a surfeit of wizards 9

 So, we have the new fibre optic cable which is supposed to make things go like a bat out of hell, but I'm not, to be honest, noticing a great deal of difference. Still, the new package is cheaper, so can't complain. 

Chapter 9

 

“Florisil, this is Rosie; she’s a Potstirrer, and her mother is the village Wise Woman,” I introduced Rosie to Florisil. “Rosie, Florisil is the former Royal Wizard, and worth listening to, if he tells you anything. Chessina, Rosie thinks that having a maid would add to your consequence, which is true enough, and she gets to meet more men.”

“Oh, that makes perfect sense,” said Chessina. “I’m sure I can find her someone suitable. Rosie and I get on fine well; she’s been swapping recipes with me for ages.”

That was a relief; I adore Chessina, but sometimes she gets a bit fragile over fear of losing me – as if I ever would stray – and can get jealous.

“I particularly want you to have consequence,” I said, carefully, “Because some of the priestesses of the Agape aspect of Frotillina are… well, I wasn’t celibate before I knew you.”

“They can whistle for it,” said Chessina, who had learned the phrase from someone. I did not bother to mention it was a vulgarity.

Sometimes constructive vulgarity has its place.

I noticed that Florisin was chatting to Rosie, asking her about what she was looking for in a husband, to which she explained. He nodded, and asked about what else she would be looking for.

“A man who doesn’t hit me, who I could have a laugh with,” said Rosie. “I’m not that bothered if he’s good-looking as long as he doesn’t drool or anything like that. Someone who can afford to keep me so I can take time off making simples to have children; being with child affects the magic. Though I expect you know that, sir.”

“I didn’t, but it makes sense. Age?”

“I need someone who isn’t going to drop dead on me while I still have young children,” said Rosie. “And I’d like someone active enough to enjoy the marriage bed.”

“Are you attempting to seduce Rosie? I asked, sharply. “I stand in the place of her father, Florisin, and I don’t care who you are, I’ll stand up for her rights.”

“She’s a lucky lass that you care,” said Florisin. “I wouldn’t mind a wife in my declining years. I reckon I have twenty or thirty years left, maybe more, but I’m wealthy enough to leave a wife with enough to hire servants to help her. I was hoping to get to know you better before making a proposal, Rosie, but as Castamir has forced the issue, my intentions are honourable, but definitely carnal.”

“Can I think about it?” said Rosie. “I don’t know you either… Florisin… and I need to know what I’m letting myself in for.”

“Well, Chessina needs a maid, or lady companion, rather, in the city, so we can get to know each other. And when the conference is over, we can talk again.”

It seemed cold-blooded to me; but then, the village folk are usually pretty practical about choosing spouses, and it seems, mostly, to work out, with affection being more the norm than love. I know Rosie hoped for what her parents had, but I could see she was willing to settle for mutual respect and affection.

I hoped she would not be hurt.

“Hush, dear one, and don’t interfere,” said Arcana in my head.

Oh. One of those ineffability things.

 

Chessina had found the soul-splitting spell in Pondichook’s journals.

“Now we know where Fishface got some idea first,” she gloated. “There is a mention of the making of liches in ‘The Book of Djehuti’ and we know that Sekhemet had that.  But Pondichook doesn’t seem to have seen the original. He says only that it is reported that Djehuti thought that soul magic was a bad idea, and gave no details on the lich Shepskeni other than that he had split his soul, spirit, and ghost from his body and bound them back in, after having had the body embalmed.”

“It strikes me he’d need help with the embalming, and relied on the aid of another to bind things back in,” I said. “It’s not really relevant for us, anyway.”

“No; but it tells us a source,” said Chessina. “The other source he used was ‘The Book of Binding,’ which Florisin has, and which talks about the binding of willing and unwilling souls. I can’t see how anyone would be willing.”

“I’d be willing to be bound to you for your lifetime if I died first,” I said. “At least we could easily talk, then.”

