Enchanter (Book 7) (90 page)

So the wiley bitch turned her attention to my companions.  She picked up Lanse and smashed him against the merlons at the edge of the tower, knocking him out.  Rondal she blasted back and nearly off the edge before he was able to defend against it.  Tyndal she intercepted as he made a gallant charge, and sent whirling across the floor.  Even Lorcus, when he tried to stand his ground, ended up collapsing in a heap. 

I fought every new attack with a counter, but she seemed adept at absorbing the damage I was inflicting.  Whatever had happened to her, she had toughened herself and her spellwork.  The more I blasted away at her or tried some insidious attack she wasn’t looking for, she seemed able to intercept it.

It was getting frustrating.  And I was out of warmagi.

When it was down to just the two of us, I pressed her with every bit of force I could.  Nothing seemed to work.  Her magical shroud was protecting her.  As one spell after another failed to bring down her defenses or do her real damage, she started grinning, maniacally.

“See how worthy I am of you, Minalan?” she called, through the noise of the spellwork.  “See how powerful we could be together?  A dynasty of Archmagi superior to all the ages before!”

“I’m married, thanks!” I snarled as I threw another round of force at her.

“That can be cured,” she said, reaching out past me with a magical tendril.  I reacted quickly and sliced it with the staff.  Another joined it, then another.  Despite my best efforts some got through . . . and Alya went flying toward Isily.

I desperately tried to stop her, and sent all manner of attempts to counter the spell, but nothing penetrated her shroud.  Alya didn’t even squeal as she was dragged within the sphere of the mad sorceress.

“Stop!” I commanded her.  I eschewed magic, now, and merely pushed forward. 
She had Alya.

“Minalan, don’t!”
she shrieked, as she flailed within the magical bonds. 

“She’s pretty,” conceded Isily as her dark flower battered against my defenses and held me to a standstill.  “Or was when she was young.  Of course, magic and childbirth hasn’t exactly been as kind to me either . . . but I think you’ll find the blue becoming, in the end, Minalan my love,” she called to me.

“He . . . is not . .
. your love!”
Alya said, angrily, as she struggled against her magical leash.  “He’s
mine!”

“You will not be around to lay that claim, my lady,” Isily said, wickedly, and with false sympathy.

“The hells I won’t!” Alya said, her eyes filled with rage.  “You dragged me . . . right where I wanted to be!”

I watched in horror as Alya suddenly raised her hidden dagger and plunged it toward Isily’s breast.  The sorceress laughed as the blade turned brittle and pitted with rust and melted away into ochre dust.

“Did you think I wouldn’t be prepared for a knife between my shoulder blades?” she taunted.  “Slaying you will be a pleasure!” she said, as Alya stared in shock at the hilt of her dagger. 

“Now, before you are a widower, do you have any final words for your first wife?”

“I love you Minalan!”
Alya called to me as the wind picked up.  The storm was approaching, driving the light of the dawn away behind a front of dark clouds, and blowing Alya’s hair wildly across her face. 

But before I could respond to her with more than a horrified expression . . . she brought the pommel of her broken dagger down on one of the witchstones in her magical lacis. 

The last thing I saw before the blinding wave of arcane trauma that resulted from her crushing the witchstone, pulling me into my own personal darkness, was Isily’s ghastly blue eyes, full of hate and shock. 

And then Alya’s eyes, beseeching mine. 

Full of love.

Epilogue

The carriage halted inside of the abbey gates, and I slowly emerged into the early autumn sunshine.  I looked around at the stately buildings, the solemn temple, the scroll-and-staff of Luin’s clergy, and I could feel the sublime nature of the place around me.  Here was where Law was accounted as holy as War, in Duin’s precincts, or Grain in Huin’s.  Or stolen kisses in Ishi’s cult.

I’d heard about Stapledor since I’d come to the Bontal Vales.  As the largest ecclesiastic estate in the county, it was a secular power of some note.  But like magic in Sevendor, Stapledor’s industry was law.

