bid,” I ordered. He sighed again, then counted them all out again into Korl’s filthy palm. His eyes glowed brighter with each chink of the coin.
“There,” I said, when he was done. “Now give us our passes so that we may be on our way.”
He smirked, as if he had just robbed us, and handed us each a wooden pass with West Fleria’s mark on it. Every toll got a pass, and when we crossed back over the frontier we’d leave them with the tollman there. Then the toll reeve would tally the number of passes at the end of the week and he’d know how much to expect from each tollman, who kept a portion (usually one in five) of what he took in fees. I nodded serenely as Banamor took the last one.
“Now that our business is concluded, Goodman Korl, there is the matter of your family’s debt to Sevendor.”
The triumphant lad suddenly lost his enthusiasm. “What?”
“Your family left in violation of its oath, not to mention running an unlicensed still, for which I could fine you up to eight ounces of silver. I’ll forget about that, as the price of being rid of you, but the honest debt to the fief, that is still owed: Your reeve-fees, and the arrearage in rent. It comes to around twelve ounces of silver—”
“Thirteen ounces and seven silver pennies,” corrected Rondal, who had been paying attention to Sir Cei’s lectures on estate management. “There might be more,” he added.
“So?” Korl asked, sneering. “We ain’t under your law anymore, Magelord! We look to the Warbird, now!”
“That doesn’t excuse Master Farant’s obligation to repay his debt to his rightful lord. Or should I say, Farant’s House.”
It took a few moments for the boy to realize what I was suggesting, and when he did he clutched the silver I’d paid him to his chest.
“That is true, Magelord,” Sir Festaran said, riding closer to me. “A Yeoman’s fealty is on behalf of his line, when he takes a manor in the name of the lord. When he dies, his sons inherit. So goes his debt,” he added.
“Exactly,” I agreed, sweetly. “And here is a representative of that House now, with a portion of
the debt he owes! Gods be praised!” I mocked.
“You . . . you . . . this money belongs to the Warbird!” he protested.
“You seem to be the one holding it,” Rondal observed. “After all, we paid the tollman the toll, not the Warbird. What you pay him is entirely up to you. But right now . . . you seem to have thirty-eight silver pennies of ours. That’s almost a third of your House’s debt.”
“No!” the boy screamed, grabbing his toll staff with one hand, but unwilling to part with his handful of coin. “You paid that!”
“And so did you,” Rondal spat. “Do you have any idea what a mess your father made of that hold? It’s a disgrace!” He had spent days helping Sagal put the hold to rights, and had come across evidence of some of Farant’s neglect first-hand. “It’s cost dozens of ounces of silver to restore it to simple livability, much less profitability. The least you can do is pay your rightful debt for the misery you have done.”
“I won’t!” he insisted . . . but by that point it was too late. Dalcalan and his men had ridden to cut off any easy escape route. They hadn’t drawn swords yet, but they didn’t need to. Korl knew he was trapped.
But just like the first time I met him, he stubbornly refused to yield. He grasped the pole with white-knuckled hands, his silver prize quickly shoved into a pouch at his belt. I sighed, and almost thought about just letting it pass, but I knew I couldn’t.
While I wanted to be liked by my people for my grace and benevolence, Korl and his kin weren’t my people. If I let this go, then I would get a reputation I didn’t want. A lord who couldn’t collect on his debts was weak and ripe for conquest. And there was no doubt that this was an honest debt, or that I was within my rights to collect it.
I started to reach for a wand when Rondal put his hand on my arm. “Master, this seems like robbery, if he does not surrender it himself.”
The Spellmonger Series: Book 03 - Magelord Page 35
