“So you’re going to learn how to be my agents,” I explained. “I’m going to pack your skulls as full of magic and other skills as I can, and then you are going to do my bidding.”
“Don’t we do your bidding now, Master?” Tyndal whined.
“I want you to do my bidding better. You need to be more effective tools, more effective weapons. You are mighty, but you are clumsy. But don’t despair – if it was a life of lusty adventure you wanted, you’re getting your wish.”
“That’s not what I wanted!” Rondal insisted.
“Tough,” I sighed. “I never wanted to be a Magelord either, but here I am. The gods don’t always give us what we want, nor do they always give us what we want the way we thought we wanted it. I wanted to be a Spellmonger in a quiet mountain village.
“Well, my first attempt didn’t work out that well, but this one, I’m hoping, will stick. I didn’t imagine owning the place, but I’m finding it’s helpful that I do. It’s also helpful to have useful minions and intelligent, effective agents. I need a well-organized, strong leader like Sire Cei to be my castellan, I need a wily burgher like Banamor to be my Spellwarden, and I need a thoughtful, considerate, and subtle wizard like Olmeg the Green to be my Greenwarden.”
“So what will we do?” Tyndal asked, sullenly.
“You will do my errantry,” I said. “You will be my troubleshooters, eventually. Tyndal, I will want you to join the Horkan Order as my representative, one day. Your skills as a warmage are impressive, and you have the kind of attitude they respect. Rondal, I’ll want you to join the Hesian Order, where your talents will be helpful, and where you can be an effective representative for me.
“But that’s not what you will do. What you will do is . . . whatever I need you to do. And that’s going to cover a lot of territory. Which implies a lot of additional training, some which you can’t even imagine yet. But it is required of you, as it was me. So quit complaining and enjoy the winter in Sevendor, because come Yule you both embark on fabulous careers as the Spellmonger’s dashing Knights Magi.”
Neither one seemed too pleased about that.
Nor were they alone. Little Dara was scared about her future. She had gone from being a backwoods bird lover one week to being instrumental in an important battle the next. Now she was going to be my apprentice, and she didn’t even know how to read yet.
The tiny stone she’d won was attuned to her, but it represented more potential than power. Her mind just was not trained properly yet in the symbology needed to manifest her Talent. That was a tedious process, but a necessary one . . . and she didn’t look too hopeful about it.
“Magelord, what if I fail?” she asked me, after dinner that same night at Chepstan.
“You will,” I assured her. “Repeatedly. Failure is where we learn, Dara. Don’t be afraid of it. Just don’t seek it, and you’ll be fine.”
“So, I’m just going to be a mage?”
“Oh, you’ll be more than just a mage,” I said, with quiet enthusiasm. “Your Talent is special, my dear. Brown Magic doesn’t get near the credit it should, just like Green Magic, but it can be a powerful tool when properly developed. And there is much you can learn – that you must learn – to be a full-fledged mage yet, but your Talent is strong. I have every confidence in your ability. And Dara?”
“Yes, Magelord?”
“Just to keep you busy in your free time, I’ve noticed that Sevendor Castle seems to be lacking a mews. Would you consider running one, if I had it built?”
“Magelord?” her eyes widened. I didn’t know a lot about my new apprentice, but I knew she loved birds. I had never considered hawking, as it was a sport of the nobility and requires a lot of money to do well, but then again I was not just ennobled, I was filthy rich. A proper mews was something that Sevendor could afford. If it also gave Dara something to keep her busy, all the better. “I would love to!”
“I thought you might. Don’t worry, I’ll not send you away to school like I did Tyndal and Rondal. Your home is Sevendor – that’s why I want you trained. When I cannot be there, I need it guarded by trusty magi. And clever magi,” I added with a smile. That seemed to mollify her, and she ran to tell her father and uncles about her new appointment.
We broke camp at dawn and continued on our way, not in a hurry but not dragging, either. The weather was just beginning to turn cold, and the leaves had already began their change of color, though they had yet to shed in great number. The whole countryside seemed aglow with red and orange and gold overhead, while plenty of green still waved in the wind.
When we came to the former village of Ferrendor, we were surprised to see . . . villagers.
Not many, but there were at least five families living in hastily-assembled huts, preparing the settlement for winter. They were all Trestendori smallholders that Sire Sigalan had persuaded to take residence here in the last few weeks. With them was the old but hale Sir Olsted, who led a half-dozen men-at-arms camped in the ruins of the old tower of Ferrendor. It would be rebuilt, he assured me over a brief luncheon at the site, come springtime. And he would be its new lord, in fealty to Sigalan.
Sire Sigalan was investing in the estate cautiously, but the new revenues from his re-gained estates and the new income from his red clay mine had given him the wherewithal to re-claim this once-lucrative property. Sir Olsted spoke expansively about the great inn that would be built here. Indeed, Sire Sigalan was counting on the traffic between Sevendor and Sendaria Port to fuel the village’s economic growth.
