She glanced down at the ring on her finger, which seemed to pulse with magic as if trying to alert her to something. She considered summoning Everkeen, but was concerned such a display would be disruptive in court. Instead she sought out Azar and Astyral by eye. Both men nodded to her across the room.
That idea seemed to catch fire quickly, didn’t it? Astyral observed to her, mind-to-mind.
Why is everyone wetting themselves over a wildflower festival? Demanded Azar by the same method, a moment later.
“That . . . that sounds . . . like a noble idea, Your Excellency,” Anguin admitted. “A truly wonderful . . . plan. You of course have my permission and blessing,” he said, sitting a little straighter in his throne as the four adorable girls beamed up at him from behind their mistress. “Indeed, I shall contribute a hundred ounces of silver for the task, Dowager Baroness Amandice,” he said, attempting a dignity in his authority far beyond his experience.
The hairs on the back of Pentandra’s neck were standing. There was something wrong, here.
“Thank you, Your Grace,” she sighed, breathlessly. “And please . . . call me . . . Lady Pleasure.”
Chapter Nineteen
The Dangers Of The Divine
Pentandra’s head was spinning as Arborn escorted her away from the hall and toward the west wing of the palace. While she still held the sealed deed to her new estate in hand, her mind was neither there or on the judgments the Duke had made. She wasn’t even concerned about the Rat Crew’s bloody massacre, anymore, though it had happened the previous night.
Pentandra was far more concerned about the sudden appearance – and instant acceptance – of a mature noblewoman into Anguin’s court.
It wasn’t as if the place wasn’t filled with such useless nobility. Generations of Alshari great nobles had either retired to the hunting paradise or had kept their mistresses or wives here to visit during the convenient summer months. Widows accumulated, as did younger sons of the great nobles. There had to be a dozen purposeless nobles the rank of Knight Banneret or above roaming the streets of Vorone at any one time. Indeed, there were entire streets in the market district designed to attract their trade. Some, like Viscountess Threanas, even had position as well as rank. The court thrived on the experience and dedication of such folk.
But Pentandra also knew that Dowager Baroness Amandice – “Lady Pleasure” – was no mere rich widow. What she had done to the court in one brief visit had been no less than magical, and had it not been for the protective power of her own spells, Pentandra would have been enthusiastically supporting the woman as much as anyone, she guessed.
Nor was Lady Pleasure’s proposal out of line. The Spring Wildflower Festival was, traditionally, the rallying point for the Voroni to prepare for the busy summer season, when the court would make the long journey from Falas to take residence for the glorious warm months.
Sacred to Ishi, patroness of flowers (and a half-dozen local divinities) the Wildflower Festival was an excellent excuse to clean, paint, repair, and decorate the town to prepare to celebrate the rising of the sun tides. Begging to be put in charge of the thankless task of organizing the popular event was an excellent way for Baroness Amandice to be introduced to court, Pentandra realized.
Hells, she even managed to get Anguin to pay for some of it.
But who was this woman? An obsequious widow with ambitions of position was one thing – but the transformation Lady Pleasure managed to win over the court, causing even long-mistrustful opponents to agree with her, was both mysterious and worrying. And clearly magical.
Which put it squarely within Pentandra’s purview as Court Wizard.
Before she realized where she was being led, Pentandra was at the door to the Court Wizard’s office. Her office. Her new quarters, she remembered.
“Oh, Arborn,” she said, her heart sinking, “we’re not ready to stay here, yet. I still haven’t gotten anything moved from Spellmonger’s Hall, and—”
“Do you think you are the only one capable of packing, my wife?” he asked, gently. “I had my men and your new apprentice handle the affair. All of our things are here, now,” he said, proudly.
“You . . . you moved us?”
“It wasn’t hard,” he pointed out. “You’ve barely unpacked.”
“I’ve been busy!” Pentandra snapped, automatically. “And I haven’t yet decided on taking Alurra as my apprentice, either!” she added, a little bitterly.
