High Mage: Book Five Of The Spellmonger Series

by Terry Mancour

  I thought about how handy a thousand dour Kasari rangers would help out in Gilmora. “Captain, I think we can work something out.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  A Visitor At Yule

  Arborn stayed with us to enjoy the Yule feast, and I only became more impressed with the man. He carried himself as a knight would, but had a grace and humility most of the chivalry have difficulty expressing. He did not seem aware of social cues, choosing to speak to lords and villeins alike as equals. He drank very little, just a few cups of ale and a single cup of wine, while most of the rest of the castle was drinking like the ocean drinks a river. He was quick-witted but never cruel in his jests.

  “I like this Kasari fellow,” Rondal decided at the feast, as we watched him politely decline to dance with a maid. Apparently the vaunted Kasari training doesn’t cover pavanes.

  “He’s a little quiet,” Tyndal pointed out as he devoured his second meat pie in a manner that was a little disturbing. I had forgotten just how much a seventeen year old can eat. “But he’s been everywhere in the Wilderlands. I wonder if he’s any good with a blade?”

  “Count on it,” grunted Lorcus, his eyes bleary with drink. “The Kasari rangers train like squires, if they’re accepted into the training. But don’t expect a gentlemanly duel. The Kasari fight to win, not to impress.”

  “He’s a well-spoken young man,” Sire Cei affirmed, as he bounced his new son on his lap. “Very courteous. And dutiful. He wanted to depart at once with his charge, but I had to prevail on him to respect the traditions of Yule. One day, more or less, will make no difference to his errand. But every man needs to relax and refresh himself in good company from time to time, no matter how solitary he is.” It seemed an odd thing for Sire Cei to say, but then fatherhood had changed him. Softened, some would say, but I knew better. It had broadened him into a more complete man.

  “Pentandra’s absolutely crazy about him,” I confided. “I told her he was here and she nearly fainted. If she wasn’t in Castabriel right now, she’d be the one trying to dance with him.”

  “He’s not that great,” Tyndal said, after a moment’s consideration. “He’s not titled, he has no lands, he’s—”

  “He’s tall, dark, handsome, rugged, quiet, deadly, courteous, strong, and valiant,” Lorcus recited. “So apart from that, Sir Tyndal, he is an utter wart, I have no doubt.” Tyndal made a face but kept eating. Rondal grinned.

  “What concerns me are the tidings he brought,” Sire Cei said, quietly. “Iron shoes, Magelord? A winter assault?”

  “It seems likely,” I nodded. “What else could they be used for? And it would surely take us by surprise.” Humans tended to make warfare a summer affair, as horses and wains of supplies are hard to move over frozen roads, and forage is difficult to find. The gurvani were not hampered by those limitations. “I’ve alerted Terleman and Salgo already. The watch on the Penumbra has been intensified, and the commando units in Gilmora are increasing their patrols.”

  “But if they do launch an assault, how can we respond?” asked Rondal, worriedly.

  “By magic,” I supplied. “We might not be able to move huge columns of troops, but we can move magi around with little effort.”

  “But magi aren’t infantry,” Sire Cei pointed out. “They can help, but . . .”

  “But that’s all I’ve got, for now,” I snapped. “I’m working on it, I promise. Right now it’s all just speculation. If they do muster their legions, we’ll have at least some warning,” I promised myself. “And there are nearly a hundred thousand troops in Gilmora, now. We are not defenseless.”

  “Unless they bring dragons,” Lorcus observed, pouring another glass of wine. “Then we’re fucked.”

  I couldn’t really argue with that.

  We watched in silence awhile as the trestles were cleared away to expand the dance floor of the hall. Master Olmeg, in a brand new rabbit-trimmed woolen cloak of Sevendor green, was attempting to dance with a small dumpy peasant woman, which was humorous, and Dara was doing her best to get Gareth to join her in a dance. Dranus was dancing with Alya, who wasn’t particularly good but certainly enthusiastic. Banamor was in the company of a pretty young footwizard I’d not seen before. Children ran among the legs of the adults, and dogs occasionally barked at the chaos.

