Thaumaturge

by Terry Mancour

  “Yes, flowing rivers of shit are not exactly regal,” I conceded.

  “Even better, it frees up an entire third of the superstructure for other use. Similarly, we can use the hoxter pockets for common storage, eliminating the need to use the cellar for storing grain and such. That attracts rats. I hate rats,” she added, wrinkling her nose. “Same idea with defenses. Each of the watch points will have hoxters full of arrows, pitch, and whatever else is needed in a siege. And the top of the tower is . . . special,” she said, smiling dreamily.

  “Special, how?” I prompted, intrigued. Carmella didn’t smile often. She only rarely smiled like that.

  “Firstly, there’s the chamber at the top of the tower. That will be where you can oversee the defenses of not just the tower, but of the entire county. Mirror Arrays, dioramas, maps, control spells, everything you would need to coordinate the defenses, in the case of a big attack. Like the Blue Barn, at Timberwatch.

  “Then there are the defense towers,” she continued, pointing them out on the diagram. “Magically hardened, enchanted against grapples and ladders, with arrow slits on each side of the upper levels. And on top, there are these,” she said, excitedly, as she produced another neat schematic for my inspection.

  “Well, that certainly looks intimidating,” I offered, after looking over the complex design.

  “Rumel and the Dradrien have been conspiring on a design for a magical crossbow, completely against custom and tradition. This is the model they want to build for counter-siege work: big, strong, and able to launch an iron quarrel a thousand feet, with accuracy. Too powerful to be lugged around on the field, but if we mount them here, here, and here, they’ll be able to peg anything approaching your keep. Including by air,” she added. “If a giant wyvern tries to land up here, you can drive them off.”

  “The goal is to keep the wyvern far, far from here,” I observed.

  “That brings me to my next point,” Carmella said, studying the drawing. “Since this is the Count’s keep, and the Count is a mage, I’d like your permission to enchant the castle.”

  I was confused. “Which part?”

  “The entire castle,” Carmella proposed, boldly. “We learned a lot, building the Sudden Fortress,” she reminded me. That enchanted redoubt had been instrumental in the Battle of Olum Seheri. “I heard how effective it was in the field. In fact, I took detailed reports from just about everyone, for evaluation. I’m even working on an improved version. One thing that was consistent through all the accounts was how instrumental the paraclete was. I’d like to expand the experiment,” she proposed.

  I frowned. “The Sudden Fortress was a temporary battlefield fortification,” I reminded her. “This is a permanent defensive structure. One me and my family will be living in. And you want it to be . . . alive?” Somehow, that idea made me uncomfortable.

  “Sentient, at least,” she corrected. “Min, you’re the Spellmonger. You accumulate unusual magic and bloodthirsty enemies like sawdust. That would be true even if you were locked away in Darkfaller. You can’t be protected by just making the walls thicker.”

  “So, you want to make the walls self-aware?” I asked, skeptically.

  “The easiest way to ensure your protection is to make the structure, itself, be part of your bodyguard. A paraclete can be on duty endlessly. It doesn’t sleep,” she said, ticking off points on her fingers. “It can’t be bribed. It can’t be poisoned, garroted, or lured away by a flirty maiden. More importantly, it can consciously respond to a threat without waiting around for orders to come down the chain of command. It can direct magical defenses. Subordinate enchantments. Command defensive wards and shields. It could summon help from the pele towers. I think we could even get it to direct other constructs.”

  “That’s . . . that’s a very interesting idea,” I conceded. Tyndal, Rondal, and Gareth had built a fairly simple construct as a guard for their house in Sevendor, the Rat Trap. It was still endlessly walking its patrol, day and night, and challenging all who crossed into its field of enchantment. I could imagine a squadron of such guards activating in a time of crisis. “So, the castle would act as its own castellan,” I chuckled.

