Well Armed Brides: A Novel of the Highmage's Plight (Highmage’s Plight Series Book 5) Read online

  “No,” George replied.

  The herald shook his head. “They cannot walk before you. All must be able to clearly see—”

  “That’s not what I mean, Varian, Se’and and Fri’il, will walk besides me. Hand-in-hand.”

  With a gasp, Varian half-whispered, “You can’t touch them!”

  “I had an interesting chat with my bardic friend, Spiro, about that after our visit. You really should talk with him… I am given to understand that my actions will indicate—”

  “Your intent to marry them during the ceremony.”

  “Quite. We’re bonded. This will just make it official.”

  :George,: Staff whispered in his thoughts, :how gallant. You are going to make honest women of them.:

  He grit his teeth. “I’ve spoken with the Empress. She has agreed.”

  “She what?”

  “Varian, you look unwell, perhaps you should sit down,” George said, leaning against his computer staff, his large wolf-like companion pausing to watch as his sole black liveried bodyguard this day, who only pretended to be Cathartan, feigned disinterest.

  The herald shook his head, “Please, do not make light of this, Highmage.”

  “I can’t help myself… perhaps, you’ll consider our having a private ceremony now?” he replied, half-jokingly.

  “Marrying privately is out of the question. This is a matter of state… to which, uh, Her Majesty actually agreed?”

  “Said her new Cathartan sisters should be there, since we’re to be one big happy family.”

  The herald made a strangled sound. “It is most… unusual, but elvin tradition does recognize the bond.” He winced, knowing what havoc this would play. “Perhaps, it is best you tell me who you wish to be considered for the groom’s party.”

  “Considered?”

  “Why, yes, I assume that Lord Balfour will stand with you… uh, with Lady Me’oh and Lady Cle’or at his side.” That would create far less a stir with the Court than the Highmage doing the same, he knew. “But it is the others of your household that make matters quite, shall we say, more unusual?”

  :Bringing your bodyguard wives to your wedding night apparently only adds to the mayhem this marriage is going to cause,: Staff commented through their mental link.

  George cleared his throat as his bodyguard nodded, catching that thought. “Se’and and Fri’il will accompany me, as will our child, Ri’ori.”

  The Herald frowned, “No small child may ascend the dais, but she can be kept near as can Balfour’s daughter.”

  “Surely having our children…”

  “That point is sacrosanct… Your bonding makes matters extremely difficult, but that, please, Highmage, do not need make so pointed a statement we have a riot at the wedding.”

  “Fine.”

  :Elves appear so human in their prejudices.:

  George grimaced, knowing human history was littered with prejudices as bad as those the elves often espoused against humans.

  “To be clear: your bonding… It was without ceremony?”

  “Believe me I never had a chance to say ‘I don’t.’”

  “Then you aren’t married to them at this point, which is what matters, according to the protocols.”

  “Oh, joy.”

  Varian shrugged, “So, I need the names of all in your Household and their status.”

  “Status?”

  “You are not going to make this easy, Milord, are you?”

  “When has anything been easy?”

  “Fine, although, humans have never participated before, I’ll need to know the names and status of each unmarried member of your household who will need to join you in the honor.”

  Frowning, George asked, “No friends?”

  “No dwarves or bodyguards… well, who aren’t bonded to you or Balfour. What’s important is their status… by tradition the unmarried males junior to you are expected to attend you; that includes your apprentices.”

  George winced, thinking about what might be considered formal attire. With a sigh, he named all the members of his Household.

  “VARIAN!” the Empress’s voice shouted via spell behind them.

  “Coming, Your Majesty!”

  #

  Cle’or stood guard at the balcony door and turned to see a black liveried woman with slivers of gray in her blonde hair. Her eyes widened.

  “Ah, there you are, my dear.”

  “Mother, I wasn’t aware you had arrived in the city yet…”

  “I’ve brought the remainder of the family up the Aqwaine River. You have done well. I understand congratulations are in order. De’ohr tells me that you are to be married.”

