I closed my eyes, tapped into my sphere, and summoned the glyph that Lady Varen had given me to speak with her, mind-to-mind. I wasn’t sure if the Alka could do this naturally or with a spell, but slipping into the rapport was effortless.
Yes, Magelord? came the cordial response.
Lady Varen, I need your help. The Kingdom needs your help, actually. Is there any way for you to find the time to drop by, perhaps teach us how to use the Thoughtful Knife? We have a crisis brewing . . .
“How can I be of assistance, Magelord?” Lady Varen asked, using her voice. I opened up my eyes and blinked. There she was in my lab, in her human-tall form.
“How do you do that?” I gasped.
“It’s actually not a difficult spell,” she admitted with a slight smile, the first time I had seen her act less than formally. “It merely requires a prodigious amount of energy and a detailed knowledge of higher magics. The proximity of the snowstone makes it much easier,” she admitted. “Doing magic around snowstone in general is much less effort. Ordinarily I would not consider using such spells lightly, but your summons seemed urgent.”
“I’ve noticed. And yes, it is urgent. We have a military crisis. The gurvani have invested a strategic castle in Gilmora. They are surrounded, but secure for the moment. But they’re also a ripe target for one of the Dead God’s dragons. I need a way to combat them, and if the legends about the Thoughtful Knife are true—”
“They are,” Lady Varen agreed, gravely. “But it is not an easy weapon to master,” she warned.
“Few are, once you get beyond sharp sticks,” I agreed. “But I don’t have time to indulge in a thorough study. I’ve got dragons that could show up at any time.” I took the Thoughtful Knife out of its box and placed it on my workbench. “Now, how does this work?”
She sighed. “There is not time then to give you an extensive lesson.” She caressed the back of the gleaming white blade, and a small jewel came off in her hand. She handed it to me. “Let us see your affinity with the Knife.”
I took the jewel and as my hand closed around it my consciousness shrank and moved, and I suddenly was the Knife. I suppressed the urge to vomit as the world spun around me and my subconscious panicked.
Eventually I got my bearings, but riding the Thoughtful Knife is akin to riding a speeding stallion . . . while standing up in the saddle and balancing a feather on your nose.
For the next two hours Lady Varen showed me how to activate the Knife, carefully insert my focused attention within its magical matrix, and make it float across the floor. It was odd seeing things through the Knife’s perspective, and it took me almost an hour to get my bearings well enough to make it fly at any speed.
The sensation of flying the Knife was disconcerting. Human beings are not meant to fly, and our brains have a hard time making the adjustment. Seeing the world from above was a heady but terrifying experience.
Finally, when I had demonstrated I could establish basic control over the artifact, Lady Varen let me take the Knife outside, where I carefully flew it around my white castle. Only a few noticed enough to point at it, but they weren’t alarmed – by this time my people were pretty used to strange happenings emitting from the Spellmonger’s Tower.
Then I lost control, and the thing tumbled from the sky. I just couldn’t keep my orientation from that perspective. Just when I thought I had it, an attack of vertigo undermined my bearings and it fell. When it hit the castle wall, the edge stuck four inches into the white stone.
“I just can’t do it, not without a lot more practice,” I said, apologetically, as I wiped the copious beads of sweat off of my forehead. “I can’t seem to manage the perspective from above.”
“Not everyone is endowed with the ability to move their consciousness easily,” she soothed. I could tell she was disappointed. I had barely gotten it in the air. “Nor is everyone used to flying. Indeed, I know few humans who are.”
That took me aback. Because I actually did know a human who was, in a fashion, used to flight. Lanodara.
The girl was learning to bond with her witchstone under the guidance of Tyndal and Rondal, who seemed both annoyed and pleased at the task of teaching the twelve-year-old. I summoned all three of them to my lab that moment, and they came quickly.
Both of my apprentices wanted to watch, and though they were cowed by the presence of Lady Varen, they were both mesmerized by watching Dara quickly overcome the difficulties I had faced in mastering the Thoughtful Knife. Within minutes the Knife was sailing merrily around the castle with beauty and deadly promise.
