High Mage: Book Five Of The Spellmonger Series (81 page)

But then the accumulated spring thaw that collected at the edges of the spell had also released at once.  That sent wave after wave of floodwaters downriver, too.  And when we dropped a half a mountain into the lake, the displacement had not just overwhelmed the city, but also sent a swell of floodwaters to overwhelm the lake’s only outlet, over the cataract into the river.  For three days a putrid river of rotting, soggy gurvani corpses  washed down the Poros, staining the land as the river overcame its banks and flooded hundreds of square miles along the river and its tributaries.  The clouds of flies, it was said, were thick enough to block out the sun.  Peasants who were spared the deprivations of war because of their remote location were suddenly left homeless, or drowned, or devastated.  Three weeks after the battle the floodwaters had yet to fully recede.

But we weren’t at war.

In a way, I could see Rard’s perspective.  The war served its purpose by bringing him to power and giving his people something to rally about.  Continuing the war wasn’t necessarily smart, however.  Wars were expensive and didn’t pay good dividends, unless you were an empire-builder. 

The gurvani had claimed one small corner of the Wilderlands, rich in iron and timber but not much else.  Losing it would not harm the kingdom overmuch.  Fighting to regain it would be expensive and time-consuming.  If there was a way to make the goblins concede their dreams of human extinction and return them to their previous rustic state, it was only wise that Rard pursue that course.

Of course, it ignored the reality, that Shereul had no intention of giving up his war.  But that was Rard’s rationalization for disbanding the Third Royal Commando. (The First became the new Royal Guard, a permanent standing army answering only to the King).  When the northern nobles protested, Rard  appeared to concede by expanding the role and scope of the Iron Ring, which would still continue to guard our frontier with the Umbra.  But there were no plans to make further moves against Shereul.

We had a treaty, now.

I wasn’t the only one upset.  The Order’s complex was filled with warmagi returning from the front, or from medical care.  Their mood was foul, after hearing about the conditions of the treaty.  They knew, as I did, that this war was far from over, treaty or not.  

But I also couldn’t argue that we needed to rest and restore our strength before we considered any more moves against Shereul.  If this “peace” bought us a few years to prepare without the constant threat of battle, when the war did resume, we would be ready.  That was the consensus of opinion in the Chamber of the High Magi, where I took counsel with my colleagues a few days before the wedding.

We would bide our time.  We would build our strength.  We would commit ourselves to continuing the war in secret, if need be, but we all knew that someday another army would burst forth from shadow.  An army with dragons.  An army far greater and deadlier than the one that took Anthatiel.   And if we were not ready, then the kingdom would fall, of that we were certain.

It was a hard time to keep quiet.  The King loaded us with lands and honors.  I was given another domain in Sashtalia to add to my troubles and thank me for my service.  Two score High Magi were ennobled, several were knighted, and honors and lauds for the Arcane Orders were performed throughout the city.  Officially, we were heroes.

Unofficially, we were losing favor at court.  Without the necessity of a war, High Magi were more of a bother than a boon to the crown.  Regular nobles were starting to whisper against magelords in court, behind closed doors, and Grendine was quite open to their influence. 

High Magi were out at court.  Remeran mercantile interests were in.  The influence of the new princess, and the likelihood that Princess Rardine would also marry a Remeran, had introduced new powers at court.  As our services were no longer needed . . . it was time, the whispers said, for the High Magi to quietly retire to their estates and study their books, and stop getting in the way of regular folk.

While Pentandra welcomed the civilizing influence of Remeran society at court, she also understood that our tasks were not done.  But she had her own reasons for welcoming at least a temporary peace.

“I . . . I asked Arborn to dinner the other night . . . alone,” she confided in me and Alya over lunch at Fairoaks, a few days before the wedding festivities.  “I thought I was pretty straightforward about it.  I, uh, know how to express an interest in a man.”  That was like saying that an axe knew how to slice cheese. 

