I paid to have the announcement of the new Mirror service made in every market square in the city, and soon the business started to trickle into the Hall of Mirrors. I stayed around to make sure that the system we’d worked out actually worked. When the Mirror for Tudry became active, I figured my job, such as it was, was done. A final reception at the Order to close out the Convocation, and we were done.
At the end of the festivities Alya and I were more than ready to go home – she was just dreading the long barge ride upriver. For that, at least, I had an answer, a surprise that would spare her the trip. Because I had another issue that needed solving. The issue of my gold – a lot of gold.
Most people don’t think of the problems of the rich as problems – if you have gold, food, shelter, beer and a willing companion, good clothes on your body and a horse to ride, what kind of problems could you have? I’d always considered having too much gold like being too handsome, or too strong. It turns out that having as much gold as I did was a problem.
The Order had a treasury room, left over from its days as a temple. That room was now packed with gold and silver paid out to the Order for official fees, licenses, and such. It was a big room, and it was nearly full. By Pentandra’s accounting I was due nearly a hundred thousand ounces of gold from the last year. That’s a lot of gold. More than you can carry around very easily.
While the Order was happy to store it for me, it was starting to clutter the place. It was secure enough . . . the place was warded up tighter than a duke’s daughter. Some could be deposited with the coinbretheren of Ifnia, who would issue me a letter of credit, but the monks would take no more than thirty thousand ounces at a time from anyone. They just didn’t have room for it all, either, not even in the great temple that served the entire kingdom. Castabriel is a very busy commercial city, and there was a lot of gold and silver flowing in and out. They couldn’t afford to take more than thirty thousand ounces of gold for anyone. The Order had the same problem. The treasury was currently packed.
So to make more room – and get the use of those funds – they needed to be taken back to Sevendor. At least some of them. I settled on moving thirty thousand, leaving thirty thousand on deposit with the coinbrothers, and leaving thirty thousand in trust with the Order. Next year would be even bigger, the way I was handing out irionite. If I didn’t make some room, things would get complicated.
But moving even thirty thousand ounces of gold is expensive. That much loot tempts anyone. To move it four or five days upriver, even with me guarding it, would require additional guards at various points.
Or, conversely, we could just transport it through the Alka Alon waypoints.
Dara came up with the idea. She’d been listening with fascination to every bit of magical lore that fell from Alka Alon lips, and Lady Fallawen had mentioned repeatedly how Castabriel was built on the site of an old Alka Alon settlement of some size. Since most of those outposts had transfer points, allowing magical transport between them, she reasoned that the transfer point for ancient Castabriel was likely still around.
Lady Fallawen admitted that it was true, and with a little gentle prompting she located it . . . in the cellar of a shop in the chandler’s district, near the market square. I sent Sir Festaran to negotiate with the shopkeeper, who wasn’t happy about dealing with a mage, and in the end Sir Fes used some initiative and purchased the entire shop outright to secure use of the cellar, then rented it back to the chandler at a reasonable price.
The night we left I hired six sturdy student warmagi who were hanging around the Sword and Staff, and with each pair bearing a huge chest full of coin between them, took my gold to the cellar. I went with them myself, a wand in each hand, ready for a fight. None came.
I was joined by my family soon after, and once Minalyan was safely in Alya’s arms and Almina in Dara’s, and Festaran was ready, we had Lady Fallawen transport the lot of us back to Lesgaethael in an instant. The rest of our party would travel back conventionally, with Banamor seeing to the luggage.
We emerged from the magical transport on the top of Matten’s Helm, within the courtyard of the graceful Alkan spire. Lady Ithalia was on hand to greet us, smiling and bidding us welcome.
“That,” Alya said, as she finished throwing up, “was much better than four days on a barge! We should travel like that every time!”
“That is a very special spell reserved only for the biggest emergencies,” I countered, as I wiped the vomit from my own lips. “But getting here without spending ten percent of the gold on guards was worth it.”
