Necromancer: Book Ten Of The Spellmonger Series

by Terry Mancour

  “Let’s skip the thaumaturgic lecture,” I said, as I watched Sire Cei’s eyes glaze over. “Wrong crowd.”

  “Right,” he agreed, shaking off the urge to think out loud. “I have some things I can do,” he answered, simply.

  “That’s what I want to hear,” I nodded. “Do them.” My old comrade from the Farisian campaign nodded.

  We continued to discuss the details of the mission, from how we’d gain entry to the citadel to how we’d seal the Chamber of Ages and escape, until the late afternoon. When we’d talked out everything we could, we agreed to prepare ourselves and await the hour of our departure.

  Most of us were going to fight in the Emancipation Campaign. Mavone and Sandoval insisted, and Sire Cei felt honor-bound to participate on the basis of recovering his fellow Wilderlands folk.

  I decided at the last minute I wanted to be involved, too. I’d seen what happened to human slaves in the Penumbra. Now that the Dead God wasn’t dependent on human sacrifice to grow the Umbra anymore, the lives of those slaves had just declined in value. If they weren’t rescued now, they’d never live to see sacrifice. They could be beaten and slain with impunity.

  I couldn’t see that happen. I had to help stop it, and recover as many as I could. As much as my quest to restore Alya was important to me, I still had a duty to secure those who were taken from the Wilderlands and Gilmora and forced into the grisly mill of the Dead God’s empire. Otherwise, it wouldn’t matter if I had Alya back, or not. Those were her countrymen, in part, and perhaps her very neighbors. If I’d brave the undercaverns of the Necromancer for her, I had to also try to rescue as many of her folk as I could.

  In case you hadn’t realized it yet, life as the Spellmonger is morally complicated.

  I checked in with Terleman after my meeting adjourned. He and Salgo were going over details of the planned offensive, and both welcomed my participation in the effort.

  “I think we can use you best at Fethkala,” Salgo said, thoughtfully.

  “Never heard of it,” I confessed.

  “You wouldn’t, unless you speak gurvani,” the Warlord chuckled. “It’s a novelty, of sorts: a homemade gurvani castle. It’s built in our style, in a fashion, and it sits atop an underground complex overlooking three once-prosperous farmholds. Now it’s a slave plantation growing barley and oats, as well as other foodstuffs and supplies. Over ten thousand human slaves,” he informed me. “Mostly Gilmorans, but plenty of Wilderfolk, too.”

  “It’s fascinating because it’s the farthest eastern vassal of the so-called Goblin King,” Terleman grinned. “It’s run in traditional feudal style by Lord Sefelet, a gurvan warlord of great repute. In the gurvani royal court at Ganz. Which used to be a third-rate castle in the hinterlands,” he laughed.

  “So, striking this place will be a message to the goblins: you broke the truce last summer, then reprised with a dragon attack,” Salgo stated, flatly. “The truce is over, and we will strike you at will!”

  “How many defenders?” I asked, not caring much for the politics of the matter. I just wanted to hit some things to warm up.

  “Lord Sefelet commands a garrison of six hundred hobgoblin heavy infantry, three hundred gurvani light infantry and archers, another three hundred gurvani overseers, and a cavalry force of fifty human confederates,” Salgo reported. “Less than fifteen hundred hold more than ten thousand hostage.”

  “How many on our side?”

  “I’ll be sending you in with your two gentlemen Scholars,” Terleman decided. “In addition to a half-dozen warmagi contending to be in the Gatebreakers. I’d like your assessment of their abilities in combat, if you’d be so kind. But then you’ll have seven hundred Wilderlord cavalry, led by Count Marcadine, assisting you in the task.”

  “Marcadine? That will be a pleasure,” I agreed. “Could you include Sire Cei in his party? The Dragonslayer has a serious case of itchy spurs, and riding with the highest-ranking Wilderlord in the land before embarking on a desperate mission would calm his jitters,” I suggested.

  “I think that can be arranged,” Count Salgo nodded. “We’ve . . . nurtured His Excellency’s whims, for political purposes, and he holds the Dragonslayer in high esteem.”

