Enchanter (Book 7)

by Terry Mancour

  Sevendor, however, needed the wood. Seventy acres of forest, if properly conserved, could provide a steady stream of timber and fuel to my domain. The Westwoodmen were already jealously guarding their forest, and while I was taking much of my tribute from my vassals in the form of lumber for construction, there was always a shortage. Seventy acres wasn’t an inexhaustible supply, but it would certainly add to my resources.

  Master Tobal, the headman, looked pleased but wary when I proposed increasing timbering operations – that would mean more money – but started to look troubled when I discussed other plans for the domain. Like rebuilding the tower into a respectable residence, properly fortifying it, and inspecting the meager armory.

  It didn’t take long. Four spears and two short swords, all rusty; a single damaged suit of ringmail and a rusted pot helmet. Tobal shook his head at my interest.

  “Begging your pardon, Magelord,” he mumbled, “but my folk aren’t warriors. We’re hunters.”

  “Do you hunt with pillows? You can use bows, can you not?”

  He sighed. “Aye, that we can. At need I can put twenty good archers in the field. I was hoping that would not be our fate, though.” The other men nodded, guiltily.

  “War will come to Sasthalia this spring,” I warned. “Sevendor will not be participating by design, but that does not mean that war will not come to us. I merely wish to provide your folk with a secure defense, not send them into battle. Raids, mistakes, moments of anger that can lead to disaster, all of these could lead to the need for a strong refuge and that,” I said, glancing at the rickety old tower, “isn’t it. I’ll rebuild it, and then provide you weapons and training to defend yourselves. Proper bows – Wilderlands bows,” I promised, “and some spears and such for basic defense. But I’m not marching anyone away from home.”

  That relieved Toban considerably, and the other elders. In truth, I didn’t want to use the Ameli as troops – I needed them as woodmen. The works at the castle, in town and around the ridges might be made of stone, but they required wooden scaffolding and fixtures – a lot of them. I needed good timbermen, not poor soldiers. But I also needed a reliable stronghold in this region, if I was going to take control of the six domains between here and Sevendor, and keep them. Not for troops, but for magic.

  As there was no sitting tenant lord to entertain us, we ate with the common folk in the gloomy old manor house. The fare was simple but well-prepared, and included some meat in our honor. The stew was good and hardy and thick with dried vegetables, the bread was edible, and the beans were quite tasty. It was a common meal of the common folk, and we enjoyed it.

  But what we discovered the Ameli did have a wealth of was musical talent, particularly stringed instruments. Between the six or seven families in the village there were several adept fiddlers and harpers who kept us entertained with their amazing skill all evening.

  Instead of retiring to the decrepit old tower, I instead summoned Pathfinder and then used it to summon my campaign tent from the Kasari March. It proved more snug and comfortable than the tower, and far more free of vermin. With magic to keep us warm and keep us from being overheard, Alya and I enjoyed a comfortably lust night together.

  I could tell she enjoyed being free of her responsibilities and I was happy to have her to myself, without further distractions around. It reminded me of our honeymoon, what I remember of it. We were able to close the tent, set the spells to keep us warm, and enjoy a time of insured privacy to indulge ourselves again.

  I’ve come to know Riverlords who view their marriages as contractual agreements, business arrangements, political alliances or exercises in legacy building. Sex was an afterthought, a means to an end . . . and the women they wedded understood that. Lady Estret, for example, understood her marriagability as a young propertied widow was a valued resource to her noble house, and her willingness to submit to the whims of Ifnia and Huin and place her virtue in the balance demonstrated this understanding. It was part of their duty to their class, for which they enjoyed privilege and wealth and security.

  It was also understood that where native affection was scant, after duty had been discharged to both parties’ satisfaction, where a lady sought distraction, or a gentleman relief from his cares, was considered a private matter as long as it was discreet. Lord and Lady exercised their marital prerogatives as needed— enough to satisfy Trygg’s holy ordinances – and then sated their human desires discreetly elsewhere.

