“What about Gareth?”
“Well, he came to realize that his time in Sevendor was no longer . . . as fruitful as it once was,” I said, diplomatically. “He sought new opportunities abroad, with my blessing.”
“Away from me, you mean!” she snarled.
“I believe that may have been one of the factors in his decision,” I conceded. “From what I understand, you made your feelings clear to him. I did not try to influence him one way or another.”
“And what about Festaran?” she demanded.
“I . . . advised him that he, perhaps, needed to add to the breadth of his experience,” I said, loftily. “Instead of other considerations he had.”
“What do you mean?” she demanded, tears in her eyes.
I decided discretion called for magic, at this point. I reached out to her, mind-to-mind.
Dara, I convinced him to indulge in some errantry instead of forcing you to make a very big decision, I counselled her.
Her eyes went wide, and her jaw dropped at the implication. She started to say something, then looked away, stricken, before stomping back toward Frightful without another word.
I let out a deep breath I didn’t realize I was holding as Frightful launched herself into the air with a sweep of her mighty wings. I felt uncomfortably like a rabbit.
“Sometimes, no matter what you say, it’s the wrong thing,” I sighed.
“She’s a spunky one,” Guri observed, as the hawk began to climb overhead. “Glad I had no daughters, myself. Karshak girls can get unruly, when it comes to their suitors,” he informed me.
“I just hope she doesn’t blame me for what they did,” I said, worriedly. “I wasn’t trying to keep the boys away, but I had to give them my advice . . . didn’t I?”
“That’s wizard’s business,” Guri chuckled, exhaling through his giant nose. “I’ll stick to stone. Much quieter,” he reflected, looking out over his construction site fondly.
“I can’t argue with that,” I agreed. “She’s a wonderful apprentice, and she’s done amazing things with the hawks. I don’t think we would have gotten out of Olum Seheri without her,” I admitted. “But she’s got to do something about this situation. It’s distracting her. It was bad enough she lost hawks and Riders in that raid. She doesn’t need to obsess about all of this, now.”
“When did you think she was going to? When she was an old maid?” Guri pointed out. “She’s going through the same thing every maiden does: determining who she is, and figuring out who she wants to become. She’s just doing it with magic . . . and giant birds.
“Oh, and Min, my friend? You wanted to know if she blamed you? From the way that . . . oh, my . . . Min, DUCK!” he called, diving out of the way, as a liquid projectile plummeted from above, splatting in the spot I had recently vacated.
“Yes, I think she’s mad at me,” I reflected, as I watched Frightful wing her way to the Mewstower.
“She could have at least waited until I got the statues up,” Guri grumbled.
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Vanador
It was decided that the Dradrien Master Suhi would be moved from Sevendor to the Anvil – Vanador, Pentandra insisted we call the village-cum-refugee camp she’d taken residence in since she gave birth. His three nephews had already moved there, once Rumel’s folk constructed them a snug little cottage in the section of the vale Carmella had set aside for them. Master Cormoran was building a forge there, with their assistance, and was eagerly anticipating meeting Master Suhi.
All of the smiths were pleased with the opportunity to work in Vanador. The outpost was far closer to the high-quality lodes of hematite that were found throughout the central and northern Wilderlands, for one thing – it was easier moving the Iron Folk to the iron than the other way around. It was also more convenient for them to set up the forge and foundry they needed to their specifications, instead of trying to adapt to a human-style forge.
They needed special equipment, equipment they alone knew how to cast and forge. They were going to build us weapons, to fulfill their terms of service. Magic weapons.
Master Suhi didn’t like humanity in general or me in particular, but he’d made his bargain and intended on keeping it. And he admitted to being intrigued about our strange folk. More, he was highly irritated at the people who’d kidnapped him, imprisoned his nephews, and – worst of all, to his eye – forced him to work against his will.
Without pay. Or even a contract.
