I didn’t ask for the gifts, nor were specific favors requested at their giving . . . but that’s not how the game was played. They would wait to impose on me for favors. But that worked both ways, too. To help secure their loyalty, I’d brought another couple of crates of snowstone to pass out, and considering the underground market price for the substance I would have been less popular if I’d been handing out gold nuggets.
“Everything in my new castle works better with this stuff,” Wenek assured me, when I’d given him a fifty-pound sack of pure white gravel. “If you position the stones just right, you can extend the field, too. I’ve been doing some experiments with our defensive magics,” he bragged. “A bit of this in the vicinity can make the nasty ones truly horrific.”
As much as I enjoyed the company of my professional peers, however, I ended up sneaking off to the more-subdued Low Magic convocation that night. I suppose I was getting tired of the increasingly-posh pretensions of the High Magi, and while the drink was decidedly inferior in the lower chambers, the company was lively. And I had an ulterior motive.
In the wee hours of that final night of the convocation I distributed over a hundred pounds of snowstone to the various footwizards and hedgewitches still lingering, drunkenly insisting that they tell no one I was handing away such fortunes. While they were still marveling at the largesse of the Spellmonger, I took aside three of the most worthy of them – including the head witch of the Coven – and gave them small witchstones.
The gift of the Alka Alon had included many superior stones, but then there were plenty of lesser stones, too. Even the smallest would boost a mage’s powers by increasing the magical energy he had access to. But a warmage needs a big stone, as does an enchanter or healer. In battle such small stones might be overcome, but in the hands of Talented magi they could do great works.
Perhaps it was a streak of professional rebellion or just sympathy for the plight of this underclass, but I didn’t see why just the Dranus and Planus and Dunselens of the world should have access to that level of magic. There had to be balance. A world full of just magelords would lead again to Magocracy. By raising the Low to the High, I hoped to keep the powers steering the Kingdom and its affairs a little more honest.
I didn’t even tell Pentandra about it, until afterwards. I felt a little guilty and expected her to chew me out, but she was surprisingly supportive.
“You’ve got a good feel for people, Min,” she told me the next morning when I broke the news. “You’ve given a lot of stones to a lot of people, now, and nothing has blown up too badly.”
“Dunselen,” I pointed out.
“We’ll deal with Dunselen,” she promised. “But in general your safeguards have been successful. Although, meddling in kingdom-level politics like that is troublesome.”
“I know,” I admitted, “but the Queen started it. And this doesn’t work against her agenda – Dranus is supportive of anyone who is supportive of him. He’s a devious bastard, too, and persuasive as hell. And I fear if I did not grant him a stone he would have ended up on the steps of the Dead God.”
“I appreciate the wisdom of your damned contest, now,” she said, referring to my annual Spellmonger’s Trial. The winner of the complex magical trial was awarded a witchstone, no questions asked. As long as they took my oath and were willing to be bound by it, I would let them walk away with one as a prize for their mastery. This would be the third year of the trial, and the last two had produced some remarkable magi – my youngest apprentice included. “It gives them hope to the ones who might consider seeking out tainted glass. If there was no other way.”
“The ambitious ones won’t be stopped by losing the trial,” I pointed out. “There are plenty who would willingly slay their kin for such power.”
“I’m one of them,” Pentandra admitted. “If you knew most of my kin, you’d sympathize. My cousin Trinandra is getting married, Planus tells me, and that’s started the usual vicious bitchfest among the ladies of my house about my lack of matrimony.”
“Aren’t you wedded to your career?” I asked. “I mean, what could a husband give you that you don’t already have?”
“Children,” she said, simply. “That’s what it boils down to. I’m wealthy, I’m self-sufficient, and I need no man’s protection. But to not give my parents their heirs is an offense against the gods, according to them. They want to arrange a marriage before I am . . . before I am too old,” she said, bitterly. “There are plenty of adepts in my line who married and still had successful careers. My mother can name twenty, off the top of her head.”
