Court Wizard: Book Eight Of The Spellmonger Series

by Terry Mancour

  To His Grace, Duke Anguin II of Alshar, in his citadel at Vorone, the undersigned send greetings of the utmost respect and admiration of both His Grace and his noble house.

  We, the duly elected leaders of the 3rd Commando, wish to express our support and encouragement for His Grace’s recent restoration of ducal authority under a properly and lawfully recognized heir of that ancient and noble house to his realm, and congratulate His Grace doing so in defiance of obvious political pressure. It is understood by all with a military eye the grave and tragic consequences of allowing the Alshari Wilderlands to fall into chaos, and we the undersigned representatives of the 3rd Commando respectfully wish the blessings of Luin and Duin upon your reign as you seek to restore order.

  Let it be known that we serve a similar purpose at the moment, eradicating the last vestiges of the goblin scourge from the Gilmoran countryside where it is known that Your Grace possesses considerable lands. Indeed, the vassals of Your Grace have frequently extended a warm welcome and assistance to our independent efforts, unlike some who see our willingness to challenge the infection as incursion, and treat us as bandits.

  We, the undersigned, wish you continued success, health, and the blessings of the gods as you bring much-needed order and stability to the realm. If it please you to call upon our members for future service, know that considerable good will exists surround the name of Your Grace in the encampments of the 3rd Commando.

  Yours by the Grace of Duin, passed by unanimous acclamation, signed and sealed

  Sir Holsar the Mendacious, Acting Grand Captain

  Sir Arscei of Elderbloom, Quartermaster of the Corps

  Ancient Beverl, Senior Trooper’s Steward, Company Scribe”

  “What do you make of that?” Count Salgo asked when she looked up from the letter. His mood seemed quite improved after his office conference with Liset.

  “Chaos,” she said, at once.

  “Really?” he asked, surprised. “I thought it was quite well-written,” the Warlord reflected, thoughtfully, as he packed his pipe - a beautiful wooden affair in the shape of a bear’s head, the badge of his house.

  “Oh, yes, it’s quite eloquent, for a bunch of half-literate mercenaries,” she conceded. “But it screams of chaos behind the pretty words. See the signatures? Two knights and an ancient. One knight is an “acting Grand Captain’, which sounds impressive enough. But he’s more likely a placeholder candidate, not the original commander. The other signature is the Quartermaster. How chaotic must things have gone for a quartermaster to be designated one of the leadership?”

  “Oh, no, you are quite right. The leadership of the 3rd was recalled and rewarded with lands soon after the Treaty,” Count Salgo said. “On my recommendation. I had no idea that Rard would disband the entire corps. Or at least try to. I figured he’d promote or replace them.”

  “So they are bereft of their leaders and their political patronage. They’ve tried to reconstitute themselves to stay together, and elected this knight to be their spokesman. Then you have Sir Arscei, the Quartermaster. And likely paymaster, if there was any money to pay out. He’s responsible for feeding and clothing the unit, is he not?”

  “According to the organization I set up, yes,” admitted Salgo. He began looking around for a taper to light his pipe with, but Pentandra impatiently lit it with a cantrip before he could find one. “The Quartermaster is responsible for all materiel in the unit. But yes, that is rarely an office of command.”

  “Which means he’s getting increasingly desperate, and probably isn’t in a position to quit,” observed Pentandra. “No pay, food is running out, men are getting desperate. Then there’s this ancient. A non-commissioned officer who is clearly the elected representative of the enlisted men. No ordinary mercenary unit is going to promote a mere ancient as a signatory unless he held real power, do you think?”

  “No, that would be foolish,” agreed Count Salgo, puffing away. “A sign of weakness to a potential employer.”

  “Exactly,” nodded Pentandra. “So . . . chaos. They have no real leader. They have no real purpose. All they have is each other . . . and an abiding dislike of King Rard.”

  “So what does this mean?” asked Count Salgo, pleadingly. “All this letter says is ‘hey! Congratulations! We hate Rard, too!’ “

  “Essentially,” agreed Pentandra, glancing back at the letter. “But it’s actually an invitation, if you read it right. They’re looking for a purpose. And a leader. Are they good soldiers?”