“Oh, Castamir! You are sweet,” said Chessina. “I… I think you need to know this; because you helped me get my soul back, you willingly tied yourself to me, and I won’t live more than enough time to get our affairs in order after you die. It was the pact I made with Arcana to be allowed a body and to return to you, not merely to pass on to her. That, and she has bound my fertility until we have done all we have to do, so no child goes into the Abyss, even unborn.”

“Oh!” I said. “I… I hadn’t questioned you not getting pregnant; I wondered if you couldn’t, because of being rebuilt.”

“I will be able to, but not yet,” said Chessina. “It’s another reason I want all this out of the way while I’m still young.”

“Absolutely!” I said.

“Your bedroom is third on the right, just go away and use it,” said Florisin.

We did.

No, I’m not giving any details.

 

oOoOo

 

We stayed with Florisin, making notes for a couple of days; it took Dragovar a while to set up a conference in a time period which was mutually acceptable – or at least achievable - by all parties invited.

We then moved back to the city, and would meet in the universal meeting hall, which was neutral territory.

“And Chessina’s letter worked beautifully and I had a rude rebuffal from Lothamir,” gloated Dragovar.

We had but to wait for the protagonists to arrive.

 

 

“What’s all this which is important enough to take me away from my job, Royal Wizard?” yapped Clovo, Wizard of the Western Marches. He was a round little man with sad moustaches and a thin beard, dressed in such armour as did not impede spellcasting. “Just because it’s winter doesn’t mean there aren’t Ork and Goblin raids, stealing food and more.”

“The fact that we need war wizards to send to you who aren’t going to die at the first battle they go to, because they are being taught ineffectively,” said Dragovar.

That shut him up.

“What’s wrong with the way they are being trained?” asked Clovo, cautiously.

“They’re being taught duelling techniques, which don’t work in real combat,” growled Dragovar. “When the Towermaster made them run about a bit, they lost two out of ten to the dragon simulation, not ten.”

Clovo stiffened.

“I’ll like to talk to him and take his ideas under advisement,” he said.

“I made them attack the dragon with cleaning cantrips,” I said. “It’s about preparedness, speed, and being where any attacking being isn’t.”

“Never heard of you being a battle wizard,” said Clovo.

“I’ve more experience with demons, but the principles are the same,” I said. “Being honourable and standing your ground gets you killed by most wild magical beasts. Or people with intent to kill you, for that matter. Honour is for sport. Winning is for the battlefield – within the bounds of honourable treatment of sentient enemies, in the expectation of receiving the same courtesy.”

“With the qualifier, I can accept that,” grunted Clovo. “I wondered why the young fools would bunch up.”

“Well, I can tell you; their teacher,” I said.

“All objection withdrawn if the other classes are as bad.”

“Not all, but enough,” I said. “And I have things to do; like you, I can’t afford to watch the academy fall back on stupid tricks, short cuts, and maybe, like the others, descend to demonology.”

“Now you definitely have my attention,” he growled.

By the time anyone else arrived, we were ‘Clovo’ and ‘Castamir’ to each other.

 

Next person in was Beretrulle, the king’s half-sister and general.

“I’m not here,” she said. “I invited myself, because magical backup is vital to any army, and if our school is failing, I want to know how, why, and what is going to be done about it.” She looked at Clovo. “You look ratty, Clovo, you’ve been forgetting to eat, again.”  She absently straightened his robes for him.

“We’ve been busy; more goblins than usual,” he said.

I stiffened.

“I don’t like to see demons under every bed, but there was mention of goblin tribes moving when I was in the Great Forest, and there was certainly demonic influence on the elves,” I said.

“Best way to treat that is don’t get wedded to a theory, but don’t discount it,” said Beretrulle. “I wouldn’t discount it, but I won’t be sad if that theory doesn’t float.”

