And while I did enjoy the attention (and probably enjoyed it far too much for Alya’s comfort, but she was in Sevendor) I was a lot more careful about such things now. I had recently had it confirmed by my own magical spy, Iyugi, that yes, indeed, there was a baby girl out there in the world with my eyes and her mother’s nose, and that had me wary.
But it was grueling, always having another noble arse lined up to kiss, as well as having mine kissed thoroughly and graciously by people who did it professionally.
I wasn’t the only one, either. Each Head of each Order had gotten invitations and was deployed by Penny and her growing staff like units in battle. Tyndal and Rondal were even in high demand, and they both enjoyed the attention a lot more thoroughly than I.
They looked splendid dressed out in fetching new finery, especially the matching fine cotton mantles commissioned by Penny (or her staff on her direction) in Sevendori green, their snowflake badges sewn on their breasts in cloth-of-gold, the only retainers I had permitted the display. Their mission was to bedazzle the young noblewomen of the Realm, for which they needed some patient coaching in court etiquette. But they were as important to our efforts as Master Icarod or General Terleman or Lord Taren.
The goal, Pentandra explained to us repeatedly, was to speak of the Arcane Orders in revered tones, toast the King’s health frequently, and talk about the bright future ahead. If the subject of the war came up – and refugees were already beginning to appear in the area – stay vague but hopeful, mention our victories, forget about our defeats, and quickly distract them with a spell demonstrating just how darn powerful we were.
It was grueling, especially the first two days. Suddenly magic was all the rage in the City of a Thousand Lights. Magelights from every magi capable of casting them filled the air, the massive irionite-green sphere over our rented temple out-shining them all. The air around Castabriel was jubilant, once the Dukes of Vore and Merwin departed in a sulk. Neither one had promised war, but neither one had bent a knee, either. That was as good as a victory, to King Rard.
Everyone else seemed genuinely happy, as if suddenly having a King to bow to instead of a Duke raised everyone’s rank. The beer, wine, and spirits flowed like water, the temples were filled with prayerful pilgrims sacrificing to the gods for the health of the new King and Queen . . . even the dour Horkan warmagi, who were anxious to return to the front, were willing to put their cares aside for a few days and celebrate.
I wasn’t feeling quite as festive, for some reason.
It might have been the number of new magi who suddenly appeared at the door of our . . . embassy? Commandery? Guild? I wasn’t sure what to call the building yet, but it soon became one of the more popular stops in the city. Pilgrims gawked at the large green magelight hovering over the spire night and day. But it attracted magi like flies.
Every spellmonger and resident adept, every hedgemage and village witch seemed to be bothering the doorman, seeking irionite or some other vitally important thing, or who wanted to register with the Order or rail at us upsetting the old regime, or just wanted to know if it was all as real as the stories they’d heard.
They came at all hours, and the first night there was a scuffle in the atrium when an enchanter from Portra and a footwizard from . . . well, the road, started a low-powered magical duel. No one was hurt, but I came in at the tail end of it and decided that was quite enough of that.
I asked Terleman to intervene and he detailed young, tough Sir Rustallo to be in charge of security. After the second day, there were two warmagi on duty at the door with mageblades and warstaves to keep out anyone who didn’t have good reason.
“I think we’re going to have to buy this place,” Pentandra said, on the third day of celebration, as we were preparing for the convocation over breakfast. “The facility suits our purposes, with a little modification. The neighborhood is nice. It’s only a few hours from the Palace. And you’ll get use to the pilgrims eventually. It’s just too convenient for us to have a place in the capital.”
“The winter capital,” I reminded her. “We might need a place in Wilderhall, too.” That would be harder, but there were some beautiful manors in the Castali Wilderlands around Wilderhall. I’d destroyed one, once, professionally. “And if we’re going to buy it – and you say we can afford it – then appoint someone to run it, will you? Someone responsible and jaded and looking for a cushy post, but someone who can keep this place going when you aren’t around.”