  Cle’or gave a faint nod.

  “I taught you House champions never marry. What are you thinking?”

  “Nothing I intend to discuss with you… We are not of the same House anymore.”

  Her mother’s eyes widened, “How dare you.”

  “My House has different rules than yours, Mother. We’re allowed to love… I hope you come to the ceremony.”

  Voices could be heard coming from the cross corridor. Frowning, her mother, the woman responsible for her less visible scars, turned and marched off. Cle’or smiled, feeling better than ever.

  #

  “Highmage, if I might have a moment,” the gray haired elflord garbed as First General of the Empire paused at the balcony entrance.

  “Winterhil, no need to be so formal.”

  “The days when I could simply dicker over selling you a sword, sadly, are gone.”

  “Ah, retirement,” George teased.

  “Can be terribly boring, which is why I am not complaining about having to field irregulars to protect the city and capital province, but…”

  “It’s the situation in the Northlands that concerns you.”

  “Fenn du Blain’s added Gwire to his budding little Empire. And, I fear he’s somehow managed to slaughter every Legionnaire we had stationed in Gwire and the borderlands… The Imperial Wards recent renewal blinds him as the Demonlord’s magery blinds us… I wish Her Majesty’s options were not so limited.”

  “Limited merely by a lack of knowledge.”

  The general frowned. “We still are getting word from the Imperial Keep at the base of the Northern Cliff…”

  #

  “Varian, I need to finalize the bridal and groom’s party list before today’s Court session," the Empress said, examining the preparations first outside the palace’s Great Hall amid the terraces.

  “Majesty, I have Lord Je’orj’s household.”

  “Good, Varian; let us get this over with… Scribes! I need scribes to attend us! And find the Master of Keys! We’ve gowns to take from stasis.”

  The rather young senior herald shivered slightly. Those gowns had not seen the light of day in centuries and would exist for but a single day. The violet dressed scribes came running from one of the side halls, where the scribes were busy writing the ornate invitations for each of the great families and those Her Majesty chose to have in attendance. “You, Scribe, sit and take down my bridal party and, you, will take down the groom’s list, then I want their invitations.”

  They hastened to obey as the Empress began, “My cousins, Lord Lyai and his Lady Esperanza, Archmage Talik of Lyai, and my half-sister, Lady Carwina, then Lord Sianhiel… Lady Rowena, hmm…let’s pause there and consider the groom’s list.”

  “Ahem,” Varian said, “I understand you wish… wish his bonded Cathartans to accompany him?”

  “Awkward, I realize, but they are my sisters, too, now, essentially…” She glanced across the hall and saw the Lady Lonny guarding Je’orj. “The Lady Babylon should be included, as well. Who else is on his list?”

  “Lord Balfour and his bonded.”

  The Empress nodded as the scribe wrote.

  All too soon, the Empress had the lists read aloud by each scribe to review, adding some last moment names to her bridal party. The Master of Keys, an old man with a cane, arri
ved during the recitation. He apparently was a bit ill. He kept coughing, eyes tearing as he glanced at Lord Je’orj in conference on the distant inner balcony.

  Varian frowned, knowing the palace staff was in difficult straits, many had not survived the attempted coup any better than the herald. The Master of Keys was not often seen since he was rarely called to open the ogre guarded stasis vaults beneath the palace.

  “Provide a copy of the list to him and prepare your heralds.”

  “Your Majesty,” Varian said, joining the old man as he headed toward the stairs to the lower level. “Master, one moment.”

  “Lord Herald.”

  “Are you well?”

  He leaned on his cane, “Best of health.”

  “You… uh, coughed quite a lot. I would not like an illness affecting…”

  “Oh, I’ll redeem the wedding gowns without a problem. But if you don’t mind my saying, are you sure you understand the, uh, forms, Herald?”

  “The forms? I’ve studied up on High Elvin weddings since Her Majesty announced her intention to marry.”

  “I see. I suppose it’s good then that this isn’t an ancient human wedding.”