“Oh, Penny, that’s . . . what are you going to do?”
“They want to pair me up with a nice Remeran family, one of the old magical houses. I’d even consider it, if there were more like Planus. Most of them are idiots, though, glorified spellmongers who hide behind their clients and play politics like burghers.”
“Why couldn’t you marry Planus?” I asked. That sort of consanguinity was frowned upon in Narasi families, but was regular practice in old Imperial families eager to preserve their bloodlines. “You’re first cousins, but your kids would be adepts out of the womb!”
“Planus is like my brother,” she said, flatly. “He’s a wonderful man, Min, don’t mistake me. He’ll make some . . . normal girl a great husband and sire a roomful of brats.
“But me and Planus? No. Their alternative is that I whore myself out around the palace and pick up one of you whiteskin lords,” she offered. “That holds some appeal – I’ve always liked you fair-skinned boys – but then they learn that I want to continue my research, and that scares them off.”
Since Pentandra’s field of expertise was sex magic, I could understand how that might intimidate a man. It had certainly intimidated me, when she had sprung it on me. Hells, I was still intimidated by it. I tried to imagine Penny married to a castle-bound lord of any stature, and just couldn’t.
“What about love, Penny?”
“Love?” she snorted. “Love is . . . well, it would be nice, Min, but it’s hardly consequential, when one is considering marriage. Love would be nice,” she repeated. “But a man who I could tolerate would be nicer. A man who can tolerate me would be nicer still. Honestly, Min, can you think of any man who could take me to wife and not end up dead in the process?”
“More wine?” I offered, helpfully.
“See? Not a one. The man who will wed me must be exceptional, Min. More exceptional than I’ve seen.” Then her eyes lingered on me just a little too long before she looked away.
That moment stung my heart. I was the most exceptional man that she knew, and I was taken. In terms of status, wealth, power, I was at the top of the page, and she had helped to put me there. I knew she had feelings for me, still, but I was married. Happily married, despite my premarital indiscretions. From her perspective it was better to follow me platonically as a colleague than pine for me like a lovesick girl, and for that she seemed satisfied. But that did not fill the hole in her life she knew was there, and we both knew it.
“Don’t worry about me,” she said, sounding like she was trying to convince herself. “My handsome knight is still out there, somewhere. I’ll find him. Or not. Either way, I’m doing good work with people I like.”
“But what about your mother?”
“Mother can kiss my tight bronzed buttocks. And so can my cousin.”
Chapter Ten
Wizard Work
While Pentandra and I had spent a week wining and dining the various orders of magi, Alya had been left to her own devices. In a big city like Castabriel she had plenty to amuse her, and plenty of people who wanted to see her entertained. The Viscountess who had courted her so aggressively at court insisted on throwing her a reception after her investiture as baroness, and I escorted her to the affair in a carriage the day before the Convocation opened. Sir Festaran acted as her guard, and Sister Bemia came along to assist her – it was common for noblewomen of our new station to be accompanied by a n
un for proprieties’ sake. Alya was still nervous, but she knew it had to be done. One cannot be raised to the peerage without it being a socially important occasion. Pentandra gave her a pep talk and a wardrobe to choose from, and for six days straight Alya was herself wined and dined by the city’s elite.
I barely saw her. Between the late-night strategy sessions with Penny and her staff and meetings with important members of the Order about all sorts of things, she was asleep when I stumbled into bed and still asleep when I left the next morning. I missed her, but she seemed to be bearing the undesired attention with great fortitude.
We did see each other at luncheon, about half way through the Convocation. Three young ladies of her new station had thought that it was dreadful that she was dressing like a member of the petty nobility and had insisted that she be properly outfitted by the best dressmakers in the city. Alya stoically agreed – she likes to dress up, but she isn’t fanatical about it. But she was a good sport, and it was my money she was spending, so she felt obligated to enjoy herself. It had taken a lot of effort, she informed me over two exquisitely-roasted quail.
