Shadowmage: Book Nine Of The Spellmonger Series (75 page)

“How many High Magi do you have?” asked Minalan.

Carmella shrugged.  “Hesia’s Seven, and eleven beyond that.”

“Would another ten witchstones help the effort?”

“Avital’s Lever,
yes!
” she declared.  “I’ve got more than twenty journeymen at Salis who are desperate for a stone.  Some go hunting shamans in the Penumbra.  Some are planning to enter the Spellmonger’s Trial.  Ten stones might improve the attrition rate.  Or the mortality rate,” she added.

“It shall be done, then,” the Spellmonger agreed.  “Make lists of the enchantments you need.  We’ll work out the costs later – we may have to establish a second baucletere in Alshar, but that probably isn’t a bad idea, either.”

“And King Rard has agreed to this?” asked Master Cormoran, doubtfully.

“I myself was witness to his permission,” Tyndal said.  “Of course, when he made the pledge, I’m sure he was envisioning something far simpler for his nephew.  He just doesn’t suspect the resources Anguin has at his disposal.  But permission was secured,” he assured everyone.

“Then there is no impediment toward building Vanador.  And this castle,” Carmella declared.  “The realm needs them both.”

Count Angrial still looked pained, as if he was trying to digest broken glass.  “It will still be expensive.  Very expensive, even with magic to aid the feat.”

“And dangerous,” Terleman reminded them.  “There are still stray bands of gurvani in the region, the odd troll, bandits, and runaway slaves.  We will have to establish some security for the place, if we wish to open a quarry and keep it open.”

“The Kasari can help with that,” Pentandra nodded.  “Arborn has told me of a major settlement they hold in the western eaves of the Kulines.  They know the territory between there and Bransei like their tongues know the back of their teeth.  If we enlist their aid to run screening patrols around the place, that will reduce the potential for problems.”

“There is another factor,” Master Cormoran pointed out, thoughtfully.  “That region is near to Lady Mask’s old fief.  Since her capture it has been taken by another renegade, who has been building his forces.”

“What colorful nickname have you given this one?” Rondal asked with a groan.

Master Cormoran smiled.  “We’re still working on it.  I’ll let you know.  All we know is that the traitor is a renegade warmage of indeterminate origin, but who knows how to order troops.  He’s got his hobs drilling daily, and he’s recruiting more regulars from the hill tribes to his west.  He’s refortified a small tower, but we think he has designs on something more grand.  But he’s the one most likely to contest a resettlement of the northeast.”

“I look forward to learning more, and then killing him,” Terleman said, cheerfully.  “My friends, this is a massive undertaking,” he said, “both of them.  But it looks like if this is to go forward, then it will be largely on the backs of the magi.  Not to sound ungrateful, Sire, but apart from steady work . . . what is in it for us?”

“I don’t fault a man for self-interest, Marshal,” Anguin informed his vassal.  “The lands in the region will be parceled out to the magelords who are invested in the construction of Vanador.  As well as a few mundane nobles of loyal bearing, such as the 3
rd
Alshari Commando and Wilderlords of note.”

“You will have the quiet assistance of Sevendor in this,” Minalan pledged. 

“And Greenflower,” Taren agreed.  “While the resources there are not as grand as Sevendor’s, there are things from Salesius that could prove invaluable to this effort.”

“As Court Wizard, I will oversee the settlement and construction efforts for the duchy,” Pentandra declared.  “What concerns me most about this is not concealing our efforts from the gurvani, but from Prince Tavard.”  News – gossip, actually – had spread amongst the wizards of Alshar about the young Duke of Castal’s reaction to the news of the destruction of his cousin’s palace: he threw a party.

Ostensibly to raise funds for the survivors, Tavard’s gala in Castabriel was an extended joke at his poor cousin’s expense.  The entertainments included minstrels singing of a love affair between Ifnia and Anguin gone wrong, after he rejected Ishi for her, and featured a jongleur in a dragon costume chasing a dwarf dressed in golden antlers and bearing a begging bowl around the hall.  He’d made Anguin’s tragedy an opportunity for entertainment.

