Enchanter (Book 7) (69 page)

I kept walking, and resumed considering.  I had very few options, beyond tightening security.  I simply did not know enough to act. 

But as I walked into town I started looking at the situation more proactively.  I needed to learn who was behind this, and I wasn’t going to just sit here and wait for things to happen.  I had to find a way to draw Mask out and compel her to answer my questions, or at the very least eliminate her as a threat. 

The more I thought about it, the more ideas came to me.  By the time I was walking down the High Street, past the
Alembic
, I found my feet taking me inside. 

I was thirsty.  And I had the beginnings of a plan.

Chapter Thirty Two

Sir Cullien Returns To Rolone

It’s never a good idea to wake up to a crisis. 

Minalan, we have a problem,
Lord Lorcus informed me, mind-to-mind, mere moments after I arose the next morning. 
Sir Cullien was spotted at the frontier of Rolone at the head of a column of a hundred men-at-arms.  He’s flying a truce flag, from the report, but he’s girded for war.

That is a problem
, I admitted, sleepily. 
How long until he gets to Vorone Castle?

He’ll be here just after noon, if he keeps a goodly pace.  I’m guessing this concerns the message I sent him concerning his former domain’s change in management.  I’ve only got about twenty, twenty-five men here at the moment.  Some baronial support would be helpful, I think.

I understand,
I replied sleepily. 
I’ll arrive around noon.  Shall I bring reinforcements?

I don’t think that will be necessary,
he decided, after thought
.  If he wants to attack under a flag of truce, he’s in violation of the law.

Only if he loses.  And that doesn’t help you if you’re dead,
I reminded him.  I considered the possibilities. 
He could challenge you to single combat.

I’m kind of hoping he will,
Lorcus said.  I couldn’t see a grin, but I could hear one.  Lorcus is a surprisingly adept fighter with a mageblade, despite his strategic way of thinking.  I was completely confident in his ability to take down even a well-trained Riverlord in a duel.  But I don’t think he’s that stupid.

Let me break my fast, round up a couple of apprentices, and your official filings.  I’ve got some other things to discus with you, too.  We’ve got bigger problems than mere war.

Good.  I’m starting to get bored of conquest.  It’s too simple to conquer and too complicated to rule. 

You have no idea,
I agreed, and ended the conversation. 

I had breakfast with Alya in the Great Hall, gently flirting as we went over our day with Sir Festaran.  The castellan looked tired and haggard, but he got through the agenda with professionalism, keeping us on track and ignoring our interpersonal conversation with practiced tact.  I informed them both about the meeting with Sir Cullien, and that I would take both apprentices along.

“Why?” Alya asked, curious, as she devoured another biscuit.  She had been like this with both previous pregnancies, eating wolfishly before vomiting hardily.  It would pass in a few weeks, I knew.  “I don’t see the point of dragging them along.”

“It’s mostly for their benefit.  But they do add a certain status to my appearance.  It emphasizes that I’m a Magelord, not merely a regular baron.  Arathanial would have a couple of armored knights standing around to show how important he is.  I have Dara and Ruderal.  And the boys, if they’re there.”

“Excellency, forgive me, but just how do you expect Lady Dara and an eleven year old boy to intimidate a political opponent?  They’re hardly threatening.”

“It is because they
aren’t
threatening that they’re important,” I explained.  “A non-magical baron would show off how powerful he is by the stature of the retainers he carries around.  By taking two young magi with me, I emphasize how I clearly do not give a damn about Cullien’s hundred men-at-arms.  It also makes them think about the hidden power of magi.  There’s no telling how powerful those two are.”

“So you’re bluffing, in other words,” Alya observed.

“It’s not quite a bluff.  I’ll have Dara bring one of her birds, transform it, and have it perch on the top of the castle.  That should be sufficiently intimidating, don’t you think?”

“It might help,” Sir Festaran said, thoughtfully.  “Those birds certainly can be terrifying.”  That got my notice.  It sounded as if he was speaking from personal experience.  “But Excellency, what do you plan on doing if Sir Cullien decides to start a battle?”

