by Randy Nargi
The Bander Adventures: Books 4-6
The Bander Adventures Boxset Book 2
Randy Nargi
The Bander Adventures
A Conspiracy of Shadows
In Terror’s Thrall
Revenge of the Battle Mage
The Owl and the Dragon
The Temple of Fate
Download a high-res map of Harion:
Download here
or visit randynargi.com/map
Contents
Revenge of the Battle Mage
The Temple of Fate
The River’s Bane: A Bander Novella
Dear Reader
Revenge of the Battle Mage
Chapter One
HARSCEAW PRISON IN OLD RUNDLUN HAD 173 PRISON CELLS DISTRIBUTED AMONG SIX FLOORS; SEVEN FLOORS IF YOU COUNTED THE UNDERWATER DUNGEON WHICH HELD FORMER GRAND GUILDMASTER MEOMANNAN QUILL. Roughly half the cells were empty. The most famous cell in Harsceaw, the Storm Room, recently housed Lord Governor Bryn Eresthar, but he had been freed less than a week ago.
It was standard practice to populate the cells on the lower levels first because it was significantly easier to bring food and drink up just one or two flights of stairs—especially because the prison’s staircases were heavily fortified with multiple checkpoints and sally ports.
But the floor right below the Storm Room—which was known as the Eagle’s Tomb and whose thirty cells were almost always empty—held one prisoner this evening. His name was Genton and he was one of the top captains in Gredarl Kar’s vast criminal organization, operating out of Vale and reporting directly to the First Man, Daras Mirth.
Genton had been captured and tortured in Vale by vigilantes who were attempting to disrupt Gredarl Kar’s operations. These vigilantes murdered another captain, Alton Ferdun, robbed Hasford’s, the exclusive gambling club owned by Gredarl Kar, and were digging for information about a certain delivery to the frontier city of Kreed’s Keep. The vigilantes had some ties to the Imperial government, which is why Genton was here in Rundlun instead of imprisoned somewhere back in Vale. But his current situation didn’t worry him. In fact, he took it as a good sign that he had been isolated here on his own floor in Harsceaw. Daras Mirth had hinted that their organization had friends in the Imperial Ministry of the Axe and it appeared that the First Man hadn’t exaggerated. The only thing Genton wanted for right now was a healer; those vigilantes had done a savage job upon him.
He didn’t have long to wait. At least that’s what he thought when he saw a lone figure move down the hallway towards him. Genton quickly revised his guess as to the visitor’s identity. They would never send a healer alone. Even if the prisoner was a friend.
Genton could only make out a silhouette of the figure approaching him, but he was tall and armed with a crossbow. A guard. Maybe here to release him.
But as the man drew closer, Genton saw that it wasn’t a guard at all. It was Daras Mirth.
“My Lord…” Genton said. He staggered to his feet and quickly bowed.
“Are you enjoying your accommodations?” Daras Mirth stood tall and imposing. He was dressed as a guard and even his crossbow was loaded with a quarrel.
Genton knew enough about his superior to avoid pleasantries. He got right to the point. “I told them nothing, My Lord.”
“It matters not. The operation was a success. The water supply of Kreed’s Keep has been poisoned. Nine out of ten men, women, children, and even animals are dead or dying as we speak. Investigators found the body of the mage we planted. They are laying this disaster at the feet of the Guild.”
He should not be revealing all this to me, Genton thought. His heart started beating through his chest and he began to sweat.
Daras Mirth continued, “All of our plans have come to fruition.”
“I am gladdened by that news, My Lord.”
“Yet here you are. In Harsceaw.”
“Yes, our opponents had Imperial ties of their own.” Genton hastily continued, “I can identify the leader. He was a great ape of a man. Twenty or twenty-two hands tall. Old enough to be my father, but a brutish fighter.”
“You held your own, though…?”
“Yes. I knew you would want information on our opponents.”
“So, in a sense, you did not fail in your mission…?”
“I—”
“Indeed, I should report back to Gredarl Kar that you are a hero.”
