High Mage: Book Five Of The Spellmonger Series (28 page)

“I thought it would be better to discuss this in person, rather than mind-to-mind,” Lorcus explained, when we were comfortable.  “Dunselen is a mage of burning ambition.  But he’s going mad.”

“Mad?  Explain.”

“He’s sane enough most times,” Lorcus conceded, “but he’s prone to fits of rage when things don’t go his way.  Like a big five-year old.  With irionite.  And lances of knights at his command.  I think there were a few disaffected at first,” Lorcus revealed, “but he was at court long enough to know how to get rid of the discontents and reward his own supporters in his native domain.  Soon everyone in his domains was feeling belligerent against their neighbors.  He got them properly stirred up before he found an excuse to declare war.”

I recalled one poor knight who had fallen victim to Dunselen’s ambitions last year – I had not been able to do anything about it, then.  I still didn’t have much leverage.  I could hardly fault the man for playing by the rules and winning.  I’d done it enough myself.

“How is he using magic to affect the outcome of the battles?”

“Oh, he’s employing professional warmagi, for one,” Lorcus supplied.  “He’s got three of them in service, now.  He supplies the power with his stone, they do the work.  Quite an elegant application of Imperial-style thaumaturgy, actually,” he said, respectfully.  “But they’ve focused on entrapment and ambushes.  That’s how he’s paying for it all.  The ransoms.   But he’s also conducted night raids, misdirection, and some tricks with bridges that have been quite effective.  He’s even got his footmen riding, now, since he’s captured so many horses.”

“So how is that madness?”

“That’s perfectly sane,” agreed Lorcus.  “What he does after a conquest is not.  You know how the lord technically has a right to anything in the domain?  Well, he’s extending that to the pick of women.  He lines them up and selects two or three for himself, then dissolves everyone’s marriages to let his men pick over the rest.  The result is . . . messy,” he said, after searching for an apt term.

“That’s . . . that’s not particularly savory or honorable,” I agreed, “but it’s not madness-”

“It is when those women are never seen again,” Lorcus interrupted.  “I spoke with one poor carpenter who was out of his mind.  His young wife was among the first of his conquests.  She’s been gone for over a year, now, and Dunselen’s people won’t even let him into the castle to inquire about her anymore.  The rumor is . . . well, that he’s keeping them in his dungeon.  For unsavory purposes.”

“That’s . . . okay, that’s bordering on madness,” I admitted. 

“Then this crosses the frontier,” Lorcus continued.  “Imprisoning your unwilling courtesans is bad enough.  Insisting upon being called ‘Grandfather’ and have every man, woman and child under your control treat you like a demigod upon pain of flogging ties the knot.  He is building a shrine in his domain.  To
himself
.  He’s already commissioned a statue.”

“So how are his new subjects reacting?”

“They’re terrified.  They fear angering the man.  He’s burned down more than one man for defying him, using magic, and no one wants to cross him now.  You can’t draw a sword effectively when you’re on fire, I’ve noticed,” he said with a sad smile.  “He has a circle of thugs and mercenaries, especially those warmagi, to back him up.  I didn’t even try to interview him after I saw how loyal they were to him – and how mercurial was his disposition.  Not even the local barons want to mess with him, now.”

“So what is your advice?” I asked.  “You wanted a problem to solve, what is your solution?”

“He’s determined to re-conquer all of his family’s old lands and then expand them,” Lorcus decided.  “That wouldn’t be so bad, in and of itself – it’s good to have ambition - but he’s tarnishing the good name of High Magi everywhere by his methods.”

“Should I take his stone back?”

“You’d have to. I don’t think he’s going to give up his stone willingly, oath or no oath.  Not after all he’s built with it.  I would remove him from his position and put him at some task, along with a sternly-worded warning.  Then I’d take his stone if he didn’t comply.”

“I’ll take it under advisement,” I agreed.  I thought that was all, but Lorcus had more.

“There was one other thing.  Dunselen had snowstone.”

I thought for a moment.  “I sent him a small sample last year as a courtesy,” I remembered.  “I did that to several leading scholars to get their ideas on it.”