“Haven’t you?” Arborn asked, cocking his head.
“I . . . I don’t . . . I’m still thinking about it,” Pentandra said, at last. Before she could say any more about the blind girl, she was interrupted by mind-to-mind contact. It was Astyral.
Pentandra, where are you? Azar and I wanted a word with you before we left. We depart in the morning.
I’m at my new offices, she responded automatically. You recall the way?
The same ones Thinradel had? The Gilmoran mage asked, with good-natured skepticism. You poor girl! I think I remember where it is. It’s been a few years.
Do you mind finding a bottle before you come? The buttery hasn’t been supplied yet, I’m afraid. And I desperately desire one.
If there is a bottle to be had, I shall find it, promised the gracious Gilmoran.
“Ishi’s tits!” Pentandra swore as she opened her eyes. “We’re going to have company!”
“Who?”
“Azar and Astyral,” she explained as she threw open the door to her private quarters, upstairs. “Business, it sounds like. With all of our things in disarray!” she moaned.
“It isn’t that bad,” Arborn promised, as he followed her up the narrow flight. “We did the best we could . . .”
Her husband was right – it wasn’t that bad. Not nearly acceptable, but the rangers had managed to place her chests and trunks in some semblance of order in their bedchamber instead of just dumping them in a corner. Stacks of her books and scrolls had been neatly gathered and laid in baskets for the journey, and while they were by no means organized, they were neat and tidy. They even endeavored to hang a few tapestries borrowed from the castellans from stores to brighten the place and cut down on drafts from the over-wide windows.
But it was still a mess, far from the homey presentation she wanted to make to her professional peers. Thank the gods it was only Astyral and Azar. Had it been women coming to visit, Pentandra would have crawled into bed and refused to consider a visit.
Pentandra sighed. “Time to use magic,” she said, simply. She held out her hand and summoned her baculus, and Everkeen (as she was beginning to call the rod) appeared obligingly in her palm. She gave it the briefest of orders – more like an expression of her desires more than actual spellwork – and the magical tool got to work.
Suddenly the logs in the fireplace burst into flame, four magelights appeared and floated to the corners of her room, and chairs and benches moved across the floor at Everkeen’s direction. Indeed, all around her the baculus sought to fulfill her wishes to conceal, decorate, and improve. In moments the minor disarray of the room was replaced by arcane order. By the time Astyral and Azar knocked on the door, it looked as if she had spent all day arranging things.
“Welcome, my friends,” she said, casually. “Sorry that I’m still in my court garb,” she said, fingering her gown.
“You’d look stunning in anything, my lady . . . or nothing at all,” Astyral flirted. She was used to it – it was an intrinsic part of the Gilmoran’s charm.
“Captain Arborn,” Azar nodded, respectfully. “It’s been awhile . . .”
“You two know each other?” Pentandra asked, surprised.
“Magelord Azar graciously extended the hospitality of Megelin Castle last year for me and my men,” Arborn explained. “We were tracking a platoon of goblins at the edge of the Penumbra and were caught off-guard by a hob patrol. Azar’s brave knights cut them off and allowed my men to get to safety.”
“Oh, it was nothing,” the slender warmage dismis
sed. “I’ve always liked the Kasari, and I saw how your men handled their bows. As well as Sarakeem, on his best day,” he boasted to Pentandra. “I put the men up for a few days, tended their wounds, and gave them a chance to rest. Learned a lot of valuable intelligence, too, if I recall.”
“Your hospitality was greatly appreciated,” Arborn assured him. “I hope to repay the favor one day.”
“As I said, it was nothing. All those who fight against the scrugs are my allies. Your folk bring us better news of their movements than any of my own people.”
“Just what have their movements been?” Pentandra asked, as she instructed Everkeen to summon the chest of spirits and wines she finally remembered that Minalan had thoughtfully included with the baculus. Her colleagues were suitably impressed – by the enchantment, not by the wine she conjured.
