Thaumaturge

by Terry Mancour

  The drawbridge that Carmella commissioned to span the gap was a masterpiece of Malkas Alon art and Imperial warmagic. Constructed of mage-kilned redwood and bound by iron, the bridge provided a sturdy means to cross. Raised on its great chains, the exterior of the door was shod in thick iron and heavily enchanted. Once closed, the massive gate would forbid any from crossing the gap and invading the structure.

  Carmella named the complex Spellgate, and it was perhaps the most important fortification in the Magelaw. It was certainly the most secure. She’d designed it to present places for thousands of archers along its battlements. She’d provided a central chamber high in the structure from which commanders could observe and direct the entire valley below. A secondary chamber was built to house scores of scrying warmagi. From that vantage point Terleman could direct every man within sight.

  Terleman was heavily involved in the design of Spellgate, if not its construction. His deep conversations with Carmella inspired some of the most insidious defensive warmagic I’d ever witnessed. When I toured the site in the early stages, when it was mostly piles of dirt, my Lord Marshal looked upon the busy workers confidently.

  “This will be my masterpiece,” he informed me.

  “I thought this was Carmella’s masterpiece?” I asked. She’d told me as much only an hour before, ere she was called away by her crews.

  “It’s a shared endeavor,” he conceded. “She had the vision for fortification. I have the better insight about how best to deploy defenses.” It was a statement, not a boast, and one I didn’t think Carmella would take issue with.

  “It’s an ambitious project,” I conceded. “And an expensive one. I suppose the question is if it is effective.” That earned me a flash of annoyance from Terl.

  “With the Spellmonger manning the battlements, how could it not be?” he asked in a mocking sycophantic tone.

  “That’s just my point,” I sighed, ignoring his attitude. “I want Vanador to be secure independent of the Spellmonger. If our defense is dependent on me, then we’re . . . well, screwed.”

  “Because you aren’t up to the challenge?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “Because I might not be here,” I countered. “I want you to design this place so that it will repel our foes whether I am here or not. Indeed, I would you prefer you not include my powers and presence in your plans. Pretend I’m not around,” I suggested. “This is not a project to enflame my vanity—”

  “I believe that is sufficiently stoked,” he agreed.

  “It’s to protect the plateau and give our foes something hard to hit. It’s already strategically important. There are three Towers within a half-day’s ride. Vanador is likewise nearby. If this complex is to be effective, I want it built to stand on its own. Use your best tricks, Terl,” I counselled. “When you’re done, I want a half-trained apprentice to be able to direct the battle and win.”

  “You’re the boss,” he agreed, nodding. I didn’t need him to swear any oaths or make any promises. I knew Terleman. If he accepted your commission, he committed to it with every bone in his body.

  We stood and watched the work for a long time, commenting on the details of construction and the potential for truly nasty defensive spells to be used. Though still in its formative stage, the sheer size of the project and the ambitious plans Carmella had shown me convinced me that Spellgate would, indeed, be the focus of our defense for the foreseeable future.

  From the moment I’d arrived in the Magelaw until Midsummer, I’d focused almost exclusively on laying the basics for our defense. Men, arms, armor, horses, fortresses, marching routes, all occupied the bulk of my time. One warrior at a time, one block at a time, one settlement at a time, I was transforming Vanador into a functioning country.

  I only hoped it would happen in time.

  “The Spellmonger always put the safety of his family and their comfort in front of most other considerations, during my experience of the man. And while he and his household enjoyed a pleasant-enough existence in the City of Magi in the famed Spellmonger’s Hall, the residence most associated with the Count of the Magelaw was clearly the modest but impressive tower that served as his primary estate, Spellgarden. There, from the serenity and seclusion of its natural surroundings and the powerful magical currents that inhabit the place, Minalan forged much of his plans for the Magelaw. From the beginning there was no question as to whether the Spellmonger’s official seat would be enchanted. But we only had a glimmer, back then, of how powerfully enchanted it was to become.”

