Lastly among the clergy I gave the Temple of Ifnia’s local branch a magical safe like Banamor’s, only considerably larger and more compartmentalized. When I showed the coinmother of the new temple how it worked, she was amazed. It was just a bunch of simple pocket enchantments, but it made the wealth of the temple virtually theft-proof. That was becoming an increasing anxiety, due to the amount of coin now flowing through the town. Between the fair, Banamor’s dealings, the commerce of five thousand people, and my own immense deposits paid to me as fees to the Arcane Orders, there was far more gold stashed in that temple than she was comfortable with.
I gave hundreds of smaller gifts, magical and mundane, to the people of the town and the castle, and particularly my family. I felt I owed it to them, after getting my father’s bakery in Talry shut down. But I enjoyed having them all around me with my family at Yule. I had missed far too many celebrations with them over the years. And yes, being able to feast them in my own castle did appeal to my ego a bit.
When all the guests had been poured in to bed, and all the food and presents put away after the feast, after tucking in our two excited little wonders, instead of throwing Alya on the bed for our usual post-feast Yule romp, I bid her to grab her mantle against the chill night air.
She looked at me, curiously, but did as I asked. Soon we were walking across the yard, through the gateway of the nascent gatehouse, and toward the mountain.
“Where are we going, Min?” she asked, with just a hint of girlish whine in her voice. It had been a long night.
“I want to show you something,” I told her mysteriously.
“What, the front hall? It’s amazing,” she assured me. “I saw it a few days ago. They’re quarrying what, five, six blocks a day?”
“Twice that,” I agreed, as we passed through the construction site where those massive blocks – each the size of a large wain – had been set. The foundations to the gatehouse were laid out and the first walls were being raised, and now that the Karshak had gotten past the basics they were working day and night, taking only the holiday off. The Karshak didn’t stop work for cold or rain or anything else that I could see. But they celebrated Yule like everyone else. “By Briga’s Day they’ll be up to the third story, or more. But no, that’s not what I want to show you.”
“Another pretty rock?” she asked without enthusiasm. “One that does something I won’t understand and can’t appreciate?”
“You don’t like my pretty rocks?” I asked, surprised.
“Their novelty has faded,” she reluctantly admitted. “Sometime around when I rolled over in bed and slept on a few that fell out of your pocket.”
“Well, haven’t you wondered what we’re all doing down here, late at night?”
“I figured you were just overseeing the construction of your new enchantment workshop,” she shrugged.
“That’s part of it, but only a small part,” I agreed, as we passed through the empty tunnels. “We’ve been studying something that we found down here.”
“Now you’re being mysterious to piss me off,” she accused, playfully, then yawned. But she kept walking.
I led her down the long passageway, past the new mirabilary workshops without stopping to show them off, and down the passage to the Denehole. There was a doorway there, now, with a door which was ready to be spellbound. When I opened it, the glow of the Snowflake filled Alya’s face. Her eyes opened wide.
“Dear Trygg, Min, what the hells is it?”
“I . . . kind of made it,” I admitted. “When I was unconscious last summer. A bit of wild magic from my fevered subconscious. I’ve been keeping it secret, while I studied it, but I thought it was time for you to know. I’d say it was a Yule gift, but it’s unmovable, so you’ll have to come here to look at it like everyone else. As Baroness of Sevendor, you have a right to know about it. I just wanted to make certain it was safe, first.”
“Min, it’s . . . it’s . . . it’s . . . what is it?” she asked. “It’s beautiful but surely you didn’t make an ornament?”
“I have no idea. It’s a big mystery. I’m thinking the gods are involved, like they were with Minalyan’s birth. And the Everfire. But I think it could be the weapon we need against Sheruel. Or the just world’s prettiest ornament. Either way, we own it, I suppose. We’ll either triumph over darkness or make a fortune in charging admission.”
“It makes me feel . . . I don’t know, like I can feel it throbbing, inside and outside,” she said, smiling after a moment of uncertainty. “I can feel it in my teeth and bones!”
