Court Wizard (Spellmonger Series: Book 8) (17 page)

She awoke a few hours later, still exhausted but more intrigued by events than by sleep.  She stumbled to a privy before seeking out the great hall outside of the audience chamber.

The hall was designed along southern lines – southern Alshar, she corrected, not southern Castal – and
certainly
not Remere.  When the maritime Dukes of Alshar had constructed this second capital so far away from the wharfs and docks of Enultramar, they had imported many of the styles of that decadent land.

Pentandra didn’t have a problem with decadence – she was Remeran, her people had perfected the art – but Alshari styles seemed to combine the worst elements of ornamentation and function. 

The high-peaked arches throughout the palace were indicative, part of her mind observed as she walked toward the great hall. They were far too wide, and far too tall, to be effective here.  The southern style was developed in the hot coastlands where keeping cool was important.  The wide doorways and pointed arches captured the sea breeze nicely. 

But here they just made the whole place draughty.  Vorone was in a river valley of a mountainous country, not a subtropical coastland.  There was plenty of wind here – far too much.  The smaller round-topped doorways the Wilderlords favored would have been far better suited.  But then the entire palace was built to resemble one of the great maritime palaces of Enultramar, long and spacious and grand.  And utterly out of place here in the Wilderlands.

The whole palace – the whole town – was like that.  The Alshari dukes had come to the Wilderlands as Sealords and conquerors.   When they had built the summer capital at Vorone they had built it to symbolize the dominion of wave over wood.  Vorone was where the first of them felt the sea had conquered the forest.

But now the sea was sundered from the ducal line, and the forest was all that was left to the Orphan Duke.  Every anchor decoration she saw, every threadbare tapestry depicting a naval battle, every nautical-themed ornament in the palace reminded her of that.  And likely reminded the other members of the Duke’s Party of the great task ahead of them.  This was it, all they had to work with. 

She found Count Salgo in the main hall with Bold Asgus, the men discussing military matters as she entered.

“Good morning, gentlemen,” she said as she glided over to the fireplace, where a kettle was boiling.  It was an ornate thing, supported by two stylized Sea Folk supporters . . . and half the size it needed to be for a room this size.  “I see I didn’t awaken to insurrection and rebellion in the palace.  I take it there hasn’t been the expected opposition?” She poured hot water into a chipped crockery mug she found on the mantle and then added her morning herbal blend. 

“It seems the element of surprise was in our favor, my lady,” Bold Asgus agreed. 

“No one expected His Grace to dare return to . . .
this
,” Count Salgo agreed, looking around at the cracked plaster and plentiful cobwebs.  “His reappearance took everyone by surprise, as planned.  But that doesn’t mean opposition to his rule won’t emerge.”

“It is Yule, after all,” Captain Asgus agreed.  “Not even seasoned brigands would give up their holiday revels.  Even spies and saboteurs need time to act.  No, your foes will absorb the news and wait to see where your weaknesses are before they strike.”

“They won’t have to look too hard,” Pentandra sighed.  “Apart from your good men, Captain, we have no more than three hundred warriors to depend upon, and the company of archers we brought from His Grace’s estate.  When you leave . . .”

The two thousand men of the mercenary unit Minalan had arranged for Angrial to hire had, unfortunately, accepted a contract in the south long before Duke Anguin had contacted them.  They would be departing south from Vorone as soon as the roads and fords were clear.

“We will have the town well in-hand by Briga’s Day,” promised Count Salgo as he sipped spirits from a small silver cup.  Pentandra wasn’t sure if he was just arising, which made such an indulgence suspect, or if he had yet to sleep, in which case a drink might well be in order.  “Once we take proper control of the garrison, we’ll control the city.  I know of Sire Baskei – he has a solid reputation, and once I speak with him I think we will come to some understanding.” 

By all accounts the “royal garrison” at Vorone was a joke, militarily speaking.  Bold Asgus certainly thought so. 

“The garrison?  A thousand ill-trained and poorly-armed conscripts commanded by a corps of landless knights who lead by their titles, not their swords!  While it is technically an army, Count Salgo, just how long could it stand a real attack against the town?”

“Right now?  A day.  Let me train them for three months, however, and we’ll see them stand as long as they need to.  The men are decent enough, but without leadership, training, and investment they will never be good enough to handle anything beyond a riot.”

Pentandra trusted Salgo’s professional military judgment.  The man was adept at command, and there was no one better suited to revive the garrison.  But he had his work cut out for him, by all accounts. 

Anguin had wisely sent men to Vorone to assess the military situation while he was still preparing in Gilmora.  The reports hadn’t been encouraging.  The administration was notoriously corrupt, diverting royal funds into their personal purses while their men wanted for boots, the Duke’s spies had reported. 

The Baron had bribed the commanders liberally and granted them concessions and even dispensed lands for their loyalty.  Sire Baskei, the garrison commander, was rumored to be enjoying the holiday at one of his gifted estates this morning.  But since the garrison was funded by the crown and the garrison commander a royal appointment, he was beyond the legal reach of the Duke.

But so had the Steward been.  Anguin had found a way. 

“From what I hear, Baskei is a reasonable man,” Count Salgo said, putting his cup away in his pouch.  “The king might pay him and his men, but he isn’t exactly a tool of Castal.”

“Bah!  Execute him and replace him,” suggested Asgus.  “He is tainted from Edmarin’s stain.  Your opinion, my lady mage?”

Pentandra considered.  “I’d give him an opportunity to betray us in good faith before I’d send him to the headsman.”

“Exactly,” agreed Salgo.  “Don’t kill a man for what he hasn’t done yet.  Baskei had to deal with Edmarin, that doesn’t mean that the two were confederates.”

