Thaumaturge

by Terry Mancour

  From the Scrolls of Lawbrother Bryte the Wiser

  Chapter Forty-Four

  The Sequestered Bride

  The day of Yule was grand, far exceeding the expectations of the common Vanadori. Feasting, presents, a special Yule Court to hand out gifts and boons and recognition, more feasting, more presents, and an ocean full of strong drink to wash it all down. It was one of the most peaceful, idyllic Yules I’d ever experienced. If I was a normal man, I’d be content with that perfect day full of children’s laughter and excited squeals at each new gift . . . but I’m a wizard. We can screw up a sunny day, when we’re working on something.

  It took a profound effort of will to thrust myself away from the table that night, kiss the kids and Alya good night, and head out into the cold, but even though it was Yule there were issues of timing to consider. Some plans must proceed regardless of whether or not there is a holiday festival in the way.

  Some plans proceed precisely because there is a holiday festival in the way. This was one of the latter, and as much as it pained me, I had to attend to it.

  I wasn’t just teasing Pentandra – I really did have schemes. One of them required the use of a small but grand residence that had been recently built upon a lot near Spellmonger’s Hall, and prepared for special guests.

  I’d had our servants clean and stock the elegant little structure with the finest victuals and the choicest of wines, and decorated festively. A small shelf bore a number of books on wholesome and virtuous topics, while a rack of scrolls was filled with sublime poetry from the Second Magocracy period, as well as some of the more popular excerpts of Alka Alon epic poetry. Really classy stuff.

  Tasteful tapestries of Gilmoran cotton were hung on the walls, and a small store of silver plate and utensils was secured. A servant girl was installed in the tiny room behind the kitchen, and the small buttery was stuffed full of the finest wines I could buy.

  The servants I’d detailed the assignment to had done their work well, I noted when I entered the hall that evening. Everything was just as I had asked. I cast magelights and kindled a fire to lighten the gloom. Brilliant woven tapestries adorned the walls, the windows were fitted with an elegant pattern of stained glass, and the wood was clean and polished. It was perfect.

  Satisfied, I took a seat near the fire, poured a cup of wine, and waited.

  Near to midnight and my second cup of wine, I felt a distortion in the Magosphere, and two figures tumbled forth from the ether in front of me.

  “My lady,” I said, using magic to push a chamberpot over to the woman who’d emerged from the Ways –, just in time to receive a stream of vomit.

  Her companion, Astyral, quickly grabbed her long dark hair to keep it from being fouled. He didn’t see the need to use the pot himself – you did get used to the stomach-churning effects of such travel, after a while.

  “Dear gods, is it always like that?” the woman I assumed was Lady Maithieran asked, as I handed her a cup of water to cleanse her mouth, a towel, and then a cup of wine.

  “Sadly, yes,” Astyral assured her, sympathetically. “A bit like being kicked in the stomach by a horse. But we’re working to refine the enchantment. And it is a small price to pay for traveling more than six hundred miles in an instant.”

  “I have had worse reactions from roadside inns,” Maithieran agreed. Then she paused, before asking, “Are we really that . . . that far away from home?”

  “You are now in the northern Wilderlands, my lady,” I informed her. “In a cozy hall in the nascent town of Vanador, in the County Magelaw. I am Minalan the Spellmonger, Count Palatine of the Magelaw. I bid you welcome during your stay.”

  “Astyral has told me so much about you, Your Excellency!” she said, giving me an elegant bow. I could see why Astyral liked her so much. Slender and lithe, graceful and gracious, she seemed his match in every way. “And I thank you for indulging us in this bit of . . . theater.”

  “Indulging us? My dear, this was entirely his idea!” Astyral chuckled. “I was just trying to negotiate for a respectable dowry, not that it mattered, but Minalan saw an opportunity to get creative . . . and here we are. How does it feel to be kidnapped, my lady?” he asked, jovially.

  “One may not kidnap the willing, my lord,” she countered. “I was quite willing. The technical term is ‘sequestered.’ You’re certain my parents will not worry?” she asked, anxiously.