“You must be sensitive to it,” I smiled. “Some are, more than others. You’ve probably lived around snowstone long enough to pick up on some of the etheric vibrations of that thing. It’s drawing natural power from the magosphere like a drain. I have no idea what it’s doing with it.”
“It isn’t dangerous?” she asked, skeptically.
“Don’t stick your finger between the shards, or it will get sliced off,” I cautioned. “And if you touch it, it burns. And hums.”
“It throbs,” she agreed, looking at the thing hypnotically. “It’s . . . enchanting. I can see why it keeps you captivated,” she sighed. “And here I thought I was losing my appeal.”
“Never,” I said, feeling choked up as I embraced her from behind. “I love you. I’ve just been . . . distracted. I thought I’d bring you down here, though, and show you what’s been distracting me,” I lied.
“You’re certain it isn’t me?” she asked, turning to look at me briefly before returning to watch the Snowflake.
“I’m positive,” I said, kissing her neck. She sighed and leaned into me, never taking her eyes off the big crystal. “I love you, and I want you to be happy,” I said, simply, as I unfastened her mantle.
It was the first time we had really made love since the Fair . . . since the incident right here. Perhaps I was hoping that I could somehow undo the act by repeating it with Alya, or perhaps I was just desperate to re-establish our intimacy once again. Either way our coupling was passionate, erotic, and lusty, even animalistic at times. I hope Ishi was watching, the bitch.
We were deep in a more creative and less fevered affair when we suddenly heard a voice that killed our ardor, despite our passion and the romance of the seen.
“Oh, so that’s how you do that position! I always wondered,” Onranion said, suddenly, from the doorway that I had clearly failed to secure. “And isn’t that a pretty thing? Oh, don’t stop on my account – it was just getting interesting!”
“Onranion!” I bellowed. “What in nine hells are you doing here?” Alya dove for her mantle, wrapping herself quickly but incompletely in response to the interruption – a practiced parental reflex. She glared at the Alka Alon for his timing. His human-like form wasn’t fazed I the slightest.
“Looking for you, to wish you a happy Yule. And because I was ejected from the Council, again. Some people just don’t know how to respond to a pendulous penis . . . but I see that’s not a problem for you, is it?” he asked, wickedly.
Chapter Twelve
Ruderal
You’d think that after the exhausting excesses of Yule things would calm down a bit as everyone settled into a winter lethargy. No such luck.
The morning after Yule I was heading outside in the chill with a pipe and a cup of hot broth when Pentandra contacted me mind-to-mind.
Well, we have a restoration, she proclaimed, proudly.
We do?
As of last night. The bum of a baron who was holding court here was caught completely unawares. The Orphans moved to counter the garrison and keep them in their camp. And Anguin really put on a show, claiming his rightful place as ruler. There was an execution. And two imprisonments. Very exciting.
Any serious resistance?
Not yet, she said, warily, but honestly I don’t expect there to be for a few days, until the players in court figure out what the situation is. But one thing is for certain: our sudden arrival interrupted at least a doze
n brazen cases of abuse of position. The palace has been picked bare. I have no doubt some fled in the night – we’ll have to see who shows up to the council meeting this morning to determine just who, and with what.
Let me know if you need any help, okay?
I can manage this, she promised. And thank you for the use of your home.
My . . . what?
The hall you appropriated in Vorone? Sire Koucey’s residence in the capital? Until adequate quarters can be secured in the palace, Arborn and I are staying there. I hope you don’t mind.
Of course not. Was there anyone there?
Just an old one-legged warmage who Astyral detailed to become caretaker. He’s used the place once himself, when he visited. But it’s cozy, even with a dozen rangers downstairs. Arborn has pledged their service to the Duke to help restore order in Vorone. They were extremely helpful last night, when things got tense.
She filled me in about the local palace politics and what she faced. I made a few unhelpful suggestions and at least one helpful one before I was able to enjoy my broth in the frosty air. Anguin’s successful restoration would be a key political point, and having Pentandra on the spot was ideal. But I was still worried. The Brotherhood of the Rat had been active in Vorone a few years back, even in the palace itself. And from what she had told me there were plenty of resentful and frightened foes within the palace walls who weren’t part of international criminal organizations. I was worried, but I knew with Arborn around she was as protected as well as I could ask.
