Enchanter (Book 7) (85 page)

The plan developed wasn’t perfect, and there were several places where it could go horribly wrong.  There was simply too much we were ignorant of, and that couldn’t be helped.  Sometimes, I reflected, you have to take a few risks if you want to strike before your foes know what’s happening. 

By the time we were done talking, we were committed.  It reminded me of the thaumaturgical term,
volens
, when an enchanter commits to a risky course of action.  You may have mitigated the risk, but despite it you were no less committed to following it through to the end, once you have begun.  That’s what we were doing here.

When at last no one had anything else to say or suggest, and everyone was more or less certain of their role, we broke for supper.  It was early evening, and we were all getting hungry.  As we were planning a dawn excursion, it seemed proper to have a meal together before we left.  Banamor had wisely had the entirety of the
Alembic
cleared for the occasion, and had food imported from the inn across the street.

I barely remember eating.  I was too busy thanking everyone for their assistance, and learning about the abortive goblin attack in Alshar.

“They were organized and coordinated,” Pentandra reported, over wine.  “Fourteen or fifteen different sorties, all launched at once against various undefended targets.  They mostly avoided castles, although two of your pele towers and an Iron Band outpost got hit.  They all survived, though the Band’s compound is ruined, now.  Everything else was village, cot and freehold.”

“It doesn’t sound like much of a strategic attack,” noted Lorcus, smacking his lips.  He had left Taren in charge of his new domain as acting castellan for a few days while he helped out.  Honestly, I think he felt as if he’d been a prisoner in Rolone, the way he eagerly prepared for the sortie.  “Why waste good troops against such soft targets?”

“They weren’t that good of troops,” Bendonal offered.  “Apart from the hobs who attacked the towers, most of them were scrugs and fell hounds.  They did some damage,” he admitted, “but anywhere they met serious opposition, they got hammered.  We met three groups of them that had melded together, north of Tudry.  It took about half an hour for a thousand of our men to grind through thrice that number of scrugs.  Many were young, or weak, or small of stature.  Azar and Astyral are still mopping up, but in my professional opinion it was more a feint or a raid than a real campaign.  In a week we’ll have them driven back to the Penumbra.”

“A feint?  For what purpose?” considered Dranus.  “Merely to draw attention away from Sevendor?”

“Battles have been fought for less,” Bendonal suggested.  “There have been rumors that some elements inside the Penumbra grow anxious to finish the eradication of
humani.
  It wouldn’t take much to convince them to try, for sport or training or loot, on the humans nearest them.  Of course, they’re considerably tougher than they were four years ago.  So yes, I’d say it’s a feint.  The only real opposition was sent to the fortifications, and even they were more probing raids than serious attacks.”

“It makes Duke Anguin look heroic, too,” Pentandra pointed out.  “When we got back to Vorone, the entire city was mad for the way he dashed off at the head of the 3
rd
Commando.  The folk feel like they have a real defender in him, for the first time.”

“It sounds like your efforts are going well,” I observed, quietly.

“At the moment, most of the fires are merely smoldering,” she smiled.  “But it’s taken a long time and a lot of energy to get there.”

“Any regrets?” I asked, concerned about her answer.

“Actually?  No,” she admitted.  Pentandra sighed, and looked happy.  “When I first got to Vorone I thought I’d be utterly miserable.  And I was, for a few months.  Arborn and I weren’t getting along, our apartment in the palace reeked with mildew and decay, and my job seemed hopeless.  But as we worked at the problem of the criminal gangs, the corruption, and the court, and gradually we stopped fighting.  That was nice.  Then Ishi showed up, and that wasn’t so nice, but we worked through it,” she said, happily.  “We’re talking about getting a place in the countryside, now, just to get away from the palace.  Things are stable enough that I don’t feel like they’ll fall apart if I take a few days away.”

“That’s excellent news,” I smiled in return.  “I’m so glad it’s working out.  I was worried you’d quit.”