“You’re just going to leave it here?” she asked, as I started down the trail. I shrugged.
“The only ones who come up here are Alka Alon and Karshak Alon. The Alka don’t use gold. The Karshak only use it for ornamentation. I’ll have some of Master Guri’s folk bring it to the treasury in the morning.” I glanced over the edge of the little mountain and saw plenty of lights still on in the village below. I hadn’t realized just how much I had missed home. “Race you to the Holly Bush for a pint?”
* * *
Sevendor was no worse for wear in my absence, I noted the next morning at breakfast in my tower. The progress on the new castle was impressive. A massive wooden scaffold was being assembled up the face of the cliff behind the castle as the first deep tunnels were being prepared. There were over two hundred Karshak masons from Guri’s lodge working on it, now, with another two hundred supposed to come at various points to finish off particular parts. It would still be years before it was inhabitable, let alone finished, but they were making progress, and that was encouraging.
As far as the farming went, this was a lazy time of year. The plowing and planting was done and there was little left in the agricultural year but to weed, water, and keep the rabbits at bay. With the Chepstan Fair just past and the Sevendor Magical Fair to look forward to in the autumn, there just wasn’t much pressing to be done at the moment.
The biggest change was actually in Sire Cei, who was beside himself over my investiture. Only the birth of his son Kestran, at his estate of Cargwenyn, a few weeks after Almina was born, was more exciting to him. He saw my being raised as a baron as some sort of personal vindication, and he had already started spreading the word and ordering baronial regalia to suit our new office.
“There is so much to do,” he cautioned me, ever-wary of regional politics. “Of course I notified Baron Arathanial at once – he will be saddened over the loss of a potential vassal, but he should be supportive.”
“I’ll say – I helped win him a handful of lost domains,” I agreed. “I would never swear fealty to the man, anyway. I like him, but Sevendor doesn’t need another overlord.”
“But then there is the matter of Sashtalia and East Fleria, both of whom may see the appointment as a threat, particularly considering where your new lands lie.”
“They will contend with the new reality in due time,” I prophesied. “After the drubbing I gave the Warbird, they won’t be too eager to mess with Sevendor.”
“Then there is the matter of your official investiture celebration,” he pointed out. “To be raised to such a station and not invite the regional lords to celebrate would be seen as rude and presumptuous.”
“I wouldn’t want to seem rude or presumptuous,” I said, unconvincingly.
“Just so. Traditionally this is a tournament of some sort,” he continued. “I would suggest something concurrent with the Magic Fair. We will have the Commons set for a festival anyway . . .”
“Make it happen,” I agreed. “It’s about time Sevendor hosted a tournament. Light jousting, no professionals. Keep the prizes low to discourage ringers. But where to hold it? Not in the outer bailey?”
“Not suitable at all, Sire,” he agreed. “I shall see if we cannot make a decent listfield in the Southridge manor. There are a few spots there that would make a satisfactory tournament field.”
“It’s pretty out there, too. All right, set it up. Couldn’t hurt attendance,
either. Do you really think Arathanial will be bent out of shape?”
“He does have dreams of re-establishing his family’s control of the Bontal Valley,” Sire Cei assured me. “Having a new barony pop up on his southern border keeps that from his grasp. But he has opponents to fight elsewhere, before he would ever turn his attention to Sevendor. I think if he is assured of Sevendor’s alliance, he will put a good face upon the deed and forget his ambition. I will have to investigate East Fleria and Sashtalia,” he added, although it was clear he was as eager for a fight with either as Baron Arathanial was to advance the Lensely banner.
Not that Sire Cei was a belligerent man, but he had a professional knight’s eagerness for dynastic warfare. Especially against lords with reputations as low as Lord Trefalan and Baron Vulric, both of which he considered of low honor, thanks to the way they ran their domains. “Now that you are back, I can attend to a few items back at my own estates. I need to go check on Estret and little Kestran, anyway, and a quick journey to Chepstan would not take long. I shall work in a small social call on Arathanial, to feel him out.”
