“Then best they are allies, and not foes,” I agreed. “How go your preparations, otherwise?” I asked.
Asking a baron in the middle of a war of conquest about his troops is a bit like asking a veteran Tal gardener about onions. You’re just being polite, but they take it as an invitation to expound upon their wisdom and experience. For the next ten minutes I heard every vagary of military command Arathanial had experienced as he gathered his troops.
Once you filtered through all of the hyperbole, he was experiencing, more or less, the same issues of discipline, supply, administration and organization as every military commander did. He had about sixty lances gathered (about three thousand men) from his vassals, and more coming in all the time. The thousand-strong company of mercenary archers he’d hired had arrived, and were preparing for march. In another two weeks he’d have six thousand or more troops to lead south to Sashtalia. A week after that, they’d depart.
Morale, at least, was high, he reported, largely thanks to my castellan.
“Sire Cei wields that hammer like a scalpel,” Arathanial assured me. “And he’s as adept with lance and sword as any knight in my service. He’s been crushing rocks and trees with his hammer and everyone cheers. It isn’t hard to predict victory with such stalwarts on our side!” That was good to hear. Sire Cei valued his reputation as a warrior. And it couldn’t help my good relations with Arathanial to have him as our mutual vassal.
Having repaired my relationship with Arathanial, I turned my attention back to the wonders of enchantment that my colleagues were continuing to construct.
With war in mind, Taren took a break from building his impressive spear and assisted me and a few others with building some basic warstaves.
Well, basic might be understating it.
These were tools of defense, mid-grade weirwood staves with a few dozen spells that a man defending a wall or a castle tower might find handy. They weren’t nearly as lethal as, say, Blizzard, but in the hands of even a half-competent warmage they would work magnificently for defense. Basic combat spells, basic deflection spells, some camouflage, some offensive magic – a lot of offensive magic – as well as some non-lethal enchantments that might come in handy the next time someone threw a riot.
We had Gareth test the prototype. It was designed to be non-lethal, because actually killing a man in a siege isn’t nearly as effective as incapacitating him and making him a medical burden for your foes so under Taren’s advice we kept almost all of the offensive enchantments non-lethal – but really nasty. Gareth has had some training in warmagic, but he was a thaumaturge first and foremost . . . largely because his frame and stature was just not adequate for combat.
But when he had one of our staves in hand, even without his witchstone, he was able to defend the top of our unfinished new gatehouse with one from four attackers simultaneously. We spent four days that rainy spring honing the weapons.
Gareth would be given a point to defend, and then we’d run a bunch of the castle squires at him with wooden swords. Sire Cei and the other knights had been collecting them – every baronial castle had a cadre of eager young men desperately wishing to prove their valor, and it seemed like a waste not to give them the opportunity. By the second day they weren’t so eager. Gareth might not have been a functional warmage, but he was able to use the guard staves as adeptly as a baculus. The squires would charge, he would use the staff, they’d fall down moaning and clutching. Then he, Taren, me, and whomever else was wandering by would discuss refinements and then build another one.
Our fourth iteration seemed the best for our purpose, it turned out, and it became the pattern for what became known as the Sevendor Standard Sentry Staff. When we were done, the enchantment included simple detection and augmentation spells, several enchantments for stunning, blinding, deafening, distracting, and the like, and a couple of straight-forward lethal spells for dire emergencies.
We didn’t test the lethal spells, of course. By the fourth day of being stunned, blinded, scoured, scourged, vomiting and soiling their armor, our poor squires had had enough. But as irritated as they were, none were so discouraged as to volunteer to test one of the lethal spells.
The Sentry Staff would have been one of the most powerful enchantments created since the Magocracy . . . five years ago. Now it was a minor afterthought, a fulfillment of a desire for security that was necessary, but hardly pressing.
Thanks to what I had accomplished in Sevendor, such enchantments were more toys than weapons, compared to the powerful weapons we were creating now. Once we were done refining the enchantment I turned the prototype over to the Manufactory and ordered a hundred to distribute to various strongholds around the barony.
That was becoming a more pressing issues, as the days after Duin’s Day came and the vales went from muddy and barren to muddy and green. Despite the rain, field reports told of Sashtalia gathering its armed might as Sendaria did likewise.
When Sashtali heralds trying to summon the mountain lords to their banners were turned back at the frontier by soldiers wearing the Snowflake, it wasn’t just the Lord of Rolone who was complaining. There were plenty of smallholding knights and minor vassals of Sashtalia who were going to bear the brunt of Sendaria’s violence, now that their hill lord colleagues weren’t going to be there, and they didn’t like that at all.
I was concerned, of course; but as long as Sendaria had an army in the field, I was reasonably certain Sashtalia would not violate my dictate. Just to be certain, I had small parties of reinforcements encamp in the new domains, under my banner, to lend a visible sign of support and defense to my new vassals.
Twice they stopped anemic frontier raids against my people, thanks to the warmagi I sent along. But after the first few weeks of spring, the raids stopped as Sashtalia focused on the impending threat to the north. We were an irritant, not a threat. Sire Trefalan may not have liked what I had done, but he was not in a position to contest it.
