The Spellmonger Series: Book 03 - Magelord

by Terry Mancour

  We left the horses tied up at the bottom of the trail, and with Zagor eagerly leading the way we ascended. It was quite a steep climb, but Planus and Pentandra kept up with no problem.

  It took almost an hour to wind our way up the rocky mount, but the way was well-lit from the eerie magelight above, and the way was not difficult. The trail had existed for generations – perhaps since before Matten’s Helm was known as such. It was a secluded and beautiful spot, a favorite for lovers, and from the summit you could see the two vales and beyond.

  When we made it to the top, we were not alone. At the far end of the Helm, directly under the center of the magelight, were three diminutive figures. The River Folk pilgrims immediately began to twitter excitedly among themselves. Zagor was nearly as excited.

  I led the party across the meadow that covered the peak, my sphere dogging my steps behind my shoulder, until I came within speaking distance . . . when the most fascinating thing happened. The Tree Folk . . . got taller. And less naked.

  There were three females, I saw, but just as I came close enough to read their faces their entire bodies seemed to grow and stretch, and then sprouted clothes. When the enchantment was done, all three Alka women appeared as breathtakingly beautiful human women.

  Human . . . mostly. I suppose it was the Alka Alon’s interpretation of humanity, for despite the size and shape and perfectly-formed features, their new shapes retained an alien quality that was, somehow, still essentially Tree Folk in presentation.

  The ears, for example, weren’t shaped the way human ears were, being slightly too large and too angular. They were taller than most women, nearly six feet tall. Their facial features were sharp, making Penny’s well-defined cheekbones look round in comparison. Their eyes were thickly lashed and beautiful, somewhat slanted and almond-shaped, their lips thin yet softly-rounded.

  The clothes they had conjured were just as beautiful as their bearers; only the fabric seemed richer than any I’d seen in Castabriel, gowns of flowing silken cloth the exact color and luster of a white rose petal. They were embellished with decorations of the most elegant simplicity, abstract lines resembling climbing vines or trees or flowers. Their green hair was gone, their pale almost-human complexions complemented by a fastidiously-coifed mane of golden or silver hair.

  They looked like three goddesses lost from some errant heaven, only they seemed cleaner, somehow, than a human divinity would appear

  “Magelord Minalan of Sevendor,” the beautiful golden-haired woman said in flawless Narasi. “The Alka Alon beg the pleasure of your audience.”

  I bowed, as deeply as I possibly could. I was gratified everyone else did the same – except the River Folk, who were prostate on their faces in awe.

  “The pleasure is ours, Ladies,” I said, as I rose. “Yet your raiment. . .”

  The leader looked down at her new body. “An enchantment designed to assist in negotiations,” she explained.

  “An illusion?” asked Penny, who just couldn’t help herself.

  “Nay, Lady Pentandra,” the Alka woman said, formally. Her voice was like a base pipe, “A transgenic enchantment. This is as we would be if we held a humani essence, instead of an Alka.”

  “That’s amazing!” Penny declared. “And that would explain a lot of confusion about your race in our oldest texts.”

  “ The enchantment was first wrought long ago, when we first gifted your people with Perwyn, to facilitate communication and understanding. I can only assume that my ancestors grew weary of always looking up when speaking to a humani. I assure you, the body is quite as real as your own.” She held out both hands and declined her head slightly.

  I wouldn’t classify it so much as a bow as a failed nod. “I am Varen. This,” she said, gesturing to the woman on her left, whose hair was a lighter shade of gold than hers, “is Fallawen, and I believe you know . . . Ithalia,” she said, gesturing to the woman on her right. Her hair was silver, but not in the same way a human’s hair was.

  I started. “Lady Ithalia? From Alshar?” She favored me with a smile that would have made Alya jealous.

  “When the opportunity arose to fulfill this delegation,” she explained in a voice like a soft wooden flute, “it was thought my inclusion would find your favor, after our previous encounter.” Knowing that the beautiful human-ish woman in front of me was actually not more than four feet tall and had green hair didn’t diminish the experience.

  “It does indeed,” I assured her. “But to what do we owe the pleasure of the company of the Fair Folk?” I asked, using the term Zagor had used.