Genton licked his lips. “I wouldn’t go so far as—”
Daras Mirth interrupted him again. “But here is the thing, my dear Genton. Gredarl Kar happens to believe that real heroes don’t get captured.”
Genton backed up towards the far end of the cell.
Daras Mirth smiled. “And I tend to agree with him.” He raised the crossbow.
THE NEXT MORNING LORD GOVERNOR BRYN ERESTHAR WAS ESCORTED INTO THE DUNGEON LEVEL OF HARSCEAW PRISON. He was accompanied by Imperial Vice Magister of the Axe Melmest Faeorn, three Imperial wardens, and his own private guard. The guard was a slender figure clad in crimson ceremonial armor who Eresthar introduced as Bausch, but who was really the sorceress Silbra Dal in disguise.
It had taken a personal appeal to Yrian Gast in order to be allowed this opportunity to interrogate Meomannan Quill and Bryn Eresthar hadn’t really expected the Viceroy to grant his request this quickly, if at all. Maybe the man was desperate. After what was going on in Kreed’s Keep, the Empire was falling further into chaos. There were revolts and protests across the land and the cries for the ousting of the Viceroy grew louder and more forceful. And through all this, the Guild maintained its stony silence, confounding both its supporters and detractors. Yes, Yrian Gast likely thought there wasn’t much to be lost by allowing Bryn Eresthar to confront the Grand Guildmaster and former Imperial Magister of the Wand. But he was wrong. There was much to be lost.
The group passed through a stone sally port, which was similar to the nine other sally ports at the entrances to the various levels of Harsceaw, save one important difference. This sally port was equipped with ancient and rare magic-detecting wards. No magical item or indeed no person capable of wielding magic could pass through the tight tunnel without sounding an alarm.
As they walked, single-file, through the tunnel, Bryn Eresthar held his breath.
If Silbra Dal was wrong about the armor, this would be a very short walk. But he couldn’t even concentrate on that. He was still reeling from the news that Bander was alive.
It had been less than 72 hours since Silbra Dal—or more specifically, the woman he once knew as Silbra Dal—had appeared in his residence in Castle Flower while he was trying to defend himself from a squad of doldar assassins. If it hadn’t been for her intervention, the assassins would have certainly overwhelmed him. But the thing that unnerved him so wasn’t the fact that Silbra Dal had appeared like a ghost out of nowhere. It was the fact that she had changed so dramatically.
This woman was no longer the deferential Guild Representative who had loyally accompanied Bander on his mission to locate the magical artifact which ultimately destroyed the city of Waterside. She had somehow been transformed. She wielded strange, cruel magic that had caused the assassins’ bodies to boil from the inside. And once the carnage was complete, she was terse and uncommunicative.
When Silbra Dal did finally speak, she did so in a commanding, icy voice. She told him that both she and Bander had survived the blast that had killed over a hundred thousand people, but offered no further information regarding his friend’s whereabouts. Instead, she outlined her plan to free Meomannan Quill and demanded to be taken to Osthalor, where she commandeered an ancient set of magical armor that had been in his family’s possession for centuries. Thi
s armor reputedly was able to block magic—much like relorcan—although Bryn Eresthar had never worn it himself and had no idea of its actual powers. But Silbra Dal was ten seconds away from determining that for herself.
He watched as she adjusted the armored barbute that hid most of her unnaturally pale face. Her violet eyes betrayed no emotion, no apprehension. She stepped forward.
And then they were through the wards.
No alarms.
No guards converging on them.
Nothing.
The ancient armor worked. Her true nature was hidden.
BANDER SLAMMED HIS FIST INTO CHIRAN HEMMIG’S FACE. The blow was not intended to kill the Imperial Magister of the Shield. Bander just wanted to get the man’s attention. Chiran Hemmig, being an old soldier, tried to fight back, but it was no kind of contest. Not even close. The Imperial Magister of the Shield had grown fat and slow. But the one thing that he still retained was his temper.
