“We could use those arms to attract trained knights, Sire,” Sir Cei pointed out. “Many a country knight would be happy to swear to you for such a gift.”
“Why hazard to trust Riverlands knights when I know I can trust my Wilderlands peasants?” I asked. That was more politic, and a more convincing argument to Sir Cei, than my real reason. Knights may have been military professionals, but they had a tendency to see military value only in their own class. Heavy cavalry was a powerful tool of war, but it wasn’t the only tool – or even the best tool, as Sire Sigalan had reminded me. As valiant as Sirs Cei and Roncil were, a hundred Bovali peasants who knew how to fight would be worth far more to Sevendor than a few professional knights.
Sir Cei realized I wasn’t prepared to compromise on the issue. “It shall be done, Magelord. Yeoman Rollo has called for the first hallmoot of the manor in a few days, after the conclusion of the plowing season. I shall make a point of including it on their business. I had planned to distribute some coin around as a reward for their service, but providing them arms taken from their foes would be less burdensome on our treasury,” he added, grimly.
“In regards to that, I have some relief,” I mentioned. “One of the great things about being the head of the new Arcane Orders? I’m bribable as hell. I didn’t even know the half of it until Sir Rondal and Banamor each told me they’d taken coin to help secure my influence. Within my baggage is a chest with no less than four hundred ounces of gold, and another six hundreds of silver. Plus sundry gifts of various values. How badly in debt are we?”
“Through careful planning and management, Sire, I have kept us – technically – profitable,” he said, in a low voice. “But I confess to feeling relief at the news. I was going to suggest perhaps we seek a loan from the Temple of Ifnia.”
“I’m glad that’s not necessary.” We were walking through Gurisham’s district, now, and I watched with interest as the new plows turned the dark brown soil. I’d like to think that the peasants seemed happier, somehow, but if you’re trying to turn an ox-pulled plow it doesn’t really matter who your lord is or how wealthy he was, life was far from grand.
But if you did so with a full belly and little fear for your life, virtue and property, that had to be better, didn’t it? As if to answer my question, a few of the Gurisham plowmen took notice of Sir Cei me as we rode by and waved or bowed. I swear to Huin there were smiles on their faces.
“There is one other matter I wish to address with you in private, before you are lured away by your Lady,” Sir Cei said, uncomfortably. The expression on his face took me by surprise. I’m used to Cei being taciturn and nonplussed, and he looked agitated and anxious.
“What?” I demanded, thinking he was concealing something serious.
“My lord, I have been experiencing certain . . . strangenesses for the last few weeks. Unusual occurrences. Things I can’t explain. I awoke in my chamber the night before last to find every taper in the room ablaze – when I know I snuffed them before retiring. My shaving water was hot, but I had to break the ice in the ewer to pour it. I was reproving a gang of Genlymen in the Great Hall, and banged my fist on the Magelord’s table, and broke it asunder. And . . . well, many more things that I can only associate with . . . magic,” he said, whispering the word. He sounded gravely concerned. I could appreciate that. I could still remember the shock I felt the day I realized I had some Talent.
“I’m starting to understand that the snowstone has an effect on such things,” I reasoned gently, trying to calm him. “It’s possible that your proximity to it has allowed a little latent Talent in you to show through. In truth, most people likely have a dash of it, but it rises to sight only rarely. Living in a castle of snowstone is probably making everyone who has more than a lick of Talent to feel it. That might become a problem, I suppose. But we can teach you a few helpful . . . tricks to deal with it. To control it a little, perhaps.”
“Am I to be a mage, then, my lord?” he asked, looking pale. Clearly the prospect did not please him. I smiled at his discomfort, despite myself. It was rare that I’d seen Sir Cei display much emotion at all, much less dread.
“Would that be so bad? No, even if you’re displaying some signs of Talent, that doesn’t mean you have enough to work even rudimentary spells. And some people just aren’t capable of the kinds of things you have to learn first. No offense – but learning magic is very hard work. But . . . now that the Bans have been lifted, there is no more stigma attached to it. You don’t have to worry about the Censorate tracking you down.”