When the Bontal Valley was originally settled from the river outwards, the early settlements in Sendaria soon expanded to the even more fertile lands to the south.  As the grand valley between Sendaria and the Uwarri foothills was settled, one of the early Lensely counts gifted one of his less-profitable but centrally-located domains to a group of nine lawbrothers from Wenshar with instructions to build an abbey on the long hilltop there.

In two generations the thriving monastic community was training the younger sons of nobles and the more intelligent commoners in the holy rites of Luin, the Sun God.  The simple abbey expanded into a large temple, dormitories, library, scriptorium, and all the other institutional requirements for a lexit, as they styled their acolytes, to become a Lawbrother. 

Support of the temple by its members (the Luinites are one of the wealthier temples) allowed it to thrive independently of the agricultural lands around it.  Stapledor’s Lawfather evolved into one of the most important clerical positions in the county.  While his monks tried cases and defended their clients, the Lawfather of Stapledor did his best to peacefully settle disputes between the claimants far-flung Lensely dynasty. 

It has been suggested by some historians that the recourse of the folk of the Bontal to such an abundance of legal advice was, perhaps, one of the factors involved in the bloody Lensely succession dispute.  There can be no doubt that the marks of Stapledor are all over it – the abbey supplied counselors to both sides, at the time. 

Eventually, the constituent lords of one of the nascent baronies overthrew the puppet baron Sendaria tried to force on the lands, and rose in rebellion.  Sendaria was far too weak at the time to take action when the seven wealthiest castellans and tenant lords banded together under the auspices of the Lord of Sashtalia to form the Sashtali Confederation, and proceeded to bully their neighbors into joining.  The Lensely lords who objected to the move were often conquered and forced to give up their lands, or forced into taking holy orders.  For two generations the abbey was stocked with former Lensely lords that the lords of Sashtalia felt were safer with scrolls in their hands than swords.

I’m sure it seemed like a good idea at the time . . . but the result was Sashtalia creating a hotbed of pro-Lensely and anti-Sashtali foment in a place that he was, legally, unable to bully.  The lawbrothers of Stapledor had become more and more anti-Sashtali over the generations, and the monks that they produced for the lords of Sashtalia were not necessarily without political positions.

All of that was in the past, now.  The Sashtali Confederation was no more. 

That was why I was here, actually, to transfer the deed and execute the agreement I had with Arathanial.  After his Sashtali foes took a beating at a few battles, and when Trefalan’s reinforcements from the eastern domains were delayed because they couldn’t take the short-cut through Lorcus-controlled Rolone, the Sashtali retreated to their big fortress in their home territory. 

Though Arathanial was prepared for a siege, when they holed up in Sashtal Castle, it proved unnecessary.  Sire Cei used his big warhammer and magical Talent to destroy the portcullis and great doors to the keep.  After only three days of fighting, Sire Trefalan’s men, discouraged, demoralized, and frightened, agreed to hand over their liege to Arathanial in exchange for lenient terms.

The war was over by Huin’s Day, Sendaria victorious.

That was, historically speaking, a very big thing.  The Lenselys had ruled these vales for a century before their power crumbled.  Arathanial was the last landed baron of that house left.  While promoting a cadet barony within his lands might have seemed like a poor economic move, he had high hopes for the future of the Bontal Vales.  Arathanial had aspirations of his descendants retaking control of parts of Bocaraton, Miseldor, and Fleria that had once been Lensely lands. 

Of course, that also included modern Sevendor.  That was unlikely.

The gray-robed lawbrothers escorted me into a starkly serene chamber that was often used for such meetings of high importance. A simple table with the staff-and-scroll sigil of the order inlaid upon it in gold was surrounded by austere but surprisingly comfortable chairs.  I was greeted by a senior Lawbrother with practiced deference, offered wine, and invited to take my seat. 

Arathanial and his chief advisor, his illegitimate half-brother, Lawbrother Hamaras the Clever, arrived within the hour.  The baron looked tired and worn, but proud and satisfied with his conquest.  He also looked a few years older than he had at Chepstan.  War will do that to a commander, even a war that had gone as well as his.

