High Mage: Book Five Of The Spellmonger Series (42 page)

You’re an optimist,
he accused. 
But that’s better than standing by the road and watching them march by.  That’s one reason why I wanted to borrow one of your apprentices.  Rondal, I think.  I received outstanding reports from War College, both in the mysteries and in warmagic.  He has a lot of leadership potential.

What did you have in mind?

As I said, I need to establish a greater presence in the occupied territories.  If not large enough a force to dispute their rule, at least enough to contest it – and gather intelligence.  Count Salgo wants to seed the area with Royal Commandos and small, fast mobile units.  He also wants clandestine installations, stations and bases from which a real insurgency could be launched, when they arrive in force.

I know.  I suggested it to him.  The idea has merit.  You want Rondal to be part of this? 
The boy was ready, I figured. 

I want him to command the pilot squad and prepare the first station,
Terleman supplied. 
He’s got the thaumaturgic and practical knowledge to interpret good field observations.

Rondal?  In command?

I’ve been assured he can handle the mission. 

If he’s got sufficient motivation,
I agreed
.  How about you take both of them?

Both? Tyndal, too?

Yes.  He’s not as scattered as he lets on, and to be honest they keep each other out of trouble.  Besides, it will be good for him to be Rondal’s second-in-command for a change. 

I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to have a spare apprentice around.  And it would just be for a few weeks, until we can get the Royal Commando units established.  But I want magi eyes on the place in detail before those brutes go smashing everything in sight.

So noted.  I’ll inform them.  It will be a rude trial, after the cushy errantry they’ve been on, but it’s time they got back to the war.  I’ll inform them at once.  Besides,
I noted,
summer is almost over, anyway.

*                            *                            *

The Alka Alon were less impressed by the strange new goblin corpse I’d brought along.  I had it taken to my workshop by a squad of Tal from Hollyburrow, well-wrapped against discovery, and a few days after I arrived I had the three emissaries examine it in detail.  The results were depressing.

“This is not good at all, Magelord,” Lady Varen said, as she straightened from her examination.  “I have never seen one of these, myself, but—”

“Wait, you’ve heard of these before?” I asked.  “I thought this was something new!”

“No, sadly enough.  Once during the Alka Alon’s wars there were those who took our servants and made them into soldiers through enchantment.  Their inner nature is largely unchanged, but how it is expressed is . . . far more vicious.”

“But . . . why?”

“When certain unpopular factions could not recruit sufficient soldiery among the Alka Alon, they turned to other means.  Gurvani proved highly effective, in these forms.  Some among the Dradrien and the Karshak Alon were subjected to such violent forms.  At the conclusion of the wars, such enchantments were prescribed. “

“But clearly the knowledge has not been lost,” Lady Fallawen observed.  “Those were dark days.  To think that the Abomination would raise such . . . deviations from the past is unthinkable.  This, Magelord, more than any other clue points to the Abomination receiving Alka Alon assistance.  Only the Alka Alon – and certain lines and families – could possibly have knowledge of such enchantments.”

“Such a thing would require much power,” Lady Ithalia agreed.  “Nor would it be a simple task.  But once done . . . the enchanted gurvani would breed true.  All of the warrior-forms of the Alon were more aggressive,” she added.  “Just as these human forms give us the perspectives of your race, so did these dark forms infect the minds of their victims.”

“You can see why transgenic enchantment was such a controversial subject,” Lady Varen continued.  “A simple transformation – changing an Alkan to a human-analog, or changing the scale of a falcon – these are simple enough things.  But when the spellsinger begins shaping the subtleties of the lifeforce to their whim, perversions abound. “

“This savage species once stormed citadels millennia old,” Fallawen said, distastefully.  “Under the direction of fanatics too extreme to attract a following of their own.  Deadly, loyal . . . disposable. “

“Could this development, then, convince your council to intervene in this affair?” I asked, pointedly.

“Magelord, if the Abomination is raising dragons and enchanting gurvani in this way, it may prove beyond the council’s ability to contend with.  These are relics of dark ages past,” Fallawen said with a shiver.  “We thought the power to create them was long past.  So might be the power to defeat them.”

*                            *                            *

I was musing on the possibility of secret weapons in my workshop a few days later when I received a

visit from my two nonhuman magical specialists, Stonesinger Azhguri and Master Onranion, an adept in Alkan songspells. 