“She seems to be naturally Talented,” Lady Varen conceded, pleased. “She has wit and valor, it seems. Should she master the Knife, it is possible that it could be employed against a dragon. If applied with sufficient force and dexterity, there is a possibility that the Knife could be effective against dragon hide.”
“Let us hope it can be,” I sighed, wearily. “It may be our only hope. If I can find some way to transport Dara and myself all the way to Barrowbell in the next few days, we may arrive before the Dead God sends a worm.”
“But Magelord,” Lady Varen said, gently, “I would be happy to transport you and the girl, and any others you need. As I said, with snowstone proximate, it is a far simpler enchantment.”
“That’s quite noble of you,” I said, unsure about how I felt about being transported. “But isn’t that too long a distance?”
She smiled indulgently. And perhaps a little condescendingly. “Magelord, distance matters not. My kindred have walked this world for thousands of years. Mighty empires have risen and fallen. Great cities were built and fell to ruin. But magic . . . magic persists. Wherever the Alka Alon have established a transport point in the past, I can send you.”
That was encouraging. And exceedingly useful. If only . . .
Terleman’s words came back to my mind:
Maybe those arboreal buggers can figure out some way to transport a couple of thousand troops half-way across the duchy!
That got me thinking. And plotting. And then a whole new plan evolved.
“Lady Varen,” I said, carefully, “just how many of us could you transport?”
Chapter Forty-Four
I Summon The Banners
Lady Varen looked perplexed. It was an intriguing expression on an Alka, even one of these almost-human varieties.
“Magelord . . . what you ask . . .”
“What I ask might save the Kingdom before it is even six moons old, and more importantly it might save tens of thousands of lives. Perhaps even Alka Alon lives, if there are any of your hidden treehouses in that neighborhood. And certainly thousands of Tal Alon lives, if that holds any value to you – you may have heard of how the Dead God’s monstrosities treat the River Folk. Kind of like a picnic.”
“It would require . . . so much energy . . .” she said, dazed. I’d dazed an Alka. I’d never thought I’d see that happen. But I could tell she didn’t have any material objection to the idea, so I pressed my points in a reasonable fashion.
“If you say the spell is not difficult, merely requiring lavish energy, then why cannot an entire army be thus transported?” I asked, excitedly. “Or is that too much mass to be moved through the ether?”
“It has to do with resistance,” she explained. “I can pull myself through space, and even bring one or two people, in ordinary circumstances, if I work through a pre-established transfer point.”
“But we have all of this snowstone,” I pointed out. She nodded, as the possibilities began to form in her mind.
“With snowstone, I could perhaps bring five or six others, if I had sufficient reserves. But more than that requires more energy, and the expenditure rises sharply with each additional person. At least as I understand the theory,” she admitted. “It is not my area of specialty.”
“But if energy was no limitation?”
“Then it would be theoretically possible,” she agreed. “It has been done in the past,” she admitted, rel
uctantly, “though at terrible cost.”
“Could you do it now? If I can provide the power?”
She sighed. “I can but try, Magelord. With my kinswomen helping, and perhaps a few more volunteers, we could move a small army. Distance is not the issue,” she said, before I could ask. “Indeed, distance matters not at all – it takes the same energy to move a man across a room as it does to move him across a country. And then there are . . . other considerations,” she added, guiltily. “Not all amongst the kindreds would see such a feat as a boon.”
I paused. “Politics?”
She nodded, looking a little ashamed. “There are those amongst the kindreds who see our interaction with the humani as one long series of tragic mistakes. And there has been much pain and death, it is true. But since my folk welcomed yours, I feel as if both of our folk have prospered from the relation . . . over all.
“But some clans do not wish to help the humani at all, in any way. Some wish to advise and perhaps aid you, in some small ways. And then there are those like my fellow envoys and I who see aiding your people as much as we can as the best, most responsible course of action. Assisting you performing a feat like transporting an entire army . . .” she trailed off.