“You damn traitor!” he spat, coughing up equal measures of blood and phlegm. “You’ll burn for this…slowly!”
“Traitor. An interesting choice of words.” Bander slapped him. Hard enough to rattle the man’s brain and send him sprawling. “We’ll discuss that in great length, I assure you.”
“We’ll discuss nothing!”
Bander hauled Chiran Hemmig to his feet and smashed him into the wall. He then grabbed the back of Chiran Hemmig’s neck and squeezed under the man’s ears to reduce the flow of blood to the brain. The Imperial Magister of the Shield slumped to the ground, unconscious.
Bander stood over the man and took some deep breaths to calm himself. For the last two days, he had mulled over all the angles. He had come to the conclusion that the Imperial Magister was in league with the gangster Gredarl Kar and was—at the very least— responsible for the death of Tarthas Jorr. There was also a good chance that Hemmig had been involved in the attacks on Waterside and Kreed’s Keep. News was still coming in about the latter, but it appeared that the poisoning of the city’s water supply had killed thousands of people there, throwing the entire Empire into chaos.
One more slap assured Bander that Chiran Hemmig was still unconscious. Then it was a matter of pulling the paunchy man upright and maneuvering him up onto Bander's shoulder. Bander grunted with the effort. It wasn't just Chiran Hemmig's weight—the Magister was an unwieldy load. But eventually, he balanced the man over his shoulder and moved down the barracks hallway and out through an office window. There he was met by Jaden and Faramir Boldfist who helped him load the prisoner into a wagon. Faramir Boldfist dutifully covered the cargo and then sat in the bed next to the prisoner, while Jaden and Bander sat in front.
“No problems, I see,” Jaden said.
“Not yet.”
A fourth member of the team—Niam—was stationed on the corner as a lookout. He made the all-clear sign and jumped aboard the wagon as it drove past.
They didn’t speak until they arrived at their next destination: the interior of a large dilapidated carriage house in a seedy back alley in the Tabber Fields neighborhood of Ledgar.
“That fat old sod was farting in his sleep,” announced Faramir Boldfist, waving his hand in front of his nose.
“I thought that was you,” Niam said.
Bander ignored them and pulled the big doors shut behind them. Then he and Jaden wrestled the unconscious prisoner out of the wagon and into one of the tack rooms. Jaden tied the Magister’s arms around a heavy post, then turned to Niam. “Are you ready?”
Niam nodded and withdrew a vial of allendrop tincture. This was the same substance that Jaden had administered to Asryn. It allowed Niam to track whoever drank the tincture. He forced open Chiran Hemmig’s mouth and carefully dribbled the allendrop into it.
“That should do it.”
“How long will it last?” Bander asked.
“A few weeks for most people,” Niam said. “Most normal sized people, that is. Not sure about this one.”
“Well if I am right about him, he’ll retreat to Gredarl Kar as soon as he frees himself. Speaking of which, Jaden, perhaps you could do the honors…?”
Jaden nodded and began to check the Magister’s clothing for weapons. He found an expensive engraved knife in an obvious sheath at the man’s ankle. He left the knife where he found it, but pointed it out to Bander.
“That’ll do,” Bander said.
“If he remembers that he has it.”
“Yes.” Bander tore a strip of cloth from Chiran Hemmig’s cloak and used it to gag the man. With that last item taken care of, they all climbed back into the wagon and left the carriage house.
Bander did some mental calculations. He figured that Chiran Hemmig would be awake and making his escape within four to six hours. That’s when the Ministry would start tracking him. And that’s when the city of Rundlun would become quite a bit more dangerous. Chiran Hemmig would lift every stone to find who captured him.
They returned to their base of operations: an empty three storey residential building across the city in the Berntrow District. Etthar Calain owned the entire building and maintained it in a perpetual state of being repaired. At least that is how the building appeared to any observers.
As the wagon entered the courtyard, Dusk and Wegg rushed out of the building.
“We must make haste,” Wegg said.
