Necromancer: Book Ten Of The Spellmonger Series

by Terry Mancour

  Rondal and Tyndal invited me to Timberwatch, he said, sullenly. I’m meeting up with Gatina there. She says she has a job for me. Not thieving, he clarified. She says she has some enchantment work for me. Master Ulin gave me permanent use of the bouleuterion workshops, so . . .

  Whatever work engages you, I agreed. Look up Pentandra, while you’re there – no doubt she could use you, if you’re looking for a job. But while I understand that you want to quit your position with Banamor, you do understand that the witchstone you bear makes you beholden to me, personally?

  That wasn’t intended as a threat – I wanted to clarify our position. Gareth had proven himself capable enough and trustworthy enough for me to grant him one of the Spellmonger’s Seven – one of seven heavily-enchanted marbles of irionite given to us by the Alka Alon.

  I reserved the powerful stones for my special agents. Tyndal and Rondal both had one, as did Iyugi. Their acceptance of the stones carried with it the implicit service I might call upon them for in defense of the realm or pursuit of arcane justice.

  I understand, and I remain at the Spellmonger’s service, he agreed, proudly. I will heed your call at need. But unless you have need of me . . .

  Go where your heart leads you, Gareth, I said, resigned. Your head is already set on the notion. And go with my blessing, as well as those of the gods.

  Thank you, Master, that means a lot to me, he said, sincerely. And Minalan? Do me a favor . . . forget we had this conversation, when you speak next to your apprentice. Whither I travel is no longer her business. With that he severed the connection.

  Ouch.

  Gareth was a mystery. I liked the boy, and had found a place for him to thrive when others might have turned him away. He’d been instrumental in the Long March. He’d been key in discovering the secret to using the Alka Alon Ways, before anyone else. That had saved Alshar from a devastating raid. And he’d helped Tyndal and Rondal with their escapades in Enultramar. Hells, he’d even been to Olum Seheri, himself.

  But if he wanted to quit, not only could I not stop him, I could even understand his reasoning, a little. He’d learned all he could in Sevendor, and he’d won as much fame and renown as he could expect, without a mageblade in his hand.

  Taking that reputation elsewhere could be a good move for him. A wizard as good as Gareth had a hard time shining here, where there was so much competition. Perhaps winning the competition in front of the Prince was enough to convince him of that. Elsewhere, he could become a baronial court wizard in a blink. I wished him well.

  While I understood why Banamor was upset about his departure, the truth was that his organization was growing so quickly that he would soon need three Gareths, and a squadron of his own clerks and lawbrothers, to handle the new business.

  While I was on that side of town, I stopped by the Enchanter’s Guild to congratulate them on their chartering.

  Rael the Enchantress was there, with two or three others who used the house for lodging, and she filled me in on her plans to establish chapterhouses in all the magelands. It sounded ambitious . . . and a perfect cover for some of the off-books smuggling Banamor wanted to do.

  The Ducal Party had also commissioned several specific pieces at high prices, which made the enchanters happy. And that was on top of some massive new commission that made the woman squirm with excitement. I left with the impression that I was seeing the beginning of a glorious new enterprise.

  I walked back through the magelit streets, content to end the day with a pipe and contemplation.

  New walls, new trade opportunities, new commissions, new bridges, new temples – by every objective measure, Sevendor’s first state visit was a resounding success. It marked an important milestone in the progress of the empty mountain domain I’d come to only a few years before.

  I was proud of what I’d built, and I had every expectation that it would continue to grow and thrive. Sevendor would become Minalyan’s someday, a vibrant city of magi protected by an impregnable mountain fortress, in the heart of a prosperous barony.

  Of that much I was certain. No matter how things went in Olum Seheri, my children would be taken care of. I had family here, family who were protected by the institutions that I was building. That gave me great solace, considering who I was facing.

  It also gave me something to look forward to. Introducing a restored Alya to a thriving Sevendor, someday. That was a vision I could pursue with obsessive passion.

