Court Wizard: Book Eight Of The Spellmonger Series

by Terry Mancour

  A few moments later they were joined by Sister Saltia, Lawfather Jodas (the new Minister of Justice), Sir Masten (Master of Works, a Sea Lord of some repute), and Lady Bertine, the Ducal Court Secretary (and, Pentandra knew, one of the secret agents of the Duke who had prepared the way for the restoration while ostensibly serving Baron Edmarin. Pentandra was just getting to know the other members of the inner court. She politely studied them while a young monk served each of them wine.

  “We will be joined by His Grace momentarily,” Angrial said, in his reedy voice, once the secretary arrived. “Welcome to the first meeting of the inner Great Council of the Reign of Duke Anguin II of Alshar. I wanted to meet with you a moment before His Grace arrives to brief you on events you may not be aware of, and hear any concerns or reports of problems you wish to share candidly.

  “To begin with, we have successfully taken control of the city,” he continued, glancing at a parchment in front of him. “The Orphans now control every city gate and checkpoint, ostensibly to give the hard-working palace guard a three-day holiday,” he said, amused. “After our interviews today, for several of them it will be a permanent holiday.

  “There has been no sign of resistance to the Orphans’ arrival, thankfully, and with the garrison confined to quarters the only serious potential challenge to our taking power here is contained. With our larger contingent due any day with our own reinforcements and baggage train, it is unlikely any real resistance to His Grace’s rightful assumption of authority is forthcoming. We hope. Well done, my friends,” he smiled, gratefully. “My worst nightmare was that this day would be known as the Red Yule, or some nonsense like that.”

  “Considering the state of the armories, that would have taken some effort,” reported Count Salgo. “The main armory at the town watch’s headquarters is a pile of rusted wreckage that would be of use only in the direst of circumstances. The palace armory isn’t much better. Most of the best pieces seem to have been stolen and sold off while no one was looking.”

  “Your Excellency, we’ve seized power, but can we keep it?” asked Sister Saltia, worriedly, as she nervously toyed with her little pouch of sacred lots. “We have stability because we have superior forces. But the Orphans are due to depart by Briga’s Day, when the roads clear. What happens then?”

  “We should have enough of our own forces in place to keep the peace – and keep our control,” assured Count Salgo. “Regardless of the actions of the town guard or . . . other factors. We are in the process of recruiting five hundred more archers from His Grace’s Gilmoran estates to bolster our position,” he informed her, “men who have no local connections, and who are unlikely to turn on the regime. They should be ready come spring, for a short deployment, which will help. And we do have around another three hundred gentlemen and their households who gathered with His Grace in exile. Those men have proven their loyalty.”

  “But we sit in a town of thousands, with thousands more refugees just outside the walls,” reminded Lawfather Jodas in a deep voice. “A town more used to bribery and blackmail than law and order, for the last several years.”

  “Indeed,” nodded Angrial, gravely. “Which is why seizing the palace was merely the first – necessary – step toward establishing the regime. We are in the beginning of winter, in the midst of a holiday. A few banners and knights are not going to be enough to establish control of the town.”

  Duke Anguin chose that moment to arrive. Dressed in a plain doublet of dark blue, the ducal arms embroidered along its cuffs and breast, he wore a small cap-of-maintenance adorned with golden antlers. He looked well-rested, but impatient.

  “Which is why I have just announced the extension of the Yule holiday, and asked you each to undertake special assignments,” he announced, taking his seat at the head of the table. “Don’t get up, this is a business meeting,” he instructed, as everyone began getting to their feet.

  “What kind of assignments, Your Grace?” asked Lawfather Jodas, suspiciously, as he resettled himself.

  “Assignments which are, perhaps, outside of your particular ministry’s purview, but well within the scope of your talents,” proposed the Prime Minister, diplomatically, as he nodded to the Duke respectfully. “Titles alone will not rule a realm without order and control. So we must first concentrate our efforts on order and control, before we attempt to rule. His Grace and I have spent considerable time and effort considering just how to do that, and feel that we have an adequate plan to address the issues of order and control, using the resources we have at our disposal. Do any of you disagree?”