  “It’s an experiment,” she cautioned. “Remember, Min, we’ve only been screwing around with this level of paracletic enchantment for a few years. What we know about it is dwarfed by what we don’t. To be honest, one of the reasons I want to try this technique here, with you, is because if something goes horribly awry, you’re the one best equipped to contend with it,” she confessed.

  I didn’t know whether to be flattered or annoyed. “You realize that my family will be living here?” I reminded her.

  “They’ll mostly be living in residence halls,” she countered. “I figure in times of danger you’ll want to keep them farther away from the front. This tower is for your work, and for their defense. But we’ll take every precaution. I just know for an ordained fact that taking every precaution rarely stops problems from arising. There is risk in every experiment. We accept the risk in order to gain the benefit.”

  I sighed. She was absolutely correct. “Sure. Let’s build it. A living castle run by a million-year old mollusk. What could possibly go wrong?”

  “Don’t worry, I won’t be able to get around to that part until sometime next year, with all you have me doing. So . . . do you like it?” Carmella asked, when she was done showing me the plans.

  “I like it,” I decided, as I turned and studied the western horizon from each new vantage as I climbed. Half-way up I could see the distant Mindens, a long purple ribbon betwixt sky and land that stretched from north to south. “It has a lot of potential.”

  “It’s only a few hours’ ride to Vanador, and both the village of Asgot and Baelor’s Tower are but an hour from here, by horse. And much quicker by Ways. I’m planning on a much better road connecting Salik and Baelor’s, and that will run right through this domain,” she promised. “And I thought we could put the Sky Riders’ forward base on whichever hill you don’t build your tower on.”

  “That would be handy,” I agreed. I had come to depend on Dara’s wing patrolling Sevendor, especially after the dragon attack had made such exercises prudent. I wouldn’t mind seeing Nattia’s Wing close at hand where I lived. “Not much in the way of good farmland, though,” I pointed out. “The sun doesn’t hit this spot directly until after noon.”

  “Well, I could move the hill,” Carmella said, dryly, “and I actually considered it. But this isn’t a productive agricultural state, Min, and it never will be. At best, it would make a lovely protected garden,” she suggested. “Maybe some orchards and groves. There are two sites closer to the escarpment I think would be adequate for traditional manors. At least eighty, ninety acres of decent arable land apiece. With some magical attention and the right spells, we can produce twice what they would elsewise. You won’t starve here, Min.”

  “I don’t intend to. I’m just assessing the place. As I said, I like it. What’s it called?”

  “The Wilderfolk have a name for it from the original tribes, Rumon, or something like that. I think it means ‘red mountain,’ due to how much iron is in the rocks, here. But you’re the Count of the Magelaw,” she pointed out. “You can name it any damn thing you want. It’s yours.”

  “Spellgarden,” I decided, after a moment’s thought. That caused Carmella to give me a brief, startled look.

  “That was quick,” she snorted.

  “I like doing that sort of thing,” I shrugged. “It feeds my ego. This shall be Spellgarden!” I said, holding up my hands in mock command, as if I was gesticulating a spell. “Does that work?”

  “As we’ve started calling the pass to the north ‘Spellgate,’ that fits,” she nodded. “I can do good work here, if you let me,” she said, turning back around to view the ridge. It dipped a few dozen feet in the middle, between the two mounds. “There are a few springs, some caves, and enough forest to pannage plenty of pigs,” she promised. “And pastures sufficient
for a goodly-sized stable. I think you can make a lovely country home, here.”

  “Let’s see what my wife thinks about it,” I agreed. “But as much as I’m enjoying the stability of city life, it’s going to get hot and stuffy under that rock, this summer. Having a country estate will be good for the children and good for Alya,” I reasoned. “When can you get started?”

  “Subject to your approval, immediately. I’ll have to enter it as a separate budget, though,” she warned. “This isn’t a baronial or civic project.”

  “Meet with Brother Bryte and have him give you access to whatever funds you might need. Spend lavishly. Just get me a nice hall and a decent little fortress built here before Korbal comes to knock it down.” I sighed, happily, and gave the entire site a thorough visual inspection, recording the experience through the Magolith. “Now I just have to secure my wife’s approval.”

