Enchanter (Book 7) (61 page)

He’d had a trestle table set up under a chestnut tree, and was enjoying a plate of pickled eggs and sausage, with fried potatoes on the side, while a few of his men stood respectfully behind him.

“The Spellmonger joins us, with his merry band,” he smirked.  “All week I’ve been toiling away at this so that you could come in at the last moment and claim the credit.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” I promised.  “I’m anxious to see what you’ve prepared today.”

“I knew you would be,” he said, happily.  “Well, let me brief you on my preparations.  I’ve had lads in disguise scouring north of the Rolone river, seeking for all who would stand against us.  Then we lured a few squadrons out and captured them – no great feat there, as most are second and third-line troops at best.

“Then, once we knew for certain where all of our foes would be, we started infiltrating the city,” he said, nodding to the walled town at the top of the hill.  “They made it easy enough – there is a call for merchants to supply them at good price, and with the last of the plowing and planting keeping folk at home, the market was hungry for all we could bring it.”

“What wares did you bring?” asked Banamor. 

“Warmagi and deception,” Lorcus grinned, wickedly, as he wiped his mouth on the hem of his baldric.  “But also three bushels of winter apples, a hundredweight of potatoes, and a haywain full.   Full of warmagi,” he chuckled.  “They got inside the town and have been laying my plan for me.  All is now in readiness, if you will attend.  The first phase has already begun.”

“And that would be?” asked Dranus.

“First, to clear the bailey of the common folk – and to separate them from their valuables – a simple ruse: your lad Tyndal will release a sack of live snakes into the bailey, near the inner gate.”

“Snakes?  Poisonous?”

He shrugged.  “They did not volunteer the information, and as I am now a gentleman, I felt it inappropriate to inquire.  Regardless, most townsfolk know little about serpents save that they don’t like them.  I had him collect the worst-looking, though not the most deadly serpents he could, while Rondal and Lanse cast the spells A few prepared sigils will stir panic at the sight of the beasties.  When the first snake is sighted, we should see a rapid emptying of the bailey into the town, while the garrison deals with the infestation.”

“An interesting plan,” agreed Dranus.  “But the castle will not fall to a bag of snakes.”

“Oh, aye,” agreed Lorcus.  “That just clears the bailey, and gets some of the men out of the keep to deal with the crisis.  That’s when Tyndal slams the portcullis to the inner bailey closed, and spellbinds it.”

“How is that supposed to help?” asked Banamor.  “Locking men
inside
a castle will hardly make them surrender it.  Not as long as they have supply and hope of rescue.”

“That is true,” agreed Lorcus, rising and throwing on his mantle.  “And I will not accept anything but their absolute, unconditional surrender.  Once they are inside, I will be able to compel them.  Are you ready, gentlemen?”

I looked around.  I shrugged.  “I suppose.  Shall we ride?” I asked, looking around for horses.

“I was hoping for a trip through the Waypoints,” admitted Lorcus.  “Quicker.  And easier than talking our way past the sentries at the gate.  Rondal has his Waystone, use his.”

I couldn’t argue with that, and didn’t mind the headache.  I took the four of us through, after warning my former apprentice we were coming.  He proved to be in a stable when we arrived.

“Welcome to Rolone,” he said, handing me a mug of weak ale and a heel of bread for breakfast.  He had an entire hamper he’d purchased from an inn the day before.  “They just began clearing the outer bailey – that’s where we are.  But they won’t bother us in here.  I laid a misdirection enchantment on the door.”

“So what is the plan, after the bailey is cleared and the castle sealed?” asked Banamor.

“We appear in front of the gate, our banner unfurled, and demand their surrender,” Lorcus said, smugly.

“And when they don’t?”

“Well, then, they’ll go to their well to make their tea this morning, and water their animals, and they’ll discover that their one and only source of water is frozen, for the first five feet down.  Borrowed that one from Shereul,” he added.  “Credit where due.”

“They can still last days, like that,” said Dranus, sourly.  “They’ll have other sources of water.”