  “I hand-picked many of them myself,” Salgo boasted. “Culled from the top mercenary units in the Kingdom, just like the First and Second Commandos were. The fact that they haven’t fallen into base banditry almost a year after being disbanded should say something about their discipline.”

  “Then they’re looking for a job, and hope that Anguin can give it to them,” Pentandra said, handing the letter back to the warlord. “That’s what it says.”

  “Oh,” Count Salgo said, puffing away. “Is that all? Why didn’t they just ask?”

  “Because despite how they’re being forced to operate, these men never signed up to be mercenaries. They were warriors in the service of the king, not sellswords. You, better than anyone, know how the military aristocracy views mercenaries. If they come out and quote him a price, they’re sellswords. If he asks them how much it would cost to employ their services, they can cling to the fiction that they are a real army.”

  “That does makes a lot of sense,” Count Salgo conceded, as he examined the letter again. “Thank you, Pentandra. Your wisdom brightens us all,” he added formally.

  She found that a lot more gratifying than she’d expected. She and Count Salgo had always had a cordial relationship, even friendly. But to be honestly praised by the respected soldier was something she hadn’t expected, and neither was the feeling of gratification it produced.

  There were plenty of courtiers who were skeptical of any woman’s role in the business of the palace, outside of scullery maids, spinning and weaving, and drudges, and plenty more who would have been loath to admit the important part they played in its function. It was a constant source of discussion at the weekly Ladies’ Tea that feminine efforts in court were often overlooked and rarely appreciated – likely because of the lack of a sitting Duchess.

  But to be given honest respect, colleague-to-colleague, brightened Pentandra’s day . . . almost enough to make up for the unfortunate encounter she had immediately afterwards.

  She was headed back to her offices and chambers with the news of the aborted uprising when she stumbled across the author of its destruction standing outside of her office: Dowager Baroness Amandice. Lady Pleasure.

  Ishi, herself.

  She was in a smart long gown in a ginger color that made her hair seem much redder than it actually was under her lacy veil – but then nothing involving her appearance was to be relied upon, when it came to Ishi.

  She was surrounded by four or five of her attendants, all but one of them achingly pretty. The fifth was a far more plain-looking girl whose teeth were . . . unfortunate. But even she shared in the natural glamour that surrounded the goddess-in-disguise, and the magic gave her an attraction she otherwise might never have been able to muster.

  That caught Pentandra by surprise. All of Ishi’s other tarts were breathtakingly beautiful. She made a mental note of the face, wishing that she could summon Everkeen to ensure it wouldn’t be forgotten – but after the last time she encountered the goddess, she was afraid of what the baculus might do.

  “Oh, Lady Pentandra, our illustrious Court Wizard!” Lady Pleasure gushed under her veil. “How fortunate to meet you here! Oh, where is that adorable little urchin apprentice of yours?” she asked, her venom for the plain-spoken Alurra only nominally disguised.

  “Dowager Baroness,” Pentandra said as she bowed, emphasizing the first term just slightly enough to get under the goddess’ skin. “I’m afraid Alurra is spending the day being fitted by the palace seamstress. It s
eems it’s getting harder and harder to make an appointment with her, thanks to your festival. What brings you to the palace today?”

  “Oh, a thousand little details about the festival,” she said, feigning being overwhelmed. From the look on the plain-looking girl’s face it was clear that it wasn’t Ishi who was overwhelmed by the event. “It’s such a busy time for us!”

  “So I’ve heard,” she said, knowingly. “Congratulations on putting a stop to the uprising. I’ve just come from Count Salgo’s department, and he was quite grateful for your assistance.”

  “Why, it is both my duty and my pleasure to assist His Grace in any way I can,” she said, casting a cloak of false humility over herself. Her attendants seemed to respond as an extension of her facial expressions, each one sharing some tidbit in reflection of their mistress’ mood. But they all looked at their mistress adorably as she stated her considered opinions.

