Enchanter (Book 7) (51 page)

It was a grand night, and I linger as long as I could, trying to put off the inevitable meeting.   When the time came, and Alya started yawning, I walked her slowly back to our tent, explaining that I had some further business to conduct. 

She was already sleepy from the food and wineand merriment.  She did not object to letting her go to bed, nor was she concerned that I would tarry and talk, long into the night.  We were at the fair, after all and that’s where business got done.

Of course, the business I had to do was horrifying to me.  I stopped before she retired, and I embraced her.

“Mmmm, you’re warm,” she said, a little tipsily.

“You know I love you,” I said, looking into her eyes.

“You’d better,” she nodded, yawning. 

“Sometimes I have to do things I don’t like, to protect you and the children,” I said, not really certain where I was leading myself.  I suppose I was just trying to prepare myself for my meeting.

“I know, Min,” she said, sympathetically, as she pulled off her gown.  “I’m sorry about that.  But you do a good job.”

“I try,” I promised.  “I just want you to know, even though I have to do them, I don’t like them.  And sometimes I really,
really
don’t want to do them.”

“But you do, because you’re a good man,” she said.  It made me feel sick to my stomach.  “You always do the right thing, even if it’s hard.  It’s one of the things I admire about you,” she admitted.  “You could have run away from Boval Castle, but you didn’t.  You could have run away from . . . me, and Minalyan, but you didn’t.  You could have left the Bovali to languish at the coast, but you didn’t.  You could have forgotten your promise to the Kasari, but you didn’t. 

“Every time you’ve been faced with a difficult task, Min, you’ve done what you had to do to protect those who were important to you.  I don’t really know what’s been bothering you of late,” she said, looking away, “but even though you’ve been trying to hide it, I know it’s there, hurting you.  And I know you have your reasons for not telling me – I can accept that.  Secrets are part of a spellmonger’s life.  And I am the Spellmonger’s wife.”

“But—”

“Let me finish,” she said, placing a finger on my lips and nearly missing.  “I trust you to do the right thing, even when it’s hard, because that’s what you do,” she said, with emphasis.  “Even when it hurts you.  You’re the smartest man I’ve ever met, the wisest, and I’ll never understand half of what you do, but I trust you to do the right thing, even when it feels bad.  Hells, I don’t think I could talk you out of it,” she snorted.

“So if I have to—”

“Do
it,” she insisted.  “Do it, and if you don’t think I should know,
don’t tell me.”

I felt like the absolute lowest form of life in the world. 

“It’s kind of a spy thing—” I began, lamely.

“Then I
definitely
don’t want to know any more than I have to,” she assured me.  “You do a lot to keep Sevendor safe.  If it involves our security, then whatever it is, you have my blessing.”  She kissed me warmly, the taste of wine heavy on her lips.  “Now I have to go to bed.  Quickly.  And then perhaps throw up.  I don’t think this child of yours likes wine,” she said, patting her still-trim belly affectionately.

I stumbled through the darkness toward the listfield like a condemned man seeking the gallows, passing revelers and mysterious shadows without seeing them.  I tried to think of any way I could avoid this, any way I could evade the inevitable encounter, but with every step I took I knew that I was committed, now.  Worse, Alya had blessed my poor rationalization of what I was about to do.

If I wanted to learn Isily’s plans, I needed to have her trust.  Right now I did, because she thought she had power over me, and didn’t have the self-control not to brag and boast.  Her confidence was my best weapon.  And the best way to keep her trust was to allow her to think I was still enthralled to her.

I forced aside the revulsion I felt about the idea.  After what she had done to me, stealing not just my virtue but also my seed without my consent, I felt righteous anger that tempted my lesser nature.  I felt pain and anguish at what had been taken from me. I felt insulted at her appearance here, where she knew I was likely to travel.  I felt even more fury for the life of the poor child she had conceived, a child that was doomed to a life under her manipulative control.  A child I could not even acknowledge.

I composed myself the best I could, even using a few minor warmagic spells to control my emotions and focus on the mission.  True, I wasn’t going to kill anyone, I was going to purposefully be unfaithful to my wife, but it was a battle nonetheless.  Using battle preparation charms seemed perfectly reasonable.

At last I could delay no longer.  I was on a mission, I reminded myself.  A mission of critical importance. 

I found her pavilion in the nicer part of the encampment where visiting nobility or professional jousters could rent a handsome canopy from one of Arathanial’s attendants for a mildly large fee.  The tent came complete with a bed frame, a bucket for water, a kettle and firewood, and hampers of food and butts of wine and ale could be arranged with his victualers.  It appeared from her baggage that Baroness Isily had taken advantage of all of the amenities.

Isily had chosen the most secluded pavilion in the lot, likely paying for the privilege of privacy – but she took no chances.  The tent was warded and guarded powerfully, I saw, as I studied it with magesight.  Arcane barriers and charms against noise encircled the structure, and a dome of shimmering force ensured that no one would walk by and even consider going in on a whim.

The outer flap was open, a lantern hanging from the pole over a small banner with her husband’s arms.  Great, no magelight – which meant Briga would be witnessing my infidelity this time.  At least, some sadistic part of me snickered, if I was forced to be unfaithful, I would be making a cuckold of Dunselen . . .
again
. 

I don’t know why that helped me perform my mission, but it did.

Isily was waiting for me, attended by one of her maids – the brown-haired, brown-eyed girl.  The girl smiled knowingly at me and her mistress before pouring wine and retiring outside.  Isily – who had shed her traveling clothes for a translucent muslin gown under her mantle – sat on her bed, awaiting me.

“Thank you for coming, Minalan,” she smiled.  “I was beginning to wonder if you would.”

“How could I fail, if you needed me?  I merely had to put my wife to bed.”

“What did you tell her?”