  “The common threat of the Abomination and his minions is a danger to us all,” Varen continued. “Many of our kindred favor re-establishing old alliances between our people. In token of this, we wish to form a permanent embassy to you, Magelord. To facilitate communication . . . and understanding.”

  “I am amenable to this,” I nodded, thinking of all the incredible possibilities. “Yet would not King Rard be the one to whom this embassy is addressed?”

  “The humani ruler may be useful, but he has no power to stop Sheruel,” Fallawen said, speaking for the first time. Her voice was human . . . and sounded like a brass horn.

  “Without him, the lands of both our peoples will be overrun by gurvani,” Pentandra pointed out. “Unless the Alka Alon have thousands willing to take up arms, it will be humani warriors who oppose them on the field. Sheruel is their leader, and no war will be won until he is destroyed, but until then we must contend with their legions. And to do that, we will need the organization and resources of the Kingdom. And of the King.”

  “That is understood,” Varen nodded. “Which is why we graced his coronation as we did. But we have a poor history dealing with the warrior-princes of your people, Magelord. When they overran the Magocracy, we attempted to negotiate with them. They responded . . . poorly,” she said, a tone in her beautiful voice that was both sorrowful and pissed. “Since then we have withdrawn behind our veils and largely left you to your own affairs, as we tend to ours. Now that we have a common foe, we hope that a more civilized discussion may be had with the magi of your lands, as was of old.”

  “We ask that you act as our intermediary with King Rard,” Fallwallan said. Somehow I got the feeling she was the most critical of us and this effort. “You understand the thinking of a . . . humani warrior-prince better than we. If we must, we will visit his court in person, but our intent is to advise humani magi, not appease the conceits of a humani king.”

  “To that end we request that we be given leave to make our embassy here,” Lady Ithalia said, indicating the peak of the mount. “Of old this was an outpost of one of our houses, and some subtle magics from that time persist.” That was news to me. I knew of the Stone Folk connection to the site, but wasn’t aware of any Alka Alon settlement. “We wish to make it a hostel close by, to give you counsel and aid as we can.”

  “To share our understanding of the nature of magic,” added Fallawen.

  “To guide you in your efforts against the Abomination,” finished Varen. “Will you grant us this embassy, Magelord?”

  Did they think I’d say no? “I grant you this mount as your embassy,” I agreed. “It shall be forbidden to my people, save at your bidding. What do you need from me and my land?” I asked, trying not to sound fawning.

  “Little enough, Magelord,” said Ithalia. “We can provide most of what we shall need. But we ask leave to build shelters, after the style of our kind, so that we may dwell here in comfort.”

  “Build whatever you wish,” I agreed. “If you have need of anything, merely ask.”

  “As to that . . .” Varen said, with a hint more deliberation, “would you be willing to allow us to build our hostel of snowstone?”

  I shrugged. “Take all you need. I’ve got a mountain of it. In fact, I’m thinking of expanding the castle . . . but we’ll have plenty of time to discuss that. Welcome to Sevendor,” I said, with a deep, contented sigh. “Make yourself at home.” />
  All three of the women smiled, now, and turned toward each other. Raising their arms they began singing . . . and it put to shame every note any human being ever uttered. The songspell they wove was foreign, exotic, rich and potent, and it seemed to shimmer the air around them as they sang. From the space between them, for the first time I noticed a tree, a mere sapling, with silver bark and golden leaves. It was about two feet tall, and it glowed with a preternatural light.

  The Alka sang until the tree reached six feet in height. It sprouted branches and limbs as it grew, and new leaves sprung out in abundance. When they ended their song it seemed to sparkle to outshine the stars.

  “A token of our alliance,” Varen said. “A rare tree from our homeland, and once the symbol of a great house of our kindred. Centuries before humani were spawned from the Void, it grew wild throughout this region, but the gurvani and the Iron Folk sought to fell every tree in their wars against us.”

  Zagor looked enchanted, and Olmeg looked like he was going to wet himself. I was almost as impressed. The Alka Alon love trees the way River Folk love a good meal. According to legend, their enchanted forests were filled with all sorts of rare and exotic trees, some of which could be crafted into weapons and tools of great power.

