Which is why I’m reminding you. And while you’re at it, see what other materials from Alshar in are in demand in Remere right now. If this experiment works, there’s no reason why we couldn’t expand it.
Just don’t mention any of this to Banamor, if you can help it, he said, referring to Minalan’s main commercial agent – and magelord – in Sevendor. If he finds out, he’ll want a piece of it.
I’ll say it’s for military purposes – the man hates anything that might put him in danger of military service, she decided.
Give me a week to talk to some people, Planus proposed. I’ll set some things up, we’ll see where it goes.
It was a busy week. So busy that Pentandra nearly forgot about her cousin.
It didn’t help that Arborn was headed back out into the field, this time on a three-week mission – minimum – to investigate news that the Coutu tribes were causing trouble around the Penumbra. Pentandra hadn’t heard of them before, but she quickly learned that they were a perennial thorn in the side of the Wilderlords and had been for two centuries. They made the kind of trouble that made the Duchy’s historic relations with the Kasari almost genteel by comparison.
There were several tribal peoples in the Wilderlands that were nominally subject to Anguin but obeyed none but their own laws and customs. Besides the Narasi settlers, the vast forests north of the city were home to the Kasari, to the traveling merchants known as the Piar, to the warrior tribes of the Coutu, to the relatively peaceful hamlets of the River Folk who could be found there, to the half-civilized Pearwoods clans and more. Even the wild far-northern tribes were technically Alshari subjects, though they likely hadn’t even heard of Alshar, much less its duke.
But the Coutu were special.
They had come to the Wilderlands centuries before the Narasi conquest, though from whence or to what purpose not even the Coutu could say. They inhabited several vales and hilltop hamlets across the northern central and northwest Wilderlands, depending mostly on a marginal existence as hunters and goatherds. But when they weren’t peacefully herding goats, the Coutu had a love of battle that frequently saw them at odds with their neighbors.
Viscountess Threanas informed Pentandra how the Wilderlords had tried repeatedly to civilize and domesticate the fierce tribe, to little avail. Attempts to ally with the tribes through marriage had produced a dozen petty lords who, while technically vassals of Anguin, had loyalties to tribal allies that were far, far stronger. Mostly fighting with axe, spear and shield and without the benefit of more substantial armor than leather, the Coutu had raided small farmholds and isolated settlements any time they felt they could profit from it.
Only now, with the Wilderlands in disarray and occupied, the Coutu tribes were taking advantage of the chaos by raiding much larger holds without retribution. The only solace the local lords could take was that the wild tribes did not discriminate about their victims: by all accounts, they raided the traitors and renegades within the gurvani territories of the Penumbra as viciously as they did the Narasi.
But their recent activity was enough to require the Master of Wood to investigate and recommend action. Arborn was apologetic about the trip, but Pentandra could also see that her husband was getting anxious being in town overlong. He pined for the forests and fields of nature.
She was noticing a pattern in his journeys. For the first few days he seemed happy enough to be back in the palace with her and comfortable with their chambers. But then inevitably he began to get sullen and anxious in ways that Pentandra suspected Arborn didn’t even realize himself. After a few weeks of town living, he started to get short with her and the servants, and even his men began to tread lightly around him.
“I won’t be gone too long,” he promised as he packed his gear up that evening. “It should be a fairly uneventful journey. I’m only taking a half-dozen men so that we can travel fast and light.”
“I just worry,” she admitted, watching his big shoulders as they folded and stowed his clothes and equipment in his Kasari-style backpack. “It’s not that I don’t think you can’t handle yourself, it’s that I worry about the rest of the Wilderlands handling you.”
“It’s not that bad, my love,” he assured her as he tied the pack closed. “The gurvani have been quiet. The bandits are not yet in force along the roads, nor would I fear them if they were. Even the worst of the spring floods have passed already. I’ll be fine!”
That didn’t stop him from kissing her passionately, as if he would be gone for an extended time. He had not grown tired of her already, she assured herself as his lips mauled hers. And considering the unhealthy interest Lady Pleasure was taking in Pentandra’s personal life, at the moment she was just as glad to see him out in the Wilderness, away from the whoremonger’s reach. She had no idea what kind of powers that Ishi had in this incarnation, but she could imagine with sickening vividness what affect her charms would have on even the noble Arborn.
“Just be careful,” she insisted, when she finally broke the kiss. “There is a lot of strangeness going on right now, and a lot of enemies around. Watch your back.”
“You, too,” he said, concerned. “Somehow I think that the Wilderness is safer at the moment than the palace.”
“Oh, I’ve managed to keep from pissing off anyone too important, so far,” she said with a smile. “And that is not easy.”
“Nor sustainable, knowing you,” he pointed out with a rare smile. “To be honest, I’m amazed that we’ve made it this far without gathering a fair number of enemies.”
“It’s still early,” she demurred. “Plenty of time to pick out some quality enemies. And we always have the Rat Crew to fall back on. We still need to root them out of the refugee camps,” she reminded him.