“That’s comforting, Magelord,” he said, unconvincingly. “What I was more concerned with was not the legal or social cost, but the practical one. I am unused to things happening around me for no explicable reason. I find it . . . discomfiting.”
“You’ll get used to it,” I soothed. “But you’ll also grow to control it. Most people in your position either successfully repress or ignore their smattering of Talent, or figure some way to express it. Most people who manifest Talent like this end up discovering one or two particular things they can do with it. Like plowing a furrow perfectly straight every time, or being able to dowse for water, or always knowing which way north is. Sometimes it’s quite useful. Other times it can be pretty useless. And for some people, their Talent can wax and wane like the moon, coming as one thing one day, and the something completely different the next.”
“That sounds ghastly,” Sir Cei said. It might have been my imagination, but I thought he was trembling.
“We’ll work on it. You, that young knight Festaran, and whoever else needs the help – that’s what magelords are for. From a research perspective, it’s quite the opportunity. Few magi have studied sports, as their called. Perhaps a few witchhunters in the Censorate, but most researchers pursue more grandiose subjects.”
“You may wish to include your lady wife in that list, Magelord,” he said, quietly. “Lady Alya has had a number of disturbing incidents since you have been gone. None have caused injury or damage, so far, but her maid slipped on ice that appeared suddenly on her stairs, for instance, and your child’s cradle has been known to rock itself while she sleeps nearby. Perhaps she, too, has a touch more of this Talent than you suspect, Magelord.”
My mouth went dry. Alya is a wonderful woman, but she doesn’t really have the temperament to be a good mage. It requires a lot of emotional control – something Sir Cei had in wainloads – and enough of an intellect to master some pretty sophisticated concepts. Alya is not stupid, she reads and knows her sums, but that was about it. Alya had never read a book for pleasure, before she met me, and I’d rarely ever seen Sir Cei in the company of a book that was not related to the estate’s accounts. If both of them were being plagued by rogue Talent, this could be difficult.
And that begged the question . . .
“What about the baby?” I whispered. “Is Minalyan—?”
“I am not the best judge of such things, Magelord, but the lad doesn’t seem to be doing anything untoward. A perfectly happy, healthy babe, by all accounts.”
“That’s a relief,” I admitted, exhaling. “It’s rare that Talent manifests before puberty, but it can happen.”
“Still, Lady Alya is concerned. She fretted while you were away. In truth, I welcomed the skirmishers on our frontier as a distraction. It kept her from brooding overmuch. And Yeoman Sagal’s wife Goody Ela is near to term, which has distracted her. But something tells me the tonic Lady Alya needs most is her spouse in sight.”
“I could use a slug of that myself,” I chuckled. “I can’t believe it’s only been a few—Sweet Briga’s knobby knees, Sir Cei, where the hells did that come from?” I asked, aghast. The fields of Sevendor Village were completely plowed and planted, with the first sprouts already leaping out of the ground. Maize, I could tell, and some bean seedlings, and fields of barley and wheat were already growing. There was not a plow in sight, although there were plenty of neatly laid-out furrows being hoed.
“I’m a
stonished!” I said, immensely pleased. The fields of our neighboring domains we’d passed through on the way back from Sendaria Port were just beginning to be plowed, much less planted. If Olmeg had been able to do this without a witchstone, I could just imagine what he could do with one. I just hoped we had the granary space. As we rounded the curve in the road and the next plot of fields became visible on our right, my throat choked up.
Where barren fields and scrublands had greeted me on my initial trip, now it was a carpet of green that escorted me all the way to my door. Master Olmeg had left few fields fallow – nearly all were planted with something, even if I didn’t recognize what they were.
My mind started to count up the potential yields. “We can always build more granaries,” I finally managed.
Sir Cei was pleased, as if he’d grown it all himself. “Just wait . . . you haven’t even seen the impressive part, yet.”
A moment later I realized to what he had been referring so mysteriously. We topped a slight rise, the first place where you could really see down into Sevendor Vale from the road. That’s when I realized something wasn’t quite the way I left it.
