Necromancer: Book Ten Of The Spellmonger Series

by Terry Mancour

  “Oh? Who is his replacement?”

  “Master Loiko Vaneran,” I supplied.

  That impressed the man. Master Loiko was well-known to the duke from the Farisian campaign, and had impressed even his political foes with his determination, intelligence, and skill in counsel.

  “I will continue to monitor the situation, then,” he decided, with a sigh.

  “Might I suggest you send an emissary to observe how the challenge plays out, Your Grace?” I suggested. “Have a man you trust be present to see how both parties comport themselves. Clandestinely. Consider his report before you make any decisions on who to accept as Count of Moros.”

  “Good idea, Minalan,” he nodded. “Between you and me,” he said, moving in even more closely, “what think you of Tavard’s idea to invade Enultramar?”

  “Oh, I am merely a Riverlands baron, with little interest in the affairs of my betters . . . or their ill-considered expenditures of revenue on foreign adventures,” I demurred. “It would be far above my station to dare criticize what is clearly a well-thought-out and carefully considered enterprise such as that.”

  The tone in my voice belied my words, of course, and the Duke nodded thoughtfully at the real meaning. “I thought as much. The bugger hit me for a load – ten thousand ounces! – but my nobles are dead set against us supporting one duke invading another duchy like that. Even if it would benefit them economically. Bad precedent. Well, I thank you for your counsel, Minalan. Many in my court speak highly of you and your wisdom.”

  “It’s said Remeran courtiers drink overmuch,” I observed, earning an honest chortle from the man.

  By the time I made my way down the long hall to Anguin, I’d stopped a half-dozen times to greet people I knew and get introductions to people I didn’t. Anguin, with Count Salgo and his new bodyguard flanking him, looked on-edge by that point, a silver goblet of good wine in his hand and a resentful expression on his face.

  “They think this place is grand?” he said, looking around at the large room. “I could fit this into the Grand Hall of my old palace and rattle it!”

  “It’s a decent start,” I conceded. “Give Rard his due, I didn’t think he’d indulge in this kind of institutional construction this early in his reign. In a few generations, it might actually start to look substantial.”

  “It is better than holding court at the palace in Castabriel,” he agreed. “That always felt too much like being conquered. At least here there’s some nod to Alshar. In fact, from what the plans read, there are to be wings devoted to both Alshar and Remere, here, beside the wing dedicated to Castali affairs.”

  “They’re trying,” I agreed. “If it’s any consolation, your cousin and brother duke feels just as alienated by this place as you do by Castabriel.”

  “It is,” he chuckled. “Oh, my manners! You’ve yet to meet my bodyguard, Sir Gydion. I’ve taken him into my counsels, and seek to get him an introduction to the royal court.”

  “A pleasure, Baron,” the taller man nodded. He had a familiar look about him . . . indeed, I realized, his face was more similar to old Duke Lenguin’s than Anguin’s was, and his voice was nearly identical, if more resolute. It startled me, for a moment. Then I realized that Pentandra had likely dug up some bastard of Lenguin’s to shore up the Orphan Duke’s court. Brilliant!

  “If His Grace has taken you into his councils, I welcome you into mine,” I said, politely. “Your Grace? Are you still planning on attending the reception we’re having at the Orders’ Chapterhouse?”

  “After I go see my sisters,” he agreed. “They’re here for the occasion, and I’ve not laid eyes on them in almost two years. I want to introduce them to Sir Gydion, and assure them that I am working to secure their . . . liberty.”

  I frowned. “How is Grendine going to react to that request?”

  “When I make it, it will not be phrased as a request,” Anguin said, firmly. “While I am not yet in a position to do so, that is my plan.”

  “Let us see how the summer plays out, Your Grace,” I counselled.

  He smiled. “Yes, all sorts of things could happen between now and Huin’s Day,” he admitted. “But I need to let them know that they are not forgotten. Grendine has already started to try to wed them to Castali nobles,” he complained. “Just suggestions, but each would put them firmly under her wing. But it is my duty to see my sisters wed, not hers. And certainly not to her Castali toadies. No offense.”