Master Azhguri was ancient, born during the last days of the Magocracy, from what his grandson, Master Guri had told me.  He was kind of the patriarch over the Karshak lodge, and was solemnly accounted one of the best stonesingers of the age.  He had certainly impressed me when he first sang the mountain.  It had been he who had discovered the deposits of crystals and other minerals that had been affected by the Snow That Never Melted.  The waystones had been the easiest to identify, and the most immediately useful.  But he had been studying the rest of my exotic rock collection for months, now.

Onranion, for his part, had taken a passionate interest in the unique minerals.  He had brought over a thousand years of specialized understanding through the vehicle of Alka Alon magic practiced as a high art.  Onranion was adept at the intricacies of the thaumaturgically exotic.  I figured that their overlapping and complementary disciplines would prove helpful, and I wasn’t wrong.  They looked positively triumphant.   After reviewing Dara’s unexpected avian experiment, I was a little leery of experimental thaumaturgy . . . but I had an expert in the field in Master Onranion.  He and old Azhguri had been consulting with each other about the various stones in my vault, and they had something to show me.

They also looked half-drunk – Onranion was developing a fine appreciation for wine.  They were excited about something having to do with the stones. 

“This,” Azhguri said, in his gravelly voice as he set the first of the small crystals in front of me in my workshop, “is an amazing find.”  With a twinkle in his eye he chanted a chorus of something in his own language . . . and the hammer on the table disappeared.  He held out his hand and said another word, and it reappeared.

“I think it establishes a smaller, separate dimension,” Onranion theorized.  “When I examined it in the
ranahrar
scale, I noticed that when empowered it had the capacity for inflating
saras
between the
felsarai.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I said, honestly. 

“Think of reality as resting on a framework,” he said, after a moment’s pause.  “Like the framework of a house.  This stone allows one who knows its operation to inflate the framework, insert a little extra room between the beams, so to speak.”

“It’s more like establishing a new dig in a mine,” countered Azhguri.  “You’re just hollowing out a little extra space.”

“How much extra space?”

“How much do you need?” asked Azhguri.  “Theoretically, it would only depend upon the amount of power you provided during the inception of the space.”

“A cubic foot? A mile?”

“How much power do you want to spend?” smirked Onranion.  “That’s the only limitation.  It could be large enough to house a city, theoretically.   There are many variables that must be established upon inception, but once that is done, the effect seems to be permanent.  Access is the tricky part, although Master Azhguri has formulated equations that would make such things possible.”

“What sort of things?  Practical uses, gentlemen,” I encouraged.  This was fascinating!

“Oh, need a place to stash your tools?  You got your own tool bag here.  Want to take all your crops to market in your pocket?  You can do it without a wain.  Want to collect seashells?  Put them in your magical pocket until it can’t hold anymore.”

“So how do you get them in and out?”

“Simple runic key,” shrugged the Karshak.  “Mnemonic device, key the artifact, open it by just about anything – song, word, sound, sneeze, interpretive dance, just about anything.  But just be careful about how you build it,” he cautioned.  “There’s no telling exactly
how
the thing works.”

“But it works?”

The hammer in his hand disappeared, and then appeared in his other hand.  “Oh, aye,” he assured me, a twinkle in his eye.  “It works.”

“And how many of these stones do we have?”

“Just the three,” Azhguri said with a nod.  “Some lesser ones might do it, if you played with them.  But these three are the special ones.  I call them pocketstones, although that insufferable Alkan is trying to come up with something  grander.”

“That’s nothing compared to what this beauty does,” Onranion said, digging out another one from the box he’d brought.  “This is the truly
unique
one.  Only one like it, in the entire collection.”

“So what does it do?”

“From what I can tell, it allows temporary thaumaturgic ennegrams to become permanent,” Onranion said, authoritatively.

“I almost understood that part.”

“You should, it’s simple.  When you establish a rudimentary symbolic ennegramic array, like you do to conjure a simple water elemental, the effect degrades after a while, correct?”

“Yes, depending on just how complex it is and how much energy you put into the system.”

“Just so.  Eventually the template used to model the system – yours – degrades as attention and intent fails.  Once it can no longer sustain thaumaturgic cohesion, it fades back into the chaos of its creation.  This little gem allows you to establish that pattern . . . permanently.”

