Thaumaturge

by Terry Mancour

  “Understood, Your Grace. I pledge that this will not rise to the level of your official notice, if I can help it.”

  “It would have to become far greater if it is to do so, then. I wasn’t kidding about the undead or the insurgency. Or the pirates. There have been further incidents. Nothing as bad as the attack on my wedding day, but between the undead and Farise, I have my ducal hands full,” he pleaded. “Anything you do, Minalan, I can’t really back you, if you go too far.”

  “Also understood, Your Grace. I think, for once, I know what I’m doing, here,” I reasoned. “Please bear with me. And . . . how are you enjoying married life?”

  Anguin and Rardine had returned from a two-week long honeymoon in the Great Vale cities that was, according to rumor, as passionate as it was productive. When they returned to Falas they seemed even more attached to each other than before the wedding. Rardine had spent the time formulating a new structure for Alshari intelligence operations. Anguin had issued dozens of new edicts about all sorts of things to help repair both the damage the rebels had done and to repair unjust or foolish regulation that had plagued Alshar for centuries.

  “Marriage is . . . a lot better than I imagined,” he admitted, with a bit of a blush. “Rardine is actually pretty reasonable, once she knows you’ve made up your mind. And she’s terribly creative. It’s not at all like what I remember my parent’s marriage being like. I suppose we’ve both been through much, and see in each other a chance to reinvent ourselves. And I find it best to avoid situations which lead to her pouting,” he confessed. “That seems to get me in more trouble than her ire.”

  “Yes, avoid the pouty face at all costs,” I recommended. “It gives me security knowing that she isn’t . . . being difficult. It bodes well for the realm.”

  “When she starts to get difficult, I remind her of the accommodations at Olum Seheri. She’s usually more amenable, after that.”

  That was a bit shocking – not only the audacity of bringing up her captivity, but implying a threat if she did not behave. Rardine had suffered less than most in Olum Seheri, but she’d still endured a horrible ordeal. I was pretty certain Anguin’s point, while in questionable taste, was a jest.

  On the other hand, the boy had a temper, too. I recalled the tale of how he’d executed the Ducal Steward in Vorone. He may not be entirely jesting.

  “I think it’s a good sign,” Mavone decided, when we discussed the communication in my solar that afternoon. “She’s not trying to kill him. Not yet. And he actually likes her, Ifnia alone knows why.

  “More importantly, he gave you a free hand to continue with your efforts in Gilmora, because they support his desire to restore it to Alshari rule. That will come in handy, particularly when I spread the news at the end of the month when I return.”

  “You’re going back to Gilmora? Why?”

  “To collect our winnings,” Mavone said, giving me a rare smile. “Sandy, Astyral and I made some substantial bets with some members of the Gilmoran chivalry on the outcome of Terleman’s duel. We won a sizable purse, all together, which I will be touring Gilmora to collect in person. Along the way, I will discuss His Grace’s disposition with the Alshari loyalists I know there,” he confided.

  “What will that do?” I asked, genuinely curious. I didn’t care much which banner flew over Gilmora, but it was fascinating to watch the politics at work.

  “It will support the idea amongst such folk that hope exists for the Anchor-and-Antlers to return – along with the Alshari laws and customs the Castali replaced when they won the province. That hope, alone, will be enough to encourage them to cooperate with us. Thankfully, almost all of the knights we wagered with favored the Castali cause. Now they’ll be seven hundred ounces of silver the poorer for it. I almost feel bad for collecting, knowing what Terl would do to the Kitten of Gilmora. But it just wouldn’t be right to not place a bet at the Tournament of Barrowbell.”

  “Minalan was unique among the magi for his close relationship to our Alka Alon allies; though others developed a strong affinity with the race, Minalan’s long association with them provided a secure association during our people’s reacquaintance. Particularly the allies who were known as the Tera Alon, a magical amalgamation of our two peoples, were attached to the Spellmonger. The Elre line, including Lady Lilastien and Lady Ithalia, were especially devoted to the human wizard. While the Tera Alon settlement in Sevendor was the primary refuge of the transformed, they quickly migrated to be in proximity to their human sponsor. When the Tera Alon came in force to Vanador, it changed the place dramatically. Once again, the Spellmonger was responsible for that transformation.”

  From the Scrolls of Lawbrother Bryte the Wiser

  Chapter Twenty

  The Tera Alon

  We were busy after we returned from Barrowbell. And plenty had happened during our absence.

  The first halls were being completed at Spellgarden, allowing us to spend more time there late that summer. The foundations to the small castle were well set and settled, complete with a blessing from the Avitaline monks, and the first walls were climbing skyward day by day. Teams of laborers under Speredek’s supervision turned Carmella’s grand plan into the complex I needed, with magic, muscle, and determination.

  A contingent of Tal Alon gardeners was busily digging holes and planting fruit and nut trees around the periphery of the gardens, while the first temporary huts for my new villagers were being raised along the road. Foundations for the outer walls were being set and strengthened with spells. The permanent kitchens and latrines were rapidly being finished. And the first storehouse was completed and filled to provide against the winter.

  The entire thing was costing me a bloody fortune.