“That I had business to conduct,” I said, taking a seat in a folding chair next to her bed.  Out of reach.

“So you do,” she said, arching an eyebrow, and lounging on one elbow.  Her gown hid very little.  “I was not jesting about Dunselen’s work.  He
has
been intently studying for months, now, ever since the Magic Fair.  And he’s been doing experiments for at least a year and a half.”

“And just what does captivate the old piss-pot’s attention so?” I asked, with authentic contempt.

“Why, the Snowstone spell, of course.  He’s quite obsessed with it.  He’s seen what you can do with your toys, and he’s mad to re-create the spell.  He seems to think it will establish him as the greatest thaumaturge of all time.”

“It might,” I conceded.  “Considering I don’t understand how I did it myself.”

“He has been collecting information on the spell for years, now.  Every factor he could find, compiled in dozens of scrolls.  He thinks that he’s close to an answer.”

“Theoretical?”

“Yes, but he’s based them on some practical essays.  He’s made a few encouraging trial runs.  And he’s planning a major practical experiment in about . . . four months,” she said, rubbing her hand over her rotund belly.

That was a sickening thought.  Those two delivering my child.  As an experiment.  But I could not object without revealing myself.  I tried a different route, one I might take with my sisters.  “You do realize that Alya and Minalyan almost died that night?”

“We must be willing to risk everything for our art,” she chuckled.  “I am a professional, Min.  I know what could happen.  I’m willing to risk death.”

“Yes, but is the baby?” I countered, realizing belatedly that I might be challenging the limits of her spell.

“Ask it, someday,” she dismissed.  As she shrugged, the shoulder of her chemise fell, revealing it’s round smoothness.  “I have every confidence that we will both survive.  And Dunselen, despite his ample failings in other areas,
is
a brilliant thaumaturge.”

“So he is,” I conceded, slipping back into my role. 
Brilliant
was overstating it by a lot.   But I was intrigued.  I needed to know what she was really after.  Her focus on Dunselen was unusual, so I focused on it.  I was highly suspicious of what her motives were, and was starting to suspect that Mother and the Family weren’t behind it. “What has he discovered?”

“He thinks the primary factors in the spell were your genetics,” she said, counting on her fingers, “the magical power of your irionite, and the scalable nature of the Rayleth rune.  But it would be helpful if you could give me a candid account of that night.  Tell me everything, every last detail, and spare nothing.  He has some interesting theories about the timing of the event.”

So I did.  I saw little enough reason not to.  I’d discussed it with plenty of other magi, though none knew the whole story, to get their opinions and insights.  Isily took a charcoal pencil and filled four sheets of parchment with notes as I spoke and recounted the birth of my son.

It was oddly cathartic, revealing such a personal, intimate and profound event in my life to a hated enemy. 

The birth of Minalyan had marked a change in my fortunes, my life, and my destiny, and had indirectly brought me to this place.  But while it reminded me of all I was betraying by my presence here, it also reminded me of what I was fighting to protect.  It was clear that Isily would never leave me or my family alone; but the only way to combat the schemes of the shadowmage assassin was to get as close to her as possible before I struck.

The problem was,
I couldn’t kill her.

It’s not that I was squeamish, or that I couldn’t kill a woman.  Narasi culture, like most cultures, has particular taboos and religious restrictions.  Among the greatest, thanks to a couple of primal divine myths, involve the heinous sin of a father killing the mother of his children. 

It was among the most damnable crimes you could commit, base murder compounded by supreme ingratitude and pure malice.  To slay the mother of your child was a repudiation of the lifeforce, according to the Temple of Trygg.  A man who knowingly committed such a crime was condemned by law and custom.

When my narrative about that fateful, snowy night came to a close – without mentioning the divine element in the spell – Isily rolled up her parchment and thanked me, as she poured us each another glass of wine.

“This will be
extremely
useful to Dunselen – and surely you can see the importance of the work.  Snowstone has revolutionized our profession.  To learn the secret of how to transform it would be an achievement even the Archmagi would envy.”

“The Archmagi are dead,” I pointed out.  “They envy all the living.  Just why is Dunselen so obsessed with this spell?”

“Isn’t it obvious? It’s pure jealousy.  Here he was, Ducal Court Wizard, at the top of his professional life, and along comes this arrogant young spellmonger with a handful of irionite and a mission.  He expected you to die at Timberwatch, I learned, and even spoke to Mother about dealing with you – one of the factors that led to our unfortunate encounter after the battle.  He wanted you dead.”

“Remind me to thank him for that,” I smiled, authentically.  As filthy as I felt, I knew I needed to keep pumping her for information.  Particularly about her half-mad husband.

“Then you not only eschewed his patronage, which was humiliating enough, but you went off and cast one of the most amazing spells of all time.  He was furious when he heard about the snowstone.  That’s what encouraged him to start aggressively fighting his neighbors.”

“Really?  Why?” I asked, casually.

“When he learned that you were pulling unique enchantments and gems out of the mountain and doing amazing things with them, he was
livid
.  After the war in Gilmora, where you treated him so . . .
callously
, he decided he was going to prove that he was the superior mage by discovering the mechanism for your spell.  He’s devoted nearly every waking hour to that end since.  Including, thankfully, the majority of our honeymoon.  That was his entire motivation for sponsoring the enchantment seminars at the Magical Fair.”

“That does make sense,” I nodded, sipping the expensive vintage.  It might have been poisoned, for all I knew, but I couldn’t act in the least suspicious.  “He’s not the only mage interested in that.”

“Oh, I know,” she said, rolling her eyes.  “You should see the gaggle of wizardlings he’s consulted with in the last year – anyone he thinks might have insight on the spell.  He’s even gotten expert help from elsewhere.  It’s amusing to watch a man follow his obsessions beyond all reason.”