“I swear to Trygg that they’re no different than the bunch of old biddies who used to buzz around the market in Boval,” she said, shaking her head. “Who’s marrying whom, who is bedding whose wife, who will likely be widowed soon, that’s all they seem to talk about. And the parties,” she said, in disgust, “they can’t wipe their own arse without throwing a reception to celebrate the matter. Min, the sooner we get back home, the better.”
“It will be you going back home,” I reminded her, “I’ll be back for a few days, but then I’ve got to tour the front.”
“You’re going to be gone again?” she asked in dismay.
“If there isn’t going to be an invasion, it would be nice to know why. You knew that,” I riposted. “We’ve talked about it plenty!”
“I know, I know,” she groaned. “I was just hoping that your plans had changed. I hate it when you’re away from Sevendor!”
“That’s why I made you the Mirror. I’m not happy about touring a warzone, either,” I pointed out. “But I’ll make it as quick as I can. I promise. Assuming a war doesn’t break out . . .”
“See that one doesn’t,” she said, semi-seriously. Then she got thoughtful. “It is odd, though,” she began, pulling the wing off of a quail as delicately as possible.
“What is?”
“Hearing your husband talked about like a hero. Hearing the undisguised envy of those women who have boring old lords for husbands. And hearing you talked about in such . . . admiring terms by the ladies of the court. Your youth, your virility, your manliness . . .” she snorted.
“Is my lady wife jealous?”
“Your lady wife is perfectly able to stab a woman, if she gets near her lord husband,” she responded sweetly. “And if I have to go on too many more shopping expeditions like this, I may well do it anyway.”
“Enjoy the pampering,” I urged her, “you’ll be back to the dirt floors of Sevendor Castle before you know it!”
“I’m starting to miss the dirt floors. I’m not even safe from it here in the Order. I’ve been overhearing your female colleagues fawn over you excessively. There were two lady magi speaking of you in very glowing terms . . . and even discussed me.”
“You?”
“They were curious about the Spellmonger’s taste in women,” she said, a trace of bitterness in her voice. “Wondering what kind of exotic creature you might chance to bed. Curious about just what that might entail. Speaking of you like you were a prized bull!”
That didn’t really sound that bad to me.
“It’s just the fame,” I pleaded. “Pentandra warned me this would happen. They aren’t interested in me, exactly, they’re just attracted to my fame.”
“I know that,” she said, sharply. “Isn’t every little girl drawn to the boy who everyone knows? I’m not stupid, Minalan. But there is usually some sense of propriety about it. These two were making some very untoward comments about their ability to seduce you,” she said, darkly. “It tried my patience. They seemed to think it wouldn’t take much to convince you. I almost spoke to them about it, but that wouldn’t have done any good with women like that.”
“Which ones?” I asked, innocently.
“Like I would tell you!” she said, her nostrils flaring. “Don’t concern yourself about it. I told Pentandra. She will deal with them.”
“Penny?” I asked, confused. “Why would you involve her?”
“Because she is their colleague, not some ‘plump little peasant girl’ who slept her way into power!” she said, viciously. “Pentandra will know how to silence them and their misplaced ambitions with a word. She’s really quite adept at that sort of high-level, subtle social interaction. I’ve come to appreciate our complementary roles in your life. She protects you her way, I protect you my way.”
“Protect me? I don’t need protection!”
“Of course you do,” she corrected me, sympathetically. “You might be a good warmage, but you are a poor courtier, my love. Min, this is a different kind of war from the one you’re used to, trust me. I barely know what I’m doing myself, I admit. But I understand the principles. Pentandra excels at this sort of battle and she’s coached me well. You are in danger – constant danger – of being hunted by a certain kind of predatory woman who sees your success as a prize to be stolen.”
“No one is going to steal my sphere!” I vowed, devoutly, automatically glancing up at the serenely floating sphere. Usually I just ignored it. Alya made a face and rolled her eyes.