  “Things have gotten so much better in Vorone since that handsome young man came back to lead us,” Lady Pleasure said, expansively. “And this festival has really given some energy to the local economy. Inns are booked in advance, the nobility are preparing parties and fetes, and we’ve decided to make the Ball of Wildflowers . . . a masque! With a woodland theme!” she boasted, proudly, as if half of the town wasn’t already devoted to depictions of nature. “I’ve just come from His Grace’s chambers, and we’ve agreed! Simply everyone will wear animal masks for the fete! I’ve heard that they’ve become very popular in Vorone again!”

  The oblique reference to the Woodsmen, who were continuing their nighttime patrols through places in town the Guard feared to tread, started a smoldering fire in Pentandra’s belly. It was insulting, what Lady Pleasure was doing. It was almost as if she was making fun of Pentandra’s efforts.

  Several courtiers paused in their errands to watch the two women meet from afar. Pentandra got the impression that they saw the two of them as rivals. She affected her friendliest air to the baroness, and did her best to seem enthusiastic about meeting her. That should utterly confirm the idea to the cynical minds of the court.

  “Certainly your own business must be doing well,” Pentandra ventured. It was conversational bait, and she delivered the line cautiously . . . but Ishi took it.

  “Oh, thank the gods, yes! My girls are working night and day, bless their twats, and the demand always seems to be more than we can fulfill. We’re recruiting twice as many new girls to help meet demand over the festival. But the daily revenue is promising, and our reputation for exquisite luxury has spread across Vorone. Every evening is like a festival at the Hall of Flowers. Food, wine, dancing . . . romance . . .”

  “And all at very reasonable prices, I hear!” Pentandra continued, a little more loudly than was appropriate.

  “Well, we do charge a premium price for a premium service,” admitted the woman, with a smile, “but there are frequent and generous discounts available, as well. For members of the Palace Guard, for instance,” she said, loudly enough for several members of that corps patrolling the corridor to overhear.

  “And hardly any pox among the girls, either!” Pentandra continued. “Very few of them possess Ishi’s Curse, from what I hear. Isn’t that true?”

  “What?” asked the baroness with a shriek at the idea. Ishi’s Curse was a catch-all term for a variety of diseases and ailments known to favor prostitutes and their clients. “That’s not true at all!”

  “So they do have Ishi’s Curse?” Pentandra asked in an even louder voice, her tone plagued with scandal, shock and surprise. “That’s terrible! Someone should do something!”

  “My girls are as clean as any lady of the court!” Lady Pleasure insisted, not realizing how her outburst sounded to everyone until it passed her lips.

  “Oh, good, then,” Pentandra said in a quiet voice.

  All around her she could feel the reaction from the passers-by at the declaration. If Ishi had meant to charm her way into power here, she would have to contend with Pentandra’s ability to confound her. There were plenty of women in the palace who were already upset about the whores running rampant all over the place. Reminding them, publicly, of the dangers implicit in such commerce only served to humiliate the baroness in front of them.

  Now the talk around court would involve Ishi’s girls and their alleged state of cleanliness . . . not how they foiled an uprising.

  Too late Ishi realized what Pentandra had done. Her pretty blue eyes narrowed and her nostrils flared.

  “It was such a pleasure to see you again, Lady Pentandra!” she continued in her false tones, a hint of mockery in her voice. “Do feel free to stop by the House of Flowers again anytime – and do bring that hunky husband of yours, too. No doubt he could find some real amusement there.”

  “He already has,” Pentandra assured her. “He heard that you told someone you were only thirty years old.”

  With that Pentandra left before the goddess could lose patience. She had no idea of the extent of her powers in this form, but from what the legends said, she could be as vicious in battle as she was in romance.

  By the time Pentandra made it back to her chambers, she was exhausted. And she knew she had to do something about . . . that woman before it was too late.

  But what? How can you get someone in trouble when the only appeal to authority at your disposal involved prayer? Finding some way to keep Lady Pleasure from flooding the court with sexually promiscuous maidens and dictating policy from behind the bedchamber curtains was rapidly becoming Pentandra’s priority.