“Two cisterns, one of which has been cracked and empty for a year, and the other is stagnant and sickly – particularly after the sachet of vileness I had Tyndal drop in, while he was dealing with the freezing spell.  By now it is foul-smelling and tasting, with just the faintest hint of powdered rat intestines and putrid toadstool – my own personal recipe,” he added, proudly. 

“So they get thirsty.  It won’t be enough to make them surrender,” Banamor insisted, shaking his head.

“They will when it gets hot,” Lorcus said, as he peered through a crack in the wall at the snake-slaying soldiers beyond.  “You see, in a moment I will activate a spell we hung that will heat up every stone in that keep by about ten degrees per hour.  Every stone in the place will be radiating heat.  By noon it will be unbearable, and men will start to drink the poisoned water and go mad.  It won’t take long before they’re begging to be let out.  I expect a quick resolution.”

It was a daring plan.  Damned if he didn’t pull it off.

There were a few miscalculations – there were a few jugs of ale and water inside that allowed the garrison to prolong their stay, and they fired on the herald (Rondal) the third time he suggested they surrender, under parley . . . but an hour and a half after noon, the half-naked commander of the castle handed Rondal his sword through the bars of the unmovable portcullis.  Rondal handed back an apple-and-worm banner, and when one of his men gingerly raised it above the shimmering drum keep, he loosed the spellbinding and allowed them to open the gate.

It took the rest of the afternoon to negotiate the exact terms.  The castellan turned over the deed to the domain and signed the Declaration of Conquest, before gratefully accepting a jug of water.  He and his men agreed to surrender themselves as prisoners of war, to be held as such until ransom or settlement.  Someplace cool, with lots of water.  They were half-dead, by the time they came out.

Once Lorcus had the deed in hand we had a celebratory drink as twenty of his men were allowed into the gatehouse and soon had the entire castle under their control.  It took an hour to cool the stone enough to enter comfortably, and we spent the time going through the best of the loot in the outer bailey.

“This is a lot of stuff,” Banamor said, as he surveyed the hastily-abandoned camp.  No one likes snakes.  “It looks like every burgher in town had a camp in here!  What do you plan on doing with it all?”

“I want you to select a tithe of it to be sent to Amel Wood as compensation for the unprovoked attack,” Lorcus decided.  “Another to be sent to my new castle, as soon as it’s out of the oven, as my rightful tribute. The rest will be held against the good behavior of the town.  And, of course, I’ll want to pick through it all to see what I want personally,” he chuckled.  “I haven’t had this much fun since the lads and I looted the Brotherhood’s vaults!”

Lorcus wasn’t greedy – he selected a few choice items as prizes and gifts, before we went inside the keep itself.  He had no desire to alienate his new subjects, much, but keeping them out and their valuables in ensured their cooperation.  

A thin little monk, young Lawbrother Irthine, the acting castle chaplain, followed us around nervously, after he acknowledged the legality of the conquest and gave his parole, if not his cooperation.  He had been Rolone’s chaplain’s secretary, who was well-placed in the lord’s councils. While the senior Lawbrother followed his lord into battle, Brother Irthine was left behind to tend to Rolone Castle.  Therefore Brother Irthine knew were all the
really
good loot was kept.

The lord’s chamber within was richly decorated, a magnificent open room above the main hall. We spent a few hours going through the chests and casks until we found, quite unexpectedly, a large iron box filled with specie.  Trefalan’s pay chest, it turned out.

“Ishi’s tender nips, this is enough to keep his whole bloody army in the field all summer!” Lorcus moaned, as he stared at the thick pile of heavy silver coins.

“I suspect he thinks that Sendaria will seek to besiege his own castle,” Rondal pointed out, “which would make paying his troops to lift the siege difficult.  This way he can keep men in the field even if he’s behind a wall.”

“And rely on the Lord of Rolone to come to his rescue.  Only you’re the Lord of Rolone, now, by Right of Conquest.  Am I incorrect, Brother Irthine?”

