Court Wizard (Spellmonger Series: Book 8) (23 page)

But as her reputation for financial accountability was legendary, and her continued presence at court would be clearly seen as the tangible support of the regime by a well-respected and resolutely conservative figure. Pentandra was determined to secure her allegiance.

But much had changed since the days before Timberwatch.  The once-regal old matron was now smaller and thinner than Pentandra remembered, her hair more white than gray and her wrinkled expression fixed in nearly permanent disapproval.  Even in exile she had formidable influence and significant personal wealth, and her clothes indicated that she had not suffered much personally from Edmarin’s corrupt rule. 

Viscountess Threanas was bitter.  She was resentful.  She was outraged.  Threanas had no objection to there being a Duke again, despite what his sire had done or not done.  What Threanas objected to was the focus of the restoration being on the huge, sparsely settled and (to her, worst of all) relatively poor Wilderlands, and not the geographically smaller, wealthier, and far more populous southern coasts. 

But without a sitting Duke to advise and threaten, without a fully-functional court to generate income and expenditures, her title and position were largely useless.  She had been overseeing what was left of the ducal accounts on her own, after Baron Edmarin allowed them to pile up, just for the lack of better work to do.  After she said as much, in the first tense introductions over wine in the small chamber Angrial had selected for the interview, she began to issue forth her opinions with the precision and accuracy of a veteran archer.

“The fleet is where the wealth of Alshar has always resided,” she said with the conviction of the Coastlord she was.  “Without Falas and the rest of Enultramar, the fleets, the ports, the merchants, the towns and the plantations of the south, Alshar is nothing,” she declared.  “
Why
have you wasted time and resources laying claim to a run-down palace in a patch of wood, when your real legacy lies south, Your Grace?” she asked in a tone of a reproving grandmother disturbed by the foolish actions of her descendents.

“Because when His Grace is denied the Wave by rebellion, he will have recourse to the Wood,” answered Prime Minister Angrial sternly.  There was obviously some lingering animosity between him and the old Viscountess.  “As it is the bit of the duchy we
actually
have in hand, we thought it best to begin to restore Duke Anguin’s rule
here
, and not where no one will pay any attention to it.”

The old woman snorted.  “And what does
that
buy you, Angrial?  The respect of his peers?  You cannot field lances or collect taxes with respect.  In Vorone His Grace rules a handful of illiterate peasant freemen and semi-barbaric Wilderlords.  In Falas he rules the great fleets, the grand armies of Alshar.”

“With Falas occupied by the Four Counts, that’s going to be difficult,” Father Amus pointed out, shaking his head.  Those were the four leaders of the wider rebellion, ostensibly against King Rard – but in practice the Four Counts headed a larger council of lords and clergy who had eagerly seized the rebellion as a chance to severe old obligations and abrogate old debts.  “Not that the idea wasn’t considered, mind you,” the old priest assured her.  “But without a firm and reliable ally inside and a large enough and securely based enough force of his own outside, marching into Falas and announcing that he was suddenly in power would be foolish of His Grace, don’t you think?”

“Idealistic, certainly,” the old woman grudgingly admitted, her mouth fixed in a grimace. 

“So it is the opinion of his wisest counselors that he take what legacy is within his grasp and build upon it while he awaits a change of disposition among the rebels,” continued Father Amus.  “While that is not, perhaps, the most
glorious
route to a complete restoration, it is certainly the most
practical
.  Building his strength and reputation here, in the Wilderlands, may not sway very many Coastlords, but without a friendly fleet at hand that is what he has left to work with.”

“I can see that,” she finally agreed.  “But a state cannot build strength without resources,” she countered. 

“That is why we have asked you to join us, Viscountess,” Pentandra said, smoothly.  “While the new regime has sufficient resources, we believe, to fund the restoration and begin the recovery, it is recognized that it will take far more than that to provide His Grace with the forces he needs to retake the south.  Resources and time,” she added. 