  “None taken,” I shrugged. I was born in Castal. That didn’t mean I approved of our leadership. I just dealt with it, like everyone else.

  “We can discuss this in greater detail at the meeting,” I advised. “There are far too many hungry ears in this room for such delicate discussions.”

  “Quite right,” Anguin said, gathering himself together. “I’ll see you this evening, at the Chapterhouse.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Gatecrushers, Westwardens,

  Marshals and Scholars

  I made certain to linger long enough to ensure I spoke with Rard, privately. We didn’t get an opportunity to sneak away, after the ceremony blessing the palace, but I was able to take him aside and cast a spell that kept us from being overheard.

  “My liege, we cannot be overheard, now. I had to ask . . . what of Rardine?” I said, continuing to smile as we spoke. Grendine was at the opposite end of the hall. She made no effort to come speak to me, nor I her. “Have you sent someone to survey the prison? To engage in negotiations?”

  He wasn’t smiling.

  “Do you think I have not tried, Minalan?” he asked, quietly. “I was going to raise an army and march west myself . . . but I was . . . overruled,” he said, darkly. “Grendine and Kindine. And then Tavard insists on his foolishness at sea, and now I am told if I attempt to seek my daughter I will endanger her life. We must wait, I am told, until her captors contact us.”

  “That does not seem like you, if I may so, my liege,” I observed.

  “It’s not like me in the slightest,” he growled. “But if I were to enlist a spy, from what intelligence service could I get one from? Mother?” he snorted. “She has blocked me, Minalan,” he said, sounding hurt. “I cannot summon assistance even from my military. They insist that the information you provided is ‘unsubstantiated’. That it is more likely that she is being held by the Count of Rhemes, who intends to use her as a hostage to get me to acknowledge him the Duke of Alshar. My girl is in some filthy prison, and I am told that she is a ‘regrettable sacrifice’,” he said, disgusted.

  “We both know better, my liege,” I said, quietly. “I trust my men utterly. They saw her. She is in Olum Seheri. She is the prisoner of the Necromancer. Or was, just before Yule.”

  “Then why no demand for ransom?” he asked.

  “Because Korbal doesn’t want your gold,” I explained. “He is holding a piece he is in no hurry to play. Which gives us time to act,” I proposed.

  “Do that, and Mother will take it unkindly,” he said, glancing around casually. “She’s already vexed that I offered two baronies as a reward for the man who returns her to us. She thinks that’s too rich a prize. She has all but forbidden me from taking action.”

  “My liege, are you king in this palace? Or is she?” I asked.

  “You know very well that governance is more complex than that,” he reproved. “Or you should, by now. It is not merely my wife I would be opposing, but a center of power. The center of power,” he corrected. “As long as she has her daughters, it matters not what I command. The man who tries to follow an order she doesn’t like can fall dead before he can undertake it,” he said, bitterly. “She has threatened as much. Else I would be riding at the head of twenty thousand men to lay siege to this Necromancer,” he vowed. “She would never harm me . . . but she can control those I depend upon to execute my orders. She’s done that, often enough,” he said, grimly.

  “I’m actually surprised she hasn’t come at me . . . again,” I said, glancing at the queen.r />
  “I think she’s afraid to,” he chuckled, mirthlessly. “Ever since you told her off after the coronation, she’s been wary of you. You slew Isily and Dunselen – she didn’t think you had the balls for that,” he confided. “And then this latest nonsense about the gods . . . you have her concerned. But you’re too useful and too popular, I think, and she fears a general rebellion of magi, should anything befall you.”

  “She might be right to,” I conceded. Azar, especially, would not take that well. Nor would Terleman, or any number of other wizards I’d cultivated as dangerous friends. “But that also places me in a useful position, Your Majesty. With your permission, I would like to explore the possibility of surveilling and, if possible, arranging the rescue of Rardine. Unlike Mother, I think we are more vulnerable with her in enemy hands not for what her well-being means to you, but for the secrets she bears. Indeed, I find her lack of attention to the matter troubling,” I confided.

