“But if you proceed under the arms of Amel Wood, as a simple domain lord, then Sashtalia cannot, technically, interfere in a private war between two domains. Not unless you spread the conflict beyond Rolone’s frontiers.”
“That’s actually not a bad plan,” Lorcus admitted, after everyone considered it in silence. “It’s not like you don’t have the men to run it for you,” he pointed out. “Send a few raiders into Rolone, make sure it’s understood that this is a private war, and then start taking the place apart from top to bottom,” he said, dreamily. “There are what, five castles in Rolone?”
“Three keeps, two fortified towers, and Rolone Castle. That’s nearly the size of Chepstan, and at the top of a great hill,” Sir Festaran offered. “About one thousand two hundred sixty-two men at arms, and three hundred knights, when fully garrisoned.”
“And most of that garrison is going to be pledged to the upcoming war,” reminded Dranus.
“Gods!” howled Lorcus. “If you can’t have fun with six near-empty castles, lads, you just aren’t trying hard enough!”
“Honestly, you’d only have to take a few,” Tyndal considered. “A long as one of them was Rolone Castle.”
“That’s a lot of castle,” Sir Festaran warned. “Even lightly manned, the defenses are formidable.”
“So were my first love’s,” boasted Lorcus, “but she bled all the same! Come, my friends, this will be fun! A bunch of sparks terrorizing the countryside, stealing folk blind and knocking things over? While all the knights are off serving their duty?”
“What, you think we can fight a war with just warmagi?” asked Master Cormoran, surprised.
“I don’t see why not,” Lorcus shrugged. “Warfare is a matter of power, not force. We need not cover the land in horseshit from our many glittering lances of knights, just because that’s how everyone else does it. A couple of sparks, some classy enchantment, some classic misdirection and a whole empty domain to conquer in a sanctioned conflict? It will be like legal banditry!”
“I really don’t want to commit any of my regular troops to this,” I conceded.
“Sire, is that really wise?” countered Dranus, suddenly. “A few punitive raids are in order, certainly, but to raise the level of conflict with magic and seeking to contend against the strongest fortifications in the land? That seems somewhat bold for the occasion. And unlikely to be successful,” he said, his eyes landing on Lorcus for an amused moment.
“Oh, would you like to wager I can’t do it, Dranus?” he asked, rising. “Rolone Castle might be big, but it isn’t invulnerable. Not to a good warmage. And I’m more than just a good warmage,” he challenged. “Name your stakes!”
“I’ll name them,” I said, suddenly. “Lorcus, I hereby appoint you provisional tenant Lord of Amel Wood. If you make good on your promise, I’ll make that appointment permanent.”
“What? Ishi’s sloppy twat, Min, I’m not a lord!” he scoffed. “I work for a living!”
“You are now,” I snickered, pleased at his sudden discomfort over what I was going to do. “Master Dranus, I believe you carry parchment, ink, and wax? I have my seal right here,” I said, patting my pouch. “Lord Lorcus of Amel Wood, your domain has been attacked and your honor challenged. What are you going to do about it?” I demanded.
I give Lorcus a lot of credit. While I half-expected him to crack an obscene joke, he vindicated my trust in him by closing his mouth, swallowing, and allowing a new aspect to come over him.
“You’re serious?” he asked in a near-whisper.
“I’ll have copies of the ennoblement and the writ of vassalage filed at Wilderhall tomorrow, back dated a week,” I decided.
“Oh, you are such a bastard!” he snarled at me.
“Lord Lorcus, your domain has been attacked,” I repeated. “What are you going to do about it?”
“I’m going to teach the bastards a lesson!” he said, with a bellicose glare. “Starting with that lad, there,” he said, pointing to Sir Ganulan. I had the disgraced knight brought into the tent where a nun from the abbey removed the quarrel from his gut. Master Cormoran oversaw the procedure, casting spells to aid healing and slow blood loss from the seeping wound.
“You aren’t planning on killing him in revenge, are you?” I asked, surprised.
“Oh, no,” Lord Lorcas assured me. “He’s going to be my guide. If he recovers.”