  Others could cure illness, or reduce aging, or ease suffering or even more esoteric things. There was even recorded in some histories from the Magocracy that humanity’s gift of a thousand different importasta trees had convinced the Alka Alon to give us Perwyn to settle. So this was no mere decorative shrub; to the Alka Alon, trees were significant.

  This tree seemed to radiate magic like heat from an oven. The Alka ladies looked pleased with themselves. They turned to me as one and bowed gracefully.

  “We are pleased, Magelord,” Varen said in her deep, compelling voice. “From time to time we may descend the mount to have conversation with you, or walk in meditation in your beautiful vale.”

  “We will count such a visit a blessing,” I agreed. “May this be the beginning of a long and helpful alliance.”

  After that we all had to study this wondrous tree, meet our new neighbors, and speak of future plans. Varen asked my permission to summon a builder of the Stone Folk to do the construction of the hostel. I thought that was a magnificent idea, and I secretly hoped I could find more information on the legendary lost city. And maybe get a quote on upgrading my castle.

  Olmeg wanted to know about the tree’s growth, Penny and Planus were curious as to its magical properties, and Sarakeem, interestingly enough, asked about its history. He’s kind of a flamboyant fop, but the warmage also hid a keen intelligence under his mannerisms.

  So what do you think all of this means? Pentandra asked me, mind-to-mind.

  It means my magical fair will be outrageously popular, if we can get these ladies down the hill to visit, I said, after considering. I knew that’s not what Penny wanted my opinion on, but that’s what I was thinking about at the time.

  No, I mean why do you think they suddenly want an alliance with us so badly that they’re willing to send you three attractive fake maidens and a pretty tree?

  Must you question everything? I lamented.

  That’s what the Order pays me for, she agreed. I’m not foreswearing their gifts and their counsel – Yremtia knows we need it. But I have to question their motives, too.

  We have a common enemy, remember? I reminded her.

  I haven’t forgotten. Neither have they. That’s what makes me suspicious.

  Or maybe you’re jealous of how incredibly beautiful they are?

  Exactly, Min, she agreed. They’ve taken human form. There are all sorts of accounts of them doing this back in the ancient days. Sometimes it was helpful, but a lot of times it led to problems. Particularly when female Alka were involved. Remember the tale of the Witch of Kayvahan?

  No, I said patiently. But the pretty ladies want to help us. And I’m not the kind of man who just loses control at the sight of a shapely . . . ear.

  Yes, actually, you are, she observed. Which is why I brought it to your attention in the first place.

  I couldn’t really argue with that. And maybe she had a point.

  But I had beautiful, enchanted Tree Folk living next door to the castle, now, and they wanted to ply me with gifts. It would take an awful lot of compelling reasons for me to worry about that with everything else that was going on.

  I think you’re paranoid, I told her. But I’ll keep an eye on them. Just . . .

  . . . what?

  Just . . . don’t mention this to my wife. She only thinks of Tree Folk as cute, quaint little creatures of folklore. If she knew what they looked like now, somehow I don’t think she’d be very enthusiastic about the new girls in the village.

  Chapter Forty

  The Wedding Of Sire Cei And Lady Estret

  It had been Alya’s idea to schedule Sire Cei’s wedding as the opening of the Sevendor Magic Fair, as a means of ensuring attendance by some of the local lords of note. It also cut down on the work, she explained: since the castle had to be cleaned and decorated for each event, by combining the two the drudges (I had drudges? I had no idea) wouldn’t be overtaxed.

  My wife was at the center of the mad web of activity. She took the success of the event personally, in a way I didn’t quite understand. Everything I said seemed to be the wrong thing to say, and every suggestion I made earned me the nastiest looks. She was visibly upset about every little detail, from how to keep a naturally-white castle looking clean to how the banners were hung in the Great Hall. After the fourth or fifth argument one morning, I made an excuse to get out of the castle. The last thing I wanted to do was fight with my wife after laying waste to domains to rescue her.

  Penny tried to explain it to me as we toured the River Folk’s new burrow in my brother-in-law Sagal’s holding.

