Court Wizard (Spellmonger Series: Book 8) (76 page)

That’s when she found out her former boss and long-time friend was getting himself involved in a magewar with the former Ducal Court Mage of Castal, Magelord Dunselen.

Pentandra had little respect for the old man – he was a theoretician and bureaucrat more than a practical adept.  But he had been willing to be bribed into cooperation with a witchstone during a critical time, a few years back, and after the Battle of Timberwatch and the lifting of the Bans on Magic he had retired, re-ennobled, to his family estates in Greenflower.  

That’s when he started using his nascent power to try to re-take his family’s legacy by
force.
 He’d been fairly successful at it, too, Pentandra knew.  Dunselen’s rise had caused her a great deal of grief while she was the Steward of the Arcane Orders.  Within just a year he had re-conquered a good portion of his lost legacy . . . but he had also stirred up substantial anti-mage sentiment among the nobility which Pentandra had struggled to counter.  

Apparently Queen Grendine was just as concerned about a wayward High Mage as she was about a disobedient, unwed nephew, and so she had encouraged Dunselen to marry one of the ladies of her court to calm him down.  

Lady Isily.  Pentandra knew her, back when she was a student at Alar, and they traveled in many of the same circles until Pentandra left for Inarion to pursue research in her obtuse subject, and Lady Isily had joined Duchess Grendine’s court as a lady-in-waiting.

But that was just part of her departure.  A powerful High Mage in her own right, armed with a witchstone given over to bribe Grendine into supporting Minalan’s bid to defend the duchies, Isily was a shadowmage who carried out the bidding of her Queen when someone had to die.  She was one of Grendine’s best assassins, and the news of her early retirement and marriage didn’t fool Pentandra one bit about the woman’s motivations.  Or her ambitions.

Nor was Dunselen a harmless enemy.  After many years at court, making connections and establishing a network of supporters, Dunselen was the epitome of the old order’s establishment.  He had never really liked Minalan, and from what Pentandra could tell from his encounter with the two of them at Chepstan Fair, he had no problem starting trouble for the Spellmonger.  Pentandra told her friend as much, mind-to-mind.

Min, you do realize that he puts your entire family in danger?
she warned him.  Dunselen hadn’t been the sanest of magi when he’d enjoyed a position at court, and now that he had arcane power, mundane power, and position there was little to keep his ego in check, by all accounts.

I know.  So does she.  But . . . right now, all I can do is wait.  And prepare.  

Perhaps,
she agreed, reluctantly.  
But it’s disturbing.  There’s a lot going on that’s disturbing.  Arborn’s folk brought word that confirms that Korbal the Demon God is alive – or at least not completely dead – and well in the Land of Scars.  No doubt whatsoever.  There have been some troop movements in the Penumbra that have me worried, although it doesn’t look like they’re gathering for a major assault.  And Ishi’s avatar has the entire court dangling from a string.  If something isn’t done soon, she could push this entire operation into the chamberpot.

She hated to dump all of her problems on her friend, especially when he was hundreds of miles away and unable to help, but she really didn’t have much other choice.

What do you need from me?
Minalan asked, sullenly.  

Just be here at the Duke’s ball, with Alya, in a mask, and be prepared to do whatever it is you need to do to stabilize the situation.  I’m doing the best I can, but the Spellmonger needs to make an appearance.

I will be there,
he promised, heavily.  
I’ve got one little war to deal with, but there should be plenty of room on my schedule. Shall we plan to stay the night?

Let’s see how things play out,
she decided.  
You might want to beat a hasty exit.  Or you and Alya could stay at Koucey’s guest house – we’ve moved our household to the palace as a show of support, and right now it’s being used as a base for the Wood Owls—

The who?
he asked, interested but confused.
 

They’re a group of Kasari who . . . well, they aren’t raptors.  But they have a lot of skills other Kasari lack.  And far less moral compunctions.  Arborn recruited them for me to help crack down on the criminal organizations here.
 She tried not to sound too pleased about that.  Most Kasari weren’t very proud of their miscreants, no matter how talented in the criminal arts they might be.

So you essentially started your own?
he asked, amused.

It was easier than taking one over,
she said, tiredly.  She wondered if he was actually judging her or if he was teasing, and decided on the latter.   
If you want to rule – or help someone rule – sometimes you have to be willing to hurt people and break things.  And sometimes life's just better without some people in it,
she added, thinking of falsely-accused Master Luthar sitting downstairs in the dungeon.  

Despite feeling the entire affair was somehow wrong, after knowing what he was responsible for she could not think of much argument in favor of keeping them alive.
 The Wood Owls aren’t cold-blooded killers, but they do what needs to be done.  And like most owls . . . they eat Rats.  The halls of power are soaked in blood,
she added, philosophically, quoting an old Remeran proverb.

And how fares the Duke?

He’s holding power, now – barely.  The garrison is loyal, now that Count Salgo has taken charge and cleaned it out.  First Minister Angrial is surprisingly adept at the art of bureaucracy, it turns out.  Our biggest lack is a good master of intelligence.  Arborn does a reasonable job, for local issues, but Anguin really needs a professional overseeing the operation.  

How do revenues look?
Minalan asked, clearly afraid of the answer.

Surprisingly good, actually,
Pentandra reported, pleased to be able to do so.
 The Duchy collected nearly twenty thousand ounces of gold in tribute at the Midwinter court.  Several old local families who are loyal to the Ducal house have been holding back from paying for the last few years, for fear it would enrich Rard’s cronies.  We’re expecting more.  

How are expenses?