“You didn’t send him a
hundred pounds
of it,” Lorcus countered.  “A black chest full of the stuff arrived while I was there.  It wasn’t the first, either, if the gossip of the guards is any indication.”

“But . . . I’m not selling snowstone to him,” I said.  I had set the price on the substance high, since I didn’t want too much of it around.  I had a list of people who wanted it, and Dunselen wasn’t on that list.

“That’s what I figured.  So I checked into it.  He’s getting it from a small mine . . . in Sashtalia.”

“Sashtalia?” I asked in disbelief. 

“Your little magic circle cuts across the back end of a little domain in Sashtalia, just over the ridge,” Lorcus explained.  “Someone there is mining the stone surreptitiously.  Only for a few clients, but Dunselen is definitely one of them.”

“Gods!  What is he doing with it all?”

“He’s enriching his domain.  He’s arcanely fortifying his ancestral home.  He’s sprinkling those rocks everywhere and slathering on defensive spells like Shereul was outside.”

“It’s me he’s afraid of,” I sighed.  “He knows I will have to come for him, if he continues this course.”

“Actually, I think he’s more worried about the Censorate forces who are secretly aiding his opponents,” Lorcus disagreed.  “Found that out, too, while I was nosing around.  Three former Censorate warmagi are helping the target of Dunselen’s next bit of conquest.  And the one beyond that.  They’re providing the other knights with spells and casting wards and such.  Not at a High Magic level, but certainly enough to detect his movements and the disposition of his forces.”

“The snowstone mine is actually more worrisome than the Censorate,” I decided.  “I’ll have Sire Cei look into it while I’m gone.  He’s over toward that way at his own estate with my boys, anyway.  They can take a quick stroll and investigate.  Thanks, Lorcas,” I said, with genuine gratitude.  “Get some rest and I’ll catch you up on what’s been happening in Sevendor before I leave on the morrow.”

*                            *                            *

I tried to spend as much time with Alya, Minalyan and the baby as possible before I left.  The war was tepid, at best, right now and I didn’t anticipate anything bad happening, but the gods have their own plans.  Any time I strap on a mageblade, I knew, it might be for the last time.

Minalyan was getting bigger, stronger, and more man-like every day, it seemed to me.  We took him and the baby down to the mill pond at dusk a few days before I was to leave and pulled rank to get exclusive use of the place after the workmen had washed off for the day.

Minalyan was doing his best to be entertaining, howling like a wolf loudly enough to get the dogs that seemed to follow us everywhere to join him, squealing unbearably at the cold water on his toes, and splashing maniacally at the pondwater he sat in while his doting parents looked on.

“Such a big boy,” Alya said, admiringly, as he enjoyed the mud on the warm summer’s day.  “Can you believe he’s a year and a half old, now?”

I thought about his little sister – Isily’s daughter, not Almina – and how she would be about the same age.  They had only been born a few months apart.  That made me think of Isily, and the danger she still posed to my family.  To me.  I tried to hide my uneasiness, but some thoughts are just too loud to hide from your wife.

“Minalan, what is it?” she asked, concerned.

“The war,” I lied, automatically.  “I’m about to go tour our mighty fortifications, and I know that they’re woefully inadequate.  Why hasn’t the Dead God launched his attack while we were still reeling from the invasion?  It’s nearly midsummer, and no more than a few thousand troops have come down the Timber Road.  Yet they defend it bitterly.  Why?”

“Because they plan on using it later,” Alya supplied.  She had gotten very good at being my sounding board for this sort of thing . . . and it beat talking about the real reason for my guilty conscience.  “They’re using it for slaves, right now.  But they are still preparing something.”

“But that gives us a whole year’s reprieve to put our defenses in place,” I said, shaking my head.  “There are over ten thousand of them in Harton barony, and they’re doing little but raiding villages and pillaging manor houses.  It makes no sense.”

“Unless Shereul wants all of our troops deployed,” she said, logically.  “Then it would make perfect sense.”

“A bigger army to smite?” I ventured.  “Or more worthy foes?  That seems a little too chivalrous for the old skull.”