“I know,” she said, as she unpacked yet-another package from our Alka Alon allies in the empty library of the temple. So far the gifts had been obscure or fascinating or both, but not particularly useful that we could see. “I was thinking of Master Thinradel for the post, but needed—Goodness!”
All of the Alka Alon’s gifts were wondrous and mysterious. But this one . . . this one screamed out with deadly purpose by its shape alone.
“Oh, my,” Pentandra said, covering her mouth with her hand as she looked down in disbelief. In the box was a long, thin, object about nine inches long and five inches at its widest. It was vaguely leaf-shaped, asymmetrical but perfectly balanced and streamlined like a fish or bird. The edge, I knew from legend, was razor-sharp and could cut through just about any armor mortal man could forge.
“Is that . . . a Thoughtful Knife?” I asked, instantly intrigued. Pentandra continued to stare at it a moment, then looked up and nodded, her eyes wide. “What would that do to dragon hide?” I wondered aloud.
The Thoughtful Knife is one of those mysterious, legendary magical weapons that we only get glimpses of in the epics translated from the Alka Alon, particularly those entertaining stories from their warring-states period, long before Man came to Callidore.
One of the more popular legends dealt with three princes of the same House seeking vengeance, or something, and attacking various monsters (some of which were clearly fictional) with various powerful spells and enchantments in their quest for dominance and revenge. One of the more famous enchantments was known as the Thoughtful Knife.
Despite its name, the Knife didn’t have any independent intelligence, from what I remembered from the epic. It responded to the mental command of its master with the speed and deadly efficacy of thought. According to legend, it could slaughter whole regiments of loyal guardsmen or whatever a ‘gasdomaloid’ was with impunity . . . in seconds. Like a loyal, thoughtless dog, the Thoughtful Knife would kill without tiring as long as its master bid.
“I can’t think of any other reason they’d give it to us,” she agreed. “The edge is supposedly—”
“I know,” I nodded, more familiar with it than she was, probably. “Any idea how to use it?”
“I don’t see anything written . . . but considering its reputation, I think I’ll wait for the Alka to show up and teach us. That’s not something you want to experiment with lightly,” she said, cautiously, and carefully put the lid back on the box.
“What about this?” I asked, opening another box, this one more square in shape. Within was a sphere of glass – or something glass-like – of pale yellow, about five inches in diameter. “I have no idea what it is, but it’s pretty!”
Not sure of spelling …
Penny gasped again. “That’s a Covenstone!” she said, excitedly. “A big one, too! It allows magi to add their power together directly, without going through an apis . . . which is far more efficient. The bigger the stone, the larger the number of magi who can share power. In the hands of theurgic magi it can be especially powerful, I’ve read,” she added. “One that size? Maybe a hundred magi could share energy.”
I nodded, impressed. I could see a dozen different uses for it already. The Tree Folk had been generous . . . and that made me suspicious. I wasn’t alone in that, either.
“They said they were interested in snowstone . . . why?” Penny asked, putting the lid back on the Covenstone’s box. “I’ve done a few experiments on it, and it appears to lower magical resistance, but I can think of three or fo
ur other substances that might do the same, under the right conditions.”
“Temporarily,” I pointed out. “Snowstone doesn’t wear-off. It just sits there. They could find that of use. It doesn’t require any power to function, it doesn’t need additional magic, and the field of effect is inversely proportional to the mass, according to one of my associates,” I said. Gareth had delivered some preliminary findings about the snowstone end of my domain before I left, and he’d established that conclusively. The bigger the mass, the larger the effect. Already the etheric density in the entire Bontal Valley was falling in a radius around Sevendor.
“How much of it do you have?” she asked, her face calculating.
“All of it,” I shrugged. “About six square miles worth of mountain. And castle. And forest, pond, and fields. Assorted rocks and muds. Stairways. The privy I use every morning is made of it, now.”
“That’s . . . far more than I really needed to think about,” she grimaced. “But it would explain the Alka’s largesse. If you had something they really wanted . . .”
