The Spellmonger Series: Book 02 - Warmage

by Terry Mancour

  “I plan to make mageblades,” he said, without pause to thought. “I’ve studied the craft for over twenty years. I know everything about it I can learn from the living. The past masters of the trade left obscure notes on their magnificent blades, but the really great ones, the ones forged in the Magocracy, were enchanted using irionite. I can’t achieve the same level of mastery without it. No one can.”

  “And would you be willing to make mageblades for the war effort?”

  It was his turn to shrug. “All mageblades are made for war. If this is the war they will be employed in, I’m happy to help.”

  “Fair enough,” I said, and then I administered the oath and presented him with the stone. For no particular reason, I gave him the largest of the six I had. There’s no exact correlation between the size of a witchstone and its power, but in general the larger a piece, the more energy you can call upon. If this man was to be our armorer, then I wanted him to have as much power as possible.

  The enchanter was enchanted with the little green shard I placed in his palm. After helping him attune to it, and giving him some advice and instruction in its use, he reluctantly put it away. “Thank you, Master Minalan. I am greatly in your debt.”

  “Don’t think I won’t call on that debt,” I chuckled. “There are dark days ahead.”

  “Speaking of which,” he said, with a reluctant sigh, “have you yet gone to the dark horizon that looms in the west?”

  “The shadow-sphere? We’re calling it the ‘Umbra.’ And the shattered lands around it the ‘Penumbra.’ But no, I haven’t been to its horizon. I’ve been to its core, and that was quite enough.”

  “Boval Vale,” he remembered, “that’s where it’s centered. I should have guessed that. About two weeks ago, I could contain my curiosity no longer. I took my mount and we made the journey across the . . . the Penumbra to see it myself.”

  “Through all of those goblins?” I asked, surprised.

  He shrugged, like he’d just been up to the market for a couple of onions. “I’m old, Master Minalan, but not so old I can’t still employ simple stealth magic. In any case, I made the three-day journey to a fief – former fief – just outside of the dark horizon. I stayed there for another three days, studying it.”

  “And what did you find?” I asked with both interest and dread.

  “Many very disturbing things,” he admitted. “For one thing, only two-thirds of the sunlight which shines upon it passes through it. It is perpetually dark and gloomy within. That also has the effect of killing a lot of the plants. Almost all importasta,” he observed, “not the natavia varieties, though.”

  When humans first came to the shores of Callidore and built the grand civilization of Perwin (and then sunk it), they also brought a whole host of plants and animals with them, many of which quickly spread from the island nation or its colonies on the mainland deep into the interior, far beyond the Mindens. They were the realm of the importasta, things like dogs, cats, horses, oaks, elms, hickories, bees, wheat, rye, corn, barley, earthworms, roses, apples, potatoes, deer, rabbits, carrots, birds, even some fish.

  The plants and animals which were there before we came, those were the natavia. Things like saggan, tranislouts, kirsieth, curps, the Alon, drenislaws, ularals, slaggers, flueflowers, butterstumps and fork grass. I found it very intriguing that the Umbra killed the invaders, but left the natavia. Apparently the Dead God’s genocidal tendencies extended to roses.

  “But that’s not all,” he continued. “The animals that do dwell inside, natavia and importasta alike, seem to go mad. At least, those who escaped the shadow seem profoundly disturbed. Even the few humans I saw leave the Umbra were somewhat mad.”

  “I’ve met the Dead God. He has that effect,” I pointed out. “I know the Umbra prohibits scrying within, or even communication by way of the Otherworld. Any other interesting characteristics?”

  “Time doesn’t behave quite properly,” he said, recalling his research, “Sometimes it’s slower, sometimes faster. A similar effect has been reported in the cities of the Alka Alon.”

  “I can vouch for that, too,” I agreed. “I’ve been to one. A small one.”

  “As have I,” he nodded. “Further, birds and other creatures of the air avoid it – and the winds seem to revolve around it. If I had to guess, I would say that there was a substantial low pressure system within.”

  I raised my eyebrows, surprised. “You’re a weather wizard, too?”

