Enchanter (Book 7)

by Terry Mancour

  “The flattery is a little strong,” I said, gently. “And unnecessary. Convince me I should do this thing,” I sighed. “Tell me why it will serve humanity, and I might consider it.”

  “I can . . . well, I know you are at war – and wars need soldiers. Grant my desire and I will see all of your kingdom fecund!”

  “There doesn’t seem to be any lack of desire of folks to screw, at the moment,” I pointed out. “Babies without the means to feed and raise them? We have enough hunger and poverty at the moment. Perhaps in a few years . . .”

  “Then what do you want, Minalan?” she asked, frustrated. “Can I not tempt you with my charms? I can be any woman you desire,” she said, her form shifting to resemble a statuesque brunette of uncommon beauty . . . then a redhead with pointed features . . . then a dusky bronzed Farisi maiden. Then she was Pentandra.

  “I can be your past loves,” she said, in Pentandra’s voice. Then she shifted to Isily. “Or your present ones, with capacities and insights they could only imagine!”

  “I’m sitting here, in shock from being forcibly violated, and you present yourself in the guise of my assailant?” I asked, a little disgusted. “Poor taste, goddess.”

  “You know part of you enjoyed it,” she chided, waving a finger. Then she shifted to another woman whom I had decidedly not seen naked. “Perhaps you’d like to pork a princess?” she asked in Rardine’s voice, wearing Rardine’s face and figure. “She’s not uncomely, under her raiment,” she said, glancing down at her young naked body. “You could take my virtue, and I could object and complain about it bitterly until I begged for more!”

  “Stop it!” I commanded. But she shifted again. Ishi isn’t used to being told to stop.

  “Or perhaps you’d like to work out some of your anger in a productive way?” Queen Grendine’s matronly form asked. “You could hold me down and take me from the back like a peasant slut, while I begged you for mercy . . . I think you’d like that. I know for certain Grendine would,” she added.

  “Stop it!” I repeated, angrily. “I despair at my infidelity as it is. I love my wife,” I insisted.

  “You’re still a man,” Grendine said, casting her eye at me searchingly, her tone just a hint derisive. “A man with desires and frustrations. Are you not willing to indulge them here, where none would ever know? With me, whose every touch brings ecstasy?”

  “I am not a youth, anymore,” I said, with quiet sternness. “Ecstasy is overrated.”

  “Come on, Min!” she accused, suddenly losing her temper and stamping her foot. She reverted to her original blonde form. “You know you like to screw!”

  “I like to eat, too,” I pointed out. “But I’m not hungry. Not for what you offer,” I said, regretting the words even as I said them. “I made a vow, before the gods. Some of them take that kind of thing seriously,” I reminded her.

  “And some of us have a more pragmatic perspective on the subject!” she fumed. “Besides, it doesn’t break a sacred vow to do it with a goddess – my grace can protect you from that.”

  “But not from my conscience,” I pointed out.

  “What if I gave myself to you in a way that was . . . permissible?” she asked, as she became shorter, darker, and more curved. The face of my wife Alya stared at me, and her naked body beckoned me. “I can even let you sample what time has denied you,” she added with a smile, as she suddenly became younger. A beaming beauty of sixteen stared at me, the eyes of the woman I loved in the face of a girl I’d never met. Alya had been striking, in the bloom of her youth, I could see. “Anything you asked, done compliantly and obediently, enthusiastically and skillfully, just as you wish . . . what man could refuse such an offer?” she asked, bringing the full force of her persuasion to bear on me.

  I was weak. But not in the way she expected.

  “Bribing me with sex after I’ve been ravished – twice – is a poor bargain, Ishi,” I said, wondering what the hell my mouth was up to. Was I insane? But the sting of the memory of Isily’s violation overwhelmed any desire I had. Even for the most beautiful goddess in the world. “I am not necessarily closed to discussion, however,” I added. “I understand your power, and what it could give to me, if you would grant it. But if you cannot erase what Isily has done, or hold her to account, perhaps there are other ways in which you could be of service.”

  She brought herself up proudly, returning to her glorious blonde form. “You would dictate to the Goddess of Love, mortal?”

