Necromancer: Book Ten Of The Spellmonger Series

by Terry Mancour

  Moran chuckled. “Honestly, Spellmonger, I expected something more outrageous.”

  “I’ll save my outrageous proposals for when His Highness is in more dire straits,” I chuckled in return. “For now, I merely wish to see my mageland integrated into the commercial fabric of Castal. And I’m willing to pay for the privilege.”

  “And just how much are you interested in contributing?” Moran asked, curiously.

  “You will have to negotiate with Banamor and Rael about their charters, but for most of what I desire, I would be willing to contribute two thousand Roses to His Grace’s efforts.”

  “You mean His Highness’,” corrected Moran.

  “If Prince Tavard assails Enultramar, he shall be doing so as a Castali Duke, not the prince of a united realm,” I counseled. “At least, that is what the folk of southern Alshar will see.”

  “It matters not how they perceive their conquest,” Moran replied, smoothly. “They will be conquered by Prince and Duke, both.”

  “If they can be conquered,” I countered. “My intelligence on the matter puts a Castali victory in doubt.”

  “Not if the way is well-seeded by treachery,” Moran riposted. “Castal is not ignorant of what the Kingdom knows. Or without resources in Alshar.”

  “You’ll have to bribe half the Alshari fleet, to get a beachhead there,” I said, shaking my head.

  “Only if we try to assail the foe at their strongest point. Our Master of Waves assures us a landward assault in their southeastern shore could cross the peninsula and by-pass their sea castles,” he reasoned.

  It was a bold plan, and one that had been tried before with some success, in ancient times, I knew.

  The southeastern plains of Enultramar were stony and barren, with few sources of fresh water. Parts were vast fields of rocks, lichens, weeds, and nothing more. While there weren’t a lot of castles and fortresses barring the way, the land itself was a barrier.

  If an army of sufficient size could find a way to make landfall there, it could likely seize a foothold at some minor tower. Then all it had to do was fight its way through dozens of irate Sea Lords who would see the invasion as an affront to their sovereignty, make its way to the great Bay of Enultramar, and begin conquering a land that had resisted conquest for centuries. I didn’t have a lot of hope about a Castali campaign against them.

  But I was also unwilling to give Moran and the Castali ducal court the benefit of my wisdom, unasked, when it countered my own interests. Seeing Tavard conquer Enultramar on Rard’s behalf would permanently alienate the Alshari from the kingdom, from what I understood. As it was, the governance of the Five Counts was already souring in the mouths of the nobility and the commonfolk alike. There was a lot of agitation and murmurs of rebellion, within the rebellion, as conditions worsened.

  “I will do what I can to support Prince Tavard’s policies, as a loyal baron would,” I assured him. “I care not what he does with the coin; I merely wish to benefit from his desire to raise funds.”

  “One can ask nothing more from a loyal vassal,” Moran said, an edge creeping into his voice. “Though one could question the loyalty of one who was not perceived as enthusiastic about his policies in regard to Enultramar.”

  “I am a Magelord of the Riverlands, Count Moran,” I dissembled, “not a Coastlord or Sea Lord. My interests, and Sevendor’s, are confined to the Bontal Vales and the Riverlands. The Prince’s policies are his own to conduct. But we’ll discuss that more this evening, over wine,” I promised.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The Rites Of Briga

  My negotiations with Prince Tavard, Count Moran, and Sir Maris, the deputy minister in charge of acquisitions – in other words, Tavard’s bag man for the fleet – went far into the evening, an involved some rather detailed discussions about the ramifications of the intended proposals.

  Moran fretted that chartering so many new institutions would give Sevendor an unfair trade advantage over more established houses – which was true, I conceded. But it also gave Sevendor a means of enriching the Ducal coffers in matters of trade and taxation, which was also true. That kind of endless nibbling around the edges of the deal was Moran’s way of pissing in the porridge until he liked the taste better.

