A surfeit of wizards 10

 

Chapter 10

 

 I wore two items of jewellery. My ring of protection against bladed weapons, and the amulet of elven work with the moonstone gem. And I only wore that to see if anyone looked at it with more recognition than they had a right to have. My robe, which was rich, dark, and sumptuous, spoke for itself, and I saw Gerivek attempting to estimate its value and realising that it was a cloth that was vastly superior to any the dwarves usually traded.

“My dear fellow!” he said. “That’s a magnificent brocade. I did not think the dwarves sold their best pieces.”

I smiled my best enigmatic smile.

“They don’t,” I said.

“But… where did you get it?”

“Oh, it was a gift from the dwarves,” I said, waving a hand. “I get on rather well with them.”

“That must have been a considerable service you provided,” he tried again.

Enigmatic smile time once more.

He was chewing on his liver.

“So, this supposed war that was brewing with the elves; care to share how you managed to deflect it… Towermaster?” he asked.

“Oh, turned up, freed the elven nobility from ensorcellment, dealt with the demonic influence, came home,” I said, waving a hand. “Once the source of the problem became apparent, it was all pretty straightforward.”

“I hear you were given unicorn horns,” said Gerivek.

“I believe I satisfied the elven court. They were shed; not harvested.”

“And you went to the abyssal plane to kill this demon?”

I shrugged.

“No need,” I said. “It was a half-demon; and his soul is with Emaxtiphrael.”

“You are certain?”

“Yes.”

“But how….”

“Did you want to ask Emaxtiphrael for confirmation? I don’t mind,” I said.

He glared. For some reason, I think he thought I was being facetious.

“Where’s that old fool, Lothamir?” asked Clovo.

“He was too busy to attend,” said Dragovar, blandly.

“Too busy? Busy is when you’re fighting irritants on the border, but I made it,” said Clovo. “Too busy with what?”

“He did not specify,” said Dragovar.

“Oh, well, we shall get on better without him,” said Clovo. “Who was invited besides various priests?”

“A few independent wizards,” said Dragovar. “I think everyone is here; I see Rathar of Westery, high priest of Aregor, the war god; Lady Laria, priestess of Selena-Healer; and I imagine Beretrulle is representing the Warriors of the Divine Moonlight, as well as Aregor. And there’s The Masked Priest representing the nameless god of endings.”

“Emaxtiphrael, in other words,” I said. “When did he become nameless?” 

“It’s a matter of politics,” said Dragovar, severely. “Do try not to stir too much, Castamir, we need a mostly compliant conclave. Please try not to upset the priesthood by letting them know that you’re on chatting terms with their gods.”

“I’m not… well, not exactly,” I said, plaintively.

He glared at me.

“It will upset them,” he said.

“Are you with child, Dragovar, to be so testy?” asked Chessina, sweetly.

Dragovar glared at her as well, and strode to the table at the front, motioning me to follow.

Frigermar was already there with a thick file.

“You can glance through whilst Dragovar is pontificating,” he murmured.

I nodded.

“Thank you,” I said. He had been thorough in auditing the classes.  “This is an excellent piece of work. I had some surprising family news, and a breakthrough against the demon who has been causing most of the trouble.”

“Well, that’s worth spending time on,” said Frigermar. “I enjoyed some family business of my own.”

“Well done,” I said, having seen the results. He looked pleased.

“It’s ridiculous that he should only respect me for beating him up,” he muttered.

“But, alas, very real,” I said.

 

Dragovar gave us a pointed look and banged his gavel.

He got silence, more or less, and launched into a speech about why he had called this meeting. I was startled out of my reading when he declared, “Castamir, the Towermaster will confirm my findings.”

I stood.

I let my aura flare, or even let loose the jaggy colours, as Chessina would have it.

I also banged my staff on the floor and the orb flared, enthusiastically in a number of colours. Apparently my predecessors were in favour of some dramatics.

 “It is preposterous!” I allowed my voice to project without having to yell; but let it sound loud. “We looked over the school as a courtesy to Ogramir, and what did we find? Short cuts. The use of wands in the guise of being short staffs. Any fool knows that a juvenile should not be ready to use a staff without burning out his ability, and any wizard starting to use a focus during adolescence will always be stultified for not fully expanding their magical essence!”

“Damn right,” said Florisin, who had come in on Rosie’s arm. “Any wizard not powerful enough to use a staff shouldn’t be relying on toys. In my young day we were taught that it was the sign of coming of age as a mage not merely a wizard to be able to use a staff. And that lewd drinking song started out as a teaching ballad about how levels of mages had larger knobs on the end, and could achieve different colours. Congratulations, Archmage Castamir.”

“Staff and wand lore is not taught in the school,” I said. “Ogramir made light of the Tower staff, as ‘old fashioned,’ and suggested I might like to craft a ‘modern’ staff perhaps four feet long.”

“Preposterous! You’d have burned it out,” said Florisin. “For those who are incapable of the use of staffs, a wand may be useful for particular projects, being easier to aim than amulets. And may be crafted for hedge-witches and the like to boost their small power for the good of their community. Not a skill which should be forgotten, but not for the shortcuts to make a shoddy wizard up to being mediocre.”

