Necromancer: Book Ten Of The Spellmonger Series Page 3

  “I don’t fault your ambition,” I assured him as I took a seat in his chamber. “Quite the contrary. I support your bid. But I wouldn’t expect it to be an easy challenge. There are still many who fear a Magelord in such a high position,” I warned.

  “I’ve spent enough time preparing, Minalan,” he said, thoughtfully. “My tenure in Sevendor has been invaluable. I am twice the wizard I was when I came here. I have irionite. And I am enough a man to admit that you have been my best teacher.”

  That took me aback. I hadn’t realized I’d been teaching anything. “How so?”

  “In innumerable ways,” he said, amused at my surprise. “The lessons I’ve learned in statecraft, alone, as I watched how you elevated Sevendor to a barony, and changed the course of a war by supporting your vassals . . . you are a canny and subtle magelord, Minalan. Far more than you give yourself credit for. Yet you bank your ambitions, play a long game, and seek as much to promote your allies in secret as you do yourself in public.”

  “I do? I had no idea.”

  “Far from seeing such generosity punished by betrayal, you seem to thrive at every turn . . . the Baroness, not withstanding,” he added, sympathetically.

  I looked away uncomfortably. I’ve always been self-conscious about earnest praise from my professional peers. It’s a lot easier to endure sycophants. They don’t get as disappointed when you fall on your ass as your real admirers do. “I’m glad you’ve taken something of value from your stay here,” I said, letting the moment pass.

  “Oh, I have,” he said, as he picked up one of the Sentry Rods he’d built to support his quest for the county, giving it an appreciative look. “In many ways.”

  The Sentry Rods were deadly magical weapons were developed for the dedicated warmagi who protected each of my domains. Dranus had assisted in the development of the prototype, and then helped oversee their production. Then he ordered thirty of them from Sevendor’s bouleuterion for his own use, empowering them using his own shard of irionite. They could be wielded by anyone with a lick of Talent and proper instruction, and they were worth about a company of infantry each. I had no doubt they would be instrumental in his coming war.

  “I also appreciate you hiring so many warmagi for your effort,” I chuckled. “The number of brawls at the Sword and Staff has declined precipitously, of late, so Banamor says.

  “I need good men I can trust. One good thing about Sevendori warmagi is that they’re loyal.”

  “So what is your plan?” I asked, simply, as he stowed the last of the Sentry Rods into his staff’s hoxter. “Professional interest,” I added.

  “I will retire to my domain of Viridagro, where my bastard cousin Callidus has been gathering my forces,” he said, as he packed up one of the Mirrors he’d purchased during his tenure in Sevendor.

  “I now have forty veteran warmagi who have enlisted in the effort. Six companies of mercenaries, quartered in inns and friendly estates across Moros. When I attend the Spring Conclave of the Moros League, I shall impugn the leadership of dull Inutulius and challenge the idea that he has effectively undertaken the office. As the council will be held in Rubeum Fula,” he said, raising an eyebrow, “the seat of the count, my brother will not be able to escape the challenge, or dismiss it as hearsay.”

  “How will that be received?” I asked, curiously. One who has been forced to dabble in politics does well to observe the political movements of others. At least that was what Pentandra told me. And she’s always right. She told me that, too.

  “Well, in some quarters, I believe,” he considered with a smile. “I have had my cousin quietly ensure a favorable reception among several of the lords of the league. It’s cost me some gold, but I can depend upon six domains and the favor of a baron, at the onset. Perhaps as many as four others will support me of their own accord, for the poor esteem in which they hold Count Tempors Inutulius.

  “He has made a few enemies on his own, without my agents’ intervention. It’s just terrible, the unfortunate but embarrassing events that have stricken my poor, deficient half-brother,” he said, with mock sorrow.

  “It sounds as if bribery isn’t the only mission your agents have undertaken,” I said, fishing for information.