  I was too occupied overseeing the plans for both the structure and a hundred other things during that busy time to even look at the accounts. Brother Bryte begged me to, time and again, to assure myself that he wasn’t cheating me, considering the vast sums being spent by the treasury. Eventually I conceded to return from Spellgarden and spend some time allaying his concerns.

  But there were plenty of matters that demanded my attention in Vanador, too. I used the Ways to get between the two, at need, but when I could I took the wain or rode across the rolling plateau. Surrounded by the high ridges, with the beautiful Kuline range in the east, the road was a truly enjoyable ride even in wet weather, when mists clung to the hills and trees like a cloak. I had originally chosen Boval Vale for my home because of its beauty, but the eastern Wilderlands did not lack for majestic scenery, and I enjoyed every bit of it.

  Now there was additional element to enchant the landscape and society, I discovered when I returned to town: the Tera Alon had arrived in Vanador.

  The first major contingent of Tera Alon arrived that summer, with no warning. One late summer morning everyone woke up to find the town was filled with incredibly beautiful people with very hazy ideas about proper clothing.

  It was a bit of a shock, considering everything else that was going on, but as Lord Tambaraleth, their official leader, explained to me and Gareth over breakfast, this was just the advanced contingent that would build the forward garrison the Alka Alon wanted here. Two hundred of the boldest of them had been detailed to construct the permanent encampment here. And they wanted – needed – to begin now. They had to plant some of their defensive trees during the season, or something.

  There was more to it than that, of course. A quiet conference with Ithalia, later that morning, revealed the real reason behind the mission: Political strife within the Alka Alon Council. As usual, I was to blame.

  My raid on Olum Seheri had decidedly turned opinion in favor of working with the humani . . . but that didn’t mean that many Alka Alon were enthusiastic about it.

  Others, though, were fanatically eager – the Tera Alon. The transgenically-enchanted Alka Aon who had declared their intention to fight against Korbal in their human-sized bodies scandalized the traditionalists within Alka society. Over the cou
rse of winter things had come to a head as a delegation of Tera Alon nearly rebelled when calmer heads urged a slower, more cautious approach to the alliance.

  This mission was the compromise. The council wanted a place where the dissident, passionate Tera Alon could be sent to work out their foolish affection for humanity, and Vanador was it. And as an associate member of the Council, I couldn’t really say no. Ithalia was re-locating from Sevendor to join them and help guide them, she told me a few days after they arrived. As an Emissary she was considered one of the foremost authorities on the subject of humanity.

  “Just keep their genitals covered,” I grumbled to her. “And explain about money – they can’t just take anything they like in the market. They have to pay for it, and that will be novel. In fact, try to limit how many go to market at any one time. I don’t need any riots breaking out because a couple of Tera Alon maidens decides to try on a gown in the middle of the market.”

  “My people are well aware of your barbaric customs,” Ithalia grinned, indulgently. “You won’t have much trouble. We just need a place to build our camp.”

  “Interestingly enough, Carmella’s master plan for this place includes an area known as the Tera Alon Quarter, out beyond the Kasari Quarter. I guess she figured they would be the least affected by your distracting presence.”

  “It won’t be that distracting,” she promised. “Most of these people are obsessed with your culture. They want to blend in badly.”

  “No doubt they will blend in badly,” I quipped. “It’s the subtleties of humanity that tend to trip up your folk when they mix with mine. Like Onranion’s bastards peppering Sevendor,” I reminded her.

  “. . . or Fallawen’s wedding,” she countered. “Of course there will be mistakes, Minalan. That’s what makes this process so interesting!”

  I wasn’t really looking for “interesting.” It seemed to find me of its own accord.

  Despite their abrupt appearance the Tera Alon were true to Ithalia’s word, for the most part. Unlike Onranion the Reprobate, most were simply curious about our ways and customs and wanted to observe and sometimes participate. As they were busy singing a small enchanted forest into existence on the northeastern portion of the city, on the north side of the Anvil’s slopes, typically only a few came into the main city during the day. At night a few could be found in the taverns and inns, enjoying our fumbling attempts at music, and I’m sure there were intimate cross-species liaisons, but none led to noticeable trouble.

  But Ithalia was correct: it was interesting.

  The Tera Alon were almost child-like as they explored their new perspective and looked to humanity to help them adapt. Many struggled to transposing their innate magic to their human-like bodies, but were always eager to try. Our taverns were filled with beautiful music every night as a result. Once the Tera Alon realized that it was a custom to pay for a singer’s drinks for his entertainment, it became a Vanadori tradition.

  When it got interesting was when the Tera Alon’s gorgeous voices were accompanied by other elements. They were particularly intrigued by the stringed instruments the human minstrels used to earn their coin – Alka Alon preferred wind instruments, specifically flutes. When they began drifting from the human establishments over to the taverns in the Wood Dwarves’ quarter, and discovered the Kudzok’s fascination for drums and complex rhythms, the result was intriguing by anyone’s standards. Vanador began to cultivate a musical reputation for wild innovation, if you paid attention to those sorts of things.