  In a way, I pitied them. Alya and I were both from common stock, and our experience with marriage was far more personal. While castles saw young sons and daughters as assets to be exploited in sustaining and furthering their dynastic aims, the free peasants and the artisan classes were just as pragmatic in approach to their marital institutions as the gentry. We matched ourselves together in Trygg’s sight with a view toward a happy and complementary marriage, ending in a serene dotage surrounded by our prosperous heirs.

  To that end we tended to select our husbands and wives based first on our desires, before vetting our loves for suitability to our profession. Dad says he married my mother as much for her long, nimble fingers – an asset to kneading dough – as her eyes. It is only fair to mention that Mama disagrees strongly with this assessment. I’d tell you what she says hooked him, but filial discretion and abject embarrassment prohibit it. There are some things you just don’t want to know about your parents.

  For those curious how marriage works among the villeins, mostly it doesn’t. Infidelity is rampant, and marriage is usually the result either of pregnancy or a desperate attempt to escape a poor situation. Serfs could be directed who to marry by their lords, in some circumstances, and it was a common – and permanent – penalty for civil or criminal infractions.

  On ecclesiastic estates it could be mandated by the dictates of the clergy. Being suddenly assigned responsibility for some woman’s livelihood and debts and property had forced many a poor serf into accepting his lot in life in return for the scant comfort of a shrewish wife. On the other hand, it had also encouraged more than one lad to take to the frontiers, change his name and seek his fortunes elsewhere.

  With my marriage to Alya, it had been her character and intelligence as well as her beauty that had attracted me to her. I have had many a pretty maid, for money or sport, but the sincerity and intensity with which she had loved me, those first few times, outshown the glamour or youthful beauty of the other girls. Her wit and reason, as well as her warmth and character, had convinced me that we were, at the very least, kindred souls. Continuing the relationship during the Siege of Boval Castle had been convenient and pleasant, but it had been her character that had convinced me that she could become a good wife.

  I’ve been told, as callously as it sounds, that I have hampered my ambitions dramatically by wedding a poor ignorant Wilderlands girl from the farthest reaches of the Mindens, instead of waiting after my ennoblement to secure a fortunate alliance with a great house of one sort or another – Planus had certainly been in favor of me marrying Pentandra, I’d learned, for instance, as a means of securing power among the Magi of Castal and Remere.

  To be fair, that was before he knew Alya, whom he now adores, but his perspective is shared by many colleagues and fellow nobles.

  But I’m glad I stuck with my freeholder girl, in retrospect. While I could have reasonably abandoned her with the other Bovali refugees and gone on to fame and fortune without her, I know for a fact that my current position was owed to her, directly and indirectly, and I was a better man for it.

  While a good Riverlord wife would no doubt have helped me navigate the complex aristocratic social rules far better than Alya could, she would have been leading me. With Alya we were making mistakes together, breaking social rules together, learning how to be a Magelord and lady together.

  That was important. I didn’t feel judged by her for what I had done as baron, I felt admired. She didn’t have unrealistic expectations of me – mostly – when it came to our social roles, a
nd even Sire Cei had been forced to don the uncomfortable-looking neck ruff his lady wife had procured at great expense from Castabriel. It was the latest style, so naturally the Dragonlord had to adopt it first in the Riverlands.

  Alya let me wear what I damned well pleased, more or less, and didn’t see our social life as a constant game she had to win. She deferred to me and supported me as the first Magelord, and repeatedly reminded me that I set the style for our class, I was not bound by it. Just like a good freeholder wife would do for her husband.

  The reason I bring all of this up – and I’ll admit, most of it came from Pentandra’s explanation of marriage and sex to me, when I made the mistake of asking a simple question to an expert - was because the revelation that Alya had been attracted to me first to mitigate a potential professional fee was bothering me.

  I know it shouldn’t have, in the wake of horrible choices I’d made, but it niggled at me even while we were making love tenderly and passionately in my magical pavilion, on my heavily enchanted bed.

