High Mage: Book Five Of The Spellmonger Series

by Terry Mancour

  I insisted on the right to inspect the ale tasters, who would be in charge of ensuring the quality of the brew in town and regulating other vice. Corrupt ale tasters were a bane on a town, I knew, and I didn’t need that sort of thing thriving in Sevendor. That also gave me the right to free drinks pretty much anywhere in town. That was a perquisite I relished.

  More seriously, I had Chervis insist on the right to quarter up to two hundred troops in town, at the town’s expense, in the event of an emergency, and I reserved the right to quarter up to four guests at one of the town’s inns at the town’s expense. I didn’t plan on using those rights often, but it made me feel better that they were there. The town was also to stable up to twenty horses for the castle’s needs, speed my riders and messengers, and store feed and fodder for a hundred days for the beasts.

  I did my part, however. I paid for the building of a new belltower in the new market square, and the casting of a great bronze bell. It would serve to ring the time of day, summon the town for meeting, indicate when the market opened and closed, and bear the arms of Sevendor, in token of my sovereignty. Sure, the castle looming in the background certainly reminded the townsfolk who was ultimately in charge, but if I could get them to associate thinking of my rule every time they heard the bell, that had to help. I would personally enchant a large magelight to appear over the thing at twilight.

  I also brought along baronial grants approving the construction of three temples in the town, with the stipulation that one of them be to Briga, and six smaller shrines. There were monks and nuns breathing down my neck about wanting to build in Sevendor as it rose to power, and that would go a long way toward establishing decent civil services in the town. The various sects each brought different skills and knowledge with them, from birthing babies to teaching the young to healing the sick to burying the dead, and a hundred other functions that enriched a domain. They were an essential element in the success of larger towns, everyone knew. Besides, a good clerical class often served to keep the avarice of the burghers in check.

  Included in my negotiation were new charters for local branches of guilds, specifically traders, smiths, woodwrights, and ostlers. But especially the potters. In the last year, the journeymen I had recruited in Gilmora had opened up the seam of snowstruck clay near the pond and had constructed a kiln. I had high hopes that the resulting trade in magical pottery would be strong, and I wanted to ensure there was some control over it. Besides, a guild would ensure a higher quality product than a commoner’s turn at the trade.

  The meeting stretched long into the day, as we covered page after page of minutia and argued over minor points. Sire Cei had several items relating to defense and administration. I wanted to make sure that magic was managed appropriately, and used to the benefit of the people. Brother Chervis discussed obscure points that none of us had considered – like the status of villeins who married burgesses and their heirs, and the regulation of street width to account for wains passing each other in an emergency. It was a grueling process.

  But in the end there was a twenty-one page document that both sides could live with, beginning as a five-year charter with an option to renegotiate after that time. Banamor’s scribe was tasked to rewrite the document to submit it for our approval, signature, and seal, and it would go into effect at the Magic Fair, during my first court as baron.

  Afterward, Sire Cei and Chervis and I adjourned to the Wall and Tree tavern for a free drink. We were quickly ushered to the nicest table in the place, served the very best ale, and left alone. It’s good to be the magelord.

  “That went a lot better than I expected,” Brother Chervis admitted as he drank half a mug of ale in one pull. “Only one day. Your man Banamor is a wily one. He has it all thought out.”

  “He’ll pay for the privilege,” Sire Cei affirmed. “How much will this charter bring, in annual revenue?”

  “Once it’s established, and paying according to account? Nearly seven hundred ounces of gold a year,” figured the monk. “Much of that will be in incidental fees, not in direct payment, but it is not an inconsequential sum for a town this size.”

  “It’s bound to grow bigger,” I pointed out.

  “Which is why I included that five-year re-assessment,” answered the monk, smacking his lips at the taste of the ale. “Many a lord has regretted granting a right to a town and not had the capacity to correct it. And this will give you at least five years of good behavior, before the town gets independence-minded. Without a wall to hide behind, there isn’t much it can do in that regard, but it happens regardless.”