  Another unexpected result of the Tera Alon’s presence was their fascination with writing and reading. I’m sure it was the novelty of it all that was responsible for the interest. There were a number of Tera Alon who haunted the scribes and booksellers (three of them, by that time) in the market seeking to learn the strange humani art their sires had disdained.

  They studied the production of ink and pigment with delight, witnessed the process of beating parchment reeds, then cutting, spreading, drying and trimming them. They watched the scribes and luminists compose and copy with special allure. I expected their first attempts at the craft would be crude. On the contrary, when they attempted the task on their own, the results were uniformly beautiful, strange and exotic.

  While some were content with capturing the lore and memory on parchment in words, others immersed themselves in composing purely artistic studies in pen and pigment as a celebration of their novel dual nature. Their perspective of the world was fascinating, when viewed through their art. It tended to favor graceful curves and intricate detail, often stylized in delicate form on the page. Compared to the blocky, basic forms the Malkas, Karshak and Dradrien favored, every piece was a compelling visual essay whether it bore words or not.

  More Tera Alon arrived as the season waned, as various specialties needed to complete their settlement were imported from other refuges or the Sevendor settlement. It was a gradual introduction, but soon nearly one in ten marketgoers was Tera Alon. The settlement they built on the north slope of the Anvil was breathtakingly spectacular, a cunning mixture of humani and Alon styles.

  Visiting it, when it was complete, was more reminiscent of lost Amadia in Boval Vale than of Carneduin or fallen Anthatiel. Ithalia was the unofficial leader of the colony, but she soon appointed a staff, led by Lord Tambaraleth, who were almost obsequiously eager to assist in the development and defense of Vanador.

  “Forgive my people, Min,” Lilastien begged during a visit that summer as we toured their new quarter. “One of their weaknesses, from a human perspective, is an obsessive enthusiasm for whatever takes their interest. These are all Alka who have become fascinated with humani, so expect some well-intentioned blunders.”

  “Now that Ithalia has convinced the ladies not to walk around with their pumpkins uncovered, and kept the gentlemen from flaunting their pride in their pendulous penises, I think we can manage,” I chuckled. “That first market day was quite distracting.”

  “I’m less concerned about your people’s effect on mine than the reverse,” she admitted, after consideration.

  “Why would you be worried about that? The Tree Folk are beloved in our culture, mostly.”

  “And undeservedly. I’ve seen several instances of humans and Alka Alon working together, now, and in each case, there is an exchange of culture and society. But for humans, that often means becoming swept up in Alkan enthusiasm or adopting our unhurried outlook on life.”

  “What’s wrong with that?” I countered. I’d quite enjoyed the Alkan celebrations I’d attended. Those that hadn’t involved councils. “I think my people could stand more of that sort of thing.”

  “It’s a fine attitude when you live for a few thousand years, Minalan, but when you have only fifty or sixty, it can prove deadly,” she said, seriously. “For the individual and the culture. Your people can become captivated by mine, if they aren’t careful. Obsessed in a way that’s unhealthy, for a human. I’m hopeful that the Tera Alon will help keep that from happening by exposure, but it’s rare for our races to mix at all. And never like this.”

  “You disapprove?” I asked, concerned.

  “No, I love it,” she admitted, putting her hands in the pockets of her long white coat. “It reminds me of what I tried to turn my home into, during my house arrest. But the Tower of Refuge is a poor rendering of old history. Vanador is fascinating, new and exciting. That also makes it dangerous for both our peoples. As I said, I’m hopeful and optimistic. But I’m also wary. We’re in unknown territory, here.”

  “That’s where I live,” I complained. “I know it’s not your area, but what do you think about the Wood Dwarves and the Dradrien both living here, as well?”

  “That will prove quite interesting,” she chuckled. “And not at all approved of by the Karshak – there have been grumbles. They’re on separate sides of their division, but neither clans did anything particularly egregious to the other during their struggles. And the Dradrien will enjoy it just because it gets under the
skin of the Karshak.”

  “But will the Karshak be upset enough to do anything about it?” I asked. “They’re still building my castle in Sevendor,” I reminded her.

  “Unlikely,” she conceded. “Oh, they’ll make some more noise about it, but the truth is they have no real control over the Wood Dwarves. They’ve traditionally been their foremen and employers, but they’ve managed to get along without much governance from the Karshak for the last several centuries. I think that’s an experiment they’d like to continue. But the Alka Alon don’t meddle in the affairs of those races,” she boasted. “Not anymore. Or, we’re not supposed to,” she amended.

  “We both know that’s bullshit,” I countered.

  “Yes, we do,” she agreed, reluctantly. “The ideal was that each race would be free to live unfettered by each other. In practice, the Alka Alon use their advantages to meddle in the affairs of all of the other races. Including yours,” she pointed out.

  “You are incredibly powerful magicians,” I conceded.

  “It’s not our magical abilities that give us true advantage,” she explained. “Oh, it’s nice to be able to do impressive things – and we have. Not here, and not recently, but our songs once sung us to this world, ten thousand years ago. We led the effort to colonize Callidore – none of the other races could have done it on their own. But it wasn’t our magic that aids us most. It’s our longevity.”