  The three Alkan emissaries had joined the castle ladies at the other end of the hall, nearest the fire, where Alya and Estret had done their best to make them feel at home. Many of the Sevendori came and stared at the ladies – they had worn gowns of particularly intriguing design and color, well-matched to the winter season.

  One admirer in particular, Sir Ryff, was dogged in his determination to court the reluctant Lady Fallawen. The knight had found a dashing black mantle to wear over his court finery and had found the address of a barber. He shadowed her all night long, quietly engaging her in conversation while ensuring that she did not lack for food or drink.

  She continued to be embarrassed by the attention – Varen and Ithalia were as relentless in their teasing as Sir Ryff was in his courting – but as the night waned and the wine flowed, she began to warm to his attentions, despite herself. She even condescended to join him in a dance before the evening was done. I think the “primitive” nature of the event amused her.

  The entire hall was strewn with evergreen boughs, the scent of pine and cedar filling the air with the aroma of a truly sumptuous feast featuring the finest of the harvest. The Tal Alon from Hollyburrow had been invited, and a good quarter of the crowd was short brown and furry. Onranion was indulging in alcohol with the enthusiasm of a lifelong drunk and was delighted by the incessant attention he was paid by the young ladies of Sevendor. Master Guri and a delegation of Karshak seemed determined to drink the castle dry.

  It was a merry scene. I did not relish the idea of leaving it behind for a midwinter war.

  “The matter of the Kasari children will have to wait until Spring, it seems,” I remarked to myself, over my seventh glass of wine. “Maybe longer. That will take some planning and plotting. But there is also the royal wedding to consider in the schedule now. Where are we going to find the time to fit a war in? I bet that old bitch did that on purpose . . . I wonder if a giant falcon could carry her off? ” I lit my pipe with a cantrip and continued. “Sweet Briga, who saw the ice shoes coming? That’s not good tidings at all,” I assured myself. “Where can I find help for that?” I had no idea who I was talking to, or why, but the wine seemed to lubricate my tongue and my worries poured out.

  I spent the rest of the evening trying to forget about the inevitable battles to come and focus on ensuring my people were having a good time. I couldn’t really do anything until the goblins did, I decided, so I had better enjoy myself. The Yule court had been perfunctory, more jest than business, as most of the serious business had been accomplished at the Fair. But it reminded me just why I was considering fighting goblins in the snow.

  * * *

  The short winter days are often a very productive time for a mage, because there’s little else he can do but sit inside, read, and study. After Captain Arborn left a few days after Yule, departing Lesgaethael with Gurkarl (who was just as happy leaving his comfortable but lonely secret cavern, behind the kennel in the Westwood), I focused a few more days on discovering the secrets of my jewels. While I let my apprentices and Dranus school Dara in intermediate magic, I spent my time with the Alka Alon and the Karshak, peering into their depths with every thaumaturgical essay I could.

  There were a lot of possible applications of the magic, and once the crystal gave you the facility, and you knew what to do, it was not that difficult. I quickly mastered the basic elements of the pocketstone and went on a binge of magical experimentation. I added a magical “room” to my tower, an extra-dimensional storage space tied to a section of wall I marked with a decorative lamp mounted there. I never used the thing – magelight was far superior – but it was pretty and I could hang stuff on it if I needed to.

  Onc
e the spell was set, however, a touch and word to the lamp opened a three-foot wide hole in reality that led to a “space” where stuff could be put. I stored some enchantment supplies there, including my cache of weirwood, a store of parchment, and a score of witchstones – the majority of the hoard was in my secret cavern.

  It was useful to be able to just make more space when you needed it, I realized. My magical closet was around three hundred cubic feet, and I installed a magelight to illuminate it when it was open. Keeping it open was the hard part – it took me three days to figure it out. The power usage was virtually nothing, after the initial enchantment was established. I was so proud of myself that I began enchanting several other extra-dimensional “pockets” all over the place. My chamberpot would never stink now, after I taught the servants the trick of emptying it by turning it upside down and repeating the right mnemonic.