“The question, Viscountess,” Angrial continued in his reedy voice, clearly trying to be conciliatory to the disagreeable old woman, “is are you willing to commit to work toward that same goal?  For victory we must devote ourselves to the re-ordering and restoration of a much smaller duchy.  For the moment that includes forgetting about the cursed rebellion for awhile.”

“Ignoring the blatant denial of His Grace’s sovereignty?” she scoffed.  “Or are we all just in denial?”

“Neither,” Anguin said, forcefully, his young voice speaking up for the first time in the interview.  “Viscountess, as much as it pains me to agree with my counselors, I have been convinced that that this is not burying our head in the dirt and ignoring the issue.  It is accepting the unfortunate reality of our situation.  Until we can contrive the regain the south, we must strive to restore the north – and to improve it, if at all possible.”

“That is an ambitious purpose,” she said, without enthusiasm.  “Before the invasion, this country was filled with belligerent, ignorant Wilderlords and half-civilized ignorant freeholding peasants, woodsmen and miners.  Now it is filled with ignorant, penniless refugees and belligerent, ignorant goblins.  You could do virtually anything and improve the situation.”

“And we will strive to do everything in our power to do so,” pledged Anguin, resolutely.  “Not merely lip-service, but real investment in our defense, in our infrastructure, and in our economy.  Now,” he said, eschewing the practiced court voice he’d learned under Amus in favor of his own approach, “we have precious little to do that with, and plenty of people who want us to fail.  We have almost no allies outside of this town, little hope to gain any, and the price of our success will – undoubtedly – be even more bitter opposition. 

“But I cannot do this alone, Viscountess.  My father may have had his issues with you, but I know for a fact he respected your opinion over those of most of his other ministers.  That speaks volumes to your character.  I would invoke that sense of dedication to the success of the duchy he enjoyed for his reign, and ask you to join my court.  What say you?” he asked, simply.

The old woman screwed up her face.  “I have toiled in exile for
four years
in this cesspit, now, Your Grace, in the service of your house.  I suppose another few will not make matters any worse.”

“On the contrary, Viscountess,” soothed the young Duke, with empathy far beyond his years, “it is upon the talents of amazing courtiers such as yourself that we depend to bring us into a position to restore the south and regain Enultramar.  I have been told that if
anyone
can re-structure the finances of the duchy to that successful end, it is
you
.”

Pentandra didn’t know if someone had fed him the line, or if he’d conjured it himself, but the unexpected flattery worked.  Pentandra watched as Threanas struggled with herself and then relented. 

“I suppose that is true, Your Grace,” she finally agreed, with a sigh of resignation.  “Very well.  If you want me to run a few counties and pretend it is an entire duchy, I am at your command.” 

Father Amus looked subtly at Pentandra, and she gave the old priest the barest of nods.  Her truthtelling spell was indicating no trace of deceit or deception in the old woman’s words.  While that didn’t exactly mean she could be trusted, it was as much assurance as they had about anyone.

Pentandra knew there was a lot to gain by getting the alliance of the old woman.  She had been a major force his Duke Lenguin’s court, contending with powerful men as a matter of course and triumphing more often than not.  Pentandra recalled how adeptly she had dealt with matters of court, even calling out the popular Wilderlord Count Marcadine for praising a policy she did not favor. 

With the help of her baculus, which she held as casually as a scepter though it was busy at work, Pentandra was able to note so much detail about the Viscountess to at least offer an astute guess about her loyalties and motivations.  It revealed that despite her calm demeanor she was both excited and disturbed by the sudden arrival of her sovereign.  She did not react guiltily, as many of the other courtiers had.  But that did not mean she saw the arrival as a necessarily positive development.

Pentandra liked to think that Anguin’s claim was far too strong to depend on the opinions of one frail old rich widow for his survival, but the fact was that a regime built without including the powerful, bitter old woman would be weaker than one that included her from the start – no matter how trying that might prove over time. 