  “Don’t be high-handed with me, goddess,” I warned. “Not after the day I’ve had. The beauty of this negotiation is that if I piss you off and have to banish you, I can always wait for a more receptive incarnation to happen by.”

  “You wouldn’t!” she said, scandalized.

  “You have many forms and iterations, Ishi,” I pointed out. “That’s one of the disadvantages of being popular, I suppose. I can always wait for the Eternal Maiden, perhaps, and lock you into permanent virginity . . .” I proposed.

  “Minalan, no!” she said, her eyes wide. “That incarnation is always so . . . vacuous!”

  “Or I can summon your cronish iteration, and you can spend eternity dispensing divine wisdom on menopause,” I suggested.

  “Minalan, please!” she said, her face twisted up. “Do you realize what would happen to me if you did that? It would be a disaster!”

  “Then stop trying to manipulate me,” I demanded, “and treat me like a responsible adult!”

  She looked sheepish, like a naughty little girl caught out throwing a tantrum. “All right,” she mumbled. “What are your terms? I’m prepared to be reasonable.”

  That was more like it. I was still wary of her manipulations, but at least she wasn’t trying to mystify me with her mammaries anymore. “First, can you permanently remove the effects of Isily’s psychomantic spells?”

  “By the power of my grace, yes,” she admitted. “They’re strong, but not impervious. True love conquers all – even sneaky Blue Magic domination spells. And you do want those gone, Spellmonger. She would have eventually convinced you to do anything she wants. And the more you did, the more you would crave to do more. Insidious spell.”

  “Good. That’s the first condition. Break that spell, every shred of it. I cannot face a foe like Isily if I’m subject to her whim.”

  “As good as done,” she shrugged. I tried to stare at her eyes. “Next?”

  “You agree to serve humanity’s interests,” I said, firmly. “You agree to work together with the other deities I’ve affixed, to promote the survival and prosperity of humankind on Callidore.”

  Ishi looked a little offended. “Of course! Do I look like a goddess of the gurvani? I live to serve humanity!” she assured me, while her manner assured me of how that service was performed.

  “Oh, but there are limits, goddess,” I said, trying not to smirk. “For our purposes, I will be the judge of whether or not what you do is in service to humanity.”

  “You?” she snorted. She had the most beautiful nostrils. “Who made you the judge of gods, mortal?”

  “I did,” I said, through clenched teeth. Her scorn was like a wave of magical force, and I had to marshal my resources to resist the lure of attempting to appease her. “I am the one with the Alaran Stone. I’m the one who gets to decide who sticks around and who waxes and wanes with the moon. I don’t have any higher aspirations,” I said, “and I don’t have any grand design besides protecting humanity, the kingdom, the people of my domain and my family. So I’m probably the best person, in general, to exercise that kind of judgement.”

  “To what purpose, though, Spellmonger?” she challenged. “I know about Briga’s foretelling,” she said, knowingly.

  “It wasn’t prophecy!” I emphasized. “It was vocational magic!” Outright prophecy had a tendency to bind your actions to fate, making them self-fulfilling. All Briga’s oracular nun had provided was insight as to what a man or woman was best suited to do in life. Just because I happened to be particul
arly good at the sorts of things that would make a good Archmage didn’t mean I was destined to be one.

  “Whatever lets you comb your beard in the mirror in the morning, wizard,” she snorted again. “You know as well as I that you are fit to be Archmage. And despite your pretensions, you are headed down that path.”

  “Actually, I’m far more devoted to the study of enchantment at the moment,” I said, casually. “The Archmagi were political figures.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind . . . Baron,” she said, with a smirk. “But I’ll also remind you that the greatest of Archmagi through the years were thaumaturges and enchanters.”

  “Even Kephan the Damned,” I agreed, evenly. The Archmage who had sank Perwyn had been an enchanter of great repute. Of course all of his enchantments were half a mile under the sea, now.

  “A fair point,” she conceded. “Fine, be stubborn about it. But I will consider your perspective if you choose to share it. I think you know how to invoke a summons out of me,” she said, dragging a finger from her neck to her nipple. I did my best to ignore it. It was just a finger. Just a . . . nipple.