“Goblins aren’t necessarily the enemy,” I blurted out, and went on as both looked at me quizzically, “There was a little girl, a goblin, being kept as a slave to… entertain by being humiliated, in an Elven establishment. The new queen is doing her best to stamp that out, but Sirrit returned with us and is a ward of the Priestess Oakheart of the Stone Circle, learning to be a druidess. She’s perfectly capable of getting on with other people, and if she is, so are other goblins.”

“They behave well enough as prisoners of war and participate in exchanges,” said Clovo. “So, maybe talks are in order – and an investigation of their high king?”

“Do you have a war mage who is also skilled at individual weapons duelling? A nobleman?” I asked.

“I can think of one who is suitable,” said Clovo. “What are you thinking?”

“There’s an amulet of demon-detection,” I said. “If, in talks, you find one, your champion could challenge the demon for his position; I believe that is how the goblins do politics. And carry a blade blessed and imbued with holy spring water from a priest of Silvana. It will show its nature at some point, and as a result of demonstrating why he challenged, he would not have to take up position in the tribe.”

I read up about goblins from Harmon’s notes and books, obviously, once we had Sirrit in our care; and endured a few lectures from one Endymon, a former Towermaster who had spent a lot of time with the Tribes.

 

The next to appear – no, please, I thought you’d got over that. The came in the door, they didn’t appear out of thin air. Do keep up.  The next to arrive were the High Priest of Froterand, and the High Priestess of Frottillina.

I knew her. Last time I had seen her, Harmon had rescued me from the outflanking manoeuvres of her aggressively prehensile bosoms. She paused on the threshold to give everyone the benefit of appreciating her lush figure, which reminded me of a rose, just before the petals were due to fall, very full, and a little too open, rather like her gown which might be caught under the bosoms, by a jewelled belt, matching her jewelled collar, tiara and sundry other pieces of excessive bijouterie. She showed more of her bosoms than was tasteful, as well as the gown being open to below the jewel in her belly button. It flowed to the ground but was slit above the knee at all four quarters as you might say. Presumably her aggressive sexuality left her legs open so often as well that she forgot that most people prefer things left to the imagination.  I thought of Chessina who managed to display just enough to tantalise.  And always elegantly.

Her name, or at least, the name she went by, was Asuellalora. Her name was as overblown as her figure. She was plainly assessing the auras of everyone in the room, and swayed over to me, in full sail, managing to get more of her anatomy to move at once than one of the wobbly white puddings the king’s court was so fond of. Good simile; the puddings were too sweet, did not fill one up, and had no real substance.

“Good morning,” she cooed.

I nodded, curtly.

“Good morrow, High Priestess of Agapa, and, too, to your consort… uh, counterpart, the High Priest of Agapa,” I said.

Her eyes widened in horror.

“How do you know a secret name of our gods?” she gasped.

I smiled an enigmatic smile.

“Wizards know many things,” I murmured. Chessina was right; I would be living rent free in her head from now on, as she wondered covertly, and less covertly how much I knew.  If I had wanted to, I could have read every one of her surface thoughts.  I’d as soon wade through a drain at midnight after an outbreak of food poisoning.

I had managed to insult her and the High Priest – I heard someone address him as Rudorf, which somehow suited him – with polite accuracy.  She looked at me as if she wanted to hand me over to someone with the predilections of Clotilinna of Lagensburg to question.

Don’t get me wrong. If that floats someone’s boat, the priestesses of Agapa serve their goddess with enthusiasm out of true love for her own love; and they try to serve the many wishes of those who come to worship. This is a good thing, and healthy, but it’s not my cup of tea. And Asuellalora was a political being, with all that implied. She had clawed her way up to the top with the rapacity Chessina would have recognised from her time in the Abyss, and would have been as at home with Chessina’s former mistress, Langoralia, the demonic madam. I had good reason to believe she used pillow talk to obtain blackmail material, which would sadden Agapa, but doubtless brought Asuellalora power and wealth.