He’d recover, we were fairly certain, but Ganulan’s memory had been scrambled. Tyndal examined him, using some spells I’d never heard of, and eventually shook his head.
“He’s been addled, really, really well-addled,” he determined. “It’s not that has mind has been erased – there’s no physical damage – but he can’t string two memories together in a cohesive form. It’s not particularly subtle. The kind of thing you would do if, say, you had to leave someone behind, but didn’t want to kill them. Just keep them from talking. And it has a gurvani signature, too. At least I think so.”
“So he can’t confess who hired him,” frowned Lorcus.
“That doesn’t mean we can’t tell where he’s been,” Tyndal said. “I know a tracking spell . . .”
It took a little while, but Tyndal’s spell allowed him to determine just where Ganulan had been for the last month. The outlaw knight proved to have spent the majority of his time in southern Rolone, before suddenly making his way directly to Amel Wood. While that wasn’t quite as good as a confession, it was more than enough evidence to convince Lorcus – particularly when Taren reported from the road that he’d tracked the party back across the frontier with Rolone.
“What resources can I use?”
“Any mage who wants to help,” I promised. “Except Dara – she’s a Lady of Sevendor, and I don’t want her or the hawks involved. But anyone else you can convince. You pay them out of any loot you take.”
“And I can legally take any loot I can carry off in a time of war,” he nodded. “Oh, do I have to declare war, first, to make it legal?”
“It is customary to inform an opponent of your intention to go to war with him within two weeks of the start of hostilities,” Sir Festaran instructed. “Any longer than that is seen as dishonorable.”
“We wouldn’t want that, would we? And I suppose I’ll need banners and such. A device. Maybe a bloody hall or something. And we’ll need to make a few plans . . .”
“Will you attack at once?” asked Tyndal, eagerly.
“I think I’m going to get these folks settled, then study the matter for a day or two. Start collecting information. See where the weak points are, see who I’m going to need.”
“I could probably loan you a dozen men-at-arms who would be willing to take your device – whatever it is – quietly enough. Use them as guards and sentries, for now, but I want these folk to feel safe.”
“Oh, no one is going to trouble my people ever again,” Lorcas said, a mad look in his eye. “I’ll see to that. And as for my device, that’s simple: a red apple on a green field. With a bite out of one side,” he continued, happily. “But only half a worm.”
Chapter Twenty Two
Chepstan Fair
We let things lie for a few days at Amel Wood. It was mostly a practical consideration. With the responsibility for due vengeance delegated to Lord Lorcus and his band of warmagi, I had to maintain the polite fiction that I knew nothing of the raid while helping them prepare in secret. A
fter the civilians in the village were relocated to a summer logging camp in the southern part of the domain to take refuge, Rondal and Tyndal, with some help from Gareth and Lanse and some magical constructs, rebuilt the fallen tower into something that could withstand at least a limited attack. Not that it was likely that anyone would return to ruined Amel Village to sift through the ashes, but Lorcas said he felt stronger with at least a temporary tower under him.
The first twenty men-at-arms from Sevendor arrived, and while a few returned to the barony in a wain with the severely wounded, a dozen stayed on, sent the
ir snowflake cloaks back with their fellows, and donned the hastily-embroidered Half Worm device Lorcas had contrived.
That was where I left them, my official part in the war done. Unofficially, of course, I was still eager to help. But the best way I could do that, I realized, was going to the Fair.
It had been a couple of years since we’d been back to Chepstan for the Spring Fair; the last few years Sire Cei the Dragonslayer had represented Sevendor on our behalf. But this year I wanted to attend partially because it was one of the few places I was technically permitted to go on business, according to the Prince, and partially because it was an excellent place to gather political and military intelligence in advance of the war.
I kept the party small but grand. We left the children with the nurses and embarked on the journey with just our coach and two wagons for the servants and inevitable load of purchases we would return with. I didn’t bother with more than a half-dozen guards, and invited only a few of my yeomen to accompany me, encouraging them to travel lightly. Sagal came, along with Rollo and Jurlor. Sagal wanted to look at cattle stock, Rollo wanted to recruit a smith for Boval Village, and Jurlor just wanted to spend his money.