“Just keep the appointment secret, for now,” I advised. “Inform who needs to know, but let’s try to conserve the surprise until the Fair. I have maybe a week before I have to go back to the Wilderlands to start this tour, and I don’t want to spend it fielding congratulatory letters and such when I could be . . .” I said, struggling for the right phrase.
“ ‘Goofing off’ is the phrase it occurs to me the Magelord is searching for,” Sire Cei supplied, helpfully.
Summer in Sevendor also brought something else back: my two wayward apprentices. Rondal had emerged from the rigors of the Mysteries of Duin a changed boy – a man, now, in all but years. His shoulders had broadened and his voice had deepened, and he carried himself with a self-assuredness that he had not possessed when I’d sent him off to Inarion.
Tyndal, on the other hand, had seen his cockiness tempered with discipline. While he was just as ambitious as before, he was more cautious – particularly around Rondal, I noticed. The younger of my apprentices gave his “junior” a wide berth, even in my workshop. Indeed, they barely spoke to each other.
I gave them temporary assignments to keep them occupied, but I knew they needed . . . more. I was at a loss for what exactly to do when Sire Cei suggested he take charge of them.
“They have been trained as magi and warmagi,” he reasoned. “They have yet to experience the rigors of chivalry. They need to be taught the finer points of knighthood. Let me take them to Cargwenyn for a few weeks, and I’ll put them through their paces. I’ll even take them to Chepstan castle and let Arathanial’s squires have a few courses at them on the listfield. A little errantry and grace will help to temper their spirits.”
“That’s not a bad idea,” I conceded. “If the war isn’t heating up, you might as well. Just . . . don’t be too hard on them. They’ve been through a lot.”
“Not at all, Sire. I will focus on the social graces and responsibilities of knighthood, more than the combat. I will do my best to turn them into gentlemen.” Since the birth of his son, he had taken a more paternal attitude about a lot of things. But I doubted even his calm patience would be enough to keep the boys under control.
“Sire Cei, if you can, you’re more of a wizard than I am.”
They three of them left a few days later. Neither of the boys looked very enthusiastic about it, but it was better than guard duty.
In the few days I had before I left on my inspection tour, I filled with busy work to keep me from thinking about what was really bothering me. Isily.
Seeing her again, and knowing how close to imperiling my marriage she had been, gave me pause. I was torn between continuing to keep the secret of her child or reveal all to Alya, knowing it would wound her. It was clear to me that Isily did not betray the secret to my wife, but the potential for destruction was still there. I could not ignore it. But there was damn little I could do about it.
Alya, for her part, didn’t help by persisting to be absolutely wonderful.
Upon Banamor’s arrival the day after Sire Cei and the boys left, she had distributed hundreds of presents she had purchased in Castabriel to our staff and vassals. She had been very busy in Castabriel’s many exotic markets. But providing a few creature comforts, delicacies, and luxuries to our people made us feel good. Some nobles focus on giving gifts to their social superiors, and if I didn’t keep getting promoted without trying to I might have. As it was, I valued the loyalty of my folk more than I coveted higher title. I didn’t mind the expense one bit.
The summer months delighted Alya, despite our snowflake livery, and she sponsored a day of swimming and play at the mill pond for all of the children of the vale, to celebrate midsummer a few days before I left. She also hosted a celebration for the boys in Boval Manor who had completed their summer militia training, and she endeared herself to the Tal Alon in Hollyburrow forever by both presenting Master Olmeg with a handsome (and expensive) weirwood staff and granting the burrow a distilling permit.
In Sevendor she was in her element, a true Lady of the land. Her people looked up to her, admired, her, respected her . . . loved her. My wife was beloved by the people I depended upon to protect my family, and her presence and actions had enriched them all.
How could I think of doing anything to destroy that?