That’s enough to keep us afloat without going back to the temple for more.  We’ve only used about half of the line of credit the Order arranged, so far.  It’s costing about two-thousand a month to keep the palace and the garrison running, another five hundred for city services.  We’re bringing in about six hundred in fees, so this is a big help.  We can keep running with what we have for several months without touching the reserve, and we can make payments to the Temple.

That is a big relief.  How is he playing in the hinterlands?

Are you kidding? The country knights who are left beyond the Penumbra are his biggest supporters.  They’re so damned glad that there’s a Duke in the palace again, they could care less what he does.  Not that that’s led to a flood of revenue, understand – coin is pretty thin, up here.  Most lords pay their tribute in kind, and since trade has fallen so profoundly, that doesn’t help us much.

Let me think about it, and perhaps I can offer some advice at the ball.  We’re doing a lot with enchantment, these days.  Maybe we can do something to help.

Whatever you can do,
Pentandra agreed.  
I’m drowning, here.  Just make sure that dealing with Ishi is high on your list.  And make sure you tell Alya I’m dying to see her again!

I will.  She’s been . . . I don’t know, just a little off, lately
, he observed, troubled.  

She just needs a night of dancing and drinking,
Pentandra assured him
.  Pregnancy is rough on a woman.  Give her some fun and she’ll improve.  Say at a ducal court function that requires you dress up like a smelly animal . . .

Chapter Twenty-Seven

An Interloper In Court

While Pentandra hadn’t been expecting Dowager Countess Shirlin to invade the court, she wasn’t unprepared for the possibility.  

Pentandra wasn’t fond of the social games most women played in competition with each other, but she was very adept at them.  Her mother had made certain of that - a woman did not thrive in Remeran noble society (even amongst the magi) unless she knew how to defend herself against the insidious attacks by her rivals.

It was easy, once you understood the fears and anxieties most women carried, how they presented them to the other women in their sphere . . . and how to exploit them.  While Pentandra had always been cautious about how she dealt with other women, particularly in groups, that caution frequently paid a profit in the coin of position as less-adept players of the spiteful game overplayed their positions recklessly.  

She had noted many years ago that when women congregated together they
inevitably
seemed to slip into roles relative to one another that a wise woman could understand and navigate.  

The woman who always needed to be in charge, for instance, or the woman who needed to complain bitterly about everything were
both
dangerous allies to cultivate in the cut-throat world of feminine court politics.  The former put you in peril by your association, while the latter kept you languishing on the periphery of things, just as tarnished by your alliance as by scandal.  

While that had earned her a reputation as being somewhat standoffish around court, Pentandra didn’t mind one bit.  She had no burning desire to be either in charge or the center of attention.  She had enjoyed enough of both experiences in her past to know the limits of fulfillment they offered.  

Pentandra wisely allowed Viscountess Threanas to assume the unofficial leadership position of the women of the court without challenge, and she deftly avoided being too closely tied to Coinsister Mereta, who (unlike her coreligionist, Coinsister Saltia) could complain about nearly
anything
and felt compelled to prove it.

Social positioning at court was important, Pentandra knew, not because she had a burning desire to be popular; but because she also knew the obstacles she would endure attempting to accomplish anything without at least participating in the often-inane antics of the ladies of the court.  Pentandra had long ago figured out that the most powerful position in such unofficial societies was
not
that of the ostensible leader, but that of a powerful voice in that leader’s ear.  It afforded her a goodly amount of influence in the group without exposing her to too much responsibility.  Hence her deference to Viscountess Threanas.

That wasn’t a reflection of her laziness; on the contrary, she had
too
much to do to get mired in the petty politics of the palace women.  And any place where there were more than three women had politics, as her father often said.  While it pained her to agree with such a contentious observation, her own experiences bore him out.  

If Countess Shirlin anticipated a smooth coronation among the Alshari ‘rustics’, she was quickly and savagely corrected at the Tea.  Despite their many differences, none of the ladies of the Alshari court could find much flattering to say about Shirlin.  She was an interloper attempting to upset the established order, such as it was, and make herself leader without first building a consensus.

Pentandra could see it coming with the accuracy of foresight, thanks to her understanding of her sex’s approach to such things.  An important woman from elsewhere suddenly intruding on a pre-established group of women faced
incredible
scrutiny and criticism . . . not to mention social testing after her acceptance that men simply did not have to contend with.  Men tended to test new rivals first, and then extend them membership in the group. Women did things the other way around, usually.

First, Pentandra knew, the established group would extend a fawning invitation to the Countess that implied she was welcome among them with the intimacy of sisters.  That had been extended by Lady Bertine, who as the court secretary saw herself as responsible for such things.  At Pentandra’s direction she sent Countess Shirlin a prettily calligrapher letter invited her to attend the next Ladies’ Tea, promising friendship, fellowship, and intriguing conversation.

Of course Shirlin appeared with the purpose of dominating that conversation in mind.  The mature noblewoman arrived at the function in a new lavender gown in the Wilderhall style, with sharp lines and an efficient cut, with soft leather slippers dyed to match.  Her pretty maid followed her in a shorter version of the same gown, only covered with a long apron.  

Pentandra immediately noted that the maid, not her mistress, surveyed the room with practiced efficiency.  If anyone in Shirlin’s party was one of Grendine’s “family”, it would be the maid, Pentandra guessed.

Countess Shirlin wasted no time in introducing herself and mentioning her friend, The Queen, as often as possible during the process.  She repeated the phrase
“my good friend, Her Majesty, once said—”
so many times that it became a palace cliché before the end of the afternoon.  The ploy to increase her social position through such references was incredibly blatant and impressed no one of her position elsewhere.  The few ladies at the function who
were
impressed tended to be on the margins of court life, while the rest of the court maintained the generally low opinion of the Queen.