Meanwhile, Tavard and Moray were taking every possible opportunity to snipe at his poor cousin Duke Anguin, whose attempt at re-establishing his rule at Vorone, the summer capital of Alshar, was interrupted by a dragon destroying his palace. That had provided His Highness and his gentlemen at court a great deal of amusement. There were even satirical songs being sung about the hapless Orphan Duke who couldn’t seem to do anything right.
That was fine, by me. I wanted him to underestimate his cousin. What Tavard and his court didn’t know – but were probably beginning to expect – was that until recently I was propping up the nascent Alshari government through loan guarantees, through the Arcane Orders and the Temple of Ifnia. I’d helped recruit the core of his ducal court, loaned him my very best administrative mage as his court wizard, found him an ideal soldier as his minister of war, and an underappreciated court noble as a prime minister.
Thankfully all had survived the destruction of the palace. And while the government was now being run from the various picturesque estates around Vorone, and not from the palace, it was still functioning. Indeed, it was arguably functioning better. With magelord support, Anguin was beginning to construct a new, more secure palace at Vorone. And with the help of my two sneaky former apprentices and a family of truly gifted magical thieves, the Orphan Duke now had a bulging treasury with which to pay for it.
None of that was known at the Castali ducal court. They saw Anguin as a young backwoods buffoon, weak, poor, stupid and pretentious, barely scraping by in the rustic Wilderlands. And they saw the remainder of his rebellious realm as ripe for conquest.
In the middle of all of this was Queen Grendine, herself raised in Enultramar in the Alshari ducal house before she was married off to Rard. Her ambitions to own Enultramar were legendary, so she technically favored Tavard’s desire to conquer it.
But growing up in Alshar also gave her a far more realistic idea of what it would take to assault Enultramar and the southern Alshari vales. Tavard’s bold idea for conquest was doomed, and she knew it.
Worse, the old bitch seemed quite willing to abandon the daughter she’d raised as the heir to her secret intelligence service in favor of her securing her son’s eventual rise to the throne. Losing a daughter who was seemingly impossible to marry off was a small price to pay for ensuring Tavard took the crown, one day. I was no admirer of Rardine, who’d tried to kill me, once, but I was sympathetic to her plight.
That’s why her rescue made such a good distraction . . . in more ways than one. And why Tavard’s unexpected pilgrimage to Sevendor was so problematic. If he caught wind that I was behind even attempting such madness, it undermined his reasons for assailing Enultramar.
More, if His Highness discovered just how much power and wealth I’d amassed in Sevendor, he would try to find some way to steal it. That’s just how nobles think.
So the first thing I had to do in preparation was hide the big stuff. Thankfully, I had a partially-hollowed-out mountain that, at this point, still looked like a mountain. The construction around the three entrances into the diggings looked more like a staging ground for building the beautiful new gatehouse, the Mewstower that was nearing completion, and the new fortifications on my borders than it did anything else. Covering and obscuring the main tunnels into the growing complex was easy.
Master Guri and his folk had already built a temporary vault, down near the Snowflake chamber, for much of my secure work on enchantment. Another held the bulk of my fortune in gold and silver. And that didn’t even count the special third vault in the Westwood that only a few knew about.
But I had my men move as much of my other wealth, magical and mundane, into the vaults anyway, just to be safe. I’d been robbed recently. And taxed regularly. No need to take chances with either. I didn’t even know all the wonders I owned, and the chaos of Briga’s Day would be a perfect time for an enterprising housebreaker to raid me.
I’m not paranoid. Lots of people don’t like me. I try not to take it personally.
If I was afraid of theft, I was even more afraid of threats against my family. And Sevendor. And, I regretted to say, Prince Tavard and the royal family. As much as I didn’t like the asshole, having him harmed in Sevendor would not be in my interest.
To that end, I hired additional security. Not only did I send a summons to most of my vassals for sergeants to help keep the expected crowds in line, I sent Gareth down to the Staff and Sword to hire some extra warmagi.