  “How did you know?” he asked, innocently, his dark eyebrows dancing over his bald pate. “I’ve had a squadron of warmagi quietly souring the soup of Moros, for the last year. Quite a number of important issues for which the office is responsible have suddenly sprung up, much to the consternation of my noble peers.”

  “Feudal management is fraught with challenges,” I agreed. It didn’t take much to disturb the delicate operation of a manor or a domain, if you looked at the situation with an open mind. Dranus has learned the lessons of the Sashtalia war well.

  “Thrice since last Yule an important bridge in the northern part of the county has failed. An illegal war between an ambitious knight banneret and a neglected eastern estate owned by the count has involved its neighbors in a scandalous fashion. Three prestigious abbeys which depend on the beneficence of the count have had troubling episodes of fire, fungus, and flooded stores, requiring additional support from Inutulius, when he can scarce afford to grant it. A horrific scandal about a sergeant in the County’s garrison and a squire has arisen, calling into question the leadership of my brother’s castellan. That sort of thing.”

  “Just the sort of problems to cast doubt on the abilities of a political appointee to a functional job,” I nodded. “Especially in the eyes of the average noble who doesn’t see much in return for his fees to the county.”

  “Why, Minalan! What an astute observation!” he chuckled. “When I present my challenge, Inutulius and his allies will be forced to defend. At some point he will lose his temper, do something rash, and I can declare war on him legally.”

  “How can you make war on a sitting count?” I asked, confused. “I thought that was forbidden by Duin’s Law.”

  “Ah, only if the man holding the office is judged competent and is accepted by the Duke,” he informed me. “In the case of a temporary appointment, such as Inutulius enjoys, according to the law any noble under his purview can challenge his competence through the purifying struggle of warfare. If a man can’t defend himself against such a challenge, clearly he has no business running the defenses of the entire county.”

  The rank of Count was an interesting one. Usually it came with some lands dedicated to the office, but just as a baron had a responsibility to represent the duke (or king) and vice-versa, a count’s position was less direct. A count was responsible for the collective security of an entire region. It was a military office, first and foremost, not a civil one.

  That didn’t require a military man, necessarily, but at least a leader who could hire the proper military men to see to the defense of a region. In most places, the local count had dominion over the military disposition of the baronies and domains under his control. That included fines for failure, maintenance of major roads and bridges, maintenance and improvement of the large castles associated with the office, oversight of the militia training and postal service within his county, and a couple of other services considered essential for the post.

  He paid for it all with a mixture of revenues from his lands and fees taken for any number of occasions – squiring, knighting, admission to the militia, tolls on bridges and roads, and an assessment from each domain under his purview.

  While counts were technically prohibited from making war on their own name as a count, except under very specific circumstances, a count could (and often did) encourage others to do so on his behalf. A count often held lands in addition to his official estates, and using the dominance of his office to improve his private holdings was common.

  The appointment of a new count usually meant holding a meeting of the barons and leading nobles of the county and selecting one among their number to elevate to that position. Once elected (or selected, depending on the custom) they met regularly after that to discuss the efficac
y of the count and military issues haunting the county. In County Lensely, the Riverlords League played that role – I’d never gone to the moot, but Baron Arathanial was very involved in the politics of the county. The occasion was used for knighting prominent noblemen at the apex of their training, overseeing regulation for the conscription, pay, and training of local peasant militias, that sort of thing.

  But there were a lot of variations, due to tradition, favoritism, and ducal law. In some places, the count held the position as it was intended, and rigorously saw to the defense of his baronies. In others, strong barons or the distractions of feudal business encouraged the count to neglect his duties, turning them over to his friends without oversight.

  That was the sort of thing that had happened in Moros, from what I understood.

  Depending on the duchy and the local tradition, when there was a vacancy or weakness in the office it was either left to the Duke to appoint a replacement acceptable to the barons and nobles, or a local council of those nobles voted on one from among their number, and the Duke approved, if found agreeable. In Wenshar and the Remeran Riverlands, it was the latter system.