  “If I come to you with a concern, you will listen with the utmost of care,” I cautioned, sternly.

  “Or what?” she said, her eyes narrowing. Time to look at her . . . nose.

  “Let us not even contemplate such an unpleasant challenge to my sensibilities,” I said, in as dangerous a voice as I could muster. “That Snowflake has more than enough power latent within to reduce you to a giggling adolescent. Or worse. There are other sex goddesses, you know,” I reminded her. “Ralaine of the Cormeerans, for instance . . .”

  “That dusky slut?” she snorted. “Do you have any idea how tawdry your sex lives would get if she were I charge? She sees infidelity and cuckoldry as a sport . . . not the sublime art it was meant to be!”

  “Your creative differences don’t concern me,” I grunted. “I don’t even know if we really need a sex goddess. I think having Trygg around would be sufficient to—”

  “Fine! I submit!” she said, sighing prettily and bowing . . . which was a wondrous sight indeed, from my perspective. “I free you from your shackles, I yield to your judgement . . . is there nothing else you require, Spellmonger? Is there nothing else you desire?”

  “Such as?” I asked. I was mostly interested in what she thought I’d want.

  “Perhaps I can ensure that your bride will never stray? Or that I can inform you if even the thought enters her mind?”

  “Intriguing,” I admitted.

  “You could be dazzlingly charming, an irresistible allure to every woman you meet,” she proposed, stepping closer to me. “I could arrange it that no woman you propositioned would ever think to refuse you!”

  “That is a captivating idea,” I agreed. “And it could be quite useful, diplomatically.”

  “Now you’re thinking,” she smiled. “Perhaps you’d enjoy it if your wife’s beauty should never fade? That she would always find you captivating and attractive? Or that you would look at her and see only the enduring ideal of love? All of these I can grant you, Minalan. I can make every woman you meet as damp as a dewy teen at the sight of you! I can make men admire and respect you for your manner with the force of divine power! Do you not realize all that I could grant you?”

  “I do,” I nodded. “And I’m glad you do, too. I was concerned you might demure and try to drive too weak a bargain, claiming feminine frailty or the like as your shield. But now that you admit your power, and we both agree you are a powerful and potent goddess, perhaps we can begin the real negotiations.”

  She sighed, and looked at me accusingly. “Well played, Spellmonger. Asking for too little and ignoring my beauty was ever the way to goad me into action – well-considered or not. Confronting me with my rivals has always aroused my baser instincts. You have revealed me for what I am, Spellmonger: a simple woman.”

  “There is no such thing,” I countered. “And you least of all. But I recognize you as a keen intelligence, willing to work in her own interests. Am I incorrect?”

  She shrugged again. “Is not every woman?”

  “Our interests happen to intersect and coincide. I am not unreasonable. If we can strike an equitable bargain, with accountability and responsibility for both of us, I think that we can both pursue our interests without hindering the other. And really, that is all that I ask.”

  “You ask to bind the goddess of love herself,” Ishi said, defiantly. “Few men have been so bold as to try, Spellmonger. Fewer still have succeeded. And none who were mortal.”

  “I will take that as an admission of respect and admiration, as it was no doubt intended,” I said, smiling and feeling like I was about to vomit. My mind couldn’t take much more of this. “Now, if you will do me the honor of releasing these spells, I’ll tell you what I have in mind, and we can both get what we really want.”

  “As you wish,” she said, her eyes downcast. She walked back over to me, in the same chair in which Isily had captured me. I shrank away from her involuntarily . . . but those magnificent breasts were hypnotic. Thankfully she used her powers to transform back into Alya, my wife . . . then Young Alya.

  “I do not need to break your vow to break the spell, she whispered in my ear as she crawled into my lap. “Ishi’s kiss is potent enough to do that. But are you certain you would not sample the sweetest of your beloved’s charms, as if she were a newly-blossomed maiden?” Her young, sweet-tasting lips found my own, and I felt the power of her grace spread through me, eliminating the last vestiges of Isily’s spellwork.

  And I can’t say I didn’t consider her tempting offer.