There are always a handful of professional warmagi hanging around the tavern, when they’re in Sevendor. Not that there’s a lot of business for them here, usually (though Dranus had been steadily interviewing them and hiring the ones he liked) but there was a lot of gossip and professional advantages to wintering in town before the season began. Picking up a couple of extra Stags, and becoming known to the Spellmonger, for doing what they were essentially doing anyway was simple.
Gareth found six decent fellows willing to take my coin and my orders and put them on the payroll immediately. He deputized them as Spellwardens and I directed them to start paying attention to any newcomers who arrived ahead of the festivities, as well as general security during the festival.
It was a lot of effort. By dinner time the entire vale was bustling with activity as the news spread and the orders began to pour out. Sire Cei was still commanding the effort from the high table in the castle when I had my horse saddled for the trip to Taragwen through the back way we’d cut through the Westwood.
He was in his element, as he made lists and scribbled orders, sending messengers all over the barony. He was hosting the Prince, himself, on behalf of his liege. I felt the most sorry for Lady Estret, who just got her husband back from errantry, only to lose him again to the demands of chivalry.
Spur fever. Don’t let it happen to you.
Chapter Three
Consultations
It annoyed me that Tavard was forcing me to divert my attention from what was most important, right now, I reflected as I rode my new rouncey through the secret shortcut to Castle Taragwen, but I had little choice in the matter. Despite my intentions to pursue a raid against Olum Seheri with all speed, now I had to drop everything and cater to the details of a sudden state visit.
As I rode along the darkened path on my strong new horse, who I’d yet to name, I decided to do a little bitching about my situation. Magelord’s prerogative.
It was dark, and I was reasonably certain Pentandra would be done with dinner, even though it was a few hours earlier over in Vorone. I summoned the sigil that connected the temporary witchstone around my neck to contact her mind-to-mind.
So, you’ve finally returned to Sevendor, she said, an observation, not an accusation. Did you find what you were seeking when you so rudely disappeared?
I did, I replied, pleased. And I think I have a plan to restore Alya. I met a powerful new ally. I made the acquaintance of an ancient Alka Alon sorceress who also happens to have been present during the colonization of Perwyn, I bragged. It seems she knows of something which might, possibly, be used to stitch Alya’s consciousness back together in a reasonable fashion.
How is she, Min? Penny asked, genuinely concerned.
She’s . . . a little better, I conceded, reluctantly. I had to be honest, with Penny. Lilastien, the Sorceress of Sartha Wood—
She’s not a myth? Pentandra asked, surprised. I always thought she was some wild witch who’d escaped the Censors.
She’s no witch, she’s a . . . well, a doctor, among other things. A human doctor. But she’s also Ithalia’s grandmother, a specialist on human anatomy and culture, and she’s been imprisoned in her home by the Council for the last four-hundred years. I convinced the Council to grant her a temporary parole to help with the war effort. Ten years.
We get a powerful spellsinger for ten years? How in five hells did you negotiate that? Without me? she asked, sounding hurt.
I got lucky, I demurred. In any case, she’s identified something which might he
lp put Alya’s mind aright. Or at least more right than it is. As it was, she was able to coax a little more awareness and responsiveness out of her.
Well, that’s encouraging. So where is this spell?
That’s the bad news. It’s in the basement of Olum Seheri. Guarded by Korbal’s minions. It’s the enneagram of a subsidiary creature of the Celestial Mothers, one she called the Handmaiden. If we can successfully sneak in there and access the Ghost Rock beneath Olum Seheri, we can copy the enneagram and use it. It’s supposed to support and regulate enneagrams, I explained.
And we have to reanimate it? Pentandra asked, skeptically. Min, that sounds an awful lot like . . . necromancy.
Only because it is exactly like necromancy, I pointed out. We’d be using the shade of a long-dead creature, energizing it and essentially bringing it into a limited kind of un-life. That’s pretty much the definition of necromancy.
You can do that?