  That’s what made Dranus’ ambitions particularly important. If he could convince the barons and knights-elector of Moros to select him, it was highly unlikely that the fairly weak Duke of Remere, Clofalin, would object. But there was a lot to do, before that happened. Nearly two-thirds of the lords in the council, from what Iyugi my magical spy had learned, were either opposed or ambivalent about the idea of electing a count who was a magelord.

  But it was not impossible, my spy had added when I’d sent him to explore the issue, over the winter. When I returned from my trip at Yule, a well-written report was awaiting me, detailing the dispositions of each elector and the likelihood that they could be turned. In some cases, he indicated the best way to do that, either through bribery, extortion, or conquest. In fact, he had identified three key barons whose allegiance would likely cement the question.

  I’d passed the intelligence on to a grateful Dranus. He’d been using his position as my Court Wizard (with my tacit permission) to prepare a plan of action against his hostile relatives for a year, now. He was using his lands and estates in Moros as staging grounds for the anticipated war he’d have to fight to conquer their domains.

  For the last six months, he’d been quietly interviewing mercenary companies and individual warmagi. He’d invested a significant amount of gold in their hire, I knew. They were quietly heading toward Moros and gathering without attracting attention. That was in addition to the knights and vassals he’d inherited with his lands.

  “So how are you fixed for troops?” I asked, casually.

  “In addition to my magical corps, I have a hundred and twenty archers my cousin has trained from my domain and his, twenty-two knights, sixty-one sergeants, and fifty-five men-at-arms. My cousin is housing my main mercenary force, the combined companies of the Masters of Field heavy cavalry unit and Belat’s Company, light infantry, six hundred horsemen in all.

  “Then I have a unit of veteran crossbowmen quartered at the Barrel and Table inn, in Imisilius, in the west, the small but venerable Sir Oakfeller’s Company of noble cavalry in Laetus Town, and two companies of Wenshari infantry hired from my friend and former client, Baron Acuton of Skitia,” he said, proudly. “With the hiring of Akutuan’s Avengers—”

  “Akutuan’s Avengers?” I asked, incredulously.

  “A new company, but made up of veterans of the Stalwart Sons and the Everbrave,” he explained – both well-known companies. “They experienced a change in leadership, recently, and their new captain has agreed to bring his five-hundred men with me to Moros. Altogether, I will have well over three thousand fighting men, distributed about the county. When I make my challenge, I shall have the men to back up my claim already in place to strike,” he declared.

  “What if you brother can rally sufficient support to rebuff you?”

  “He’ll have to defend his county seat, first,” Dranus grinned. “As soon as hostilities begin, I shall have half my warmagi and Oakfeller’s Company immediately attack Rubeum Fola, while the rest of my troops invade Inutulius’ personal lands,” he said, with satisfaction. “By the time he realizes what he faces, he will be unprepared and overwhelmed.”

  “That’s a fair plan,” I agreed, after some thought. “As long as he doesn’t suspect anything and prepares a defense.”

  “He does not,” Dranus assured me. “My agents have been most thorough in spreading the rumor that I no longer desire the position, and that I am content with my arcane studies,” he said, pushing the last basket of miscellaneous items into a hoxter. “When my brother heard I’d accepted a post with the Spellmonger, he not only relaxed his vigilance, he increased the exploitation of his office. His forces are in even worse shape than when I initially threatened to press my claim,” he said, with a sense of satisfaction. “That appears to be everything,” he sighed. “It is time to take horse.”

  “I want to thank you for your excellent service, Dranus,” I said, with a formal bow in the Remeran style. “You have truly set the standard for what I expect in a court wizard.”

  “You will be well served by Master Loiko,” he assured me, returning the bow. “I was hesitant, at first, as he is a warmage—”

  “Probably the best one who ever lived,” I reminded him.