After his a few days being interrogated about his time in Olum Seheri, he quickly grew bored with the tiny forge at the small Castle Taragwen. He was anxious to get to work – making “real” steel for us ignorant humani. Steel that could be enchanted as easily as weirwood, he insisted. Steel that could be used to fight Korbal.
After discussing the matter with Master Azhguri, who undertook the interrogation and later formed a kind of comradeship with the Iron Folk master (though they swore they hated each other), they came to me with a simple sketch and a list of requirements Suhi would need to achieve what he wanted.
Though the sketch was simple, the design was grand. A foundry, a forge, a finishing room, and a list of tools two leaves long. I think Suhi made it more extravagant than it needed to be, just so that he could complain about poor conditions. But I merely handed the sheets back to the dwarves and shrugged. A week later, we were inspecting the site Pentandra had chosen for them . . . in the section Carmella had marked down on the plans for the Iron Folk.
The small cottage, thanks to Carmella’s foresight, met with their requirements. The Dradrien were snide about the accommodations, but they were clearly superior to a cell in Olum Seheri. Pentandra also put a score of former slaves who claimed some skill with the hammer and tongs at their disposal as a work force. Master Cormoran began working with them that very day, and showed them the pig iron ingots the foundry in Tudry managed to produce. The Dradrien were almost scandalized by it, but they pronounced the metal good, if the technique poor.
“This can work,” Suhi decided, after Gareth (acting as Pentandra’s castellan or assistant while she was still on maternity leave) completed the tour of the proposed facility by leading the Dradrien back to their cottage.
“The foundry will be the first to build,” he said, in increasingly improving Narasi. “We teach you Dradrien way of making steel,” he promised. “Good steel – not brittle, not soft. Then we build forge. Right place for it,” he grinned, pointing up toward the mountain in the middle of the vale. The anvil shape of the Anvil seemed to be a good omen for the Dradrien.
“What kind of magical weapons can you make?” I asked, curious. The problem was that we didn’t have a common language of understanding to explain to each other what, exactly, we meant by terms like “magical”. Thankfully, Suhi understood the impediment as well, and stuck to the basics.
“Powerful,” he assured me. “Very powerful. Make you many weapons . . . if you can get the metals,” he added, craftily.
“You tell me what you need, I’ll get it,” I agreed. “Master Cormoran of Tudry is our weaponsmith. I would like for him to continue work with you, to teach you some of our words and techniques, and of course to learn from your vastly superior experience,” I added. I had found out quickly that the best way to deal with the Dradrien was with a constant stream of flattery. It was annoying, and it disgusted the Karshak when I did it around them, but it worked.
While the Iron Folk were settling their few possessions into the cottage, I walked with Gareth to Pentandra’s croft, where she and Arborn were holding forth with the triplets. He seemed pretty cheerful, considering all that he was contending with at Vanador – but Gareth was good at that sort of management. He’d kept most of Sevendor Town running while Banamor wasn’t looking for years, now. Running operations for a refugee camp was easy. Or at least he made it look easy.
“It will be wonderful to get that project started,” he said, with some sense of relief in his voice after we dropped Suhi back at his ne
w home. “Half of my problems stem from so many idle hands. Every pair we put to work is a victory.”
“Have there been any problems?” I asked, curious. The scrawny wizard shrugged his narrow shoulders.
“Not serious ones,” he conceded. “The usual fights and such. Some don’t want to work, if they think they’ll be going south, soon. We have a fair number of those. Gilmorans who want to get back home, if they have a home left. Most of the Wilderfolk are happy to pitch in, in anticipation of settling here.”
I blinked. “They want to settle here?”
Gareth looked around. “Since Nandine fell in the invasion, the pele towers and this settlement are about the only signs of stability and security in the north, save for a few remote strongholds like Osbury. Most of the Wilderfolk were taken from similar country on the other side of the river, so they’re used to the terrain and the life.” He slowed his pace notably as we rounded the bend in the rough road known as “Wizard’s Way”, and I could hear him groan under his breath.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“Those three,” he sighed, indicating a small cottage outside of which were three people impatiently waiting. Two women and a man. “The Gilmorans I spoke of, who think they’re too high-born to do common field work. I’ve had as many as a dozen outside my door each morning, but these three are relentless. We sent one caravan south already with the gravely ill and elderly, but its only reached as far as Vorone so far, and until we can get another contingent of guards headed that way, I won’t authorize another. No matter how much they beg,” he sighed, resigned.
