Enchanter (Book 7) (54 page)

The knight looked genuinely anguished as he looked over his shoulder.  I could see behind him, where several shambling shapes were emerging from the underbrush, dripping a foul-smelling ichor.  Some of them had tiny glowing eyes . . . magelights, I realized.  They were constructs, likely simple earth elementals covered with burlap.  Rondal’s doing.  Several were peppered with arrows, which they didn’t seem to notice.  More archers fired behind them, and the thing continued moving without flinching, even with an arrow protruding from its chest.  They began to make eerie hissing and low moans that were terrifying the Roloni.

“My lord, this is no time for jest!” the Dawn Knight said, when he turned around.  “We are in peril!”

“You are being asked to lay down your arms,” Lorcus agreed.  “Your time to do so is running out.”

It was an entertaining contest to watch, Sire Ansonal’s debate with himself.  But another quick glance over his shoulder, and the fetid smell washing ahead of the things, did his deciding.

“We yield!” he said, suddenly flinging his sword around, catching it effortlessly by the blade, and offering it over the stump of his left arm.  His men immediately followed suit holding out their bows and spears to anyone who would take them.

Lorcus rode up and took sire Ansonal’s sword with a bow, urging the man to cross his lines.  The rest of his men followed at a near-run.  Lorcus waited until they were out of sight, escorted by his own men, before he spoke the commands that sent his puppets back to their swamp to rot.

Half an hour later we were taking their surrender oaths and setting reasonable ransoms for the party.  Sire Ansonal was a little embarrassed about his performance, but was convinced that some fell power now haunted the swamp.  He even gratefully thanked Lord Lorcus for his rescue . . . until they arrived back at Granite Tower, to find the Half-Eaten Worm flying overhead.

“What is this?” the one-armed knight asked, confused.

“We happened by,” explained Lorcus, “found the doors open and nearly no one home, and thought it best to secure it.  It now belongs to the Domain of Amel Wood, as a captured prize of war.”

“This is outrageous!” Ansonal said, angrily.  “We surrendered to you in good faith—”

“And we honored your surrender, and spared your lives as prisoners of war, according to the Laws of Duin,” nodded Lorcus.  “But we can’t keep you all here . . . let’s go to Gwyliad castle, instead.”

“Yes, I’m sure that we can settle this . . . misunderstanding,” the Dawn Knight assured him.  “I can pay you weregeld for your losses, and redeem the tower, myself and my men.  There is ample specie stored there.”

“Ah, that is good,” Lorcus agreed, playing along at being interested in being bribed back to his forest holding.  “My men took that just before dawn, too.  And that other tower to the west, too.  We are in possession of all of your domain south of the Rolone River, Sir Ansonal,” he informed him, matter-of-factly.

“You . . .
what?”
Ansonal asked, in disbelief.  “
How?”

“Magic,” Lorcus shrugged with an annoying smile.  “Deception.  Skullduggery.  And outstanding leadership.  Now let’s escort you gentlemen back to your former home, where you will take residence in slightly less august accommodations for the duration of the conflict.  I do apologize for any inconvenience.  But,” he offered, as if the idea suddenly occurred to him, “if you would be so kind as to explain your lord’s role in the war, and the disposition of his remaining defenses along the way, I could be persuaded to make your stay a bit more comfortable.”

The Dawn Knight stiffened.  “I shall never betray my lord!” he declared, defiantly.

“I think you will,” Lorcus said, taking out the Wormwand and pointing it.  He said the command, and the old man was entranced, under a truthtell spell.  Only the most closely-held secrets could resist the relaxed state of cooperation the spell inspired.  If you don’t know a protection charm.

We spent a pleasant morning riding through the beautiful Rolone countryside, waving gaily to the peasants who were on their way to their plowing – still – and continued on past noon until we eventually came to Sire Ansonal’s gifted home.  Under the duress of magic he handed the deed and the keys over to Lord Lorcus, signed his name to the official declaration of surrender Lorcus had thoughtfully prepared, and retired with his men to a single tower, where they were deemed prisoners of war.  To ease their pain I included a barrel of ale and a bottle of wine for the gentlemen, and Lorcus insisted on having one of his new sheep slaughtered to feed them.