“The goal here,” Minalan said, softly, “is to get this castle built too quickly for Tavard to try to intervene.  It’s almost as large as his castle in Castabriel, and he will surely find it threatening to his Gilmoran possessions.  Once he does take note and objects, he will be far too focused on Vorone while we prepare Vanador.”

“And once Vanador is built, proof against dragons and goblins, Castali lances would break on it like waves on the shore,” Astyral smiled.  From what Tyndal understood, the magelord was more and more in favor of restoring Anguin’s rule not just over the south, but over the lost Gilmoran lands of his birth.  After the invasion of northern Gilmora, he’d heard many Gilmoran nobles express displeasure with their Castali liege.

“Thank you, my friends,” Anguin sighed.  “I confess, sometimes I feel adrift, being responsible for the Wilderlands, and so much more.  To undertake an enterprise like this, while protecting my people, rebuilding this province, and plotting to retake the south, while dodging my political opponents and keeping the government running and funded . . . well, without good and loyal vassals such as yourselves, I think I would have thrown myself in the river long ago.”

Tyndal smirked.  “Your Grace, that river isn’t going anywhere.  And the day is young.”

*

*

*

As Vorone recovered and adjusted to the loss of the palace, Tyndal and Rondal were needed less and less.  Eventually they returned to Sevendor and the Rat Trap.  The days were growing shorter, and the Sevendor Magic Fair was near.

The two of them had been invited to participate in a number of ways, but both knights felt more like enjoying the fair this year, rather than being responsible for it.  There were plenty of other folk eager to do so – the Spellmonger’s Trial was being designed by the Royal Court Wizard, Hartarian, this year, and the number of conferences, lectures, and competitions grew.  Just deciding which of the receptions and feasts thrown by various orders and organizations was problematic.  After some discussion (and witnessing the harried, worn-out expression on Gareth’s face when he did chance to stop home and sleep) they elected to limit their participation to attendance.

“Basking in glory shouldn’t be too tiring,” Tyndal reasoned.

“I’m just glad we’re not in the Trials,” Rondal agreed, over breakfast two days before the official beginning of the Fair.  “I don’t think I could face all of those fresh-faced, determined magi this year and not end up killing a few.”

“I’m actually looking forward to attending a few lectures,” Tyndal said, innocently.  “Perhaps focusing on some meatier academic subjects.” 

Rondal looked at him as if he’d just burst spontaneously into song.  “Why in three hells would you do that?”

“Because after you get married, I’ll have to figure out something to do with myself,” Tyndal sighed.

“Hey!  Did you forget our fake sacred vow not to wed until Anguin sits on the throne in Falas?” Rondal demanded, irritated.

“No,” Tyndal shrugged.  “But then I proposed the more impossible task of toppling the Brotherhood of the Rat to your girl, and it took her less than a summer to arrange for it.  How long do you think she’s going to wait around?  She’ll assassinate the Count of Rhemes, if she has to.”

“But what makes you think that is going to happen any time soon?”

“The look in her eye when she danced with you in Vorone,” Tyndal pointed out.  “It was as if Ishi, herself, were inspiring the girl to some mischief.”

“I still haven’t agreed to marry her,” Rondal said, sullenly.

“But you’re thinking about it,” Tyndal observed.  “Seriously.”

“Ishi’s tits!  How could I not?” he said, angrily.  “With you trying to break us apart every chance you get, and her trying to get us wed the moment Anguin’s arse is in that fancy chair, no one has asked what I want!  And I’m the one who gets to make the decision!”

“So , Striker,” Tyndal shrugged.  “What do you want?”

“I want everyone to calm down!” Rondal spat. 

“But you
like
Gatina,” Tyndal prompted.  “You’ve invited her to spend the Fair here!”  In truth, the invitation was extended to Master Hance and Sir Atopol, as well, but Rondal’s focus in housekeeping when he returned was clearly on Gatina’s perceptions.

“
Yes
, I like Gatina!  I
might
even love Gatina,” he admitted, more quietly.  “But it’s a little difficult to figure that out while you’re trying to get me killed and she’s discussing what to name our children!”

“I’d suggest ‘Tyndal’, in honor of your late comrade,” Tyndal said, enjoying how riled his partner was becoming.  “I’m sure to die on this next round of errantry.  Or the one after that, without you to watch my back.  Just make sure the little bastard is handsome.”