We pressed on after noon, and passed through the recently-conquered domain of Kest, under Baron Arathanial’s vassal. The people seemed well enough, and a few pennies and a pipeful persuaded them to reveal their thoughts about their new lord.
Unsurprisingly, they were quite positive – the people of Kest had never loved Sire Gimbal the way that their lord had, and Baron Arathanial had given wide amnesties to their debts and crimes. They were quite satisfied with the way things had turned out, even with the recent bloodshed.
By late afternoon we had come to Sevendor.
Not Sevendor Vale, but to the region that would eventually be known locally as Outer Sevendor: the domain of Bastidor. When we approached the frontier, we were met with an honor guard sent by the Lord of Bastidor, my new vassal.
Nearly two hundred men departed from my troops to return to their homes there, mostly peasant infantry. Their own full purses meant that I would have to do less to succor my new estate than I had planned.
That’s also where men from Karandor, Hosly, Hosendor and Northwood also departed, and I gifted them each another ounce of silver as a reward for stalwart service.
They were still wary about serving under a magelord, but a few weeks fighting side by side with the Sevendori after spending a few weeks fighting against them had convinced these Riverlands men than the Wilderlands folk in the blind valley were not as strange or as foreign as they had been told. They could serve a magelord, they had decided – especially one as open-handed as me.
That was the secret to successful feudal politics, I was learning. Bribery.
The last remnant of my troops formed up and excitedly began to march southward, toward their adopted home. They began to sing a lusty marching song to keep cadence, and someone had even produced a flute to accompany them.
I pulled my mantle a little more tightly over my neck as a chill breeze blew, the smell of snow in the air even if it was weeks before the first flake fell on the valley. I recalled the first time I had made this journey, only a year before. I recalled the decrepit state of the domain, back then, as we came to Ketta’s Stream (where several native Sevendori insisted on stopping for a drink for luck). It seemed like a lifetime ago, but it had been but a dozen moons, one full year.
The differences were blatant. Where the dry, dusty slope up to the vale had been choked with weeds and despair the year before, now my nascent Enchanted Forest was covering the slope. On either side of the road and stream were scores of
saplings and a creeping green carpet of dangerous ground cover.
Master Olmeg himself was tending the Forest when we arrived, swathed in a long green mantle, a straw conical peasant’s hat on his head, his long pipestem protruding naturally from his bearded face like a branch of a tree. He leaned on his staff, his bare feet in the soil, and waved to us as we passed. Around him were a dozen or so River Folk, most spreading some white soil around the floor of the Enchanted Forest from wheelbarrows or llama-drawn carts.
“Magelord,” the green mage said in his sonorous bass, a slight incline of his head expressing everything he wished to communicate.
“Master Olmeg,” I nodded in return. “How went the harvest, in our absence?”
“Nearly done, Magelord,” he assured me. “Nearly twice the yield I predicted. Indeed, we had to send three wains of potatoes north into the new domains, as we had no place to store them.”
“That’s a problem I don’t mind having,” I smiled. “Are you liming the forest, then?” I asked, indicating the River Folk’s labor.
“Nay, that is snowstone powder,” he explained. “I have collected a mound of it, and we are spreading it here in hopes it will help encourage some of the defensive enchantments.”
“That’s brilliant,” I nodded, thoughtfully. “I should have thought of that.” If the snowstone lowered magic resistance, there were a number of plants that were affected by the local magic field. Everything from rowan, holly, and hickory to weirwood and Gallows Oaks. Given that advantage, I could just imagine what kind of defense it could become in the future.
We passed the Enchanted Forest and rode through the barren gap before the Diketower, only to hear cheers from its ramparts the moment we came into sight. Those guardsmen who had been left behind were ecstatic to see their comrades and neighbors again, and I’d like to think that they enjoyed seeing me again, too.
“Do you remember the first time we crossed this gap, Magelord?” Sire Cei asked, as he pulled his horse even with mine. “I was convinced that we had been doomed by the gods with this place. I had not the wit to see its potential.”
“Well, considering how much magic and how much gold and how much sweat went into its improvement, I don’t blame you,” I agreed. “Still, I’d like to think it was worth the effort.”
As we passed through the Dike Gate to Boval Hall, Tyndal took the opportunity to light up the tower with his magelight. The peak of Matten’s Helm stood boldly in front of us, the brand new village at its feet. “There’s an inn there, now, where once there was an empty field. The granaries are stuffed.”
“Look, Magelord,” Sire Cei said, pointing up. He indicated the peak of Matten’s Helm, where I could just make out something unusual. I summoned magesight and amplified my eyes until I could see a small white structure taking shape: the Alkan embassy, being built by their trusted Stone Folk allies. They worked quickly, when they wanted to.
“Interesting,” I murmured. “But not the thing I’m most interested in. Shall we head for the castle?”
“That’s where they are,” he said, with more passion than I would have credited the man with a year ago. Marriage agreed with him.
We rode through Gurisham, where the village men returned to cheers and weeping. The village looked very different from a year ago, from the new construction to the re-built and augmented hovels of the Gurisham folk. The commune was doing well and prospering, it was clear. I waved, passed out a handful of copper pennies to the children, and kept riding. I was getting anxious.