For instance, just before we came to Sevendor Village, when the brown dirt of the road turned white with the residue of snowstone, there was now a long earthen embankment off to our right, behind which stretched the millpond I had envisioned but didn’t think I’d see until Minalyan was talking. The pale white dirt of the massive structure was already starting to sprout grass seedlings, and there were some rough spots, but otherwise it seemed to be quite settled. The pond was by no means filled, but there was a respectable amount of gray muddy water in the bottom already.
“How . . . ?”
“Master Olmeg, Magelord,” explained Sir Cei, smugly. “With some help from a few work details. But it was mostly his design and his spellwork. He persuaded Sir Tyndal to use his witchstone to fill the spaces with earth, but that took only a few days. And while the young knight mage was working with his earthen spells, he went ahead and . . . plowed up around forty acres of fields. It’s slightly larger than you envisioned, my lord, but perhaps more cunningly designed.”
“Damn right it is!” I said, shaking my head in wonder. This surpassed my wildest expectations. I could almost feel the hundreds of items on the List shift, as the prospect of a mill, irrigation, and plentiful water supply opened up new opportunities. Olmeg truly was a master at his craft. “Where is he now?”
“He’s doing some work on a project over in Brestal today. I can summon him, if you wish.”
“Just have him attend me tonight at supper. I wish to hear all about his work. This is . . . this is amazing.”
“I had no idea magic was capable of this,” he agreed, shaking his own head. “Magelord, the crops virtually threw themselves out of the ground. Master Olmeg found an underground spring and diverted it to feed the pond, and he captured most of last week’s rains along with the melting snow from the slopes. The additional water has allowed far better irrigation. And now we have cleaner, better water for Sevendor Village, too. I never would have had the wit to see it, my lord, but a dam was the wisest idea you’ve had.”
“I won’t argue that,” I sighed, happily. “I can’t wait to tour it, and all the fields. Sir Cei, I feel like I’ve been away for a year, not less than a moon.”
“Might I ask how your counsels went? And how the war goes?”
“The counsels went better than the war is going,” I admitted. “The magi can at least pretend to be organized now. But the war . . . keep this quiet, but the Dead God is using dragons in force, now. Five castles or cities have been razed from the air, killing thousands in Gilmora and demoralizing the rest of the western Riverlands. The Duke and local lords are scrambling, but recall that Gilmora is thrice as populated or more as the Wilderlands were. We can expect yet more refugees from there, and if he presses the offensive this summer, the Dead God could be in Darkfallar or even Barrowbell by next equinox.”
I saw Cei look grim. The famous Darkfallar castle was famed across the duchies for it’s security. And Barrowbell was a major trade city vital to Alshar and the cottonlands of Gilmora.
“What of the warmagi?” he asked, hopefully.
“They have been deployed in force,” I promised, without elaborating. “But there are limits to what they can do. You weren’t at Timberwatch, where we faced a dragon for the first time. My mightiest warmage was able to but wound it, and perished in the attempt. Even as we learn how to use our stones more effectively, we’re still very new at this. That doesn’t mean we won’t try, but I’m not as hopeful as I’d like to be,” I said, as tactfully as possible.
“I understand, Magelord. Let us discuss happier things. The details of daily business can wait, I suppose, until you have had time to refresh yourself and greet your lady wife . . . who is most anxious to see you.
“But the bare bones of the news is this: three weddings are scheduled next market day, when a priestess of Ishi is supposed to arrive to conduct the ceremonies. Two are among villeins, so the manor collected their merchet fees ahead of time. There were four babies born in your absence, and one that may be birthed before you reach your chamber. I have paid out name-day gifts to each family, as tradition dictates, a half-ounce of silver for the villein and an ounce for freemen.
“Lefmin the Lucky died in your absence, and his estate is being assessed – he was a native Sevendori freeholder on the north ridge who married a Bovali girl. Fala, Goodman Hiros of Winakur’s eldest daughter. Perhaps not the prettiest thing in the vale, but . . . very spirited.” I remembered the girl – about sixteen and shapely enough, but with buck teeth like a mule and almost no chin to speak of.