It would be weeks, yet, before actual hostilities got underway. Back in my mercenary days these kinds of private wars had been my bread and butter, and I had a pretty good professional opinion of how it would play out. Both parties would gather their forces for the next few weeks, as the roads dried enough for large wains to transport the gear of war without getting mired, then another few weeks of organization and “training” – essentially drilling peasant conscripts in basic warfare while the nobility sat around and drank and compared their armor and horses.
It would be nearly summer before the first raids went forth and the columns marched. That’s a long time to keep an army in the field – which makes these wars expensive – but Arathanial had enough resources to do it.
The lengthy preparation did give me time to take a break from enchantment and politics and conduct a much-needed traditional tour of my eastern domains.
According to Sir Festaran, my acting castellan, that was something I needed to do a lot more of, now that I was a baron. Lords who let their vassals go without oversight risked rebellion and disloyalty, the young Riverlord lectured me politely. The unexpected arrival of a liege lord was essentially a surprise inspection of the readiness of the keep, for hospitality or war. An adept lord would be ready to feast or defend his liege, should he suddenly appear, and sustain the maintenance of his traveling household for at least a few weeks.
“That is, confidentially, a common means of keeping the ambitions of vassals in check,” the knight informed me at the High Table over breakfast one spring morning. “By forcing them to expend their capital on sustaining your presence, it keeps them from accumulating wealth that can be used to extend their own ambitions – possibly in rebellion,” he offered, almost apologetically.
He didn’t have to tell me how that could happen. I was aware of the reputations of several lords who kept relations with their vassals under control by literally eating them into poverty. A large retinue consumed a lot of victuals, and a hosting lord was obligated by feudal oath to pay for it all. A few we
eks of such “hospitality” could impoverish a vassal out of any thoughts of rebellion.
“Do you feel any of my domains are at risk for that?”
He looked scandalized, his freckled face shocked at the idea.
“Excellency, none of your vassals would dream of it! They all saw how you dealt with Railan the Steady and his traitors, after the Warbird’s fall. Execution by magic without even the expediency of a headsman? That was a powerful statement,” he assured me. “And he was a villain. What more spectacular death would you grant a noble in rebellion?”
I really hadn’t thought of it that way. “If they are loyal, then, what is the purpose of the inspection?”
“To demonstrate your power, for one thing,” he pointed out. “Knowing you have a powerful liege who has avoided tyrancy is a blessing from the gods – but more so a powerful liege who arrives bearing gifts and arms to sustain you. Especially in a time of war, when loyalties are uncertain, such a visit adds tremendous spiritual security to your vassal.”
“I suppose it would keep them honest,” I considered. “And it’s not like I haven’t been sitting around enchanting chamberpots and kettles all winter for nothing. Besides, that would give me an opportunity to oversee the magical infrastructure Dranus has been building. And distribute some of the Sentry Staves, as well as install some warmagi in strategic places,” I decided.
“Exactly, Excellency,” Sir Festaran approved. “It’s a visible display of power and authority, and one that your vassals will come to love you for – as long as it does not become burdensome.”
“Then prepare a party,” I decided. No more than twenty men-at-arms, and assemble whatever warmagi are hanging around, looking for work. Inform Dranus that I’d like him to attend me, as well as yourself.”
“I’d be honored, Magelord,” the loyal young knight assured me. “Shall I have Dara accompany you as well?” he asked eagerly – a little too eagerly. Whatever problems Alya and my teasing had sown between the two young people had not dampened Sir Festaran’s enthusiasm for her company. But I wanted the young man focused on my business, not impressing a girl.
“No, I think the Hawklady needs to focus on bringing her new clutch to nest,” I pointed out. Frightful had finally mated, and the makeshift mews that Dara was using in the Westwood was the focus of her energies right now. Nor was she the only bird with new eggs to hatch: one of Dara’s early “failures” in the program to grow transgenically enchanted giant hawks and falcons had been a trio of birds who had escaped their jesses and refused to return to their falconer.
It happened, I was told; there was always a risk for any bird in training to return to the wild and go feral, though they rarely integrated well with their wild brethren. These three birds – a male and two females – had taken to a nest on the far side of the nearly-impassable central ridge just beyond my official territory. But what was interesting was that the two females had escaped captivity after their transformations – their nests were the size of wagons, and their wingspans were thirty feet or more.
The male, on the other hand, had been the first to escape, and was from a much earlier phase in the program. His wingspan was merely double the size of his transformed mates. But apparently to Mindens Raptors size didn’t matter – both females were laying on clutches of eggs the size of cabbages.
Dara was as excited about those birds as she was about the new crop of trained birds she was nurturing – and the new crop of skyriders she was trying to get trained. She had presented nine new candidates for training at the Spring Court, and they were all working on the basics in the barracks she’d had built for the purpose in the Westwood.
But whichever way you looked at her schedule, hauling her away from her work so she could enjoy a few days of Sir Festaran’s attention just didn’t seem like in anyone’s interest.