  “What attracted you to me, first?” I asked as we both lay in repose after the first frantic bout.

  She looked up from my chest and blinked. “Your eyes,” she said, instantly. “You have the most beautiful eyes . . .”

  “Yet that didn’t convince you to tumble me, that first time,” I pointed out.

  She giggled. “No! But they certainly captured my attention.”

  “So what did convince you? That first time?” I asked, innocently.

  She thought a moment, then got a wicked look in her eye. “Honestly? I was hoping that if I humped you there in the meadow, you’d perhaps overlook any fees for healing up Sagal that he couldn’t afford,” she admitted. “I felt terribly mercenary about it at the time, but I was also quivering from all of the excitement, so it was easier to convince myself that what I was doing was noble and selfless, not born out of need.”

  “You humped me . . . to get out of a fee . . . because that was more noble and selfless than admitting my eyes captivated you?” I asked in disbelief.

  She glanced away and considered the matter. “Essentially,” she agreed. “Look, you were young and handsome, much more appealing than old Garkesku. I’d already met you when you visited Hawk’s Reach, that time, and I knew your reputation was solid.”

  “I’d only been there six months,” I reminded. “I hadn’t really gotten started, yet.”

  “No doubt. But you have to appreciate the position of a young widow, back in Boval Vale. I had my . . . suitors, but mostly they weren’t looking for a trip to the temple. It’s often assumed that a widow is . . . available, and after my husband died I had plenty of casual offers to take solace in any number of arms. Any sign of promiscuity could have tarnished my reputation and turned the trickle of bold offers into a flood. The other women warned me about it, after the funeral. It had happened to others, through no fault of their own. Any pleasures I took, I was advised, would have to be with the utmost discretion.”

  I stared at her. “So how often did you exercise this discretion?”

  “Not often,” she giggled. “Oh, I flirted, if it could get me a better deal on our cheese at market. And there were a few proper suitors after the mourning period was over, and I entertained them as warmly as I could – but there wasn’t much interest, then.”

  “Then my beautiful eyes and enchanting charm came along . . .” I said, stretching out on the bed.

  “I told you, I was excited by the battle on the road,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I was grateful for your intervention and your healing of Sagal . . . but I was also worried at the cost. It seemed a natural conclusion to the day.”

  “If a little opportunistic,” I teased. So Briga had been correct. And my wife had been honest with me.

  Don’t ask me why that was suddenly important. I’ll admit to feeling a little crestfallen, hearing that she hadn’t been propelled toward me by Fate or True Love or something equally propitious, but at least she hadn’t tried to deny her motivations. Somehow that made me feel better.

  When I asked Pentandra (who else?) about this later, when we were exchanging gripes about our marriages, mind-to-mind, she patiently tried to explain to me that men often had unrealistic ideas about their wives because men tended to love idealistically, and assume that women love the same way. Women, on the other hand, assume that men love as opportunistically as they do, if they do not study the matter, and that can lead to jealousy and suspicion. Which was more or less exactly what Briga had told me.

  A husband’s ideal view of his wife is a dangerous trap, she explained. If it is deflated too abruptly, he loses respect for her and becomes bitter and cynical about his wife. She is, after all, just a woman, like all women. His willingness to expect some unreachable ideal from her almost always gets disappointed, and that leads to regrets and remorse, among other problems.

  I don’t think I had an unreachable ideal for Alya, I pointed out. I was pretty realistic about her.

  She was a widow, she pointed out. She had already had Trygg’s Rites once, and that took the pressure off, thankfully. Knowing you, that made her more appealing, I think. I’m not certain you were up for the responsibility of a virgin bride. But Min, she stressed, that’s beside the point. Sure, you had more realistic ideals for your wife when you married her, but they were still ideals. And you expected her to have similar ideals. When you found out that her motivations were . . . less pure, it wounded your pride.

  I just figured she loved me, I groused, not that she was trying to get out of a fee for service!

