Enchanter (Book 7) (50 page)

“It beats fishing for stillmouths and trapping garter crabs,” he decided.  “I just have to get used to it.  Did your talk with that man go well?” he asked, courteously.  The boy may have come from the humblest of origins, but he had picked up a lot of native politeness – perhaps, I realized, as a consequence of his Talent. 

“It did,” I assured him.  “And I learned some very valuable information about the war he’s planning.  Things I can turn to our advantage.”

“Our advantage?” he asked, curiously.

“You’re a mage, now, Ruderal.  Magekind must stick together, as often as possible.”

“Aren’t there bad magi?”

“Oh, yes,” I agreed, thinking of a few.  “But we do our best to keep them at bay.  That’s one of my jobs,” I admitted.  “One of my many, many jobs.  But another is baron of Sevendor, and that job requires that I discover as much as I can about things that could hurt my people, and then seek to protect them.  Wars,” I added, “are on that list.  Baron Arathanial is a good baron and a smart warrior, but he doesn’t always see all the consequences of his actions.  One of the things a good wizard does is become as aware as possible about his surroundings.  In that simple conversation I learned a lot more from him than he would ever suspect, and now I can use that information to my advantage.”

“Did you use magic?”

“I used charm and persuasion, two other very potent weapons in a wizard’s bag.  I use magic when I need to, but much can be learned through careful observation.  The best spells in the world won’t help you if you don’t know what to pay attention to,” I counseled.

He nodded sagely.  “I can see your point, Master.  So what did you observe?”

“That the baron plans on splitting his forces and charging down the main roads through Sashtalia, just as I suspected.  He’s also going to be hammering away at two small towers that aren’t very important, strategically.  Which means that he’s going to have a relatively lengthy war, which is bad for business.  If it lasts until harvest and drags on through the winter, it could be bad for a lot of people.  Not our people, perhaps, but people in general.”

“So what are you going to do about it?” he asked, daringly.  I felt indulgent.  I answered him.

“I’m going to quietly shorten the war significantly,” I decided.  “I’m not exactly certain how, yet, but I’ll figure out a way.  Oh, there is one more stop that we need to make, before we return to camp,” I decided, looking at the youth’s new finery.  There was something missing.

I found a felter’s stall and spoke with the man for a moment, while Ruderal patiently waited amid the bolts of cloth and the various hats and pouches he made for sale.  I had just finished explaining what I required, paying him in advance.  As he went behind the curtain to fulfil the order, I turned around to tell Ruderal what I’d just purchased for him . . .

. . . and nearly walked straight into Isily.

Chapter Twenty Three

The Baroness At The Fair

She was just about the last person I expected to see at Chepstan Fair. 

She was dressed in a dark blue traveling gown with long pointed sleeves under her mantle, laced in front and  low cut in the style popular in Castabriel the last few years.  But the front of it was paneled to allow for the growing bulge in her tummy.  Behind her were three young maids in attendance, wearing similar traveling gowns.  All young, pretty and, I suspected, extremely deadly.

“Oh, Baron Minalan,” he said, sweetly, her eyes flashing at me, “What a
surprise
meeting you here!”

I froze.  I wanted to . . . I wanted to strike her. Shake her.  Scream at her.  But I knew that she thought I was still under her compulsions, and I realized that this was an ideal way to possibly learn of her further plans, as sickening as it was to do so. 

It took a lot of control to bring my emotions in check – Ruderal took a step back, though I let nothing show on my face – but after the longest, hardest second of my life I forced a smile, as genuine as I could manage. 
She is your sister
, I reminded myself
.  I’m supposed to think of her as my sister, not my rapist.
  That was the ruse.

I was almost appalled at myself at how easily I was able to slip on that mask.  I forced myself to look at her pretty face smile.

“Ah! Baroness Isily!  This is indeed a pleasant surprise!  This is far from your estates in Greeflower,” I pointed out.