“He is at the top of a long list of courtiers that Count Angrial wants me to interview, under enchantment, to ensure their loyalty,” Pentandra pointed out.

“Does that
actually
work?” Salgo asked, intrigued.

“It takes a lot of will to fight your way out of a truthtell spell,” Pentandra said as she sipped the bitter tea.  “It can be done, but most men who are open to treachery lack the will to resist the effects.  It is a sensible precaution of the Duke,” she praised.  She had to admit that though she had not thought the lad capable of ruling, Minalan had seen the boy’s potential and a way to capitalize on it while it was developing. 

“That reminds me – there was business this morning we have to attend to, I believe.  When is the council meeting?” she asked, sipping her bitter tea. 

“As soon as Count Angrial arrives,” supplied Salgo, brushing at his furry lip with the back of his hand.  For once his big bushy mustache and clean-shaven face was not out of place, as the style was favored among Wilderlords more than Riverlords.  “He’s spent the night interviewing minor functionaries and the head staff himself, to try to put together court this morning.  I don’t think the Prime Minister has slept at all.”

“For myself,” Bold Asgus said, thoughtfully, “I am curious as to how the people of Vorone will react to the change in regime.”

“I can’t see how they would view it as anything but a blessing,” Pentandra said, gulping down the rest of her tea.  “The people are always removed from the affairs of court, save how they are affected by policy.  Having a duke in the palace will be seen as a good thing,” she predicted, “until they realize that they have a real duke in the palace again, with nothing better to do than manage the affairs of the town and countryside.  That is when we’ll see opposition arise.  For now,” she prophesied, “I think the townsfolk will welcome the change.”

*

*

Late in the evening, Pentandra finally found a quiet moment to contact Minalan and inform the Spellmonger about their success.  He was, after all, the chief architect of the new regime, and had risked much in seeing it established under the nose of the King.  If things went poorly with Anguin, she knew, King Rard would eventually trace his supporters back to Minalan, which could prove awkward for relations between the state and the arcane.  It didn’t take her very long to make contact with Min.

Well, we have a restoration,
Pentandra proclaimed, proudly.

We do?
he asked, sounding surprised. 

As of last night.  The bum of a baron who was holding court here was caught completely unawares.  The Orphans moved to counter the garrison and keep them in their camp.  And Anguin really put on a show, claiming his rightful place as ruler.  There was an execution.  And two imprisonments.  Very exciting.

Any serious resistance?
Minalan asked, warily.

Not yet,
Pentandra admitted,
but honestly I don’t expect there to be for a few days, until the players in court figure out what the situation is.  But one thing is for certain: our sudden arrival interrupted at least a dozen brazen cases of abuse of position.  The palace has been picked bare.  I have no doubt some fled in the night – we’ll have to see who shows up to the council meeting this morning to determine just who, and with what. 

Let me know if you need any help, okay?
he instructed her.  While the offer was authentic, Pentandra was reluctant to consider it, if it wasn’t vital to the success of the mission.  Minalan just didn’t sound himself, for some reason.  He sounded . . . tired.
 
Pentandra promised herself not to call upon him unless it was absolutely necessary.

I can manage this,
she promised. 
And thank you for the use of your home.

My . . . what?             

The hall you appropriated in Vorone?  Sire Koucey’s residence in the capital?  Until adequate quarters can be secured in the palace, Arborn and I are staying there.  I hope you don’t mind.

Of course not.  Was there anyone there?

Just the old one-legged warmage who Astyral detailed to become caretaker.  He’s used the place once himself, when he visited.  But it’s cozy, even with a dozen rangers downstairs.  Arborn has pledged their service to the Duke to help restore order in Vorone.  They were extremely helpful last night, when things got tense. 

Pentandra briefed Minalan about details of the palace takeover, and what obstacles to their success she thought they faced. 
I think we took everyone by surprise, she concluded.  That might just give us the breathing room we need to secure the capital without Royal interference. 

Well, that’s the key,
agreed Minalan.
  The longer Anguin can maintain power in Vorone, away from his uncle’s influence, the more likely he’ll survive his ire.  If Grendine decides that Anguin is running counter to her plans, she’ll just send in some pretty little maid with murder in her heart and end him.  That’s going to be a lot easier when he’s the untested heir sitting uneasily on the throne.  Once he builds up a political consensus behind himself in the Wilderlands, and re-establishes his administration as vital to the management of the duchy, he’ll be a lot more protected.  Get the locals to accept him and prove loyal to him, and even Grendine will have to think twice before killing him out of hand without courting rebellion. 

Since the news probably won’t arrive at Castabriel for another few days, we should be able to start that process before she interferes, then,
Pentandra agreed.
He could have as much as a month before she will be able to react to what he’s done.  That should give us enough time to shore up some political support.  But . . .  just how do I go about ensuring the local nobles support him? 

Persuade them that it’s because he’s all they have,
Minalan said, wisely. 
The King only needs the Alshari Wilderlands so that he can claim sovereignty over three duchies – he has little interest in spending more in time or treasure on them than he has to.  New royal palaces take a lot of both.  Rard doesn’t have any further interest in the Wilderlands, after that, so if they are threatened it will take a long time to even bring it to his attention.  Anguin, on the other hand, is willing to stake his fortunes to their own.  Or at least that’s what I can tell,
Minalan confessed.  If they support him, he will, in turn, try to support them.  Not the least by the legitimacy his reign gives them. 

And if I am unpersuasive?

Then bribe them,
Minalan sighed, tiredly
.  That’s the only way things really get done in a feudal system, anyway.

Chapter Four

A Thaumaturgical Baculus In Duke Anguin’s Court