“We can look at that when I get back,” he agreed. “Every time I ride through one, and see all those faces staring at me, it makes me feel awful. The sooner we can get those people proper homes and gainful employment, the better. And that can’t be done until we loosen the control the remaining Rats have over the camps.”
“When you get back,” she agreed. That would demand that she work closely with Sir Vemas again, too. How could she mention to him that the idea excited her . . . without mentioning why?
She had purposefully distanced herself from Sir Vemas after the last encounter with the Rats because she felt uncomfortable with her feelings about him.
His charm, his wit, his authority all had a compelling effect on her. Not to the extent that Arborn had – a single look from her could ignite a storm in her breast – but in his absence the temptation of Sir Vemas was powerful.
“And when you get back perhaps we can take a couple of days and investigate this country estate I’ve been given use of,” she proposed. “Perhaps a few days in the country away from court will do us both some good.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
A Goddess At Court
Pentandra knew something was amiss the next morning when she saw Sister Saltia on her way to her office down the corridor . . . with a face full of cosmetics, inexpertly applied.
Instead of her usual oblivious gait, the nun moved cautiously and seemed to take note of every man or woman who crossed her path in a most critical manner. Her habit was cleaned and pressed, Pentandra noted, and she had scrubbed her fingernails clean, brushed her hair, and had left her habit in her cell, apparently, revealing her long curly brown hair to the palace for the first time.
It wasn’t that Pentandra objected to the look, but her brief acquaintance with the nun had informed her that she cared far more for numbers, probabilities and coin than she did men, ordinarily. Seeing her suddenly so clearly invested in her appearance was jarring.
That was just the first jarring issue, too. Every guardsman she passed seemed to be strutting around like a cockerel, and every woman of the court seemed to mistake the day for a festival, based on what they had chosen to wear. When Pentandra noticed that even middle-aged widows like Lady Bertine were striving to look as they
did in their maidenhood, she could begin to recognize the divine magic of Ishi at play.
It seemed as if her pretty minions were everywhere in the palace, now. While each girl seemed on a determined errand, some of those errands seemed to involve a lot more fraternization than would seem necessary. The maidens of the House of Flowers had invaded the palace, and they seemed to be holding it hostage with their skirts.
Pentandra didn’t realize how true that was until she stopped by the office of the Warlord, where she had heard Count Salgo was working, to discuss the potential keep on the site of the garrison. That much was true . . . but he was working on his back, with a lovely young woman perched above him when Pentandra entered his office.
She stopped, startled, at the sight. The maid’s plain skirt was spread around her, obscuring Salgo’s face, head and shoulders . . . but from the look of intensity upon the young brunette’s face, the old soldier evidently knew what to do “behind enemy lines”. In her professional opinion, the evidence indicated that the Count had appetites most younger men rarely cultivated. But which most young women devoutly appreciated. The maiden perched on his face, now, was certainly an admirer. Her wide eyes were dazed, and her mouth slack as she moaned with every stroke.
Pentandra just stared and sighed. It wasn’t merely the girl’s beauty that had won him over, she knew. The metaphorical stench of Ishi’s magic was thick in the air.
“Pardon me!” Pentandra said, loudly, just moments before the young woman’s anticipated climax. The interruption was enough to startle Salgo out of his erotic reverie, and he ended up spilling the maid halfway to the ground, much to her disappointment and his regret. When the old man’s face emerged from beneath her skirts, he looked appropriately ashamed . . . and immensely pleased with himself.
“Ah, Lady Pentandra!” he said, a little more loudly than usual. He wiped his whiskers with one hand while assisting the frustrated girl to her feet with the other. “My apologies, this young lady, Liset and I were just discussing some security matters about the festival when . . . well . . .”
“Think nothing of it, Count,” she said, casually, as she watched the girl replaced her hose in their proper position and smoothed her skirt down. Her face was flushed and beads of sweat had broken out on her forehead, but the interruption had left her irritated. “We all get caught up in inconsequential things, if we aren’t careful,” she added, giving a pregnant glance to the girl. “Why don’t you go straighten up, dear, while the Count and I discuss some important business.”
“Yes, milady,” Liset said, reluctantly, her lip quivering. No doubt she’d find a willing victim to assist her in fulfilling her desires, Pentandra thought, amused, even if he didn’t have the rank (or the skills) of the Count. There seemed to be no end of randy men around the palace today.
“I’m terribly sorry about that, Pentandra,” Count Salgo said guiltily once the girl was gone and he had composed himself. “I honestly don’t know what came over me . . . and that’s not the first time that sort of thing has happened, lately, either.”
“I understand,” Pentandra sighed. “There is magic afoot at the moment. Magic that has increased the natural biological urges of the court. That’s why you’ve felt so . . . motivated,” she said, diplomatically.
“Ishi’s tits!” swore the old soldier, returning to his seat behind the table so recently vacated by his backside. “I haven’t felt this full of pepper since I was a lad!”
“There’s a lot of that going around. I encourage you to resist it. Lady Pleasure’s motivations and loyalties are still largely unknown— “
“Her motivations, perhaps,” conceded Salgo. “But her loyalties do not seem to be in question. Lovely Liset was here this morning with a message from the baroness detailing a plot her . . . employees had discovered in the palace. Did you realize that there was to be an uprising last night? Sponsored by the faction in court who favors immediately going after the coastal rebels?”