  “I figured Alya’s inclusion would go a long way to ensure their good behavior.”

  “She is highly respected by the Sevendori, especially the old Bovali, and the common people love her,” Sire Cei agreed, with fatherly pride.

  “That was an inspired move, Excellency,” agreed the monk. “Too often lords forget the hold their ladies have over their people, and do not utilize them to lead, preferring to guard that right too jealously. Master Banamor is less likely to act in a way that would offend her good graces than he would yours, I think.”

  Alya, on the other hand, was not so convinced.

  “You did what?” she declared, angrily, when I told her over dinner that night in the Great Hall.

  “I appointed you my personal representative to the town council,” I repeated, though less enthusiastically than I had originally told her. I hadn’t anticipated her reaction. “It doesn’t have to be you, personally, unless you want to attend, but someone you designate as a deputy. Sister Bemia, for instance.”

  “Minalan! Why did you do that? All those meetings about . . . about whatever it is burghers talk about! Did I do something wrong?”

  “No, no, I just wanted to take advantage of my resources,” I said, apologetically, mindful of how mercurial her emotions were, this soon after birth. “I could hire someone to do it, or add it to Cei’s massive list of responsibilities, but the truth is the town is too important to leave to someone to oversee who isn’t invested in its success. It will also give you a high profile among the people of the town, and that never hurts. Brother Chervis tried to explain to me what happens when a town gets a charter, and many times their newfound independence from the direct control of a lord can lead to all sorts of unpleasantness. Even well-respected lords.”

  “So sticking me with this unpleasant assignment avoids that?” she asked, skeptically. Her nostrils were flaring. That was never a good sign.

  “It helps, yes,” I said, seriously. “You’ve proven to take an interest in the welfare of the people of Sevendor, and you’re well-respected because of that. You carry the authority of the barony with you, and aren’t afraid to use it,” I said, as she blushed. She’d had a couple of occasions where she’d used her own new position to throw her weight around, I had heard, when the wife of one of my visiting vassals got out of line. Alya was not afraid of her own authority.

  “But they won’t take me seriously, because I’m a woman,” she pointed out, exasperated.

  “They’ll take you more seriously, because you are a woman,” I countered. “Banamor’s a slippery bastard. He’s on our side, and he does a hell of a job, but he’s still looking out for Banamor, first and foremost. I can respect that, and he’s loyal, but that doesn’t mean we don’t have to watch him. Having my representative there would be easy to get around, either by corrupting the man gently or burying him in minute matters until he loses attention out of boredom.

  “But you, you compel a greater amount of attention. You’re also here, personally, a lot more than I am. Your representative is a lot less likely to put up with the heinous abuses that can make the lives of townsfolk dreary. Banamor might risk angering me, with his policies, knowing that any man I designate will in the end be looking at the coins he collects as a measure of his success. But you he will not dare anger, you or any representative you appoint. A man might forgive a slight, if it is to his profit. A woman, never.”


  “You use flattery and persuasion to invoke my assistance,” she accused.

  “I’d use a lively song or the promise of intimate favor, if it will work,” I vowed. “Alya, I don’t care about the money. I just want the town to run properly, for everyone’s benefit. And I think it has the greatest chance of doing that with you overseeing it.”

  “All right,” she agreed, slowly, after she realized I was serious. “I suppose I can sit through a few boring meetings. It will get me out of needlework, perhaps,” she added, her eyes narrowing. “We’re embroidering snowflakes on all of those damned cloaks you ordered for the garrison. I’m becoming less enamored of snowflakes,” she said, darkly, holding out her pricked fingers to demonstrate.

  “Then sitting as my representative in council will be a pleasant distraction,” I agreed. “Your talents really are wasted in the spinning room.”