“You mean, create a permanent water elemental?”

“Oh, my dear boy, elementals are just the beginning.  There are all manner of such ennegramatic patterns that fail, due to static forces.  This would allow them to become self-sustaining.  Or at least maintain their coherency long enough to find a means of sustenance.  Theoretically, of course.  We’ll have to do some experiments, naturally.”

“Well, naturally I want you to keep them quiet.  Could this be used as a weapon?”

“Oh, my, yes,” the old Alkan said, scratching his chin.  “You could cause all sorts of mischief with this.  Unseen assassins, unkillable golems, you could even sustain a living enneagram after death.”

“I could make
undead
with this?”

“Anyone can do it temporarily,” he mused, “once you understand the basic necromantic principals.  But only at a basic level.  This could be used to affix a being’s core enneagram, maintain its existence intact after biology has failed.  It would require power.  A lot of power.  But that is essentially what the Abomination is.  Only this stone – theoretically – can do the same thing without a block of irionite.”

“That sounds a little horrific,” I said, swallowing involuntarily.

“Oh, it would be frightful,” he agreed, cheerfully.  “Locked inside a body that no longer truly functioned – a living death of endless torment.  But from a more practical standpoint, this stone allows such enchantments to be made permanent.”

That opened up all sorts of possibilities, and we spent the rest of the afternoon and three more bottles of wine exploring them in my workshop.  Hangovers, I hear, are very inspirational.

We spent hours experimenting after that.  For two days I ignored almost everything but those two stones, until I thought I had the beginnings of understanding them.  Azhguri was particularly helpful in mastering the intricacies of the
magretheite
, as he called the three pocketstones.  Under his guidance we established a protocol for creating openings and attaching them to physical objects as activation mnemonics.

I was able to create a space that could call my mageblade, Twilight, into and out of existence, for example, which I found handy.  I tied it to a thick gold seal ring I’d had made in preparation for my investiture celebration, bearing the arms of Sevendor.  Now, when I wore the ring and activated the command, the sword would appear in my palm, and then disappear at another command, just a short dimension away.

“That,” I said, after the fifth or sixth time doing it, “is some classy magic!”

“That’s something few Alkan spellsingers have mastered,” agreed Onranion. 

“I just like not having to lug a mageblade around everywhere,” I agreed.  “Let’s see what else we can do!”

The other stone, the ennegrammatic affixer, or whatever the technical term was, was the more difficult to master.  Onranion called the thing the Alaran Stone – the Alka Alon word for ‘sustaining.’.

Creating a permanent magical fountain in the mill pond made pulling swords out of the air seem like a cheap trick.  It took a day’s worth of fiddling with it, but eventually the water elemental we conjured spouted a spray of water over half of the bathing area every fifteen minutes . . . forever.  The pattern of symbolic commands and logical structures that provided its simple ennegramic template did not degrade after a few hours, like normal.  It was still as strong and vibrant three days later.

Both types of stone were dangerous to tinker with.  We still did not know much about the ‘extradimensional spaces’ we were creating, nor about the mechanism of transport.  But we established how to use some of the stones rare properties, and it gave us plenty of ideas for further research.

It had been fun, I reflected, as I watched the distant sparkle of the magical fountain in the twilight from the summit of my tower.  It had been an exercise in pure research, with the ostensible utility of assisting the war effort.  But it had also been utterly unassociated with my duties as magelord, baron, or head of the Arcane Orders, ambassador to the Alka Alon, or even husband to my wife or father to my son.  A pure intellectual exercise with a demonstrable conclusion.  It was quite satisfactory.

As distractions go, it wasn’t bad.  But I had work to get back to, and had to let Azhguri and Onranion continue the experiments without me.  We would follow up later – I wanted Taren and other thaumaturges and enchanters involved, eventually – but for now I had to put my funny hats back on and be important.

Of looming importance was the approach of the Magic Fair, which would also celebrate my investiture, and establish the new Barony of Sevendor in the Bontal Riverlands.  All of my vassals and most of my neighbors would be there, as would most of the magi who could find their way to my little land.  The vassals would require special attention, I knew – there was near revolt in Northwood domain, thanks to some agitation and two generations of managerial neglect.  That would have to be dealt with.