  I tried not to think about such unpleasant possibilities when I stopped by the Lone Oak Tavern for a pint. I stuck to myself, smoking and sipping the tavern’s infamously strong ale. I was in a reflective mood, as I enjoyed the late-winter chill, looking back out over the town from the rise.

  I had hope, the favor of the gods, and a vague idea of a nebulous possibility of a hazy hint of a plan.

  That might just be enough to work.

  Master Ulin was pleased to be able to get back to practical work, after the disruption of the state visit, and he resented the interruption to important work. Indeed, he hadn’t wasted his time, while the mountain was officially closed. He was a Vorean, and hadn’t felt compelled to indulge in the feasts and fetes surrounding the festival hosted by a Castali duke. Instead, he holed up inside the mountain for five days with plenty of food and wine, and devoted his time to studying the problem of the centerpoint of the Snowflake.

  “It was a surprisingly useful endeavor,” he admitted, when I visited him in the workshop. Not the practical laboratory, but a chamber the Karshak had designed as a library.

  Wooden bookshelves and cabinets had been built from the floor up to the top of the twenty-foot ceilings, and around the perimeter of the forty-foot long chamber. A grand fireplace that was totally unnecessary to either heat or light the place dominated the center, where a set of comfortable chairs had been assembled to facilitate discussion.

  The shelves were only half-filled with books and scrolls, at this point, but that just gave me room to expand. Permanent magelights floated overhead, allowing the scholar to pursue his researches at any time of day. A magical fountain at one end of the room helped keep time, producing a sun or moon in accordance with the conditions outside, lest you become lost in thought and forget to eat or sleep. At the other end was a wide table with several stools, inkwells, quills, and stacks upon stacks of blank parchment.

  “I went back and examined some of the more obscure discussions in the books we have,” he said, pacing back and forth in front of the fire. “I found a fascinating series of letters collected in the back of one of Sonrisa’s Appendices, between a Late Magocracy enchanter from Wenshar named Osric, and a Remeran thaumaturge named Peturo. On the ethics of necromancy, of all things,” the little wizard chuckled.

  “But in defending his position, Peturo reveals the existence of a number of experiments on what he called ‘vibrational valences’ of arcane matter. Apparently, a team of enchanters in Falas conducted the meticulous tests, just before the Conquest, but it never made it east before the Narasi started putting wizards to the sword. In any case, Peturo maintained that the use of necromantic energies wasn’t inherently unethical, as they were merely the same wave form at a different vibrational frequency. Or words to that effect.”

  “So what did they tell you?” I asked. I didn’t need a history lesson.

  “Something intriguing: if you can separate a part of an arcane field from its arcane vibrational frequency – for lack of better terminology – the higher-vibrating portion tries to eject the lower-vibrating portion. The greater the difference, the greater the force. Which means that if we can coax a vibrational differential in the centerpoint, the Snowflake itself will attempt to push it away.”

  “And Briga’s Biscuit Dough gives us the medium to use to convince it,” I nodded, following his reasoning. “In theory,” I added.

  “In theory,” Master Ulin nodded. “In fact, the ideal would be to discharge it directly into a hoxter pocket, before it had a chance to realize what was going on.
”

  “The last time we tried that, we almost blew up the mountain,” I reminded him, cautiously.

  “I’m not talking about the entire Snowflake, just the centerpoint,” Ulin said, shaking his head. “It will take a lot more control, but less power, I think, to cast the enchantment.”

  “What would you anchor it to?”

  “What would you like?” he shrugged.

  “I’ll get back to you,” I decided. “I’m going to have to do a little planning before I know what I can take with me to Olum Seheri.”

  “It will take me a week or so to work out the calculations, anyway,” Ulin agreed. “After that, we can probably start any time you’d like. Though I’ll warn you,” he added, “according to my early calculations, the energy implicit in the centerpoint is going to have a . . . corrosive effect on the hoxter.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that if we can convince the damn thing to leave its favorite spot in the universe, it’s not going to be comfortable in a hoxter for very long,” he cautioned. “In fact, any disturbance in the arcane architecture could cause . . . well, I don’t know, really. The numbers get really, really big, after a while, and it’s difficult to predict what will actually happen. But we’re talking a secondary energy release of a few million joules. All in one place,” he added.