I was delighted with the restoration, though. That had been a vital event in my plans. If nothing else, it gave the Royal Family something other than me to think about, when they discovered the truth. I only hoped that Anguin’s nascent court could manage to keep things together long enough to survive the inevitable challenges to his rule.
I was on my second pipe and contemplating a trip to the guarderobe when Tyndal, of all people, contacted me.
Good morning, Master! His too-cheery mental voice boomed into my head. Why don’t you come over to the great hall and have breakfast with us?
Tyndal! You’re here? When did you get in?
Long past midnight, last night. We tried to make it back in time for Yule, but we ran into complications on the road. We’ve got a lot to report, however, and there’s someone we want you to meet.
I’ll be right over, I promised. Just let me complete my ablutions . . .
Alya was thrilled to hear that our boys were back, and if she hadn’t been nursing Almina she would have joined me. When I got to the hall, nodded to the guards and greeted fifty sleepy folk who were either coming off shift or going on, I found Tyndal and Rondal brazenly eating porridge and biscuits at the high table . . . along with a young boy.
The lad was no more than ten or eleven, but he had sunken cheekbones that bespoke of malnutrition and hunger. He had a thick shock of unruly black hair that kept getting into his eyes, and he kept looking around the bustling Great Hall with quiet fascination. Gray eyes, and very intelligent.
“Master!” Rondal said, rising respectfully. Tyndal didn’t bother to get up. “Thank you for joining us. This young man is Ruderal. He’s the one we went to southern Alshar to fetch.”
“Rescue, more like,” Tyndal snorted. “The Brotherhood of the Rat has been keeping him a virtual slave. Threatening his mother to force him to work for them.”
“A pleasure to meet you, Ruderal,” I said, trying to sound as calm, kind and reassuring as possible. “I am Minalan, the baron of Sevendor. You are safe, here, under my protection. If there is anything you need, merely ask.” I turned back to my former apprentices. “So what is so special about the boy?”
“He sees . . . well, why don’t you give him a quick examination, and you tell us?” Rondal said, his eyes twinkling.
I sighed. He was challenging me, and I couldn’t not answer it. I summoned my baculus from my ring and started to do a basic examination when the boy startled – not, as I’d thought, by the sudden appearance of the rod, but of what it was.
“Uli’s beard! What do you have in that thing?” he asked, pointing to the baculus. “It’s . . . it wants to find out!’
I smiled. Now I remembered. “Ah, you’re the lad who can . . . see enneagrams,” I recalled.
“Oh, he can do much more than that,” assured Rondal. “But that’s the beginning of his Talent. He’s strong, Master. He’s going to need training.”
“In everything but eating,’ Tyndal agreed. “He’s mastered that art.” The boy was reaching for another biscuit, and stopped until I caught his eye and nodded permission.
He grew up in a sewer, Tyndal informed me, mind-to-mind. Literally. There’s a kind of camp at the mouth of the river, where all the sewage from the city flowed. He and his mother were fishermen, or something, until the Brotherhood got ahold of him. What there was to eat there was pretty poor, from what we can tell. And not much of it.
“He can eat as much as he likes, here,” I promised. “Let’s get the lad filled out, rested up, and then we can evaluate his Talents appropriately. Until then, why don’t you tell me about your adventures?”
They were pretty adventuresome, as it happened. The boys had made the long journey to the rebellious region, quietly slipping over the frontier and making their way down to the heavily-populated south overland. Once they arrived, after a few days of familiarizing themselves with the capital city, they began their search. After a few weeks they figured out where the Brotherhood’s headquarters was located, and from there they discovered where Ruderal was being kept.
They arranged a daring escape, both for him and his mother, leaving an angry crew of Rats stunned and bleeding in the smoking ruins of their headquarters. I was increasingly impressed with their tale as they detailed just how they had gone about the elaborate and intricate – and ridiculously destructive – mission. My boys had grown up. They were destroying things all by themselves, now.