“It’s not that big green ball over your shoulder I’m worried about,” she said, sourly. “It’s the two pink ones in your pants. I know you’re a loyal husband, but you are still only a man, prone to a man’s weaknesses. It’s not a judgment on your character,” she insisted, forestalling my objection, “it’s a simple fact. The nature of your gender compels you to pay attention to pretty girls. Just like the nature of mine compels me to pay attention to successful men. The fact that I am married to one in no way reduces the attraction such success holds . . . nor does my fairness bind you to me as Trygg would wish. I will get old. I know that. There will always be younger and prettier girls around than me. I know that, too – and more and more every year. My beauty will wane. Your charisma will wax.”
“But that doesn’t mean I’d pay them the slightest mind,” I began, feeling very defensive. Too defensive.
“You are a Magelord, not a demigod,” she said, rolling her eyes again. Why did I find that so damn attractive? “I don’t mind if you pay them attention. I just need to ensure than any real threats – threats to the security of our marriage – are eliminated before they can take advantage of your weakness. That’s where Pentandra comes in. I tell her about the threat from the women in the Order, and her job is to intercede before it bears fruit.” She finished a bite of ripe pear, brushed her hand on her napkin in accepted court fashion, and stood imposingly in front of me. She looked good, after giving birth just a few months before.
“And what is your job?” I asked, dully. Did I really have to be managed like an idiot child by the women in my life? Upon reconsideration, I decided I didn’t really want to know.
“To make sure you never have a legitimate reason to consider their proposals,” she said, unlacing her gown. “Now, we have perhaps half an hour before your meeting . . . shall we make certain you are well and truly protected?”
I stared at her increasingly naked form. I felt insulted for my wife and my ex-lover conspiring to protect my virtue, no matter how sound their reasoning.
But as proud as I was, I also knew they had a point, else Isily’s presence would not have had such a profound effect on me. Still, no man wants to think that he is too immature, too weak, too insecure to . . . to . . .
Alya had removed her elaborate gown in one swift movement, and stood in our chambers as naked as Trygg had formed her. That kind of sorted out my thoughts
on the matter. I had been working really, really hard, after all. Perhaps I was weak. Perhaps I did need Ayla’s protection from my own libido. For some reason, with her standing there naked in front of me, that prospect did not seem quite as insulting as before.
She tossed her hair sassily over her shoulder. That settled matters.
“I defer to my lady wife’s judgment in such things,” I decided.
“That shows uncommonly good sense on your part,” she agreed. “Now, come here. I don’t want you to be late.”
I smirked as I pulled my tunic over my head. “I’m the Spellmonger. I can be late. Who are they going to complain to?”
* * *
One of the final acts of the Convocation was the official opening of the Hall of Mirrors. That was what we called the big storeroom we had transformed into an arcane communications hub. I had commissioned a dozen identical opaque white glass basins from a thaumaturgical glass blower in Ostly and had them delivered to the Order before I arrived. I’d also had wooden racks built to hold them, with spaces for small chunks of snowstone to augment the enchantment. Within each was one of the magical devices we created, based on a sympathy stone and other arcane material. Each basin was labeled clearly with the tower it connected to.
Most of the other halves of the sympathy stones were still in transit to the final destinations, but a few were already in place. We tested the Mirrors for Sevendor at once, and with a little adjustment were able to get the ones for Inarion and Alar academies functioning soon after. The others would be set to working as soon as their companions were ready.
I was able to check the news from home through the link to Sevendor. Sire Cei was summoned to the basin from elsewhere in the castle, where he assured me that all was well and that everything was working smoothly. There were no peasant uprisings, revolts of the petty nobility, or wandering monsters terrorizing the countryside. He was astonished at the news that he now worked for a baron, and he gave me his solemn word that he could be relied upon to take the appropriate steps – what those were, I had no idea.
High Mage: Book Five Of The Spellmonger Series Page 20