  “I’ll try to avoid that, then,” I sighed. “How long until you think we can actually make the attempt?”

  “Two weeks? Four? I don’t know,” he sighed. “It would be helpful to have the actual experiments they did in Falas. Those numbers would take a lot of guess-work out of this, particularly if they covered crystalline forms, specifically, as was alleged in the letter.”

  “You think a copy of this exists somewhere in Falas?” I asked, surprised.

  “Enultramar had several repositories of arcane knowledge,” Ulin pointed out. “Many of the leading families of the Magocracy had their works shipped there, during the Conquest. A lot of that ended up in the library of the Tower of Sorcery.”

  “Which is in rebel-controlled territory,” I nodded. “All right, I’ll see if I can’t procure it for you, or at least a copy.”

  Ulin’s bushy eyebrows shot up. “You have connections in Enultramar?”

  “It’s a recent development, but I know a man who specializes in acquiring hard-to-find items in Enultramar,” I said, thinking of Lord Hance. If anyone could steal a book from a library, it was him.

  “Then see if he can’t also find a copy of Lister’s Schedules, Rennit’s Advanced Thaumaturgy, and – here, I’ll just make you a list,” my head enchanter decided, producing a parchment and quill out of a hoxter. “There are reputedly dozens of lost works locked away in the libraries of Enultramar and Wenshar. It would be lovely if we had access to them."

  “I can see that,” I chuckled, as the man frantically wrote down his wish-list. “I can see we’re also going to have to have a formal scriptorium,” I decided. “I’ll talk to Guri about creating a temporary one, down here, in the meantime.”

  “You know, there’s a market for such works,” Ulin reminded me. “Some can fetch obscene amounts.”

  “Oh, I know,” I said, remembering a book on thaumaturgy I lusted after, once, during my warmage days. It would have cost me seventy ounces of silver more than I had. “That’s part of my motivation. It’s time to gather as much arcane lore as possible, here in Sevendor. We’ll need every scrap, if we’re going to accomplish a tithe of what I want.”

  “Glad to hear it,” Ulin nodded, smiling. “All too often a patron scrimps on the important things, like basic research. Nice to work for a man who understands the process,” he said, raising his wine glass in a toast.

  “Still making it up as I go,” I sighed. “But this is progress.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  The Secret Council of Anguin’s Tower

  Anguin’s Tower was an impressive estate, especially with the understanding of what Carmella had started with. In two years she and her crews had managed some profound improvements to the original structure.

  The original pele tower was expanded with a far more substantial tower keep going up next to it, within the bailey. The original walls had been heightened by ten feet and crenelated. Halls and workshops lined the outer wall and were filled with activity. There were almost a dozen war machines In the well-trodden courtyard, from catapults on their own carriages to small trebuchets.

  Carmella’s work as the head of the Hesian Order emphasized defensive magic. Hence, her holding was one of the most secure, militarily and magically, in the Wilderlands. Warmagi from all over the kingdom sought her out, now, to learn her secrets. She was also becoming a mundane lord of some note. Not only did she hold the tower and the garrison installed there, but her holdings at Honeyhall and two other nearby estates were thriving. When the goblins raided the area, last year, Carmella’s folk had stopped them hard, with very little damage.

  I was surprised, when I exited the Ways into the courtyard of the place – one usually doesn’t expect such neatness and efficiency from a pronounced introvert like Carmella. But Carmella’s elevation had also leant her a certain maturity about being a magelord that she hadn’t possessed as a mere warmage. She had made this place into her own, and it showed in every little detail.

  One intriguing addition to the tower was the new Karshak Hall . . . though no one there called it that. It was the Wood Dwarves’ Hall, or the Kraverak Hall – the closest the human tongue came to pronouncing the name of the clan of Rumel the Wood Dwarf, Carmella’s assistant.

