Thaumaturge

by Terry Mancour

  Tyndal had convinced two Wilderlords from pre-invasion Callierd to return to area as his sworn men. He’d recruited the Bovali Hundreds from Sevendor to the land. He’d attracted Glorious Victors and fellow warmagi to his banner. And they were just a few of the adventurous souls Tyndal had lured to his lands, if not the most eager to assist in their new lord’s resettlement and restoration of their homelands.

  I was aware that one of them, Sir Jervay of Lamar, was the last survivor of the family who’d once ruled that domain, and he had ambitions to rule it again. I’d met the man in Vanador, He’d ridden south to fight under the Duke’s banner at Bonser Ford with four brothers when fate intervened. His horse had come up lame, on the eve of battle, and he tarried behind the main force while he tried desperately to procure another.

  Before he could, word came of the utter defeat of the Duke’s army at Bonser Ford. All four of his brothers were dead, and he was still shy a horse when the order to regroup at Vorone had come. Mourning his family, he’d dutifully marched south and fought as infantry at Timberwatch, and then lingered around Vorone through its decline and restoration. He became one of the freelance knights who had volunteered his sword to Anguin, early in his effective reign. When Tyndal was searching for assistance in Callierd, Sir Jervay came with several letters of recommendation for good service.

  The other, young Lord Stalik, was a little more problematic.

  Stalik was the youngest son and only bastard of Callierd’s former ruling family, House Callierd. A favorite of his father, Baron Staltuin, the bastard was also the subject of ire for the baron’s wife. Stalik was a cagey bastard, though, and didn’t let the Baroness’ antipathy get in his way. He managed to secure a squirehood with one of the Baron’s vassals, his father hoping the boy would take up a traditional career of arms . . . somewhere far away from Callierd.

  But Stalik quietly persisted in lingering in the land. When it became clear that his father’s wife was blocking him from being properly knighted, he managed to get the Baron to ennoble him, as a result of losing a wager on a game of Rushes. The Baroness was furious. She permitted Stalik to take a horse and armor and sent him into exile, swearing that he would never step foot in Callierd Castle as long as he lived.

  Two years later she and the castle household were slaughtered in the invasion, after the Baron and his legitimate sons perished in battle. Stalik mourned them all as family, even the baroness. But he was eager to return to gainsay the Baroness’ vow. With Sir Jervay, Stalik had become one of Tyndal’s most trusted mundane captains. If he had ambitions to reclaim his father’s castle, someday, he hid them under a convincing cloak of outstanding service to his new lord.

  In addition to Sir Jervay and Lord Stalik, Tyndal had managed to recruit eight more Wilderlords and a hundred more men who were familiar with Callierd, from freeholders, to Bovali from Sevendor to Kasari – but they were the only two nobles native to the region. Tyndal had led them north of the river just before Midsummer and attacked the skeleton garrison of goblins encamped in the ruins of Castle Callierd directly.

  Then he and his men spent a week scrying and hunting every scrug in a five-mile radius, while a few crews from Vanador restored the main hall and the keep of the castle to basic functioning. With ten knights and a hundred bowmen, some assistance from the Kasari rangers and an abundance of magic, Tyndal led another surprise attack on a band of gurvani deserters who’d taken to haunting the ruins of Nandine. Within a fortnight of his arrival there wasn’t a goblin left in central Callierd.

  Providing that security allowed him to move nine Vanadori freedmen families to the castle’s deserted village by summer’s end, and people three small estates nearest the castle with yeomen and their families. They were well-organized, and following Tyndal’s explicit direction they prepared the deserted manors for future workers, building cottages and corn cribs and restoring the gardens.

  When the well-equipped Bovali and the other Hundred Tyndal had persuaded to come to Callierd joined them, the ambitious restoration of the farmlands around Callierd Castle began in earnest. I could see several groupings of new cottages in the rustic manor we passed through as we walked to the castle, and the fields were already plowed and planted with winter wheat. Though modest, the estate appeared as tidy and productive as any of the new manors around Vanador. It helped that the height of the reoccupied castle loomed on the rise to the north, a tangible symbol of security.