“If you don’t mind looking into it, Lady Varen,” I said respectfully, “I will see what kind of troops I can muster. Haste is of the utmost importance, I hope you understand.”
She sighed prettily, nodded, as if finding her resolve somewhere, and then faded away from sight. I don’t know if she went back to her embassy or elsewhere. But it smelled like lilies after she left.
It was my turn to sigh. I had the possibility of pushing an army through space, to cross hundreds of leagues in an instant and be precisely where I needed them the most. All I lacked now was an army.
I had by mercenaries, of course, the stalwart infantry of the Black Boots I had retained to conquer West Fleria and the Nirodi. While the mounted archers had returned to Nirod richer men, the infantry had elected to stick around for light winter garrison duty. I could convince them to make the trip, if I paid them well enough.
There were perhaps other professional mercenaries too, at Sendaria Port. But even if I hired every sell-sword in town, that would still give me no more than 500 men. I could count on my Bovali for perhaps five hundred more, most of them passing good archers. There were plenty of survivors of Boval who were eager to gain vengeance on the gurvani, now that they had a secure homeland to return to and proper weapons in their hands. And to them I could add the ten or fifteen lances I could muster from the castle garrison.
Then, as Sire Cei reminded me, I could call my own banners, summoning maybe another fifty lances among my five new provinces. Probably less, after the fighting. A lot of them had chosen to go into exile, and I wasn’t certain I could rely on most of the others. But that still left me shy of fifteen hundred men.
I was racking my brain for where I could get them when Pentandra reminded me that I was – still – a Ducal Marshal of Castal.
The office was purely ceremonial, now, a title to tack on the end of my name when I wanted to be an asshole. I had been appointed as a Marshal by both Duke Lenguin of Alshar and Duke Rard of Castal for their respective duchies last year. While the warrant had been given for the Timberwatch campaign, the warrant was still valid. It had no expiration. I could legally call upon any vassal of the Duke of Castal for troops in order to defend the realm.
Whether or not the local lords would pay attention to such a summons was another matter.
If I started with the POW camp outside of the Diketower, that would be a good base. There were still almost five hundred men there who had taken up arms for Gimbal’s gold, but who had been too poor to pay their own ransoms. Most had intended to winter-over in Sevendor, earning money at the harvest to buy their way free. The way our fields were bulging, the extra help would be well worth the money, and we could feed them. Offered the chance to fight instead of paying their ransoms, most of them jumped at it.
There was my friend Baron Arathanial of Sendaria, who could perhaps summon thirty or forty lances or more at short notice – particularly since most of his men were already armed and deployed as occupation troops to his new fiefs. Perhaps more, if the price was right. Sire Sigalan was spread fairly thin, but he could spare a few lances. Especially if I could pay them out of the Ducal treasury.
But beyond Sendaria, there were other lords I could coerce into sending troops on the basis of my warrant, theoretically. The Barons of Bocaraton and Miseldor, both rivals of Arathanial, were within two days’ ride of Sevendor, and could be tapped for a few dozen lances apiece. The large barony across the river, Revenar, could be shaken down for another fifty lances, my aids informed me. And even Sashtalia, our less-than-friendly neighbor to the northeast, could be forced to provide troops.
For that matter, Vulric, the Baron of Fleria, could be summoned for another few dozen. He probably wouldn’t dignify the banner call with a response, and I had no way to compel him . . . but I could ask, couldn’t I?
How many could I bring to muster? There was no way to predict that. All I could do was call them and see who showed up. Trying to get troops off-season in a feudal society is never easy, and trying to get them at harvest was going to be even harder.
But . . . the penalty for ignoring or refusing a lawful summons by a Marshal of the Realm was forfeiture of lands, or it was before there was a King. Since Rard was still Duke of Castal as well as King of Castalshar, he would be likely to enforce that pretty thoroughly, I was guessing.
I sighed and called for a page. A young girl of nine or ten who I didn’t recognize arrived, her hair neatly combed and her green-and-white snowflake tabard looking spotless.
