Enchanter (Book 7) (29 page)

I had put aside any aspirations in that direction, as I didn’t really want to start another war right now.  After my visit with Sire Cullien, however, I started to look at those lands in a new light. 

If there were those who were, indeed, counseling an alliance with Sevendor, they would be exempt from the inevitable raiding and pillaging of the Sendari troops; they would be exempt from military service, defending Sashtalia’s heartland.  And they would begin to accrue some of the benefits the other magelands were already beginning to see. 

My barony’s domains thrived under the new leadership, despite the cost of reorganizing and bringing the security of the estates up-to-date.  Using magic to augment both military security and crop productivity led to an influx of folk eager to enjoy the higher standards of living.

That hadn’t gone unnoticed in Sashtalia.  Trefalan’s hold on his men was largely through inertia and his opposition to the Lenselys.  When the Warbird folded up so quickly against me, even with the help of the Censorate, that had given the other Bontal lords a lot to think about.  Including alliances with magelords.  Alya certainly thought it was worth the attempt.

“Those hill-lords have always been on the periphery of Riverlands politics,” she reported, after exploring the matter through the information network that spread amongst the vales known as the Sewing and Spinning Room. I had started to appreciate the importance of the feminine intelligence network implicit in feudal textile production.  It was an integral part of the politics of the Bontal Vales, I’d discovered, and a trove of useful intelligence.

“First of the Lenselys, then of Sashtalia.  They’re closer to Sevendor than either, and watching their neighbors get rich while they scrape by is starting to tell on them.  I think if we gave them a little encouragement, some might even change allegiances.  Or at least be open to being bribed.”

“Wouldn’t that violate their oaths of fealty to Sashtalia?” I asked, surprised. 

“According to Bemia and Estret, that sort of thing happens all the time.  It’s only punished if the turncloak chooses the wrong side – then it’s his neck.  But if we were to offer them Sevendor’s protection . . . “

“How about we buy them outright?” I asked, suddenly.  “The titled lords, that is.  Buy their fealty, not their lands.”

“Can we do that?”

“We can try,” I pointed out.  “We can certainly afford it.  Even tenant lords keep copies of deeds of the properties they hold.  Theoretically they must surrender them to their liege upon request . . . but if they didn’t, the liege wouldn’t have any recourse but to invade.  And with Arathanial on his frontier, preparing an army to invade himself, somehow I think Trefalan will be too preoccupied to go after a pint-sized holding over in the Uwarris.”

Alya shrugged prettily as she fed Almina.  “I think it’s worth a try.  It can’t hurt to ask, can it?”

In fact, it
didn’t
hurt to ask.  Later that evening I sent Sir Festaran off on a mission to visit the five or six domains I had my eye on and make discreet inquiries as to whether the lord might consider changing his banner for the right price.  A week later he returned through a snowstorm bearing good news – not only would they, but they would for a fairly reasonable fee.

“Barat and Uwaridor are both tiny,” he reported that evening as he gratefully gulped mulled cider in the Great Hall in front of the fire.  “Only three estates apiece protected by the usual Lensely-style tower houses, one per domain.” 

That meant at least a single bailey, perhaps a double, with one solid keep (either square or round, depending on the age of the castle and the tastes of the builder) and perhaps a few towers protected by a crenelated curtain wall.  Not insurmountable defenses, but certainly formidable.

“As tenants their lords live barely above the standards of their people, and they make little enough for their effort, after they send their tribute to Sashtalia.  They both indicated that they would be quite partial to a change in status, particularly if it meant a bounty and an increase in their income.

“The Bangets of Binador, however, are of a slightly different mind,” he continued, warming his hands on the copper cup.  ‘They’re four brothers, all knights, who each own an estate in Binador, and the only thing they can agree on is that they hate Sendaria just slightly more than Sashtalia.  They’re actually Lenselys themselves, believe it or not, a cadet branch that broke off three generations ago and hates all of the other Lenselys for no particularly good reason.  But they don’t want to be under a Lensely baron.”