  No one voiced an objection. Count Angrial continued, fixing each of them by eye as he checked off their assignments on his parchment with a charcoal.

  “Good. Now here are your immediate assignments. Count Salgo, I want you to expand your mandate from examination of the Palace Guard to include the larger garrison. It might be a royal garrison, but under the compact it is subject to ducal authority while encamped. You are currently that authority. Comb out all the rascals and cowards, the parchment soldiers and sots, and dismiss them. Appoint officers as you see fit. Recruit new men as required.”

  “Your Grace,” the lawfather objected, “that garrison is a royal garrison. We have no legal authority over its composition or its deployment.”

  “It is an army within the bounds of my lands,” Anguin countered, simply and sharply. “Under the Laws of Duin, that gives me the right to do what I need to do defend the realm. Including assuming control over that garrison. I’m not attacking it, disbanding it, or even punishing it. I just want it to work less like a pack of thieves and more like a military unit. Count Salgo, I wish the garrison to be reconstituted to provide adequate defense of the capital. Is that understood?”

  “Like fine music and a good cup of Bikavar,” nodded the Warlord, grinning under his mustache. As he had technically appointed the original officers as Kingdom Warlord, revisiting the roster as it existed must have seemed like a rare opportunity to repair mistakes.

  Count Angrial deferred the direction of the meeting to his young sovereign, and Anguin began to ask for reports.

  “Sister Saltia? The state of the treasury . . . as we found it?”

  “Surprisingly robust,” the nun admitted, frowning. “Once we included the funds discovered in the Steward’s chamber, that is. Around twenty-eight thousand ounces of silver, nearly four thousand ounces of gold. Enough to run the palace for about a month, maybe more. Viscountess Threanas is still going through the accounts, however,” she added, more disturbed. “It appears as if the palace has accrued considerable debt with local merchants and secular moneylenders under the Steward’s reign.”

  “I want those debts investigated and settled,” the young duke ordered, forcefully. “In specie.”

  Among the reports of Edmarin’s deficiencies was the debt he was incurring in the name of the palace, Pentandra knew from gossiping with Saltia. Some of those merchants were nearly beggared because they were owed silver that Edmarin did not want to pay.

  “See that as many of those claims as possible are resolved, using the baron’s own fortunes first,” the Duke ordered. “The sudden influx of coin will not harm the state of the city, I’m certain. And our income, Coinsister?”

  “Viscountess Threanas is also looking into that,” she said, wrinkling her nose at the mention of the nun. “We met but briefly,” she added, with a hint of bitterness in her voice – she was clearly unhappy about working with the woman. “Apparently Baron Edmarin would not allow her near the accounts, because he feared she would make a report to His Majesty. A quick review will be difficult, because it’s hard to determine what is palace income, what is ducal income, and what is royal income. It appears that Edmarin got frustrated and consolidated them all into one ledger,” the nun said, indignantly, as if he had smeared feces on his tunic before temple services.

  “Shouldn’t that make things easier?” asked Father Amus, surprised.

  Sister Saltia snorted in disgust �
�� a lot like Viscountess Threanas, actually, Pentandra noted. She wondered if snorting in disgust was a common trait of Treasury officials.

  “Easier? Is untangling a skein of thread easier when it is in one giant ball? Luck be with us if we have the vaguest idea of our actual finances before Briga’s Day!”

  “Then untangling that skein is your highest priority, Sister,” agreed Angrial, adding the gravity of his age and experience to the enthusiasm of the duke. “Thanks to the good graces of your temple, the generous donations of patriotic expatriates, and the Duke’s personal funds, not to mention other . . . supporters,” he said, his eyes flicking to Pentandra, “we have a large but limited pool of funds to call upon to establish our rule. Most of those funds must be repaid. Establishing a viable income is going to be one of our foremost in our priorities.”