Lorcus raised the Half-Eaten Worm banner over the castle himself, just before dinner.  It took the staff a while to realize that there had been an actual change in administration, but the sudden crowd of strange soldiers at table shocked them into obedience. 

“What next?” I asked, enjoying one of Sire Ansonal’s finer vintages.  I did toast the old man’s health with it – I’m not a barbarian.

“Well, if what the dawn Knight told us is true, Rolone Castle one of the two fallback positions for Sire Trefalan’s forces, with Sashtalia Castle, should things go ill on the field.  Included in preparations for retreat was the establishment of a hospital, and within the outer bailey the wives and daughters of the lesser nobility, prominent merchants from Rolone Town, and – it turns out – much of their portable wealth has been secured against calamity.  Rolone Castle is, apparently, considered
extremely safe
, this far behind the lines.”

“Despite only having a garrison of twenty-five men,” Rondal laughed, his mouth full. That had been something else Ansonal had revealed.  They weren’t the best twenty-five, either, mostly older men or boys, the lame and the cowardly.  They were relying on the good will of the people in a time of war and the forbidding structure of the castle to hold the domain.  I could see why Lorcus was optimistic.

“It does seem a waste to allow such a rich prize to go unclaimed,” agreed Lanse of Bune. 

“But I don’t want to commit myself until we’ve adequately scouted the field,” he considered.  “Give me a week?”

“I’m in internal exile – take as long as you wish,” I shrugged.  “Just try not to break too much – this is a valuable domain.”

“Oh, I’m bent on capturing it intact,” he assured me, in all seriousness.  “There’s only another three castles, and only one of those is of any size.  Sir Ansonal wasn’t jesting about the coin here, either.  Give me a week, maybe ten days, and I’ll be flying my banner over Rolone Castle.  And every other one in Rolone.”

He sounded utterly confident, and after what I had seen in the space of a day I had little reason to doubt him.  Lorcus loves puzzles, and the puzzle of how to take that big drum keep away from the two-dozen men who were charged with guarding it would no doubt prove interesting – if he didn’t get himself killed in the process.

I returned to Sevendor late in the evening, long after everyone had gone to bed.  I considered turning in immediately, but even after my long day I was too restless.  Instead I checked in with the night watchman and went to visit the Snowflake for the first time in a while.

I walked through the unfinished gate, under the gatehouse that was mostly finished, waving to the Karshak watchman on duty.  Overhead they were starting to finish the roof, and the entire third floor was being outfitted as a chamber for the castellan – Sire Cei and his family.  The space was large, more than twice what he and Estret and the children had in the garrison tower. 

The fourth story was another chamber for guests, the fifth and sixth would be storerooms, and the top level would be where siege engines would, someday, be stored.  The entire white stone edifice was still covered in scaffolding, but in the space of six months the Karshak had completed a structure it would take human engineers years to build.  It would be another six months before it was finally finished, and by then hopefully the outer walls of the new castle would be started.

It took a while to get to the right tunnel – the excavation of the Great Hall was in full swing, three shifts a day, and there were work crews everywhere, carefully carving out the massive snowstone blocks that would form the foundation of the castle wall.  I had to wait several times, while cranes or drills were pulled into place, and once I had to stop to lend some magical aid when a block went dangerously askew.  But eventually I made my way down to the right tunnel, unlocked the door, and entered the Snowflake Chamber.

It was there, but it wasn’t alone.  Master Azhguri was there, studying the ever-changing artifact.

It was not unusual for him to come to the thing – he was one of the few who had unlimited access to just about anywhere.  The old Karshak didn’t hear me come in, and only looked up when I entered his field of vision.  He had a short stubby pipe between his lips, and the acrid smell of his harsh blend in the air around us.

“Late night?” I asked, cheerfully.

“Is it night?” he asked, surprised.  “’Twas noon when I came here.”