  Callierd Castle was a smallish square keep on a well-defended hill overlooking the modest village in the dale, and two nearby manors. I was pleased to see from a distance that there was little sign now that it had ever fallen. Tyndal had taken command, and he’d done so decisively. Any misgivings I might have had about his dedication to the task were dashed when I toured Callierd Castle. Tyndal had devoted himself to the task like a man obsessed, once he began the process.

  The sentry in the watchtower saw us at once, though we’d long passed through Tyndal’s wards. Tyndal’s new banner, a yellow haystack with a green mage’s star on a blue field, flew over the gatehouse. The walls, towers and gatehouse were well-manned, I could see, and the bailey was neat and tidy, but extremely busy. The score of guards and bowmen who were the castle’s garrison were well-armed and armored. The underbrush had been cleared from the hill around the keep for a Wilderlands bowshot. All signs of a well-ordered military operation.

  My former apprentice met us at the gatehouse, beaming and welcoming us inside. As impressed as I was with his progress, I could tell he was unsatisfied.

  “I’ve been waiting for someone to come along and tell me how well I’ve done,” he confided, as he took us on a tour of his defenses after a cup of wine in the great hall. “It’s taken long enough, and plenty of sweat, just to get the castle put right. The manors are nearly running themselves, but I’ve just now got this old pile of rocks into something resembling proper shape. Just in time for a war to come along and mess it up again,” he pointed out.

  “How goes your muster?” I asked, as we watched a squadron of freshly-recruited peasants in the courtyard, below, learn how to cock and load the Riverlands crossbows he’d brought to Callierd.

  “Well enough,” he decided, after a moment’s consideration. “We won’t be able to contribute much, in terms of infantry – two small companies of bowmen, at most. But I think you’ll be happy with my cavalry.”

  I was. Tyndal had made a large stable the very first of his construction projects at the castle, and the magnificent warhorses and sturdy rounceys he showed me were impressive.

  “I’ll be able to put at least fifty quality lacers on the field, this autumn,” he boasted. “About half are my new vassals. The other half are paid sergeants, but no less skilled than the belted knights. And I will have about a dozen mounted warmagi,” he added, his eyes gleaming. “Just to keep things interesting.”

  “Sounds like you’re re-creating the Megelini Knights,” I suggested.

  “That’s who I’m patterning them after,” he acknowledged, as we headed to the armory. “Azar’s corps has kept the central vales goblin-free for years. His combination of heavy cavalry and mounted combat magic is worth stealing. We’ve only got fifty, now, but in a few years I’ll have ten times that number,” he said, enthusiastically.

  “What about the Kasari?” Ruderal asked, curious.

  “Oh, we have a whole settlement of them now, over in Nandine,” he assured my apprentice. “Some of our old friends have taken my invitation and come to help me. We’ll see them this afternoon.” That pleased my current apprentice. Both Ruderal and Tyndal had a strong respect for the Kasari, thanks to their mutual adventures in the Land of Scars.

  While he had devoted himself first to his keep, and then to his manors, the new Lord of Callierd had not neglected the ruins of Nandine. Indeed, Tyndal had turned his attention to salvaging what he could from the old town as soon as possible. After restoring and garrisoning Callierd Castle and providing for his estates, re-establishing Nandine, once the lar
gest market town in the northeast, was his top priority.

  It seemed only slightly less a monumental task than building Vanador from scratch. Though the people of Nandine were gone and the rooftops were burnt, the foundations and walls of many of the town’s structures had survived invasion and neglect. The town’s granaries were long looted, but intact. Beyond that, it was a lonely shell of a town when Tyndal arrived.

  Tyndal immediately improved the defenses of the site by carving a large ditch and berm around the town, with plans to plant a thick, magically-enhanced hedgework. A proper stone wall would come later. Even with magic, they were expensive and time-consuming to build.

  Nandine was never more than a market town for the barony, a modest borough of six thousand. It had been a sleepy, nominally independent market for freeholders to swap eggs with each other during the summer months until the wool and cheese merchants came at the end of the season. It had also been the region’s center for crafting and manufacture.