  And that wounded your pride, she repeated. You thought that she was overcome by your heroism and professionalism, indicating a deeper character that she could not help but find so admirable that her skirts just flew up on own accord out of respect for your powerful masculinity, she chided. Min, I know what I’m talking about, here. You’ve discovered that your wife acted like any other woman might have, and you’re starting to think that perhaps she isn’t as special as you once thought. I understand.

  You make me sound so petty . . .

  No, you’re just a man, like any other. What you need to come to terms with isn’t Alya’s failure to live up to your unrealistic ideals – well, that, too – but understand that, in her opportunistic pursuit of love, she has achieved her goals: a safe place for her family; healthy, beautiful children; and a devoted, adoring husband who just happens to be master of magic in the kingdom. Position, alliance, security, and she gets laid a lot more than most Riverlord wives. She loves opportunistically: she found an ideal opportunity, and she’s willing to do just about anything to protect it.

  But what about . . . love? I asked, feeling like a miserable twelve-year-old learning about the facts of life for the first time.

  Love is what grows after the eagerness of infatuation fades, if you are very, very lucky, she offered, thoughtfully, after a moment’s pause. Every woman’s idea of Happily Ever After is different, of course, but they almost all include a lasting passionate love. That is, indeed, an ideal, but that ideal is reached only by carefully and cautiously exploiting opportunities to ally ourselves with a man whose character and abilities can provide that. And in the course of that exercise, a woman can find herself justifying nearly any act or motive. A lot like how the military class justifies their conquests and endless private wars.

  Are you saying that Alya doesn’t really love me? That she just found me an ideal . . . conquest?

  Oh, you poor boy! Pentandra said, sorrowfully. You think your wife doesn’t really love you . . . when by all accounts your marriage is the envy of the Riverlands. Of course she loves you, you dolt! She loves you as deeply and passionately as any woman has loved a man. But despite the reams of epic poetry to the contrary, ‘love at first sight’ is infatuation that rarely works out. Real love only grows over time, as your mate proves their worth to your life and makes your happiness part of their concern. Does that sound like any baroness we know?

  And the sting of my wou
nded pride? I asked, still feeling a bit let down by the discussion.

  You’ll live, if you don’t let it get infected, she chuckled. You married a real woman, Min. She’s got faults and flaws and you’ll see more and more of them over the years. Don’t be an idiot and betray the genuine love she has cultivated for you, her husband and the father of her children, over the imagined slight to your ego, that she didn’t fall madly in love with you the first time she laid eyes on you. I’ll tell you what Ishi told me, recently.

  What was that?

  You’ve got a great thing going . . . try not to screw it up.

  *

  *

  The next morning I awoke to singing birds in the forest, and for a brief instant I thought I was back on the Wilderlands march. But then Alya rolled over and sprawled on my chest in her sleep, and I recalled our very pleasant evening together. Opportunistic or not, Pentandra was correct: I had a great thing going, and I very badly did not want to screw it up.

  My recent troubles had cast a shadow of doubt on my relationship, and for that I blamed both Isily and Ishi – but not Alya. She had earned my respect and admiration and had been worthy of my love from the start, even if her own motives weren’t as pure. Understanding a bit better about love, now, I could appreciate just how much she must have adored me to put up with my peculiarities.

  I woke her up and we made slow, sweet love that morning, as the manor bustled around us. With no way anyone could disturb us, nor any chance we’d be overheard, we indulged ourselves in ways that we probably would have thought better of, at home. But the novel surroundings and the distance from home seemed to possess her, and she responded to my advances with eagerness and inventiveness.

  Yes, it was good to be married to such a good wife.

  Afterwards we packed up, said our good-byes to our subjects, and promised more visits from the baronial capital in the future. As a parting gesture, I cut the minuscule money payment of tribute the domain was required to pay me in half, and commuted the rest to payments in magecut lumber and service: from now on, I required at least two Ameli minstrels to attend my court in Sevendor at all time, in three-month rotations, to be liveried at my board.