“I was very close, a number of times.  But I’m not the sort to give up just because of a few setbacks and inconveniences.  By this autumn, Vorone will almost be functioning like a real city again, instead of a refugee camp surrounding a bad neighborhood.  We’re doing good work, there,” she said, with an air of satisfaction.

“She’s done more than good work,” objected Bendonal.  “Lady Pentandra is too modest.  She has single-handedly dragged the court into functioning, instructed His Grace in the wise performance of his duties, turned the attention of the Duke’s magistrates on scofflaws and corrupt officials, and revitalized the city center through prudent policy and investment.”

“It doesn’t sound like you’ve had time to do much actual magic,” Tyndal teased.

She looked annoyed.  “Have you every restored a functioning economy to a remote town of eighteen thousand with no real industry?  Makes slaying siege worms and trolls seem like picking wildflowers!” she snorted.  “What have
you
two been doing?”

“Catching rats,” Rondal supplied, as he handed Tyndal a mug.  “When we weren’t helping Lorcus knock over warder castles in Rolone.  We’ve made two trips down to the Alshari coastlands, and left a bunch of very upset rats in our wake.”

“Those still alive to be upset,” Tyndal agreed.  “We’re planning a third trip this autumn, timed for when the fleet comes in.  The Brotherhood has been slaving,” he added, darkly.

“And the rebel barons permit it?” she asked, shocked.

“They profit from it,” Rondal said, discouraged.  “They turn a blind eye to the sales on the docks, then again when they get new serfs on their estates and plantations.  The clergy call their attention to it, but then they either have an accident or receive a generous benefice.  No one else dares stand up to the rebels.”

“Duke Anguin could, if he had the reach,” sighed Pentandra.  “I’m afraid such expeditions are many years in the future, if at all.  We’ve had our own brushes with the Brotherhood in Vorone, where they once ruled the night.  No longer.  Perhaps we should consult, before you embark?  I have some intelligence you might find intriguing.”

I stopped listening to them try to impress each other, after a while, and concentrated on the preparations that Onranion and Dranus were making.  If things went poorly, then we would have to count on their makeshift plan.  I was hoping things didn’t go poorly.  I hesitate to try my hand at dangerous, experimental magic when things are desperate.

Who am I kidding?  I do that sort of thing all the time.

That was part of my confusion: I was supposed to be feeling contrite and guilty about all of this, but when I looked around I saw my friends and allies, comrades and colleagues, all gathered about me to perform in my interest without judgement.  None had been commanded to (apart from Dranus, but he was more than willing), they had all just agreed.  That made me feel good.

And I
wanted
to feel bad about this.  None of this would have happened if it hadn’t been for my indulgence, part of my mind whispered.  None of this would have happened if not for my arrogance.

My dark musings were dashed when Alya approached me from the other end of the chamber, where she had been dining and drinking with the Alshari warmagi. 

“Do you have a moment?” she asked, quietly.  I nodded, and followed her when she led me outside to the quiet street.  She pulled me over to the fountain under the municipal magelight, then turned to speak.  “Are you all right?” she asked, concerned.

“No,” I said, honestly.  “I’m struggling with this.  It’s not that I don’t agree, but—” 

“That’s why
I’m
doing it, and not you,” she answered, her eyes downcast.  “It’s not that you cannot do it, Minalan, but that it is too difficult a thing to ask you to do.  Your feelings conflict you.  While that’s usually what I love about you, your mercy and your commitment to the right thing, in this case the two are at odds.  But they can’t be.  Min, you can’t let this stand.  Not just personally, although for what she’s done she’s earned a feud as sure as any mountain harlot.  But for what she’s done to your profession.”

“My profession will be fine,” I said, sighing.

“Not if you let this sort of thing go unanswered,” she said, firmly.  “I’m no wizard, but I’m a Spellmonger’s wife.  I’ve been around magic for years now, and I know what you’ve tried to build.  If you let her act the rebel to your policies and do not bring her to bear, she will be among the first, not the last, to scoff at your authority.”

“I never wanted the authority!”