“Interesting . . . what does the domain look like?”

“There are two minor estates there, one freeholder and one ecclesiastic temple to Aviril.  The eldest son of House Banget is technically the lord of the domain and holds the only real castle, but he has very little power over his brothers.  Two of them have aspirations outside of their little land, however, and would be willing to sell their estates to us for three hundred-twenty ounces of gold and two hundred-sixty ounces of gold, respectively, which in my estimation is a fair price.”

“And the other two Bangets?”

“Lord Infelan is no friend of Trefalan, yet he does not want to lose his territory.  He fears that he and his family will be called to battle and lose grievously – they are not well-loved by their liege, and would likely draw hazardous duty.  Infelan will not sell, but he would be willing to take up the Snowflake for some small consideration.  His youngest brother, Rylan, is a hot-head who looks forward to battle, regardless of the foe.  He made great protest over the idea of changing allegiance as disloyalty and unchivalrous . . . yet he went on and on about how much he loved tournament season.  I think if we increased our offer and included a charger or destrier and jousting armor in the bargain, young Rylan would gladly sell his estate to his brother for a chance to compete professionally. 

“Similarly,” he said, pouring himself more wine, “The tiny mountain domain of Fanalth, on our northern border, is owned by one small family of knights, led now by Sire Grem, who have resisted Shastalia’s dominion over their lands for generations.  They live nearly on the level of their villeins, and their keep . . . well, let’s be charitable and call it a keep . . . it hasn’t seen a lick of maintenance in a generation.  They live on pride, the little barley, potatoes and beans they can scrape from the soil, and a herd of sheep.  They will sell for no amount of money, but I estimate that they would be happy to swear fealty to a fellow mountain lord, even a Magelord, for a reasonable incentive.”

“And Karador?”

“The copper mine of Karador is currently moribund, owing to the low price of copper at market, sadly,” Festaran said.  “Lord Antalan of Karador is determined to reopen the mine and get his miners back to work, and after sending to Sashtalia for assistance for more than a year, he finds instead of help a directive increasing his tribute. It is well known that Trefalan covets the deed to the mine.  The man is nearly penniless, now, his keep falling into disrepair.  I believe it is true that Trefalan is purposefully squeezing his vassal to pressure him to sell the mine at a cheap price.”

“How much did he want for it?”

“Lord Antalan said he would be happy to hand over the deed to the property for no less than one thousand one hundred ouncesof gold . . . and a position as tenant lord.  The man is more miner than knight, it seems.  And he has no desire to join the muster at Sashtalia this spring.  He ignores his agricultural and horticultural estates to the favor of the mine, and they suffer accordingly.”

“Finally, Fistalia,” I urged.

“Ah, Fistalia,” he sighed.  “Sister Bemia has done her work well.  The abbess was quite in favor of Sevendor’s protection, and bent the ear of Lord Ulry day and night on the subject.  Ulry is a family man, with a wife and four children so far and another on the way.  None are old enough to succeed him, and while he doesn’t mind going to war he doesn’t want to leave his family virtually unprotected, should Huin not favor him in the battle.  It also helps that two of his household knights are strongly opposed to Trefalan, and several of his yeomen see the lord of Sashtalia as an oppressor.”

“And so are they unwilling?” I prompted.

“Lord Ulry is protective of the eight estates of Fistalia,” my assistant castellan reported.  “He has one large castle and two small ones to pay for, and the abbey brings many pilgrims to his lands.  Yet the tribute to Sashtalia brings little support in return.  For a sum of a thousand ounces of gold, Sire Ulry would consider changing his allegiance and selling you two of the estates in his domain outright, for sixty and one hundred-eighty ounces of gold apiece.”

I thought for a moment.  “How much would it cost – roughly – to muster our troops, call our banners, and invade each of those lands?”