“Baron Minalan!” he exclaimed, expansively.  “So glad you could attend to this personally!  I was afraid that you would be indisposed, in light of the news . . .”

“I am quite prepared to see this through,” I assured him.  “I had my new lawbrother, Irthine, deal with the details.  A cunning monk – I’ve claimed him as part of my tribute from my vassal,” I chuckled.  “He was hardly appreciated as a secretary in Rolone.”

“In truth, you need a lawbrother in your court as much as we needed a Court Wizard,” the baron agreed.  “Any knight can rule a single domain with his sword and the strength of his honor.  But a barony requires the kind of guile only a lawbrother can manage.  So, are we ready to execute this agreement?” he asked, rubbing his hands together excitedly.

I produced the documents from a hoxter pocket because I’m too lazy to carry a proper satchel.  “I believe we are,” I nodded.  “This instrument conveys the majority of Rolone domain to you, saving two small estates in the south which will be incorporated into Amel Wood.  Both have towers on them, built by the Sashtali to keep the hill lords under control.  I do not think they will be needed for that, anymore.”

“Two towers?” the lawbrother said, concerned.  “That seems like a mighty compensation.  To have two fortresses in foreign hands so close to the heartland of the domain . . .”

“Granite Tower will become the abode of Lord Lorcus,” I informed them.  “I think he’s worked out any aspirations of conquest, after his Rolone experience.  He’s chosen as his vassal for the other tower to be Lanse of Bune, a warmage and brilliant dioramist.  Not the kind of man who makes raids against his neighbors for fun.  He’s too busy playing with dolls.  Professionally,” I assured them.

“Well, I see no issue with having two such neighbors – that Lorcus fellow is quite daft, but hardly unfriendly.”

“Keep him drunk and supplied with apples and entertainment, and he’s content,” I nodded with a smile.  “Neither one will start any trouble.  As they are both my vassals, you can depend on me to oversee them.  Next,” I said, bringing forth the next instrument, “this conveys overlordship of the domains of Kest and Bulmont to Sevendor,” I continued.  “And this one conveys custodianship of the Abbey of Trygg to Sevendor, directly.”  While I wouldn’t be needing their services personally myself, now, it was still important for the people of my barony to have them. 

“All of these seem to be in order,” Hamaras said, suspiciously.  “Though it does seem as if you are losing significant value in this transaction, Excellency,” he said, looking up at me sharply.  “Even combined, Bulmont, Kest and the abbey represent only a fraction of the revenues from Rolone.”  Obviously he suspected me of chicanery – which is exactly what a good Lawbrother is supposed to do.

“Lorcus paid me handsomely out of the captured pay chest,” I shrugged.  “He still had plenty to rebuild the village of Amel Wood properly, outfit his new keep, and give me a generous tribute.  I’m content to surrender any additional value to Sendaria, in return for future, unnamed considerations.”  That was the legal way to say “you owe me a favor” according to Brother Irthine.

“Understood,” Arathanial nodded.  “Here is the Agreement of Transference, as we discussed.”

It took only a few moments for everyone to sign and seal the instruments.  The monks took the parchments and scurried off to their scriptorium, where several copies would be made for everyone’s records. 

“The new barony will be known as Taravanal,” he told me, beaming.  “The seat will still be at Sashtalia, of course, but it will be a much-reduced entity.  Sendaria will be taking back most of the border domains directly.  And we will be adding the remainder of the West Flerian domains to it.  Now if I could just get Sire Sigalan to committing to taking our colors, I’d
really
have something to boast of!”

“You have plenty to boast of,” I chuckled.  “Nor do I think you will be able to convince Sigalan to join you.  He regards Sendaria as a friendly state, but he does not desire to bend his knee to a Lensely baron.”

“He will, in time,” the lawbrother assured me, a little heavily.  “When the new barony is organized and my lord’s son is invested, then we will turn our attention to Sigalan.”

I was afraid of that.  The Lenselys are good nobles, usually, but they do let their ambitions and pursuit of legacy keep them from seeing to reason.  I was hoping to avoid revealing this until later, but it looked as if they would leave me no choice.