  As much as I was enjoying my time in Sevendor, it was hard to lose myself in the minutia of the domain when I knew that it was temporary. The war was still going, even if it was in a quiet phase, and I knew that eventually I would have to go back to it. My one brief brush with battle had reminded me that I had larger responsibilities, as strange as that sounded when I was responsible for so much in Sevendor.

  Eventually the Dead God’s legions would march. Wither they marched was anyone’s guess, but when they did, I would be recalled. The anxiety I felt about that dreaded day was starting to haunt me. As much as I wanted to be enthusiastic about the third Magic Fair, my investiture celebration, and the other events in my future, I knew that it was all transitory, a distraction. The day would come, and I would strap on my harness and armor and ride away. Perhaps for the last time.

  It made discussing things like fees for public privies seem a little silly.

  But people need privies, another part of me argued. People needed normalcy and security and progress in their lives. They could not live on fear and anxiety, not indefinitely. They needed order, and it was my duty to provide that as much as it was to protect them from the gurvani.

  Summer was drawing to a close, and as much as Terleman feared a winter attack, I didn’t see it. The gurvani army that marched now was not the same one that had invaded Boval vale. They were smarter, stronger, and better armed, now that they had looted so lavishly, and they were better trained and led. That meant that they were much more like a human army, and that included the weaknesses of a human army. They could not survive on forage with that many, nor could they feed their small cavalry without a supply train. That meant wagons, and you just didn’t move that many wagons in the winter if you could help it.

  Nor was there any real sign of preparation among them as I would expect before a deployment. It was becoming more likely that I would have several months before I had to seriously consider putting troops in the field in number. It took a lot of convincing, but I was able to ease down from my anxiety over the subject. When the Sevendor Town council sent over the final draft of the charter, I read through it carefully and put it away with a feeling of accomplishment . . . and hope.

  There were a lot of reasons to hope, too, I reminded myself as I watched the preparations for the new list field from my tower. The Alka Alon, the gemstones, the irionite, the Orders I had built and the fortress I was building. Even the goofy giant falcons that now lingered over Sevendor’s fields could prove useful. The horrors I’d seen and the threat of war were far away. The approach of autumn and the Fair were the focus, for now.

  That was the serene thought I was having when a page, young Teres, came up the stairs.

  “Magelord!” he began, breathlessly. “A messenger has come from Northwood! Raiders have crossed the frontier from Fleria, burned a hamlet, and ignited a revolt against your rule!”

  Never a dull moment.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The Northwood Raid

  The Northwood Raid marked a turning point in my relations to my new neighbor, Vulric, the Baron of East Fleria. There’s still a lot we don’t know about it, but what we do know was damning.

  Near dusk of that night a large party – nearly forty, if witnesses are to be believed – crossed the unguarded frontier between Northwood and the next domain, Posendor, which belongs to the Warbird’s brother. The men passed by the large village of Runely and picked on the smaller hamlet of Jisket, about twenty families of villeins belonging to Jisket Manor.

  Six men were slain in the attack, most belonging to one family, and seven others were wounded. They successfully burned one hovel and damage several others. When the alarm was sounded, the raiders turned on the few men-at-arms at Jisket and tried to raze the manor. The lord of the estate defended himself and his family, but he lost four men doing so. The place was damaged and his coffers were looted. On their way out the raiders stopped at a popular inn and robbed the patrons, killing two more men and raping two women before they returned over the frontier.

  The raiders didn’t display any heraldry, and they took pains to cover their faces. That was standard, for this kind of provocation - which was also standard, at the start of a border dispute.

  “The raids are a probe of our defenses,” Sire Cei explained as we rode toward Northwood the next morning with fifty men at our backs. I’d also brought Sir Ryff, Sir Festaran, and Lorcus along to help. “They aren’t intended to be militarily decisive, but merely to test our resolve and our ability to defend ourselves.”

  “Lord Roncil and Lady Sarsa have only been in residence for a few months,” I pointed out. “He hasn’t even met all of his Yeomen yet, I think.”