Sir Festaran got a far-away look in his eye as his mind magically calculated things it didn’t even know it knew.  “For forty days, one thousand six hundred eighty-eight ounces,” he finally said.  “I’d say it would take at least nine or ten weeks to complete the conquest, even with magic.  So put the figure closer to seven thousand, six hundred forty-nine ounces of gold . . . give or take.”

“That doesn’t add up,” I said, confused.

“The first forty days your men are responsible for their own maintenance,” he said.  “After that they must be paid and their households supported and supplied.  If a war went that far, it would start to get very expensive.”

“Considerably more than purchasing the loyalties of these Sashtali outright,” I reasoned. 

“The Magelord is thrifty,” Sir Festaran observed.

“The Magelord is
lazy,”
I corrected.  “I’m in the middle of several interesting projects, and the truth is that even a small war would be a distraction.  But if I can acquire all of these territories without a fight, then my domain will be contiguous to the west, all the way to Amel Wood.”

“Won’t that irritate Baron Arathanial?” Sir Festaran asked, doubtfully. 

“Probably,” I shrugged.  “I’m willing to live with it.  If I’m successful, how many lances will I have deprived Sashtalia of at this spring’s muster?”

“Around thirty-five,” he acknowledged.

“Thirty-five lances – that’s more than a hundred and fifty men he doesn’t have to kill, capture or contend with.  And I will have removed an entire flank of potential attack from his strategies.  They aren’t the prime territories he’s after, so Arathanial will have to be content with the rest of Sashtalia.”

Of course it wasn’t that simple – negotiations continued quietly through the end of winter before all the domains accepted my bribes, swore their oaths, and raised the snowflake banner over their castles.  I filed the necessary Writs of Allegiance detailing my acquisition of each territory at Wilderhall.  Only then could I truly begin to send my representatives down into the new domains to inspect them more carefully. 

When spring came, and Sashtalia’s messengers rode to the hill-lords castles to call the confederation’s banners, they were greeted with the news of the domains’ defection and sent back to Sashtalia with nary a spearman.

And that’s how I bought my way out of a war and increased my barony by a third.  It became known as the Spellmonger’s Wall of Gold, and it proved decisive in the outcome of the war.  It was designed as a cheap way to keep me from having to go to war.  And almost got into another war because of my initiative.

*

*

Soon after Sir Festaran returned from Sashtalia, the serious snows set in.  For four days the Bontal Vales were pounded with inch after relentless inch of snow.  Two days of cold, clear weather passed, and just as folk were digging out of their six inches of trouble, another five dumped on top of them.

That was near torture for an active people.  After a day of playing in the snow the novelty melted long before the white blanket over the vales.  The temperatures continued to be chill, despite the clear skies and sun, and most folk kept indoors near the fire. 

It was, however, perfect enchanting weather.   When your work is comprised of sitting and staring and occasionally mumbling, the feeling that you should really be up doing something more productive can be distracting.  When everyone is waiting for the snow to melt, it’s surprisingly helpful to know that there just isn’t anything particularly more productive to do.  The week and a half of snow the gods inflicted upon us forced the enchanters among us to focus on their work, and soon it was bearing fruit as fast as the snow melted.

I was working on the odd crystals the Karshak lapidary workshop sent over, after cleaning and trimming it.  I had taken the opportunity of having so many adept enchanters in one place at one time t the Bouleuterion by passing around some of the more unusual minerals that had been recovered from the various crystalline vesicles in the mountain for their inspection.  Thaumaturgical assays on unknown arcane objects is time-consuming and exhausting, if you do them properly, and I had enough pretty rocks hidden away to keep me busy for the rest of my life.  Delegating some of the basic work to my enchanting staff allowed me to focus on classifications and further examinations based on their reports.

Part of the problem was that the gods had not seen fit to neatly and discretely compartmentalize the crystals in distinct forms.  As Master Guri explained, the crystals we found – mostly zeolites, whatever they were – were full of mineralogical impurities and mixed-up growth patterns that created hundreds of hybrid crystals.  Depending on the composition and pattern, any number of unusual, unexpected, or novel arcane effects could be manifested.