The three were a sorry-looking lot, but it was easy to see by their arrogant expressions that even a year or two as gurvani slaves hadn’t dimmed their enthusiasm for noble privilege. The looked desperate and determined, but not so much that they had started for Gilmora on their own.
“Could you . . . speak to them, Minalan?” he asked, reluctantly. “I’ve been telling them the same thing every day for two weeks, now, and I grow tired of repeating myself. A word from you might cool their heads.”
“I’ll try,” I agreed. That’s something I was still getting used to as “The Spellmonger”, all-powerful wizard and counselor to kings, dukes, and knights errant. Using my fame and prestige to get people to do what I wanted them to, just like I explained to my father.
“My lord Gareth,” began the oldest woman, the moment we were within conversational range, “I know not what duties you attend to, this morn, but I insist you spare me a few moments to discuss my case! I believe I have made it clear how urgent it was—”
“Yes, Lady Amergine,” Gareth said, steeling himself against the onslaught, “I am familiar with the dire state of your estates, the criminal manner in which you suspect they are being mismanaged in your absence, the importance of your swift return to set them aright, and the critical nature of the timing,” he recited.
“The timing?” I asked, confused.
“The Baron of Karinboll,” she said, haughtily, “has hosted the Harvest Ball at Kafindo for more than a hundred years, and for the last seventy of those House Barzun has been a prominent supporter and faithful vassal . . . as opposed to the treachery of House Lyrguin, the most underhanded—”
“She wants to go to a ball!” snorted the man, derisively. “Master Gareth, I assure you that I have over seven estates that need my immediate attention in Dendra! There’s no telling what the goblins did, in my absence, and I’m all but certain that my reeves were taken, as well. If I don’t return to begin repairing the damage soon, then there won’t be a crop next year. I’ve already been gone for two and a half years,” he pleaded. “I need to get home!”
“And you, my lady?” I asked the youngest woman, no more than fifteen or sixteen. Blonde, scrawny with malnutrition and neglect, but still defiantly proud, even in a hempen slave’s shift. “You wish to go home, too . . .?”
“I am Lady Arsella of Maramor,” she declared, firmly and confidently. “I was betrayed by my servants and captured. I have no ball, nor grand estates to repair, but I fear I am the last of my line and must tend to my family’s estate in Losara,” she reported.
I looked at each of them, and saw the sheer determination on their faces. The kind of determination that allowed them to survive the ordeal of captivity and slavery, beatings and near starvation. Despite their misguided and misplaced priorities, they were still eager to return to the lives they once knew.
That, unfortunately, was impossible for them.
“Gentlefolk, I am Baron Minalan of Sevendor, called the Spellmonger,” I introduced myself. “I am a friend of Master Gareth, here, and he has been telling me the great work he has done in attempting to sort, organize, and support the thirty thousand other former slaves in that camp,” I said, cocking my head toward the tent city. “To be candid, compared to the refugee camps around Vorone, you gentles should count yourself fortunate.
“But Master Gareth has limited resources, and is constrained by larger events,” I continued, a little more firmly. “He cannot change the situation in the world at large, unfortunately. The roads between Vanador and Vorone are fraught with danger, at the moment. Bands of goblins and hobgoblins are scouring the vales for their lost slaves, and setting upon anyone who can’t defend themselves. That means that the only caravans headed south must be guarded heavily, else we send them to their doom.”
It was a reasonable explanation of the delay on their departure, but they were unconvinced.
“Your excellency,” the man said, “I am Lord Joam of Kinsy, and I have been waiting here daily to secure the quickest transport south – cost is no object. If you can arrange—”
“I doubt I can arrange anything, wizard or not,” I said, apologetically. “But perhaps I can ease your minds in regard to the urgency of your return to Gilmora.