“I must leave a donation at the temple as you are plainly too poor to afford a proper gown,” I murmured.

If looks could kill, I’d be a smoking pile of ash.

“There is nothing wrong with my gown,” she snapped.

“Oh?” I said. “Well, I would have thought you might have wanted it to fit; but then, middle aged spread happens to us all.”

She had hysterics.

It did not help that Chessina had managed a subtle jinx to make her gown pull tight against her rather ample flesh.

We have simple pleasures.

“Dear husband,” said Chessina, slipping her hand into my arm. “Do introduce me.”

“Let me see; the priestess goes by Asuellalora these days,” I said. “Allow me to present her to you, Wizardess Chessina.”

“Delighted,” said Chessina, who sounded as delighted as if she had been introduced to an earthworm. “I believe the Wizard of Matledale has arrived.” She led me off, asking “So, what does the fat woman do, again?”

It was meant to carry.

I have mentioned before that Chessina can be insanely and irrationally jealous.

“You know she doesn’t interest me,” I said, quietly.

“She wants you,” said Chessina.

“Let her,” I said. “Life is full of little disappointments.”

Chessina sniggered as we moved over to Dragovar, who was welcoming Gerivek, Ducal Wizard of Mattledale.  Gerivek was sleek, expensive, well-tailored, manicured, barbered, and wore rings on every finger. I instinctively disliked him on sight.

I smiled.

I had the sort of dwarven brocades they did not sell outside the country, my hair and hands were taken care of by Chessina, whose tail might be capable of gentle caresses, but was also a very fine grade emery board which shaped my nails beautifully – and my toenails, because Chessina insisted – and was delicate enough to work as a cuticle pusher. I had nothing to be ashamed of in my appearance; and plainly Asuellalora had no idea I was the scrawny, untidy boy she had encroached on in her attempt to use me to get closer to Harmon

A surfeit of wizards 8

 

Chapter 8

 

I had not forgotten Harmon’s murder; do not think so for an instant. But as it seemed to have been over the desire for a woman tied to demonology, it seemed sensible to treat it merely as a side issue to the main problem. And the main problem was, and always had been, Fishface and his ilk.

We chatted in the evening and I burst out in irritation, “I don’t understand why we have to have the priest and priestess of Frotterand and Frottelina at the conference about the school. It’s only the local aspects of Arcana, Agapa, and Silvana, after all, because something as mighty as the sun ‘must’ be male.  And I’m uncomfortable about heavenly bodies being gods.”

“Of course they aren’t, dear one,” said Arcana’s voice, speaking through my staff. “The sun is a burning ball of gas further away than you could be comfortable knowing, and the moon is a dead planet orbiting the Earth.”

“But the false moon…” I said.

“THAT isn’t a moon, it is a construct, a crystal sphere made by the High Fae to escape the world they destroyed, and it interferes with the flow of magic. You must have noted that it does not change position. It orbits at the same speed as the earth spins to be forever over the Elven city.”

“Oh!” I said. “Is that how it works? How fascinating.  But it’s not very apparent in the sky, I think only wizards and astronomers are aware of it as being a moon, of sorts.”

“Well, yes, but it has confused you into over-thinking my portfolio. The workings of the sun, and the other suns, which are the stars, but too far away for you to see them as such, are under the Portfolio of the Great Commissioner, and it’s none of your business, and not much of mine,” said Arcana. “You worry about this world and let Him worry about the rest. As to why the priestly representatives of the local aspects of my siblings and I should be present, it’s a matter of politics.”

“But it’s insulting to you!” I burst out. “You are married to Emaxtiphrael, and… and it’s all wrong!”

“Dear one, mortals try to second-guess the powers that aid them and most of the time, they get it wrong.  I speak to my special ones, as does Emax, but the power of worship helps sustain us, and we accept the fallacies. In Agarak they worship Amenrey, their sun-god, and Wennenefer, god of the underworld and magic, so combining me with aspects of Emax.  Did you think that because I can come into the dreams of my followers that I bother to set all of them straight?”