  “They are entirely informed of the plan,” Astyral agreed, taking her mantle from her shoulders before he handed the cloak and the three bags she’d brought through the Ways over to the servant lass. “Nor was anyone in any danger from the raid. I left her maids enthralled in a sleeping spell they won’t wake from for two days. I had to stun a guard, too, unexpectedly,” he chuckled. “I left the customary note behind. I must say, for a kidnap victim you are extraordinarily well-prepared.”

  “Traditionally it’s done with a ladder, on the back of a charger, in the dead of night, with the maiden wearing nothing but her nightgown, but I’d be a fool not to take advantage of the opportunity to pack a few things. Especially not knowing just where I would end up.”

  “A most practical woman, Min, do you see why I love her?” Astyral asked, his eyes smitten.

  Lady Maithieran was a lovely woman. She was more mature than most brides, a few years older than Pentandra, and wore it well. Her long, dark hair was pure Narasi, though her eyes had a hint of Imperial blood in them, I guessed. She had a pronounced nose that was elegant, not awkward, and her mouth was much like her mother’s, frequently mirthful and smiling, though in a slender and more youthful guise.

  But it clear at once that it was Maithieran’s wit, not her beauty, which had captivated my friend Astyral. She was genuinely intelligent, educated and understood humor. She was neither meek nor domineering. She wore her femininity proudly, unafraid of the perception of weakness nor concerned that her forthrightness would be considered awkward. She used her wit like a delicate scalpel at need, but did not press.

  It would take that kind of woman to bear Astyral’s gracious but incredibly sharp nature, I knew. She seemed able to contend with both the arrogance of the aristocracy as well as the rough sorts of soldiers and warmagi her beloved associated with. I was instantly assured of her ability to contend with any of them, even Wenek or Azar, without her future husband’s protection.

  “I must say, this is far nicer than I imagined,” Maithieran said, looking around the hall appreciatively before taking a seat and sipping from her cup. “This is quite lovely! When Astyral said the Wilderlands, I expected a rustic hut.”

  “This was the nicest rustic hut we could find on short notice,” I assured her.

  “Ten years ago, you might have found a single inn of decent quality in this entire region, and none to normal Gilmoran standards,” Astyral agreed. “You’d have to go all the way to Tudry to enjoy the luxury of a proper bath. And even then, you would still be bathing in Tudry,” he said, with an exaggerated shudder. “As for the rest . . . wooden huts in the woods was the standard, before the invasion.”

  “With the arrival of the magi and the downfall of the Wilderlords, we’re rebuilding the Magelaw with a wizard’s art,” I explained. “Thankfully for Astyral, that includes a number of magically-imported luxuries that may or may not have had taxes paid for their transport. I suggest you don’t inquire too closely,” I counseled.

  “A lady never lets herself be concerned with such mundane things,” she nodded, sipping the wine with additional relish. “You’re really building an entire city of magi, here? That is amazing! I cannot wait to explore it!”

  “Actually, it’s still a minority of wizards, but we’re quite active in civic life,” I corrected. “And we throw a hell of a party. There are wonders here in Vanador you cannot find elsewhere in the duchies.”

  “Minalan is being humble, which is quite a departure,” Astyral dismissed. “In the last six months alone he’s attracted some of the top thaumaturges in the kingdom to come to Vana
dor to study with him. He’s established a second world-class bouleuterion for enchantment, here, the first advanced academy devoted exclusively to thaumaturgy, and he’s committed to building and assembling the largest thaumaturgical library in the world. All while plotting my exciting elopement.”

  “Sequestration,” she corrected him, automatically. “But I expect no less, according to your reputation, Excellency. Everyone in Gilmora knows the debt we owe you for your protection, even those who ally against your interests. The Spellmonger is truly a wonder, before he fell on hard times,” she said, appraisingly.

  “Is my exile spoken of?” I asked, intrigued. Of course I wanted to hear what people were saying about me. That’s what egos are for.

  “The word in the south is that you’re brooding in exile, ruling over a bunch of barbarians in a cave or something, and picking fights with your betters out of spite and resentment,” I’m afraid.