“That is one impressive toy, my dear,” Astyral said as he took a seat, sipping carefully from a silver goblet. “I do wish Minalan would craft one for me, but you were always his favorite,” he observed, enviously.
“I prefer a more martial presentation,” Azar said, good-naturedly. “If the sight of the thing doesn’t strike terror in the hearts of your foes . . .”
“It’s a whopping great long magical silver cock,” Astyral pointed out. “That might not make you uncomfortable to consider as a weapon, but for some of us—”
Arborn looked a little uncomfortable at the discussion, so Pentandra quickly changed it. “So what did you gentlemen want to discuss?” she asked, lightly, as she reclined on a well-cushioned chair. “The court case?”
“What? No, no, old business,” Azar said, shaking his head. “No, this is older business – or newer, if you prefer. We want to discuss the war,” he explained.
“The one currently in abeyance, thanks to that . . . treaty,” Astyral continued, pronouncing the word with distaste and not bothering to hide his contempt for the useless document. “We all know that agreement won’t do a damned thing to stop the scrugs. Nor will the king do much in response to a violation . . . not while the problem is contained to Alshar.”
“North Gilmora has been ravaged, too, don’t forget,” Pentandra pointed out.
“Oh, I could not forget that,” Astyral said, shaking his head sadly. “Lovely place. But Rard considers it an acceptable loss in exchange for peace.”
“Peace!” snorted Azar, skeptically. “There is no peace. The scrugs are just preparing for the next wave of the invasion. And we are decidedly not,” he added, judgmentally. “Anguin can throw rebellious Wilderlords into the Iron Band all he likes, but they won’t do any better against the foe than they did earlier in the war,” he predicted. “The Band might slow them down, but it couldn’t do much more than that.”
“Nor is Tudry or its dependents ready,” agreed Astyral. “We can protect our immediate holdings – for a while – but if Sheruel unleashed his hordes on us we couldn’t last more than a few weeks. And there is no one – no one! – who would ride to our aid if we needed it.”
“There is unlikely to be anyone who could do anything even if they could,” Arborn pointed out.
“Of that, we are all too aware,” nodded Astyral, philosophically, as he sipped his wine. “We were hoping Anguin had returned with an army at his back, but . . .”
“He’s trying,” Pentandra urged. “He really is. While the garrison here is more gallows fruit than gallant, Count Salgo is starting to train some local militia and organize the palace’s defenses better.”
“Too little by far,” Azar said, shaking his head. “Oh, he means well, I understand. But when he barely can hold Vorone, much less defend it, seeking his aid while we are under siege by ten thousand goblins doesn’t sound particularly effective.”
“And if Vorone were attacked, it’s unlikely he could even hold it,” Astyral agreed. “I like the lad, I really do. And I like Salgo. He’s always been friendly to us. But if we’re going to be more than sacrificial victims in the next war, we’re going to need a better plan than that.”
“What would you suggest?” Pentandra said, biting her tongue about the politics of the day. “Armies don’t grow on trees. Human ones, at least. Salgo is drilling some of the refugees already,” she pointed out. “They can earn up to a penny a day for guard training. And we’re talking about a general weapontake,” she added.
“Militias with spears aren’t going to hold the gurvani at bay,” Azar said doubtfully. “We need warriors. Infantry and cavalry. Good ones. A lot of them.”
“We need more than that,” Astyral countered. “Look, I understand how the court wants to focus their efforts and energy on the restoration, Penny – I do. With everything going into the chamberpot for so long, we’re desperate for some sense of order and normalcy.
“That being said,” he continued, pouring more wine, “normalcy is not going to happen. The Alshari Wilderlands have lost too much. The old families are decimated, and whatever yeomen are left are scattered and unorganized. Relying on old feudal concepts to raise an army just isn’t going to work here, anymore. Not if it's tied to the old regime,” he stated, matter-of-factly.
“Then there’s the issue of where to actually put an army if we had one,” Azar continued, amused. “The few castles left in the north are bulging. There are only a half-dozen worthy of the name, in truth, but they are stuffed with refugees. The rest of the old fortresses are captured or in ruins.”