  “Just so. Yet in managing the transition, I find him to also be a capable and intelligent administrator,” he added, with a note of surprise in his voice. “He was particularly interested in continuing my effort to improve the arcane library of the barony. Quite a scholar, for a warmage,” he reflected approvingly.

  “The Wenshari are known for both. Please let me know if there is anything else I can do. I will keep the King off your neck as long as I can,” I promised. “But there are limits to my influence.”

  “If all goes as planned, then it should be over before the King even hears about it,” Dranus said. “And by then it will be too late. Farewell, Baron.”

  “Farewell, Magelord,” I replied, as I saw him to the door of the little tower that had been his home for nearly two years. “May Ifnia and Huin favor you!”

  He nodded one final time as he mounted the charger he’d purchased, and joined a squadron of mercenary cavalry and a couple of stray warmagi who’d enlisted in his expedition. The rest of his recently-hired mercenaries were in an inn in Boval Village, waiting for him to depart.

  I watched as the Remeran wizard rode away with his men, looking far less like the robed mage who’d come to me originally, and far more like the regal and determined magelord, well-armored and armed, in command of troops, that he now was.

  It was an interesting example of how dramatically things had changed for my profession in just a few years. Court wizards were learning warmagic and prosecuting their claims as magelords. Spellmongers were ruling baronies. Footwizards were dressing and acting like burghers. Where once Practical Adepts were seen as near parasites on commerce, now they commanded merchant fleets and long convoys of trade wagons. And growing fortunes in gold.

  That was progress, progress that would continue with or without me, now, I knew. I had encouraged enough different wizards to establish themselves on their own, and through the Arcane Orders set up institutions to protect and defend both the magelords and the other magi from being returned to their previous diminished state.

  With magelords like Dranus, Pentandra, Astyral, Taren, and my other friends and allies having independent power bases spread throughout the kingdom, and the Censorate crushed in exile, there just wasn’t much chance that magic would be relegated back into the slums of society.

  Wizards were here to stay, in the Kingdom of Castalshar. They would help steer it through the coming times, no matter what other politics raged. That would persist, I reflected with satisfaction, as Dranus disappeared through the gate, no matter what happened to me when I went to Olum Seheri.

  Chapter Two

  A
Letter From His Highness

  A message awaited me, when I finally returned to the castle, held in the hand of an anxious page. The seal it bore explained why he was anxious. The message had arrived at Sevendor Castle by way of the Mirror Array in town and delivered to my page before breakfast. Thank Briga the lad had the decency to wait until I’d gotten into my second cup of tea before he presented it to me. The official seal of the Mirror Array and the use of the “good” parchment told me it was trouble before I even opened it.

  To His Excellency Baron Minalan the Spellmonger of Sevendor:

  His Highness Prince Tavard, Duke by the Grace of the Gods of Castal, deigns to bring his family to Pilgrimage at the holy Everfire that has manifested by Briga’s grace in his Barony of Sevendor so that they might remark on its nature and receive the benefits of its blessings at the Festival of Briga’s Day.

  Attend to his Ducal Counsellor Sire Dasuos when he arrives in preparation for the occasion of His Highness’ visit to his loyal vassal, and lend him all available consideration for accommodation of His Highness’ party.

  S., Reiman of Lancelawn, Ducal Scribe

  I get Mirror messages pretty frequently, about all sorts of things, and usually they were delivered open, scrawled on regular parchment stock by the receiving mage, and delivered without seal. The only time they bother with that sort of thing is if it labeled sensitive about the Arcane Orders, or someone actually paid money to send a note to me through the magical array.

  I suppose everyone at the high table that morning knew that I’d received word of something horrible when I set down my cup and issued a choice string of invective that blasphemed ever divinity within earshot.

  Sire Cei looked up from his porridge.

  “Something amiss, Excellency?” Despite the “Spellmonger’s Breakfast Rule” of casual address during these informal meetings, Cei exempted himself from the rule he rigorously enforced on others. Castellan’s prerogative.