“Finish it,” I shrugged.  “I’ll have my spells, Lorcus and his men will be there, and there are only a hundred of them.  What could possibly go wrong?”

Both of them stared at me as if I had blasphemed.  I said a silent prayer to Ifnia just to be safe. 

Turns out, she was not the best deity to turn to in this case.

*

*

We traveled by Waypoint to Rolone Castle, using the Waystone I’d given Lorcus in his Wormwand rod-of-office.  He was in the spacious circular Great Hall of the castle with three or four men, including Lanse of Bune, his new Lawbrother Irthine, and Taren.  The other warmagi were scattered across the domain, staffing castles or guarding frontier crossings, he informed me after an enthusiastic greeting.  I sent Dara and Ruderal outside so that she could transform Faithful and perch him on the watchtower overhead.

“I may need to hire a few more warmagi,” Lorcus confided, after we settled in front of a trestle table loaded with luncheon.  “The lads are outstanding, but this is one bloody large domain.”

“Are the militia not working out?”

“Too well,” he sighed.  “They’ve enjoyed being paid a premium to occupy their own country, and they’ve tormented the manors and estates in reprisal for perceived injustices.  The clergy have stopped a few riots and raids.  But I don’t know these people,” he confessed.  “And it is taking too long to separate the bullies from the responsible parties.  Not to mention the partisans loyal to Cullien.  Apart from the good Lawbrother, the cook, and the Master of Privies, I’ve had to sack the entire castle staff and hire anew.  Do you have any idea how annoying it is to have servants who don’t know where anything is?  It makes finding good administrators look easy!”

“That’s always an issue in governance,” I shrugged.  “You’re getting the hang of it.  Where is Sir Cullien, now?”

“He’s on the outskirts of town,” Lanse said, checking a scrying map.  “We’ve instructed the sentries to permit him only twenty men as an honor guard within the castle.  The rest will wait outside.”

“A sensible precaution.”

Master, Faithful is in position.  What shall we do?

Wait for Sir Cullien, who will be under truce, and his men to arrive in the bailey.  Escort them in when they arrive.
  This was a bit of a test for Dara.  She had gained a lot more confidence in her responsibilities as a noblewoman now, and this was good practice for her diplomatic skills. I was curious to see how she’d handle the situation.  Lorcus continued to fill me in on the transition until Dara informed me that Sir Cullien and his men had arrived.

Fifteen minutes later she and Ruderal led them into the hall with all due ceremony, where Lorcus had arranged to sit in Cullien’s own canopied chair – though the Apple-and-Worm banner over his head was a striking change in décor.

“Sir Cullien, knight of Sashtalia, to see the Magelord of Vorone!” Lanse boomed, acting as herald.  He was carrying his wicked-looking magical spear, a bit of personal warmagic enchantment he had been constructing in his spare time.  He looked quite impressive with his great height, long arms, deep voice, and intimidating tattoos running the length of his arms.  Riverlords rarely indulged in such things, but Lanse had spent considerable time at the coast.

“That’s
Sire
Cullien, Lord of Vorone, to see the illegal usurper!” spat an old lawbrother who accompanied the knight, as he pushed aside the men-at-arms to get to the front of the crowd. 

“You are misinformed, Brother,” Lanse corrected him.  “But proceed to the Magelord, and he will see you now.”

Cullien, the monk, and two of his gentlemen approached Lorcus’ chair, but did not bow.

“Welcome to Rolone,” Lorcus said, taking a bite out of an apple – he had a basket of them next to his chair.  “What can I do for you gentlemen today?”

“You can start by getting out of my chair!” the knight demanded, angrily.  “And thence out of my castle, and thence out of my lands, before I whip you like a villein and have you hung!”

“Is that a challenge to personal combat?” Taren asked, enthusiastically.  He was leaning on his ornate glaive, which he spun with a flourish.  Cullien paled.  He was not a large man.

