“But they honor the spirit of the slain Great Ones of their past. And,” he added, his eyes twinkling in the firelight, “they are not going to be certain how to take the news that a thumb-fingered humani mage who’s consorting dangerously with the gods has in his ignorance taken one of the most revered and complex organisms ever to arise on this world and stuff it into a really pretty crystal decanter in his cellar. That’s going to be an interesting conversation.”
“They are already aware of the snowstone,” Briga said, shaking her head in irritation. “They’ve done nothing, yet. I doubt they will stir themselves over this.”
“And you’re a goddess of wisdom?” snorted Herus. “Cousin, please use some: we both know how the Sea Folk feel about their ancestors. More pious than most of these savages feel about us. They are not going to ignore it. Particularly if this idiot continues establishing the connections that will allow it to eventually awaken. Then we’ll be ready for a party!”
“You really do enjoy dancing on the edge of ruin, don’t you?” Briga chided her divine cousin.
“We’ve been doing that since we arrived here! You know it’s a miracle – a long, hard series of miracles – that humanity is even alive today, much less capable of speech, simple civilization, and barely passable roads. Once the Sea Folk are involved again, we’re probably extinct, anyway. So why not enjoy the decline?”
“Because we are not going to let that happen!” Briga said, stubbornly. “We have a duty. Now Minalan does, too.”
“Hey, you were the one who convinced me to make the damn thing in the first place. I needed a fulcrum. You inspired me, when I was raving out of my head. So this is your fault.”
“Mine?” Briga demanded, surprised. “And did I inspire to imbue it with one of the Ancient Ones of Callidore?”
“You see any other goddesses of inspiration sitting around the campfire?” I shot back. “We’re all complicit in this. And yes, I am acting from ignorance. But damn it, I’m acting! Even now, when I’m supposed to be sleeping, I’m acting. I may not get it right, and I may invite ruin and catastrophe, but at least I’m doing something!”
“So are we,” Herus said, thoughtfully. “Quite a lot, actually. With our newfound continuity we can be a lot more active than we once were. Which is why I knew to search the Land of Scars until I found out about Korbal. And how Briga was able to . . . do whatever it is she’s been doing.”
“Hey! I’m coordinating the effort!” she protested.
“Which keeps me on my feet and you on your arse,” he pointed out. “And what about Ishi?”
“I’ve dealt with her . . . for now,” Briga said, sullenly. I had a feeling she was overstating the situation. So did Herus.
“I’m sure you did! Please, you’re as intimidated by her as I am! She makes you feel like the too-smart girl in the back row of the temple, doesn’t she?”
“And I’m sure she makes you feel like the repugnant—“
“Enough!” I shouted, forcing a brief silence. “This is not helping. Right now my wife is raising an army out of thin air to go lay siege to a former lover of mine, who happens to be working for this new dark lord. It would be nice to know if the gods thought this was a good idea or not! Now can you give me a straight answer on that, or do I have to go sacrifice a goat or something?”
“All right, all right,” Herus said, grinning. “I love it when they get spirited! Your issues with Isily have, indeed, come to a head. Because while you were distributing your treatise to your colleagues and then defending your home from housebreakers, she not only had your son, she did it in an attempt to recreate the snowstone spell. She was unsuccessful.”
“She didn’t ask for my help,” Briga sniffed.
“Would you have given it to her if he had?” I asked, curious.
“No, she’s never been a worshipper of mine. She’s dedicated to that sneaky, creepy little bat, Sigodnos, when she has a thought for us at all.” Sigodnos was an old Wenshari god of night and shadows, I recalled, popular in the late Magocracy, during Wenshar’s period of urbanization during the decline of the empire. I didn’t know much about him, but it seemed fitting.
“Then she failed,” I pointed out. “All that work and effort to re-create snowstone, and she failed. Not only that, she’s failed to capture the Alaran Stone, which apparently Korbal covets. She’s sitting there with a new baby, a crappy husband, an angry boss, and nothing to show for all of that effort!”
