Gosh, that’s reassuring, I replied, sarcastically. Thank goodness there is a process in place.
Conversely, if they issued a summons to those screwing around with their sacred ancestors, that’s where you would be sent to answer for it. That’s where the Alkan King of this realm was summoned after our wars. And where he was executed as a token of the Alka Alon’s contrition over the subject.
Choking on a fishbone is looking more and more promising, I decided.
You should be so lucky. Min, this could be bad. You must compromise this seamage and get him on our side. Otherwise, this time next year we could find all five Leviathans of the Shallow Sea in the great ports of Merwyn, shattering your civilization by exterminating your greatest cities, one by one.
But Merwyn didn’t have anything to do with this! I exclaimed. I did!
Do you think the Vundel care? Humans are humans, a minor irritant infecting the Dry. When the Cormeerans foolishly tried to attack a Leviathan, once, a few centuries back, they destroyed two cities in Cormeer, but also took revenge on two cities in the Shattered Isles. Almost a hundred thousand people died, most of whom had no idea why they were being killed. That was a mild rebuke, compared to what could happen if they discover the Celestial Mother.
So far, Moudrost has only seen the Handmaiden, I consoled her. Surely, they couldn’t take offense at that, could they?
Minalan, I studied the Vundel for three hundred years. During that time I realized that there is no way we mortal Drylanders can predict what they will do, or how they think. We can merely react to their caprices. Thankfully, their caprices take centuries to develop. But this might spark some more decisive action. Does it matter if someone dug up your great aunt, instead of your revered grandmother? I don’t know. The Handmaiden was a small but important part of a Celestial Mother’s ‘court.’ Almost more of a utility, not a direct ancestor. Hopefully, that will mitigate the damage. It’s possible that a slight like that will be overlooked, if it comes to their attention. But it would be best if none of it came to their attention, she concluded, unnecessarily.
I’ll do my best, I agreed, with a mental sigh. There’s something else, something of a more personal nature. Alya has really, uh, perked up, recently. She’s displaying a lot more human subtleties than she was. Picking up on human emotions and interpersonal interactions. Hells, she’s even starting to act like a mother to our kids again, in a strange way.
So? That sounds wonderful, Min! It appears as if the Handmaiden’s treatments are working!`
True, but it’s not without complications. Remember the reaction she had to the images of the Sea Folk during Anguin’s wedding?
Yes, you told me. And Alya asked me about them, herself, just a few weeks ago. We had a lovely chat about the Vundel. Why?
Because I just noticed a similar response when Moudrost arrived. She’s been all but detached while we prepared to meet Gaja Katar in the field, though her own children were threatened. But the seamage showed up and she’s suddenly engaged and involved again. And she recognized the difference between Vundel-derived magic and Imperial spellcasting. Alya doesn’t have rajira, I reminded her.
That might not be entirely true, anymore, Lilastien replied, after a long pause.
What do you mean? I demanded. Either you have Talent, or you don’t.
That’s a very singular view of a complex subject, Min. Rajira is a tricky thing. Technically, it’s latent in all humans – we proved that in Perwyn, when we were trying to suppress it, the first few years it arose in the colonists. And it’s true that most of humanity only bears it in such trace amounts that they cannot form an attachment to the Magosphere, as the magi do. That doesn’t mean that it isn’t there.
What do you mean? I repeated, uneasily.
Min, it’s entirely possible that in the course of the Handmaiden re-weaving Alya’s enneagram, among other things it is awakening what latent rajira she has.
How is that possible? I demanded.
It’s Vundel magic, so I don’t know, precisely. But it works in ways that neither Imperial nor Alka Alon magic does, so it’s certainly possible.
So does Divine magic, but I’ve never heard of it giving rajira to anyone who didn’t already possess it, I pointed out.
Every race that can perform magic has a unique relationship to the Magosphere, dependent upon their evolution, she explained. And every sentient being with that relationship has their own individual expression of it. But defining that relationship and understanding it is another story.
