The Road To Sevendor - A Spellmonger Anthology (30 page)

“He offered her gold to betray you, and she was insulted.  When he threatened to raze every cot and hold in the vale, kill every man and rape every woman, she was as cool as ice, Magelord, and told him that no maid of the Mindens feared any lowland knight, nor any man, after the goblins . . . and then questioned his capacity for any kind of rape at all,” he finished with a grin. 

Alya was blushing furiously. 

“Well, it wasn’t very ladylike,” she said, embarrassed.  “But he pissed me off, acting like a few armored knights was going to frighten me . . . and it offends Ishi to threaten rape in war like that,” she added, darkly.

“It was a moment to make us proud,”
Kaman insisted.  “After so many years under that sot, to see a real Lady of Sevendor think of her folk, and not her estates and incomes, it was . . . heartening,” he said, with quiet satisfaction.  “You must understand, Magelord, for most of my life there has been no one in that castle who gave a damn about the rest of the vales.  When the first Lenselys came here, they were polite and respectful, and made us Westwoodmen members of their councils.  Since before this vale was called Sevendor, we have been here. 

“But Erantal, he was determined to make us bow and scrape to him like common villeins – we are not plowmen, we are woodsmen!” he said, with a sour  face.  “To see a lord and lady willing to fight and die for us, well, it makes a folk proud,” he finished, humbly.

“And to have such proud valor so close at hand and go unused would be a waste,” I added.   “I want to thank you and your folk again for fighting so valiantly at Cambrian Castle.  And after,” I added, as the Westwoodmen had proven adept scouts.  As we had helped screen the defense of the fat merchant city of Barrowbell.

“Wouldn’t have missed it, Magelord – the chance to see you slay a dragon alone would have been worth my life.”

“To be fair, I just coordinated,” I said, dismissively.  “It was the Dragonslayer, Sire Cei, and your daughter who did the deed.”

“A day I shall remember until I join my ancestors,”
Kaman said, shaking his head in wonder.  “Such a beast . . .”  That reminded him of something.  “After supper, Magelord, have a little something for me and the lad to show you,” he said, cocking his head at his eldest son.  “Just a little something we thought you’d like to see . . .”

“I’m at your disposal,” I said, agreeably, as someone put a thick leather jack of ale in my hand.

The next few hours I got to know my Yeoman and his folk, and they discussed in detail the future of the Westwood and its sudden riches.  Most of the forest had been within the sphere of my snowspell, and now the entire holding and several miles of trees grew out of white soil and rock.

The stone was called snowstone, and it was perfectly ordinary rock . . . except it lowered the magical resistance of the area to almost nothing.  That made it a unique and invaluable resource on Callidore.  And that made the Westwoodmen strategically important vassals, now. 

Master Olmeg and Master Minnik were polite and respectful as they discussed the plantings they proposed on the twenty acres of cleared forest we’d take lumber to rebuild the villages from, and the Master of Westwood Hall was intrigued. 

“Magic trees?  I don’t see why not – there have been plenty of strange goings-on in the wood this year,” he sighed.  “All manner of creature has been acting strangely.”

“It’s the snowstone,” I agreed.  “We are not the only ones affected by it.  The plants and the animals are all experiencing what no magic resistance means, and it will take some time for them to adjust.  Some use natural magic to hunt or hide, and that’s going to change how they behave.  Of course, it will also affect your people,” I warned.

The Yeoman nodded.  “Aye, little Dara.  In front of the fire, I swear I thought she’d taken the flux and would die, that night, so badly did she react to the change.  Thought that bird of hers was going to burst with worry.  But the next day she seemed hale enough.  And now she’s to be a mage . . .” he said, shaking his head.  “Just when I was starting to worry about dowry.”

“That won’t be a problem,” Alya insisted.  “She need not marry at all, if she’s a mage.  And she’s more than equipped to pay her own dowry, now,” she added.  Dara had been instrumental in slaying the dragon of Cambrian, as she had operated the Alkan magical weapon, the Thoughtful Knife.  The folk of Barrowbell had been so grateful – and so taken with her adorable smile and pretty falcon – they had called her the Hawkmaiden, and laden her with honors . . . and gold. 