  Once, Nandine had enjoyed a full complement of urban artisans: bakers, chandlers, wainwrights, carpenters, blacksmiths, coopers, spellmongers, scribes, and even two small temples to keep the rites, teach the children and tend the sick. Once, the powerful warhorses the Wilderlords bred to bear them were sold at a yearly spring festival near to Ishi’s Day, where squires were knighted and couples married.

  Tyndal had aspirations of restoring the entire municipality to productivity, he explained, as we entered the unmanned gates that afternoon. There was evidence of several industrious projects underway, and Tyndal told us that there were several work crews who had been busy with the restoration . . . until I had called my banners. Now they were drilling with their militia units and being fitted for armor.

  Tyndal’s tour began at the old town hall, a repurposed manor house the town had grown up around. The roof had been partially repaired and a wall on the eastern side was still in the process of being fixed. Enough of the hall had been recovered to allow it to be used as a headquarters for the reclamation effort. A smith and a carpenter Tyndal lured from Vanador had both established shops along the High Street, and Tyndal had appointed a reeve to oversee the nascent marketplace he was encouraging . . . though until the manors became more productive, a regular market was still a dream.

  “That’s to be expected, for a year or two, at least,” he explained as we walked along the empty streets. “Right now, all the farming is being done around Callierd Castle. There’s no reason to trade here, yet. Not until we get some estates settled further west and south. That won’t be until next spring, I’m planning, when we can get our new recruits outfitted,” he said, proudly. “That’s proving more difficult than I expected, particularly securing the wagons and wheelbarrows. The wheelwrights in Vanador have a back-log of orders.”

  “It’s a bold start,” I encouraged. Several of the shops on the High Street had been salvaged already, and stood empty and awaiting new residents. I nodded toward the three-story building at the end of the street. “You’re restoring the temple?” I asked, surprised. “I wouldn’t think that would be a high priority. What sect?”

  “Ishi,” he admitted, blushing a bit. “At least at first. Lady – I mean, Abbess Pleasure sought me out, the last time I was in Vorone. She told me the goddess favored me, and she approached me about establishing a new abbey school in the north. She’ll send four nuns to staff it, come spring.”

  “Thus ensuring a steady supply of comely young women to Nandine,” I snorted. “That should prove interesting.”

  That was the first time I doubted Tyndal’s success – he would have been better served by a Luinite abbey. Luinites were outstanding administrators, but their vocation demanded a certain adherence to a strict interpretation of the laws of gods and men. Ishites were far more concerned with the reproductive and romantic health of a land, and taught accordingly. It was certainly not the sect I’d expect Tyndal to choose for his settlement.

  “I think it will be,” Tyndal nodded, sincerely. “Now that there will be a temple to Ishi in Vanador, the Abbess is interested in expanding the abbey school into an orphanage, with a manor devoted to horses in Lamar, one day. Apparently, she likes horses. I’ve got a good lead on a barber, too,” he added, in a blatant and enthusiastic attempt to change the subject. Quickly.

  “One that is willing to risk sudden goblin attack? Brave barber,” I noted.

  “There isn’t a goblin for ten miles,” Tyndal countered with a snort. “And Callierd Castle is less than six miles away. Our barbers will be safe,” he promised. “This isn’t old Nandine, with no wall or ditch. This will be an entirely new town, when I’m done with it. One that can withstand a direct goblin attack. That will include a fortified manor or small castle, as well as a wall and moat. Eventually.”

  “That’s where you want to put the keep?” I asked, looking out over a field that sat to the south of the town, but was included within the new ditchworks. As Count, I had to approve all new fortifications in my county. This was just a formality, but I did want to look the place over.

  “Yes, once we build up a mound,” he nodded, folding his arms as he envisioned his new fortress. “I have plans for a simple shell keep, three towers and a gatehouse. Nothing fancy,” he promised. “But enough to protect the townsfolk.”

  “Good site for it,” I decided. “I approve. Do you have a castellan in mind?”