“Then they’d give us a bunch of bright and shiny enchantments to soften us up,” I agreed. “And they would kiss our ass almost as much as the local burgher’s council tried to. I think I see what you’re getting at. And it makes me want to know just why they want it so badly.”
We were interrupted just then by someone’s young apprentice, who arrived at the door to my chamber at a dead run, breathless. A lot of younger boys and a few girls had come along with their masters, and were being pressed into service for the Order until proper servants could be hired in the city. At this stage in the new Kingdom’s history, I didn’t want a lot of highly bribable outside servants around. I’d rather be casual and secure than formal and dignified.
“Magelord!” he said with a hurried bow. “There is a man at the door, a lord, who says he has business with the Order!”
“Which one?” Pentandra and I said at the same time.
“He . . . he didn’t specify,” the lad admitted. “But he said it concerned the Court Mage.”
“Which one?” we said in unison, again. That earned us a sharp look from each other. The drawbacks of working so closely together.
“Master Dunselen.”
“Dunselen?” I asked, astonished. “What’s the old geezer done now?”
“This should be interesting,” Penny said, as I hurriedly grabbed my silly hat.
Master Dunselen was the last Ducal Court Mage of Castal, and had been one of my first political bribes. I had used the lure of a witchstone to buy his favor at the summer court at Wilderhall last year, and he had been a staunch ally of mine ever since.
He was a wiley old coot who had affected an older and wiser appearance to help get him his position, and he understood politics as only a mage who has risen to the Ducal level can, but he was a powerful adept in his own right. When I had seen him at the coronation we had only a few moments of formal discussion after the ceremony. The change the witchstone – and the loss of the Bans on Magic – had made in him was already apparent. He no longer tried to look older and wiser, and he dressed more like a landed lord than a mage. Nor did he act humbly, as he did when he was at court. He acted more like a . . . a magelord.
That, it appeared, was the complaint one Sire Victrew of Hunvara had, once the irate lord was brought in and soothed with refreshment by one of Penny’s more attractive maidservants in one of the former classrooms off of the main temple sanctuary.
“That . . . sorcerer came back to claim his lands last year,” the knight complained, after we were introduced, “and he’s been goading me into war ever since. My grandsire was gifted my lands by his great-grandsire, you see, and while his family has fallen from position, mine has risen.
“Now he resents our rise and wishes to reclaim my lands. He has taken two small castles already, and one he destroyed utterly! I can call my banners and lead my men against him, Magelord, I can even hire mercenaries. But how can I defend my lands against a magelord, without one on my side?” he asked in despair.
I didn’t know what to tell him. I tried to explain that what Dunselen was doing was perfectly legal, as long as he didn’t violate the Duke’s – the King’s – laws, as a magelord he could lawfully pursue a war of conquest. I pointed out that he wasn’t even a warmage, although that was little consolation for the knight. He would have to sue for peace, I told him regretfully, although I did promise to speak to Dunselen on his behalf the next time I saw him. I also pointed out that Dunselen’s star was rising, and an alliance might be in his best interest.
He was un-mollified, but grateful, at least, for the hearing.
“That’s going to become more and more of a problem,” Pentandra agreed, after he’d gone. “We’re going to have to put some sort of rules into place about magelords and warfare. Otherwise the regular lords will fall to the arcane lords, and . . .”
“And you say that like it’s an evil thing?” I chuckled. “Penny, I always thought you wanted more rights and power for the magi.”
“I’ve read a lot about the various Mage Wars,” she said, seriously. “There’s a reason that the Archmage confiscated irionite, Min. Magical warfare can get ugly.” I thought about the horror of Sheruel and wondered if humans were capable of such things. The look on Pentandra’s face told me I probably didn’t want to learn the answer.
“We’ll study the matter,” I promised. “When we get the opportunity. Right now we have more important things to deal with . . . like the rest of our enchanted presents. Particularly the Twenty-One Stones,” I reminded her.
