Enchanter (Book 7) (27 page)

“Why should Sire Cei care?” Tyndal asked, confused, as he rose.

“Because as of last night he owns Boval Estate, now,” I chuckled.  “There have been a few changes since you two went off on your errantry.  Just ask Lord Banamor.  Or Lord Olmeg.”

They both stared at me.  “Rondal almost got engaged!” Tyndal blurted out, for no reason.

“
Tyndal!”
Rondal said, aghast.  “You
promised!”

“I couldn’t help it,” moaned Tyndal.  “I tried to keep quiet, but . . . I just
couldn’t.
  It’s done with, now, but for a few truly profound moments One-Shot here was going to be bringing a bride home to Sevendor!”

“It was . . . complicated,” Rondal said, gruffly, as he stared daggers at his friend.  “It didn’t work out.”

“She was mad,” Tyndal said, solemnly.  “Truly mad.  But pretty.  But . . .
mad
.  You just missed stepping right into that steaming pile of femininity.”

“The fairest flowers are oft fertilized with the ripest manure,” I noted, as my former apprentice squirmed uncomfortably.  “But we’ve time for more tales at a more appropriate hour.  See to your charge.  Do you have lodging?  We’re crowded at the moment, but I’m sure we can find space.”

“We’ve been thinking about that, Mas-  Minalan,” Tyndal said, clearing his throat.  “We were going to buy a cottage or something, in town, so we have someplace to stay while we’re here.  It’s just a little . . . crowded in the castle.”

“Check with Gareth,” I suggested.  “He knows everything that goes on in town.  And he likes you two.  How are you fixed for money?”

“We’re wealthy, at the moment,” Rondal assured.  “While we were busy destroying their compound, a few bags of loot found their way into our saddlebags.”

“A few hundred silver, a few score gold.  More than enough to secure lodgings,” Tyndal agreed.  “That’s what we used some of to set up Ruderal’s mother.  It seemed a shame to just let it sit there, and find its way into the treasuries of the wrong sort of people.”

*

*

You wouldn’t think the addition of a couple arrogant newly-made journeymen to our cabal of enchanters would make much difference, considering all of the talent we already had at our disposal.  But it quickly became clear that Tyndal and Rondal brought more to the Bouleuterion than technical expertise.  They brought a fresh and sometimes fascinating perspective. 

More, they had a way of goading others into looking at things in new ways, or trying a different approach to a subject.  It had more to do with their personalities than their expertise.  Their youthful enthusiasm and cocky attitudes kept everyone well-engaged in the work.

The boys ended up purchasing a narrow strip of land from Jurlor, on the other side of the Arcane Orders’ chapterhouse.  Only a few uneven acres, they bribed some Karshak and some Tal to build a sturdy hall three stories high in only a few weeks.  Gareth paid for the construction – he’d been setting aside a lot of his money, instead of being extravagant – and all three used magic to aid in the process.  The three moved into the place, after a raucous initiation party.  They dubbed the rickety tower the Rat Trap, though only a few of us realized the real meaning of the name. 

Ruderal turned out to be enormously Talented, in addition to his native ability to see enneagrams.  Dranus spent two full days evaluating the lad and concluded that his strength would only grow in the proximity to Sevendor.

“He has a keen intelligence, and a quick mind,” Dranus reported during our twice-weekly morning meeting.  “He’s seen a lot of terrible things – pain, death, poverty, starvation, all in greater abundance than even the sorriest villein.  He was forced to do some awful things and he bears that guilt like armor around his heart.  Yet he is not bitter or callous, merely wary.  In time, I think, he will grow used to the freedom and the security, but for now he is still suspicious of it.”

“You think he’d make a good apprentice?”

“For me?” Dranus asked, surprised.  “Considering my ambitions, Magelord, I don’t think it would be wise to undertake such a commitment at the moment.  Yet I cannot deny young Ruderal seems to possess the intelligence and dedication necessary to succeed at magic.”

