Enchanter (Book 7) (91 page)

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to discourage that,” I sighed.  “Sire Sigalan is firm in his desire not to become a vassal of either Lensely barony.”

“He can be persuaded,” Arathanial murmured.  “It may take time, but eventually he will take the colors of one of the two baronies.  I like the man, but he stands on Lensely ground,” the baron said, gruffly.

“He stands on Trestendori ground,” I disagreed.  “As I like the man, and he has been both a trusted friend and an honest business partner, I feel compelled to defend him.”

Arathanial eyed me.  “Trestendor
will
swear to one of the two baronies,” he stated, challengingly.

“Not if he’s already sworn to Sevendor,” I revealed.  There was a mutual gasp from the two old men across the table.

“When did this happen?” demanded the lawbrother. 

“A week before you start to get bellicose with my ally,” I countered.  “We have all the proper parchments prepared already.  Should either Sendaria or Taravanal press him, then we will file those parchments.  Trestendor will become domains of Sevendor, in fact, subject to me.”

“Minalan!” Arathanial reproved.  “Why would you stand so resolutely against the reconquest of my patrimony?  Sevendor has always been such a good friend to Sendaria!”

“And we will continue to be . . . as long as you stay inside your new frontiers.  Arathanial, we both know how difficult it is to order and rule a barony – why would you borrow additional trouble by pressing your ambitions more fully now, when you have a lifetime of organization and transition ahead of you?  Sire Sigalan was willing to fight the Warbird to maintain his independence.  He is just as willing to fight Sendaria.”

“He would lose!” Brother Hamaras insisted.

“Not with Sevendor’s aid,” I countered.  “Sire Sigalan is more than willing to swear to me, to keep from swearing to you.  And I would feel compelled to support him, if he was attacked.  Surely after seeing how quickly we took Rolone with a handful of warmagi, you would be more cautious than to invoke Sevendor’s ire.”

Hamaras looked angry, but Arathanial looked thoughtful.  At last he sighed.  “You are right, of course – we do have far too much to do in organizing Taravanal out of the corpse of Sashtalia to concern ourselves with the hill lords of the Bontal.  Damn you, Minalan!  Here I thought I was close to restoring our former glory, and you prohibit it!”

“Your honor should be satisfied with the recovery of Sashtalia,” I offered.  “Let further ambitions be the province of your descendents.  You have done splendidly by your House, my lord,” I added with a respectful bow from the neck.  “Do not imperil your gains by foolishly challenging a magelord.”

“Of course not,” Arathanial sighed.  “We owe you too much, my friend.  Had your men not taken Rolone, we would still be in the field, not determining how to divide the spoils.  After this meeting I will be sitting down with the remaining Sashtali lords and determining just who will remain to support the new baron, and who will require dismissal.  But I do have one appointment I can share with you: I will be granting the domain of Krol to the Dragonslayer as a reward for his excellent service.  The former Lord of Krol died at Birchroot, without heir.  It’s a small domain, but it should add to his growing collection.”

“You will be well-served by him in that position,” I admitted.  “But don’t forget that the man is also my castellan.  I would like him back, eventually.”

“Of course!  He rode with me, so that he could ride back to Sevendor with you.  While not officially demobilized, I granted him leave to attend you during this difficult time,” he said, sympathetically.

“Many thanks, Baron,” I said, hoarsely.  Then I pulled myself out of my melancholia before it could affect me overmuch.  “

After we concluded our business Arathanial was scheduled to meet with the abbot and his staff to begin the titanic process of re-apportioning the conquered lands of Sashtalia and establishing the new barony.  I didn’t envy him the task, after my experiences, but he seemed eager to dive into it.  The Lensely legacy was intact, and there was prospect for real peace and prosperity . . . after the chaos of war subsided.

One of the monks walked me out to the yard, after my meeting.  My business here was done, and it was time to go home . . . a prospect that I dreaded.  As I started toward my waiting carriage, I saw the large form of Sire Cei standing nearby.  He was dressed for traveling, his sword at his side, a new and richly-embroidered mantle over his shoulders.

“Any chance I could get a ride back to Sevendor?” he asked, simply.