If Gurisham was different, one wouldn’t have recognized Sevendor Village. In one scant year, the place had more than tripled in size. Where once a dozen hovels stood, now there were three dozen stout, well-built structures of brick, wood, wattle-and-daub, some roofed with thatch but more and more roofed with more-expensive but far more durable clay tiles. Sevendor Village was prospering under the weight of her newfound commerce.
Banamor said as much when he met us at the village gate – or where a gate would eventually stand. He rode a small brown mare and wore a long gray robe with his bade-of-office around his neck.
“Welcome home, Magelord!” he called, merrily. “On behalf of the Town of Sevendor, please tarry a moment for a drink and a blessing. It would mean much to us.”
“ ‘Town’ of Sevendor?” Sire Cei asked, curious.
“As of a week ago,” affirmed Banamor. “There was a village council meeting, and it was pointed out that there are almost three thousand souls within our limits, now. That is far too big for a mere village. We are still hashing over the details, but we intend to write up a charter for you to sign, Magelord. I can assure you,” he said with a wolfish grin, “you’ll enjoy the terms. Your tribute will almost double.”
“In exchange for . . . ?” I asked warily.
“Certain minor and incidental rights and privileges,” he dismissed. “We can talk about it later, but I don’t think you’ll object. In any case, we sort of had to. The Magical Fair . . .” he trailed off.
My heart sank. “We lost money?” I asked.
Banamor shook his head. “The Magelord jests. We made close to seven hundred ounces of gold, once expenses were covered. Most of that was on booth rentals and commissions, but we even broke even on admissions. And concessions were spectacular. I can’t wait for next year!” Considering he paid himself a healthy percentage of the Fair’s take, I’m sure he couldn’t.
“What the hell are those?” I asked, after stopping at the tavern on the commons for a drink and a few moments of camaraderie with my men before they were mustered out of service. There were three new construction projects on the north end of the village – town – that had sprung up while we were gone. “New homes?”
“In a matter of speaking,” Banamor said, slyly. “You remember last year when you granted Jurlor the right to rent the three lots closest to the village? He did. The one to the west is rented . . . to the Guild of Enchanters.”
“Who the hell are they?” I asked, irritated.
“An ad-hoc group of spellmongers and resident adepts who are mad about snowstone and the properties of Sevendor. They formed in the tavern during the Magic Fair, and leased the space from Jurlor at a handsome price. Next to it is the new tower complex being built by those Remeran friends of yours . . . the Order of the Hidden Fortress?”
“Secret Tower,” I amended. “Planus and Penny’s Dad? Really?”
“Apparently they were . . . unimpressed by the amenities offered by the castle,” he said, diplomatically. “I helped broker the deal, but Lady Pentandra insisted on establishing a presence for her father’s order here in Sevendor, and she found the space acceptable. They plan on a seven-story tower, in the Remeran style. It should be finished in just a few years, provided they can get the artisans they need.”
“And what about that one?” I asked, pointing to the eastern lot, where surveying work was just beginning. “Don’t tell me Shereul wants his own embassy to Sevendor?”
“If he did, I’d charge him double,” Banamor assured me. “But no, that lot will soon be the home to the local chapterhouse of the Arcane Orders. Also Pentandra’s doing, I’m afraid. I meant to discuss it with you and get your approval, but Jurlor insisted he had the right to lease it, and then you were at war, so . . .”
“Well, I can’t argue with that one,” I sighed. “I was wondering just how we were going to house all the folk bound to drop by Sevendor in the future. If the Arcane Orders have their own chapterhouse here, I won’t have to put them up at the castle at my expense,” I reasoned.
“That was Lady Pentandra’s thinking,” he agreed. “She’s a remarkable woman,” he added, unnecessarily.
“Yes, she is,” I said. I didn’t need to add anything to that.
When we had concluded our brief stop in the village, we continued around the pristine white-bottomed lake that now reflected the gleaming white walls and castle shining in the sunset. I let out an expressive sigh as we began the last leg of our journey. The Westwoo
dmen took their leave at the track that led to their holding, little Dara as excited about seeing home again as I was.
Almost.
Of course, the gods could not allow me to enjoy the anticipation of seeing my family again unfettered. Just as we approached the great white gleaming wall of my castle, I felt the annoying touch of a mind-to-mind contact. I would have rejected just about anyone’s thoughts, just then, content with my own, but the source made me answer.
Yes, Iyugi? I asked my magical spy. You have something to report?
I do, Magelord, the former footwizard told me. I have tracked the woman to Wenshar. I have found her. She . . . and her baby girl. Mother and daughter are doing well, if the birthsister who tends her is to be believed. They are at a castle in northwestern Wenshar, near to the frontier with the wildlands of the Kulines. A domain called Norideth, in the County of Vorenshar.
Excellent work, Iyugi, I answered. Find some way to set a watch on the place without alerting the lady within – I trust you can manage that?
The Spellmonger Series: Book 03 - Magelord Page 96