“So, is he interested?” Alya asked, mischievously, as she sipped the incredible Cormeeran wine Penny had found somewhere and insisted we try.

“He . . . well, he said . . .” Penny blushed.  Then she took a deep breath and started again.  “Arborn indicated that he might, indeed, be interested, but that the laws of his clan or whatever forbade him to wed any woman who had not undertaken to learn the Kasari rites.”

“Wait, he actually turned you down?” I asked, incredulous.

“Oh, Penny,” Alya sighed.  “I’m sorry.  Some people are just—”

“I’m not giving up on him that easily,” snorted Pentandra.  “I’ve done some strange things in pursuit of my art.  I’m not going to shrink at learning a little primitive superstition.  If my future husband wants me to learn his tribal rites, I will.  It will be interesting.  It will help me understand him more.”

It was my turn to snort.  “I can’t believe you would change around your life just to please a man, Penny!”

I thought she would get snotty, but instead she looked thoughtful.  “Once, I never would have thought that, either.  And I probably wouldn’t, if it was just any man.  But Arborn . . . he is just pure and wholesome and good, in every sense of the word.  He is a man of high quality, perhaps more than any man I’ve known, save Minalan—”

“No, he’s definitely better than me,” I interrupted.  “Hands down.  He is among the most competent men I’ve ever met.  He makes me feel a little girly,” I confessed. 

“When a woman encounters a man of that quality,” Penny continued, solemnly, “she dedicates herself to making herself worthy of him.  He wants me to go learn the ways of his people before we consider a wedding.  That is not too much to ask of me.  Not if the prize is a man like him.”

“I know exactly what you mean,” Alya agreed.  “Just wait until you start having babies.  You appreciate them on a whole new level,” she smiled.

“So when are you going to go visit his sacred groves?” I asked, changing the subject quickly.

“This summer,” she supplied, “after I get my assistant trained well enough to handle the regular Order business in my absence.”

“We will be guiding the Kasari children from their Alshari groves then,” I nodded.  “That was part of our agreement with them, to gain their assistance at Anthatiel.  We owe them a debt.”

“And we will repay it,” she agreed.  “Arborn loves children.  Escorting a few thousand across the Wilderlands during summer won’t be too hard.  And they’ll arrive just in time for the rites . . . the same ones I’ll be taking,” she said, smugly.

If Pentandra wanted to stop the war for a little while and have a couple of kids, I couldn’t really tell her that was wrong.  I was looking forward to raising my own, I realized after that meal.  If I didn’t have to run off to the Penumbra every time Shereul got restless, that might be a very good thing.  Almina was the most adorable baby ever born, and just getting really cute.  Minalyan was already saying Daddy and Mommy, and other short words.  He promised to be a bright and engaging little boy, and I was very much looking forward to teaching him how to be a man. 

And then there was their half-sister, off in Wenshar, whom I had not even met.  Yes, I had a lot of business to conduct that the war was a distraction from.

Even Terleman was surprisingly open to the idea of a respite in the war.  He had been in the field almost continuously since it began, and he had lands given as a reward that he had never visited.  He, too, was considering marriage once he got his estates organized.  That surprised me – he was one of the best soldiers I knew, let alone warmagi.  I suppose it shouldn’t have.

“I won’t mind a few months – or even a few years – of rest,” he admitted, when he came by to see me the day before the royal wedding.  “I thought I would, when I heard – I thought I would commit regicide when I heard – but the more I thought about it, the more I decided that doing something other than killing might do me good for a while.  You’ve got Sevendor, Min.  I want to build something like that.”

The wedding was as great and impressive a ceremony as it could be, with three days of parties and receptions afterward.  I went to dozens of events, said a few words, had a few drinks, and then slinked off to the next one. 

It was at her Highnesses formal presentation at court that I saw him for the first time.  A gurvan, right in the middle of the city.  He was a tall one, broad shouldered and muscular, and his fur grew in uneven patches in places, indicating scars.  He had seen some battle.  A brace of Royal Guardsman escorted him everywhere, but there were two human guards in his livery following him.