We’re going to find out, I promised. I’ve been meeting with my on-staff specialist about it, to learn the basics. And I’ve been doing my own investigations. If we can figure out a few technical details, it might work. Removing the centerpoint from the Snowflake is the hard part. That’s the first step. I’ve got my private bouleuterion working on it. Once that’s done, we can proceed to the really dangerous part.
The raid on Olum Seheri. The fortress of Korbal the Necromancer, she replied with dread.
Yeah, that. That’s going to be the other hard part. Especially the getting-back-out-alive part. But I have the bare bones of a plan, I said, hopefully.
No doubt, she said, unenthusiastically. You do realize that the fortress is incredibly isolated, beyond the worst terrain of the Land of Scars, infested with goblins and trolls, filled with wretched human slaves and evil undead, and guarded by dragons.
I’ve been there before, remember?
I do. You almost died. As did my husband. And now you want to go back. Only, now the place is a fetid lake and the city is a real fortress, not an Alka Alon fancy. And it’s garrisoned by soldiers who have toiled to make it impregnable.
It’s also filled with wyverns, I added, helpfully. When the lads returned from their excursion, they reported that the island is now home to hundreds of scaly, flying predators about the size of a cat.
Wyverns? I’ve heard of them. Like a snake with claws and wings? Korbal probably cultivated them to keep the hawks at bay, Pentandra reasoned. Dragons are too big to screen for them. That many ferocious flyers will make scouting by air problematic.
I hadn’t thought of that, I admitted. Damn! This is going to be tougher than I thought.
It’s always tougher than you think, she chided.
We have some advantages, I pointed out. For one thing, Tyndal and Rondal and their friends not only gathered some good intelligence, they apparently sighted the Princess. Rardine is languishing in a cell in Olum Seheri. I’m on my way to their clubhouse to hear the entire story.
So Rardine is in enemy hands! I had so hoped that was mere rumor. That gives Korbal all the leverage he needs to keep Rard from being too aggressive.
You would think, I sighed. From what I understand, there is little interest in the Royal Court to mount any kind of rescue mission. Oh, they’ve offered a rich reward to the hero who can rescue her, blah blah blah, and they’ve made threats . . . only against the rebel counts of Enultramar, who don’t have her.
What in six hells? Pentandra swore. Are they mad? She knows more about the security of the kingdom than the sodding Prince!
A detail that, thankfully, Korbal does not suspect. Or does not care about. Yet. But it’s almost inevitable that he discovers it, should he bring himself to question her. No killer tarts to protect her in a prison cell. So we have a very limited amount of time in which to act.
You want to rescue Rardine?
It’s not my first choice, I admitted. But as we’re going to be raiding the fortress of an evil Necromancer anyway, we might as well pick up some souvenirs.
Min, that’s mad.
I know, I sighed. But it’s my only choice. If I want to restore Alya. And even that is only a possibility. Oh, but it gets better, I added, remembering something she needed to know. You remember that imprisoned Alkan sorceress I mentioned? Turns out she’s more familiar with humanity’s situation on Callidore than we are. The Sea Folk are actually in charge, and the rest of us are their guests. They pretty much leave us alone, as long as we don’t disturb their fishy realm. But the Alka Alon – who are also tenants, here – have already screwed up enough to be put on probation. One more incident and they will be . . . evicted.
Evicted? How?
I suppose they’ll call the reeve or something. I don’t know. But it’s dire. The Sea Folk are already wary, after what we did to Perwyn. Apparently, they gave us a perfectly good island and we sunk it.
Hey! That was over seven hundred years ago!
If the Alka Alon have long memories, the Sea Folks’ are much longer. Lilastien was terrified of the possibility of Korbal or Shereul doing something to disturb the peace enough for the Vundel to intervene.
So going to spit in Korbal’s eye is going to keep him from pissing in the Shallow Sea? she asked, confused.
Korbal and his brood are determined to overthrow the council and rule this realm, I pointed out. Not attacking them isn’t going to keep that from happening. No, after speaking with Lilastien, I’m convinced that ending the threat from the Enemy quickly is our best course of action. That means more direct engagement.