“Oh, I didn’t say that she didn’t have anything to show for it,” Herus said, casually, as he sipped from his everfull flask. “I just said that the snowstone experiment wasn’t successful. In fact, the birth of your son did produce an effect, just not a snowstone effect. That irritating twit Dunselen has been working on the theory for years, now, and after you so kindly gave Isily exactly the information he needed – all save the divine component – he’s been able to work out at least the bare bones of natal transformational magic.”
“Natal transformational magic?”
“Babies,” Briga supplied. “He’s found a way to utilize the natural magical release of a baby at birth, augment the energy and transform it to produce some effects. Not the snowstone he was looking for, but he’s made some advances.”
“He’s used my child as a thaumaturgical experiment?” I asked, appalled.
“One of several, actually,” Herus agreed. “He’s just the latest. Isily has been finding young girls with Talent for a while, now – even before they were married – and getting Dunselen to get them pregnant so that he could make some trial runs. While most of those were disappointing, professionally, they did allow him to figure out some basic premises for continued experimentation. The details elude me,” he said, waving them away, “but he’s mastered the basic concepts. The last two experiments were successful enough to produce some fascinating effects, or so he told a fellow on the road.”
“And he’s had enough candles and crucibles burning that I’ve witnessed . . . a lot that a goddess really shouldn’t have to. He’s delivered six children, now. Four have lived. Of those, the last three did produce an effect, when he cast his spell during the delivery. It only had an area of a few hundred feet, and the effect was different each time. But he’s making progress. And he has two more mothers in a tower on one of his estates, ready to begin the next phase.”
“Just how many has he done in total?” I asked, truly disgusted as a father.
“He’s been toying with the idea since he got his witchstone,” Briga revealed, “but it wasn’t until he learned about snowstone that he became a little obsessed. Once he met Isily, and she was able to persuade him that the key to power lay in recreating your spell, he went to it with purpose.”
“How much purpose?” I asked, fearing the answer.
“Oh, Dunny’s got at least thirteen, fourteen little bastards running around Greenflower,” chuckled Herus. “Almost all of them will have Talent. The man might be a human wart, but he’s virile, and he’s got a decent amount of rajira. He also had ambition. He encouraged his warmagi retainers to . . . breed freely with his subjects. There were quite a few of them who approached the invitation with enthusiasm. There might be as many as fifty of them, running around Greenflower and environs.”
“It was disgusting,” Briga said, wrinkling her nose. “If you’re looking for the gods’ judgement on them, Min, there’s plenty to be judged. No one will object if you take action.”
“Wait, I thought I was prohibited from interfering with Isily, because of the child?” I asked, confused. “That’s what Ishi told me.”
“She’s not exactly the best goddess to rely upon for forthright discussion,” Herus pointed out. “Although she could have been correct about that. You and Isily have . . . entanglements,” he said, searching for a word. “Your fates are entwined. For you to attack the pregnant mother of your child, you would have invoked some pretty stark repercussions. But . . . kid’s born, now,” he shrugged. “From what I can tell, now that he’s h
ere she’s no longer quite as important as she was. Or something like that.”
“Where are you getting your information from?” Briga demanded.
“I get around a lot!” Herus answered, defensively. “And I’m known for my keen sense of discretion, so people talk to me.
“But this isn’t just speculation. I went to one of the few who could tell me. Minalan’s son needed to be born, successfully, or a lot of bad things might have happened. But he’s here, now. He might be a helpless baby, but he’s here.”
“Which means . . . ?” I asked, knowing that the key to good divine communications was clarity.
“Which means that Isily is no longer protected,” Briga sighed. “She’s now responsible only for herself. And that means that Alya is free to instruct her in the importance of respecting the sacred bonds of marriage, with my divine assistance. Good and hard,” she said, with emphasis.
