High Mage: Book Five Of The Spellmonger Series

by Terry Mancour

  But the truth was streaming passed our window. Goblins still ruled northern Gilmora, and they were pushing south, east, and west. Today was a victory, and one that deserved celebration, but we were exhausted and there was still much to be done. I bid those not on immediate duty to get some rest. Then I thanked my commanders, headed back to my quarters, doffed my armor, and called to Alya by Mirror to let her know everyone from Sevendor had survived the battle. She and the baby wished me good night, and I passed out cold on the bed without even removing my bloodied boots.

  * * *

  While the baron of Gavard handled the clean up after the battle and the security for the castle, the rest of us tried to figure out just how badly the war was going. Our victory at Gavard was great, but it was the exception. I stumbled into the headquarters room the next day at midmorning, having gulped a mug of beer and eaten a crust before I arrived.

  Lanse of Bune was already there, going through the dispatches that had arrived in the night. Terleman had kept the information flowing throughout our entire battle, and even though Lanse had taken a break to play the role of a combat warmagi for the battle, he was back at his diorama at the first opportunity.

  I feared the worst when I stared at the three-dimensional map he was fiddling with. After a few moments, I shook my head to see if I was still dreaming.

  “Is this accurate?” I demanded. The tall, lanky warmage shrugged and took a sip of the nauseating green mountain wine he drank day and night.

  “To the best of my ability,” he offered. “Those are the reports that have come in. This is what they look like, once you play them out.”

  “But . . . but this can’t be right,” I said, confused. “There are not nearly enough goblins below the Poros!”

  “Noticed that, did you?” he asked, his mouth cocked sardonically. “Problem is, their column hasn’t stopped.”

  “What?”

  “They’ve been marching south every second,” he related, taking another sip. “Scouts north of the river report the last of their rear straggled past them about dawn.”

  “So . . . where are they?” I demanded, angrily.

  “Don’t get mad at me,” Lanse said, raising his hands. “I just wiggle the dolls. That’s what the reports are telling us,” he said, with emphasis. “The goblins marched south and all of those miles and miles of legions didn’t cross the Poros.”

  “Then where the hell are they?” I repeated.

  “I don’t know!” he answered, throwing his hands up in the air. “They aren’t anywhere south of here. Not many of them, anyway. The rest . . . poof!” he said, snapping.

  “That . . . that can’t be right,” I said, shaking my head. “Where’s Terl?”

  “Right here,” the commander said, stepping up behind me. “I’ve been up since dawn. I didn’t believe it, either. But I went down to the river. That column used our drawbridge as a ramp right down onto the river. But they didn’t climb up the other side.”

  “Then where did they go?”

  “Upriver,” he supplied. “The majority of them, anyway. A much smaller force went in the opposite direction, but most of them – over a hundred thousand – went west, not east.”

  “West . . . to where?” I asked, my mind racing.

  He led me over to the map table, where a large hide displaying the rough details of Gilmora was laid out.

  “Take your pick,” he offered. “If they come out here, they can march through western Gilmora, split at the Arenstarath Hills, and invade the southern Castali Riverlands or southern Alshar with equal ease. Or,” he continued, “they could ravage western Gilmora, move south and east, repeat their frozen river trick here, and march straight to Darkfaller. And then Castabriel. Neatly bypassing the sixty thousand troops we have protecting Gilmora from the north. Or,” he continued, grimly, moving his finger to the east, “they can penetrate western Gilmora here and here, move through southern Gilmora, and take Barrowbell from behind. Or . . . a hundred other possible ways to send the kingdom into the chamberpot.”

  “Gods, I hadn’t even considered that,” I said, my head spinning. I could feel my sphere bob uneasily behind me. It sometimes reflected my emotions, if they weren’t under control. “The river as a road? They’ve turned our best asset against us! The heart of our economy is based on the river trade, and they just kept us from using it while being able to use it themselves!”