“Etthar Calain found Lord Governor Eresthar!” Dusk said. “He’s here.”
“Here?” asked Jaden.
“In Rundlun. Harsceaw Prison, to be exact.”
“Not again,” Bander said.
“No, he’s visiting a prisoner,” Dusk said. “Meomannan Quill.”
IT WAS NEARLY IMPOSSIBLE TO COMPLETELY BLOCK A ROOM FROM MAGIC. But Meomannan Quill’s oubliette was as magic-proofed as possible. Known simply as “The Pit,” the cell was barely eight feet by six feet, with a low ceiling. Its walls, floor, and ceiling were not merely laced with relorcan, they were built from three inch thick plates of forged relorcan pressed between massive blocks of black yoradian stone. The outer walls of the cell were further bricked, plastered, and sealed with a watertight mastic. The entire oubliette was surrounded by a water-filled chamber twenty feet below Harsceaw Prison where the water provided another barrier against magic. Watertight and airtight, the cell was ventilated only by a trio of relorcan pipes which rose up through the cell’s ceiling into the guard station above. Two of the pipes were no wider than a man’s fist. The third was twice as wide and used to convey food down and human waste up. Entry to the oubliette was through the ceiling—a solid relorcan hatch covered with a massive block of stone which had to be winched in and out of position.
All this had been explained to Bryn Eresthar by Melmest Faeorn as they approached the guard station. The Imperial Vice Magister of the Axe went on to tell him that the interrogation could not be conducted face-to-face. Bryn Eresthar would have to shout his questions into one of the ventilation pipes and hope that the imprisoned archmage below deigned to answer—something he had steadfastly refused to do so far.
“You may proceed, Your Grace,” the Vice Magister said.
Bryn Eresthar stepped up onto the stone hatch, which was like a dais of sorts. The pipes protruded up from the hatch and came up to the height of his chest. He leaned over the wide pipe and peered down into the cell.
Silbra Dal took two quick steps to his side, up to the platform. “Careful, Your Grace. The prisoner might be lurking in wait.”
“Not likely,” Melmest Faeorn said. “There is nothing he could use as a weapon. And all this relorcan completely nullifies his magic.”
“I do not fear him,” Bryn Eresthar said. He cupped his hands and spoke into the pipe. “Meomannan Quill, can you hear me?”
A low voice echoed up from the cell. “Who troubles me?”
“It is I, Lord Governor Bryn Eresthar.”
“You are no friend to the Guild, sir.”
“On the contrary, I am. Have you heard the news of Kreed’s Keep?”
“They barely provide me with food and water. What makes you think they send a herald down here to recite the news of the day?”
“The news is dire, Grand Guild Master. Another attack. The water supply for the entire city has been poisoned.”
Meomannan Quill remained silent.
“Thousands are dead. Men, women, children—all lost to poison.”
“Resurrection…?” the old mage croaked.
“The healers tried, but the poison was too virulent.”
“What does this have to do with the Guild?”
“They found a mage, Tonbul of the Black. He was in a cave above the reservoir. The fool must have accidentally poisoned himself while dumping the foul substance into the water supply. His body was next to a broken barrel in the cave. Five other empty barrels were in the water below.”
“I don’t believe it.”
“There were multiple witnesses. Imperial soldiers.”
“I don’t believe your conclusion.”
“I haven’t voiced one.”
“Do not play games with me, whelp. It doesn’t take magic to know what you are thinking.”
“Not just I. The Viceroy is on the verge of turning against the Guild. Delham University is now under the control of the Ministry of the Shield. Steps are being taken.”
“This is a travesty!”
“Of course it is. That is why you must break your silence. Tell Tad Sircas what you know.”
“I know nothing,” Meomannan Quill said.
"You know that the destruction of Waterside was not due to an experiment that went wrong."
“That was your exact theory, if I recall. Or at least that’s what you testified to save your own skin, Lord Governor.”
“That was a mistake. Now we know that the attack was intentional. Just as this new attack was. Who is behind these attacks?”