Shadowmage: Book Nine Of The Spellmonger Series

by Terry Mancour

  “That’s a handy couple of beasts you have there,” Lorcus said, admirably. “You’re right: we didn’t account for them. A lesson learned.”

  “They can be quite helpful, when they aren’t a pain in my arse. And being underestimated is my stock-in-trade,” Lord Whiskers shrugged, graciously. “I do as well as I do by staying quiet, keeping my ears and eyes open, and knowing things other people do not. Your secret is safe with me, at least from the Rats. I will be informing my superiors in Merwyn, however.”

  “And we will be returning to Sevendor for a rest, before returning in the autumn,” Tyndal said . . . and then realized that he had just given their plans to – if not an enemy, then at least a dispassionate bystander.

  “We intend to interfere in the slave trade some more,” Rondal agreed, after shooting Tyndal a look. “The autumn is when the fleet returns from raiding and piracy, and they will have a lot of prisoners to ransom or sell. That seems like an ideal time to return.”

  “And, in the meantime, we’ll increase the pressure on the Brotherhood in a variety of subtle ways,” Gatina nodded. “Without revealing ourselves prematurely, of course,” she added.

  “Then our business here is concluded,” Lord Whiskers said, rising. “Thank you for the wine, and thank you for a most entertaining distraction. A word, under the table, as it were,” he added, suddenly. “While I have no intention in interfering with this war, you might be interested to know that the Three Censors were raising funds for a purpose. They are planning an aggressive sweep to discover and confiscate any stray witchstones the Coastlords have been able to hide, and they are eager for more.”

  “So much for fanatical adherence to dogma,” Rondal said, disgustedly. “I thought they were against irionite?”

  “They are theoretically against its irresponsible and wanton use,” corrected Lord Whiskers. “Which means they see no problem at all with using it themselves. They are, after all, the ‘good guys’ in their minds. That said, they have made acquiring more the highest priority. And it has been whispered that they conspire with those who might grant it to them.”

  “The gurvani!” Tyndal wanted to explode.

  “Mere rumors,” insisted Lord Whiskers. “But their vision includes an army of Censors armed with irionite, re-taking the lands who have exiled them and putting their leadership to death in a particularly horrid fashion. And the only people who have irionite in that quantity . . .”

  “Are the Alka Alon and the gurvani, and the Censors aren’t exactly friendly with the Tree Folk,” nodded Lorcus, gravely.

  “Just so. Well, my new friends, good luck on your journeys and perhaps our paths will cross again. But be wary: the Brotherhood might be slow and relatively stupid, but it is strong. They will be wary for you the next time you appear, and they will have likely determined your favorite ploys and contacts by then. Do consider altering them, else you might fare far worse.” With that the man left, his tiny flying reptile seemed to grin at Tyndal over his shoulder.

  “Well, that was unexpected,” Lorcus sighed, relaxing. Tyndal hadn’t realized the warmage was so tense. “I thought I spied something overhead as we came north up the river, but I decided it was merely a bat. It appears I was mistaken.”

  “How in six hells did he get through the spellbinding?” Rondal asked, shaking his head in astonishment. “That door shouldn’t have opened for anything less than a battering ram, and he opened it up like he was bringing dinner!”

  “Lord Whiskers is a mysterious man,” Atopol agreed. “It’s nice to put a name to the figure. Father said he showed up in Enultramar just after the rebellion to manage the Iris here – apparently it’s punishment duty,” he added wryly. “He’s always lurking around the edges of things, but rarely gets involved.”

  “He’s got Talent,” Tyndal realized. “Maybe a sport, but he’s got some Talent. That has to be it.”

  “Regardless of how mysterious our visitor was,” Lorcus sighed, “he was also insightful, and gave us a gift in return for his entertainment. His advice. It should be heeded.”

  “You want us to trust the advice of a crimelord?” Tyndal asked, amused by the idea.

  “Lord Whiskers is clearly a different kind of crimelord than the Brotherhood,” Rondal pointed out. “Indeed, our new friends could be likewise considered crimelords.”