So it’s complicated, I summarized, irritated. I couldn’t help but feel she was patronizing me, a bit.
‘Complicated’ doesn’t begin to touch it. If the Handmaiden is re-weaving Alya’s enneagram with Vundel magic, and she’s using your enneagram – the first human pattern it encountered – as a template, then I wouldn’t be surprised if her latent rajira isn’t growing stronger. Or at least more sensitive. Perhaps not enough to work with arcane energies, but enough to sense them and detect a difference. It’s actually quite a fascinating development.
As professionally stimulating as that might sound, I’m less enthused by the prospect of sleeping next to an arcanely fascinating development. What if she starts being able to manipulate thaumaturgic power? I asked.
That’s also a possibility, she agreed.
That’s not very reassuring, Lilastien.
It wasn’t meant to be. We’re in dangerous territory, my boy, in every sense of the term. All we can do at this point is watch, wait, and see what develops. And then react to it. And hope it doesn’t end the world.
After we ended the connection, I tried to get to sleep knowing that the fate of humanity might depend upon Ruderal’s ability to reconcile with his sire and my wife’s mental state.
Needless to say, I didn’t fall asleep until long after midnight. It was not a peaceful slumber.
“A blessed Yule to one and all!”
From the Scrolls of Lawbrother Bryte the Wiser
Chapter Forty-Three
Mature Wisdom
It was our first Yule in the Wilderlands, and it was memorable.
Yule traditions vary between regions, and the celebrations enjoyed in the Wilderlands bore only passing resemblance to those I was familiar with in the Riverlands. There were even substantial differences in Yule customs between Talry-on-Burine and Sevendor, both Riverlands domains. The spirit is largely the same, but the minor divinities invoked, the courting customs, and the way gifts were given and received.
The celebration of Yule in Vanador, the first year of my reign, was especially remarkable, however, as the old Wilderfolk traditions were mashed together with the ways the various Alon, the Kasari, and all the diverse peoples of the Magelaw who were crammed together in Vanador celebrated the solstice.
It was an unreasonably merry and cheerful time. The war was won, our foe defeated, and losses were far fewer than we’d anticipated. By Yule’s Eve, the last of the outriders returned from the snowy roads to report the quiet in the vales beyond the Whitewater. Gurkarl had kept his promise, and his renegades were beyond our frontier. It was time to take a moment to seek repose, honor our dead and celebrate our accomplishments.
On the heels of our victory celebration it seemed that the two festivals flowed into one. But to the common folk taking refuge for their lives in the City of Magic, it was – forgive the expression – an enchanting time. Compared to their lives in captivity a few years ago, or even a common man’s Yule in a peasant’s hut, the grand solstice under the Overhang was of passing magnificence.
To them, Vanador was a magical place of sparkling magelights and singing wooden mushrooms, powerful magelords proudly protecting them from their former masters, food in abundance and drink flowing like mountain streams. The snows were comfortably beyond the walls, and all was secure.
There was a goodly portion of the Magelaw’s population, huddled together in Vanador that Yule. Dancing and singing, drinking and carousing were punctuated by regular services at the tow
n’s shrines and temples. There was little squabbling, even among the drunkards. The markets were flowing with coin as the special treats and little toys the craftsmen and artisans prepared for the season came out, and quickly sold out.
Rael and the Wizard’s Mercantile were particularly busy. Her stalls had been prepared against a prolonged siege, not an extended celebration, but the industrious lady hounded her contacts to fill the orders that poured in. Everyone was feeling grateful to be spared further attack. Gifts of all sorts were imported through the transport wands, and Rael accrued a tremendous amount for the Mercantile as a result.
I did my share of impulse purchasing. I now had four children to buy gifts for. I confess I indulged myself a bit, even enlisting Pentandra in the search for the right toy or gown or special treat, in some cases. Likewise, I spent lavishly on gifts for friends and members of my extended household, down to the last servant. Everyone had toiled tirelessly to build my realm into something worth celebrating. I expressed my gratitude in ways only a great, powerful, and disgustingly wealthy wizard could.