“Bring me parchment and ink,” I requested. “And have Sire Cei, Sir Roncil, Sir – just have all the ‘sirs’ meet me downstairs in an hour for a war council. And the High Magi. Also, have the stables prepare several riders for messages. At least a dozen. Swift riders,” I emphasized.
The girl nodded solemnly, repeated back my orders, and scurried away. This wasn’t going to be easy. At least, that was the consensus of the makeshift war council I’d put together.
“You want us to do what?” Sire Cei asked, looking confused. “The war is over, Magelord,” he reminded me.
“Not for here,” I explained patiently, “but for deployment against the goblins in Gilmora. I want you to call our banners. Mobilize our troops. Send out the summons: the Duke is calling upon his loyal vassals for military service in defense of the realm.”
“That’s . . . going to be unpopular,” Sir Roncil said, rubbing his chin doubtfully. “Most of the men in your new domains just got home.”
“I need as many as can be spared,” I insisted. “Oh, dear goddess! Are we invading East Fleria now?” groaned Tyndal. My council of war included pretty much everyone I could trust, arcane and mundane, who was in a position of authority, including three of my Yeomen. And two of my apprentices.
“No, we’re invading Gilmora,” I snapped. “And we’re going in force. By my authority as Marshal of the Duchy of Castal, I hereby summon all able-bodied warriors to answer the Duke’s call,” I said, formally. There was a gasp or two.
“That’s not going to be very popular,” Sir Roncil pointed out. He’d been preparing to make his move to Northwood, as its new lord, and getting ready to officially begin negotiations for his new bride. He did not look very enthusiastic about the idea of going to war himself.
“That’s not my problem,” I shot back. “I’ve been tasked with saving Barrowbell and halting the invasion of Gilmora. If the troops of the eastern Bontal vales are all I have to count upon, then that is who will go. But I think I can spare you a long, boring march.” I briefly explained the manner of their transport to everyone, and was met with disbelieving stares and slack jaws.
“Really, this is the only way,” I assured them. “Rard is already mobilizing everyone he can around the central and western Riverlands. Ther
e simply are no more troops to be had near to Gilmora. But I think we can pull enough together here, in Sevendor, to make a difference. The troops we bring will be fresh to the fight,” I reminded them. “And accompanied by a few Mage Knights, warmagi, and a magelord or two. This is not intended to be a suicide mission.”
“They rarely are,” Sir Roncil quipped, dryly.
“I can mobilize maybe five hundred in Sevendor, mostly infantry,” Sire Cei said, resolutely. I had called him away from his maidenmoon, but he was ready to fight, “As well as a dozen lances.”
“A dozen?” That was news to me. We had horses to spare, and archers and infantry aplenty, but I doubted we had the men who knew how to ride a horse to war. “A dozen complete lances?”
“I’ve taken a few landless knights into service in your absence, Magelord,” he said, apologetically. “It was clear that we needed a stronger cavalry force, and more professional officers for Sevendor’s defense. There were plenty of men available after the siege who were willing to take our service so I took them in. I’ve quartered them with the garrison troops at Brestal Vale, where they have been working with the militia.”
“I wasn’t criticizing,” I said, “I just wasn’t aware. Can we afford them?” Hiring a landless knight as a retainer usually ran to twenty ounces of gold a year. Half that, if you provided him armor and horse.
“We have the funds, Magelord,” Sire Cei murmured. “And you are free to inspect the accounts.”
“In all my free time? That’s why I hired you. If you say we need them, we need them. And right now we need them. Have them prepared for battle in the field. And have as many volunteers of the Bovali who wish to be included prepare as well.”
“Magelord, if we take the bulk of our forces away through this means, who is left to defend our lands?” Sire Cei asked with all the concern of a new-made landed lord.
“We shall be taking the bulk of our enemies with us as well,” I pointed out. “I will not leave Sevendor unguarded, nor do I ask that any lord deprive his domain of basic protection. Hopefully after the spanking we just gave West Fleria, others will be more reluctant to try their luck.”
The Spellmonger Series: Book 03 - Magelord Page 82