Chapter Thirty Nine
Under The Mask
I slept for hours – all afternoon, all night, and into late morning. Thankfully the gods didn’t use my head for a conference room the entire time. When I finally awoke, I felt far more refreshed and ready to face . . . then I remembered what I had to face.
The chamber was empty, only a few Tal scurrying around at their chores, the children off with their nurse somewhere. After splashing some water on my face and using the privy, I wandered down to the hall and managed to grab a bun from the cook before it got back to the pantry. I was quite hungry. That’s when my page found me.
“Excellency, at your convenience the Baroness would like the pleasure of your consultation on an important matter of state,” he said, formally, as he bowed.
“Where might I find her?” I asked, impressed with his presentation.
“She is currently in Lord Mayor Banamor’s hall, in town,” he supplied. “Along with a goodly number of visitors.”
“That was fast,” I sniffed. “Please return to her and let her know I’ve awoken, broken my fast, and I will be joining her shortly.” The lad bowed and took off with determined purpose. I grabbed a couple of sausages from the kitchen and then went back upstairs to change. I wasn’t exactly certain where we were going or what we were doing, but I figured more durable clothing than my robes would be appropriate.
I didn’t make it down to Banamor’s for an hour, choosing to walk the distance to settle my head, get some fresh air, and enjoy the summer afternoon. The gods alone knew what tomorrow would bring. Actually, from what they’d told me in my dreams, they were pretty uncertain about the outcome of events. That didn’t make me feel much better.
But the sunshine, the sight of the town, the giant hawks overhead, and the splendid view of my vale in summer, did. Now that I had told Alya, a great weight had lifted from me. I might be going to my death, but I was no longer doing so bearing that burden. That was worth something.
I got to Banamor’s in the late afternoon, as the shops began to close for the day. His warehouse smelled strongly of hundreds of herbs and woods and soils and all manner of strangeness that was in demand by magi. I went upstairs to his spacious apartments. Sir Festaran was waiting at the top for me.
“Ah, Excellency, at last! We can finally begin.”
“Sorry, I—”
“No need to apologize, Sire. I figured you would need about fourteen hours and ten minutes of sleep to restore yourself, after your busy time. You’re actually eighteen minutes early.”
“Outstanding. Who all is here?”
“See for yourself,” he said, cheerfully, leading me up the rest of the stairs.
There were actually quite a few people there. Banamor, of course, was playing host and ensuring everyone had drinks; that is, he was overseeing his servants serving us all. But Gareth was there, as well as Dara, Master Olmeg, and Zagor. Azhguri, his grandson Guri, and Onranion all sat on cushions around a low table. I was very surprised to see a contingent of Alshari warmagi present. Tyndal and Rondal were both there, but so were Bendonal, Sandoval, and Landrick. Pentandra sat in their midst, holding her pretty baculus like a scepter.
Then there were the enchanters. Master Cormoran had returned from Tudry, and was sitting with Lanse of Bune, Andalnam, and his daughter Rael. Master Ulin stood quietly in the back, while Lorcus told some improbably story about the daughter of a burgher in Rolone Town to Dranus.
Over it all, Alya presided like the baroness she was. When she looked up at me, there was an instant where I didn’t know what she was thinking. But then she smiled and waved me over with a kiss. That made me feel better. I was still uncertain about the personal repercussions of my admissions, but it appeared as if my wife was willing to discuss them later. After the evil sorceress was dealt with.
“Thank goodness you’re awake,” she murmured into my ear. “I don’t know how much longer I can stand all this. But they’re here to help. You just sit down and be quiet, and you’ll understand everything, eventually.”
I considered a snappy retort, but wisely decided to keep quiet. She had clearly put a lot of work into this, while I was asleep. I sat down.
“Now that Minalan has joined us, we can begin,” she said, simply, an authoritarian tone in her voice. “For reasons that are too complicated to reveal right now, it has come to the Spellmonger’s attention that there exists a potential threat to the Arcane Orders and an appalling misuse of magic by one of its members.