Usually at the Fair, the castle is quiet as a tomb and the fairgrounds are bustling; this year, it was the other way around. Chepstan Castle was gearing for war, and a steady stream of men and supplies moved back and forth out of its gatehouse like a line of ants.
The fair, meanwhile, was quite subdued from its usual gaiety. While there was no lack of street vendors and merchants, the crowds were significantly lighter, I noticed, as we pulled into the grounds and searched for our campsite. There was perhaps a third less folk here than usual, at this time of the fair. Many banners and encampments from the south were absent. Just about all the banners from Sashtalia were gone, of course – even though commerce between combatants was technically permitted during a state of war, it was rarely encouraged.
But it was the neutral parties’ participation that really had an effect; the usually large delegations from various domains in Bocaraton and Miseldor baronies were diminished, thanks to the threat of war, and the number of local domains in attendance was down as well. Even the Fairwardens looked discouraged as they wished us their best in enjoying the fair.
I didn’t mind the smaller crowds, and neither did Alya. We were both eager to mingle with someone outside of Sevendor, after our long but prosperous winter, and apart from the brief showers the weather was perfect for it. Smaller crowds also meant more competitive prices on some things.
Alya spent ferociously our first day, going through nearly eighty ounces of silver between two cloth merchants alone. I spent that first day going through a list of supplies Sir Festaran had prepared for us that the castle needed – nothing urgent, but I took the opportunity of lower prices to stock up on a lot of essentials I knew we’d need.
Lighter attendance also meant a more relaxed time between bargains. I’d brought along young Ruderal, to give him a little time out of the castle, and he dutifully followed me around all day, behaving like a proper apprentice should. Beyond the staples I’d purchased, I had a smaller list of supplies the Manufactory and our labs were running low on. I explained the use of each item to Ruderal as I purchased them, showing him how to inspect glass for quality, for instance, and explaining how acids and bases acted upon vessels of different material.
The lad was bright, and observant, but he had a habit of nervously looking around us while we were in public spaces, as if he was being followed. He was also still nervous about me, I could tell; but I was surprised how quickly he was able to adapt to my requests and directions. Far better than an ordinary eleven year old.
I was ordering a hundredweight of quicklime from an alchemist from Bocaraton when I realized why.
The big merchant was assuring me of the quality of the product, pointing out the superiority of his lime over the lime pit in Miseldor. I made some polite inquiries as to the difference, and why it justified the price – I’m not an alchemist – while Ruderal quietly stared at the man with his big gray eyes. I was about to conclude the deal when he finally stepped forward, brushed his hair out of his eyes, and spoke directly to the man.
“You don’t mind I we test a sample of yours against a sample from Miseldor before we pay you, do you, Master?” he asked, his brows slightly furrowed.
If I hadn’t been paying attention, I might have missed the minute manner in which the merchant’s eyes opened in surprise.
“Why, no, no, of course not, young master . . . but you let your elders dicker in peace, why don’t you?”
He immediately turned to me. “It wouldn’t be wise to pay more without testing it, Master,” he said, quietly, and then took a step back.
I glanced at the man and smiled. “Why don’t we indulge the lad? I’ll be back tomorrow with my order,” I pledged. While the merchant was agreeable, it was clear that wasn’t his preference. I didn’t need a spell to smell duplicity from a merchant.
“How did you know?” I asked, as we walked away.
“That he was cheating us?” Ruderal asked, surprised. “I saw his pattern. It shifted when he mentioned the difference in quality . . . like it was trying to hide something. It did it again when he mentioned Miseldor. I just figured if he was trying to hide something like that, he had a reason . . . and the simplest reason was that he was getting his lime from the same pit.”
I nodded, impressed. “Well observed. I almost envy your Talent. Can you always tell when people are lying?” I asked.
“Nah,” he dismissed, “it’s not that simple. I can’t exactly tell when their words are lying. But I can tell if they’re trying to hide something, or don’t want you to ask them about something.”