  “It’s the first real social event she is hosting for people outside of Sevendor,” she lectured as we inspected the grand torus of woven sticks and mud that was slowly taking shape on a low rise overlooking Ketta’s Stream from the north. For once she had “gone native”, abandoning her elegant Remeran gowns for a sensible shift and sideless-surcoat, in local Riverlands style, better suited for muddy construction sites. She was even wearing boots.

  But my attention was more on the Tal Alon than Penny’s footwear. I was intrigued by my littlest vassals and how they were getting organized. Under Master Olmeg’s guidance and protection, the White Onion and Loblolly tribes had merged to form one burrow. I still had a hard time even telling them apart by sight, but Olmeg swears the Loblollies are, on average, an inch or so taller, while the White Onion were around five pounds heavier. He was very involved in their politics, and had negotiated the complicated settlement.

  Olmeg talked about culturally sub-specialized sub-variants of the species – he knows a fair amount about the Tal Alon. The White Onions were a more horticulturally-oriented and more civilized tribe, in human terms. The Loblollies were from a more adventurous and more rustic Wilderlands tribe, one that hunted and trapped more than it farmed. The Loblollies, surprisingly, held a three-pud majority on their little five-man council.

  To avoid confusion and promote unity, Olmeg suggested the new burrow take the name Holly Burrow, as the shady banks of the stream grew a fair amount of the spiky evergreen. As the burrow in general treated Master Olmeg with tremendous respect, both sides agreed, and the Holly Burrow it became.

  Penny seemed oblivious to the politics of the Tal Alon. She was more concerned with the Riverlands variety. “See it from her perspective: Alya’s a newly-made noblewoman, and she’s undertaken the responsibility of an event no less than the wedding of one of your most important vassals, with lords and ladies of high rank attending.”

  “So . . . she feels about how I did when I realized I was responsible for re-making magic for the Duchies and suddenly bribing court wizards and dodging assassins,” I reasoned.

  “Only for her, it’s a lot worse,” Penny agreed, not
seeing my humor. “She’s not just a lady of a poor country domain, she’s a mountain peasant with the stink of cow manure still on her, suddenly being tasked with making a social showing for folk far above her rank. How this wedding turns out will be a reflection of her ability as the Lady of Sevendor. She has much invested in this.”

  “It’s just a wedding,” I shrugged. “As long as they’re married and everyone is drunk at the end, who cares how they get there?” I watched with interest as three River Folk tried raising a timber to the roof of the structure, struggling to manage a beam no more than ten feet long, something a man could do one-handed. I gave them a magical assist, hoisting the three a few feet in the air as I levitated the beam into position.

  The grateful foreman quickly tied it into place while he chewed out his workers in a high, squeaky voice. The fact that the furry little guys were now dressing in cast-off tunics, hose, hats, and other human garb made it even funnier.

  “Just a wedding?” Penny gasped, her eyes wide. “Minalan, I cannot believe you just said that! Sir Cei is the closest thing Alya has to a father left! And a wedding isn’t just a wedding, ever – or have you forgotten your own?” she asked, an eyebrow raised.

  I tried to change the subject. “Isn’t it interesting how the Tal Alon integrate the drainage system into the channels they use to dilute their waste and use it to grow vegetables?”

  “Yes, the sewage on the roof is lovely,” she said, sarcastically. “Min, you have to understand how important this is to Alya, as a woman. Treat it with some respect. She’s worked really hard, and driven her servants even harder to make this a great event. And that’s knowing that she cannot possibly succeed, thanks to her origins. But if she doesn’t make the attempt, then she sacrifices any hope of respect.”

  “Respect from whom? The people of Sevendor love their Lady,” I pointed out.

  “Respect from the other noblewomen,” she said, as if she was explaining the complexities of using a spoon. “Do you not understand what we’re talking about? Alya has an entirely new group of peers she must contend with, whether she wants to or not. The other noblewomen of this region will be looking to her, as the wife and lady of a Magelord, to set certain styles and modes of conduct, customs and expectations, and she has to do it knowing that they know where she came from. Do you have any idea what kind of challenge that is?”