“Was there . . . foul play?” I asked, hesitantly. I really didn’t want to hang a woman for murder.
“Not unless you find her virtue as a lethal weapon,” Sir Cei said, chuckling wryly. “Lefmin expired while making love to his young wife, for the third time in a day.”
“Oh. I guess he really was lucky.”
“And she is quite distraught about losing her husband during her maidenmoon. It was also one of the more promising unions between our peoples. But since he was a freeholder, it turns out that the young widow is the lucky one. She inherits his twenty acres and his cot, as well as his rights. She could have a new husband by autumn, if she can pull herself together. A man can look past even teeth like hers for the chance at such a prosperous holding.”
“And there will be plenty of suitors, I’m certain. Her lustiness has certainly been proven, if not her fertility. Although I might be hesitant, knowing how her past husband died.”
Sir Cei looked at me appraisingly. “You, my lord?” he asked, quietly.
I reconsidered. They were only teeth. And if her late husband was pleased enough to seduce her thrice a day . . .
“No, you’re right, I’d see it as a challenge,” I sighed. The only thing worse than knowing yourself that well is having people around you who know you even better. One of Sir Cei’s more annoying habits.
“And lastly,” he said, as we started down the slope into the valley, surrounded by the lush and fragrant aroma from overturned soil and thousands of growing things, “I received word yesterday that our accommodations and reservations have been confirmed. I hope my lord doesn’t mind, but I told them that our party would number at least fifty, if not slightly more, and a third of that on horseback.”
“What are you talking about, Sir Cei?” I asked, shaking my head.
“Why the Chepstan Spring Fair in Sendaria, of course,” he said, eyes opened wide in surprise. “Has the Magelord forgotten?”
Damn. I had. Yet one more reason why having Sir Cei around was convenient. He remembered things I forgot.
“I trust you will make all of the necessary preparations,” I said, worriedly. I hoped so, because I sure didn’t want to do it.
“Already under way, my lord,” he nodded, smugly. “Ah! I see the next party of Bovali descending from the pass!
They’ll arrive just behind us, I think.” He was right. A score of footsore refugees were clearing the trees half a mile ahead. They stopped and looked around in wonder. From that vantage point they could see the entire valley for the first time. The vibrant greens and rich smells must have been a welcome experience after almost a year without station. This was their new home. I hoped they liked it.
I glanced up at the tower over the castle ahead. The summit was bare – there was no magelight, as there was no mage in residence at the moment – and that just wouldn’t do. I summoned a tendril of power and a moment of concentration later a flash of green heralded the appearance of a big fat green magelight. Daddy was home.
Sir Cei nodded. “Impressive, my lord. Over quite a distance, too.”
“I’ve been practicing,” I said, a little proudly. “The snowstone helps.”
“I confess I missed seeing the green,” Sir Cei admitted. “Certainly Sir Tyndal did his best as temporary magelord, during the crisis, but he pouted when I would not let him go chasing after the raiders. When you were gone, the vale felt . . . empty, somehow, Sire. I never thought I would have grown so used to your magic, but . . .”
“If you have a bit of Talent, I might be able to teach you a few small cantrips like magesight and magelights,” I offered. “Useful things, and quite easy once you know how—”
I stopped. A horseman was approaching from the other direction. While we’d passed four or five gangs peasants trudging from field to field, there hadn’t been any horses. I tensed. Perhaps it was just a messenger . . .
The horse was a gray gelding I remembered from the stable, and the rider was swathed in a satiny white cloak that flashed brilliantly in the morning sunshine. When the horseman reigned to a halt—
Sorry. Horse woman. As her hood fell to her shoulders and a cascade of hair spilled from under a carefully-constructed braid – now ruined by the ride – my wife’s beautiful eyes shown out at me for the first time in weeks. Then my heart chilled. Why had she ridden out like that, when I’d be home in less than an hour? It could have been any reason, but of course my mind went to the very worst.
The Spellmonger Series: Book 03 - Magelord Page 45