  ***

  When spring finally officially began its decline and matured into summer, Gareth arranged a small festival in the center of town to celebrate, after the planting was complete in most places. There was little official about it – the local temples were still mostly empty lots, back then, and most shops in town were still in various phases of construction – but the arrival of summer is always an eagerly-anticipated event in a place where snow and spring flooding can leave you house-bound for days for half of the year. Having a bit of a festival seemed just like the natural thing to do.

  Gareth didn’t have to do much – an order with Rael for a few hogsheads of good strong ale from Falas and an announcement of a celebration after the market closed on market day was sufficient. Musicians were hired at public expense, food was pledged by taverners and innkeepers to encourage the festivities, and the market square was bright with magelights as the people danced.

  I took the family there, early in the day while the market was still open, at the risk of disturbing Alya with the noise and commotion of later hours. She’d gotten so much better, after I was able to resume daily treatments with the Handmaiden, that I felt it worthwhile to try. She did splendidly as she led the children by hand through the crowds . . . though I had one of the nurses follow closely behind her as a precaution.

  It was a delightful morning. Almina got to try a walnut pastry for the first time, which she gnawed with delight. Calling it a pastry is a misnomer – it’s mostly honey, spices and nuts, chopped fine, with just enough flour to hold it together, and then baked hard in a mold.

  Minalyan was more intrigued by the musicians, and clapped and danced enthusiastically to the songs they belted out for the crowd. He was a highly social boy. He thought nothing of boldly approaching a stranger and conversing about anything that took his mind, while his sister hid behind Alya’s skirts and just observed.

  Alya was also more of an observer than a participant, and too often there was still confusion in her eyes as she watched the riot of laughter and conversation in the market square. It was a far more rustic celebration than, for instance, Vorone enjoyed on Ishi’s Day, but there was still plenty of Maywine and kissing going on in the corners, while music and dancing engaged the center of the square. Alya took it all in, her eyes darting back and forth over the crowd as her mind struggled to make sense of it.

  Then she would light on something familiar, and a smile of recognition and memory would break out over her face. A neighbor she remembered, or a snatch of song, or a particular smell in the air. I watched her carefully, even as she was watching everyone else. When she started to look more fatigued than enthralled by the festivities, I knew it was time to leave.

  Though she was still unwell even after a treatment, she was improving. It could have been my presence that helped. I’m enough of an egotist to admit that I thought Alya did better when I was around, as she did seem more relaxed and secure after I arrived in Vanador, by all accounts. The longer she spent around me, the more “normal” she seemed to become.

  But then she’d wander off by herself and we would find her standing and staring at something for no apparent reason, in fear or amusement. That was my signal that it was time for another treatment.

  Over time, Alya became more and more functional. Until she wasn’t. It made life interesting. That particular day, I wanted to see just how much she had healed. When the festival became overwhelming, instead of escorting Alya and the children back to Spellmonger’s Hall, I met with Carmella in front of Hesian Hall, and we traveled by the Alkan Ways.

  Alya was a little disturbed by the surprise, and wondered aloud if we were going to another party. Instead, I brought them all, with Carmella’s help, to the remote site some fifteen miles west of town, overlooking the ridge at the western edge of the plateau. Two years ago I had led a few thousand Kasari children along that ridge, I recalled.

  “Where are we?” Alya asked, confused, as she looked around at the empty landscape.

  “Our new country home,” I explained, grinning. “A quiet, secluded estate where we can escape the chaos and noise of Vanador Town.”

  “I don’t see a home,” she answered, looking around.

  “We won’t start construction for another few days,” Carmella explained. “I’ve got the designs prepared, and I’ve secured materials for laying the foundations. A clearing crew is due here tomorrow morning. I will have two of my best crews working on it,” she promised – and that said a lot. To me, at least.