  Tavard, himself, largely stayed out of the discussions, apart from voicing the occasional pointless word of agreement with his Prime Minister. Sir Maris was more interested in figures, pledges, and dates of delivery . . . until I raised my arm, pointed my hand, and invoked the spell in one of my many rings. The two thousand freshly minted golden Roses I’d secreted in the hoxter pocket appeared inside a stout iron box.

  “Payment is ready to be made, gentlemen,” I pointed out. “Once the details are worked out.”

  As most of the pledges thus far in his campaign had been for future payments, this represented a tremendous amount of gold. Enough to buy the loyalty of four or five independent caravel captains.

  The presence of that much gold had the predictable effect of wrapping up those negotiations in record time, once it was clear how I would be paying. The rest of the details were worked out well before midnight. As soon as the charters were drawn up, approved, signed and sealed, the coin would be paid.

  “I confess, Baron, when I came here I dreaded the possibility of protracted discussions,” Count Moran said, over steepled fingers, when we’d drank a toast to the conclusion of business. “When I met you at Wilderhall, I took you for a vagabond – I pray you take no offense. Then as I watched you build up the Arcane Orders, I saw you as a scheming profiteer seeking to advance your aims for power.

  “Yet here, when you have the opportunity to advance yourself, you present but a few minor concessions for His Highness to approve. And for real specie,” he pointed out. I’d left the big chest of gold sitting out, even after the deputy minister retreated for the evening, and let his betters speak.

  “My ambitions for higher office are well-sated, I assure you. I never set out to rule over more than this little domain, and . . . well, things just escaped my control,” I smiled, engagingly, as I gestured for Lesana to enter. “Gentlemen, meet Lesana, my most trusted servant. She bears a charm that keeps her from overhearing anything said in her presence, allowing her to serve without observing.”

  “Really? You have deaf mute servants?” smiled Moran. “Very wise of you, Spellmonger. One can never trust the ears in our proximity. May I test her?” Without waiting for a response, he barked out at her, as she bent to pour. “You’re a frightful old bitch, aren’t you?” he asked. I spared his life, in the name of good liege-vassal relations. Lesana didn’t even look up, or make note of his sudden, loud insult.

  “She’s used to this method of service,” I assured him. “I can direct her magically, or by hand signals.” I dismissed her after she poured, and she retired to the outer room. Well within the range of her unique curse. “Apart from my Tal Alon, among my most faithful.

  “Now, gentlemen, before we dismiss ourselves from the night, I beg the boon of your insight. For apart from your bold plan to assail Enultramar – who no longer has your sister – what is being done about actually rescuing Princess Rardine?”

  Count Moran’s mood turned dark. I let him chew on my words before he spoke.

  “That is a family matter, Spellmonger,” he said, sternly, trying to end discussion after glancing at Prince Tavard. The look on Tavard’s face told me everything. But I had Lesana here for a reason, and I am not the kind of wizard who will let a little thing like the illusion of social propriety keep me from making my point.

  “I am gratified that you think so. That’s entirely my thinking in the matter, too, Count Moran,” I continued, smoothly. “It is the desire of the gods that we ensure the security of our families in a dangerous world, sparing no expense or energy in protecting them. Your father has offered a reward, in token of this responsibility.

  “I am curious as to what you have done, my liege, to see to your sister Rardine’s safe return? And I do wis
h invite you to speak . . . candidly.” I gave the slightest glance to Lesana, in the shadows.

  I wasn’t lying – she was entirely deaf, under the charm I gave her. But she was also keen to pick up on my cues, and at that glance she took off her other charm – the one that prevented her natural Talent – be it blessing or curse – from working.

  The effect was subtle, but I was used to it by now. Lesana’s curse was to compel men to speak nothing but the truth of their minds. I had measured the effect – it was stronger than a simple truthtell or even more elaborate means of interrogation.

  “Why should I do anything to help that spiteful shrew?” Prince Tavard said, as easily as if he were remarking on the weather. “She’s conspired against me since we were children, constantly insulting my intelligence and insisting that she was the more fit to rule. I hate her,” he pronounced. “I hate her all the more that she is my sister.”

