“So we need magi, we need men, we need an army, and we need someone to lead it. But even if we get all of that, we’re still looking at a protracted war over the fertile belt.” Terleman folded his arms, matter-of-factly.
“Well, we have Knights Magi,” I conceded. “We have Magelords and warmagi . . . and now it looks like we’ll have over a dozen more, before long. But we lack organization, and a good intelligence and command structure. We lack good supply lines. Terl, you’ve done a remarkable job with almost nothing, but we need a more permanent solution. An institutional solution. What can we do about that?”
It was a simple question. Nine hours later, as the sun was coming up, we had the beginnings of an answer.
We established the Orders of Hesia and Horka, named for two of our fallen comrades. I still had Hesia’s witchstone – I was loathe to give it away, for some reason – but her valiant example in the defense of Timberwatch, and of course Horka’s ambitious, single-handed and ultimately fatal battle with a dragon on the battlefield, had inspired all of us, and we chose to honor them thus.
The Hesian Order was dedicated to defensive magics, supply, ordnance, intelligence and support in the war. As a sigil they took a black castle tower on a red field surmounted by five white stars.
The Horkan Order was the combat arm, the order of Knights Magi who would range the Penumbra lands and fight Shereul’s madness wherever they found it. They took as their sigil the Ilnarsi death rune we’d been using since Boval, surrounded by five black stars.
Much to my consternation, I was made titular head of both orders . . . Lord Commander of the Order of Horka and Master Adept for the Order of Hesia. I think I could feel both of them smirking at me from the afterlife.
I immediately made Terleman Knight Commander, the executive head (which I think irritated Azar – but if Azar would follow anyone, it would be Terleman), and then made Azar Commander of the North, and charged him with defending the northern side of the Penumbra, made Astryal Commander of the East, and made Curmor Commander of the South. I charged each of them with establishing a Commandery, building a garrison, and provisioning their fortifications in perpetuity.
The way things were going that could mean six months, but I’m a wineskin-half-full kind of guy.
For the Hesian Order, I named Carmella the Mistress of Works, charging her with the lasting defense of the realm, and tasked her to build a storehouse and supply chain.
The next day, after a scant few hours rest, we re-convened to handle other details. Specifically, we founded a new Medical Order of High Magi, the Order of Mandros, headed of course by the wiley Master Icorod . . . who had bribed me three hundred ounces of gold to do so.
We also established a new scholarly order, the Order of Tarkarine, named for a famous pre-Conquest magical philosopher (which is different than thaumaturgy because . . . well, it just is) from Wenshar. I named Master Dunselen to that honor, since he was anticipating a quiet life of research after he retired to his newly won family estate. He had the administrative skills to keep the educational system within the future kingdom running, and I charged him specifically with founding six new regional schools.
That drew a lot of interest from the assembled. The scant number of proper academies had hampered our profession, forcing most to endure oppressive and inefficient apprenticeships. The cost of those schools was prohibitive to most magi. More schools meant more wizards.
That’s where I made another impassioned plea, this time on behalf of the footwizards and other undocumented magi lurking in the lanes. Many could become perfectly fine spellmongers or even specialists, if given proper training without charging them their patrimony to do it. And we would need them – even the ones whose powers were quirky.
“Apart from the evil lurking in the west,” I explained, “the fact is that magic could improve the lives of everyone in the Duchies, if it was allowed to be used properly. These lesser magi must be brought out into the open, be allowed to practice their craft, even if they do not have the same credentials as Imperially-trained magi.
“Should they charge as much? Of course not. But for the types of peasant-magic they’re doing, they are hardly a commercial threat to our trade.”
There was a skeptical but tolerant reaction to that – but that was better than I expected. Animosity is the usual reaction to a footwizard from a chartered mage, when he thinks of them at all. After all, hadn’t the magi spent a fortune and devoted years of his life to learning a very difficult and exacting craft? And then some gaudily-dressed master of cantrips shows up and claims the same powers (and sometimes the same fees) for his tricks?
There was more discussion, but I think my speech and the general excitement carried the issue. If Magelord Minalan wanted to include the unchartered in his new scheme, why not? To be fair, most did see the footwizards as an annoyance more than colleagues, but there was also a fair amount of sympathy for them. After all, we all dreaded a visit from the Censorate. For them, it was often a death sentence.
After that debate, we had a late lunch out in the Temple courtyard, provided by Sire Forandal. He seemed to be enjoying the role of host, moving from one knot of his fellows to the other, shaking hands, making small talk, and generally impressing on everyone just how noble and lordly he was.
“He’s one to watch,” Penny said quietly, while we ate next to a bed of poplillies. “Not in a bad way,” she amended, when my eyes narrowed. “He has leadership potential.”
“Are you picking out my successor already?” I asked, amused.
“Yours? No, Min, you’re in this for life. But mine? Perhaps.”
“Don’t even think about it,” I warned. “If I’m in this for life, you are, too.”
“Sure, whatever you say. But this whole organization thing is just beginning. If we keep expanding our reach – and we’ll have to – then we’re going to need good, competent leaders like him.”
“Didn’t we just create like three or four new orders?”