“More particularly, this member – Baroness Isily of Greenflower, late of the Royal Court – has embarked on a series of misdeeds, including consorting with enemies of the crown, that require the Order to take action.” There was a murmur of understanding from the crowd. Most knew, one way or another, of Isily’s past. And all knew about Dunselen.
“Because of the nature of the offenses,” Alya continued, fixing several of the magi attending by eye as she spoke, “it would not be proper to discuss the details in this place. But if any of you doubt the seriousness of the crime then you are free to leave now, without prejudice.”
No one left.
“Good. Now, it is understood that Isily and Dunselen are ensconced with their retainers at a small castle somewhere within his barony, where Isily was recently delivered of a baby. Do not,” she said, with special emphasis, “allow yourselves to think that she isn’t somehow just as dangerous because of that. She has been working with renegade Alka Alon, she has a cadre of warmagi and other soldiers guarding her, and the fact is we know almost nothing about what we’ll face once we get there.
“But there are a few other details to work out, before we even get to that part. As you are all the finest magical and strategic minds in the kingdom, I figured you would be best prepared to plan this excursion. Now, let’s begin . . .”
The discussion went on for hours and hours. Everyone there seemed to have an opinion, a plan, a scheme, or a perspective that changed how we approached the strike. For strike it would be. I realized that Alya had been exactly right. Isily had consorted with enemies of the realm, which was treason. If her crimes against me were sufficient reason to move me to action, then that, at least, had compelled those wiser than me to realize it.
As our discussion went on I realized how others saw the situation. Isily had crossed a line, when she had dealt with the Enshadowed, and crossed another one when she went into league with Lady Mask. Now she had imperiled the security of Castalshar with her schemes. As a member of the Royal Court I had a legal obligation to intervene. There was, as Alya had realized, far more to this conspiracy than either simple revenge or simple gain. I had just been so blinded by the personal dimension that I couldn’t see beyond that. My wife had.
The plan developed wasn’t perfect, and there were several places where it could go horribly wrong. There was simply too much we were ignorant of, and that couldn’t be helped. Sometimes, I reflected, you have to take a few risks if you want to strike before your foes know what’s happening.
By the time we were done talking, we were committed. It reminded me of the thaumatur
gical term, volens, when an enchanter commits to a risky course of action. You may have mitigated the risk, but despite it you were no less committed to following it through to the end, once you have begun. That’s what we were doing here.
When at last no one had anything else to say or suggest, and everyone was more or less certain of their role, we broke for supper. It was early evening, and we were all getting hungry. As we were planning a dawn excursion, it seemed proper to have a meal together before we left. Banamor had wisely had the entirety of the Alembic cleared for the occasion, and had food imported from the inn across the street.
I barely remember eating. I was too busy thanking everyone for their assistance, and learning about the abortive goblin attack in Alshar.
“They were organized and coordinated,” Pentandra reported, over wine. “Fourteen or fifteen different sorties, all launched at once against various undefended targets. They mostly avoided castles, although two of your pele towers and an Iron Band outpost got hit. They all survived, though the Band’s compound is ruined, now. Everything else was village, cot and freehold.”
“It doesn’t sound like much of a strategic attack,” noted Lorcus, smacking his lips. He had left Taren in charge of his new domain as acting castellan for a few days while he helped out. Honestly, I think he felt as if he’d been a prisoner in Rolone, the way he eagerly prepared for the sortie. “Why waste good troops against such soft targets?”
“They weren’t that good of troops,” Bendonal offered. “Apart from the hobs who attacked the towers, most of them were scrugs and fell hounds. They did some damage,” he admitted, “but anywhere they met serious opposition, they got hammered. We met three groups of them that had melded together, north of Tudry. It took about half an hour for a thousand of our men to grind through thrice that number of scrugs. Many were young, or weak, or small of stature. Azar and Astyral are still mopping up, but in my professional opinion it was more a feint or a raid than a real campaign. In a week we’ll have them driven back to the Penumbra.”
Enchanter (Book 7) Page 65