Thanks to the styles of the place, most of the wealthier women wore heavy gold chains, plain or adorned by precious stones.  When Dara had been presented as their savior, they had literally heaped her with riches.  It seemed every noble family in Barrowbell had insisted on giving her at least one of the chains.  She had returned to the Westwood with a chest of gold and nearly seventy chains.  The thirteen-year-old Hawkmaiden was now about the fourth richest person in Sevendor.

“I’ll keep that in trust,” Kaman declared.  “But I admit . . . I hate to see my youngest go,” he added, a little mournfully.   “She was my last one my Gessi bore, and she died bringing her into the world.  A sweet child, but willful – forbidding her from going out did not stop her from climbing a cliff and retrieving that bird of hers.  Nor doing else what she pleases.”

“The castle is only an hour’s walk from Westwood Hall,” Alya pointed out.  “No reason there cannot be frequent visits.”

“And I’ll be working with her intensively,” I agreed.  “With Tyndal and Rondal off at school, I’ll have the time to devote to training her properly.  I’ve had a tower room near to my own made ready for her, so she shall be in comfort.  And she will be taught her letters and sums, of course,” I added.  To most commoners, that alone would have been worth fostering out an adolescent – a man or woman who can read and figure and write can always make money. 

But what I was offering Dara was more – a lot more.  The chance to fully develop her Talent, learn Imperial magic, master her native abilities, and grow into the kind of mage she was destined to be.  “The girl is clearly a Beastmaster,” I continued, “at least with birds.  Some are limited in the type of animal their Talent allows them to use, but others can find the mind of any beast or bird and bend it to their will.

“But I don’t want to stop there – Dara’s Talent is impressive.  I want her to become as skilled as any High Mage, and as young as she is she has that possibility.  More, unlike Tyndal and Rondal, my plan for her is not to leave the vale, but to become mistress of the magics that defend it.  I want at least one Sevendori-born mage to be here at all times, and with the work me and my lads have to do these days, it would be a decided comfort if I knew that our gallant ladies could see to the defense of the domain in our absence,” I said, nodding to Alya.

“Is it time for dinner yet?” she asked, mildly.  She was only partially trying to change the subject – she had been nursing Minalyan for almost a year, now, and that had not only made her almost as slender as she’d been when she met me, it also provided her with a powerful hunger, to feed my greedy son. 

Dinner was rustic and hearty – a boar had been hunted in my honor, and cooked all day in an out-door kitchen, while several pots simmered in the coals around the great fire of the hall.  Trestle tables were brought out and set up in a circle around the fire, and as the twilight loomed outside.  Instead of the trenchers most folk in the vales use, the Westwoodmen ate on elaborately-carved wooden plates, well-seasoned with lard and polished until they shone. 

The fare was delightful, with several dishes with a distinctly arboreal flavor: pullet stuffed with berries and pine nuts, wild carrots with honey and spices, roasted potatoes with bacon and onion, peas in goats milk, a very soft cheese you spread on the freshly-baked small loaves that were distributed, and a big bowl of apples and pears, cut up and laced with something sweet that wasn’t sugar or honey.  To finish, three enormous pies with a generous assortment of the Westwood’s fruits and berries were presented to us, and I have to admit that they were excellent.

The food was cooked (and the household run, I was told) by Kaman’s sister, Anira, who had married one of his best friends and vice-woodwarden, Keram the Crafty.  Trying to figure out which of the dozens of children belonged to whom was maddening – the Westwoodmen had a complex system of “lodges” to keep track of such things, to avoid consanguinity issues.   Anira was one of the red-headed ones, too – and quite comely, for a woman her age.

Surprisingly, it was Kyre, Kaman’s eldest son and heir who entertained at the meal by playing an ancient but beautiful walnut wood harp with a (what else?) wolf-head emblem on the face.  He played well, if nothing particularly complex, and twice he sang in a beautiful tenor voice you’d never expect from such a robust young man.

As we were finishing up the meal, Kaman surprised me by presenting me and Alya with a gift: a beautiful, cunningly-made double chair using naturally twisty wood to form the seats, backs, arms and legs, so that it appeared as if the chairs had grown like that naturally.  Behind our heads was a gorgeously-detailed snowflake carved out of dark walnut and polished to a high sheen. 