“Don’t be an ass,” Rondal said, accusingly.  “What is wrong with me having a lady in my life?”

“It isn’t just having a lady,” Tyndal said, becoming serious.  “It’s a commitment . . . one that will stop you from errantry all together!”

“How long do you think we can do this, Tyndal?” Rondal shot back angrily.  “How many times do you think we can go into danger and come out again?  Because eventually we won’t, and your dire predictions will come true.  I, for one, plan to live to a ripe old age and die in bed, surrounded by my adoring descendents.  In your heart of hearts, you do to,” he said, pointedly.

“I am a long, long way from my dotage.  I want to have something to recall fondly,” Tyndal replied, stiffly.

“You just slew a fucking dragon!”
Rondal burst out.  “You are rich, famous, and the confidant of kings and dukes, Tyndal!  What more do you
want?”

“Just the one!” Tyndal said, after struggling with a response.  “I don’t
know
what I want!  But it doesn’t involve a fat wife and a bunch of mewling brats hanging on to my armor when I’m trying to go to battle!”

“Is that all you want out of life?  Battle?”

“No, enjoying the rewards of my victories for a change would be nice, though!”

“No one is stopping you,” Rondal said, his eyes filled with a strange look.  “Go spend your fortune, Haystack.  Palaces, girls, baronies, whatever you want.  You’ve earned that,” he said, resigned, “I cannot dispute that. 

“But I’ve earned a life that I want, too,” he continued, as he stood.  “I’m still trying to figure out what it is, but it isn’t constant, unremitting battle.  And it’s not palaces and slave girls,” he added.  “I want to build something greater than myself.”

“What do you think we’ve been doing?” Tyndal exploded.  “We’ve been putting our duchy back together!”

“We’ve been on a bloody killing spree over a girl we barely knew!” Rondal snarled.  “Any service we did the duchy was accidental!  I wanted revenge, and you just wanted to kill!”

“I wanted revenge, too!” Tyndal insisted, then realized how it sounded.  “Maybe you were wrapped up in vengeance over Estasia, because she broke your damn heart, but I’m the one whose stone was stolen,” he reminded Rondal.  “I’m the one they tricked and trapped, and I’m the reason she died.  You want to fixate and obsess on every pair of boobs that comes into your life, fine, but when I went to Enultramar it wasn’t about some wisp of silk and fluff, it was because no one – ever – betrays me and escapes the consequences!”

“What is your godsdamn point?” Rondal asked, angrily.

“My point is that you are more than just a needy heart seeking feminine attention,” Tyndal said, after some thought.  “You are more than just some prize for an ambitious woman to win, Rondal.  You give your heart away too easily, and forget who it belongs to, first.”

“You just leave Gatina alone,” Rondal said, darkly.  “I’m truly sorry you feel threatened by her, but you will just have to endure her presence in my life.  I just want a fucking girlfriend,” he said, as he left.  Tyndal wished he would slam the door, but Rondal never slammed doors.

The two spent the next few days avoiding each other.  As the travelers for the fair began to arrive and the inns of Sevendor filled up, old friends and comrades returned, providing ample distraction for both knights.  When Rondal appeared with Atopol and Gatina the day before the Fair’s official opening, the new knight mage was just as at odds with his sister’s new relationship as Tyndal was. 

Tyndal jumped on the opportunity to commiserate, and spent one long night with the thief in the Staff and Sword, meeting old warmagic comrades and getting thoroughly drunk.

“She just will not shut up about him,” Atopol sighed, wearily.  “Her entire life revolves around Rondal, now.  She’s planning . . . well, you can imagine what she’s planning: everything.  It’s . . . it’s a little frightening.  Last year she was entirely invested in obfuscation spells and mastering locks.  This year she wants four stout boys and three beautiful girls, and has names chosen for each.”

“Why do we subject ourselves to this?” Tyndal asked, shaking his head drunkenly.  “We’re perfectly fine and happy, enjoying our lives and pursuing our interests.  True, one of our interests usually involves them,” he said, nodding toward a few local hostesses who were flirting outrageously with the fairgoers.  “But as pleasant as Ishi’s Blessing is, why would a man sacrifice everything for it?  From one woman?”