Court Wizard: Book Eight Of The Spellmonger Series

by Terry Mancour

  “Please, Minalan! I’m an old married lady now. Such conceits are for young girls who need the attention. It was honestly more about national pride than personal vanity,” she added. “Anguin wanted us to make an impressive entrance to send the message to Castal that Alshar is alive and well.”

  “Half-alive and coughing up blood, but I see his point,” Minalan agreed, only half-joking. “You seem to have brought an awful lot of warmagi south.”

  “The frontiers are quiet,” she shrugged as she followed him inside the great Chapterhouse. How could she distract his attention from Ishi’s Night and the new threat of the undead? Probably with politics, she decided. “Anguin’s brought several important local barons under his sway and started re-organizing the nobility over what’s left of what he controls. Vorone is relatively peaceful and enjoying some prosperity. We didn’t even need to borrow to make payroll this month. By next conclave he should actually have a real statelet to run.”

  “That’s really amazing, Penny,” Minalan sighed, smiling. “One little victory that will hopefully lead to many more. Is Arborn with you?”

  “No, he’s resting after a mission. Is Alya with you?”

  Minalan looked troubled. “No, she . . . well, we broke that spell, with Ishi’s help. She’s recovering. I thought this might be a little much, after that . . .”

  “Well, we’ll just have to entertain ourselves then,” she decided. “To be honest, I’m eager for the break. I never thought just being married would be so . . . tiring.”

  “Just wait until the children start coming, then you will know the meaning of tired!” he said, ruefully.

  Another subject she didn’t want to discuss – what was he, her mother?

  Instead she asked about the enchantment enterprise in Sevendor, and she was safe. No man can resist talking about his work, she knew, and Minalan was eager to update her about their progress.

  After that she lost herself in agendas, committee meetings, social events, parties, and all the other fare of the Conclave. She genuinely enjoyed throwing herself into the work, and was actually able to take advantage of some of the amazing opportunities afforded by the Conclave for a change.

  She kept in touch with Arborn daily by Mirror, and managed to communicate with Alurra often enough to assure her that all was well back home. She went shopping, this time among Castabriel’s familiar cosmopolitan markets, and bought gifts for her staff and servants back in Vorone. She met with many a mage who was considering the opportunities that Alshar offered. And some who had already taken advantage of them.

  Pentandra thoroughly enjoyed her time catching up with her cousin Planus (including a private conversation about their continuing smuggling efforts), discussing commercial plans with Banamor, validating Gethlin’s efforts with organization of the Order, and even meeting with a group of magi who were interested in pursuing a life in the Wilderlands. It was as if she had never been away from the big city and its busy life.

  But she could not shake the feeling that something was afoot.

  Perhaps it was the way that Minalan was dealing with the secret war the renegade Mask was waging against him, perhaps it was the rumors that Baroness Isily and Baron Dunselen were scheming about something (unlikely, with Isily in the late stages of her pregnancy, but Pentandra wasn’t sure that would stop the ambitious sorceress).

  But the longer she was away from Vorone, the more uneasy she got. Even her dreams were filled with forebodings that could not entirely be attributed to the rich and varied amount of alcohol she consumed.

  The most difficult meeting was with her father. Orisorio was enjoying his status as one of the leading magi of Remere, but when he sat down with his youngest daughter his face looked almost stricken.

  “Do you have any idea the stress you’ve put your mother under?” he demanded. “Running away to get married to some . . . some tribal nearly put her over the edge, Penny! Are you trying to make my life miserable?” he complained.

  “This was not about your life, Daddy,” she reproved. “This was about my life – and Mother stopped being concerned about my future the moment I got my Talent, you know that.”

  “That was when you had little expectation ahead of you save being a Resident Adept,” he pointed out. “Now that you and Minalan have re-ordered everything, she felt you had plenty of potential. Too much to waste on some . . . rustic!”

  “Arborn is no mere rustic, Daddy,” she frowned. “He’s a magnificent warrior and one of the highest ranked Kasari in the Wilderlands. He is a ranger without peer. And I love him,” she stressed.