I agonized over the question of whether or not to discuss it, but as the days before I left evaporated I admit I buried the matter in my mind. Isily was not popping out of the bushes, despite my fears. I wasn’t even supposed to know about the child. I focused on my duties and tried to put it out of my mind lest someone – particularly my wife – suspect something was amiss.
An important enough distraction arrived when Lorcus returned from his mission to investigate Magelord Dunselen. The man arrived late in the night, and I was due to make a trip to Brestal early the next day, but I stayed up and entertained him on top of my tower with a bottle of wine and a smoke while he reported what he’d witnessed.
“I thought it would be better to discuss this in person, rather than mind-to-mind,” Lorcus explained, when we were comfortable. “Dunselen is a mage of burning ambition. But he’s going mad.”
“Mad? Explain.”
“He’s sane enough most times,” Lorcus conceded, “but he’s prone to fits of rage when things don’t go his way. Like a big five-year old. With irionite. And lances of knights at his command. I think there were a few disaffected at first,” Lorcus revealed, “but he was at court long enough to know how to get rid of the discontents and reward his own supporters in his native domain. Soon everyone in his domains was feeling belligerent against their neighbors. He got them properly stirred up before he found an excuse to declare war.”
I recalled one poor knight who had fallen victim to Dunselen’s ambitions last year – I had not been able to do anything about it, then. I still didn’t have much leverage. I could hardly fault the man for playing by the rules and winning. I’d done it enough myself.
“How is he using magic to affect the outcome of the battles?”
“Oh, he’s employing professional warmagi, for one,” Lorcus supplied. “He’s got three of them in service, now. He supplies the power with his stone, they do the work. Quite an elegant application of Imperial-style thaumaturgy, actually,” he said, respectfully. “But they’ve focused on entrapment and ambushes. That’s how he’s paying for it all. The ransoms. But he’s also conducted night raids, misdirection, and some tricks with bridges that have been quite effective. He’s even got his footmen riding, now, since he’s captured so many horses.”
“So how is that madness?”
“That’s perfectly sane,” agreed Lorcus. “What he does after a conquest is not. You know how the lord technically has a right to anything in the domain? Well, he’s extending that to the pick of women. He lines them up and selects two or three for himself, then dissolves everyone’s marriages to let his men pick over the rest. T
he result is . . . messy,” he said, after searching for an apt term.
“That’s . . . that’s not particularly savory or honorable,” I agreed, “but it’s not madness-”
“It is when those women are never seen again,” Lorcus interrupted. “I spoke with one poor carpenter who was out of his mind. His young wife was among the first of his conquests. She’s been gone for over a year, now, and Dunselen’s people won’t even let him into the castle to inquire about her anymore. The rumor is . . . well, that he’s keeping them in his dungeon. For unsavory purposes.”
“That’s . . . okay, that’s bordering on madness,” I admitted.
“Then this crosses the frontier,” Lorcus continued. “Imprisoning your unwilling courtesans is bad enough. Insisting upon being called ‘Grandfather’ and have every man, woman and child under your control treat you like a demigod upon pain of flogging ties the knot. He is building a shrine in his domain. To himself. He’s already commissioned a statue.”
“So how are his new subjects reacting?”
“They’re terrified. They fear angering the man. He’s burned down more than one man for defying him, using magic, and no one wants to cross him now. You can’t draw a sword effectively when you’re on fire, I’ve noticed,” he said with a sad smile. “He has a circle of thugs and mercenaries, especially those warmagi, to back him up. I didn’t even try to interview him after I saw how loyal they were to him – and how mercurial was his disposition. Not even the local barons want to mess with him, now.”
“So what is your advice?” I asked. “You wanted a problem to solve, what is your solution?”
“He’s determined to re-conquer all of his family’s old lands and then expand them,” Lorcus decided. “That wouldn’t be so bad, in and of itself – it’s good to have ambition - but he’s tarnishing the good name of High Magi everywhere by his methods.”
High Mage: Book Five Of The Spellmonger Series Page 21