“Just the beginning,” she assured me. “And we’re only half way through the day.”
I groaned. “What next? Hasn’t everything been decided yet?”
“Hardly,” she said, matter-of-factly. “In fact the really hard stuff is still ahead of us. We’re just getting our foundations laid. But you should feel gratified: this afternoon we’re going to discuss distribution of witchstones and training, and then we’re going to have a big reception. Paid for by the Order of the Secret Tower.”
“Huh, that’s not very secret,” I pointed out.
“Thanks to you, neither are they anymore. But if you’re thinking that this is a thinly-veiled attempt to bribe their way into your good graces, you aren’t wrong. They want a private meeting with you tonight, after the reception.”
“I suppose it was inevitable. And they are going to release all of those old spellbooks and texts you mentioned.”
“It should be just regular, normal business . . . well, it’ll be business. But just to prepare you, they want some things. And some assurances. And Planus wants a witchstone.”
“Everyone wants something,” I sighed. “All right, I’ll meet them in their quarters after the party. A couple of drinks should put me in the perfect mood to deal with your father.”
“You know, that is just what Mother always says,” she said thoughtfully.
Chapter Nineteen
The Arcane Orders
After three days of intense discussion and negotiations about the future of magic, a party was in order – and it was a big order.
I don’t know if Penny organized it herself (which, considering everything else she was organizing, just didn’t seem possible) or if she relied on the battalion of servants and associates who accompanied her and her father from Remere. Either way, it was one of the best parties I’ve ever been to.
Wine of delicate vintage flowed freely. There was beer and mead, for those who wanted it, and spirits aplenty. The food was a mixture of local fare, thanks to the contribut
ions of the village’s two well-appointed inns, and exotic Remeran delicacies brought by Penny’s people and cooked in the Temple kitchen.
Five Remerean dancing girls and two jugglers were in attendance and there were another half-dozen musicians who never seemed to stop playing. A squadron of servants (temple novices, hired for the occasion) brought us drinks and food. Despite the music there were no attempts to dance, which was probably a good idea – if you’ve ever seen a drunken warmage like Azar dance, you’d understand why.
Since this was technically a “reception,” I was elected to be the one receiving. That is, Penny set me up in a chair on a balcony overlooking the lovely gardens, put a drink in my hand, and a lovely young priestess at my shoulder to bring me whatever I desired, and she started ushering in people to see me.
Penny, what am I doing? I asked, after the second mage came up, bowed, and expressed his admiration and gratitude for my service.
You’re receiving, she replied, telepathically.
Just what am I receiving? I liked to be clear about such things.
You’re receiving respect and honor from your loyal . . . well, from your constituency. We’ll discus just how loyal they are later. But everyone in the room who doesn’t know you wants an opportunity to speak with you. This is that opportunity.
I groaned, as the young woman re-filled my glass. And I should do this . . . why?
Because about half of the magi in the room who speak to you will eventually end up with witchstones. The other half are going to do everything in their power to get witchstones, but probably fail. So this is their opportunity to display their best ass-kissing to the new Head of the Arcane Orders. Let them talk, take their measure, and listen to them . . . because this is probably the last time you’ll be able to mix with them so casually.
Great, I replied sarcastically. And they’re all chartered?
Only a handful of footwizards got in, she agreed. These are all court magi, warmagi, spellmongers, practical adepts and specialists. Including quiet a few powerful ones from Remere and Castal. So be polite, and be respectful . . . and if you don’t know what to say then you ask them what they thought of the proceedings and listen to what they have to say.
That actually sounded like a good plan to me. I don’t mind listening to people. Sometimes I even pay attention. And that’s it?
For now. Believe me, this is just the beginning. We have a very scarce commodity in the witchstones. We need to use them to our best advantage. This is your chance to casually meet those who will be up for it. And you only have to do it for a couple of hours. You get to drink the whole time. And wear that silly hat you wanted so badly.
It’s a good thing you got the good wine, then, I grumbled.
For the next two hours I met a cross-section of my professional peers: gold-chained practical adepts from Remere, descended from the great magelords of the Magocracy. Rough and robust warmagi from Wenshar, who were eager to take the fight to the goblins. Silk-swathed, nervous-looking wizards from the coastal towns who were eager to get their hands on the glass but seemed unconvinced that the threat of the Censorate was abated. A wiley-looking enchanter from Mobbes, who assured me that being his patron would make us both wealthy beyond our wildest dreams.
I have to admit some discomfort with the half-a-dozen baronial court magi, men often older than me, who were falling all over themselves to see who could kiss up to me the most. I’m only twenty-five, and seeing a sixty-year-old court mage nearly wet himself to curry my favor was disturbing.
And then there were the apprentices.
Most magi end up collecting a few apprentices along the way, and not just because of our stated commission to teach our knowledge to future generations. If you came across a kid with Talent, then taking an apprentice is a good way to lock in some dependent labor for a decade or so (the length of most standard apprenticeships). I didn’t work my two boys very hard, in the traditional way – I didn’t demand that they make my breakfast, empty my chamberpot and clean my quarters – but then I wasn’t exactly a normal spellmonger any more.