“Unless he wants you to screen one part of the kingdom so that he may strike at another target,” offered Alya, as our son gurgled joyfully at the water’s edge. 

“But what?  Southern Alshar?  The Alshari Riverlands aren’t nearly the prize that Gilmora is, and he’d run smack up against the Kulines before he got to the coast.  If he tries to go east, he gets caught between our forces in southern Gilmora and Tudry.  He’s not that stupid.”

“That’s why you have to go,” she said, softly.  “You have to figure it out.”

I looked at her.  “It’s not what I want to do,” I insisted.  “It’s what I have to do.”

“I know,” she sighed, resigned.  “That’s the hardest part about being married to you.  The same things I think are wonderful about you are the ones that compel you to go off and do stupid, dangerous things.”

“I do it for you,” I said, sadly.  “If I don’t, who will?  Rard?  The man is far more concerned with his legacy than his kingdom’s security.  Salgo?  He’s a fine soldier, but he doesn’t make policy.  Hartarian?  He’s enjoying the comfort and security of his new posting, he’s not anxious to stick his neck out.  So no one but me is looking out for you and our children.”

“I just wish it didn’t have to be you
all
the time,” she said, in frustration.  “I know you’ll be safe – this isn’t even a real battle or anything – but I can’t help but worry.”

“I wish I could say there was no cause,” I agreed.  “But the Penumbra is a dangerous place.  I’m keeping my presence and itinerary secret, and only taking a few men with me.  I’m just going to make a quick run up through Tudry and Megelin, probably inspect one of the new Iron Ring forts, have some beer with some old comrades, and get back here as quickly as possible.”

“Just hurry,” she pleaded.  “I begrudge every day you spend away from us with that stupid war.  We both do,” she said, glancing at Minalyan.  “He’s not going to be a baby forever.  Either is the baby.”

“Which is why I’ve spent as much time as possible with him, while I’m here,” I pointed out.  That was the truth, too.  When Alya wasn’t tending him directly, I often had the baby brought to my workshop or the Great Hall, just to be around him.  He was a happy, engaging little baby and my day was not complete without trying to eat his toes at least a few times. 

“You are an
excellent
father,” she assured me.  “You spend almost as much time with him as I do.  Just . . . don’t do anything stupid and deprive yourself of the pleasure of yelling at him through his adolescence.  I don’t think I can handle him alone.  Much less a girl.”

“I’ll try not to inconvenience you with my untimely death,” I mocked.

“See that you don’t,” she insisted.  “You
don’t
want me cross with you for the rest of eternity.”

Chapter Eleven

Vorone

Lady Varen was kind enough to assist in my transport to Alshar through the Alka Alon waypoints to begin my tour.  The three emissaries had been granted wide latitude on letting me use their private magics, but as long as I required their assistance – and knowledge – they didn’t seem to mind.  It spared me and my people days on the road and the discomfort of inns and camps. 

That it was so much easier to do with the help of snowstone was not lost on me, either. 

For this trip I chose to take only Sir Festaran and the new warmage I was interviewing, Alscot the Fair.  He was the perfect companion for touring a military installation: a veteran mercenary warmage more used to camps than courts.  He had already fought at Cambrian and had been assisting in counter-insurgency operations in Gilmora when he got the message that he was next in line.  Going back to the front after hearing about the idyllic land of Sevendor didn’t suit him well, but he grudgingly admitted that few knew it better than he.

Sir Festaran was also eager.  He’d had but a taste of battle, and he did not consider himself full-blooded as a knight, yet.  He would serve in the stead of my apprentices – Dara was no kind of warmage, and a military fort is not the best place for a fourteen-year-old girl.  Rondal and Tyndal were getting their arses trounced on the lists by the squires of Chepstan, so I appreciated the soft-spoken, earnest young knight’s assistance.  It would help give Sir Festaran an opportunity for some seasoning.  Besides, he was well-trained for service, and he was used to the ways of magi by now.  And I had to admit, his magical talent of accurate estimation came in handy in some unlikely ways.