  “That is the just the image I wish to haunt my opponent’s mind,” I agreed. “You shall see the truth with your own eyes, my lady.”

  “This is the part where I beg for you to hold my intended bride on my behalf, while I debate with my future in-laws,” Astyral said, with a smirk.

  “I would be honored to help my old friend and comrade in such an endeavor,” I nodded. “Lady Maithieran, I pledge your safe captivity until you are yielded up to either your father or your beloved,” I announced. “Alas, I have no suitable abbey to imprison you within, so you’ll have to stay at this quaint hall. But I shall have a guard posted, and I have sent for two priestesses of Trygg to chaperone you and ensure you remain unravaged.”

  “That’s extremely gracious of you, Count,” Maithieran said, smiling as she bowed in her seat. “I look forward to a fascinating captivity.”

  “And I, alas, must return to Losara Castle and await your father’s angry demands,” Astyral grinned. “I’m looking forward to playing the evil wizard, for once.”

  “You have your parole, of course, and may wander where you will with your attendants in the city,” I continued. “That includes a small allowance for household items and your servants’ upkeep.”

  “What about rent?” she asked, looking around the hall suspiciously.

  “My dear, I own this hall,” Astyral informed her. “It was a gift from Pentandra and Carmella. The former is the Alshari Court Wizard and resident baroness, and the latter is the best defensive warmage the world has seen. I think you will be secure and comfortable, here. And I won’t be charging rent.”

  “My own hall is but a few lots away,” I explained. “Hardly the palace of a Count, but it is comfortable. I’ll introduce you to my wife and the other ladies of Vanador. You have yet to go outside, but this is a town of over ten thousand,” I boasted.

  “And it entirely lacks anything remotely resembling high society,” Astyral said, rolling his eyes. “Indeed, you’re among it, now.”

  “Oh, it’s evolving,” I countered. “This place was entirely empty two years ago.”

  “Then perhaps I can finally participate in it,” Maithieran mused. “You have no idea how humiliating it was growing up ostracized from your peers’ social events due to a lack of patents of nobility.”

  “No, he was fighting for his life in the jungles of Farise during that formative period, my dear,” Astyral pointed out, drolly. “Not getting invited to the ball is foreign to his experience.”

  “You know what I mean!” she said, ignoring Astyral’s jibe. “Even now I’m still singled out as ‘that wizard girl’ by women I went to temple school with! Perhaps in the Magelaw things will be different.”

  “The standards are certainly lower, but I expect you would shine in any social setting, my lady,” Astyral assured her. “As soon as we get around to having a grand ball, I’ll make certain you can exclude your former friends from it.”

  “Thank you, my future husband,” she said, humorously.

  “But in the meantime, you are my wretched prisoner, for the next few months. Now that you are safely in the clutches of my evil wizard friends, I can go back to my dark and foreboding hall and threaten you with all sorts of ambiguously dire punishments if your father does not accede to my demands to marry you.”

  “Do be gentle with him, dear,” she urged. “He’s not really fashioned to be a mummer.”

  “Oh, I think you underestimate your father, my lady,” Astyral dismissed. “Truly, the man was enthusiastic about the proposal. He will play his role convincingly enough.”

  “Then I invite you to enjoy all the rustic comforts of Vanador, my lady,” I said, rising. “I’ll have those nuns sent over presently, and will send a guide to you after breakfast to show you around the town.”

  “Dear Count, could you possibly delay the arrival of those nuns . . . until the morrow?” she asked, cagily, her eyes cutting toward Astyral. “I’m questioning the wisdom of too close a watch, just yet. And I’m thinking I might need to be ravaged a bit, before they arrive.”

  From the hungry look on Astyral’s face, I could tell that he was equally concerned about his bride’s fate.

  I got the hell out of there, fast.

  ***

  The Kidnapping of Maithieran was known across the length of Gilmora within days – largely because I’d ensured the news would be spread by means of the Mirror Array and passed to select Gilmoran jongleurs and minstrels.