  “But where are they going to emerge?” he asked, deep in thought as he studied the map. “Any guess we make, based on what we would do, has to be wrong,” he reasoned. “We just don’t have enough information. I went through the belongings of the priests searching for any intelligence. Sadly, the gurvani rarely committed orders to writing, so there was precious little to discern. Whatever their purpose in taking the icy road westward, we just won’t know. Meanwhile, there are enough goblins still pushing through this hole they’ve left in Gilmora to keep us busy for a lifetime. The most advanced raiders are already pushing into the eastern baronies!”

  “I saw,” I agreed, gnawing my thumbnail. “Rard’s not going to like that.”

  “I can’t say I blame him. The local people there are prepared for that sort of thing, after the last two years, but we can’t really redeploy any of the forces in northern Gilmora without knowing where that damn column disappeared to! Do you know how many tributaries the Poros has? Dozens! Each one leads to a lucrative barony. Any one of which would make a wonderful spot to act as a staging area for pretty much whatever the hell Shereul wants to do with us!”

  “I know, I know,” I said, thinking furiously. What the hells were they after? A quick end to the war? Maximum casualties? Strategic advantage? The richest source of slaves and sacrifices? Terleman was correct. Whatever we might think we knew about Shereul’s plans, the only thing we were certain of was that we were wrong.

  “Who’s going to explain this to Rard?” he asked, clearly not relishing the duty, but willing to accept it. Terleman is an ideal soldier.

  “I’ll do it,” I decided. “That’s the unfortunate thing about power. There’s always some asshole out there with a little more power that you have to explain yourself to. It was my plan. It was my failure. I’ll report it.”

  “Good gods, I hope you aren’t going to report it that way!” he said, concerned. “Min, there was no way of knowing that they’d do that! Our plan was sound!”

  “The enemy just didn’t cooperate,” I agreed. “I know. But it was my plan. I’m responsible, not you. I’ll take the friction involved. Besides, breaking bad news to the King is becoming something of a hobby of mine.”

  I meant it as a weak joke, but it didn’t go over well, as Terl was distracted by an officer bearing a dispatch through the Mirror. Terleman read it and I watched as his brow furrowed deeply. He handed it to me when he was done.

  “Good,” he replied. “Because you get to deliver a double dose. The watchers in the Penumbra just reported to Megelin Castle that they witnessed dragons leaving the Umbra on the southeastern side. Five dragons,” he said, flatly. “And they’re headed south.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Stuck In The Ice

  “Dragons, now?” King Rard asked in disbelief. His image was pale the Mirror, and his voice a little faint. “First the goblins cross the river with impunity, and now there are dragons in the air? Five?”

  “That is what the reports say, Majesty,” I confirmed, gravely. “And I’m not any happier about it than you are.”

  “I thought you were working on spells to oppose them?” he asked, quickly.

  “We are, and we tested some yesterday. Good results. But against a siege worm, not a dragon. Majesty, as big a problem as the dragons are, our more immediate concern is the main goblin army. While a force of thirty thousand still encamps beyond the Poros, the majority are on the move.”

  “Where to? Gilmora?”

  “No. They used the frozen Poros as a road west. We know not where their destination lies. From what we’ve been able t
o speculate, they could employ it in any number of ways. None of them favorable to our position.” But it did explain the need for iron shoes. The gurvani wouldn’t have needed them simply to cross the Poros. But to march for an extended period of time on an icy river, they would be necessary. So much for hindsight.

  “But why move west when the bulk of the kingdom’s resources lie to the east?” he asked.

  “That’s . . . a very good question, Majesty. The honest answer is, we don’t know. Shereul is playing some game we can only guess at. We’re good at guessing, but this situation is complex.”

  “So what is the state of northern Gilmora, now?” he asked, simply.

