The Road To Sevendor - A Spellmonger Anthology (32 page)

Against the other wall were racks with a score of rusty helmets, ancient things of hard iron, without nose or cheek guards – but sufficient for siege work.   As many swords were hung in scabbards underneath – not great weapons, I saw as I drew one a few inches, but serviceable. 

Other gear of war was there as well, but most so old as to be unusable.  The Westwoodmen may have been charged to keep the Lords of Sevendor’s secrets, but apparently maintenance was not part of the deal.

Still, it was an  impressive find.  Enough weapons to equip a village, if needed.  Not that we lacked them, after the Gilmoran campaign – there had been enough dead Gilmoran knights and lords around so that most of my folk had come home richer in arms than when they left.  But the mere existence of such an arsenal, kept so secret for so long, was a testament to both the foresight of the original lords and the steadfast nature of the Westwoodmen.

“Ah, but there’s more,” sighed
Kaman.  “If the Magelord will provide a little light, near the back of the armory . . .” he said, leading the way boldly into the darkness.  I complied, sending a small, bright little sphere dogging the man.  The shadows banished, he pulled aside the last rack on the wall, and brought the key out again.

Instead of inserting it, he unscrewed it – revealing a smaller key within.

“Clever,” I nodded.  He grinned, then found a particular spot in the wall – easy to see, with magesight, but without it one could search for hours and not spot it.  The smaller key went inside, and the Yeoman twisted.  A slight ‘click’, and he pushed aside a section of wall . . . and revealed the treasury of Sevendor.

If you’re thinking heaps of gold coins and piles of pearls, you listen to too many epics.  It was a small room, no more than a cell, but within were some of the ancient Lenselys’ prized possessions. 

A beautifully silvered boar spear, for instance, and five perfect silver plates, with three matching goblets.  A golden statue of Trygg, and another of Huin.  Three beautiful silver necklaces, one with a ruby the size of my pinkie nail set in a golden pendant.  A small coffer filled with raw semi-precious stones, no doubt collected in the surrounding hills. 

There were three beautiful swords, of ancient manufacture and of highest quality – still as shiny and unblemished as they had been when wrapped in oilcloth, a century before.

And there was a bit of gold coin, ancient pieces, many old Imperial coins, perhaps looted from some villa downriver.  I counted in my head as I sifted through the box.  At least three, four hundred ounces.  A small fortune.  Actually, just a fortune – there was no small about it.  Another chest held around six hundred silver ounces, and another was filled with copper and silver pennies of low worth.

“Dear gods,” I whispered.  “You have been sitting on this treasure all of these years, and you were never tempted to use it?”

Kaman looked guilty.  “There were times when the lord – or whoever was sitting at the castle – made unreasonable demands of tribute, in my grandsire’s day.  The records tell how that Master of the Hall took ninety ounces of silver, to keep his people safe.  It was repaid within his lifetime,” Kaman said proudly.  “Apart from that, every penny the Lord of Sevendor stored here has been faithfully guarded.”

My throat welled up.  To be steward to such riches, but to live in relative poverty . . . that said a lot about the Westwoodmen’s character.  And why they found the Genlymen’s betrayal so vile.

“Master Kaman, I commend you on your stewardship, and I hereby re-affirm this ancient agreement.  The Westwoodmen shall live in peace under their own custom and law, save where the needs of the domain require. 

“Further, I wish to use this space, once again, with your leave.  There are many items of precious worth that have come into my possession – the Thoughtful Knife and the Covenstone, among others.  When not in use, having them stored securely here would be ideal.  Close enough to the castle to fetch, but safe enough to preclude worry about theft.”

“Aye, we can store more,” he agreed, nodding thoughtfully.  “Would be nice to see some of these old pots shined up a bit, too,” he added.

“And add more to them.  I like this idea of a refuge,” I decided.  “A secret fortress, hidden so close to the castle.  I think that slowly filling this armory again, and bettering it by far, would be a good step toward securing Sevendor.”

“That’s always been the feeling,” Kaman nodded, smiling at his son.  “How about we retire to the big room, and have a drink and chat?” he said, producing a small copper flask from his sling.  “This is the stuff I don’t tell my brothers about,” he chuckled.  How could I resist?