“It has that effect,” I agreed “Among others.”

He grunted assent.  “I tried to sing it,” he murmured.

“Tried?”
I asked, surprised.  Azhguri was one of the best stonesingers on Callidore.  I dug out my own pipe to join him.

“Tried.  It’s just too . . . random.  Only, it’s not, really.”

“I can see your point.”

“You can’t sing stone if it don’t stand still,” he said, irritated.  “I can start, but a bare hour into it, I get pushed back.  Come out of it all confused.  But there is
power
in that thing,” he said, with certainty, pointing at it with his pipestem. “Tremendous power.  Enormous complexity.  And perhaps even sentience.  But no awareness.  Without awareness, it’s as pretty as a waterfall, and about as useful.”

I thought about the lost City of Rainbows.  “Even waterfalls have uses,” I countered.

“This will not be truly useful until we find a way to tame it, Minalan,” he sighed.  “This is beyond the mind of a mere mortal – either human or Karshak.  I doubt an Alka Alon’s mind could tame it.  But you need to find a way, or that thing isn’t going to do much more than sit there and look pretty until something comes along and takes it away from you.  

“And that would be a shame, lad, it truly would.  Because some day someone
is
going to try to take it away from you, and if you don’t learn how to use it to protect it . . . I fear that’s exactly what they’ll do.”

Chapter Twenty Five

The Woodland Masque

Alya and I appeared in the Ducal Palace in Vorone, in Pentandra’s chamber, where she was preparing herself for the ball.  The Waystone I used was the one resting in her amulet, to avoid the task of walking through town or attempting to hire a coach.  I contacted her mind-to-mind and she welcomed us through. She had neglect to mention at the time that her maid was bathing her.

I blushed, despite myself.  It wasn’t that I was seeing Penny naked, or that I’d seen her naked a lot, in the past, but it was seeing Penny naked in the same room as my fully-clothed wife.  With a half-naked maid.

“Pentandra!”
I said, averting my eyes. Mostly.

“What?” she said, defensively.  “There’s only two hours until the ball, which is barely enough time to get ready!”  I could tell that it wasn’t just expedience that made her do that.  Pentandra got a thrill out of scandalizing people.  I was hard to scandalize, but Penny knew my weaknesses.

“Min, you are dismissed,” Alya said, simply, turning me by my shoulders and giving me a gentle shove toward the door.  She had the situation well in-hand, I could tell. 

“Arborn is in my chamber!  Have him get you a drink!  We’ll be out . . . soon,” Penny called after me, splashing around a bit.

I walked straight ahead, amused and embarrassed and I had no real idea why.  Arborn was on the other side of the chamber, behind a screen, a cup already in hand.

He wasn’t alone – there were two other men with him, a Kasari ranger who I didn’t recognize and a middle-aged courtier in a blue and yellow doublet and tights.

“Minalan, my friend!” Arborn said, his low voice almost sounding friendly.  The ranger captain was dressed in Kasari dress uniform, complete with a formal scarlet cloak embroidered with his achievements and lined with ermine.  But he wore a richly-decorated cavalry sword at his side.  “Come join us!”

“Did he just come in?” the courtier asked, confused. 

“You must expect such things from wizards, Sir Vemas,” Arborn counseled, as the other ranger poured me a cup of wine.  “They come and go when least expected, and keep their own time.  The Spellmonger most of all.  Baron Minalan of Sevendor, this is Sir Vemas of Vorone, chief constable of the city, and this is Jenser, my lieutenant.”  Both men bowed low.

“A genuine pleasure, Excellency,” Sir Vemas said, smoothly.  “Of course everyone has heard of the great Spellmonger.  We are so privileged that you could attend this evening.” 

“And you are the chief constable of this city, now?  That seems a challenging position.”

“But one which Sir Vemas is well-suited for,” Arborn confided.  “He grew up here, and loves this city as home.  He has Lady Pentandra’s complete confidence, as well as mine.  He has been helping us coordinate the effort to defeat the organized gangs who still control the city by night . . . and much of it by day.”