  “Raising revenues from a town on the edge of a war zone in the midst of poor economic times is going to be difficult, without some semblance of order and establishment of law,” reminded Lawfather Jodas.

  “Which is why your special mandate, Father, will be to meet with and appeal to the merchant class in town, and what traders remain wintered here, to gain their cooperation,” Count Angrial informed him.

  “Me? Their . . . cooperation?” asked the high priest, surprised. “To do what?”

  “To pay their damn taxes!” Count Salgo said, gruffly. “Most are seriously in arrears, or claimed they paid Edmarin’s riff raff but have nothing to prove it. Before the war this town generated about three thousand ounces of silver a month in tax revenue. More, when court was in session and coin flowed freely. We need that money, now!”

  “Then we must give them the expectation of justice, law, and order in return,” the old priest said, haughtily.

  “That is our intent – and why you will be our emissary to them, Father. With your assurances they should be persuaded to resume their cooperation with the palace – and the Duchy.”

  “And if they ask for concessions?” the priest of Luin asked, drumming his bone-thin fingers on the table.

  “Then note them, and tell them that the Duke will take them under advisement,” Aguin directed. “But this is not a negotiation. This is an invitation to voluntarily comply, ahead of a much stricter – and more just – era of commerce. Listen to what they have to say. But promise them nothing more than our best efforts . . . and our vigilant observation.”

  “They cannot fail to mention the corruption and crime rampant in the town,” the Lawfather added.

  Tenacious bugger, Pentandra noted. That could be a very good thing or a very bad thing in the Minister of Justice . . . or both.

  “As far as corruption goes, Lawfather, I trust your legendary devotion to order to prevail over the transitory nature of worldly corruption in the presentation of cases before His Grace.” A grunt and a smile from the old priest foretold just how much he looked forward to that task.

  “But there are places in Vorone where even the fear of Luin’s righteous staff has no meaning,” Angrial continued. “At the moment, the presence of the criminal element in Vorone is not merely a matter of justice or commerce . . . it is a threat to the security of the state. Indeed, His Grace and I have agreed that it is a threat to the stability of the realm sufficient to eschew normal judicial procedure.”

  Count Salgo frowned. “You wish to employ the military?” No soldier liked to be pressed into service as a constabulary force. It muddied things, from what Pentandra understood about the profession.

  “Considering the current state of the garrison and the guard, and the transitional nature of our contract with the Orphans, that would be a poor and ineffective use of our resources,” Count Angrial replied. “And likely ineffective, even if we did try. From what our agents have been able to tell us, the criminals in question are adept at hiding and obfuscation. We could send all the troops we like into town, but the moment they’re gone the gangs will be right back in control.”

  “Then how?”

  “The manner in which the criminal underground is entrenched requires a defter hand to root out without destroying the good will and commerce we are attempting to establish elsewhere,” reflected Angrial. “No normal imposition of martial law will eliminate them; it will merely send them into hiding until better times appear. Eliminating them entirely will be a subtle and delicate task.

  “Which is why I have assigned that task to . . . Lady Pentandra, the new Court Wizard,” the Prime Minister continued, smoothly.

  “What?” Pentandra asked, her eyes wide.

  “Such an entrenched and establish cult of criminals will defy mundane methods of pursuit,” reasoned the Prime Minister. “His Grace has one of the most powerful magi in the land on his staff, it seems a pity not to use her against his greatest state threat.”

  “But . . . but I’m a mage, not a constable!”

  “Then make friends with the constable, and do what you must to eliminate the threat. There is a new one, a local loyalist by the name of Sir Vemas, His Grace appointed just this morning,” Angrial directed.

  “I met him earlier today,” she sighed. “He’s quite charming.”

  “He’s quite ambitious, too. And more keen-minded than most of his fellows. Consult with him . . . and then, together, track down every rat hole, destroy every nest, and free Vorone from the vermin. Permanently,” he added, darkly.

  “Nor am I an assassin!” Pentandra sputtered.