  “I just studied with a Seamage in Merwin, for a few years,” he said, dismissively. “I can recognize a low-pressure system. Only this one doesn’t move. It just . . . sits there, and draws in clouds and rain and storms. I would have tried to stay and learn more, but a company of gurvani was passing nearby and I had to vacate my position.”

  “That is interesting,” I agreed. “Perhaps I should take a trip out there to examine it, myself.”

  “I would make it a priority,” he nodded. “I’d be glad to accompany you, to show you the way and hear your insights.”

  “Perhaps I’ll take all the irionite-armed magi in Tudry with me. But you’re right, it should be a priority. I’ll make the arrangements. And thank you, Master Cormaran. I’ll be honest: I feel much more secure here in Tudry knowing you’re around.”

  “Security?” he asked, wryly, as he stood. “It’s an illusion. Don’t forget that, son. The day you do . . . you’ll die.”

  * * *

  After my busy day helping order Tudry properly, I had Hamlan bring me a bowl of stew, and then I turned my attention to someone I’d been neglecting for a while: Penny. I had to keep her appraised of my progress. I hadn’t contacted her since immediately after the most recent battle.

  I established contact after only a few moments summoning the spell – it gets easier and quicker, the more you do it.

  Min? Sorry, I’m at supper, she thought to me.

  Supper? It’s just past lunch time!

  The time difference, remember? I’m a thousand miles east of you. We gain and lose the sun three or four hours before you do.

  Oh, yeah. Sorry. I’ve had a busy day. I gave her the pertinent

  details of the last few days’ activity, including the final tallies of our victory over the horde and what I’d just learned about the Umbra. So we’re probably going to go on a field trip to see if we can discover anything else useful.

  Just be careful, she warned. It sounds pretty dangerous.

  All of Alshar is ‘pretty dangerous,’ I countered. I’m going to take as many members of the Order as I can. Any more luck naming it?

  Not yet. No one likes any of anyone else’s names, so far. But I was leaning toward the Order of Fantendara, after—

  I know who she is, I said, flatly. Lady Fantendara had been an Imperial folk-hero for her skilled use of magic to escape the clutches of a couple of nasty suitors, and she freed some serfs or something like that along the way, too. I didn’t like the legends because the only spots the Narasi figured in were as caricatured rapacious bad-guys. That’s just too Imperial, I think. And while she was a protector of the weak and innocent, I admitted, the name Fantendara is unlikely to strike fear in the hearts of our foes and succor the hearts of our allies.

  Fine! she sassed back. You think of something, then! I’ve been a little busy, anyway. The Remeran Censor Captain reported to the Duke last night about your . . . antics in Alshar. Even the servants were buzzing about it this morning. The bargain, the campaign, and the inevitable consequences of your potential success was discussed at length.

  And . . . ? I asked, expectantly.

  And the Remeran court is officially perplexed.

  Perplexed? What the hell does that mean? I demanded.

  It’s an old Imperial custom, she explained patiently. When the Magocracy faced a problem that was clearly a crisis, but had little power or political will to act, or if there was no clear-cut, decisive policy to follow, the Archmage issued a statement of his official confusion. Since he was, officiall
y, the wisest man in the Empire, then if he said he was perplexed, the matter was considered tabled until more information was available or events overtook the problem.

  Events? Now I’m perplexed.

  Events like, say, a peasants’ revolt to overthrow an unpopular and despotic noble, who calls to the Archmage for assistance. Officially, the Magocracy was bound to back the nobility, but they also realized that sometimes a noble is such a problem that a peasant’s revolt isn’t a bad thing in the long run. By declaring the court ‘perplexed’, then the Archmage essentially placed the institution of the Empire in a neutral position while he ‘thought about it’.

  I paused. That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard!

  Its Imperial custom, she defended, and Remere still follows it. It isn’t often used for matters outside of the Duchy, but that’s what the Duke did. Be thankful. The Censorate was asking for troops to intervene in Castal and apprehend ‘certain parties known to be in violation of the Bans’. Since the court is ‘perplexed’, he won’t be getting any troops. Not even any assistance, apparently.