  Orisorio’s eyebrows jumped up skeptically. “Not mere infatuation, Penny?”

  She glared at him. “How many times have I allowed infatuation to guide my life, Daddy? That’s my sister, not me. If I was going to be ruled by infatuation, would I not have pressed to make Minalan my husband? Which you – and Mother – specifically warned me against?”

  “Oh, your mother has reconsidered how she feels about Minalan,” he was quick to say. “She would be quite in favor of you marrying him, now.”

  Pentandra snorted. “Only because he’s a baron, and the most powerful mage in the world. When he was a pimply Narasi boy up her daughter’s skirts she wasn’t so forgiving. But he is already married, to a dear friend of mine. As am I, now,” she declared. “Mother will just have to accept that fact.”

  “I don’t think it’s the marriage that concerns her, as much as the fact that you did it all in secret,” Orisorio confided. “That’s what’s really getting to her. She wasn’t involved.”

  “By design,” Pentandra said, sternly. “I had enough of her interference when she was organizing tea parties with the handsome young boys in Remere before I was even a woman. I’m not about to give her the means to torture me about something I hold dear.”

  “She’s just worried,” Orisorio insisted. “She doesn’t want to ruin your life; she merely wants to make certain that her little girl is happy.”

  “So please let her know she can best accomplish this by not interfering with it,” Pentandra said, sweetly. “That’s what my sister is there for.”

  Her discussions with her cousin were shorter, and less acrimonious. Planus embraced her in the great hall between sessions on the third day of the Conclave and quietly handed her a leather purse heavy with coin.

  “About two hundred and ten gold and some silver,” he murmured.

  “What?” Pentandra asked, confused.

  “That’s your share of the commodities deal,” he informed her. “Split evenly between us.”

  “I didn’t do that to make a profit!” she protested. “I was just trying to help out the duchy!”

  “And so you did – and your favorite cousin, too. Now shut up and enjoy the rewards of your corruption like a proper Remeran,” he insisted, closing her fingers over the small, heavy bag. “And let me know when you can get another few tons of ore together. I’ve got more buyers,” he confided.

  Pentandra didn’t know what else to do, so she tucked the bag into a pocket in her baculus and kept to her schedule. It was enough money to purchase a fair-sized estate, she knew, but she didn’t really feel as if she’d earned it in the slightest.

  On the second-to-last day of the Conclave, during a banquet, the quiet was broken by an urgent message from Alurra. She’d used the Mirror array, in the absence of any High Magi to speak with her mistress mind-to-mind.

  The message was simple but devastating: several bands of gurvani were infiltrating the lands outside of the Penumbra in an apparent, widespread and coordinated raid. Anywhere from five to eight breakouts had been reported by the Iron Band warriors who watched the Penumbra. Tudry, Megelin, Lorvay, and Yellin were all attacked, as were numerous smaller settlements.

  Nor was the north the only apparent target, they learned as more information began to pour in by way of Mirror array. Great packs of fell hounds carrying gurvani cavalry were suddenly fanning out across the hills and vales of the Wilderlands, attacking a
nd slaughtering everything in their path. Platoons of hobgoblin infantry and troops of raiders were striking dozens of villages. Details were sketchy, at this point, but the message was clear: there was an assault underway, hundreds of leagues from her.

  The news wasn’t all bad – Anguin had taken the opportunity to put his new men on alert, giving the first elements of the 3rd Commando who had arrived a chance to demonstrate their mettle in defense of Vorone. The garrison, likewise, had been mustered and placed in defensive formations around the town, awaiting an assault. Though there had not been any direct attack on the capital, yet, there were apparently large bands of gurvani in the area, headed in the direction of the town.

  With a sinking heart, Pentandra realized that she’d left the duchy virtually unprotected. And essentially advertised the fact to their foe. A rising sense of panic jolted her brain out of despair, however, as she realized where she was . . . and what resources she currently had at her disposal.