  From the Scrolls of Lawbrother Bryte the Wiser

  Chapter Eleven

  Envisioning Spellgarden

  Weeks passed and the weather turned a belligerently fertile spring to the early days of summer. Life had assumed a predictable cadence, for a time, as the novelty of a new home and a new town, new people to see and new sights, new duties and plans to be made all distracted me from the difficulties I was having within my household.

  In the days since my arrival in Vanador, I’d settled back into my household in my new home as best I could. Things were a little crowded, with my immediate family, retainers and servants all under one roof, but Alya and the children had arrived weeks before I did and much of the work of setting up the house had been done for me before I arrived. My first few weeks largely involved me adapting to the routines they’d already established for the household.

  Alya was still not up to the task of running a busy household, of course, despite weeks of treatments with the Magolith and the powerful forces inside. Don’t mistake me – she was improving daily – but there were just too many things she still had difficulties with to put her in charge. Lady Estret, alas, was needed in Sevendor, to take up the important duties that now fell to her and Sire Cei, as my designated stewards during my exile. She’d been adept at running a large, complicated household, better than Alya at her best.

  We were fortunate to have Sister Bethdra for that purpose. One of three nuns from Holy Hill abbey, priestesses of Trygg Allmother, Birthsister Bethdra was the eldest and seniormost in rank. Birthsister Beatrygg oversaw the children as their governess, and Birthsister Ocori took primary charge of Alya’s care. Between the three of them, they kept Spellmonger’s Hall in Vanador as organized as possible.

  Sister Bethdra oversaw the hiring and orders of the new cook, ensured that the household finances were up to date, supervised the small family of Tal Anon who’d bravely elected to join us as servants in exile, and made purchases in the market for what the hall needed. Sister Beatrygg made certain the children were bathed, fed, and taught out of a thumbworn primer she carried for the purpose. And Sister Ocori ensured Alya was dressed, bathed, and not trying to pull hot coals out of the hall’s great fireplace with her bare fingers or rub her face in the belly of a cat who just wasn’t into that sort of thing.

  Stuff like that still happened periodically. Despite her improvement, Alya needed constant vigilance. Sister Ocori had more patience than perhaps any human being I’d known, when it came to dealing with my wounded wife. Her damaged psyche was mending, but it was a long and slow process.

  The three nuns kept things functioning. They were adept at their positions. I know the Birthmother of Holy Hill was loath to part with them, but I had been fabulously generous to the abbey in recent months. It’s amazing what a fistful of golden coins can do to clarify the path of someone’s spiritual journey.

  Sister Bethdra wasn’t just being dutiful, however. She was also charged with starting a sister temple in Vanador, just as soon as it was warm enough to do so. She’d already found a handful of local girls enthused about becoming novices, once the temple was constructed. Until then, running my household was a challenging job she was more than capable of handling.

  The fourth clergyman in my household brought a certain balance to the hall, as he began his work on my behalf. Even after he took lodgings elsewhere, Lawbrother Bryte haunted Spellmonger’s Hall on my business. He brought a wry humor and helpful hand to the p
lace every morning, always joking with the nuns, the children, or even the Tal Alon during breakfast before he went upstairs to his desk in my solar to begin his work. Despite his sometimes-sloppy demeanor, his account books and scrolls were meticulously prepared and neat and legible as I could ask. And he ensured that my buttery was never overfull of wine or spirits.

  But I didn’t need a glorified scribe or countingman in my employ. I was going to use the monk to help me set up the lawless realm of the Wilderlands into an orderly and well-managed fiefdom, the Magelaw. At least, that was the plan.

  That was a big job, but Bryte’s mind for such things was sharp and adept. Though steeped in the Common Laws of Luin and the ducal statutes of Castal, he’d demonstrated a passing good command of Alshari law, and even Remeran and Vorean statutes and customs. He was often a little nervous around me, especially when we first arrived, but I chalked that up to his excitement at the challenge. Or he could just have been cold sober, it was hard to tell.