  “What?”

  “Part of the ritual was called, I believe, ‘being fitted.’”

  “Fitted?”

  “After picking a dress after days or months of searching and seeing it tailored to perfection… Elvin ladies are so much more practical, give someone a gown and it fits like a second skin.”

  “Uh, yes.”

  The old man nodded, “Young man, you will be a great herald one day, mark my words. I’ve seen the best.”

  Shaking his head, Varian said, “Uh, the heralds should be ready by morning to begin their rounds.”

  “Excellent. It will take nearly that long to secure what you need from the vaults,” he then walked out, leaving the herald doubly puzzled. A moment later, the herald hurried out, knowing there was so much more to do. He suddenly paused, thinking the Keeper of the Keys looked remarkably like the prelate who would perform the ceremony. He shook his head, thinking humans tended to look alike.

  #

  “Lee, fancy meeting you here,” George said as the young Lord of Lyai joined him on the inner balcony.

  “Being married to the new Mistress of Scryers,” he replied with a smile, “does mean that I’ve become the highest ranking page of all time.”

  “Somehow I can commiserate,” George replied. “I take it there’s been news.”

  “The Northlands are still totally obscured to scrying, but Winterhil’s getting couriers from Basemont Keep. It’s packed with refugees from Fenn’s atrocities, pleading to be allowed to ascend to the safety of the Empire.”

  “I’ll say this for the founders of the Empire: raising up the country up out of the ground as they did creates a very effective wall.”

  Why, thank you.

  His computer staff flared and Lonny chuckled, “You have to love the ghosts' sense of humor.”

  George sighed as Lee glanced about, “They never crack jokes in my palace.”

  “Yours are probably just shy,” George offered.

  :Or expect him to live through the next few days, so don’t feel it necessary to get to know him better...:

  “There is that,” George muttered as Lee frowned. “Inside joke.”

  “Of course… what Esperanza really wanted you to know is there are a lot of blind spots suddenly in the area.”

  “Where?”

  “Approaching the city; and some arriving.”

  “Blind spots… Warded areas in motion.”

  “Wards are normally stationary.”

  “Except when warders are involved, or so Aaprin assures me.”

  “Warders apparently blend in. You can’t see them at all, unless they want you to. This is more of a brute force approach to spells that disrupts the area of the spot’s passage.”

  “How many are we talking about?”

  “Inside the city, about a dozen… outside a patch.”

  “A patch? Meaning it’s small.”

  “If you call twenty leagues small…”

  “Out of Hayden or Llewellyn?”

  “Rian.”

  “Great. You don’t suppose it could just be a delegation coming for the wedding?”

  “We should be so lucky.”

  Chapter 2 - Seeking a Gift

  The white unicorn halted on the road from the Great Way in Rian, sniffing the air.

  The troll beside him paused, “What’s wrong?”

  The boy riding her said, “Greth, leave her be.”

  He glanced back at the ox drawn cart and the dozen drowsy girls sleeping in it as the rather short man-size troll, Lawson, pulled back on the reins and muttered, “Whoa.”

  Nessa, a dark haired young teen, was the nominal leader of the refugee girls, rose from the back of the cart. “What’s the hold-up this time?”

  “Something’s bothering her.”

  “Does that mean as big as a dragon or a small army?” Nessa asked, glancing at her empty quiver, then shook Yel’ane’s shoulder. The girl woke with a start, a throwing dagger instantly at hand. “Ware.”

  Yel’ane took a deep breath and nodded.

  Casber du Winome sighed, wishing they had never allowed the girls to accompany them. “There aren’t any dragons in the Empire.”

  “There weren’t supposed to be any dragons, period,” Nessa replied.

  Greth smiled, “She does have you there, boy.”

  “Fine, if it were another dragon,” Casber replied. “I don’t think we’d be standing here.”

  “Oh, good, since we’re out of arrows, thank you very much.”