Someone started singing, ‘The size of the knob on the staff is a sign of a wizard’s true power…’

I used my will through my own staff to send a shockwave to knock him on his arse.

“If I may resume?” I asked, silkily.

I had a rapt audience.

“There is no cause for complaint in the classrooms of the herb and plant lore classes, nor in alchemy and potion making,” I said. “I found the enchantress to be competent but too swayed by Ogramir.  I am inclined towards removing Ogramir entirely as a bad influence, as he leans towards short cuts, but I have not ascertained if Frigermar, who has been doing an excellent job of auditing the classes, would take it on.”

“But he’s a failed wizard,” said Gerivek.

“I’m more inclined to think the rot is deeper and has been in place longer than recent years, and that Frigermar was failed by his tutors, who could not accommodate his talents,” I snapped. “A man who can construct powerful and useful potions and spells is not a failed wizard.  However, a man of innovation is a man needed to guide young minds.  Resuming! I was not wholly impressed by the class of Divination, but it is such a hit and miss skill that there’s a problem of finding someone capable and willing to teach it, and cognisant that it is not always reliable. I understand that Drilego, who runs it, has more credence than a mere seer, having been an actuarial wizard engaged in casting auguries for the insurance of ship cargoes, and I believe a requirement of 75% accuracy is called for in the job, as in weather seers.”

“That is so,” confirmed Gerivek.

“I was appalled by the so-called war mage,” I said, “I fancy he’s been killing more young war wizards sent to the marches than any one threat from the wilderlands. I want him gone, and I want someone competent, who doesn’t teach a team of wizards to bunch up to fight a dragon. I understand the team of elementalists are competent. The witch who teaches the school of control… Frigermar, would you explain what you wrote? It is so shocking I want to hear it from you.”

“She uses control spells on older male students for her own gratification,” said Frigermar. “I put her on probation, but I’d like to see her sacked.  I came across this quite by accident, returning to the classroom because I had left something behind. I called in a mind-healer from the temple of Selene to help the boys involved.”

“I can confirm this,” said the priestess of Selene. “Disgraceful.”

“A lack of moral fibre,” I said, sententiously. “Perhaps you would roughly finish those schools I have missed?”

“Yes, Towermaster,” said Frigermar. “Transmogrification was taught in a pedestrian sort of way, but within the bounds of adequacy; Summoning seemed to me to be a class in which I was an outsider, and I suspect that the class might have been tending towards more demon-raising than summoning small creatures to perform random tasks, but I’m not qualified to truly check that out.  Translocation skills were not taught badly enough to consider changes as such, though I suspect higher level translocations might be beyond the wizard set to teach it.  I do not know how to fold space to make a gate, for example, but I understand the theory behind it, of making a tunnel through a fifth dimension, even as I understand why ley-line travel is faster. I received no impression that even the fifth-year students could answer a question on such travel.”

I nodded to him.

“The situation is indeed dire,” said Clovo. “I’ll second your suggestion to ask Frigermar to step up as headmaster, and replace Ogramir. He has surely made enough from bribes to take in children of dubious magical skill to make them better hedge-witches for their mercantile fathers, denying the places to the poor with more skill. Let him live on his ill-gotten gains.”

The maggots really were crawling out of the woodwork.

“I would like a council of wizards to prosecute the female who has been abusing the boys,” I said. “It is illegal; it is rape and assault.”

“I’ll send a team to take her into custody,” said Beretrulle, exiting.

“Good,” said Frigermar. “I wasn’t sure how far my remit in auditing went.”

“Your remit as headmaster is second only to Dragovar,” I said. “If you will take it.”

“If I can help young minds achieve their potential with less poking of square pegs into round holes, I would be delighted,” said Frigermar. “I may want to hire more staff, and do some sacking, and please can you come and look over the School of Summoning?”

“I will,” I said. “I’ll come as your secretary, incognito, and stick my nose in.  Is there any dispute over what is needed?”

“The priesthood would like to see a class of religious instruction in the school,” said Asuellora.

“I believe that instruction about the aspects of Arcana is adequately covered,” said Frigermar. “I believe that it may be mentioned that the local god names are merely for the peasantry and cover Arcana and her siblings. After all, nobody with an education believes in such a thing as a deity represented by a natural body like the sun or the moon, even if some places of nature are under the protection of powerful spirits.”

She went a number of interesting colours, and shut up.

Those convened put forward a number of ideas, some more practical than others, but we wrote them all down.  Frigermar could see if any of the wilder suggestions might be modified; and I left it to him. It was his school, now, after all.

I have to be honest.

We broke out the mead, and ended the day with a singsong, in which that song was sung again, and the initial verses teaching recognition of a mage, warlock, and archmage were discarded in preference of the bawdy version written long ago by schoolboys, and which stuck in the memory more than the original.

Florisin was singing as loudly as anyone. So was Dragovar.

I used the Arcana Hygeina aspect to cast the sobering spell. Chessina would not have been happy if I had not. And an unhappy Chessina is very difficult to live with.

 

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