“We left his mother in a cottage in the northern baronies of southern Alshar, well away from the coastal agents of the Brotherhood,” Tyndal assured. “We paid her rent for two years in advance and left her enough to live off of for a while, under a different name. She’s safe, now,” he emphasized for Ruderal’s benefit. “But this lad needs to be trained. He can do things with enneagrams I’ve never seen before.”
‘Stick around for a few weeks and you’ll see more than you can imagine,” I proposed. “We’re doing some amazing work in enchantment, now. I’d like each of you to construct a thaumaturgical baculus,” I suggested gesturing to my own, “like the rest of us. We’re about to move on to more interesting enchantments, but there’s time for you each to catch up.”
“For a few weeks, perhaps,” Rondal agreed, reluctantly. “We need the rest, honestly. But then we’re headed back to Alshar, Master. While we were rescuing the lad, we discovered intelligence that suggested that not only has the Brotherhood been working in secret with the gurvani, but they’ve successfully located Korbal, the Demon God.”
“Sorry about that,” Ruderal said, unexpectedly, with a guilty sigh. “They forced me to find him. They said they’d hurt my mother if I didn’t. I didn’t want to, but . . .”
“We all must do what we must,” I said, as kindly as I could. “The gods work in mysterious and not terribly efficient ways, sometimes. Whatever role you played, you can continue on to your next one without guilt or shame. We will deal with Korbal, in time,” I said, confidently, with absolutely no idea of how we would do that.
“He isn’t awakened, yet, from what we could tell,” Rondal continued, “but the Brotherhood has safe houses and clandestine keeps and bandit hideouts all through the Land of Scars. Whatever it is they found is likely at one of those. But we know the gurvani are involved because we spoke to one of their emissaries. Clever fellow. Reminded me of Gurkarl.”
“He wasn’t that pleasant,” Tyndal disagreed, making a face. “I still think you should have killed him.”
“You ne
ver know when an enemy is going to be useful,” Rondal countered. “He wasn’t a direct threat, and he was clearly not going to interfere with what we were doing. By letting him escape we have a contact within the gurvani, now. You have to admit, he was quite polite.”
“A real gentleman, for a human-flesh eating scrug,” Tyndal agreed. “And now the gurvani will know that we know that we know that they’re working together. But you might be right,” he conceded. “Grand strategy isn’t my strong suit. I just hate leaving any of them alive.”
“We’ll discuss the particulars, later,” I agreed. “But I’m curious why you want to go back?”
“Because we only destroyed one of the Brotherhood’s compounds,” Tyndal said, his nostrils flaring a bit, “and we’re not done yet. We saw what the Brotherhood is doing in southern Alshar. The barons might be rebelling, but the Brotherhood is who controls the docks, the harbor, the markets, and most of the commerce. The barons look the other way and the Rats keep the common folk in line. If we hurt them, we’ll hurt the rebellion.”
“Well this will hurt them without striking a blow: I got word from Pentandra this morning. Duke Anguin has taken control of Vorone in his own name. There is a properly invested, seated duke in Alshar again.”
“Yes!” Tyndal said, excitedly. “The barons have been rebelling in the name of the ducal house. That’s been convenient, since the ducal house hasn’t been around to contest it. If the Orphan Duke is in control of the Wilderlands, then they won’t have a legal right to rebel!”
“That won’t stop them,” Rondal assured him. “You saw how tenaciously the rebels clung to power. Any whisper of allegiance to Castalshar or Rard gets punished by squads of ruffians supplied by the Brotherhood. They’re not likely to surrender power to a royalist boy in a distant province. Especially considering the allies they’ve gathered.”
“Allies?” I asked curious. Rondal always had a keener eye for detail than Tyndal.
“The gurvani aren’t the only ones who have thrown in with the rebels,” he explained. “All of the disaffected Censors from Alshar and Castal who didn’t go to Merwyn went to Alshar. They’ve been strongly supporting the rebel government. Black and white cloaks, reign of magical terror, the whole bit. Only they’ve dug out their own witchstones from storage. At least three or four.”
Enchanter (Book 7) Page 20