  I thought Count Moran’s eyes were going to bug out of his head at the frank – and completely inappropriate – admission. But his own tongue betrayed him just as quickly.

  “Sire! It fares ill to speak your true mind to a vassal!” he said, and then shut his mouth.

  “I’ve always been interested in the family dynamics of political dynasties,” I said, truthfully. “I am genuinely intrigued by your response to the current crisis, my liege.”

  “Your intrigues are what inflamed this crisis, Spellmonger!” Tavard said, hotly. “As for what I care, I see Rardine’s imprisonment and eventual death as a boon to my line. Do you think my son would ever see the throne, with her around?” he asked.

  “Your mother seems very determined to keep you on the throne, my lord,” I pointed out, simply.

  “As long as she has no alternative,” Tavard spat, angrily. “Do you know how long she’s threatened me with Rardine’s future marital hopes as a foil against my coronation? She’s always planned to establish my sister the power behind my throne,” he complained bitterly. “She does not credit me with the intelligence to rule wisely. Rardine has always been a vicious little bitch. Enultramar did us a favor when they took her hostage!”

  “In point of face, my liege, it was freelance pirates who captured your sister’s craft,” I pointed out. “Enultramar held her for the briefest of times, and never officially, before she was sold to . . . more unsavory forces. The rebel counts had little, if any, knowledge of her capture.”

  “Do you think it matters to me upon what pretext I invade Enultramar?” asked Tavard, arrogantly. “It is the one act that will secure my position in my mother’s mind. Achieving something no Castali duke has done before, that will transform me from puppet to conqueror, in my own right. And perhaps earn me some respect in my mother’s eyes,” he said, bitterly.

  “My liege! I beg you to choose your words wisely!” Moran squirmed, looking around nervously as Tavard’s truthful thoughts tumbled out for my inspection.

  “We are safely private, here,” I assured the gentlemen, truthfully. “And I do not judge my lord for his ambitions, for they are worthy of a young man. The decision to invade Enultramar is yours,” I declared. “I will support you as any good vassal would, regardless of that decision.” I left a lot unsaid, thanks to familiarity with Lesana’s curse. Moran was not as ready to contend with the nature of truth.

  “While that is well-spoken, Spellmonger, it is also well-known that you hold ambitions of your own!” he accused.

  “What has my lord heard?” I asked, feigning amusement – the kind that challenges a man to dig for evidence.

  “That you desire to steer the course of all Five Duchies, under the mantle of a new Archmage! To rule not just Castal, but over all humanity! And that you have made dark pacts with unearthly powers,” he said, suspiciously. “Pacts that endanger the stability of the Duchy!”

  “Well,” I admitted, “none of that originated with me. I assure you gentlemen, I have already exceeded the wildest ambitions of an imaginative youth. I have no desire to be Archmage, or rule over anything I don’t already own.

  “As far as pacts with ‘unearthly powers’,” I conceded, “I’ve made a few. Always to the benefit of humanity in general, and the Kingdom in particular. My final ambition is no less than the preservation of the human race on Callidore, in the face of a range of challenges. I assume you noble gentlemen are in favor of that prospect?”

  “Under the rule of the magi?” snorted Moran. “Absolutely not!”

  “You would rather face extinction than social disorder, Moran?” I smiled. “That would explain a lot.”

  “I favor instead the rightful rule of those the gods have chosen to place in leadership,” he said, fighting to choose every word with care. His eyes were blazing, as he began to realize that he was in the grip of a spell. “Not those who would see our folk as serfs, magically enslaved to the Alka Alon in our own lands!”

  “The gods keep their own counsel about whom they chose to lead us,” I replied, philosophically. “Nor would they allow the servitude of humanity. Indeed, that is largely why they manifest.” That was probably a little too much theurgy for a young man who was, by all accounts, uncomfortable with reading in general.

  “Yet it is the duty of the nobility to preserve the social order as it was bequeathed to us,” Moran continued, stiffly. He was starting to understand the nature of the spell. Indeed, he turned to me suddenly. “Is it true that Baroness Isily birthed two illegitimate children sired by you, Spellmonger?” he snarled.