  “My thanks. A couple of days in the field before the mission would be pleasant,” I decided. “I’ve not had a fight since Yule, and Sire Cei did most of the work.”

  “It’s important to stretch before a workout,” Terleman agreed, solemnly.

  “To Fethkala, then,” I nodded. “Let’s introduce His Furry Majesty’s gentlegurvan to the Spellmonger, and see if he enjoys the experience as much as my own liege lords do.”

  As I was crossing the courtyard to say my good-byes to Pentandra, I ran into a tearful apprentice. Dara was wiping her eyes and pulling her hawkwing cloak protectively around her.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked, frowning.

  “Nobody will bloody tell me anything about Gareth!” she spat. “No one! I’ve asked everyone, and either they say they haven’t seen him, or they won’t say anything about him at all! The most I’ve heard is that he’s changed his name,” she said, dejectedly. “That’s it: Gareth isn’t Gareth anymore! And no one knows what he’s calling himself, now!”

  I didn’t know what to say. So I let her keep talking. Ishi’s tits, there was no way I could stop her.

  “It’s not like I stabbed the boy, or anything!” she said, wiping her eyes in disgust. “I just told him I didn’t bear him the affection he wanted. And for that he has to change his name? And leave the country?”

  “He was clearly very affected by your answer,” I said, as hesitantly as possible. I had five sisters. There are times, I had learned, when saying as little as possible was the wisest course of action.

  “So why is everyone covering up his escape? Am I so awful? Tyndal and Rondal looked amused – that haystack laughed! They’re the ones who told me he changed his name! He may even have changed his appearance!”

  “Did they say anything else?”

  “Just that I shouldn’t expect to see him in Sevendor, any time soon! Or ever! Or anywhere!” she sputtered. “They say he’s gone, and won’t be coming back! Over me!” she said, sobbing. “I promised Banamor that I’d try to find him and talk him into coming back!” she said, pulling her hair out of her face. “I’ve been so busy with Frightful’s hatching that I haven’t had much time, and then getting ready for this mission, but I figured that someone here would have heard something! But no one who knows anything will say anything, and most people haven’t heard anything!”

  “That’s—”

  “It’s maddening!” she supplied, her teary eyes squinched together under her unruly red hair. “All I want to do is talk to him!”

  “What would you say?” I asked. Innocent question.

  “What would I say?” she asked, in disbelief. “What would I say? Let’s start with telling him that he’s foolish for sulking off like that, just because I don’t want to . . . I deeply value his friendship, and deeply care for his welfare! That should be sufficient cause to value mine! If he cares for me, as he claims, then I wish him to see the distress he’s caused me by his sudden departure! Had he but bidden, I could have explained to him that . . . that . . .” she broke off, stumbling for words.

  “I . . . perhaps you should consider just what you wish to say before you attempt to locate him,” I suggested, gently. “It might undermine the sincerity of your feeling if you weren’t able to explain what that feeling is.”

  “I know exactly what I wish to say to him!” she declared, indignantly. “When I see his face, whatever name he chooses, I will speak my mind!”

  “And just what is that mind saying, Dara?” I asked, gently. I was getting frustrated with this matter. “Indeed, it is not your mind to which Gareth appealed, it was your heart.”

  “My heart is my own to keep!” she insisted.

  “And to give,” I added. “He made a bid for yours. You rejected that bid.”

  �
�I . . . I am a professional woman!” she declared. “I can’t entertain such matters while I’m apprenticed!”

  “Dara, you’re nearing the end of your apprenticeship,” I informed her. “And I am not amiss to my apprentices having romantic lives . . . just that they keep them from interfering with their duties and studies. You cannot cling to that excuse much longer.”

  “But it’s the best one I have!” she admitted, as frustrated as I was. “I like Gareth! But to give him my heart?” she asked, doubtfully.

  “Are there any others who would wish to bid for it?” I asked, casually.

  “That’s none of your business!” she said, hotly. “Or Gareth’s!”

  “Indeed,” I agreed, sagely. “And so you told him, apparently. As it is none of his business – or mine – he chose to act on that intelligence,” I said, reasonably.

  “Take action? He bloody vanished!” she exclaimed.