  Lawson grinned, “Like they would do us much good — and, truth be told, Miss Nessa, it’s not his fault you left your last arrow in that rather mean fellow’s throat.”

  “It wouldn’t have happened if he—” she pointed back at the boy, “hadn’t been so stupid.”

  Shaking his head, Casber rasped, “It really wasn’t my fault.”

  Greth frowned, “Yes, it was.”

  “No, it… wasn’t,” he said, his face going red. There was a flash of light from the crystal pendant about his throat and Casber’s anger vanished. Of course, the reason for that was that his face had gone blank and his mind was literally elsewhere.

  Nessa sighed, “He’s not going to remember this moment is he?”

  “No, only that it really wasn’t his fault…” Lawson said, frowning, “especially because it wasn’t, exactly.”

  “We won’t try to take that crystal pendant thing off him again,” she promised.

  “That’s good because I don’t think you’ll get off so easy next time.”

  Yel’ane muttered, “My fingers are still a bit numb for trying.”

  Nessa shrugged, “Also meaning I won’t have to kill anyone.”

  “Meaning none of you will find yourself zapped— if you’re lucky,” Lawson replied as the unicorn craned its neck, her horn glowing.

  Casber felt himself living the power linking the long quiet Capital node more firmly to Rian’s node, which had been accidentally tapped when things were darkest. He had come so far, all the way from the Barrier Mountains into the lowlands of the Crescent, where humanity dwelled in city-states and war raged.

  He had met his companions of stray girls seeking to find their family who had been fleeing from a more distant land.

  Something traveled the node’s light, drawn toward him; peering at him, puzzled, yet happy to see the unicorn, the last of her kind. You block scrying rather well, which is drawing attention here.

  ‘Huh?’ Casber heard the unicorn reply.

  A child, and he’s unaware?

  ‘Very much so,’ she said.

  How is it possible?

  ‘There is power in paradox… and it has been unleashed.’

  ‘Uh, what are you talking about?’ the boy asked in the ether.

  ‘Casber, my dear friend, do you feel it?’
>
  ‘Feel what?’

  ‘Je’orj’s presence is having an effect.’

  Pause. ‘Oh, good, I hope Uncle Bal won’t be too cross with me for running away.’

  ‘He’ll be very happy we have saved his stepdaughter.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Nothing to concern yourself with… Time to wake up now.’

  Casber blinked, the crystal at his throat quiescent.

  The unicorn mare raised her head and began walking forward again, but this time the warding fluttered, restablized.

  #

  Esperanza, Lady of Lyai, Mistress of the Imperial Scryers, stared into the bowl, water swirling out of her pores and around her body. The Scryers Network, was near demise from treason within, during the schism the election of a human as Highmage had caused.

  The apprentice scryers paused to stare before completing their tasks. The old scrying master, long imprisoned, was Primus to the Mistress once more. “Stop staring, perhaps one day the waters will honor you so, too.”

  The blank spot that drew her interest suddenly fluttered and contracted.

  You needn’t worry about it.

  She blinked. ‘Really? And why would that be?’

  The unicorn comes.

  ‘Is that good or bad?’

  It means there is no stealthed army coming from Rian.

  ‘Yet the unicorn just happens to be arriving in time for the Empress’s wedding… or is it coming to meet the new Highmage?’

  The Imperial unicorn never says much.

  She thought, ‘Then you won’t mind my seeing for myself.’

  Oh, do try… The ancient, too familiar, presence vanished and try as Esperanza might, there was no sign of the warded area any longer.

  #

  “What do you two think you are doing?” their warder asked as they walked through the park, where vendors were beginning to stage for the festival.

  They frowned, seeing a medicinal stall. “Why, looking for a wedding gift for Me’oh and Balfour,” Revit replied.

  The apothecary glanced at them, “I do not open until tomorrow.”

  Terus, nevertheless, asked, “What do you stock?”

  “Ah, lad, nothing of magery. I’m just a poor man, who collects herbals and medicinals.”

  “No anti-inflammatories?” Revit asked.