  It looks like Mother’s fingers are in plenty of Remeran pies, I noted. That’s the only reason I can think of for Remere to not give the Censorate what they asked for.

  It’s more complicated than that. Politics, again. The Censor General and his staff have always been seen as kind of an independent shadow-government in Remere – well, in the southern part, outside of Wenshar. The Censorate has even overruled Ducal edicts, upon occasion. That hasn’t enamored the court to them, and they aren’t usually eager to cooperate unless it can’t be avoided – like in Farise. So when the Censorate showed up and asked for what amounts to an invading army to go cow the miscreants in a neighboring Duchy, the Duke naturally has to ask himself what the consequences of that would be. The long term consequences.

  Isn’t pissing off the Censorate a long-term consequence?

  Before Irionite, perhaps, she conceded. But now . . . well, thanks to you there are two High Magi in Remere, and several more Remerans amongst our Order. And thanks to the Order of the Secret Tower, the Ducal Court Mage is now firmly on our side, provided he’s on the short list to get a shard.

  ‘High Magi’? I asked. I haven’t heard that term.

  It’s what some of us are calling those who carry glass. A ‘High Mage’ is just someone who has irionite. It doesn’t imply any moral superiority. And it solves the issue of vocabulary, namely, what to call a mage with a witchstone.

  How come I never get invited to the meetings where these things are discussed? I complained.

  You’re too busy smiting the foe and saving the world. Besides, they mostly take place one-on-one, in my head. And there’s barely enough room in here for two.

  Good point. All right, so what do the high magi have to do with the Duke’s perplexity?

  Well, Remere has about twice as many practicing magi as Castal, and four times the number Alshar has. Easily. When news got out about what happened at Wilderland, and that there were high magi walking around openly with witchstones, that lined up most of our profession against the Censorate. Between that and the other political considerations involved, by declaring the court ‘perplexed’ then the Duke can wait out whatever happens in Alshar. Perhaps even long enough so that he can make it to the Coronet Council next month. And by that time, he’ll know, one way or another, which way to jump. Then he can drop the perplexity, make a decisive stand once the risk has receded, and proceed accordingly.

  I still think it’s stupid, I muttered inside my own head.

  I won’t argue. But it’s stupidity in the service of our cause. Therefore we should applaud the result, even if we dislike how it was arrived at. But the upshot is, Remere isn’t going to be intervening with Castal, any time soon.

  I guess that’s a good thing, I agreed, reluctantly. Provided I survive to enjoy it.

  If you survive, that means a lot of things are going to change. That’s what the Duke of Remere is counting on. He just doesn’t want to wager his Duchy on the outcome.

  Well, I’m wagering my life – it’s the least he could do!

  Considering that the Prime Minister’s first inclination was to raise five thousand mercenaries for the Censor Captain and ask questions later, I’d say that perplexity has worked in our favor. But don’t count the Censorate out, yet. They always have a lot more strength in the eastern Duchies, and Vore and Merwin tend to be more conservative about the Bans than even Remere. But we’re not without allies. The Secret Tower isn’t the only order agitating in our favor, either. And the Seamagi are so excited about witchstones they could burst. So you can expect an awful lot of eyes on you in Alshar, waiting breathlessly to see if you survive, and if events will unfold accordingly.

  They aren’t the only ones waiting breathlessly, I observed, glumly. I’m kind of anxious about the whole question of my survival, myself. Especially if I’m going to get that close to the . . . the Umbra.

  You’ve survived worse dangers, she said, encouragingly. And recently.

  You mean my audience with the Duchess? I asked, wryly. You have a point, there, Penny, you have a point.

  Chapter Twenty

  Journey To The Umbra Lands

  Western Alshar, Late Summer

  A week after Tudry Town had been saved – or destroyed, depending upon your perspective – the rest of the Order’s warmagi began filtering in as per orders.