  The gossipy details quickly followed: the dastardly wizard, Baron Astyral of Losara and his henchmen had stolen away his intended bride from her chamber on the very night of Yule. Guards and maids had been savagely eliminated, it was said (though the means of that elimination was omitted) and it was widely believed that the forlorn maiden was even now sequestered somewhere within one of Astyral’s two baronies.

  Such a scandal so soon after Yule was shocking to the Gilmoran sensibilities. Certainly, bride sequestration was a legitimate stratagem in dowry negotiations, but to do so unexpectedly, in the dead of night, on Yule, no less, was just too much. Whispers and giggles erupted over the idea, and soon Astyral’s name was being spoken in places where it had never been before.

  Maithieran’s parents were properly indignant about the matter. Immediately upon discovering the kidnapping, Maithieran’s father rode at once to the Count of Benfradine, Asmartan, his liege, to complain bitterly about the magelord’s temerity. He made such a compelling argument that the Count of Benfradine immediately issued orders to search both baronies, high and low, to discover where the man’s daughter was being kept.

  Meanwhile, her poor mother was making the circuit of the middle- and higher-nobility and spreading the idea that Astyral had, somehow, violated propriety by the act. The matter of the dowry was never brought up – the focus was on the wicked wizard.

  Within a week the Count of Benfradine’s men were, indeed, searching estates and abbeys in both Losara and Tantonel, to no avail. While Astyral’s vassals and allies acknowledged that their baron had, indeed, sequestered Lady Maithieran, they denied any knowledge of where.

  That was perplexing to the count. Custom dictated that the bride be held by a lord, one of his vassals, or a closely allied house. When the searchers returned to the count empty-handed, the man had little choice but to impose on the Count of Nion to search Astyral’s family estates there in search of the missing bride.

  By that time the gossip had become inflamed by the exaggerations of dozens of creative minstrels, who began adding verses to their poems and songs beginning to poke fun at the Gilmoran aristocracy, in general. The implication (by design) was that the Gilmorans had gone soft in the three generations since the Peace of Barrowbell because of foppish Castali influence and leadership.

  That was galling, to the Gilmoran aristocracy. There began a murmur for action. The counts of Benfradine and Nion were conferencing while their courts were pressing to hold the magelord to account. After all, the bride was not in Losara, nor at his kin’s estates in Nion. There was no telling where the wily wizard had stashed her . . . and for what nef
arious purpose. Their lurid imaginations supplied the details.

  Of course, the intended bride was not being molested. She was being introduced to what passed for polite society in Vanador, which was far less rigid and judgmental than the similar Gilmoran institution.

  Indeed, Maithieran became a frequent visitor at Spellmonger’s Hall, that winter, always with her two birthsister chaperones in tow, and took to Alya and a few other of the women in town as friends rather quickly.

  Being a mage herself she was terribly excited to be exposed to the most advanced work in enchantment and thaumaturgy in the world, and the practical effects of that spellwork left her charmed by our little town. When Astyral wasn’t around, she threw herself into learning all she could about the emerging theories and intriguing enchantments being developed in Vanador. Far from being imprisoned and bereft of stimulation, she quickly became the center of attention due to the novelty of her circumstances.

  Sandoval’s new bride, Lady Andra, took an especial liking to Lady Maithieran and the two of them frequently visited Alya together. I think the social interaction was of great service to my wife, who even began to indulge in a bit of gossip under their influence. Rael was also frequently included, when her duties permitted, and after a few weeks in Vanador Spellmonger’s Hall was filled with feminine laughter.

  “I still don’t see what you get out of all of this,” Sandoval complained, one afternoon, after escorting his new wife to my hall for games with her new friends. Mavone was scheduled to give us an update from the field, and Terleman would be along shortly, but Sandy took the opportunity to bend my ear. “Maybe I’m just not subtle enough, but it looks like you have entangled yourself in Gilmoran politics. I’m pretty sure you recall just how dangerous that sort of thing can be.”

  “It’s amusing,” I pointed out, not wanting to tell him just everything, yet. As my marshal, Sandoval might be required to testify at some point, and I didn’t want him to know anything that might get him in trouble. “They won’t discover where Maithieran is for another week, I’m guessing. When they do, it will become even more amusing.”