  “She is accepting this as expediency,” Rard growled. “Our daughter!”

  “Calm yourself, Sire,” I urged. “We cannot be overheard, but your expression should not be over fierce. I have men I can rely upon to look into this,” I offered. “Without your official knowledge.”

  “So you wish two more baronies?” he asked, slyly.

  “I don’t know what to do with the one I have,” I shrugged. “I will not rescue her . . . but I could facilitate some other brave hero to do so. Let you reward him, in the unlikely event he prevails. That’s the sort of wizard work at which I excel.”

  “So you do,” he chuckled, glancing over at Anguin. “Subtly, too. Very well, Minalan, you have my tacit permission to do so,” he said, sounding a little relieved. “Inform me what you discover – discreetly.”

  “I am the epitome of discretion, Majesty,” I assured. “Especially when the security of the realm is at stake. It is my duty as a member of the royal court,” I suggested.

  “Damn it, I never should have let Salgo go,” he fumed. “He never would have capitulated to her. And Kindine is becoming old and cautious,” he sighed. “She so fears Rardine will do something to impede Tavard’s inheritance, out of spite, that she has Armandra near-convinced of a plot already. Now even she works to avenge Rardine’s capture, not rescue her. She claims that the divine visitation in Sevendor assures Tavard of victory. And the idiot is stupid enough to believe her!” he scoffed.

  “I’m certain I can make a few discreet inquiries, at least, Majesty,” I suggested. “Indeed, I was planning on visiting the Arcane Order while I was here. I can ask around. Some of our footwizards wander places rangers fear to go. I will see what rumors and news I can find out . . . without Grendine knowing about it.”

  “That would be a blessing, Minalan,” Rard said, quietly. “No one else will offer to help me, they fear her so. Find me good news, and it will be rewarded,” he promised.

  “The security of the realm is my primary concern, Sire,” I assured, pleased to get royal permission, even if it was clandestine. “Let me see what I can find out.”

  Before dusk I was sitting in one of the libraries in the Arcane Order’s tower, receiving a detailed briefing that far exceeded rumors and news from a few footwizards.

  “The news from the Land of Scars is grim,” Pentandra reported, as she displayed a well-constructed magemap on the table before us. The ghostly lines that detailed the new intelligence sketched out the entire region, though much of it was frustratingly blank.

  “The Kasari scouts entered through this Waypoint, near this south-east section below the Poros. They made their way to a base camp in the old ranger tower. They spent two days scouting the local country, revealing no less than four fortified outposts bordering the territory – and two instances where local bandit gangs had been conquered and enslaved by gurvani and undead. They are fortifying the land, particularly around the river,” she reported.

  “It doesn’t need much fortification,” observed Count Salgo. “The place is nigh impassable!”

  “We could get to Olum Seheri the same way they did, up the Poros,” countered Taren, who joined us for the planning. I had sent word to several High Magi who I wanted to bring into the conspiracy. `Taren and Terleman were eager to join, the former for the chance to see Ghost Rock, the latter for the chance to slay gurvani. “That’s likely why they’re focusing their efforts on that region.”

  “Arborn’s party moved along through here, then backtracked along this route to make it to the entrance of Olum Seheri. And yes, the dragon still guards it,” she said, frowning.

  “And the other?”

  “It lairs on the northern beach, under the overhanging cliff. Worse, the cliffs have been taken over by wyverns. Nasty things. They flock day and night, filling the misty skies with their foul wings.”

  “So, no help from the air from the giant hawks,” Terleman frowned.

  “They won’t let any bird or flying thing enter the canyon,” Pentandra said, shaking her head and making a face. “Ithalia told me about them. When they detect prey, they swarm it, wrapping their filthy talons and snakey tails around it until the dead weight brings the creature down. Then they devour it. Arborn reported such, when he was there.