  “The Second Commando was essentially destroyed. We’re still finding remnants, but most were killed. The First and Third are holding their areas and are countering the gurvani where they encounter them. The mercenary army has kept Barrowbell screened from attack, but several bands have slipped through our pickets and are raiding the eastern countryside. Their human confederate, the one known as Buckler, is leading a force of cavalry – horse cavalry – against select manors, from what we can tell. All told, there are likely another twenty to thirty thousand goblins loose here. In addition to the slavers and raiders that were here before.”

  “Against our sixty thousand men,” Rard countered. “I like those odds!”

  “If they would condescend to gather and face us in mass, Majesty, I would agree. But most of our strength is in camps or garrisons. Concentrated. Theirs is diffuse. Our total numbers mean less than what we can muster for any particular engagement. With a few exceptions, they have avoided our strong points and are attacking our weakest ones.”

  “A few hamlets and manors,” he dismissed. “Save for this mysterious vanishing army and the demise of the Second Commando, we seem to have lost little in this invasion.” He was trying to be hopeful. I suppose that was important for a head-of-state.

  “Yes, Majesty,” I agreed, rather than try to defend the lives of the people in those hamlets and manors. “We feel that if we can figure out where the army – and the dragons – have gone, we can redeploy to meet them. Should we be able to prepare sufficient strength.”

  “As to that, you know I’ve sent my son to take command of those reserves upriver from you,” he commented. “They’re milling around without anything to do, hundreds of miles from the action. He was eager for some small part in the war, so I felt that leading those men to garrisons in Gilmora would be helpful. “

  “Thank you, your Majesty,” I said, nodding, “I’m sure his rank and position will help get them organized. We’ve heard little from them, save confusion about the Poros their barges were trapped upon. I’m certain they can be of more use elsewhere.”

  That was about as much involvement with military affairs as I wanted from the Royal House. Of course every high noble also fancied himself an adept military commander and inspiring war leader, but that was rarely the case. The Prince Heir was a fine gentleman, according to all social standards, but that did not make him a general. Leading the reserves was the limit of his military usefulness – particularly with his wedding scheduled in a few short weeks.

  If Castabriel wasn’t under siege by then.

  “There is good news, Majesty. The alliance with the Alka Alon has proven fruitful. Never have I seen more deadly archery on the field, nor such skill with steel and spell. Should this alliance be cultivated, it could prove decisive. Particularly in regard to dragons.”

  “That is encouraging,” he admitted. “Mayhap these strange folk can devise a way to find that missing army!”

  We discussed a few more matters of consequence, mostly regarding policy and strategy, before he bid me to keep working on the problem and closed the Mirror. The only good thing about being chewed out by the King by Mirror was that the Queen hadn’t been there.

  I limped back to the tower room near my quarters that had been taken over by Lorcus and made into a kind of Sevendori embassy. That is, once he had hung a snowflake banner and procured a store of spirits and wine, that’s where we went to drink and talk when the castle’s ostentatious Great Hall was too far away or too public.

  Now that the immediate threat of the goblin army was an inky black stain on the horizon as their bodies were burnt, there was more time to do so. And after that stark talk with Rard, I needed a drink.

  Unsurprisingly, Tyndal and Rondal were both there nursing ales, their eyes exhausted after yesterday’s powerful exertions. Using magic on that level is physically draining, and warmagic twice so. They were young, healthy boys. They would recover quickly. Lorcus didn’t look fazed by the battle, save for around his eyes. He was drinking wine and eating an apple, alongside Sire Cei, who seemed equally undisturbed by battle – though I detected that he was moving a little gingerly.

  I was feeling pretty rugged myself. No matter how comfortable the armor, wear it for six hours straight and you feel it. My muscles ached terribly.

  I sprawled in a chair next to the little trestle table and tried to relax. I was amongst friends, after all. Lorcus poured a glass of something and pushed it at me and I drank. As the liquor burned a trail to my empty stomach, I sighed.

  “What the hells can we do?” I asked, no one in particular.

  “Was that a simple cry of helplessness, or are you soliciting suggestions?” Lorcus asked, after a moment’s silence.

  “Probably the former. But I wouldn’t reject the latter,” I decided, taking another drink. “I just informed the King of the situation. He is not happy.”