  “Which makes Northwood a perfect place and this a perfect time to test us,” Sire Cei assured me. “Masked raiders are the beginning. Next will be encroachments on the rights of your folk. Then another raid, perhaps outright theft—”

  “I understand,” I assured him. “The raid, that is. What I don’t understand is the uprising that followed.”

  “It seems that a party of aggrieved villeins went to Jisket manor for protection and succor, and the lord had the temerity to put them to work on the manor. Outraged that he wanted his home cleaned while theirs was in ruin, they refused and retreated to a shrine nearby. The lord sent a few men after them, but they were beaten and sent back. By the time a party of horsemen arrived to keep order, there were a hundred or more peasants in an uproar. They finished the job that the raiders started, burning Jisket Manor to the ground.”

  He went on to say that things had stabilized somewhat since then, but Jisket’s resident lord was now at Northwood Castle with his family to seek redress from his liege. When we arrived, a day and a half later, he was still fuming angrily at the way his own people had treated him.

  Northwood Castle was a small but stout little shell keep with additional towers on a rise overlooking three villages. It was not the best agricultural country. While a living could be made there, not much more than that was likely. What prosperity the region had enjoyed was in spite of Lord Vrey, the former henchman of Lord Gimbal who had followed his lord into exile. Lord Vrey had spent a good portion of his tenure putting down rebellion, mostly because of the way he ran his domain.

  After the change in administration, however, things had started looking up. I’d appointed a hard-working Bovali knight, Sir Roncil, the tenant lord of the domain as my vassal. Concurrent with assuming his post he had married Lady Sarsa. Sarsa was the sister of the Lord of Trestendor, an ally and business partner of mine. She was Riverlands born, and commanded a certain respect that her husband did not, yet, due to his strange Alshari accent and customs. Their new family was the next most prominent example of mixing the Wilderlands refugees in with good Riverlands folk, after Sire Cei and Lady Estret, so there was a lot more at stake here than a few killings. I needed to solve this problem.

  The castle was bustling when we arrived – our men crowded an already crowded yard, and the stablemaster was at ends trying to find adequate space for our mounts. The castle was on alert, I could tell. Militiamen were training in the yard and t
he sentries on the watchtowers seemed a lot more alert than they normally were.

  Sir Roncil met us in the yard, in a hauberk and surcoat, his Wilderlands great sword at his side. He looked grim, after he met us with a stirrup cup. He was a big man, strong of arm and dour, as all the Wilderlands knights tend to be, but I could see signs of his Riverlands bride slowly eroding away the roughness. The Riverlands-style surcoat, for one, and the way his hair was neatly trimmed. In the Wilderlands the fighting men prefer to let their hair grow longer. His was trimmed as neatly as a courtier.

  “Lost a whole bloody manor over this,” he fumed, darkly. “I’ve got that ignorant little turd who irritated his own folk up in my solar, at the moment. He’s demanding that I ride to put down the rebellion and restore his rights. Meanwhile I have a delegation from the villagers who are demanding that I remove him from office, and threatening to burn more manors if I don’t.”

  “A difficult situation,” I agreed. “I’m here to help, I promise. I brought men, but only if we need them.”

  “It sounds as if you have more of an issue with diplomacy than warfare,” agreed Sire Cei.

  “What I’ve got is the greatest collection of idiots in the Duchies!” snarled Sir Roncil, as he led us into the hall. “The greatest solace comes from knowing it’s a mess I inherited, and didn’t create. But that is weak balm for this wound,” he said, shaking his head. “I’ve heard some disturbing things out of Posendor of late. I should have anticipated this raid.”

  “How far is Jisket from here?”

  “Eighteen and a half miles by road, Magelord,” Sir Festaran answered promptly.

  “Lorcus, take Sir Ryff and ten men and investigate,” I ordered. “Figure out what happened, and most importantly, find out who those raiders were. We’ll be awaiting your report here at the castle.”