  Master Astyral was still in nominal charge of the town as a military appointee, but he had delegated a lot of authority in a week, enough so that basic services were maintained and the men were paid, fed, and housed properly. We were paying for it with drafts on the Ducal Treasury (Alshar’s, not Castal’s) and people were taking them, so that was good. I don’t know how happy Lenguin would be about it, but he wasn’t here to ask. In the meantime it was kind of nice – if we needed something, Astyral just wrote another draft and people went to work. It was like free money.

  Azar was now the un-official Lord of Megelin Castle, where he had taken up residence. He’d also attracted a following. He was inspiring the knights and sergeants with his constant desire to patrol the Penumbra in search of more goblins to slay. He found a fair many, too, sometimes in bands as large as a hundred or more. When he wasn’t hunting or patrolling, he was feasting and drinking in grand baronial style, and was attracting a group of young, adventurous knights into his circle.

  But the rest of the warmagi of the Nameless Order were riding in – and moving in. One by one they reported their findings to me and were assigned quarters by a clerk Astyral had designated the official liaison with the Order. We’d taken over a row of abandoned houses just inside Old Town, mostly the homes of merchants or guildmasters who were now refugees in Vorone.

  They weren’t always alone, either. All of us had cultivated contacts, friends and allies over the years. Some brought loyal retainers or apprentices, bodyguards and sidekicks, lovers or business partners. For some of them, who had been in the field since we’d left Boval, it was the first taste of civilization they’d had in a while, and for a few days they made the most of it with impromptu parties and drinking binges. The whole street became known as Warmage Row, or The Street of Wizards, or even Spark Street, to the other soldiers quartered in the poorer parts of town.

  A couple of times things got out of hand when someone used their witchstone to play with fireworks or practice a new destructive spell, and me or Astyral or Terleman would have to go down and lecture them, and eventually made them take the really dangerous stuff over to the commons. But the houses along that row were pretty lively in the week after the battle.

  I didn’t bother with one, myself. I was comfortable in the inn, and I nearly had the place to myself. I enjoyed the quiet. The food was good, at least. But the rest of them settled into Warmage Row pretty quickly. Gods knew we had the room, and the locals needed the trade.

  Terleman and Rustallo were the first to arrive, then Wenek with a couple of apprentices, then Hesia and
Curmor, then Taren and Reylan and Delman. With each new arrival, our position grew much stronger. And I found some worthy Talents amongst their friends, too. After interviewing and inspecting three new warmagi, I took their oaths, welcomed them to the Order, and issued them their irionite shards.

  They were each valuable assets, too. Forondal of Scaford was the first, a friend of Terleman going back years. Forondal was another good all-purpose battlefield mage. The second son of a coastal baronet, Forondal had a lantern jaw and big burly shoulders so wide that he had to turn sideways to get through half of the doors in Tudry. His professional idiosyncrasy (all magi have them) was his choice of weapon. He eschewed a standard mageblade for two highly-polished steel axes that he could wield like a surgeon. Good man, if unimaginative.

  The second was technically an outlaw. Bendonal the Outlaw, to be precise, a warmage who had been wandering the northern wastes ever since he ran afoul of the Censorate in Gilmora – I’m not sure what the scandal was, and Bendonal was willing to tell you several different versions, none any more truthful than the last. But he had pissed off the Censorate, who had issued a warrant for him and revoked his certification. Since he wasn’t about to give up his powers or his head, he headed for the northern wastes where the Censorate is just a rumor. Azar contacted him somehow, and he showed up unannounced to beg me for a stone.

  I gave him one. I wasn’t going to be winning any friends in the Censorate, I realized, and I valued Azar’s opinion of warmagi. He said Bendonal was adept at the nastier side of warmagic, infiltration and betrayal. His specialty was getting into an enemy’s castle under a pretense and then disabling their guards and lowering their defenses. It was kind of his signature service. No wonder he had enemies – the man had a nasty streak and was a natural throat-cutter. But Azar said he was trustworthy, hated the Censorate, and didn’t mind doing whatever he had to do to get a witchstone, so I couldn’t think of a reason why I shouldn’t. Hells, we needed him.