  When Minalan descended the podium after his amazingly boring speech, Pentandra didn’t hesitate to contact him mind-to-mind in the crowded room.

  Word just came from Alshar, she told him. Apparently someone has taken notice of our agenda. A few hours ago several large bands of gurvani, some as large as a thousand, emerged from the Penumbra and are raiding the vales of Alshar at this very moment.

  Ishi’s – damn. How is Anguin contending with it?

  Well, she admitted. He had the garrison put on alert and deployed about a third of the 3rd Commando to screen the town as cavalry. My apprentice is overseeing the situation from Vorone and reporting.

  That’s great. When will – wait, your apprentice? When did you gain an apprentice?

  Perhaps you should have kept in closer touch. You picked up one of your own, and didn’t tell me. But we can argue about that later. She tells me that there are at least five to eight separate columns leaving the Penumbra. Right now, I need a way to get all these warmagi back out into the field quickly, and I don’t see any Alka Alon songmasters around. Where the hell are they?

  They’re still dealing with their own issues. We’re on our own. The good news is that I can take one and maybe two people back to Vorone, at a time. The even better news is that I recently discovered that any of the Alkan Seven stones have the proper song in them to activate the Waypoints . . . I just haven’t had time to teach anyone else.

  I’ll start picking out who needs to go first. You start working on a good headache compound. It’s going to be a busy night.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  The Midsummer Raid

  Word of the sudden attack on Alshar spread quickly through the Conclave, particularly among her Alshari wizards. The news was outrageous, after the many months of relative peace, and the Alshari delegation was angry that their absence had been taken advantage of by the gurvani.

  Magelords were not the type to file a complaint about a treaty violation through the proper authorities, Pentandra realized. The warmagi of the Penumbra were angered, and wanted a direct response to the attack – after they defended against it.

  Some, led by Azar, Bendonal and the other Horkan Order warmagi, wanted to leave at once to go defend their lands as fast as their horses could carry them – or magic could propel them. Minalan gave them fifteen minutes to prepare before he transported them by the Alkan Ways, while Pentandra went to organize a more coordinated response with Astyral and Carmella – two of the cooler heads of the delegation. As Alshari Ducal Court Wizard, she realized suddenly, Pentandra was automatically in charge of the duchy’s Magical Corps. And Alshar was at war.

  Her blood was racing as she imagined the mayhem of the sudden and unexpected attack back in the Wilderlands. Just as life was getting back to normal (or, at least, wasn’t catastrophic) the folk of the Wilderlands were struck again at high summer.

  Part of her mind tried to soothe her by pointing out that it was likely merely a series of raids to probe defenses, not a serious attack. That would be little comfort to the hundreds who would perish, however.

  She felt helpless to stop their deaths and suffering, hundreds of leagues from Vorone . . . which was a dozen leagues from the nearest attack. From what the quick, oftentimes panicked dispatches made clear. there were at least a dozen separate offensives issuing from the Penumbra, all at once.

  She was the damn Court Wizard. She had to do something.

  Pentandra spent ten minutes in conversation, mind-to-mind, with the few High Magi she could contact back home. After the initial reports, it appeared that the thrusts toward stout Megelin and powerful Tudry were only feints, as the hordes turned aside and raided nearby villages instead.

  Azar wisely called it an apparent attempt to draw out the defenders, and praised the Tudrymen from afar for not falling for the lure. That was good news, in a way, Pentandra decided. Despite the horrible price the peasants of those villages would pay, if the gurvani weren’t attacking the strong points of the duchy’s defenses, it was unlikely that this was a real resumption of hostilities. She went on to check with magi she knew in Lorvay, Yellin, and the pele towers to verify their status, to verify the reports.

  She only came out of her trance when Minalan’s old apprentices, Tyndal and Rondal, unexpectedly appeared at her chamber.

  She was confused at first until they explained that while the Spellmonger felt he did not have the political authority to interfere, he had used the Ways to bring them back from their mission to Enultramar to assist her. They weren’t on house arrest, and they were actually real Alshari knights magi, as well.