I shrugged.  “Climb in.  I’m going that way.”

Cei studied me thoughtfully before opening the door for me respectfully.  He signaled to his men, who were waiting on the other side of the yard, and they nodded in return.

“That’s my squire, Panur,” he explained, as Joppo pulled the carriage away and headed toward the road.  It was a lot less noisy inside than an ordinary carriage, thanks to some sound-dampening enchantments, and Cei and I could talk without raising our voices.  “His knight was killed at Birchroot Bridge, alas, and I volunteered to take him on.  Good lad,” he assured me.  “Only fifteen, but well-trained for service and brave as a dragon.  Second son of Sire Banur of Paraget – that’s a small domain in the north of Sendaria, just west of Sendaria Port.”

“I’ve picked up an apprentice as well,” I noted.  “You saw the lad, Ruderal.  He has incredible potential.  And he’s as polite as you could wish, for a new apprentice.  So has Pentandra, for that matter,” I chuckled.  “I suppose we’re at the stage in our lives where we feel compelled to pass along our wisdom and knowledge.”  I guess there was an ironic tone to my voice.  Cei studied me.  Then he pulled a bottle out from his cloak.

“It occurs to me, Excellency,” he said, slowly, as he uncapped the bottle and pulled two small silver cups from the coach’s hamper, “that you would find benefit to giving voice to what troubles you.”

“You were just the hero in a glorious war of conquest,” I demurred.  “I don’t want to burden you with my problems.”

“I did my duty to Arathanial as his vassal,” he conceded, pouring the drink, “and found the experience rewarding, in its way.  But it was different than our forays against the gurvani.  Those were for the defense of humanity, not the acquisition of lands.  There is a higher honor in that, I think,” he said philosophically.  “But that does not preclude the duty I have to you, as well.”

“You have fulfilled your duty to me—”

“Minalan,” Cei said, sharply.  “Sometimes a man needs a friend more than he needs a loyal retainer.  You gave me position when you could have snubbed me.”

“You were the only unemployed castellan I knew at the time!” I pointed out.

“You gave my people a home when you didn’t need to.  I’ve seen the wonders you have produced, and the prosperity you have so freely dispensed without regard to class.  You have been fair in your justice, resolute in your defense of the domain, and invested heavily in the people around you, not merely your own aggrandizement.  You are a doughty warrior, a canny tactician, and an admirable leader of men.  You have administered your estates and dealt with your neighbors with shrewdness and diplomacy. 

“Stop, you’re making me blush!” I said, sipping the drink.  Spirits.  Strong spirits, with a sweet and spicy flavor.

He ignored my jibe and continued to stare at me, until I really was becoming uncomfortable.  “During the few years I’ve known you, you have become my friend, as well as my liege.  And it is a fool who forgoes the solace of a friend when he is grieving,” he said, quietly.  “Tell me what happened.”

I thought of a hundred more witty remarks I could have said, but the look in Cei’s eye would brook no more avoidance.  To do so, after being challenged so directly, would lose me respect in Cei’s mind, I knew.  And for some reason I really didn’t want to do that, right now.

So I sighed, tipped back the cup of spirits and handed it back to him for more.  They were almost cloyingly sweet, but extremely strong, with a powerfully spicy aftertaste. 

And then I told him.  Everything. Even the gods.

It took a long time, and Cei kept my glass full and listened without interruption the entire time.  We were deep into northern Rolone before I got to the battle at Saleisus Castle.  By that time I was half-drunk and my beard was streaked with tears.

“I knew what she was going to do, the moment I saw her eyes.  I knew that she was going to sacrifice herself . . . for me.  For us.  It was the only thing she could do.  Maybe I could have figured a way out, but Isily was going to kill her any second.  She was mad – that much power coursing through her system that suddenly was just too much.  It was like poor Urik,” I said, sadly.  “Only her issue was with me, and my wife.  With Alya that close and vulnerable, she couldn’t help herself.

“So the moment I realized what she was doing, I desperately prayed for help.  Briga, Ishi, Trygg, whoever might be listening.  I was at a loss of what to do, when everything I was throwing at her through the Snowflake was getting intercepted.  Whatever that damn enchantment was, it was well-constructed.