This, I discovered, was King Ashakarl, supposedly the direct descendant of Shereul.  Now he had been chosen by a council of shamans and warlords in the Umbra to lead them in Shereul’s name.  And not just goblins within the Umbra, Shereul’s realm included many human settlements, now, and he intended to treat with the rest of us just like another human kingdom, Ashakarl pledged in front of the court, before he signed the official treaty recognizing his land.

I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood while he signed.

The gurvani envoy spoke fluent Narasi, with hardly any accent.  He knew enough human court manners to keep from embarrassing himself.  And he dressed in custom-tailored human-style clothing.  If there was such thing as a gurvani courtier, this was it.  I didn’t speak to him, at court.  I was afraid of what I might say.  But Hartarian conversed with him at length, and reported that he seemed an intelligent and reasonable fellow who seemed to speak of nothing but peace between our realms.  Hartarian wasn’t believing of it, either, but he had to follow his employer’s lead.  If the King wanted a treaty and peace, as Court Wizard Hartarian was bound to support that.  That didn’t stop him from reporting everything that the gurvan did, and with whom he spoke.

Nor was King Ashakarl (as we were compelled to call him) the only nonhuman in the city.  The Alka Alon sent a sizable delegation, with many rich gifts to the happy couple . . . and used the opportunity for a kind of summit, courtesy of the Arcane Orders.

I hosted the meeting myself.  Lord Aeratas was there, of course, looking splendid in his armor, still in his human-sized form.  He had traded his staff for a greatsword and carried it with him everywhere. 

Lord Haruthel was also in attendance.  He had come personally after our hollow victory at Anthatiel to check on his old friend and hear for himself the tragic story of the great city’s fall.  So had Lady Micrethiel, to my surprise.  Lord Letharan arrived late – Anas Yetheran was still recovering from the battering that two dragons had given it before they had been driven off.  Now it was attempting to accommodate the Anthatielian refugees, as well.  The two kindreds did not mix well or easily, and it was a topic of much discussion.  Only the Aronin Ladas had not come, citing the evacuee issue.  Anthatiel had over ten thousand Alka Alon when the war began.  Most of those needed a place to live, now.

The four lords of the Alka Alon council were disheartened by the fall of Anthatiel, and what it portended for the future.  Not only was the strain on resources hard for them, the promise of more warfare was looming.  They did not believe King Ashakarl’s empty words about peace any more than we did. 

In fact, now the Alka Alon were the ones who were determined to carry on the war.  They admitted it would take then a few years to prepare, but they had every intention of ending the threat of Shereul.  And they were far more eager to help, now.

Only they were considering expelling Lord Aeratas from the council, on the basis that his city was no longer a power in the region.  The suggestion came from Micrethiel, whom I felt was trying to jockey for power on the council.

“Absolutely not,” declared the diminutive Lord Letharan.  “Aeratas and I may have our differences, but he still holds great power.  Indeed, who among us would you choose to lead our armies, once we build them?  Aeratas has earned his place here, and with his fortress or without he should remain a voice in our concerns.  Had Anas Yetheran fallen to the dragons, would you be so quick to see me stricken from the council as well?” 

“I merely felt that this was a council of powers,” defended the tiny lady of Nandaroriel.  “It was originally designed—”

“The purpose for which it was originally designed has long become moot,” Master Haruthel sighed.  “The council has been in fact a governing body for some time.  One based on factions and alliances as dead as the original purpose of the council.  If this council is not sufficient to that task, then let us augment it to fit the needs of the day.”

“Wise counsel,” agreed Aeratas.  “I clung to the glories of the past, thinking I was unassailable because of past greatness and forgotten might.  It cost me my city, and nearly my daughter and my life.  Let us consider the needs of the time, and see if we cannot form a more robust response to this threat than we have.”

“Do you actually intend to wear that horrid form for the duration of the struggle?” asked Lady Micrethiel, distastefully.  “The odor is bad enough, but—”