We went back to the main hall of the cave, the walls all gleaming white, and I realized that this would be an outstanding place for certain types of magical experimentation and study.  Completely surrounded by a mountain of snowstone, a mage could probably fart and raise a mighty tempest, if he had a mind to.

And that got me thinking.  The air in here was warm, compared to the chill outdoors.  The humidity was low, and it was dry, save the fountain.  This might be a very good place for certain activities – activities I might wish to shield even from most members of the Arcane Orders.

“Gentlemen,” I said, when I choked down Kaman’s liquid fire, “as impressive as that much gold is, I can think of more useful things to do with it than let it sit there.  Some I will take – the swords, for instance, I believe are of value to the Lensely line, and I happen to know a few Lenselys who might like them back.  The idols I will turn over to the shrine in Boval, where they will be much appreciated – and save me the expense of having proper figures made. 

“But the coin . . . I’ll be truthful.  I have plans for the vale that may need it.  But first . . . if you could have any boon to your holding, Master Kaman, what might that be?”

The woodsman thought carefully for a moment, then shrugged.  “You took Erantal away, that was the best boon I could have hoped for.  But . . .” he said, a little sheepishly, “truth be known, I fear the safety of our watchtower, Magelord.  I’ve seen how you magic folk can shore up a place – I saw what you did to the castle, and that was some powerful spellwork.  The tower is almost sixty years old, and we do try to keep it repaired,.  But if you could see your way clear to sending your lads out to put a word or two on it, that would make me sleep better, knowing it’s not going to fall on my head.”

“I can do better than that,” I agreed.  “I’ll come myself, and ensure it won’t topple.  But I also feel a more . . . substantial view might serve better.”

Kaman
and Kyre both looked curious.  “Come again?”

“I’d like to find a good spot . . . and build a small tower out here, in the Westwood.  Something tall enough to serve to watch the Westwood, of course, but also something substantial enough to act as a refuge . . . something larger than your manor, and better defensible.”

Both of the men looked troubled.  “But why, Magelord?  Not that . . .” he said, trailing off.  I fixed him with a stare.

“You saw Gilmora, you both did.  You saw the dragon.  You both slew enough goblins to fill this room.  Tell me, with all the might and power at my disposal, with all of those mage knights around, how did we not prevail more quickly and decisively? 

“Because the Sheruel is breeding them like rabbits, that’s why,” I said, answering my own question.  “He’s adding trolls and other fell creatures to his hordes, and even some humans, too.  As bad as things were in Gilmora, I assure you, the worst is yet to come by far.  The Dead God is still building his strength, toying with us while he discovers the scope of his power.  Until then he can throw legion after legion after us every year and loose them in the field . . . and every year he will grow stronger, and we will grow weaker. 

“At some point, we won’t be able to stop them in Gilmora.  Or the central Riverlands.  Or at Darkfaller, Castabriel, or anywhere else.  We’ll win battles, but every man who falls and is not replaced is a victory for Sheruel.  Eventually . . . mayhap in our lifetime . . . we may see his legions attacking Sevendor, itself.”

“They would not dare!” Kyre said, explosively.

“Peace,” warned the Master.  “The Magelord speaks true.  I spoke to many of the warmagi, in camp, and listened more than I spoke.  There is no end to them.  They will keep coming.  And, aye, one day they will come here.  ‘Tis for such a disaster this refuge was prepared.”

“Exactly.  And I wish to re-stock it.  And use it for other things.  But . . . I also want to keep your folk safe, and any others I cannot defend in Sevendor Castle.  As I am considering how to improve the Diketower and Brestal Tower, I knew I had to fortify Caolan’s Pass – hence your new appointment.

“But I also knew I needed other fortresses and holds where my folk could resist and defend.  The Westwood is not a place for a large castle, and Sevendor Castle shall be so greatly expanded as to dwarf what it is, now.  But back here, in the Westwood, I would like to see a keep built.  A small keep, but as tight and sturdy as men, stone, and magic can make it.  A tower of snowstone, where one day your Dara can return and work and live as a magelady should.  And protect them, should darkness fall.”