“Well, yes,” I said.

“I don’t have the time or the inclination,” said Arcana. “It suffices, and we collect the souls from the place of waiting in whatever aspect they wish to see. It is easier for most people to have a very humanised view of a royal couple of gods than the less comfortable view of me and of Agapa, who is my sister and my brother, and we can merge; and with the added aspects of Silvana. I think most mortals would find it too confusing and messy.”

I have to admit, I find it hard enough to get my head round.

“Oh, Arcana, I do love you,” said Florisin, yearningly.

“Courage, dear one, there is still work for you, guiding Castamir and Chessina,” said Arcana. “I love you too.”

And then she was gone.

We were all much moved.

 

oOoOo

 

We set out early for the old temple to retrieve the chest.

“Silvana should reclaim this place,” said Florisin.

“For want of a druid or druidess, isn’t going to happen,” said Ceslin. “I asked.”

“This is ridiculous,” said Chessina. “Arcana has contact with Silvana, she can ask for a druid or druidess from her worshippers. She knows what is needful; I am sure one will be sent. You can build a house for her, Ceslin.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Ceslin.

I did not snigger. I knew what was going on behind the wild look in Ceslin’s eyes; it was a look I’d worn myself a lot when Chessina first took over my life.

 

We went down into the cellar, and left Chessina at the top on guard. There was no need for her to have to go through this again. I hoped Ceslin would not be too upset.

As it happened it was Florisin who bolted back up the ladder and puked up his breakfast on the ground.

We followed, with the chest, to find Chessina, ministering to him.

“I read Abyssal,” he was saying. “It brought a lot of things back, and I was sixteen again, facing my first demon.  Which of course was the same as Shareen… I don’t suppose you remember being Shareen.”

“I don’t, but I remember some of the terror of waking up in the Abyss,” said Chessina. “What was written down there is disgusting, but the demon was insane with confinement.”

“I’m not about to feel sorry for a ruddy demon,” said Florisin.

“Castamir was sorry for me,” said Chessina. “If he hadn’t been, I wouldn’t have a soul.”

“You never were truly a demon, and he sensed that, I’m sure,” said Florisin.

“I don’t know if I did or not,” I said. “But she was so frightened and hurt.”

“Demons fear, but their fear is always mixed with anger,” said Florisin. “And they look for someone to intimidate, to pass on the fear.”

“Chessina never even tried.”

“It never crossed my mind,” said Chessina.

“Well, Arcana took care of you both,” said Florisin, gruffly. “I am sorry; I let the memories get away from me.”

“Anyone who reads Abyssal hates that room,” I said. “I just decided not to look at the walls. I should have warned you.”

“I’m going down to check if there are any clues to help you, and then we are going to fill that damned cellar in,” said Florisin.

He went down the ladder alone; a brave man.

He emerged in about five minutes.

“Nothing but the insane scrawls of a crazed demon,” he said.

“Thank you,” said Chessina, fervently.

We turned stone to sand with a transmutation spell, and the writings were forever broken into grains with no more meaning than the odd random scratch on any grain of sand. The walls slumped in and the whole cellar fell in on itself, making a hole in the forest floor.

“Summon silt from the river bed to fill it,” said Florisin to me. “The staff can do that.”

I didn’t argue. Wet silt would drain and rearrange the sand still further.

It rained silt in a specific region for about an hour.

When I finished, it was to discover that Chessina had tampered with the snack of sandwiches we had brought, and added tea and scones, and there was a merry camp fire and feather-filled cushions to sit on around it.

Chessina was a great believer in home comforts.

And she had even managed to pull off a dome of warming over the place. I suspected Arcana had cheated. She is very fond of Chessina.

 

oOoOo

 

We took the chest back to the house to examine, so we could do so in a protective circle of runes. Wizards are… Wizards exercise constant vigilance.