  Minalan’s assistance made sense, but it was also another blow. Minalan could not, she knew, very well take part in a war in Alshar when he was supposed to be in internal exile in Sevendor. That was a pain – Minalan was an astute military leader – but probably just as well, she decided. Her powerful friend had enough in his bowl without her adding more from hers.

  She appreciated the loan of his apprentices, at least. Tyndal and Rondal were worth more than a handful of regular wizards in a situation like this. They were already geared for war. They were adept warmagi, competent wizards, and brave leaders, when necessary. And they had grown so much since she’d seen them last, both in height and build, that she barely recognized them.

  Tyndal looked at her sympathetically. Rondal looked determined.

  “Master Minalan suggested that you might need some help,” Rondal said, gently. “We are completely at your disposal.”

  “We’re between assignments right now . . . what can we do?” Tyndal asked, firmly.

  “Go see how many warmagi want to pick up bounties from Duke Anguin,” she suggested, her eyes darting back and forth between them. They were men, now, she saw, not the boys she’d met a few years before. Confident, bold, strong and determined men. The kind she needed in a situation like this. “And if you want to participate, prepare yourselves. We’re leaving as soon as Minalan can figure out how to get us there through the Ways.”

  As it turned out, that wasn’t quite necessary. Minalan came to her with important news, as Tyndal and Rondal were gathering up volunteers to respond to the crisis.

  The Spellmonger explained that Gareth (a failed warmage but one of Minalan’s prized magical retainers) had figured out how to use the Alka Alon songspells embedded in the special witchstones they’d given to Minalan – and he in turn had given to the top magi in the two militant orders, as well as Pentandra herself.

  So instead of rushing around the Order Motherhouse packing furiously and getting ready to beat a team of horses until she was in Vorone, she and two dozen other magi ended up getting a crash tutorial in how to use the Ways from the bird-chested mage.

  It was simpler than she’d anticipated. Alka Alon magic wasn’t complicated, she was realizing, it was just different. And it helped if you could sing, which was not one of Pentandra’s native talents. Thankfully she didn’t have to – the spell in her perfect sphere, within its perfect torus, already knew the trick.

  She watc
hed as one warmage after another made the trip, first with Gareth or Dara the Hawkmaiden, then more on their own as they mastered the spell and discovered Waypoints that would allow them to get to the action.

  Pentandra did her absolute best to coordinate as the forces were hurtled back to the Wilderlands. That challenged her ability to dispose of the forces she had available, in context of the human warriors already meeting the foe.

  Azar and Bendonal went back to Megelin, that was easy enough, and Astyral and his magi were returned to Tudry. Carmella returned to Salik Tower, to coordinate the defense of the six pele towers in the crisis.

  But that left a lot of spare magi around the hall who were still eager to fight, but had neither duty to do so or lands to compel them – including Terleman.

  Among the greatest of the warmagi, according to his peers, Terleman was nearly sulking with the disastrous outbreak of peace that had accompanied last year’s treaty. As had the three great Commando units Count Salgo had recruited, the cadre of royal warmagi dedicated to actively fighting the goblins in Gilmora had been disbanded after the Treaty. Though he had been awarded lands for his service to crown, coronet, and humanity in general, Terleman didn’t seem to have much interest in being a magelord.

  He was more than eager for the chance to go to battle again, particularly against the gurvani, and when Pentandra extended the invitation to spearhead the defense of Vorone, he leapt at it. She had Dara take him through to the Waypoint associated with the Crypt of Murvos, the same one the undead had used to escape, with a quick warrant she’d scrawled across the back of a piece of parchment declaring him her deputy.

  His immediate duty once he crossed the threshold, Pentandra insisted, was to post a magical guard upon the crypt. It was the only Waypoint she knew of within Vorone, proper, when her personal equipment wasn’t there, and she knew that the Nemovorti were well aware of it. The last thing the town needed was an assault on the walls while it was being gutted from within by immortal undead.