“Besides, this is a military mission, and an administrative one,” I reminded him. “But you’re right. Having an apprentice along would certainly be instructional. Have Dranus prepare Ruderal for an excursion of a few days. It’s time I got to know the lad who would be my apprentice.”
*
*
I think Alya was glad to see me get out of the castle for a few days. The rain was starting to get oppressive, after such a harsh winter, and I was haunting our hall and playing with the children so often in between enchantment sessions that I think I started to irritate her. She finally gave me the look that I’d come to interpret as “Min, I love you, but I need to miss you more.” So when I told her about the tour, she was enthusiastic.
“In fact,” she continued, after I’d outlined a rough itinerary, “you can use the opportunity to escort Sister Bemia’s representatives to the domains,” she offered. “She’s been trying to make contact with each of the castle chaplains to develop that Sevendori ecumenical council she’s so fond of. With the inclusion of the Abbey, the new temples, and Landfather Merton’s estate on our frontiers, now, she thinks that stronger ties amongst the clergy will help consolidate our power, here.”
“Well, I’m already overseeing the arcane infrastructure, I suppose I can assist the spiritual, as well,” I grumbled. I’d been looking forward to a relatively rugged excursion with my knights and men-at-arms, not a ladies’ pilgrimage. But a Magelord has to do what a Magelord has to do. “Who is this representative I’m escorting?”
“Oh, she picked a monk who was going that direction, anyway,” she said, absently. “He showed up a couple of days ago, got an audience with her at lauds, and agreed to help out. You know him – Brother Hotfoot, from the Kasari March?”
I was surprised, and it took a moment for me to respond. “Oh, yes. Excellent fellow. That won’t be so bad, then.”
In fact, it would be quite helpful . . . “Brother Hotfoot” was, in actuality, the earthly incarnation of the minor God of Travelers, Herus. That was only known to me, the goddess Briga, and one very irritated high priestess in Wilderhall, but it was significant. If Hotfoot had appeared, then there was likely more to it than a pleasant spring journey through the countryside.
Or maybe it was . . . the gods are a capricious lot, as I’d discovered.
Two days later we were ready to depart.
Sir Festaran led the company, at the head of four of our household knights currently assigned to the castle and sixteen mounted men-at-arms from our garrison. Six warmagi came along, too. There were always several haunting Sevendor Town, either honing their skills, waiting for work, or spending their loot, but all were tacitly awaiting an opportunity to gain a witchstone from me and make their fortunes.
Since the King had curtailed the official High Warmagi program after the treaty with the gurvani, I hadn’t gotten a new candidate from Relan Cor in over six months. Unofficially, that was because the Royal House was getting nervous about the great number of such magi running around, I knew, but that didn’t curtail the desire of my colleagues from the allure of that power. Plenty of them had wintered in Sevendor, occasionally taking a turn in the Manufactory or working on their own skills and waiting for something interesting to happen.
The six I had selected to hire were all eager to take my colors, particularly during a time of local instability. If nothing else, being able to brag about that appointment would assure their employment afterwards. And there was always the possibility that I would quietly raise them, if I was impressed enough and found them worthy, with one of the secret cache of witchstones I had in my mountain.
They were all veterans, of course. Three had been on the Farisian campaign, and four had been with us as Cambrian, and one – Master Camulus, a Narasi with a Remerean name – had gone all the way up the frozen Poros with us, and lived to tell the story. I had selected not based on their specialties (all warmagi specialize in one element of the art or the other by necessity) but because they were demonstrably competent in a general range of warmagic.
They could, with more or less equal facility, lay the enchantments needed to strengthen a fortification, cast wards
needed to screen for foes, do minor magical healing, interrogation, and scrying. And each of them was personally combat-ready, as I attested in a string of practice bouts in the yard that proved it had been far too long since I’d picked up a mageblade.
They were all willing to sell their loyalty to the Spellmonger, in return for my equipage, a lucrative posting, and my patronage. Each would act, in addition to being my military representative, as a court wizard for my vassals, at my expense. Any reasonably normal request by their lords would be entertained.
That, alone, was a huge boon for my vassals. Court wizards are expensive, as are warmagi. Each of my men would be in residence at the cost of livery (usually only a half-ounce of silver a week) plus a stipend of ten ounces of silver a week, paid into their accounts at the Temple of Ifnia. They received green woolen tabards, distinctive from the surcoats of the knights around them, each with a big white snowflake on the breast.
It didn’t take long for the chuckles to begin about the Spellmonger issuing uniforms that served to make his warmagi targets.
But they got more than new clothes, before we departed. Each received and was briefly trained in using some of the more-dangerous Sentry Staves. I’d even given Sir Festaran his own custom staff, though he was just barely a mage knight, which Gareth had prepared to take advantage of his unique Talent for estimation and apply it to warfare. While he still preferred his trusty non-magical cavalry blade, after learning how to use the mage’s weapon in combat, he proudly displayed the staff in his lance holster instead of the more traditional weapon.
“I will call it Vigilance, for ever shall it guar my honor,” he declared, after besting four squires with it at practice. “Using it I can estimate an attack to the finest detail, and respond accordingly. A magnificent gift, Excellency!”
Enchanter (Book 7) Page 31