Last time we had been more interested in what was in the chest, not the chest itself. Now I opened it to observe the lining.

The lining was a lightweight leather, pale in colour.

I paled. I suddenly realised what Agravar had done, and what he had used. And I suspected that he had started with Shareen still alive to drive her into the mirror to escape agony.

I managed not to be sick.  It helped that it was some hours since we had eaten.

Carefully, I unpinned it, my skin crawling at the feel of it. But it seemed wrong, somehow, to just cut it out.

“Castamir….” Chessina’s voice was a thin thread. “Is… was that…?”

“I’m afraid so,” I said, grimly.

“I have plans for Agravar when we kill Fishface,” said Chessina. She reached forward to touch it, to my cry of alarm.  She nodded. “There’s still a connection,” she said. “Castamir, I want to keep this; it may prove necessary for personal protection with a material component which is personal.”

I wasn’t about to deny that. Nobody in their right mind was barbaric enough to do such a thing just to use it, but as it existed….

Under the… lining… was another layer of lining. A blue crystal lining. The colour of the stone in the amulet I had stolen from Fishface.

A stone Dragovar had been unable to identify.

What had Arcana said?  The less moon is a crystal sphere in which the High Fae escaped…

“It’s from the false moon,” I said, intelligently.

The chime was enthusiastic.

“But if it interferes with magic, how can it be a storage for that lightning effect?” asked Chessina.

“I don’t know,” I said, investigating. “But there appear to be two layers, and I wager the crystal structure runs one way in one, and the other way in the other.”

I got chimed at.

“So, if we lined it up the same way, over a runic array for a spell, and put power into it, would it multiply it?” asked Chessina.

She looked pleased at her own chime.

“It’s odd,” I said. “Arcana, dearest, you don’t normally tell people if they are on the right track with experimentation.”

The orb flared.

“I don’t have time to mess about with this,” said Arcana. “Feel free to use the crystal here, and start crafting amulets but think about what to use them for and do mess around with the precise orientation of the crystal… oh, Emax says I may not say any more about that, but you know what to do, and you know when defensive is better than offensive.”

“The boy at the school,” said Chessina. She shut her eyes, and managed to reproduce the boy’s voice, almost intonation for intonation. “‘Behold! The Towermaster and the Beloved, who will throw down the false gods and rob the abyssal thief of the moonstone soulstealer!’”

“And the clue was right there,” I said. “The moonstone soulstealer.”

“I suspect Agravar used a crystal focus for that powerful soul-shattering spell,” said Chessina. “One use, and made by Fishface, in crude imitation of the Fae work on his amulet, at a guess.”

She got a chime.

All right, then. All working present and marked as we went.

“You youngsters move in very different levels of destiny to those I’m used to,” said Florisin.

“Interesting times,” I quoted him back to himself.

He laughed, and play-cuffed me around the back of the head.

“Well, we might as well get back to the city,” I said. “And I’ll take the trunk and its linings to store safely in the tower. And then, if we may, we would like to read Pondichook’s journals.”

“I’ll take your little lass to be getting on with that,” said Florisin. “I’m no seer, but I wager you may be a little held up.”

Wonderful.

 

oOoOo

 

I dropped Chessina and Florisin off at his tower, a moderate and modest spire on the city’s edge, with views over the surrounding countryside, and the upper part of one side encased in glass as a greenhouse. I was a trifle smug that it was made out of panes some two feet square, where the Tower was talking about growing wide panes broken up decoratively, only to make sure nobody tried to walk or fly through them.

Well, that was the Tower for you,

I returned to our town house, and nipped through the gate.

I was met by Harmana.

“Master, Rosie, Matille’s daughter, wants to talk to you,” she said. “She said it wasn’t urgent, so I didn’t send a message,”

“Thanks, Harmana,” I said. “I need to store this in a safe place.”

“Oh, would you like me to take it for you, Master?” she asked.