But before that I was scheduled to meet with the Sevendor Town Council to discuss the proposed new Charter.  Once I had become a baron, empowered to grant an even wider range of privileges, Banamor had rushed back to the council and re-drafted the document.  Now he was ready to present it.

That put me in a delicate position.  I wanted to give him the freedom to develop the town, but I didn’t want to give up my authority.  Nor did I want to cut myself out of some lucrative trade.  Being filthy rich, all of a sudden, didn’t mean I didn’t want my due.  Sire Cei was due back from his summer tour of his estate any day, and when he arrived we (and a studious lawbrother I had retained, Brother Chervis) would go over each and every clause until the nascent burgher was squirming.

Matters were even trickier because he was also a vassal – my Spellwarden – and my business partner.  He also ran the Magic Fair, which kept growing year after year.  This was the third year, and it promised to be the biggest attended yet.  With my investiture celebration and other festivities, it would be a busy time.

Until then, I stole quiet moments like that, watching the sun set over the ridge while the four majestic giant falcons wheeled around Matten’s Helm, and the enchanted spire at its peak.  One of the larger ones made a triumphant dive, falling in the air like a stone, only to break out her wings at the last second before she struck.  It was truly beautiful, watching the magnificent bird.

Until I realized I owed someone for a goat.

Chapter Eighteen

The Chartered Town of Sevendor

Sevendor was a far cry from the tiny hamlet we’d found when we’d arrived.  Now it was a town of nearly three thousand souls within its loosely-defined bounds.  There were entire neighborhoods that had sprung up in the last few years, and there was not a single peasant’s hut left in the place.  Most of the homes were two-story exposed beam and wattle-and-daub, with some being made of brick. 

Banamor’s mansion was one of these.  The two-story warehouse and shop complex was one of the more imposing buildings in the town, and the steady stream of peddlers and packtraders, wagons and convoys from distant parts arriving at all hours attested to its importance.  Banamor had a staff of six, now, not including his deputy Spellwarden, Gareth.  The young man may have been a lousy warmage, but he understood organization.  He kept Banamor’s many enterprises running in the man’s absence.

Along with his own rise, Banamor had made sure that the town, as a civic entity, had enjoyed a rise as well.  Under his leadership, a far grander meeting hall was built, albeit smaller than Banamor’s manse.  It had an armory with the militia’s arms at one end, and storage for communal items at the other.  Most importantly it had a large meeting hall, capable of holding a hundred people, downstairs and three small offices that ran the affairs of the nascent town upstairs.

Also upstairs was the Town Council chamber, a simply-appointed room with table and chairs.  It was here that the now-nine-man council had been meeting almost daily for weeks.  Their hired scribe, a nearsighted monk with a permanent frown, had carefully drafted the document they presented me with such ceremony when I arrived for the occasion.

I made introductions and Banamor began to read the contract aloud, page by page. I refused to stand for much ceremony, and asked them to sit down around the table without formality.  This was a negotiation, after all.  They could get to the ass kissing later. 

Banamor frowned when Brother Chervis came in.  A cherubic man with an infectious grin, the monk had negotiated several charters before, on behalf of both townsmen and lord.  Magelord Forandal of Robinwing had recommended him, and I had secured his services at some expense. Sire Cei was also with me, as my witness and bannerman.  I’d have Alya read over it too, once we were done, to see if she could spot any unanticipated issues.

After the flowery preamble, most of the basics were easy enough to understand.  In return for an annual fee of twenty ounces of silver per hundred citizens, the townsfolk were exempt from communal duties to the castle, though individual contracts of servitude would still be honored.  The town would give up all right to farm the fields it traditionally did, northwest of town.  That area was once again now mine to control – and since much of the fields had been affected by the Snowfall spell, it was insanely valuable. 

In return the town would now have the freedom to order its own affairs as to organization and administration, formulate and enforce its own internal regulations, and regulate commerce in the markets. 

Sevendor town would have its own jurisdiction, the rights of sake and soke, for its fee, as well as exemption from tolls throughout the barony.   In terms of defense, the town owed one lance or five archers for every one hundred citizens or a scutage fee of twenty ounces of silver every year.  The town was responsible for maintenance of the streets and roads, including the two bridges.  The mill remained under my direct control, as would the bakery I planned to build.  I would continue to maintain the dam.