  “Does that mean you’ll take my advice, Beloved?” Gatina purred, as she clung to Rondal’s arm.

  “More like criminal specialists,” suggested Atopol. “It’s about the art, not the gain.”

  “Darkness!” swore Gatina. “If there’s nothing to gain, what is the point of the art?”

  “Lord Whiskers was not incorrect. You fellows are involved in a shadow war,” Lorcus said, thoughtfully. “Against a much larger and stronger foe. After what I’ve seen here in Enultramar, my hopes for your eventual victory are slight, on parchment. If you want to prevail, you are going to have to define what conditions victory entails. You will not be able to eliminate criminal gangs from such a rich and corrupt society as this. Or any society.

  “So what, exactly, would you say constituted victory?” he asked, significantly.

  Tyndal considered the matter. His rage was directed toward the Brotherhood of the Rat, not crime in general. True, he was appalled at the brutality he’d seen amongst the picturesque plantations and estates of the Coastlands, as serfs and slaves were driven to their tasks. And the casual attitude toward life along the Bay was shocking to his Wilderlands’ sensibilities. The Brotherhood was the most sinister manifestation of that attitude, but it was infused into the culture at every level, he noted. Even the lad Ruderal had a certain fatalism about him that demonstrated that.

  But Lorcus was correct. Fighting the Brotherhood to any meaningful victory would require deciding at what point they were beaten, and the Order of Estasi victorious.

  If for no other reason than to assist the Orphan Duke restore his rule over Enultramar and the Great Vale. And see Rondal resolve his embarrassingly complex relationship with Gatina.

  “If we remove those who are at the center of their power,” Tyndal reasoned, “and bankrupt their ability to project that power into the affairs of magi, I would count our debt of honor satisfied.”

  Rondal nodded. “We cannot hope to destroy crime, but we can wreck their ability to conduct their affairs with such arrogance and confidence. We attack their organization, thoughtfully, and dismantle it.”

  “Then you are either looking at a protracted war requiring tremendous expenditures invested in the development of forces with which to wage it,” Lorcus agreed, “Or . . . you must discover a way to use what little force you have to cunningly contrive the collapse of the Brotherhood in one deft, subtle, and decisive strike,” he declared.

  “I’m too lazy to raise an army of thugs and thieves,” Tyndal pointed out.

  “Rondal has better things to do than to run a secret criminal organization,” Gatina observed.

  “Not to mention our duties elsewhere,” Rondal added, his eyes darting to the white-haired, purple-eyed maiden who was uncomfortably close. “We cannot devote that kind of energy to this when the war might start up again at any time. Or the Spellmonger require us for his purposes.”

  “So you lads are proposing to take down the Brotherhood in your spare time? As a hobby?” Lorcus asked, his eyes burning with merriment.

  “That’s all we can spare,” Tyndal nodded. “Errantry is fun, but duty is eternal.”

  “Then a single strike it is,” Lorcus recommended. “Which means you are going to have to learn everything you possibly can about your foe. Every name, every location, every operation, every—”

  “Done,” declared Gatina.

  “What?” Tyndal asked, surprised.

  “Leave the intelligence-gathering to me,” she said, confidently. “I’m at the portion of my apprenticeship where Daddy is giving me a fair amount of discretion . . . particularly since I keep mastering the skills he’s taught me. I will undertake to
prepare every bit of information we need. It will take me a few months,” she considered, her lips twisting into a frown, “but no more than that.”

  “Gat, you’re talking about a huge, far-flung clandestine organization of cutthroats and killers!” her brother objected. “Master Hance will never let—”

  “You leave Daddy to me,” she snapped. “On the chance that you haven’t realized it, we left the realm of an ordinary apprenticeship in Solashaven, weeks ago. This isn’t merely a girlish whim, this is statecraft, Atty. The Brotherhood is providing support for the rebel council, which must fall if Anguin is to be restored. Which will not only be an incredible benefit to both the people of Enultramar and the Vale, but will reunite the realm and ensure the political viability of Alshar. Not to mention be of great benefit to our House, if successful,” she added, glancing her cat-like violet eyes at Ron for the briefest of moments.