  While the rest of us had been hacking off goblin heads and pissing off the crowned heads, Carmella’s Hesian Order had quietly grown to encompass more than ninety full-time warmagi, another hundred wizards of other specialties, and over a thousand dedicated builders the Order employed in its works. Her modest pele tower, just a few miles away, was a small town in its own right due to the number of retainers and students she had.

  “The big question is . . . do you like it?” I asked, taking Alya in hand. “This little vale is just the start – the view is magnificent from the summit of the hill,” I promised. “You can see all the way to the other side of the Wildwater. And back all the way to the Anvil. We can put the hall here,” I said, pointing with my baculus, “the guest hall over there, the manor buildings down here, near the roadway. This entire meadow, here, will be your garden. Our garden. Indeed, the name of this place is Spellgarden. It’s to become my official seat as Count.”

  “But I thought we lived in Sevendor?” she asked, confused, as she looked around at the empty meadow. “Minalan, it’s beautiful, but . . .”

  “As long as we are in exile from our first home, let’s build a second,” I offered. “And let it be as magnificent or as sublime as we desire. I can afford it,” I added, though I doubted that was her objection.

  “It really is . . . lovely,” she agreed, after studying the horizon for a few moments while the children chased each other screaming through the meadow. “It smells amazing, up here, after the town. It’s peaceful,” she granted. “I do like it. It’s just . . .”

  “Just what?” I asked, curious.

  “There’s no water,” she sighed. “I’d like some water.”

  “Carmella, build some water,” I ordered.

  “Yes, I’ll get right on that,” she grunted, confidently.

  “And . . . some cows,” she decided. “Lots of cows. I . . . I think I want a creamery,” she declared, unexpectedly.

  “You want a . . . creamery?” I asked, confused.

  “It’s . . . I . . . I remember some things,” Alya said, her eyes darting wildly. “Things from before. From when I was a child. I remember being in the creamery a lot, and really enjoying it. I . . . I think it would be nice . . . be helpful . . . if I could make cheese again,” she said, sounding embarrassed. “And I like cows. They’re . . . they’re calming.”

  I gave it a few moment’s thought, before I answered. “Alya, you can have all the cows you want. And a creamery, if you’d like. This is your home. I am your husband. If you want to spend your days making cheese instead of doing needlework, well, that sounds like a fine vocatio
n for any Wilderlands’ lass,” I grinned. “As long as you’re happy.”

  “I . . . I think that will help,” she decided. “Don’t ask me why. I don’t know. Just like I don’t know why spoons are so funny. Or why wheels are so fascinating. It’s just . . . it’s just how I am, now,” she said, defensively.

  “Don’t worry yourself about it,” I soothed, taking her other hand. “As soon as major construction is done on the hall, I’ll have a fine herd picked out for you. And we’ll recruit some peasants to tend them and milk them. We’ll build a magical creamery, the best the world has ever seen. And you can make cheese to your heart’s content,” I promised.

  “Thank you, Minalan,” she whispered, looking embarrassed. That was an excellent sign. Alya hadn’t shown any signs of social or personal embarrassment in a long while, and it was refreshing to see them return. “This is a lovely place,” she repeated, squeezing my hands. “I will be happy to live here with you, my husband.”

  “It was the best spot I could find,” I admitted. “I had my pick of it all, of course, but this one is perfect. It’s strategically situated: Vanador is behind us, Baelor’s Tower is nearby, Rognar’s Tower is ten miles north as the hawk flies, Travler’s ten miles to the northwest, and Salik Tower is ten miles south, more or less,” I said, pointing them out with my baculus as I named them. “Four stout magelords, warmagi all, to defend us.”

  “Of course, it also puts you in the path of any invading armies that come up that pass against Vanador,” Carmella added, unhelpfully.

  “It puts us adjacent to the path of invading armies,” I corrected. “That’s a big difference.”

  “Well, if they turn to attack you here, you will have plenty of relief at hand,” she conceded. “And you would have an excellent forward position from which to direct our defenses. There are worse sites for your seat,” she decided.