“Then take him in hand, have him taught to read, and see how much you can teach him. Get Dara to help – nothing drives home basic lessons like teaching them to someone else.  If he proves successful, I might take him on myself.”

“You know, that’s becoming a problem,” the Remeran mage said, stroking the wisp of dark hair on his chin.  “Sevendor has attracted a lot of Talented folk here, yet there isn’t any way to ensure that those of real ability are matched with masters equal to the task.  The process works by referral, currently.  I think that it could be organized better.”

“What did you have in mind?”

“Well, as we have the magical fair every year, anyway,” he proposed, “start gathering young folk with
rajira
together and provide a means for competent masters to select them for apprenticeship.”

“That’s actually a pretty good idea,” I agreed.  “Besides, it will increase business.  Work on the details and let’s see if we can spread the word in advance of next year’s fair.”

I forgot about the kid for a few days as a snowstorm occupied my attention.  Then we began the next phase of work, the crafting of individual items of power.  While Tyndal and Rondal each built their own custom baculus, the rest of us proceeded on more specialized projects. 

Master Cormoran consulted with Dara to build a mageblade designed for fighting from hawkback, a curved, wide-bladed short sword that eventually became Talon.  That was in addition to building his own warstaff, the dark rod that would come to be known as Warmaster.  Master Ulin built a half-dozen novel items, from a self-spinning distaff to a beautifully complicated magical clock we installed in my tower. 

Dranus built a staff specifically designed for siegework, with spells for sapping, signaling, detection and such enwrapped within its depths.  The direction of his enchantment convinced me of the seriousness of his pursuit of his legacy.  Dranus was planning on pursuing the title of Count, along with considerable lands in Remere, in the next few years.  He was preparing.

Planus was more practical.  He built a series of enchanted wands designed to assist his growing business interests before he returned to his estates.  One (with Master Olmeg’s assistance) encouraged crops to be fruitful by magically doubling the number of seeding sites on a plant.  It was subtle, but profound.  Another was an elaborate tracking spell that could locate a specified piece of merchandise magically. 

Another was a magical amulet that could detect sincerity in someone’s words.  It was a little different than a truthtelling, but Planus claimed it was actually more useful for his purposes.  The merchant houses he dealt with lied as easily as a whore, so detecting falsehoods would have been pointless.  But knowing when the business associate he was speaking to was sincere cut past the simple matter of truth and revealed intention – which, Planus assured me, was far more useful.

Lanse focused his attentions on the rod he called the Puppetmaster.  It allowed him far more control over his tiny creations, scaling the power and feedback with absolute precision.  He gave me a demonstration when he completed the second phase of enchantment, showing off two tiny dolls whose limbs had been enriched with knot coral.  When he activated the rod the two who danced together better than I could have managed. 

As impressive as that display was, he followed it up by creating a larger-sized construct, an eight-legged wooden contraption shod with iron.  He took the thickest piece of weirwood in Banamor’s stock, nearly eight inches thick, and had his apprentices cover it with thick slabs of oak bolted in place around it.  He had a snowstone “head” carved by the Karshak masons in the shape of a fantastic beast and mounted it on one end of the trunk.  He covered the exterior with rings and bolts for tie-downs and harnessing, and the legs he articulated with steel joints the castle armorer crafted for him.  Then he enchanted the entire construct as thickly as he could to keep it from wearing down, breaking, or succumbing to the perils of the road.

When he was done, we imbued the construct with a simple, reliable, dependable enneagram from the Grain, one which seemed devoted to trudging.  Lanse had a fat little grinning monster the size of a pony that could pull a load the size of a stone block . . . without tiring, needing to be fed, or complaining. 

“It’s to pull my wagon,” he explained as we watched the thing trudge back and forth around the Southridge pastures a few days after the first snowfall, scaring the hells out of the goats.  “I’ve got thrice as many tools as normal enchanters, and I have to do a lot of traveling.  I go through rounceys like they go through shoes, some seasons.  This way I never have to spend a penny on draft animals again.  It’s strong enough to pull a train of two wains,” he bragged. 

“The eight legs make it a little creepy,” I pointed out.

