Knights Magi (Book 4) (77 page)

It had my apprentices’ touch all over it.

“It occurs to me, Sire,” Sire Cei said, in an almost amused voice, “that perhaps we were not specific enough in our instructions in this matter.”

“It didn’t seem like a job that required a lot of detailed thought,” I growled.
 There was someone on the battlement of the gatehouse.  I used magesight to call the image closer.  Sir Festaran, his helmet looking more like stovepipe than armor.  He had a big goofy grin splitting his face.  I relaxed a touch – Sir Fes has a good head on his shoulders, and he’s as loyal as they come, so if he wasn’t upset, it couldn’t be all bad.

From his perspective.
 From mine . . .

“It was a simple enough commission,” I muttered as the horses walked up the incline toward the gatehouse.
 “Stop by and see if poachers were still mining the snowstone here on their way back to Sevendor.  But they were to deliver our guest as quickly and expediently as possible.”

“Perhaps they merely
misinterpreted
the command, Sire,” Cei soothed.

“This is one hell of a misinterpretation,” I said.
 “Dara, for future reference, if you don’t understand an order I give you, please ask for clarification to avoid these sorts of . . . misinterpretations.”

My youngest apprentice looked amused, which was better than anxious, I suppose.
 

“Master, I don’t think I would be stupid enough to screw up an order this badly,” she smirked.
 “To do that, I believe I would have to change my gender.”

“I cannot argue that point,” I conceded.
 “And I appreciate your good sense more than you know.  And after I speak to those three . . . gentlemen, I predict I’ll appreciate it all the more.”

“Hail, Spellmonger!” called
Festaran from the battlement, waving his gauntlet at us in the cold air.  “Welcome to Estasi Hall.”

I did a double-take.
 “
Estasi
Hall?  This is Taragwen Hall.”  The name was familiar . . . and it didn’t belong to this place.  It belonged to . . .
oh.  

Oh.
 Now I had a glimmer of why my instructions had been “misinterpreted”.  We rode under that homemade banner and into the yard, the chill winter breeze picking up at twilight.  Sir Festaran came down the stairs from the battlement, his grin even wider.  

“And who may I ask rules Estasi Hall, Sir
Festaran?” Sire Cei asked as he got down from his horse.  A churl had scurried out and held the heads of all four of our mounts for us.  He wore no livery, but he seemed properly cowed by us.

“Why, that would be the Steward of the Order, Sire Minalan,” the young knight mage said as he descended the ladder to greet us.
 “All will be made clear in time.  If you gentlefolk would accompany me into the hall, explanations will sound better with fire and cup.”

I nodded warily, and then spotted Joppo the Root lounging by the kitchen shed, eating an ear of corn.
 If Joppo wasn’t upset, that was telling.  The peasant was not one to linger near danger or disaster.  That, more than Festaran’s smiling face, made me relax a bit.  Whatever my two young idiots had done, it presented no immediate danger.  

“Lead on, Sir Festaran,” I nodded.
 Whatever it was he was concealing, he seemed rather pleased with himself.

He took us on into keep’s small great hall, where a fire was roaring on the over-sized hearth at the far end.
 Magelights floated above the three tables in the room, but most were concentrated over the table nearest the fire where my two apprentices were sitting.   In comfort - though Tyndal’s right arm was in a sling, and Rondal sported a fresh bandage over his left eye.  They were smoking and drinking at table like they were two gentlemen taking their ease at an inn.  

Both rose when we entered, and bowed from the shoulders in unison until we had arrived near them and the fire.

“May I present Sire Minalan the Spellmonger of Sevendor,” Sir Festaran announced, ”Sire Cei of Cargwenyn, the Dragonslayer; Lady Lenodara of Westwood, the Hawkmaid, and Lady Ithalia of . . . the Alka Alon!”  He stumbled over that last bit, presumably because he was unfamiliar of her exact title – for that matter, so was I – but more likely because Ithalia’s presence just has that effect on men.  Dara snorted in a most unladylike way at the young knight’s difficulty.