  I also spent some time working on an enchantment I had been considering. While my mageblade, Twilight, was a powerful weapon, I wanted something more arcanely substantial. I had selected the best of the weirwood staves from my collection and began working on building a worthy warstaff.

  I had been feeling the lack since my tour of the Penumbra, and I’d never had a better time or place to custom build one. I no longer had my spellmonger’s staff, nor had I ever regularly used a warstaff before. My “official” staff of office was an elaborate, gaudy toy Pentandra had made partially out of a brass lamp. I needed a new weapon, and a warstaff it would be.

  A lot of work goes into preparing to craft an enchanted staff, twice so if it is to be as good a weapon as it is a prop. But that task becomes far easier when you’re working with weirwood, the natava wood of choice for just about any kind of magical enchantment. This one was six feet long, and uniformly two inches thick, a reddish-brown color. And it was ideal.

  While a staff is a weapon and a tool, most warmagi use them as handy place to stash useful combat spells. I’d used an oaken staff, briefly, when I’d first entered the trade, but oak is limited in how many spells it can take, and I eventually lost it in a siege and never replaced it. I preferred a mageblade for the kind of warmagic I waged then.

  I had different needs, now, and a warstaff sounded like a good idea. Weirwood can handle a lot more magic than other kinds of wood, far more than oak, ash, or hickory. I loaded that slender stick with dozens of damaging spells, defensive spells, and noncombatant magic that can be useful on or off the battlefield. Then I used the stone and augmented it further by studding it with magical “pockets” in which I could store weapons and tools and such until I needed them, burning each one into place with a rune.

  When I was done, I could activate the trigger, mumble a word, and a full bottle of spirits would appear, for example. Or I could see a piece of loot on the field I coveted, “open” one of the empty pockets, and collect it for later study. I filled several of these with gear or weapons I thought I might need in the field.

  It occurred to me that this would be a great way to move a lot of gold without guards, wains, or magical allies. I wondered whether or not a human being or animal could survive being pocketed that way, and considered some experiments for later. With people I didn’t like.

  I also wanted the thing to be a potent weapon in its own right. I imposed on the Karshak smith at Guri’s lodge to fashion a rail of steel to attach to each side. That would keep it from being shattered by a blow in battle, and aid in the crushing of skulls and such. A three-inch blunted spike on the butt could act as a weapon or as a grounding spike. I had him build a succession of weapons attached to the bronze head. Using the stone, I consigned each one to a magical pocket. With a word I could transform the staff into a spear, a boar spear, a poleaxe, a halberd, a hook, a mace, or a trident. It was a classy piece of warmagic.

  Then I had him add a cunningly-crafted retractable blade at the head, ten inches of Karshak steel that could appear with the touch of a small ornamental stud. Utterly nonmagical. I had seen what happened in battle when a flimsy magical weapon was effectively countered. Sometimes you just needed to stab something without messing around with all those incantations.

  The extra weight of the slender hidden blade and the ornamental bronze head (in the shape of a snowflake the Karshak smith had contrived in my honor) made the thing a formidable blunt object without the magical blades. Weirwood is strong, too. It was even stronger when I enwrapped it in my toughest spells of resiliency.

  I wasn’t doing this on my own, understand. I dabble in enchantment, but I’m more of a thaumaturge. When I came to parts of the enchantments I could not master, I sought help. I obsessed about the design and fiddled with the details as new ideas occurred. I called in a few experts, consulting the best enchanters I knew. I consulted Cormoran, the warmagi swordsmith who had crafted Twilight, several times. I even spoke mind-to-mind with Lanse of Bune regarding knot coral. Of course everyone was very willing to help. One of the advantages to fame and power is the access it brings.