Kaman stroked his beard and tried to imagine such a place.  Kyre looked excited enough to burst.

“I think I know just the spot,” the Master of the Hall conceded.  “It sits further up the ridge, on a high outcropping.  A good view of the entire Westwood, from the pass to the castle’s edge.  Aye, that would be a good spot, if your men agree,” he offered.  “But . . . who . . .” he stumbled, suddenly looking concerned.

I had to laugh.  Of course the man was concerned – I just proposed building a castle in his backyard.  Putting in a garrison and a knight could be the first step toward dominating his folk. 

“Put your mind at ease,
Kaman – I shall make you Master of the Tower, at least until Dara is of age.  It shall be manned by your folk alone, under your command.  I could ask for none more loyal.  And the way I see it,” I said, as I recalled the glint of gold in the vault, “the Westwood has paid its taxes for the next few hundred years. 

“So I will devote two thirds of the gold to the building of the tower, the Lenselys’ legacy used to repay your manor and protect Sevendor, as it was intended. The silver shall be used to improve and enrich the folk of the Westwood, and of the high ridges.  Between you and Carken, I think you will be able to find plenty of cotters who could use a few more blankets, a goat, a sheep, or a llama.  Use it wisely, use it sparingly, else you’ll spoil them with riches, but if a man needs an axe, make sure he has an axe.  If a man breaks his arm and can’t milk, make sure someone is there to do it.”

“Aye, milking one-handed would be as hard as pissin’ one-handed,” Kaman agreed, gesturing with his slinged arm before taking another sip of spirits.

“So make sure no one suffers.  We’ll build your tower, maybe a small bailey and a keep, and you can keep our backs guarded.  You’ll have the revenue from the pass traffic to help pay its upkeep – we can work out the details later, if you’re agreeable.”

“I’ll have to speak to my brothers in front of the fire,” he agreed, “but I cannot think they would refuse.  It is a kingly gift, Magelord!”

“And since I am giving the other third of the gold to you, personally, I expect that you will be very persuasive.  It is a weighty responsibility, Master
Kaman,” I replied.  Especially if I need to use this place for magic – for which it is well-suited for.  I hope you can continue to abide by the agreement.  And keep this a secret awhile longer.”

“Only the Master and his son may know of it, by tradition,” he assured me, “You’re the right lawful Lord of Sevendor.” He shrugged.  “This is your haven, Magelord, we just keep it.  Oh, and it goes on a bit, too.  Several more tunnels, a few chambers, old mines, it looked like.  And one lower chamber that’s not as pleasant as those above.  But a cozy little hideout, it could be,” he agreed, nodding.

“I just hate that there’s only one entrance,” I grumbled.  I’d hate to get trapped in here and smoked out.”

Kaman
grinned.  “Magelord, our ancestors were no fools.”

*

When I walked back into the Hall a little weak-kneed, gone long past a reasonable amount of time, leaving her seated between Master Olmeg, Master Minnik, and  Alya glared at me . . . until she saw I was holding a wiggly black puppy in my arms.  Magic is magic, but puppies cure just about everything.  When Kyre came in behind with two more, her eyes got huge.

“Don’t worry, they aren’t all for us,” I soothed.  “Just this one.  That little bitch pup is to be Dara’s.”

“What about the other one? Sir Cei?”

“Zagor,” I corrected.  “I examined all of these with magesight, and these three were the most . . . special,” I said, unable to explain the examination in more detail without a thaumaturgical lesson that would make Minnik and Olmeg’s tree talk seem fascinating.  “This little pup has a lot of spirit in him.  I think Zagor will be pleased.”
“Oh, Min!  It’s perfect!” she declared happily, as the little black puppy licked her face.  I suppose it would have been impolite to point out where he had been licking a moment before.  “Zagor will be so happy – he’s been so moody since Blue died.”

Lenodara finally made her appearance, looking grimly determined as she came down the stairs, two of her older brothers carrying her luggage.  Her beautiful falcon, Frightful, was hooded on her fist.  Her heavy wool mantle – in Westwood green – was clasped about her throat, making her red hair seem to blaze in the firelight.