  “Sir Jervay,” Tyndal supplied. “He’s familiar with the land. He’ll make a decent constable for the town. Until it’s built, he’s overseeing the patrols from an old freehold in Lamar, west of here. He’ll manage the resettlement in the western part of the domain. For now, Lord Stalik will manage the eastern estates. Not that there’s much more there to manage than in the west. But the Kasari have been helpful for that “

  “The Kasari? They want to settle as your vassals?” I asked, surprised.

  “Freeholders,” Tyndal corrected. “Some of them are willing to take freeholds there, outside of the Bransei Preserve. They don’t want to grow wheat. But you know their fetish with ropes and knots. They want to start a hemp and blackberry plantation in Callierd to produce rope. And they want to grow flax. They have an excellent variety they cultivate, well-suited to the dales. Who knows? We might get some homespun linen showing up at the market again in a few years. That’s their outpost, over there,” he told me, pointing toward a reclaimed, tidy-looking two-story building on the High Street. Someone had neatly drawn a stylized square knot on the freshly whitewashed wall under a sign in Narasi labeling the place as NANDINE STATION.

  “The Kasari are willing to live under Narasi law? My law?” I asked, surprised. “I know they adhere pretty closely to their own sacred law.”

  “The two aren’t incompatible, mostly,” Tyndal objected. “By tradition, when the Kasari are in non-Kasari lands, they obey non-Kasari laws. Many of them worship our gods and still manage to follow Kasari law. I don’t think there will be much conflict, honestly. The old prejudices the Wilderlords held just don’t hold anymore. There just aren’t enough people left in the North for it to matter.”

  “What about the two little villages beyond the river?” I asked, referring to the only intact portions of old Callierd left, as we continued down the empty High Street. “Any trouble there?”

  “I’ve raided them for anyone who wanted to settle,” he shrugged. “A few did. The rest are happy there, for now. I got them some spears and an anvil, but I’m mostly leaving them alone. They’ve been getting by fine for years, without me. They don’t need me telling them what to do,” he said, with uncharacteristic humility.

  “This is my pet project, though,” he revealed, as we came to a newly-roofed shop. It was one of the largest on the High Street, three stories with an impressive wooden entrance way that included a balcony over it. A painted sign hung from a pole mounted in front, proclaiming the future enterprise. Tyndal had enchanted it, I saw, when I looked with magesight. The spell would make it glow at night.

  “The Randy Rounce
y,” I read from the sign, spelled out in ornate letters in both Narasi and Late Perwynese. They were above and below a highly stylized portrayal of a well-muscled horse bearing testament to his lustiness in a particularly obscene manner.

  “I always wanted to own a tavern,” Tyndal said, smacking his lips as he opened the door. “When I was looking at all the buildings, here, this was one of the largest. It used to be a weaver’s shop. Lots of space. Barely touched in the invasion. All I had to do is replace the roof and tidy up a bit. I’m still on the hunt for a good barman, but when there’s enough people in town to support it, this place will be the biggest, best taphouse in the Magelaw,” he boasted. “There’s a little inn across the street that can be repaired too, eventually. That’s next. But I’ll finally have a place I can drink for free!” he sighed, satisfied.

  The interior was mostly bare, but Tyndal had already furnished the place with a few trestles and a thick plank bar across one side, opposite the fireplace. Two small kegs sat on the bar next to half a dozen bottles of spirits, and a copper dipper stood nearby, ready for service.

  Nor had he neglected the magical preparations. When we walked into the gloom magelights automatically formed overhead, driving away the shadows. I saw Tyndal had chosen an equestrian theme for the tavern’s decorations to celebrate its namesake. Horseshoes were nailed up along the bar and an old jousting saddle hung from the rafter over the fireplace.

  “It has a certain charm,” I decided. “It’s not the Alembic, but it has a certain charm.”

  “Thanks,” he nodded, grinning as he dipped two pints of strong ale from one of the kegs. He poured a half a cup for Ruderal and added some water, in deference to his age. “I look forward to several drunken nights sprawled on the floor here,” he pledged, when he distributed the cups.