“It’s too heavy for you, my child,” I said. “I won’t be long. Would Roise prefer to come here, or would she prefer me to go to her, do you think? Matille’s family is special to me, they virtually fostered me when I was orphaned, and newly apprenticed, and though some of their children are a bit distant, I never lost touch with Roff, who is also my verderer, and Rosie, who used to follow me around as a child. Both of them have some magic, Rosie being a Potstirrer like her mother, and Roff having some druidic magic.”

“Oh, that explains a lot. I like Matille a lot, she’s been teaching me some herb lore and cooking and simple-making,” said Harmana. “She said you would be happy for me to learn?”

“Yes, it’s very good of her. Sorry to abandon you, my dear.”

“Oh, I recognise that you have duties; I know all about duty,” said Harmana.

I sighed, and enfolded her in an embrace. Poor child, of course she knew about duty, having been a royal princess, her life had been very little else.

“I feel bad that it interferes with us being a family,” I said.

We had been walking through the Tower, and I stowed the chest in my workroom, as I would need it there. I warded it heavily; I did not want Harmana getting curious and finding human skin. Or messing about with moonstone. I wasn’t too sure what it could do.

“You can read about the properties of crystals used for magical storage and write me a brief essay on them, if you have finished all that I left you,” I said. She would have done; I had not loaded her down with work. “But if you want to take advantage of a pleasant winter afternoon, for goodness’ sake, go and play first.”

She grinned shyly at me.

“Some of us were seeing if the ice was bearing on the pond, and it wasn’t, so we had to rush Lele, Frottor’s daughter to Matille when she went through.”

“By the gods! She was lucky,” I said.

“I gave Matille a headache because I used a pull spell on her,” said Harmana. “Only, I sort of half made it up as I went along.”

“It worked,” I said. “A lot of magic is about intent, but some more complex spells can become harmful if cast inexpertly. As long as your intent was to pull your friend, you acted on her whole body. It could be used on hair, which would be very painful. But useful for bullies.”

She beamed at me.

“I’ll remember that,” she said.

 

I stepped down to Matille’s house.

Rosie greeted me cheerfully. It’s one reason I like the family; they remember me as Orgo, before I chose my name. Funnily enough, few people do; it seems to fade in the memory. I suspect Arcana of having a hand in protecting her wizards… yes, there went the chime.

“What can I do for you, Rosie?” I asked.

“Well, it’s about me having some magic, Cas… Towermaster,” she said.

“You, of all people, my little sister, get to call me Castamir,” I said. “Did you feel you needed more training?”

“I don’t think I have more magic than can be trained by my mother, but I would like, one day, to have a nice husband as good as my father is to my mother, and children.”

“And that’s a problem?”

“The boys in the village are either nervous of magic, or want me to brew potions for them to make them larger, or love potions. And I won’t do it, and I want a husband with enough magic not to think me a freak who should either stop my work, or should make stupid things just for him. I want a man who will respect my skill, and yet not disrespect me that it is but small compared to a real wizard. And I wondered if you would let me be a maid to Chessina, to increase her consequence, so I get to meet more people.”

I blinked.

I took her problem seriously; wizards who marry tend to either marry an apprentice of theirs, another wizard, or women who have no magic at all, without being scared by it.  It’s usually that way round; most female wizards still like to be the junior partner. Though I had heard of Clotilinna of Lagensburg, in the Archduchy of Osternlonde, who liked partners she could dominate. Apparently, some men like women like that, but I prefer a true partnership. And Chessina’s games about me being what she calls ‘Impressive.’

I shoved that thought to the back of my mind.

“I don’t object, on principle,” I said. “Can you pack and be ready to go in half an hour? If not, it’ll be a while.”

“I’ll be at the Tower in twenty minutes,” she said. “I already discussed it with my parents.”

So, I had a companion to go through the gate back to Adalsburg  and on the rug of travel to Florisin’s tower.  And Rosie, bless her, took it all in her stride.