Tyndal was the first to speak.
 He stood up from his bow a full two inches taller than I remembered him being.  Some of that could be accounted for the new riding boots he wore, but not all.  Not even most.  His shoulders were broader under his mantle than I remembered, too, and his face had lost all but a hint of that boyish sharpness in the last year.  And grown some fuzz.

“My lords, my ladies, we bid you welcome to our humble hall.”

“ ‘Our’ humble hall?” Sire Cei asked in my stead.  My sphere hovered overhead among the magelights and bobbled at my growing frustration.  “To my knowledge, gentlemen, Taragwen domain is ruled by Sir Pangine, tenant-in-chief to the Lord of Sashtalia.  In fact, I was here in your company not two seasons ago and enjoyed a cup with the man myself.”

“Your information is no longer current, I’m afraid, Sire Cei,” grinned Rondal impishly.
 “There has been a change in ownership.”

“And just how did this change occur?” I asked, my teeth clenched.
 “And to whom does the honor of ‘sire’ of this domain now belong?”

“Ah, as to that,” Rondal said, with enough grace to sound a little guilty, “you may find the tale humorous, Master.
 And as to the new lord, that would fall to the Chief of the Order.”

“What order?”

“It would be improper to begin at the ending,” Sir Rondal said.  “It might be better if we told you what happened from the beginning.  And . . . perhaps a glass is in order,” he said, looking even more guilty.

“Yes, by all means, let us tell you the tale over a glass of wine,” Tyndal encouraged, waving at the table where glasses and bottle were waiting.
 

I took a seat, but could not tear my eyes from the two truants as my senior apprentice poured.
 “If I recall correctly, I asked you to return to Taragwen on the way back from your mission to
quietly
check on the snowstone smuggling here,” I reminded them.  “Assuming you and your charge had safely eluded your pursuers, I had thought that an order so simply delivered could be as simply carried out.”

“One would think, Master,” agreed Rondal.

“We were overtaken by events,” Tyndal sighed.  

“Things were . . . more complicated than we had assumed, Magelord,” Sir Festaran said, apologetically.

“
So
complicated,” I said, doing my best not to lose my temper, “that you figured the best answer to the situation was to take it upon yourselves to
conquer the domain
and potentially start a war between Sevendor and Sashtalia?” I asked, letting more and more anger sound in my voice.

The three young knights looked at each other.
 For all I know, there was some mind-to-mind communication going on.  But they turned to me shaking their heads in unison.

“Yes, Magelord,” Sir Festaran said, with some hesitation.

“That is exactly what happened,” agreed Tyndal, confidently.

I picked up the wine cup and sipped, not tasting the vintage at all.
 “I did not ride for two days to take a few long tales by the fire,” I said, darkly.  “As succinctly as you can, describe to me the actions that led to this . . . situation.”

The three exchanged glances again.
 Then Rondal spoke, perhaps by previous determination.

“Magelord,” he began formally, “As you know, you instructed us to meet up with the Gobarbine Order and receive from them their charge, to avoid detection and capture by any and all parties—”

“Some of whom, I might add, did indeed try to relieve us of our duty,” interrupted Tyndal, holding up his sling as testimony to the strength of their defense.

“—and bring said charge to the safety of Sevendor,” continued Rondal.
 
Sir
Rondal, I reminded myself.  He spoke like a grown man, now, not a mere apprentice.  If he was hesitant in his speech it was due to thoughtfulness, I realized, not insecurity.  

“Once we checked in with you at Talry, where you ordered us to change our route,” he continued, “once we were assured we were no longer being chased - you ordered us to reconnoiter
Taragwen.  If you recall, Magelord,” Rondal said, carefully, “when I asked what we were to do if we discovered that the clandestine mining was continuing, you told me – your exact words, in fact – were
‘I’m sure you’ll think of something’
.”

“So?” I asked, warily.
 
Had I said that?