  “That’s a surprisingly apt summation, Kitten,” Lorcus smiled. “So we have noble motives behind our dirty war. But how best to win it? I would suggest, as thievery is one of your strong points at the moment, that you consider employing it against your foe.”

  “How? asked Atopol, confused.

  “Steal their money, stupid,” snorted Gatina.

  “They have a lot of money,” Tyndal pointed out. “From what we understand, they have hideouts all over the place.”

  “Not their day-to-day coin,” Lorcus said, pouring more wine, “but their operating capital. Their reserves. Go after their treasury.”

  “The Brotherhood’s treasury is impenetrable,” insisted Atopol, enunciating the term with professional authority. “It’s somewhere in the eastern swamps, likely in the middle of the lake, guarded by swamp people, venomous snakes, ravenous insects, poisonous plants, wild swamp magi, giant caiman, and the swamp itself. It was designed to keep any large amount of it from being removed at one time, the lore says, and only the senior members of the Brotherhood have access to it. It just can’t be done, not without a major military operation. That’s what the best minds of my House have concluded,” he added.

  “We have access to a lot more magic now, than you ever did,” Rondal assured him. “You’ve seen the sorts of things we’re capable of, with irionite and snowstone. If we’re going to rob the Brotherhood’s treasury, it will be with spellcraft, not mere stealth and skill.”

  “We’ll need all of that and more,” assured Atopol. “And if we succeed, it will be one of the biggest heists in the history of my House.”

  “So how do we do it without implicating your House and inviting repercussions?” asked Tyndal, concerned that the shadowthieves would face reprisals in the underworld from a broke and irate Brotherhood.

  “We’ll have to be sneaky,” Lorcus shrugged. “You fellows are getting good at that.”

  “At the very least,” nodded Atopol. “All right,” he sighed, “I’ll start researching the job. It will, as Gat said, take a few months. And it would probably be a good idea to lay low, after the Tower Arcane. Eventually they’ll figure out that it wasn’t an ordinary theft, and as there are only a few extraordinary thieves in Enultramar . . .”

  “With the fleet gone and a quarter of their strength with it,” Gat dismissed, “the Brotherhood won’t have time for a deep investigation,” she predicted. “Not if they just got stirred up as bad as they have.”

  “The Spider’s eyes are everywhere,” Atopol said, shaking his head. “

  Tyndal thought that an odd thing to say . . . and just a little creepy. He was not fond of spiders.

  “Who is the Spider?” asked Rondal.

  “The member of the Brotherhood who oversees their intelligence gathering,” explained the thief. “He’s a senior member, and one of the four or five serious players in the organization. It’s his business to know everything. He has spies, it is said, who don’t even know they are spies, he is so subtle. Only a few in the underworld have ever claimed to have met him face-to-face, but his influence extends throughout the Brotherhood and beyond. He, if no one else, will try to untangle who is attacking the Brotherhood.”

  “Then I suggest we spend no more time than we have to learning about our foes in detail,” Tyndal urged. “We shall contact you with what you’ve discovered, and perhaps we’ll be able to formulate a plan before the fleet returns in the autumn with its slaves and loot.”

  “Yes, we shouldn’t take any more time than that,” agreed Atopol. “We’re good at hiding, and I don’t really fear the Rats discovering my House’s most secret refuges, but that does not mean that they won’t try. The sooner we can put down their threat the better.”

  “Oh, yes,” agreed Gatina. “The sooner the better. Then we can get to restoring Anguin, and . . . more important things,” she added, grabbing Rondal’s arm possessively.

  “Then let us discover a way to topple the Brotherhood, once and for all,” Tyndal said, enjoying watching Striker squirm. “For I have no higher purpose, at the moment, than seeing him there in all of his glory.”

  You are such an asshole, Ron said, mind-to-mind, in the most disgusted tone Tyndal had ever heard.

  And you two will make such cute babies, Tyndal agreed.