Trygg’s womb, Min, you are trying to get yourself killed! she accused.
Not at all! We’re far better prepared than we were five years ago. We have scores of trained warmagi, far more powerful weapons, some potent High Magi, and the advantages that snowstone and the Snowflake give us, I pointed out. Our Waystones give us a means of secret travel, our pocketstones lighten our loads, and we have powerful new allies.
The Tera Alon, she supplied.
Yes, the Tera Alon. Whatever it is that motivates a three-foot Alka Alon to transform into a six-foot perfect physical specimen of near-humanity, find out a way to get us more. Reports say that hundreds, perhaps thousands of Alka Alon have followed Lord Aeratas and the Emissaries in taking humanish forms. The way the movement is spreading among the Alkan refuges is almost cultish, from what Onranion tells me.
Arborn has met with several bands who wish to get the enchantment, Pentandra confirmed. They are enthusiastic, she agreed. But Arborn mistrusts their motivations and their expectations of what humani style war will be like.
Of course, the Tera Alon will have to learn how to fight all over again, with human-style weapons, but with some advice and good armament they will be a formidable force. And one intimately familiar with what has become of fair Anthatiel.
So, zealots, to match the Enshadowed’s fanatics, she snorted, mentally.
Oh, the Enshadowed have adopted larger forms with which to fight, too, I informed her. Transgenics left over from their Warring States period. A group of them tried to overcome Lilastien’s defenses, once the Council opened her cell at Yule. They’re human-sized, but they’re different than the transgenically enchanted bodies our friends use. They’re . . . sharper. Slenderer, more angular, with longer arms and legs. Their eyes are more widely spaced on their faces, and their hair is uniformly black. Their skin is more mottled, too, I recalled. And their voices are less bell-like and more . . . hoarse. Darker.
They sound pleasant, she said, distastefully. Where did they come up with such . . .?
The old Alka Alon wars, I answered. Lilastien told me about it. Those were ‘warrior’ forms, designed for combat. It’s one of the reasons that the Alka Alon are so prejudiced against transgenic enchantments in the first place. Various houses and sects had their own versions, but at the height of the hostilities most battles were fought with those kinds of forms. Or some even worse. When the war started – our war – the Enshadowed must have dusted them off. Not that it did the
m much good.
They’ll get better, Pentandra promised.
So will our friends, I countered. Once Aeratas settles into his new encampment near Sevendor, we can start outfitting his people properly and teach them how to be deadlier in battle.
You do realize you’re talking about a civilization that was ancient before it arrived here, ten thousand years ago? she pointed out. They understand war.
Sure they do, I soothed. Pentandra had been getting more and more testy during her pregnancy . . . which was totally understandable. She was having triplets. But they haven’t had to practice the art in generations. Not really. The Avalanti are nearly pacifists, unless threatened. The Versaroti are militant by tradition, not necessity. This is the first time they’ve been seriously threatened in millennia. From what Varen tells me, most of her kin don’t even consider the gurvani worthy of fighting. But this crisis is going to call for both kindreds to re-assess their cultural priorities. The Tera Alon are the best step in that direction.
We’ve started seeing them more in the Wilderlands, Pentandra agreed. They’re working with the Kasari to patrol the Penumbra. We’re talking about building a camp for them up in the northeast, near the Anvil. Since we already have a pretty extensive quarry camp up there, that shouldn’t be too difficult to establish.
How is Vorone surviving without the palace?
Well enough, she conceded. The major ministries have relocated to the surrounding estates, when they can. Believe it or not, without all the regular meetings I’m actually getting a lot more done. We’ve cut it down to one day a week, usually in one of the finer townhomes in Vorone, sometimes a temple. But Vorone is making up for the lack of the ministries with a boom in construction. Carmella has been working all winter long to clear the ruins of the old palace and lay the foundations of the new castle. With magic and a lavish budget for labor. She laid the cornerstone at Yule, and says the first walls will be completed by Ishi’s Day.
Necromancer: Book Ten Of The Spellmonger Series Page 5