  “He should be bloody ecstatic that Gilmora got a sprinkle when he expected a flood!” Lorcus snapped.

  “His relief is tempered by the bloody huge army that’s wandering through his kingdom. And the five dragons that were seen emerging from the Umbra.”

  “F-five?” Rondal asked, worriedly.

  “That’s a lot of power,” Tyndal said, his eyes wide. He had seen one dragon destroy a castle like a child kicking apart a sandcastle. The prospect of five of the beasts was unimaginable to him. I empathized.

  “We’ve only the one Dragonslayer,” Lorcus nodded, indicating Sire Cei.

  “We need more information,” Sire Cei said, shaking his head. “Where is this army destined? Where are these dragons deployed? And do not forget the goblins encamped north of the river.”

  “They’re covering the escape route,” Lorcus suggested. “Reserves, mostly, I’d bet.”

  “They’d still take a lot of killing,” Tyndal pointed out. “The Kasari say that there are a lot more worms with them. They may even make another attempt on Gavard Castle.”

  “Only because we’re here,” Rondal said. “We present a tactical threat to them. This is where their ice spell was initiated.”

  “That’s . . . insightful,” I admitted. “It makes sense that this enchantment takes a lot of power – if they had to rely on power from Shereul, directly. The ice isn’t just on the surface. Every bit of it is frozen, from the top to the depths. From here to hundreds of miles in both directions. Even trying to come up with the right formula for how much power that would take is beyond me.

  “But it makes sense that they would need a local focus to channel that power. Some device or enchantment through which it is being maintained. Yes, that may well be why that reserve army is there: to protect the river enchantment.”

  We discussed various ideas for what that enchantment would be, what it would look like, and how the power would have to be channeled to create the sustained icing effect. We were considering ways to go after the enchantment when we were joined byDara, still in her fighting leathers, and apparently just back from patrol.

  She came in, threw her leather helmet and gloves on the table, poured a drink of spirits, drained it, and then poured another.

  “I’m back,” she said, hoarsely. “I took the wing on patrol over the river, up as far as we could go. You can see where the goblins marched because the river is white before they come, and black afterward. They leave i
t scuffed and mired behind them. They’re burning every village they can on either side of the river, and they attacked a town about twenty miles west of here –”

  “Marlareen,” Lorcus supplied.

  “They ruined the waterfront and savaged the town, and apparently some fell hounds were let loose on the countryside, but they didn’t linger. They kept moving. And moving. Master, they’re making at least thirty miles a day!” she said, appalled. “They barely slowed down to raze that town! “

  “Were you able to see how far the ice enchantment spread?” Rondal asked.

  “Along all of the tributaries,” my youngest apprentice said as she flopped wearily onto a stool with her drink. “Every one. They keep sending small bands up them to raid and burn. But they’re sticking to the Poros, for now.”

  “What the hells are they up to?” I asked, rhetorically. “Human civilization lies east. Why go west?”

  It was true that there were plenty of settlements west of Gilmora, but none had the population density that the cottonlands did. There were only a few more cities of any size along the Poros to the west, and they grew smaller and less grand the more west you went. Eventually the Poros flowed through the Alshari Riverlands, and thence from the escarpment that lead to the Mindens, and the Wilderlands, proper.

  “Maybe they took a wrong turn?” offered Lorcus.

  “This is stratagem, not stupidity,” Sire Cei said, thoughtfully. “The goblins made this campaign with great purpose, and put much thought into its execution. Despite our victory yesterday, it occurs to me that it was but a minor skirmish in a much greater design.”

  “The key is the river,” Rondal said, drumming his fingers absently on the table. “Why that river? Why now? Why the entire river, and not just a section?”

  “I’ve been studying maps of this whole area,” Tyndal agreed. “Beyond Houndswell, there just isn’t anything worth attacking. It’s all freeholds, all the way to the escarpment. And Houndswell is a town of just two thousand people.”