Enchanter (Book 7) (68 page)

“Was there anything else?” I asked.

“Yes,” he admitted, grudgingly.  “There was a specific purpose to the attack, beyond petty vengeance and terror.  They were after something I in particular.  I know not what, but they ascribed its acquisition as of extreme importance, enough that any other goal in the conduct of the mission was secondary and expendable.  Some item of great arcane power that their mutual master coveted beyond all else.”

I thought about my treasury of wonders, and imagined which of the artifacts therein was their target.  It could be any of them, depending on their purpose. 

“Did you ever see Flyntrig with a witchstone?”

“Oh, aye,” chuckled Ganulan.  “She waved that bloody sorcerous rock under our nose often enough.  ‘A gift from an admirer’ was all she would say,” he said, half in fear and half in admiration.  “As they closed their conversation, she referenced it again, and hinted at a collection of the things the conspiracy was compiling.” 

That didn’t bode well, either.  “To what purpose?”

“Some great magical spell,” he dismissed.  “Had they spoken of it openly I would not have had the wit to know of what they were speaking.  All I know is that the next morning, when she announced the attack on Amel Wood, I took her aside and questioned her.  That’s when I revealed, in my folly, my knowledge of her war name, Lady Mask.  She threatened me with dire consequences if I ever spoke of it. 

“Then after our business was done at the village, and I was pursuing the villeins through the forest, she rode after me.  I turned to hear her commands and took a crossbow quarrel in my gut as my payment.  As I stared up at her in my confusion, she unleashed some vile curses on me and followed it with her bewitchment.  That was the last I recall before I regained my wit.  And that is all the intelligence I have for you, Spellmonger.”

I thought for a few moments, digging my pipe out while I considered all he had revealed.  He stared at me with undisguised hatred. 

“You have done me a boon, whether it was your intent or not.  I cannot help but think your gratitude at your rescue is your motive.”

“I was shot in the gut and abandoned for dead, raving out of my head like a madman,” the young knight said, his eyes full of rage.  “Regardless of your crimes against me and my house, Spellmonger, you never treated me so poorly.  I will slay that bitch,” he vowed, “slay her slowly, if I get the chance.”

“That may prove more difficult than you might imagine,” I pointed out.

“More difficult than making war on the Spellmonger by myself?” he countered.  “Believe me, Excellency, when I commit to a course of action, I do not falter.”

I couldn’t argue with that.

“So that alone compelled you to share your intelligence?  You could seek vengeance without betraying her plans.”

“Yet spoiling her work after her betrayal is what I can do for the moment, as I recover,” he pointed out.  “It will be months before I will be able to hold a sword again.  And no doubt I am destined for a cell the moment I am pronounced fit.”

I considered his situation.  He could not return to his outlaws, not after they’d left him for dead, and there was no one to ransom him too.  His allies in Sashtalia were all deployed, and he was not yet fit for travel.  Imprisoning him served little purpose, save to keep him out of mischief. 

“You have done me and Sevendor a great boon, as I said.  For that I can grant you this, at least,” I said, and removed the magemark from his face with a wave of my hand.  “Your debt to me is paid, and you are no longer outlawed in my lands.”  Before he could react, or say something stupid, I continued.  “You have proven yourself a capable and doughty knight, Sir Ganulan.  Despite your hatred of me, I bear you no ill will for what you have done.  In your way you have proven very useful to me.  And it would be dishonorable to repay that utility with malice. 

“So, if you pledge an oath that you will take up no arms nor pursue no malicious action against me and my domain, I think we can put this feud behind us.  We live in a very different world than when your father was lord of the vales, and you were an important bastard.  For good or ill, that world is gone.  There may yet be a place for you in this new world, if you would have it.”

“I will not serve the Spellmonger willingly!” he barked, his resentment still fresh.

“In time you may reconsider,” I shrugged.  “But until then I think I can arrange for a post and position that will satisfy both of our causes.”

“Does it involve me in a darkened cell?” he asked, warily.

“No.  It is an honorable position fitting your rank, if not one of great importance.  Nor would you be answerable to me.  The domain of Taragwen, of which you are familiar, now lies in the hands of the Estasi Order of Knights Magi.  Your old companion Sir Festaran is the steward of that order; yet in the absence of Sire Cei he has been occupied with running Sevendor.  I think I could persuade him to allow you to recuperate in safety there, as the tenant lord for the manor on behalf of the order.”

“And what would I have to do?”

“Mostly maintain the keep, oversee the defenses . . . and guard the outcropping of snowstone you formerly exploited from others who seek to do likewise.  I would imagine you are uniquely qualified to see to its security.  I need to ensure that no more is mined and sold than I permit.”

“Guarding that is easy – few know where it is.  And your knights enchanted the area to make it near impossible to discover, now.  That is work I could do,” he admitted, sounding a little defeated.

“It is an honorable post, and I’m certain we can arrange a stipend.  You would of course enjoy the privileges of position as a tenant lord would.  It is not a large domain, but the village runs itself and the hall is comfortable enough.”

“I will consider it,” he agreed, after some hard thought.  “I mislike owing you a debt.”

“You don’t.  I’m merely making a suggestion, a connection.  You don’t owe me a thing.  Rest, heal, go to Taragwen and consider what you wish to do in life.  It may well occur to you that spending it pursuing vengeance against me keeps you from following more fruitful pursuits.”

*

*

I walked home from Brestal Tower, though it was a long way.  I could have used the Ways and been there in a moment, but I honestly didn’t want the headache.  More importantly, I needed to think.  In my experience a long walk in solitude provides an excellent opportunity for introspection.