  Chapter Nine

  The Bouleuterion

  The days that followed the break-down of the Magical Fair saw Sevendor get back to normal. Pentandra and Arborn left for northern Gilmora with their corvee of Kasari rangers. Many of the warmagi left, too, as their lands needed their attention just as much as my lands needed mine.

  The last of the harvest came in, and the final preparations for winter were under way as the fair ended. The merchants left, the wagons rolled out, the last exchanges of coin and goods were made as the peasantry overcame their demoralization from the event and grudgingly got back to their work. Only the scribes and the lawbrothers were still busily at work, cataloging the number of contracts signed and sealed at the Fair.

  Banamor was giddy with the success, as the final accountings came in. It surpassed his most generous expectations generously. My own cut was pretty impressive, considering it was a larger percentage than Banamor’s. More than I made in annual tribute from my barony. I was rich. Again. Still.

  I had decided to use the dividend partially by investing in my professional development. My experience with Pentandra’s baculus, and the seminar at the Fair, had convinced me that the best use of my house arrest was to convene a Bouleuterion.

  The term was popular in the Middle Magocracy, as the later Archmagi consolidated power on the mainland. At the time, the role of enchantment was being emphasized to compensate for the loss of the great civilization of Perwyn. As most of the enchanters in the nascent Magocracy worked alone, studying in seclusion with a few picked apprentices or acolytes, enchantment was originally seen as a solitary pursuit of specialists.

  The problem with this method is that it is slow. It could take a single mage years to produce a workable enchantment, painstakingly working on a few pieces until he could show or sell them. When the first Bouleuterions were convened, those solitary enchanters – known as remotads – were invited by a wealthy patron to gather together for the purpose of pooling their talents and efforts. Whether the goal was to produce many temporary enchantments or focus their efforts on one major enchantment, the result was a century or so during the rise of the Empire where enchantment first flourished.

  The specifics varied from place to place, over the years. Some Bouleuterions were small affairs, more theoretical gatherings than practical exercises. Others devoted thousands of ounce
s of gold and hired hundreds of enchanters to gather together for years to produce their wonders. A few evolved into regular manufactories.

  They institutionalized the production of a few prized enchantments that could be created at a profit, while creating lesser enchantments for instruction and practice. The Bouleuterion first purpose was, after all, to be a commercial enterprise. The enrichment and education that occurred at those gatherings was secondary to the important purpose of a mage earning a living.

  As the Bouleuterion evolved, some of its practices became standard, such as the methodology of documentation of a particular enchantment. Others varied widely depending on region, school, or preference, producing conflicting or wildly divergent methods. Eventually interest in the movement died away as the Archmage confiscated most of the irionite, leaving only a few simple enchantments available to the profession. A brief resurgence fifty years before the Conquest produced some intriguing new developments, and some evolution in technique, but then my ancestors kind of killed that line of research.

  Since then, very little major enchantment had been done . . . and I had been doing it. I decided it was time to re-establish the ancient and respected practice of the Bouleuterion, so I started one myself.

  Traditionally the magi were summoned or invited by a wealthy patron or a mage with a wealthy patron. Indeed most Bouleuterions were organized around the personal charisma of a particular thaumaturge. These master enchanters – called Aristophreni – were the centerpoint of the grand enterprise they initiated. They hired the paymaster, the mundane craftsmen, the specialists, arranged for the site for the workshops, guided the purpose and goal of the work, and organized the enterprise personally. They were influenced at the time by both the vestiges of the Old Magocracy, which the Middle Magocracy was desperately trying to revive, and the emerging clerical movement.

  But for a hundred years or so, during the Golden Age of Enchantment, things were nearly ideal. Or at least that’s what the historical section in Raster’s Pandect of Gramary said. I read several standard thaumaturgical texts since I embarked on Pentandra’s baculus: The Florilegum of Basic Thaumaturgy, Raster’s Pandect of Gramary, The Delectus of Pors (a rare tretise on enneagrammatic magic), A Pantography Of Magical Construction, Ratel’s Paraenesis (“Helpful Tips for Practical Enchantment”), even obscure works like Honlanus’ Paralipomenon on Enchantments. Master Ulin brought a few more works from his own collection, and Dranus had been adding as many volumes to my library as he could budget for. That happened to be a lot.