“That could be quite handy,” I smiled. “Tell me, what are the four greater elements?”
“Earth, Air, Fire, Water,” he recited.
“And they correspond with which phase states?” I asked.
“Solid, Gas, Plasma, and Liquid,” he recited, just as quickly.
“And they represent which aspects of the self?” I prompted.
“Body, Mind, Spirit, Emotions,” he nodded, decisively.
And which of the Lesser Elements best represents them?”
“Carbon, Oxygen, Nitrogen, and . . . Hydrogen?”
“Exactly,” I sighed. “Very good, Ruderal. Dranus has spoken well of your progress in your lessons. Tell me, are you enjoying them?”
He considered. “Reading is hard, but the other stuff he teaches me is interesting. It explains a lot,” he decided.
“And are you enjoying your apprenticeship, thus far?”
He shrugged again. “I dunno. It’s only been a few weeks. But I get a lot to eat,” he said, brightly. “That’s worth studying and doing chores.”
I hesitated to think what kind of life he’d had, that a kid of eleven would respond that way. From his skinny frame and his knife-sharp cheekbones, I could imagine good meals had been few and far between. I glanced at his bare feet. Then up to his trousers, some overlarge cast-offs Sagal had found, under an old tunic and jerkin of faded black. There were enough worn spots and patches in the cloth to make him look a bit like a vagabond, and if his hair had seen scissors in his life, it had been running from them at the time.
“Let’s go transform you into areal apprentice, then,” I decided. “We can get the rest of this later.”
“Where are we going?”
“Where are we going . . . ‘Master’. And first we’re going to the barber. Then the tailor. And lastly the shoemaker. Perhaps a few other places.”
He looked down guiltily at his clothes. “Sorry! Master!” he added.
“It’s not your fault, lad,” I soothed. “You just arrived with nothing but what you came in. And Sagal’s household, as pleasant as it is, is a rustic one. He wasn’t really prepared for you. But now that we’ve settled that you’re my apprentice, you should look the part. You are the apprentice of the Magelord of Sevendor
, after all,” I reminded him.
We embarked on two hours of furious shopping, then, stopping only long enough for the fair’s barber (an apprentice making some money on the side) to use his shears to trim the boy’s hair, much to his dismay, and wash his face thoroughly. At the tailor we procured a new tunic in green, a brown leather jack lined with rabbit fur, and two new pairs of trousers. The hosier provided four pairs of stockings, and the shoemaker fitted him for both slippers and boots before loaning him a pair of slightly-large shoes until his were completed.
“Master . . . it’s so much!” the boy said, as he picked up the parcels. “This must have cost a fortune!”
“Money is not your concern, now,” I pointed out. “As my apprentice, I’m responsible for your expenses. Your job is to learn and to serve. To hear and obey. To listen and to perform as directed. And always with proper deference and respect,” I warned.
“S-sorry, Master!” he apologized.
“Don’t be – I don’t get upset if you don’t know. You’re smart, but you are ignorant. Until that is corrected a bit, you should stick closely to me, stay quiet, and do as I bid. That is the proper place of a mage’s apprentice, in public. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Master!” he said, with a mixture of delight and dismay. “Just tell me what to do, and I’ll do it!”
We spent the rest of the afternoon walking from booth to booth, inspecting wares and talking. I liked the kid – he was only seemed rude because of his background. But I only had to tell him something once, and he had it – something neither Rondal’s nor Tyndal’s apprenticeships could boast. Both had been pretty bad about remembering things for the first few years.
I felt indulgent with the kid. Minalyan was just speaking in full sentences, the promise of fascinating and infuriating conversations still a year or so ahead, and I’d spent several months last summer in the middle of a couple of thousand children. Perhaps I was feeling . . . protective? I wasn’t certain, and I wasn’t eager to examine the feeling too carefully. All I knew was that the frustrated feelings of dread and anger that haunted me since that fateful night in the Snowflake Chamber seemed to fade while I was introducing Ruderal to his new life.
Enchanter (Book 7) Page 37