“Firstly, my lady Amergine, I regret to inform you that the Baron of Karinboll was slain with all of his kin when Karindor was sacked. It’s likely the Harvest Ball will therefore be rescheduled, indefinitely. Indeed, the new baron of that country is no less than Duke Anguin, himself,” I added.
“As he is also the new baron of Losara, my lady Arsella, I suggest you both petition His Grace for advice and assistance, as he is your new liege.
“As far as Dendra goes, it was heavily damaged in the invasion. Most of its people were taken captive, and though the main gurvani forces were driven from it, the forests and swamps of the region are infested with goblin irregulars who harass and kidnap yet more slaves they encounter. There is precious little of Dendra left standing,” I informed him, sorrowfully.
“But Dendra City had thousands of people in it!” Lord Joam insisted. “They can’t all just be . . . gone!”
“Those who weren’t taken have largely fled,” I countered. “They are in refugee camps near Barrowbell themselves, or have taken work on estates in the south. The Baron of Dendra, himself, has taken refuge in Almaranda because Castle Dendra is uninhabitable, now. Indeed, most of Gilmora north of the Poros is.” I watched their faces fall as I confirmed what Gareth had evidently already told them. “There really isn’t much point in trying to return until security is established. Otherwise you’ll end up in chains, again,” I cautioned.
There was a brief silence as my words sunk in. Then the youngest of them burst out, impatiently, “Well, if we cannot get home, can we at least get closer to it? Vorone is a city of some size, from what I understand. Can we not get at least that far?” she begged.
“As soon as the roads are clear, my lady,” Gareth assured.
“Well, that’s hardly—” she began to retort.
“Lord Gareth is doing the very best that he can, under the circumstances, and appreciates your patience,” I said, sternly. “I assure you, the best course of action for you to consider now is to be nice to him,” I demanded. “He is doing what he can, with the resources he has, under trying circumstances.
“You three and your peers claim to be nobles . . . start acting like it,” I l
ectured. “Those people down there are bereft of leadership, right now. They look to their nobles for guidance and calm, and you three are up here like tenants in arrears on the rent, banging on Lord Gareth’s door.”
That made them look ashamed . . . but no less determined.
Lord Joam spoke for them all. “My apologies, my lords,” he sighed, heavily. “When one is bereft of family and friends, one seeks to return to them at the soonest moment,” he explained, unnecessarily. “As long as it is certain that we are among the first to depart south . . .”
“I have no doubt that he wishes that, as well,” I said, dryly. “But a little more patience will purchase more than a little more persistence.”
That seemed to mollify them – although from the look on the youngest one’s face, she’d be back later to convince Gareth of her earnestness in private. Of course, the lad had no idea what might be in store. Gareth’s innocence is one of the things I like about him.
“Thank you,” he said, sincerely, as they headed slowly back to camp. “Every day it’s the same thing: when is the next caravan for Vorone departing? What do I need to do to be on it? Every day it’s the same answer, but yet they return.”
“If that’s the worst you must contend with, you’re doing well,” I chuckled, quietly. “Pentandra had actual riots, when she first came to Vorone.”
“Oh, I know, I know,” he sighed. “Things could be much worse. And . . . it feels good, helping people like this . . . despite the complaints,” he added. “Most of these folk have been so poorly treated that they barely feel human. Plenty of them still can’t seem to grasp that they are free of the gurvani, now.
“The idea that they can start their shattered lives anew unsettles them. The nobles are bad enough, but when you find some widow searching in vain for her children, or a husband for his wife, or a child for their parents, it’s . . . it’s hard.”
“It will be much harder for all of them,” I observed. “Those determined enough to return to Gilmora will find little but ruin left of their old lives. And the Wilderfolk are completely dispossessed. They will have to settle here.”
Necromancer: Book Ten Of The Spellmonger Series Page 87