Around the periphery were symbols representing the various regions and holdings of Sevendor: a sheaf of wheat for Gurisham, an ox-and-plow for Jurlor’s Hold, a shepherd’s crook for Southridge, , the mountain-and-tower of Caolan’s Pass, barrel-and-hook of Sagal’s Hold (my brother-in-law was searching for a better device, as no one at Farant’s former hold had been able to explain why a hook and barrel was meaningful to the hold), the wand-and-snowflake badge Banamor had designed for Sevendor Village, the bow-and-oxhead that the folk of Boval Hall had chosen as theirs, and the grapevine and sickle symbol that the folk of Brestal had recently revived, after their liberation. 

At the feet, the haystack of Genly was carved, the smallest and least noticeable of the manors.  The Westwoodmen were contemptful of the hamlet and its role in ceding the high pass they were supposed to be guarding, one which had required no small display of valor on the part of Kaman’s men to defend, and eventually re-take.  Most of the leaders of the betrayal had been executed, but the Westwoodmen did not forgive such treachery lightly.

Of course the arms of the chairs terminated in impressively-cared wolfsheads, Westwood Hall would be very much present in the future courts of Sevendor.

“It’s beautiful!” Alya exclaimed, as she sat her tush in the exquisitely-embroidered cushion provided for the purpose.  I had to try it out too – magnificent, and I said as much.

“My turn for a gift, my friends,” I said, from my new seat.  “The folk of the Westwood have been stalwart in my support since I arrived here – thanks to the previous management,” I said, and they all chuckled.  “You did not object when I needed wood from the forest, you assisted my people instead.  You were not cowardly – as some proved – when the vales needed to be defended.  Indeed, you valiantly attacked and triumphed where even knights could not.”  That got a lot of smiles and laughs, too – when you’re securing the loyalty of your vassals, nothing works better than kissing their ass and praising their vanity . . . except maybe for bribes.

“Now you send us your most precious gift – not this wonderful chair, but your daughter Lenodara, the Hawkmaiden.  And Sevendor, unfortunately, has little in its treasury to repay such a profound gift.  But,” I said, smiling mischievously, “I suppose I have to try.

“As many of you know, old Carkan of Caolan’s Pass was wounded in the siege – not egregiously, but he’s felt steel, and it has lingered in his gut.  He has asked to be relieved from his office, to enjoy a quiet retirement at a cot on a ridge, at the domain’s expense.”  There were general murmurs of approval – Carkan was no stalwart, but he was well-respected among the Westwoodmen, likely for letting them pass without toll.  “For the important work of guarding this vital pass, Carkan has no heir, as his sister has yet to wed.  However, to fill this office, I need someone of proven virtue and resilience. 

“I therefore do now name Kaman of Westwood to be – in addition to the Master of the Westwood – also in charge of Caolan’s Pass, entitled to a portion of the tolls gathered there. “

“Magelord, I am honored!”
Kaman said, his eyes wide with wonder.  “But . . . how can I manage both the wood and the pass?  And the ridges, too?”  The Caolan’s Pass was also the manor to which the cotholders and freeholders of the ridges that surrounded the domain looked to for justice, protection, and tribute.  There were only a few score of them, eking out a marginal existence on the peripheries of the domain, but they needed someone to oversee their administration. 

But I had thought of that.  “While control of the pass shall go to the Westwood, Carkan and his daughter will continue to act as my Yeoman for the folk of the ridges.  As that implies little enough work, it suits his retirement.  I have made sufficient compensation to him so that he will not miss his former duties – but I give such an important post to a trusted man because it is clear that the pass will always be essential to the domain’s defense.

“To that end, while we begin construction on the new citadel at the Castle, we will also be improving the defenses of the domain.  Caolan’s pass shall be fortified.  I plan to construct a great gate and tower complex, so that a few faint hearts cannot yield one inch of Sevendor ever again.”  There were a lot of cheers to that, and some wolfish grins.   “You need but man the post, guard the frontiers, and collect the tolls while enforcing my laws.  While not as great a gift as one’s daughter, I hope such a post will well-suit the Westwoodmen.”