“Will you have any difficulty working with our own specialist in the field of finance?” Father Amus asked, quietly.  “Coinsister Saltia represents the Temple of Ifnia, who is quietly underwriting the cost of the restoration.”

That got Threanas’ attention.  “Did His Grace have a particularly good day wagering at the racetrack?” she asked, wryly.

“That is actually not far from what we want people to believe,” Angrial agreed.  “The truth might be . . .
problematic.”
  The significance of the admission was not lost on the Viscountess.

“So who is
really
secretly funding this masquerade?” she demanded.  “I don’t believe for a moment that the Ifnites are willing to extend a loan on the strength of future earnings from lands not currently under His Grace’s control.”

“The Arcane Orders have pledged to secure the loan extended to His Grace,” Pentandra admitted.  “The Spellmonger, himself, has given them assurances that the debt will be paid.”

“I guess he’s a better spellmonger than most, then,” Threanas sighed.  “But gold is gold.  That makes me feel a little better about the situation,” she admitted, “but not much.  You do realize that there are always political costs for such alliances?”

“There is an even greater cost for sitting in inaction,” countered the young Duke.  “Baron Minalan is a friend of mine, and he has convinced me of his dedication to restoring my house to power.  And yes,” he continued, “I understand that means that I will owe a debt to the Arcane Orders.  But without them, I would still be sitting in safely in exile in Gilmora, under the watchful eyes of the Queen’s agents, not sitting in this freezing cold palace debating financial policy with my court.  So I will gladly pay the political costs.  The question is, Viscountess, can you work with Sister Saltia?”

“It’s not that I don’t trust the clergy,” Threanas explained in a tone that demonstrated that she did not, indeed, trust the clergy, at least in matters of finance.  “While I’m sure that overseeing penny-contests and wagering at tournaments has given the Ifnites
ample
experience at figuring and probability, the accounts of a duchy are a
complex
thing.  Even the tattered remnant of a duchy you have left is going to require far more adept management than a few nuns will be able to muster.” 

“You may be right,” Count Angrial conceded.  “I can see why Lenguin provided you a warrant for a decade of service.  There are good and valid reasons why certain positions in court were warranted the way they were, including that of Treasury Minister.  It keeps the sovereign from overspending, in theory. 

“But we need the Ifnites and their loans if we are going to pay for this restoration,” he continued, resolutely.  “And they will not proceed without ample representation in court.  And in your office.  Could you accept Coinsister Saltia as an assistant, then?” he proposed.  “You will need one to manage the coin from the loan anyway, and she seems well-prepared for the task . . . and perhaps unready for the responsibilities of greater office,” he added, diplomatically.

Pentandra bristled at the insinuation that the portly little nun was less than competent at her job, just because the Temple of Ifnia was more well-known for booking bets than it was at financing political restorations.  But she wisely held her tongue.  She recognized the slight for what it was: an attempt by Threanas to secure her position, and a response by Angrial providing the bounds of the negotiation.  And it worked.

“That would be acceptable,” the old woman finally sighed, after some thought. “I will need to restructure the entire treasury office anyway, of course.  Especially if we’re going to generate enough revenue to actually repay this loan.  On top of the expenses of the court. On average it costs about a thousand to twelve hundred ounces of gold a month to run the palace, and another three or four hundred to run the ducal services to the town of Vorone,” she stated.  “That’s before you start paying mercenaries to stand around and eat through your stores.”

“The Orphan’s Band is on short-term assignment,” replied Angrial.  “They depart on Briga’s Day, and we won’t have to pay them after that.”

“Nor will we have them providing the stability we need to collect taxes and tribute!” scoffed Threanas. 

“We are putting our own forces in place,” Father Amus countered, “as we vet them and prepare them for the task.  The Palace guard has been augmented.  As has the Town Guard.  Both of those were less expensive options than continuing to pay for mercenaries.”