“I had some business in Wilderhall,” she dismissed.  “I was in the region and remembered Baron Arathanial’s invitation to his fair.  It would be rude of me not to take him up on his kind hospitality.”

“And is your lord husband well?” I asked, wondering just how long and how far I could bear this ruse.  Her maids quietly retreated to the front of the stall, offering us privacy, although all three managed to keep their eyes on us while pretending to look at hats.  One, a pretty brown-haired girl, seemed to be studying me, as if I might spring at her mistress at any moment.  Pretty brown eyes, and familiar. Definitely an assassin, even if the others were not.

“He is,” she agreed, blinking slowly.  “Busy at his scrolls and spells, and running our estates.  I see him so rarely.  It seemed like a good time to conduct some business, before the heat of the summer and my pregnancy makes such things difficult.  Yet he is excited at the prospect of his new heir,” she said, patting her belly. 

The belly where my baby was growing.

“I do wish him good health,” I said, still smiling.  I was speaking of the child, of course.

“And your lady wife?  How is Baroness Alya?”

“The Baroness is shopping at the moment in the drapers’ stalls,” I said, carefully, while trying not to sound like I was being careful.  The last person I wanted this murderous bitch to encounter was my wife.  “We will be staying for but a few more days, alas.  More than that and it wouldcome to the attention of the Prince, I’m afraid.”

“Ah, yes, your internal exile,” she reminded me.  “A pity.  I’d like for you to visit Greenflower, sometime, and enjoy our hospitality.  When the Prince’s wrath cools, perhaps,” she said, smiling sweetly.

“I do hope to take you up on the invitation someday,” I nodded.  It’s harder than you think, pretending that you’re enthralled.  And that you like someone you want to strangle.

“And what do you plan on spending your summer doing . . .
really?
” she asked, fishing for information.  I didn’t hesitate.  I told her the truth, as little as I could get away with, just as I would have under her spell.  I just took care not mention any of my more sensitive projects, if I could help it.

“I’m overseeing a clandestine war through proxies against the Lord of Sashtalia.  Even now I have warmagi preparing to assault a few fortresses in Rolone, in support of my friend Arathanial’s efforts.”

“What a daring and clandestine action,” she cooed, admirably.  “I won’t breathe a word of it, of course.  Such wars are so dull and boring.  My husband’s own researches have been fascinating, I must admit.  While the details are technical, and not for such common environs as this, I would dearly love to discuss them with you.”

“That would be delightful,” my treacherous mouth said of its own accord.  It was having an easier time with the ruse than my mind was, thankfully. 
She’s just another pretty noblewoman,
I reminded myself. 

“Perhaps you’ll join me for a cup this evening so that I might enlighten you,” she suggested, forcefully.  I felt a tiny twinge of magical force emanating from her and realized that she was trying to ensure my compliance.  “They are
most
interesting, and should be brought to the Spellmonger’s attention.”  The way she was swaying her boobs in front of me, that wasn’t all that desired the Spellmonger’s attention.

“I would be honored,” my mouth said, and sealed my fate.  I felt nauseated.

“I’ve rented a canopy behind the listfield,” she offered.  “Much more private, I’ve found, than an inn.  Join me there at midnight.  And I think the discussion would bore your pretty wife.  Perhaps she should retire early.”

“Perhaps she should.  I look forward to it, Baroness.”

“As do I, Baron,” she smiled, wickedly.  She was clearly enjoying the manipulation, the control, and the power she had over me.  I wanted to vomit.  She turned and gave me an alluring look over her shoulder before leading her maids away, a sassy wiggle of her bottom implying her intentions for the evening.

I stood there, that stupid smile on my face, numb, as her maids followed her, the brown haired girl giving me a knowing look. 

“That seemed . . . awkward, Master,” Ruderal observed, thoughtfully.

“You have no idea . . . or maybe you do,” I admitted.  “Tell me, what did you see in her pattern?”