“An uprising?” Pentandra asked, surprised. “By southerners?”
“Sea Lords, mostly, and a few Coastlords,” he affirmed, grimly. “They conspired to . . . neutralize Father Amus and Count Angrial, then spirit the Duke away to the Captive Havens,” he said, referring to the five ports along Castal’s coastline that were technically under the Lord of the Waves’ control. That was widely seen as the necessary first step toward reconquering southern Alshar. “They were planning to, at least. I have proof of that,” he boasted. “Several letters from Viscount Murvos, to his confederates . . . several previously loyal courtiers, primarily from Enultramar, detailing their duties in the uprsising. But it was the maidens who discovered it. And foiled it, if the letter is to be believed.”
“Foiled it? How?” Pentandra asked, confused.
“Apparently they . . . seduced it away,” explained Salgo, embarrassed, as he searched his person for a slip of parchment. “According to this note, a few of her girls took it upon themselves to aggressively seduce the conspirators, which in turn prevented them from making contact according to their plan and seizing the senior ministers and the Duke.”
“What?” Pentandra asked, her eyes wide. “There was an attempt to seize the Duke?”
“The Duke, myself, Father Amus, and Count Angrial, among a few others,” the count said, more comfortable with matters military than erotic. “Only when the principals of the conspiricy revealed themselves at the guard station late last night did they discover that they lacked the support from the confederates they expected. It was balls-deep in lady Pleasure’s little pleasures, apparently,” he said, raising an eyebrow.
“I can see how that might be awkward,” Pentandra conceded.
“The palace guard was able to quickly take them into custody. They are in the dungeon now awaiting trial for treason. After a rigorous questioning.”
“They assumed that they could hold the Duke hostage? What was their aim?”
“Apparently they are adamant about Anguin re-claiming the coastlands and confronting the rebellion. The Sea Lords, damn them, splitting the Restorationists party, you could say. We haven’t started questioning them about who ultimately hired and organized the effort, but I’m certain we’ll discover the conspiracy in full.”
“Particularly if we use truthtell spells liberally enough,” Pentandra said, angrily. “Trygg’s twat, what were they thinking? That the rest of us would just lay down our arms and let them do it?”
Count Salgo looked surprised. “You, Pentandra?”
She fixed him with a serious stare. “If the Duke and his highest ministers were held hostage, I would do everything in my power to affect a rescue,” she stated, flatly. “And my powers are considerable.”
“Good to hear!” Salgo said, earnestly. “I pointed out to Angrial last night that the greatest weakness in their plan was not accounting for the Court Wizard. Or the Master of Wood.”
“Or a great many other things. It was a stupid, foolish attempt.”
The uprising was actually not that surprising – the Sea Lords who had joined Anguin in exile were an arrogant and self-interested band, and held themselves apart from the rest of the court. The idea of sailing into the Great Bay at the head of a fleet of avenging warships was the only thing they could see. But what was worse was that the plot had been foiled by Ishi’s tarts. Not just exposed, but foiled. She could see just how much credit that had given the scheming madam in Count Salgo’s eyes. No wonder he had indulged in the benefits of the relationship.
“When will these Sea Lords understand that the south will have to wait? We barely stand in the north yet. We don’t have the financial or political resources for that kind of effort yet. Even Threanas agrees with that, and she’d be on a coach to Falas the moment it was available. We don’t even have proper military forces yet!” she fumed.
“Ah!” Salgo said, suddenly. “To that, lady mage, I might have an answer. Before the Sea Lords’ conspiracy came to light I had just received a letter from one of my old subordinates in the 3rd
Royal Commando,” he said, as if that meant anything in particular to her.
Her blank stare was prompt enough for the old soldier to explain. “The Third Royal Commando was one of three units I created during the invasion of Gilmora. Professional soldiers, chosen from all over the kingdom, with an emphasis on skills and talents, not noble birth.”
“Yes, I recall,” Pentandra said, a little guiltily.
“Well, the First Commando distinguished itself in the invasion and became the Royal Guard. They’re barracked in Castabriel now, on the grounds of the new palace, if you recall. The Second Commando was nearly wiped out, and the few score survivors took service with me as my private guard.
“But the Third Commando finished the war intact as a unit. Even after Rard officially disbanded them. They’ve been bivouacked in Gilmora ever since. They dislike Rard intently, because he disbanded them so casually. They’d make a fine mercenary unit, except that they are too large and expensive for many nobles to employ . . . and any who did would risk Rard’s ire.”
“So what does the letter say?”
“It . . . well, here, my lady, I’d appreciate your insights, to be honest,” he said, handing the scroll of parchment to her. “I am familiar with all manner of military communications, but this is more of a political dispatch.”
Pentandra took the letter and saw that the broken seal was of plain red beeswax, without stamp. She saw why a moment later. The missive was not authored by a single man, but by committee.
Court Wizard: Book Eight Of The Spellmonger Series Page 52