  The good monk acted as my secretary and counselor. He oversaw my local legal affairs, managed my portions of my various Magelaw estates, kept my accounts and had access to my tremendous purse. I enjoyed his politely-formal manner when interacting with the nuns – no letch, he – and found his ironic humor a relief. He approached duty and service like a starving man approaches a banquet, and his loyalty to his lord was only surmounted by his devotion to Luin and his respect for the legal rights of all.

  Besides my family and the clergy, I had other retainers to house and feed at Spellmonger’s Hall. Since Lenodara’s impressive conclusion of her examinations and receipt of her journeyman’s papers, Ruderal was now my sole apprentice.

  The thirteen-year old was no longer the scrawny kid who Tyndal and Rondal had rescued from Enultramar, a few years ago. Now he was almost portly, enjoying the bounty of his position in a way only someone who had been raised in poverty and hunger could.

  Ruderal was enjoying his relatively uninterrupted time with me and acted as much my servant as my student. He was quick to ask questions, but never when I wasn’t receptive to answering them. His early familiarity with the town proved helpful in those early days. I could count on him to run a message to, say, Carmella or Terleman, and expect an answer within the hour.

  As cozy as Spellmonger’s Hall was, however, I had only a tithe of my workshop unpacked and the space available for the place was already cluttered. While I knew I could build more, I also knew that this residence was meant to be temporary, and transitory, in a way. Most civilized counts live on their country estates, not in cramped townhomes. Even fewer live under a rock.

  Carmella had selected such a place for me, with Pentandra’s advice. It was in the far western portion of the plateau, just south of the pass. A low double-peaked hilltop with a gentle vale between, on the western side.

  From the peak of the summit it overlooked the broad vales of the Wildwater to the west, and the Anvil could be seen clearly in the distance to the east. To the north the beacon light of Baerlon Tower sparkled in the distance. On a clear night one could also glimpse the lights of both Salik and Traveler’s Towers. And, of course, the growing mass of Spellgate loomed only a mile and a half away to the north. Strategically speaking, this was a well-positioned estate for a count facing a defensive war.

  The site itself was gorgeous. It was just the kind of knobby Wilderlands ridge I’d come to love. Carmella took me out to the site show it to me, a few weeks before Midsummer, when the wildflowers had transformed the meadows into a brightly-colored tapestry.

  The upper ridge was thick with old-growth forest, and an apron of younger second-growth trees covered the hems of the hills. At one time the central vale had been farmed, but better land in easier places to get to had seen it abandoned long before the gurvani invasion.

  “It’s completely raw, save for one small family of smallholders,” Carmella assured me, referring to cottagers who squatted in empty lands, foraging and working tiny farms without clear title to them. “There is room for at least two, three good estates, in the precinct I laid out. That’s in addition to the high ground,” she nodded appreciatively, as she led me up the old goat trail to the center of the tiny vale. “There’s a well someone dug here already. And good, steady elemental magical currents nearby,” she said, waving her hands in their direction. “It’s defensible, yet close enough to the probable front to be convenient. It’s arable, yet defensible.”

  “Not a place for a grand castle, then,” I said, trying to envision the place. “Do I need another castle?” I asked, suddenly confused. “I thought we were building one on the Anvil.”

  “We are,” Carmella assured me. “Eventually. But it takes more than one castle to defend an entire land. You’re the Count Palatine of the Magelaw,” she reasoned. “You have to have a castle.”

  “If I have to . . .” I conceded, with false reluctance.

  “Don’t worry,” she said, spreading out a large roll of parchment on a folding table she suddenly produced from a hoxter pocket, when we came to a wide clearing near the center of the hollow. “What I have in mind isn’t particularly grand, but it’s pretty. You don’t really need to withstand an extended siege, out here, just keep the foe at bay until help can arrive. For our noble Count I have designed something both simple and efficient.”