The news about Lady Mask’s survival and subsequent alliance with Isily was deeply troubling.  I thought I’d left the renegade warmage defeated, humiliated, and slated for execution by her goblin masters.  Instead I find her in league with a rival, scheming to assassinate my wife, and haunting the very limits of my home.  The idea that she had gotten close to Alya, and she wanted her dead . . . 

But not me.  Because she had
orders
.

That was even more troubling, because such a conspiracy seemed far more sophisticated than I would expect from the gurvani – or an enraged renegade warmage.  Even Isily’s role in it did not seem right.  She had taken what she wanted from me.  What more could she wish?  And why had she felt constrained?

Of course there was no clear answer to that until I knew the plot in detail.  Ganulan had called them partners, but there were discrepancies in the idea that Isily and Mask were co-equal, here.  Isily wanted me alive, and had prevailed; while Mask wanted me dead as much as Ganulan had.  And Mask was the one here while Isily was hundreds of miles away . . .
or was she?

Damn!  There was still far too much I didn’t know about this situation.  Ganulan had given me a hint, but not enough for me to take action.   As I trudged up the road toward Boval Village, I reflected on what I did know.

Firstly, the aim of the conspiracy was to take something from me, something important and powerful.  A few years ago I might have assumed it was the witchsphere or my cache of irionite.  But both magi in the conspiracy already had witchstones, and apparently had access to more. That was a security issue right there. 

They could simply be after snowstone, of course, but that wouldn’t require a complicated plot.  I had a lot more that they could be after: the crystals from the mountain.  The scrolls and texts I’d gathered.  All of the wondrous enchantments I’d been developing.  There was the chance that they were making an attempt on the Snowflake – Isily was quite aware of it – but it was unmovable.  You couldn’t exactly stick it under your cloak.

They also needed me to be gone before they moved.  That told me that whatever it was they were after was something I kept around me, but not on my person. That didn’t exactly narrow it down.  It could still be any one of a thousand treasures.  I was suddenly extremely paranoid.

They were also both agreed on an attack on Alya.  I could understand both motives, if what the Princess had told me about Isily was true – and Ishi had confirmed.  Isily loved me obsessively.  And Lady Mask hated me passionately.  Passionately enough to make me suffer by killing my love.  I could not see Mask being willing to settle for anything less than my death.  If anything, killing me should make stealing my things far easier.

There had to be a third player in the conspiracy, I reasoned.  Someone who had leverage against both of the madwomen who were in league against me.  It couldn’t be Dunselen—

Could it?

I’d always dismissed the man as an old fool, an adept administrator who had desired power beyond his ability or capacity.  A scholar, of sorts, if you count the kind of obscure and obtuse minutia of magic that had little or no effect on how the profession was actually practiced. 

But what if it was all a ruse?  What if Dunselen had played the fool only to hide his true motives?  I tried to think of our past encounters and recall any hint of secret genius . . . and drew a blank.  If he was hiding it, he was a far, far better wizard than I gave him credit for. 

No, I decided, barring some information to prove the contrary, the more I thought about it the more I concluded that Dunselen was a dupe.  A willing dupe, who felt his marriage to the beautiful shadowmage gave him position, power, and a bastard heir – but a dupe. 

From what I could tell, his only malicious act toward me had been to bury me in business and policy proposals to be addressed at this summer’s Conclave.  You can take the Court Wizard out of the office, but you can’t take the office out of the Court Wizard, I mused, as I passed between the Diketower and Boval Village.  That’s where the newly cobbled road the Gurishamen had laid began.

Failing Dunselen, the third conspirator had to be an agent of Sheruel, I reasoned.  Perhaps one of my other foes, known or unknown, but Sheruel certainly had enough to gain by challenging me.  Only . . . would
he
not want me dead? 

A dead Spellmonger would certainly help his ailing cause, while a grief-stricken, rage-filled Spellmonger could spell trouble.  I wasn’t an expert on gurvani psychology, but they were smart enough to see a straightforward benefit to their strongest and most committed opposition dead.  They weren’t usually subtle enough to see past that sort of thing.

So that left me back where I was before: frustrated with not enough answers. 

One thing I could do was tighten up security.  The war between Sendaria and Sashtalia offered enough of an excuse for things like increasing guards, but I needed to make certain that my valuables were secure. 

Most of them were locked away in the Kennel, a secret cavern in the Westwood, but there were plenty scattered around my tower, the workshops, the Manufactory, the Enchanter’s Guild, Dranus’ tower . . . the more I thought about it, the more I realized how sloppy I’d gotten.  Isily had walked right into the deepest hole in the mountain – though I had to admit she was a trained shadowmage, schooled in obfuscating magic.  And Lady Mask had been in Sevendor.  Of course I had never seen her face, during our battle in Alshar, so I could pass her in the street and never know it.

That was frustrating.  I could hide my valuables and double the guards, but
how could I protect myself from people who could elude such things with impunity?

As I passed by Gurisham I paused my thinking about grand conspiracies and indulged in watching the children of the villeins playing in the newly-cleared lot next to the roadside.  There were twice as many as there had been when I’d first come here.  The kids were cleaner, better-fed, without the sharp cheekbones of malnutrition any more.  Their homes were far better than the huts they’d been born in. 

The hedge and ditch that surrounded the hamlet was neatly-trimmed and the gardens outside of each home were starting to sprout.  This late in the day most of the men were still in the fields weeding, while the women were working on their vegetable gardens, or churning, or spinning out in the common area between their homes.

These people were secure and prosperous.  While I was worried about my jewels and my power, these were the people who would really suffer if I failed.  I couldn’t forget that.  My family was vital to me, but these families I’d become responsible for were no less valuable.  I’d spent a fortune rather than be lured into sending them into a pointless war.  I didn’t want them to suffer because I couldn’t get a handle on my responsibilities.  Or my personal life.