  “Then make friends with an assassin,” suggested Count Salgo. “More than one, if you need to. These men need not be subject to ordinary justice, if the foes they face pose an extraordinary threat. Nor will the agents acting in the Duke’s name,” he added. “There are certain legal precedents . . .”

  “But . . . but . . .” Pentandra stuttered, confused.

  “Count Angrial, I object!” Lawfather Jodas huffed. “Luin’s law does not allow for such unjust acts on the part of the aristocracy! The gods decry it!”

  “Not all the gods, Father,” Angrial said, quietly. “Every duke has the right to invoke Kulin’s Law, at need.”

  That proposal hushed the Lawfather . . . and everyone else in the room.

  While Luin the Lawgiver was especially adored in the Narasi pantheon, and his cult was the basis of most Narasi jurisprudence, it was not the only law the Narasi respected. Most of the major gods had books of law concerning the issues of their particular spheres. Or at least their worshippers and clergy did. Usually, Luin’s Law, detailing the rights and responsibilities of each element of Narasi society, was considered superior to the others and prevailed when there was conflict.

  But if the God of Law was powerful, he was not absolute. There were plenty of gaps in guidance for a noble devoted to the law. And plenty of situations that fell within the spheres of other gods’ laws where their rules prevailed.

  Invoking Kulin, the youngest brother of the family of fraternal Narasi divinities the culture claimed descent from, took special courage. Kulin the Horselord was not merely the respected patron of equestrian affairs, he was also the patron of thieves, kidnappers, spies and assassins, among others. So of course the lawbook detailing the god’s guidance was, by necessity, permissive of things that no other cult would have seriously considered.

  But it was legally viable, and morally defensible. Dukes had used the exceptions in the Book of Kulin to justify and rationalize their clandestine actions since the earliest days of the Conquest. Priests of Luin, like Father Amus, were devoted to the laws that promoted equality and objectivity, giving even the condemned rights to process and appeal. Kulin’s law dispensed with all of that in favor of bloodthirsty expediency. The Luinites hated that.

  “I understand this is not the task you thought you would be doing, my dear,” the Prime Minister told her, kindly. “It is not expected that you will be entirely successful. But we have used normal spies and assassins in the past, when dealing with the Brotherhood, and gotten little result. We’ve attempted to hold them to account by law, but, regrettably, the
y’ve exploited the bench through corruption and intimidation.

  “His Grace wishes to employ the forces of magic to the problem instead. He shares Count Salgo’s confidence in your ability to make some progress against them. In fact, any information you could glean about their doings in the Rebel Territories in the process would be splendid, in terms of informing His Grace’s internal policies,” he added.

  “And now I am a spy?” snorted Pentandra.

  Count Angrial sighed heavily, a long, reedy sigh like a deflating bladderpipe. “If you don’t think yourself up to it, my dear, I’m certain His Grace—”

  “No!” Pentandra said, automatically. “I’ll do it. I just have no idea how I’ll do it,” she admitted.

  “If you need the assistance of the court, you need only ask,” Angrial soothed. “His Grace has instructed all ministries to cooperate with you fully, at need. Hopefully this will be a temporary assignment. But you must act quietly – secretly – as the laws of Kulin demand. Until the savages exploiting the unfortunate and hopeless for every last copper are rooted out in the capital, the tree of sovereignty will be in very loose soil indeed.”

  And now I’m a gardener, Pentandra fumed to herself, wisely choosing discretion for once before she opened her lips.

  “I shall do my best,” she promised, invoking the Kasari motto. This was court, not a debate.

  “Your best will be splendid,” assured Count Salgo. Others at the table did not look so confident.

  Pentandra didn’t care. She’d been handed an impossible task she had no idea how to achieve, and she’d accepted it . . . just like she’d done when she’d agreed to be the Steward of the Arcane Orders. She’d managed that well enough by faking it until she hired the right people. This mandate was just as broad, in its way; it was just more . . . bloody. She would have to have people killed, she knew. She’d done it before, when she needed to, but it was not something in her nature.