“This is outrageous,” muttered the knight, angrily.  “You have no cause—”

“Actually, I had
every
cause,” Lorcus said, sharply.  “When I was made lord of Amel Wood I had not even arrived at my new domain when it was attacked, unprovoked, at your direction.”

“And you have proof of this, Usurper?” demanded the lawbrother in a high, reedy voice, before Cullien could respond.

“I have a witness, one Sir Ganulan, who will attest under oath that he was hired by an agent of Rolone, near Granite Tower, last month to lead his band of . . . mercenaries,” he said, being kind, “to attack the peasantry of Amel Wood.  He had coin in his purse and a note to that effect from your man’s hand,” Lorcus accused, no longer sounding friendly and cocky.  “Do you deny sending such a force?  For your man at Granite Tower admitted as much, when questioned.”

Cullien struggled for words, while his lawbrother howled “Keep silent, my lord, pray keep silent!”

“Brother Canard, your master must be given the chance to answer his accuser,” reminded Brother Irthine, with a smile of satisfaction.  “Thus says holy law.”  He had the air of a long-suffering junior finally engaging an older cleric on his perceived deficiencies.

But despite Brother Canard’s counsel, Sir Cullien was caught, and he knew it.  “I did, indeed, order the raid,” he sighed.  “But the intent was to demonstrate Sashtalia’s ire with Baron Minalan’s annexation of the hill domains,” he admitted.  “It was merely a demonstration of force.”

“There are twenty-odd villeins being mourned by their kin after your demonstration of force!” Lorcas said, angrily.  “You paid men to slay more than twenty people to prove a point!”

“They were villeins!” Sir Cullien dismissed.

“They were
human beings!
”Lorcas shouted with sudden rage. “Human beings I was responsible for!  Was that, or was that not an act of undeclared war, lawbrothers?  According to the Laws of Duin and Luin?”

Sir Cullien’s monk, Brother Canard, stammered at the demand, but Lorcus’ young lawbrother Irthine quickly stepped forward.

“The Book of Duin does state that an act of wanton murder done at orders and for pay is, indeed, an undeclared act of war, my lords,” he assured them, confidently.  “This act met with every required point: the castellan of Granite Tower testified that he paid Sir Ganulan and delivered orders to attack Amel Wood.  Regardless of the political intent, if lives were lost and homes were burned it was an act of war.”

“And what responsibilities does a seated lord, titled or tenant, have in regards to the defense and justice of the people in his domain, under the Laws of Luin, Brother?” Lord Lorcus prompted, not taking his angry eyes off of Sir Cullien.

“A lord of a domain has every right of military reprisal in an undeclared war; indeed, he has a responsibility and sacred duty under the eyes of the gods to seek either justice by law or retribution by sword.  It is the attacked lord’s choice of how he responds.”

“As luck would have it, I fancied war,” Lorcus shrugged. “Didn’t have a wily Lawbrother around to advise me different.  So I went to war.  Turns out, I’m good at it.  Good enough to take five of your castles before you knew I’d attacked you.”

“I was not here to defend them!” Sir Cullien insisted, angrily.

“They were adequately garrisoned,” pointed out Taren.  “You had responsible lords in leadership here.  Certainly if
you
felt secure enough to start a private war and then go fulfill your military obligations,
you
felt that your lands were reasonably protected.  It appears you have miscalculated, Sir Cullien.”

“That’s Sire Cullien, mage!” shouted the big knight standing behind the former Lord of Rolone.

“And that’s Mage
lord
, Sir Knight!” boomed Lanse behind them.  “And unless you have another domain you rule over, my lord, you are a landless knight.  Your proper title is ‘sir’.”

Sir Cullien started to speak, and then mastered himself.  He was losing his home, he could not afford to indulge in an emotional outburst with a man a foot taller than he, holding a slashing spear at his back.  Instead he turned to me.

“Baron Minalan, I trust you are here to help straighten out this mess?” he pleaded.