  Part III

  Thieves

  Rondal

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The Orphan Duke

  Long known as the Jewel of the Five Rivers Vale, the beautiful fief of Vorone was chosen as the site for the northern summer capital the same time a capital was being considered in contested Gilmora. The selection was easier in the Wilderlands, for few of the Great Houses were positions to contend over it, and the Duke had already found the site he wished, one ideal for hunting, fishing, hawking, and tilting on the big Wilderlands warhorses the Wilderlords favored for battle. The grand palace he planned there was completed by his grandson, though the taxes he imposed on his Gilmoran possessions to do so encouraged rebellion

  The Northern Settlements

  Countess Andine

  Rondal felt exhausted but somehow fulfilled, after the unexpected battle in the Wilderlands. One minute he was minding his own business, the next someone is screaming in his mind and the next he was away to Castabriel at the Conclave, and thence to Vorone, and thence to horseback to defend his homeland against a midsummer raid by goblins.

  It was one of the first actual battles he’d participated in, during this busy summer, and while violent, deadly and chaotic – as battle always was – it was refreshingly straightforward: the goblin raiders were terrorizing a village, he and thirty 3rd Commando troopers rode in with lances and swords and warmagic and drove off the survivors of the sudden charge. Only two of his borrowed men had been injured so far this bloody night, but the messages he was receiving from the palace assured him that he had plenty of work left to do.

  It was annoying, too, in its way: he and Tyndal had just finished helping Lorcus conquer a domain in a tight little war in the Castali Riverlands, on behalf of his former master, and decided to take the smallest of breaks. Lorcus’ approach to warmagic and conquest was every bit as novel and interesting as his approach to thievery and clandestine action, and the few weeks they’d spent helping him take over one of the largest domains in Sashtalia was every bit as much fun as the weeks they’d spent in Enultramar, attacking the Brotherhood. Of course, when Lady Mask, renegade warmage and ally to the Necromancer, attacked Master Minalan, breaking his Witchsphere in the battle, things had soured a bit.

  Rondal was honestly worried about Minalan, and it had little to do with his broken Witchsphere.

  There was something . . . off with his master, these days, he reflected. He saw it in a dozen tiny ways, little things too subtle for Tyndal to pick up on. But they were there. Something was affecting the Spellmonger, and whatever it was seemed to also be affecting his judgment. It had been so disturbing to him – and to Tyndal, once Rondal had pointed it out – that Rondal felt genuinely uncomfortable being around his former master, these days. There was just too much tension, anxiety, and worry in hi
m, though he did his best to hide it.

  But Minalan’s moodiness was enough catalyst for the knights magi to want to leave Sevendor before they’d truly returned. After deciding to skip the boring Midsummer convocation of the Arcane Orders in Castabriel in favor of heading back to Enultramar to press their shadow war, he and Tyndal were most of the way across Castal toward the great gates of Alshar when the call came, a few days after the solstice.

  The news was bad: while most of the Alshari warmagi in the Wilderlands had been away at the Convocation in Castabriel, something had stirred up the gurvani, and inspired them to launch a series of harassing raids from their bases in the Penumbra.

  To Rondal’s mind it was clearly a probing attack. None of the units which had thundered across the hills in the moonlight toward the villages left in Alshari territory were large enough to challenge the defenses of even a small town. But they harassed the smaller villages around the few great castles left in the northwest of the Wilderlands in a score of attacks, and left the strongest military fortifications alone.

  Thankfully, Master Minalan had been at the Convocation. And Gareth, brilliant, bird-chested, painfully awkward Gareth, had figured out how to use the Alkan Ways – an achievement only Master Minalan had mastered with the help of the Tree Folk. The technique was simple, Rondal had learned, and anyone with one of the smooth, tiny spheres of Alka Alon irionite could learn it. While that still was only a few handfuls of people in the world, a great many of them had been there at the Convocation to learn how.

  It had proven decisive. The Alshari contingent of warmagi (and a number of eager volunteers, including Magelord Terleman, who was between assignments) was able to get back to the Wilderlands without traveling overland and killing horses in their haste to return.