“So we thought of something,” Rondal explained.
 “It’s actually quite an elegant solution, once you know the story,” he said, engagingly.

“I beg you before the thrones of all the gods to explain that to me as quickly as possible,” I replied, impatiently.

“In short, then,” Rondal said, quickly, “Upon arriving here with our charge safely in the carriage, we begged shelter for the night from Sir Pangine.  The gentleman happened to be in conference with . . . a
business associate
when we arrived, and so he declined to see us.”

“Custom does not require him to do so,” reminded Sire Cei, looking at the lads thoughtfully.
 Lady Ithalia and Dara were enjoying the show, and Tyndal was enjoying the attention of the ladies.  With a start I realized that it had been nearly a year since either of them had enjoyed the company of my youngest apprentice.  She had grown more toward womanhood herself, and if she had yet to reach maturity, her infectious attitude gave her a charisma beyond her years.  I’d have to watch that.

“Alas, too true,” Tyndal nodded.
 “Yet hospitality, while it must be dispensed by grace alone, should not be spared for the sake of mere trade,” he declared.

“Well spoken,” Sire Cei agreed.
 

“Seeing how reluctant Sir Pangine was to entertain us, and being curious as to what would alter the esteem in which he previously held us, we decided to investigate the matter,” Rondal continued, patiently.
 “Using certain spells, Sir Tyndal and I ascertained that the knight was, indeed, discussing the mining of the snowstone deposit on his domain.  And knowing our master might be curious about just who was involved in this enterprise, we decided to act in his best interest.”

“My best interest?” I demanded.
 “So what makes you think you know enough to act in
my
best interest?”

“When the Magelord said
‘I’m sure you’ll think of something’
he was
clearly
investing us with that authority,” explained Rondal, confidently.  “Else he would have given us better instruction.  As you did not, Magelord, we took you at your word.”

“And that gave you license to conquer a domain?” I asked, a pained note in my voice.

“Since Sir Pangine had not invited us inside, clearly we were not covered by the laws of hospitality.  As such, we were as any band of errants, potential foes to any weak-willed lord who does not look too closely to his security.  If we were not Sir Pangine’s friends, then, by the gods, we elected to be his foes.”

“And just how did that translate into conquest?” asked Sire Cei, not nearly as angry as he should have been.
 In fact, he seemed to be admiring their chivalric handiwork.  

“Actually securing the castle proved easy enough,” bragged Tyndal.
 “It may be stout, but the stoutest walls can be overcome if not properly guarded.  Since we had not adequate artillery for a prolonged siege, we elected to focus our efforts on the staff, instead.  After consulting and agreeing to a plan, we caused a distraction to be made that drew every fighting man in the fortress.”

“A fire outside?” I asked, coolly.
 Despite myself, I was finding myself interested in the tale.

“Nay, Master,” Rondal said, grinning.
 “We considered that, but it seemed so . . . mundane.  Instead I went back to the gatehouse of the castle and begged to buy a loaf of bread and a wheel of cheese for our supper, showing a fair amount of silver.  While the lord was closeted in chambers, the castellan’s assistant was eager enough for the trade and had gone to fetch the food . . . when the hue and cry went up from the top of the tower.”

“I had climbed the exterior and caused a few select cantrips to activate,” the taller apprentice said, smugly.
 “A bit difficult in a sling, but I managed well enough.  I used a few Blue Magic charms to agitate the guards on duty into a panic over things they thought they saw and heard.  It only took a moment or two to convince them all that they were being robbed.”

Rondal took up the tale again.
 “The cry aroused most of the men – of course I was immediately suspected, being so near to the hall and a stranger.  Alas, I was taken into custody.  My blade was taken from me and I was told to stand in the hall against the capture of my supposed confederate.  Being a gentleman,” he said, a gleam in his eye, “I of course surrendered my sword to the lord upon request, and rightly denied being a party to any petty theft.  They left a single man to watch me while the rest charged up the tower stairs, certain they had cornered a thief caught in the act.