“By design,” he nodded, sipping that revolting green crap he apparently lived on.  “The additional traction means it can take a steeper grade and go over rougher terrain than a four-legged animal.  Lower center of gravity, too.  If a leg breaks, there are plenty of others to compensate.  And looking that creepy encourages the curious to keep their hands to themselves.  I even built in some loud cantrips and some unpleasant surprises for anyone who attempts to molest it.”

“The creature inside it was once a bottom-crawler on the ocean,” I nodded, enjoying a pipe of peppermint and hemp flower in the cool of the morning, “Migratory.  And it didn’t sleep.  It was fairly docile, as it lived below the level of most predators, from what I’ve been able to tell, and it had a modicum of magical ability.  Something involved in its ability to navigate.  We transformed that magical affinity into obedience to your control wand,” I said, nodding to the short black stick Lanse used to direct the beast.  “What do you call it?”

“Marley,” he said, proudly, and with a hint of nostalgia.  “After an old dog of mine.  I left plenty of room for further enchantments, too.  That thing will be as much workbench as draft animal, when I’m done.”

“I look forward to seeing the final result,” I promised.  “What do you plan next?”

“I’m going through my spell wagon and re-enchanting everything,” he said with a big grin.  “To match my magical steed.  I want hoxter pockets everywhere.  I want it . . . I want it
perfect,”
he sighed.

I thought Lanse would have focused on building more constructs, but he lent his assistance to others liberally while he improved his livelihood at my expense.  Particularly Rondal, who was building a magical guardian for the Rat Trap, and another for Estasi Hall, where the boys kept their nascent order of mage knights.  Lanse helped guide my former apprentice in constructing them both far more durably and simply than the primitive bags of dirt we’d used on the Kasari March.  Both learned a lot in the process.

Rondal’s guardians started as six-foot tall skeletons made of wire and low-quality weirwood.  While that would have been a sufficient frame for a basic construct, under Lanse’s direction he covered the limbs with long rolls of thick, spongy material known as Thrini Leaf. 

It was apparently one of the secrets of his craft.  Thrini Leaf was actually the dried husk of a lake reed from far northern Alshar and beyond.  The material had a nature that responded physically to magical energies, much like knot coral or other magical activators, but with far more delicacy.  That allowed far more control and nuanced movement than a couple of bags of dirt, and a lot more strength and durability. 

They attached it with strong copper wire and bound it into place with magic before covering it with a thick “skin” of iron-studded oiled saddle leather.  They stitched heavy leather iron-hobbed infantry boots to the two feet and covered them with iron plates for added protection . . . and aggression.  The six-limbed figure’s center limbs were short and stubby, and Rondal affixed two old mace heads to them turning them into formidable weapons.  The upper arms were longer and ended in specially-designed wooden “claws.”

The faces of the things were morbid-looking blank mounds with a single bronze mounting of thaumaturgic glass bearing secondary enchantments – a lump of thaumaturgical glass binding the enneagram to the wood was at the core of the constructs, protected behind layers of iron and enchantment. 

But the single great eye of each construct contained the things “character”.  At night it produced a magelight-not for its own benefit, but to menace intruders.  It could also produce several different vocal effects the enterprising enchanter captured around down in sonic spells: the exaggerated tolling of the temple bell, the bellow of the loudest barker in the market shouting, menacingly, “ENTRANCE IS FORBIDDEN!” and “HALT!  YOU HAVE COME FAR ENOUGH!” and other threatening phrases, that sort of thing. 

I assisted in the imbuement, a few weeks after Yule, and we allowed Ruderal to observe.  The lad was fascinated enough by the Grain of Pors that we allowed him to join our perceptions and help select from the available enneagrams.  He was surprisingly adept at determining the nature of the character of the pattern, picking out nuances and hidden dangers we hadn’t considered as we sorted through them.  With his assistance we picked out a steadfast crustacean, cousin of the guardian I’d used at the Spellmonger’s Trial, who was intelligent enough to guard their charges yet not so belligerent as to attack all comers.