He shuddered a bit.  “She’s not a particularly nice lady,” he decided.

“True.  Go on.”

“She likes you . . . a
lot
.  She has all sorts of ideas about you.  Some of them are . . . intense.  She thinks a lot of herself.  She has lots of plans.  And she doesn’t mind hurting people.”

“That’s it?”

He shrugged.  “I only saw her for a few moments.  The longer I know someone’s pattern, the more I know about them.”

“Doesn’t that make life complicated?”

“In some ways.  In others, it makes it easier.  But if I keep my mouth shut about it, most of the time, I can get by.”

“Ruderal, you’ve discovered one of the central tenants of wisdom.  And what is my pattern telling you right now?” I asked.

“That you really,
really
don’t like her,” he reported, dutifully.  “You
hate
her.  She scares you.  A lot.  She makes you feel guilty and afraid.  You want to hurt her, but part of you doesn’t, either, and that part of you is making you anxious and guilty.”

I looked at him and blinked.  “Yes, I can see why you’d need to learn discretion, with that gift.”

“What’s discretion?” he asked, curious.

“Keeping your mouth shut,” I smiled.  “A good apprentice holds his master’s secrets more dearly than his own.  Can I count on your discretion in this?”

He nodded, solemnly.  “Of course, Master.  I won’t tell anyone.”

“In this case, it could mean lives, if you do.  She is one of those dangerous magi I spoke of, only I cannot act against her yet.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know what her plan is, yet.  So I need to find out.  But doing so is going to be . . .”

“Awkward?” he offered.

“Exactly.  So I need to conduct a spy mission, of sorts.  Let’s keep this between us, for now.  Ah, it looks like it’s done.”

The felter had missed the understated drama, having no appreciation to how close to having a magical battle erupt in his stall he had been.  He had been busily stitching my order, and presented to me with some ceremony. 

It was a hat – a green pointed hat, without the three smaller points a journeyman mage would wear.  An apprentice’s hat, in Sevendor green.  I’d have one of the castle ladies embroider some snowflakes on it when we returned, I decided.

Ruderal was impressed, and insisted on seeing himself in the felter’s tiny looking glass.  We walked back to camp with him nearly strutting in his new clothes.

We enjoyed dinner that night with Sire Sigalan and his sister Sarsa.  She was married to one of my vassals, Roncil of Northwood, and had traveled to the fair to supply her distant domain and visit her kin.  It was a grand time in Sigalan’s pavilion.  It was a much grander pavilion than he’d enjoyed the last time I’d seen him at the fair, too, a spoil from one of the knights who had followed Sire Gimbal into exile.  The fare was richer and more plentiful at his table, and he had opened a barrel of wine, not mere mead as he was used to.  The guards at the encampment gate were in fine chainmail, carrying halberds and wearing new matching helms, too. 

We talked until the moon rose, trading news of our domains and the struggles we both encountered organizing and ordering them.  Sigalan was no baron – technically he was a knight banneret, but he had little desire to add to his demesne or join the peerage.  He merely wanted to be strong enough to resist the pressure to take Sendaria’s colors.  That made Trestendor’s encampment a most excellent place for gossip and news at the fair.

The news was mostly good – the re-built village of Gosset was thriving, his new domains were producing, and the
lourdin
mine near his hilltop stronghold was providing a steady income.  He was even contemplating taking a wife, referencing his sister’s happy match.  He was a young lord, still, only a few years older than me.  Alya, of course, immediately sensed an opportunity and huddled with Sarsa to compile potential prospects.

I trusted the man to make his own choice of wife, but the news that he was inclined to wed was good.  It proved Sarsa and Roncil were getting along.  My alliance with Sigalan was based in part on that marriage, and it was good to hear that the Riverlord noblewoman was so taken with her Wilderlands knight.  The domain was doing better, too, after raids and near-insurrection last year.  It had been among the first to use the plowing wands.  The crops were already leaping out of the ground two weeks early.