  “Yes,” I said, unwillingly, trapped by my own trick. Not only was that not general knowledge, it wasn’t known outside a very small circle of people. Moran was exposing how far his network of spies penetrated, but he also learned that I, too, was compelled to truthfulness. I considered having Lesana re-engage her charm against it, but events proceeded too quickly.

  “And you killed her in revenge?” he barked.

  “No,” I replied, as if in a daze, “my wife slew her with a physical attack on a thaumaturgical device she was using. With a little help from the Goddess of Vengeance,” I added.

  That made Moran’s eyes bulge. Tavard, of course, still hadn’t realized the nature of the spell and was nearly babbling, now.

  “Stupid gods!” he snorted. “As if they really exist! A fantasy to keep the peasants happy!”

  “Bide, my liege!” Moran commanded. He fixed me with a stare. If I was compelled to tell the truth, then what I was telling him was, reasonably, the truth. “The goddess of vengeance? Briga?”

  “She was involved,” I conceded. “But she was not the only one. You wondered if I had made pacts with unearthly powers, Moran. Yes, I have. Powers who have protected humanity since we came to Callidore. Powers who have seen mighty empires fall and rise, duchies and kingdoms come and go. To them, the social order is a consequence of our well-being. It is not their primary concern.”

  “You speak like a priest!” Moran said, angrily. “By what craft—?”

  “Magic,” I answered, simply. “But that should inform you as to what is actually at stake. To the dukes go the glory of conquest,” I conceded, raising my goblet in toast to Tavard. “To the magi goes the satisfaction of understanding.” Thank goodness Lesana’s curse didn’t extend to proverbs and platitudes.

  “Only if the social order is upheld,” Moran said, firmly. “Else, all that we value is lost.”

  “That stick is lost downstream, I’m afraid,” I said, shaking my head. “The most we can manage is to control the change, my lords. Already the effects of my enchantments are having an upsetting effect on the very people they were designed to aid. Without a common plow and oxen, or mowers in the summer, there has been an increase in the number of idle hands in my barony,” I admitted, regretting it at once.

  “See?” Moran said, leaping on the point. “What happens when a man cannot earn his season’s coin toiling at honest work?”

  “We put them to work where they can do the most good!” I replied, firmly. “We are at war, and the energies of the entire K
ingdom must need to be devoted to winning it, or all else is lost. There are castles to be built, swords to be forged, ditches to be dug, and battles to fight. That is where the honest work of the duchies lies.”

  “And who pays for it?” complained Prince Tavard, who was lost in the finer points of the debate. “We’ve melted half the gold in the kingdom and minted thousands of Roses, yet the Treasury constantly insists that we run short of funds! Who shall pay for all these changes, these idle, tradefallen rustics?”

  I carefully controlled the disgusted eye-roll I dearly wanted to perform. There was a danger, here, of revealing too much . . . like the fact that I had more gold than that tucked away just a thousand or so feet from this spot.

  Instead I tried to stick to the philosophical arguments. Truth seems more ambiguous, when you speak in generalities.

  “Those who want to maintain as much of the established order as they can shall pay,” I said, dryly, looking at my liege lord. “The duty of the common man is to toil, the duty of the priest to pray and guide, the duty of the mage to investigate, and the duty of the nobility is to protect and lead. I would say that if we each stick entirely to our duty, and perform it faithfully, then the gods can ask nothing better of us.”

  I glanced at the water clock that Brother Mison had gifted me last Huin’s Day. It was near an hour past midnight. I silently signaled for Lesana to resume the charm that blocked her curse. I felt it fall. The other two did not.

  “But then I suppose the hour for us to retire has come,” I sighed. “Allow me to escort you back to Spellmonger’s Hall, myself. And let me assure you, my lords, I have all together enjoyed the candid nature of our discussion. And its absolute confidence,” I added, thankful that I could lie again. “Services begin at dawn, tomorrow, and you know how Briga appreciates promptness.”