  “So he did,” I agreed, as we began to walk slowly toward Pentandra. “You’re a good wizard. Why did he do that?”

  “He’s . . . hurt,” Dara admitted. “A lot. He’s angry. And he’s . . . embarrassed.”

  “Those are good speculations,” I agreed. “When you are hurt, angry and embarrassed, what do you do, Dara?”

  “Me? I just go up to the Mewstower and sit with my bird until I overcome it,” she explained. “Frightful is a good listener. I used to use the cottage in the nutwood,” she recalled, “but when you have your own tower . . .”

  “But you withdraw. You go talk to someone. Why deny the man the same?”

  “Because he doesn’t know everything, yet!” Dara exploded. “He doesn’t . . . he didn’t really talk to me, he just asked one dumb question and then threw his whole life away when he didn’t like the answer!”

  “Has your answer changed?” I asked, curious.

  “No!” she assured. “I . . . he’s a friend, but my heart does not lead me to him.”

  “Then I doubt much else you have to say will alter his opinion, I’m afraid,” I sighed.

  “If I just had a chance to talk to him, to convince him,” she said, shaking her head. “Everyone knows that I’m the reason he’s gone. My brothers are making jokes about it! I thought Rondal and Tyndal would be helpful, since they’re his friends, but they . . . they shut me out. Completely! They wouldn’t tell me anything! And they joked about it, too, like I broke his heart or something!”

  “Think about that, Dara,” I said, gently. “I’ll speak to the boys. And try to focus on the mission, now. We need you and your Sky Riders here and in the battle, not looking in vain for wizards who aren’t there.”

  She nodded, blew her nose, and shuffled away, thanking me for my help. I had no idea if I’d helped. But I immediately contacted Tyndal, mind-to-mind.

  What in three hells did you say to Dara? I demanded.

  What? Oh, she was asking about Gareth the Ghost. We didn’t tell her anything, he promised.

  What you didn’t tell her was enough to set her to tears, I reproved. We’re on the eve of one of the biggest missions in our lives, and she’s commanding the skies overhead. Why did you want to rile her like that?

  Master! We didn’t! I promise! Tyndal pleaded. She came to us riled, demanding this and insisting that. Gareth swore us to secrecy, he explained. We can’t break his confidence. Especially to Dara. She was explicitly mentioned.

  I understand, I said, patiently, but laughing in her face? That was just cruel!

  So was what she did to Gareth! Tyndal replied, defensively. Even Nattia thinks so, and she was there! Look, I like Sir Fes, I do. But he has her eye without even trying. Gareth overthrew the bloody Brotherhood and went toe-to-toe with a Nemovort. Hells, he’s already been to Olum Seheri! And she doesn’t bat an eyelash.

  So, you’re the ones who put him up to confronting her with his feelings?

  If he hadn’t, would she have ever pressed the matter? he challenged.

  Probably not, but that’s not for you to say, I replied.

  Isn’t it? Tyndal asked. A mate came to me with a problem. I tried to help him out.

  His problem is my apprentice, I reminded him.

  Which means you have a problem, too. I don’t have a problem, he added, a bit arrogantly. That puts me in a good position to give advice on other people’s problems.

  So, what is your advice to me on this problem?

  You? Oh, I’d probably tell you to leave her alone and let her suffer. She made her choice. She has to contend with the consequences.

  That might be satisfying, but it’s not particularly effective, I chided.

  Effective? She’s not going to feel right until she has Gareth in her pouch where she wants him – outside of her skirts, not something intimate. I like Dara, Master, but if she’s not going to love the man, she needs to turn him loose for someone else to. He sounded indignant on Gareth’s behalf.

  I don’t disagree, I sighed, evenly, but this isn’t the best time for one of my commanders to be emotionally compromised.

  Take it up with Ishi, Tyndal recommended.

  Don’t think I won’t. Just try to keep the torment to a minimum, will you?

  I’ll endeavor to be more professional, Master, he agreed, with far too much deference.

  I sighed to myself after I broke the connection. No doubt I had more tears in my future.

  Pentandra looked up and seemed positively pleased to see me, as she handed a sheaf of parchment to her blind apprentice and sent her on her way.