“Which is why you were best suited to accept it,” she countered.  “I have spoken to your colleagues and I know what politics is.  You
have
to do this, but your heart is too weak to commit to it.  So let
us
do it.  Let
me
do it.  Stand and watch, and if you are needed, then join in.  But let the Order help bring this criminal to answer.  And let your wife help you with this difficult, difficult personal task.”

“And when this is over?” I asked in a small voice.  “What then?”

“You mean your . . . Minalan, we can discuss that later.  But I don’t hold you accountable for what you were compelled to do – who would?”

“What about the things I
chose
to do?” I asked, hesitantly.  That was the largest question looming over me.  The one I most feared being answered.

She looked at me, searchingly.  “Am I hurt by it?  Yes, Minalan.  Yes, I am very hurt.  But not so hurt that I will pull my hair and weep and threaten to throw myself from the battlements.  I’m tough, Spellmonger.  I was raised in the Mindens, not in some dainty Riverlands castle.  You think I’m the first wife who had a husband who had a dalliance?”

“No, but—“

“Enugh.  We
will
discuss this.  And we will settle this.  And we will do it soon, because the moment I can keep food down I’m going to be eating like a madwoman, and be big as a house.  And I really want this left in the summer pastures, if you understand what I mean.”

“I’m sorry I hurt you,” I said.  I didn’t know what else to say.

“Later,” she ordered.  “I want to hear every little thing that you have to tell me about what happened.  But
later
.  We have to get some sleep, and there are still preparations to make.  When this is all over, we can talk – perhaps with Sister Bemia to help.  And I will listen.  But not now.  Now we have these two witches as our priority.”

I kissed her again, embraced her, and felt much of my guilt and tension leave me.  Oh, there was still a gracious plenty piled up on top of my soul, but I was truly hopeful that once Isily, Mask, and Dunselen were dealt with that things would get back to normal.  Or near enough.

Optimism has forever been my downfall.

*

*

An hour before dawn, the next morn, my squadron and I were ready to begin our foray.  I was armored, though I had cast my mantle over my armor, and I had Twilight sheathed on my back.  I held my baculus, and when my men were ready I tapped into the Seven Stone I was using and opened the Ways.

One thing that Lady Mask, a novice in the use of the Ways, was unfamiliar with was the magical apophylite gems I had mined from Rundeval, the ones called Waystones.  They were portable waypoints, whereas most of the Alka Alon Ways are fixed.  When we’d traced the route the raiders had taken to invade Sevendor, we had been relieved that they had not, as yet, used the Waypoints attached to our Waystones.  They had used the waypoint on top of Matten’s Helm, the one that had been there since before humankind had come to the vale.

That was good news.  The fact that I could use the Ways was little-known, outside of my circle.  The existence of the Waystones likely even less so. 

But when you have a lot of the things, you find useful ways to use them.  For my part, in one of my earlier enchantments, before I really knew what I was doing in the art, I had attached a Waystone to the modillion of my battlestaff, Blizzard.  The same one that Lady Mask had stolen. 

I was counting on the fact that she would not recognize the thing, as it looked like merely another pretty stone in the multi-colored modillion behind the head (called the
metope
, if you’re keeping track) of the staff.  She’d be far more interested in the witchstone I’d put there, I was guessing, and ignore the minor stones.

That was what I was counting on.

“Ready, gentlemen?” I asked.  Tyndal, Rondal, and Lanse of Bune all nodded.  “Second squad?”

“We’re ready,” Lorcus assured me, yawning.  “Let’s get this over with so that I can get back to sleep.”  Dara, Sir Festaran, and Bendonal would join Lorcus as our reserves.  But I didn’t think we’d need them.

“Places,” I called, and my three men gathered with their backs together.  “And . . . now!”  I activated the waypoint, and all four of us tumbled through.  I don’t think I could have managed four additional people if they each hadn’t been helping me with power.  But the spell caught, and we landed in soft, loamy soil, the smell and sounds of a forest at dawn around us.