While everyone else was preparing for the festival, however, Ruderal and Moudrost were spending hours together in deep conversation. I gave them the space to do so, relieving Ruderal of his duties for the duration of the holiday. But I watched from afar, alert to any disturbance in their relationship. Alert and anxious. I found the fact that they were still talking, two days later, on the eve of Yule, gave me some solace. Usually if a father is going to piss off a son, it happens pretty quickly.
I did my best to put the potential ramifications out of my mind and focus on the festivities. Considering a year ago this holiday had seen me exiled, and the previous one had seen the very first glimmer of hope that I could get my wife back, I threw myself into the spirit of the holiday with a vengeance. I appeared at temple services, festival markets and parties, thanking veterans and spreading cheer to any and all. It was my duty, and it was exhausting, but it was a pleasant duty.
I count the merry spirit of the occasion with one of Vanador’s better innovations. It was inspired by a brief discussion I had with one of my nobles on Yule’s Eve.
“Lovely place you’ve built here, Minalan,” Magelord Thinradel praised, after greeting me at the party Gareth threw for the occasion.
“I just paid for it,” I dismissed. “But it is nice. Like Sevendor, only . . . not.”
“Not like anyplace else, not that I’ve ever heard of,” he agreed. “I don’t mind telling you that I was hesitant about following you here, but I suppose without you in Sevendor, there just didn’t seem a good reason to stay. I’m glad I made that decision. Vanador is delightful. Perhaps this time you’ll be left alone with it. Apart from the goblins and the Nemovorti and such. I mean interference the from Kingdom. Or the Duke. Or the gods. On your own, it’s really quite lovely, right now. But you know that once word gets out . . .”
“Tourists,” I agreed, with a snort of disgust.
“Students,” Thinradel corrected, after a chuckle. “You have some of the best minds in thaumaturgy here. The Spellmonger is here. Once word gets out, we’ll be arse-deep in ambitious apprentices. You saw what happened in Sevendor. There, you had a full-fledged Bouleuterion to absorb the talent. That’s why you wanted me to consider starting an academy there. It seems a shame to waste that sort of opportunity, here.”
“So what do you suggest?” I asked, knowing that Thinradel never brought anything to my attention that he didn’t already have a solution for.
“Well, while you warmagi were preparing the land for war, I watched how everyone worked. It was intriguing.”
“And required little effort,” I pointed out.
“Just so. My preferred kind of assignment. But what I observed was that each of the individual Towers offers a unique opportunity to train eager young magi in some semblance of advanced subjects: defensive warmagic at Salik Tower, offensive at Rognar, green magic at Lotanz, that sort of thing. Vanador, of course, would focus on thaumaturgy, with a little industrial enchantment on the side,” he said, sketching the future in the air before us. “We have masters of our craft present here. Look what Carmella has done with her household,” he pointed out.
“Do you think you could figure out which of the new blood should go to which tower?” I asked, innocently. “That won’t be easy.”
“It really shouldn’t be that difficult,” he reasoned. “Once I take into account the educational history, basic skills and inherent Talent of the student, I can assign them to the appropriate Tower for advanced study based upon . . . oh,” he said, realizing something suddenly. “I see what you did, there. You want me take charge of this, as I did the Thaumaturgic Academy.”
I slapped him on the shoulder. “I look forward to seeing the process you settle upon for this important task,” I agreed, cheerfully. “I’m so glad you brought this to my attention!”
“Minalan, I was not looking for a new assignment!” he assured me, intensely. “Setting up the Thaumaturgical Academy was one thing – those were seasoned academics, men and women long steeped in their subjects. Arranging for serious studies at the basic level . . . do you realize how much parchment is involved with that sort of administration? It’s worse than being a Court Wizard! Worse, still, you’re asking me to deal with . . . with near children!” he said, horrified.
“If you think I’m going to let a man as studious and diligent as you loiter around my town without any responsibility, you may reconsider,” I assured him. “You recognized the problem and proposed a solution. I’m merely asking you to see it carried out.”