  “I was wondering if you were going to chat,” she smiled. “I think that went well.”

  “We’re getting better at it,” I conceded. “But I’m expecting a hundred different things to go horribly wrong,” I added.

  “I think we all are, honestly,” she said, nodding thoughtfully. “I was discussing it with Arborn last night. This mission has so many things that can go wrong, it’s almost inevitable that something will.”

  “That’s the fun part, the improvisation,” I smiled, humorlessly. “How are you feeling?” I asked, never a question a pregnant woman isn’t willing to answer.

  She rolled her eyes, as if on cue. “When next I see Trygg Allmother, we’re going to have a long talk about the inconvenience of gestation! If she couldn’t figure out any better way to get babies into this world—”

  “Not well, I take it?”

  “Oh, all three of them are as healthy as I could ask,” Pentandra admitted. “I’m getting scryed thrice a week, now. No problems with The Girls. I just wish they’d stop mistaking my bladder for a quintain! I swear, every time I have to stand up, I have to pee. Every time I sit down, I have to stand up. Sleep? Arborn’s lucky he’s in the wilderness, blissfully slumbering on wet grass and hard rocks – he knows not the meaning of discomfort!”

  None of this was new to me – I’d enjoyed two and a third pregnancies with Alya, and suffered through a sister and a sister-in-law both being pregnant at the same time. But every first-time mother experiences the phenomenally uncomfortable miracle of life as a mystery. No matter her preparation, it must be experienced – and shared – before it becomes real to her.

  “It will be over before you know it,” I assured her, kindly. “You still have weeks before you are due. Plenty of time to get this mission underway.”

  “The mission?” she asked, horrified. “Do you think I’m worried about the mission? The mission is a distraction from this, Min!” she said, indicating her giant tummy. “It gives me something else to think about. When I can think at all. My memory is gone,” she admitted. “If it wasn’t for Everkeen, Alurra, and my ministry staff, I’d never get anything done, anymore. I delegated a lot of my preparation to my staff, after I sketched out the basic policy. I find myself thinking more about the nursery than the mission. Is that awful?” she asked, her eyes pleading.

  Oh, dear goddess, another one! a cynical part of my mind shrieked.

  “No, not at all,” I soothed. “Look, you’re incredibly busy, and pregnant besides. Arbor
n is gone much of the time, you have to prepare for the baby on your own, it’s only natural that you think more and more about such things as your time draws near.” I’d said essentially the same thing to Alya on at least two separate occasions. “As long as the work is done, it doesn’t matter who actually did it.”

  “But I’m a professional woman, Min,” she said, much calmer than Dara had been but no less laden with emotion. “I should be able to devote my fullest attention to the task at hand and not be distracted every time one a fight breaks out in my uterus. But it’s exhausting!” she complained. “Just walking across the room is brutal! Stairs? I’m starting to use magic to help me get up a flight of stairs. Do you know how decrepit that makes me feel?” she demanded.

  I did what I could to calm her down, without seeming like I was trying to calm her down, which would have excited her far more. Thankfully, Pentandra was a little more self-aware and mature in her emotional expressions. That was good. She had enough magical power around her neck to sink a fleet. Imperial magic may have its shortcomings, but learning how to shepherd your emotions is decidedly a strong point.

  Finally, she heaved a big sigh. “Thank you,” she said, her vulnerability showing. “I think I have to have a bloody snit like that every now and again, or I’ll go mad. I spoke with His Grace after the large council. After consulting his staff – mostly Salgo and myself – he wants to schedule the campaign for four days hence. The mission will proceed two days following. Unless you have a compelling reason not to,” she added, searchingly.

  Self-preservation? “Of course, that will be fine,” I answered, instead. “We meet at Timberwatch?”

  “That’s the staging ground for both operations,” she agreed. “We have three different Waypoints set up there, to handle the traffic. Dara has her Alshari Mews there, now. Two entire wings, ready for battle. Most of the mundane troops there have already been quietly deployed up the road, and will be in position within a day or two. As soon as we have final approval, we’ll inform the Pele Towers and the other outposts.”

  “Who are you waiting approval from?” I asked, confused.