  And perhaps lover. There was a strange vibration between them, Pentandra had gossiped. She’s rarely wrong about such things.

  With Anguin’s permission, Rumel had resettled three families of his clan from their cantons in the deep forests of the eastern Wilderlands to here, to take service with the Order and all of Carmella’s construction projects.

  Their hall was of their own design and contrivance, and it featured heavily-carved wooden beams and stout timber framing. It was also big enough to hold fifty Wood Dwarves, at need. The central building was three squat stories tall, with two wings of two stories spread out from each side. The lower level was filled with workshops, the top used for residence. Rumel, I learned, had his private apartment on the third floor of the central hall.

  We were meeting in Carmella’s private hall, attached to the Tower, a comfortable if sparsely-furnished place. The Alka Alon had arrived early, and were already mingling with the Alshari delegation. I nodded to Onranion and Azhguri to take their seats at the long table of magically polished redwood.

  Anguin and his Prime Minister, Count Angrial, were seated at the head of the table – I suppose that since the tower was named for him, he felt entitled. Pentandra was on the other side of Angrial, looking increasingly pregnant. Count Salgo sat at his left hand, while Tyndal and Rondal sat behind their Duke.

  Anguin looked in good health and fine spirits, I was gratified to see, and I nodded to Pentandra in silent gratitude. She’d done a splendid job of looking out for the boy, even if it had cost him a palace. He looked cocky and ambitious, not tired and overwhelmed. That was a good sign.

  The Tera Alon delegation looked serenely bored, if you didn’t understand their faint expressions. Lord Aeratas had arrived in full armor, a human-style sword at his side. Ithalia sat between he and Lilastien, who was wearing her peculiar white coat.

  Carmella nodded to me as I took my seat, then cleared her throat. She must have had a charm ready, because the sound of a loud silver bell sounded in the hall.

  “My lords, my ladies, I welcome you to Anguin’s Tower. We are here at the behest of Minalan the Spellmonger, head of the Arcane Orders of the Kingdom. The subject is a proposed raid on the new stronghold of Olum Seheri,” she said, her brow furrowing deeply. “I now turn this council over to Minalan.”

  I nodded in thanks, sighed, and began.

  “We’ve been dealt one setback after another, in this war. Fir
st the initial surprise invasion of the Wilderlands, then the invasion of Gilmora, then the attack and fall of the City of Rainbows, most egregious and cunning of all. We’ve gone from facing a few hundred shamans with irionite and a single undead goblin, to an alliance of the gurvani hordes and the sinister forces of Korbal the Necromancer.

  “All our species are in danger from these threats, and more beyond if we cannot contend with them,” I said, forebodingly. “The time has come for us to merely holding the foe at bay and managing our losses to striking back, inflicting some pain on the enemy and gain some advantages.”

  “What kind of advantages?” Count Angrial asked, sharply. “We have two beehives on our frontiers, Master Minalan, and you propose to kick one of them. And while our capital lies all but defenseless.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t call the Alshari 3rd Commando defenseless,” reminded Count Salgo, roughly. “Since they took our service we’ve regained control of a hundred miles of territory, and secured still more beyond that,” he boasted.

  “Yet they would be poorly suited against a dragon,” Angrial pointed out. “And with our new castle but half complete – no insult intended to you, Lady Carmella – perhaps now is not the best time to invite a dragon to town, again.”

  “Count Angrial, any dragon who makes the attempt on the new keep will regret it,” Carmella assured. “Yet not all of our defenses are ready,” she admitted. “The keep, itself, will not be complete until late summer. The outer buildings, gatehouse, and wall not until next year. I’d hate to go back and re-do good work after a fire.”

  “Will Sheruel wait that long?” Ithalia asked, pointedly. “In my ranging with the Kasari along the Penumbralands, we’ve spoken to many who keep their eyes on the shadows beyond. Last year’s raids were light infantry, canine cavalry, and a few larger units.”

  “You’ve seen evidence of a new offensive?” Count Salgo asked, curious.