  “We won’t be going in that way, anyway,” Pentandra reported, pausing to adjust herself in her chair around her tumescent belly. “They have fortified the entrance, garrisoning the ancient towers with goblins and undead. It would take a siege in a remote land with no road in dangerous country to dislodge them.

  “Instead, I propose our forces enter through the Ways. There are two natural Waypoints on the island, here at the southern end and here in the west – both are guarded.”

  “Wait, if the entrance is fortified and guarded by a dragon, how did you discover this intelligence?” asked Sir Gydion, Anguin’s bodyguard. He was still relatively new to court, I gathered.

  “Arborn is the chief of the Kasari Rangers,” Pentandra declared. “He had a company of his best men with him, and two troops of scouts. Raptors, every one. There is no patch of country on Callidore that he could not brave, and do so undetected. He went himself, alone, into the lake. He would not entrust such an important and dangerous duty to his men,” she said, proudly.

  “Once past the gates, he surveyed the island from afar. He learned the patterns of the patrols, their composition and disposition, and saw that both Waypoints have been garrisoned. They are used infrequently, by the Nemovorti and the Enshadowed, but they are wary against any attack coming from those precincts.”

  “That doesn’t mean we don’t want to give them one,” Terleman declared. “How many guard the Ways?”

  “Sixty to seventy, plus a few trolls when they aren’t being used for brute labor,” Pentandra answered.

  “So, one for Azar, one for Wenek,” he suggested.

  “If that was the only danger, then perhaps,” I answered. “But the reserves they can call upon are far worse. Within minutes of an attack, we can expect several Nemovorti and draugen to enter the fray. Against those odds, even Azar would have to be thoughtful.”

  “Have you spoken to Azar, recently?” snickered Terleman.

  “But you are correct,” she continued. “A strong force could likely overwhelm the garrison, temporarily.”

  “An attack on one or both Waypoints would prove a useful distraction,” I said, tapping the table absently with the stem of my pipe. “Indeed, if this plan is to succeed it is because we used subterfuge, surprise, and obfuscation to our advantage.”

  Pentandra nodded. “We will have to. Because we have a third Waypoint the enemy isn’t aware of, which was thoughtfully placed in a concealed location by means of a Waystone.

  “Unfortunately, it is in the middle of the island on the eastern side, obscured from easy view by a great grotto of debris. The moment someone leaves that haven, however, they will be spotted. It lies closely to the tower in which they were holding Rardine, which is rigorously patrolled. And that does not even account for the magic detections that
will be in place. Arborn was unable to give me any details on those.”

  “How did you get a Waystone into Olum Seheri?” asked Lord Aeratas.

  “Sir Tyndal, actually,” Pentandra smiled. “He dropped a Waystone there while they were reconnoitering the site at Yule. He thought it would be useful. When he and the Estasi Order made their first foray to the island, they brought back valuable intelligence. Including a sighting of Sheruel visiting his new ally.”

  “Ally? Or vassal?” Lord Aeratas asked, skeptically. “Korbal is not the type to suffer a peer.”

  “The nature of their relationship is unknown,” she admitted. “Perhaps we’ll establish that on this journey. But the stone is placed. We can enter into Olum Seheri undetected . . . once. When they become aware of it . . . well, not only will that route be guarded, but they could recover the stone. As of yet they do not realize the advantage they give us. But that will not last.”

  “Not if we take it with us, when we leave,” I pointed out. “We need it only to enter, not to leave. And if it is proximate to the tower in which Rardine and the other prisoners are being kept, then it’s perfectly placed. The rescue party, to be most effective, should enter from that point.”

  “Of course,” Terleman agreed. “A quick, sudden strike, after a suitable distraction.” He removed a wand from his belt and used it to point. “The third Waypoint is only a few hundred yards from the base of the building. If the position of this slab of debris is accurate—”

  “It is,” Pentandra assured. “I had Tyndal, Rondal, and Gareth each review it. They all agreed.”