“But I couldn’t do anything but watch her crush that stone . . . and it was the only thing she could do.  She knew it.  I knew it.  Without some sort of dramatic intervention, Isily’s madness would have killed us all. 

“Ishi hears all words of love,” I continued, the taste of sour fire on my lips, “and she heard mine and Alya’s.  The enchanted nature of the place, tying it physically to the Otherworld, made her manifestation easier than normal, too – but even the gods have limitations.”

“What happened?” he urged, when I paused.

“Ishi was able to protect Alya’s life,” I assured him.  Sire Cei looked at Alya as a younger sister or even as a daughter, after their association.  Even as their social status had changed he had adopted a paternal attitude toward her.  I realized that he was genuinely stricken by this news personally, not merely concerned for a friend’s well-being.  After what we’d all gone through at Boval Castle and the challenges of Sevendor, we were family, I realized.  “She lives.  But her mind is . . . scattered,” I choked.

“How so, scattered?” he asked, a mixture of relief and despair.  There were tears in his own beard, now.

“She doesn’t speak.  She barely reacts.  She doesn’t recognize anyone.  Even her children.  Even me,” I said, sadly.  “Her body is there, but her mind is shattered.  I’ve had the best magical medics in the kingdom examine her.  Sher mind isn’t gone, but it’s like a tangled ball of thread, not the tapestry it needs to be for her to function.”

“Where is she now?” he asked, hoarsely.

“At the abbey of Trygg.  I had to move her there, because the children were getting anxious around her.  Minalyan crawled into her lap and she just stared into space.  He was quite upset.  At the abbey the sisters will take excellent care of her.  She has her own hall, and I’ve dispatched three servants to oversee her care.”  My eyes were suddenly swimming in tears.  “The baby she carried, alas, did not survive the trauma.”

“What a crushing blow, my friend,” he sighed, heavily, his own eyes wet.  “Is there hope?”

“There is always hope!” I nearly snarled, wiping my face with my sleeve.  “She’s alive, isn’t she?  Her body is, and her mind is in there . . . it’s just tangled.  The medics tell me that she may recover some on her own.  But I’m not content with that.  I’m searching for a magical solution.  And while there is hope there, the human mind is a difficult medium to work with.  That’s Blue Magic, psychomancy, and it’s as rare as shadowmagic.”

“But surely the gods could take a hand, after all of this?”

“I’ve been assured by those I know personally that they have done what they can for her.  Ishi’s intervention saved her life, but her sphere doesn’t extend much beyond sexuality, so there were limits to what she could do, even in that powerful place.  Perhaps one of the gods who specialize in such things could help, and I’m investigating that possibility, but it appears as if it falls to me to discover a way to restore my wife.”

“What of the rebels?” he asked, his eyes growing stern.

“Dunselen is dead,” I informed him.  “It was his stone that Alya destroyed, and despite Isily’s usurpation of it, he was still connected.  The thaumaturgical feedback destroyed his mind outright.  And part of his skull, considering the power flowing through the lacis at the time of its destruction.  Isily’s body lives, but her mind is utterly destroyed – far beyond Alya’s dysfunction.  Her enneagram has been stripped of all but the most basic functions, and we theorize that only her arcane connection to the Otherworld keeps her alive.  She’s in a convent in Greenflower, under the care of the nuns there.”

“What about Greenflower?” Cei asked, seeking to steer us away from the painful and into the mundane.

“It has been confiscated by the Order,” I explained.  “Legally what I did was conquest; but as I did it under the auspices of the Arcane Orders, I was able to transform the conquest into a disciplinary issue.  The estates will be held in trust by the Order until Dunselen and Isily’s heir is of age. I had my two children brought back to Sevendor.  Despite being at the center of the spell, my son appears to have been unaffected by it, the way that Isily, Dunselen, and their servants were.  No teeth yet, of course, but the whites of his eyes are perfectly white.  Like Minalyan, I think the protective nature of the enchantment keeps the baby from arcane harm.  Though we won’t know what permanent effects it had until he’s much older.  And Baron of Greenflower.”