  The Goddess of Love and Beauty was notoriously capricious, and the lore suggested little that was helpful in the way of arresting her power. She didn’t have a studly male god around to tempt her, for instance, nor was there a woman whose beauty rivaled the goddess.

  After considerable thought on the subject (while inspecting the parchment files on each of the new candidates for an Adept certification) Pentandra realized that one area in which Lady Pleasure had shown weakness and attachment was obvious: Minalan the Spellmonger.

  While Pentandra didn’t know the extent and level of intimacy of the relationship, she knew Minalan. If he had a shot with Ishi, not even his precious marriage vows would stop him from acting on his desire for her . . . or any man. That was implicit in Ishi’s phenomenology.

  But it did suggest that Minalan had some sort of authority – or at least leverage – over the wayward goddess.

  Pentandra realized, depressingly, just what she had to do: call on Minalan for help. Feeling annoyed, she contacted the Spellmonger.

  Min, we’ve got problems, she began, as soon as she made contact with him mind-to-mind. She knew he was busy – by all accounts he was forming a full-fledged bouleuterion to oversee his many endeavors into enchantment. He sounded tired and a little argumentative.

  What kind of problems? he asked, complainingly. Alka Alon? Royal? Ducal? Military? Cultural? Economic?

  Take your pick, she sighed, realizing that any of them might be involved. But those aren’t the problems I need help with. Those are real problems that can be solved by real people doing real work. Our problem has big boobs and the meanest perspective on human mating I’ve ever seen.

  Ishi.

  Yes Ishi. Or Lady Pleasure, as she’s calling herself. Which is the tackiest pseudonym I’ve ever heard. You’re certain she’s a goddess?

  I’ve recently gotten confirmation. That’s her.

  First, I want to know how you know that. The way she said it told me that there was no room for dissembling . . . and the price of dishonesty would be high, she added, warningly. She expected Minalan to tell her everything, just like he always did. But he surprised her by telling her up front that he wasn’t going to tell her everything.

  Pen, I have to be honest – there are some things I can’t be transparent about. For your safety, among others. All I can say is that yes, I have had divine encounters in the past that have aided our various causes. Some of these bore amazing fruit. Some produced . . .
well, ‘Lady Pleasure’. Believe it or not, it’s not my fault.

  He made it all sound so casual, as if associating directly with divinities (as opposed to the more regular sort of worship) was a curious hobby of his, not a bit of momentous news.

  You’re consorting with gods, and it’s not your fault . . . you think? Minalan, do you have any idea how dangerous it is to mix magic and religion? she asked, pleadingly. He should damn well know better than that! Shall I list all the horrible, horrible ways it can go wrong from history? Shall we start with the collapse of the Magocracy, or shall we confine our discussion to early Perwyni history?

  Pentandra, I told you it wasn’t my fault! A lot has happened, since you went to Alshar, and I’m doing my best to manage it without complicating your life. That doesn’t mean I’m trying to keep secrets, it’s just a bit . . . awkward, at the moment, he complained.

  It had to be Ishi. Very well, then, since you unleashed this beast on me, you can help me contain it. Duke Anguin is holding a masque in a few weeks, and half of Lady Pleasure’s enchanted minions will be slobbering around the palace. I know you aren’t supposed to be away from your estates, but I think you should take the chance to slip away and come see what I’ve been dealing with.

  Is it really that bad? he asked skeptically.

  Of course it’s that bad! She’s got every woman in town tarted-up and every man following them! The cosmetics makers and the dressmakers are among our most prosperous businesses, now! The inns and taverns have enjoyed an explosion of business, because of all the courting, and . . . and . . . She tried to come up with more damning examples of the woman’s insidious nature, but couldn’t.

  It doesn’t sound like much of a problem, Penny, Minalan told her gently.

  That’s because you aren’t here, she shot back bitterly. Gods, how could a man not see an impending political disaster when he was staring right at it? Perhaps because he wasn’t staring right at it, she reasoned.

  That cinched her plan. She had to get Minalan here, in Vorone, and set him against Ishi. She changed her tone to one more conciliatory and persuasive.