That had been a crisis waiting to happen the moment the Alka Alon presented us with those potently shiny pebbles. There was a long waiting list of magi eager to get them, even if it meant serving against the Dead God, and we suddenly had a bumper-crop and a massive need. Both of the militant orders had made claim to the stones, and I had to mitigate the problem before it became a permanent rift between them.
Both orders had excellent points. The Horkans were in the field fighting against the goblin hordes daily, risking their lives and slaying a lot of gurvani in the process. The Hesians, on the other hand, were provisioning and strengthening the strongholds and castles the Horkans depended upon, and also demanded their fair share of the stones. And of course the medical and educational orders made their claims as well, though theirs wasn’t as strong as the militant orders.
After an afternoon of acrimony, it was finally decided that the new stones would be given out to the orders by sevens. The Horkan seven would go to the elite warmagi in the field. The Hesian seven would be given to defensive warmagi who could also operate offensively – as much as I respected Carmella’s ability to build an impregnable fortress, these stones were designed as tools of war.
The warmagi who held the Hesian seven would be the ones managing active sieges or other defensive engagements, not supply clerks and procurement agents. Carmella and her people were indignant over the requirement, but as they were getting an equal share with the Horkans – who still insisted they needed more stones – they couldn’t complain much.
As for the final seven, I reserved them as the Master Adept’s seven. I would give them to warmagi directly in service to me, I announced, after serious consideration. If, for instance, Master Dunselen’s private war got out of hand and I had to deal with an errant mage, then I needed a force that could be sent to do so.
No one was particularly happy about that. Not even Penny.
“Why do you need your own private army of warmagi?” she demanded, when we were in private between meetings.
“They aren’t my private army, they are to be used for the Arcane Orders’ business,” I insisted. “When we got rid of the Censorate, we inherited their role to regulate magic. That’s what you keep telling me. Well, if we’re to do that effectively, then I need a tool independent of the various orders. Troubleshooters, trusted magi who can be sent to investigate and deal with any institutional issues. Like the Archmagi
’s Dabarsi Guard, only with less power.
“Or, if they’re between internal assignments, they would be empowered to assist the other orders as needed. Or loaned to the Kingdom. Or to act as an impartial arbiter in disputes between other orders. I don’t know, you’re the one who got me thinking about this sort of thing!” I said, exasperated.
“It just seems like an extravagance,” she pointed out. “Seven stones?”
“How can I effectively execute administration, or whatever you call it, if I don’t have effective agents? These spheres . . . they’re potent. Designed to turn the mage into a weapon. My giant ball of magic is the only thing I’ve seen more powerful, excepting Sheruel’s abomination. If the militant orders have them, then I have to have them, or I’ll have to be the one who intervenes if one of them gets out of control. This way, I have some additional authority,” I reasoned.
“I don’t know, it sets a dangerous precedent,” she said, darkly.
“There’s a lot of that going around,” I shot back, thinking of Isily the Shadowmage and my secret daughter – Iyugi had confirmed that the baby was a girl – that Penny had forgotten to mention to me knowing about.
I suppressed thinking about that further – I had to work with Penny, I reminded myself, and I needed to trust her. I kept telling myself that as I forced myself to switch to a more conciliatory tone. “I’m making this up as I go along,” I reminded her. “You’re the one who told me we needed some regulatory framework, after the Robinwing Conclave. This would be the executive agency for that framework.”
“I was hoping self-policing would be enough,” she sighed, resigned to my stubborn insistence. “But you’re right. You need an independent force equal or greater than those you are regulating. The oaths are nice, but they can be broken, especially if one of the magi . . . goes mad.” It was an occupational hazard we were all aware of; that was what had happened to the Mad Mage of Farise, under the influence of irionite. That’s what had happened to poor young Urik, in Boval, when he had been given more power than he could deal with.
The Spellmonger Series: Book 03 - Magelord Page 69