  Nor did I limit my consultations to human experts. Onranion and Master Azhguri both lent their expertise. They were both interested in the project for their own abstract reasons. Onranion wanted to see how a human mage would go about designing a powerful magical weapon. Master Azhguri was curious to see just how useful I could make the thing. The Karshak value utility the way the Alka value aesthetics.

  I didn’t stop with Imperial spells, either. With Onranion’s guidance I used some of the Alkan spells within my sphere to enchant the thing in ways no human mage could have. The old spellsinger delighted in offering some suggestions of his own I thought were elegant.

  So did Master Azhguri. At his urging I had the nodes at the junctures of the ornamental snowflake on the head set with a few of the special stones from my collection. A waystone made the staff a portable waypoint, as well as lowering the magical resistance in the area to near nothing. A pocketstone filled another setting, allowing me the ability to build the things in the field, if necessary.

  An uliri stone, which he got from gods only know where, facilitated energy projection from the staff. A well-polished witchstone, a tiny globe of pure irionite, gave the staff a source of power independent of my sphere. A pinch of blood coral bound the artifact to my bloodline. And the last node was filled with a tiny sympathy stone from our stock.

  Master Guri explained. It was a security measure. The other half of the stone was to be kept at Sevendor Castle, where spells could be cast directly through the connection. I thought that was ingenious, and all sorts of possibilities opened up.

  I spared no expense in building the thing. I laced small pockets under the rails with various enchantments. Knot coral, for instance, to assist with manipulating the pretty weapon with telekinesis. It was impressive to watch it float across the room to my hand. A tiny compartment hid a hardened lump of painkilling poppy gum. Another concealed a keta nut from Farise, a powerful stimulant. Yet another contained a long wire, enchanted to be near unbreakable. In another I hid string. Useful stuff, string.

  Usually when one crafts a staff for battle, one specializes it. My oaken staff had been good for simple concussive spells, back before irionite. But with weirwood I didn’t have to specialize much. I packed it with spells of devastating fury. Bolts of magical fire, whips of pure energy, lances of power and rays of damaging sorcery were available to me. I added a wide array of concussive spells, some large enough to level a castle. A small castle.

  The staff seemed to have endless capacity to absorb the spells. Some I affixed permanently to it through runes burned into the wood, or engraved into the steel. A few enchantments I laid directly into thaumaturgical glass and embedded them into the wood. Alya suggested I gild the thing, or plate it in silver, but I declined. This was a weapon of war. It was elegant. It was not to be ornamental.

  I learned a lot, building that staff. I learned more about enchantment than I ever thought there was to know. It was exhausting. But it kept me busy.

  It took weeks of work, dozens of hour
s spent sitting over it, manipulating subtle magical energies. It was the kind of work that can ensnare you, after a while. You find yourself thinking about your project when you’re eating, or taking a crap, or talking to your wife, or watching your apprentice practice taking off and landing her gigantic hawk on the castle battlements over and over again. It kept me distracted from the anticipation of war. It also made me difficult to live with.

  But as the winter months were drawing to a close, I ran out of ways to make it deadly. It was very impressive, and I practiced with it in the snowy yard of the inner bailey with Tyndal, Rondal, Lorcus, and whichever warmage I happened to be evaluating. Each of them wanted similar staves, once I’d shown them my enchantments, and I helped them with the hard parts. Their staves were powerful weapons, but toys compared to mine.

  When I was more or less done with my staff I named it, in front of the Great Hall at dinner a few days before Briga’s Day. I named it Blizzard, in keeping with my snowy motif, and gave a brief (but non-lethal) demonstration of what it could do. It was an impressive weapon of especial power and elegance. It was also perhaps the single most powerful magical weapon humanity had ever created. Or I could just be flattering myself. But creating it filled the long, dull days of winter while I awaited word from the west.

  After I completed Blizzard, I enchanted a number of objects with small pockets to be given away as gifts just to explore the capabilities of my new toys. What took me five minutes of spellwork turned an ordinary object into an obscenely valuable magical appliance. The process of creating the warstaff had given me a lot of insight into the nature of enchantment and I wanted to practice.