“Minalan!” he gasped, horrified. “Children! Parchment!”
“Just set it up,” I urged. “Iron out the process. Organize it sufficiently to turn it over to someone else. I’ll even give you a fancy title and a budget,” I promised. “Not to mention lauds and praise in front of the entire court. I know how much you enjoy that sort of thing,” I teased.
He sighed, heavily, fixing me with an accusing stare. “I will get my revenge on you, someday, you know,” he said, softly.
“I look forward to that as well, Rector General Thinradel.”
“Rector General is a horrible title,” he muttered.
“Then change it. You have that authority, as Rector General. I leave it to your discretion. See Brother Bryte about writing up a proper charter for me to sign, and then submit a budget and . . . well, we can see to the details after the holiday. Happy Yule, Thinradel!”
The spirit of the season prohibits me from repeating his response.
As I headed to the next fete at the Wizard’s Mercantile, I was surprised to see my vassal, Landrik, and a company of the Cornivil hermits singing seasonal hymns to the god of nature on a street corner, several half-empty wine bottles in hand.
The monks seemed to have settled into the ecclesiastic world of Vanador, I noted, and they had a pair of Tera Alon admirers who were complimenting the rough humani voices with their effortless tones. The next corner bore a trio of Malkas Alon acrobats who seemed to know a great deal about standing on each other’s heads, to the delight of passers-by.
I sighed, happily, as I passed by, myself. My social obligations were nearly concluded, and I had but one or two more stops to make before I could retire to Spellmonger Hall and await the shortest day of the year.
But I took a moment to myself just to regard the town that hadn’t been here two years ago. The town that was a testament to the ingenuity and tolerance of the magi. I loved Sevendor with all my being, but there was something especially enchanting about Vanador, and I wanted to revel in it.
“Are ye lost, lad?” called a low, growly voice that pulled me from my reverie. I looked around and saw Rumel the Malkas and Carmella, Lady of Salik Tower, her arm thrown over the Wood Dwarf’s shoulders . . . likely to keep herself from falling down. Carmella was drunk. I’d rarely seen her drink to excess, but on the eve of Yule and at the end of victory, she was bleary-eyed and near to staggering.
“N
o, just enjoying the spirit of the place. It really is a magnificent town,” I praised. They were, after all, the two most responsible for its construction. “I don’t know how you did it so quickly, nor so well, but I am enormously satisfied with the result.”
“It was fun,” Carmella assured me, as her head swayed side to side. “It was a project, and I like projects. Actually, it was a project full of projects, and they brought all their kin, too. We had seventy work crews going, at one point,” she bragged. “Seventy! Even with magic, Min, do you realize what we accomplished? Vanador? Spellgarden? Spellgate? Spellgate, Min, that’s my masterpiece, so far,” she said, as if confiding a secret. “There are things I put in there that hopefully will never have to be used. But I’ll be damned if any foe will get past that – Darkfaller is nothing, compared to Spellgate! The Narrows? It’s crap!” she declared.
“My lady has been celebrating the solstice most devotedly,” Rumel chuckled through his thick brown beard, as Carmella stumbled just trying to keep her feet.
“As well she should,” I approved. “Carmella, of all the defenders of Vanador, your contribution has been the most telling.”
“Aw, if Pentandra hadn’t told me what to build, I would have mucked it up,” she dismissed. “She had the whole plan before I even got involved. I just followed it. Y’know, Min?” she asked, with utter seriousness. “If you just make a plan, follow the plan, and finish the plan, you know what happens?”
“Everything,” I suggested.
“Everything!” she agreed with drunken enthusiasm, snapping her fingers. “You follow the plan, and it all just happens!”
“I was thinking something very similar, earlier this evening,” I nodded. “Perhaps we’re getting too old to be making things up as we go.”
“Yet there is something to be said for spontaneity,” she countered, slurring her words. “Did you hear that Sandy got married?” she asked, abruptly changing the subject. “Can you believe that?”
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