“No, Excellency,” the young monk admitted.  “Sire Lorcus has won the day when he took the castle.  If he can subdue the last resistance to the old regime in a timely manner no one can contest his legal claim.  Thus say the Laws of Duin and Huin,” he stated, matter-of-factly.

“The domain and this castle is now your prize of war, Lord Lorcus,” I declared.  “I’ll have the parchment sent to Wilderhall immediately.  What are your plans?  Are there not two other keeps in the domain still under the sun-and-sheaf?”

“Two minor towers,” he dismissed.  “Not much more than fortified manors.  I’ll send a warmage and a party of bowmen to each one, and see if they’ve the brains to surrender.  If not, we’ll lock their gates and seal them inside until they see reason.”

“And the money?”

He rubbed his chin through his beard and eyed the silver.  “Well, I do owe a bit of tribute to my overlord,” he pointed out.  “And I need to build a new keep on my domain, as well as a hall.  As for the rest, I see it as compensation for the folk of Amel Wood.”  He looked up at the scared little monk and dug a heavy handful of silver from the chest, pushing it toward the man.

“For you, Brother.  A donation to celebrate my conquest.  Spend it as you see fit.  The rest will go to help innocent folk whose lives your former lord considered expendable.  For that crime he has lost his seat and his fortune.  It rarely profits to skirmish with a Magelord.  Not only are we subtle and quick to anger, but we’re right bastards when it comes to getting even.”  The monk nodded, took the coins gratefully, and showed Lorcus where the former lord kept his good silver plate locked up.

“Well done,” I said, patting my vassal on his shoulder as we retired to the hall downstairs.  “What policies shall you enact within your new domain?  You must announce your conquest of it, and give the nobles and yeomen the opportunity to swear fealty to you,” I reminded him.  “That should be sooner, rather than later, I think.  Then you must seize control of the frontiers.  Eventually Sire Trefalan and Sire Cullien will hear of this, and they will send troops.  Especially if there is any delay of the peasant levies to their deployment.”

“Ah, but how will they pay them?” Lorcus asked, an eyebrow arched.  “When we have his silver?  No, I think the good folk of Rolone have had enough of war.  I do not see it in their best interest to muster with the rest of the confederation.  No, I shall issue a directive instructing all villeins and common folk to return to their labors and enjoy the bounty of Huin’s blessings, not the dubious benedictions of Duin.”

I snorted.  “
That
will make you popular!  No peasant wants to go to war.  And with all the knights gone, there’s no one to compel them to go.”

“In truth, my lords,” the monk said, humbly, “the folk of Rolone were generally poorly-disposed to the war.  They have seen an increase in their taxes and fees for two years, in preparation, and they have been goaded into training.  They are quite reluctant to deploy.”

“So you think that would be a popular proclamation?”

Brother Irthine smiled.  “Highly, my lord.  I would nearly say they were in a mood to revolt before you came.”

“I wonder how many of them would be willing to take up arms in defense of their new lord?  At two ounces of silver a week?” Lorcus wondered aloud.  That was thrice what they would have made as spearmen at the front.  The idea seemed to scandalize the monk.

“Armed
peasants?
  Villeins?  As soldiers?  During a time of war is one thing, Sire, but to arm them without sufficient leadership or discipline invites unrest!”

“If they’ll fight for Rolone for silver in war, then they can lean on their spears for silver to keep from going to war.  I don’t have the forces to put down a revolt,” he admitted.  “It would work out best for me if the peasantry would, therefore,
not
revolt.”

“That is a bold move, Sire,” Brother Irthine agreed.  “But not one that will be popular with your neighbors.  The nobility gets nervous when it sees arms in the hands of peasants.”

“We’ll be certain to discuss it at the Winter Ball, then,” snorted Lorcus.  “Until then, I need troops, at least for a little while.  Take a . . . what would this be?” he asked me, confused.

“A
mustering,”
Rondal supplied.  “Or a weapontake.  As they are not professional troops, then arming them would make them a militia.”

“Do you pay a militia?”

Rondal snorted this time.  “You do if you don’t want them to riot.”

“Are there weapons in the armory for them?” he asked Brother Irthine.