  I looked at the elegant drawing, marveling at the artistry in the diagram. The castle was a central round keep, four stories tall, with three square supporting towers arrayed around the circumference in an equilateral triangle. The roof of the central structure was sharply peaked . . . and looked suspiciously like our professional headgear. A crenelated one-story secondary structure was built between two of the square towers, providing a guarded entryway to the place. There was something familiar about it, but I could not put my finger on it.

  “This is just the central keep,” she explained, enthusiastically. “I’ve got designs for additional walls and a proper gatehouse, too. Plenty of room for halls and workshops, there, no need to put them in the tower. The ground floor is the hall, the second floor is the chamber, and above that is your workshop and library. The whole thing will be built and run by magic, of course, which altered the original design—”

  “Wait!” I said, realizing why the drawing bothered me. “I’ve seen this castle before! It’s that one near the Castali coast . . .”

  “Torford castle,” she admitted, blushing. “I stole it. I liked the basic design, it’s a classic of the Transitional period,” she confessed, “but always felt it could be improved upon. This was my chance,” she said, defensively. I was amused. Carmella was brilliant at what she did. Feeling guilty over where she got her inspiration was part of that brilliance, I supposed. “The good news is, based on the relatively small size of the keep we should be able to cut the foundations, raise the shell and tower structure by midsummer.”

  I looked at her in wonder. “Midsummer? Carmella, the equinox is in days!”

  “Min, you really have no idea just how far we’ve come,” she sighed, with professional satisfaction. “Building the pele towers allowed us to pioneer some techniques. Building Vorone Castle gave us the opportunity to refine those techniques, and improve upon them. We used about three times more labor in Vorone than we needed to,” she admitted, “just to keep people from wondering how we were getting so much done so quickly. Ordinarily, I’d never be that wasteful. Thankfully, it was a government job,” she chuckled.

  “Still, you can’t have refined technique that much,” I said, skeptically.

  “Oh, we have,” she nodded, smugly. “And I have very good people. For an excavation this size, up here in the Wilderlands, it would have taken two years to clear the site and dig a foundation, the old way. Or more. Every rock and every spadeful of dirt has a cost. That’s why the old Wilderlands castles are so shitty.

  “But with magic . . . Min, I can send in a four-man crew and have a site that large and elaborate done in six days, not two years,” she declared, proudly. “Most of
construction consists of waiting around for the right materials to show up, and then waiting longer for the specialists to do their one thing before everyone else can get to work. With the enchantments we’re using, there is no waiting, anymore. Once the site is prepared, the crew can start laying down the foundation immediately.”

  “I saw what you were doing at Spellgate,” I recalled. “That’s impressive.” The introverted wizard quietly beamed at the praise.

  “Every block that is transported in can be set into place and melded into the bedrock,” she happily related. “Rumel’s folk built us expandable scaffolding that’s enchanted to walk to where you need it to be. We have wands that tell you precisely when something is level, or what the exact angle is, or what the measurement from here to there might be, or how much load a beam will actually bear before breaking. Our timber arrives perfectly planed and sanded, ready to install. Our magemaps can let us know exactly how our design needs to be executed. What used to take weeks can be done in minutes,” she boasted. “Especially when we don’t have to worry about mundane folk watching us.”

  “And you really think it will be done by midsummer?”

  “Done? Good gods, no! I said the superstructure would be done,” she corrected. “And probably a few of the residence halls. But we should be putting the roof on, around then, and beginning the interior work and initial enchantments. I’d say it’s basically finished by autumn, but then that depends on how much you want to screw around with the interior design. You want a date for when it’s entirely done? Next year, sometime. Or about six years before it would be finished with normal techniques. Provided there aren’t too many changes,” she warned.

  “I do have a wife,” I agreed. “There might be changes. So how did magic alter the basic design?” I asked, genuinely curious.

  “Several ways,” she said, unfurling another sheet detailing the castle’s floorplan. “Firstly, we were able to eliminate the latrine tower,” she pointed out. “With hoxter pockets we can build simple privies on each floor and not have to worry about diverting the waste. That should make the . . . outflow less problematic, too,” she said, diplomatically.