“Castles aren’t the only places to put an army,” Arborn pointed out.
“We’re not talking about Kasari, who can live off of tree bark and wholesome thoughts, Captain,” Astyral said without malice. “If we’re going to present a credible obstacle to the gurvani, we’re going to need infantry. Cavalry. Artillery. And a magical corps. Not to mention provision and supply.”
“All of which takes a functioning government and economy,” Pentandra countered. “And that’s precisely what we’re working on! What would you have us do, Astyral?” she asked, pointedly.
The Gilmoran sighed and stared into space for a moment. “Build,” he replied, simply, after some thought. “We don’t have castles. We don’t have enough jobs. Build some castles,” he shrugged. “It will give the peasants something to do.”
“The peasants have plenty to do, just getting a crop in for the year,” Azar said, shaking his head. “But you could put some of those refugees out there to work.”
“Castles are expensive,” Arborn said, doubtfully. “The duchy has little spare funds, right now.”
The Kasari had a low opinion of Narasi fortifications. They just didn’t see the stout walls and grand keeps as particularly secure. Most trained Kasari could ford a moat, scale a wall, and sneak into one with little problem. But the way that the Narasi Wilderlords had used their stone forts to make war on his people had made castles and towers a sign of oppression.
“Funerals are expensive, too,” Azar said, bluntly. “And taxes are damnably hard to collect from dead peasants. This town desperately needs some sort of fortification, for instance,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s shocking how lax the defenses of Vorone are. A couple of good watchtowers, a central keep, and Anguin wouldn’t have to worry much about riots or invaders.”
“Just dragons,” Astyral pointed out. “And that wouldn’t be all. The north needs a real citadel, not these crude little forts. Something like Darkfaller,” he said, a gleam in his eye.
Darkfaller castle had been instrumental in Castal’s conquest of Gilmora, and like most of his countrymen Astyral had a grudging respect for the place. “Something grand, big, hardened, and tough as old leather to crack.”
“That’s far more than the duchy’s resources could bear, right now,” Pentandra said, diplomatically. “Even if we did have the funds, it would take years to build.”
“The Hesians could do it,” Azar pointed out. “I had a couple of Carmella’s folk come to Megelin to do some repairs. They did a season’s worth of work on my southern wall in four days,” he said, impressed. “I’m not a
great admirer of defensive fortifications, mind, but with the new enhancements coming out of Sevendor, Carmella has managed to speed up construction time. Dramatically.”
“We saw what she can do when she constructed the pele towers,” agreed Pentandra. “No doubt she could do . . . something. Perhaps strengthen the palace, perhaps she could construct a small refuge keep . . . but the expense . . .”
“No one worries about the expense of the wall once there is an enemy on the other side,” noted Azar.
“This is a major public construction project you’re proposing,” moaned Pentandra. “Even with Carmella’s help, it will cost thousands . . .”
“Then raise some taxes,” suggested Astyral. “Trygg knows I could squeeze some more out of Tudry and our vassals. And there are other resources in the Wilderlands. The money will be there,” he promised.
“It’s also a matter of political will,” she sighed. “The court is currently split between those who wish to immediately confront the south and go after the rebels, and those who want to ignore the south and pretend that Alshar stops at the Narrows. Even the latter party would take a lot of convincing to dedicated themselves to a project that size. The only lord who has any kind of sway over the lords around here is Count Marcadine, and he’s less than enthusiastic about Anguin’s reign.”
“Then convince His Grace to re-order the north, as he proposed,” Azar suggested. “But truly re-order it, not just give it a coat of whitewash and pretend it’s new. If the current system is broken beyond repair, create a new one. But get those damn castles built, or all the wildflower festivals in the world won’t save us from Sheruel’s wrath.”
They continued to argue in a friendly fashion for several hours, interspersing their lively conversation about policy with rumors and gossip about people they knew in the profession.
Court Wizard (Spellmonger Series: Book 8) Page 42