But my associates, the High Magi, often had a few. Lanse of Boon had three, which isn’t unusual for an enchanter in a labor-intensive sub-specialty like his. Master Icorad the healer had two, both ripe for masterhood, and half of the warmagi present had at least one. Masters Dunselen and Thinradel had two each, and then General Hartarian had brought nine former Censorate warmagi who were more interested in fighting goblins than beating up on hedgemagi. And every one of them wanted to meet me, offer their admiration and respect, and subtly hint around that they wanted a witchstone.
Would that I had stones for all. But I didn’t.
The next morning over breakfast (griddle cakes garnished with honey, clotted cream, and fresh berries from the Temple garden, washed down with about a gallon of thick, strong wakeful tea) Penny, Taren and I took inventory of our spare stones.
All of them had been cleansed and were ready for distribution. It had been an active harvesting season, that winter, as Azar’s knights and rangers from Tudry had fought against the Dead God’s shamans in the Penumbra, and in a few daring instances within the Umbra, itself.
Those brave men had brought us a total of twenty-nine stones . . . sort of.
There was Horka’s stone, for instance, recovered from his body after he fell repelling the dragon at Timberwatch. It was . . . off, somehow. What I didn’t know about the nature of irionite could fill a library, but I knew that Horka’s stone was different from the others.
It wasn’t just that he had died with it. From what I understood from the histories, in the Magocracy there didn’t seem to be any reason a mage couldn’t use a witchstone belonging to a dead mage. I’m guessing it might prove a harder transition, but in the famous poem by Ficlan, The Feud of Yadvilda and Nikoya, the magelord Tanandus uses the witchstone of his fallen foe, Grinaldus, against his enemies while the latter’s body was still twitching.
But there was something wrong with Horka’s stone. All three of us had taken thaumaturgical assays into it, as delicately as we could, and we all agreed: that stone was broken. There was power there, just like the others, and there were the remnants of Horka’s spell arsenal wrapped around it, but there were also things I couldn’t identify. Dangerous things. For whatever reason that stone was cursed, and none of us felt comfortable granting it to another mage.
That left twenty-eight stones, only . . . not really. Among the captured pieces were three stones of the urgulnosti, the priests of the Dead God’s private guard. They’re usually smooth, round, torus-shaped pieces, and they had some unique properties. Penny wore the first one we’d found, and because of its facility with control and communication she had been able to perfect the telepathic network we now enjoyed.
Having three of them seemed like an amazing bounty, and who they would go to was hotly debated. But one of them was broken, too, only in a more traditional way.
The story was that a ranger – one of the Tudrymen who had taken service under Astryal – had led an ambush on a party of gurvani in the Penumbra. I don’t know the details of the battle (except that we won), but during the fight the ranger’s broadsword had sliced deep into the leading priest’s torso – precisely on the witchstone the gurvan wore on a thong around his neck. The force of the blow killed him, and the release of magical energy was explosive, but after the battle the stone remained in three tiny pieces.
Each one was magically active, but they were small. One of the few things I knew about irionite was that the mass of the stone did affect the power a mage could draw from it. Mine was massive, thanks to the Tree Folk, and had a nearly endless supply. But that didn’t mean that even the smallest piece of active irionite wasn’t also tremendously powerful – the Mad Mage of Farise had taken one about this small and gotten the armed might of the Duchies brought down on him as a result.
A small piece is still incredibly potent, but it’s akin to the difference between a dinghy and a galleon. They both can car
ry you across the water, but it’s a lot easier on a galleon than it is in a rowboat.
So I had three tiny pieces of irionite that I could hand out. That also technically gave us thirty stones, total, but I wanted to take the unique opportunity to study the smaller shards before I let them go, so I set them aside. That brought our total down to twenty-seven.
Nine stones for the former Censorate warmagi who would make up the core of the new order of Knights Magi charged to fight in the Penumbra. That had been part of the deal with Hartarian, that his best warmagi got their candy up front. Of course that bought us a powerful force and the resources of the former Citadel, which was not insignificant. And the warmagi (I had met them all at that point) he brought were eager to go to war against the Dead God armed with such might.
That left eighteen stones to distribute. And over a hundred magi who wanted them.
“I’m open to suggestions,” I said, at last with a sigh. “Any time I think about who should get one, all I can think about is who will be furious because they didn’t.”
“You can’t think of it that way,” Penny said, shaking her head. She was still wearing Remeran garb, complete with the wisp of a light pink translucent headscarf. Pretty. “The Arcane Order has to govern these stones carefully. They are a very, very limited resource. Let’s begin with the people we all agree should have them – or have been promised stones.”
“The Master Icorad wants two for his apprentices,” I offered. “And they are deserving magi, masters of their craft in all but name. As part of the negotiation they will each spend time tending our wounded for the war effort, three months a year in rotation. Briga knows we can use the help.”
“Agreed,” nodded Taren. “And I’ve known Rikkin a few years. Good fellow.”
“That leaves sixteen. The Remeran Court Mage should have one – I think it’s important that all three of the Duchies have a High Mage in charge.”
The Spellmonger Series: Book 03 - Magelord Page 39
