Necromancer: Book Ten Of The Spellmonger Series

by Terry Mancour

  “You have my word, Minalan,” Aeratas assured me. He looked at his wife, who was still gazing around at everything in the laboratory with her new eyes. “We will keep Korbal at bay.”

  “And I will take his consort with us,” I proposed, stretching my cramped limbs. “I know not what value she might hold for him, but whatever leverage I can gain over him will be worth it.”

  “Fare well, my friend,” Aeratas said, with all sincerity. “You are a true gift from the humani. First you rescue my people and come to the aid of my city. Then you provide them refuge in their time of need, and a hope around which to gather. You grant my daughter a husband, a valiant man for a mortal. You strike at my enemies at the risk of your life. And now you restore me to my beloved, and grant me time to speak with her again, as well as continue my guardianship.”

  “Alas that the Aronin did not survive to see such a thing,” I said, nodding. “He thought our two peoples would work well together to overcome the foe, in spite of our differences. You gave me an opportunity to do that, and perhaps save my own beloved.”

  “‘Mortal’?” Hynalinae asked, quizzically.

  “I can see you two have a lot to discuss,” I said, quickly. “I’ll just see myself out.”

  Chapter Forty-Five

  The Battle Of Olum Seheri

  We did it, Penny! I sent to Pentandra, once we’d finished sealing off the Chamber of Ages with as many powerful spells as three races of magic users could provide. I really wasn’t looking forward to the prospect of going back up all those stairs. I’ve got the Handmaiden! Have you taken down the block to the Ways, yet? I asked, hopefully.

  Are you joking? she shot back, loud and hard. I’ve got a full-scale battle going on up here, and its one we’re losing! We’ve got a vague theory about how to end the spell, but no real method-of-action, and we’re too busy getting hammered to worry about it!

  Shit. It looked like I was taking the stairs.

  But we did establish that the Ways within the field still work with each other, she continued, sounding utterly exhausted. You can transport between the two natural Waypoints, and the two additional Waystones we have in place, she informed me.

  That’s great news! I said, more relieved for an instant about the lack of stairs in my future than I was losing a battle. We can at least get out of here, and help out while you keep working on the problem.

  Gee, thanks! she said, sarcastically. Right now, everyone is consolidated on Terleman’s position. Azar and most of his people evacuated there in support – that’s where Korbal and Sheruel are pressing the attack, she reported. The sudden appearance of the Spellmonger, shitting lightning and pissing arcane fury, might come in handy. Since my husband is still out there, cut off from everyone else with the rangers, I’d really appreciate some impressive warmagic, about now.

  Understood, Penny, I said, subdued. I really thought she’d be more excited about the Handmaiden, but she’d been a little off with her pregnancy. Cranky.

  “Are you gentlemen ready to fight?” I asked, when I broke contact. “Because when we go through this Waypoint, there’s going to be the most hellacious battle you’ve ever seen, and we’re going to be right in the middle of it.”

  Sire Cei looked eager. Everyone else, less so. Azhguri looked grimly determined, but unhappy about the prospect. It was hard to tell what Suhi felt, because he mostly just glared at everything over his big nose. And Hance did not look like he wanted to be in a hellacious battle, but he preferred it to staying in the dungeons.

  We took a moment to prepare ourselves. I hung some spells, Hance loosened his knives in their sheaths and made a couple of passes with his sword. Azhguri stretched his back and shoulders, while Suhi practiced with the Nemovort’s blade.

  “All right,” I said, taking a deep breath. I had Twilight in my right hand, Blizzard in my left. “Let’s go to war!” I said, and took the five of us through the Ways. Azhguri and Suhi held up the unconscious – dead? – body of Korbal’s consort, bound in the steel manacles that were impossible for her to remove, should she awaken again.

  We arrived in the middle of a hellstorm of noise and magic. All of us stumbled as we came out of the Ways, and my stomach twisted. But I quickly got control of myself, feeling the surge of warmagic infusing my system, and the thrill of adrenaline as the familiar sounds and smells of war overtook me.

  We were in the middle of a redoubt that was being menaced by a big army, outside. Many of my friends were on the walls, keeping back the draugen and hobgoblins that were being thrown at the place, while Tera Alon archers were sending wave after punishing wave of arrows at the trolls who were protecting something on a hillock, nearby.

  There were spells going off all over the place. Warmagi on hastily-constructed wall of the redoubt were pouring offensive magic down on their attackers, while others maintained arcane defenses that were being constantly tested by blasts from the Nemovorti behind the trolls. Overhead raced the Thoughtful Knife, picking wyverns gathering to feast on the dead from the sky with alacrity. So at least Dara had survived, I reasoned.

  “Watch her,” I ordered the dwarves. Sire Cei and Hance, seeing their swords weren’t immediately needed, took a moment to refresh themselves from the small pile of baggage gathered at the center of the redoubt. I couldn’t blame them – after half a day spent in the undercaverns, I was feeling in need of a bite, myself. If I wasn’t nauseated after the transport.

  “What’s the situation?” I yelled over the din to the first warmage I recognized – Caswallon the Fox. The man’s armor was battered and torn, his mageblade was bloodied in his hand, as an anxious-looking civilian – a civilian? A former prisoner, I realized – was hastily wrapping a bandage around one ear and the side of his head, but his spirit was still strong. After he did a doubletake upon seeing me, he grinned widely.

  “The Spellmonger arrives!” he called out at the top of his lungs. A few men nearby cheered, and the word started to spread.

  So much for a subtle entrance. “My lord, Korbal and Sheruel direct the battle from yonder mound, surrounded by the best of their troops. Thrice we’ve assaulted the place, and thrice been thrown back, though our effort was valiant. The bodies of our foes lay three deep,” he boasted

  “Where’s Terleman?” I asked.

  “He is in conference with Azar and Tyndal, near the front,” he said, pointing the way. “Was your quest successful, my lord?” He peered at the Magolith with a discerning eye. I glanced up at it. There was more purpose with its throbbing, now, I noted.

  “So far,” I nodded. “Ask me again after the battle.”

  He laughed too hard and too long for the joke, which could either be a result of battle fatigue or, more likely, just Caswallon being Caswallon. I nodded and made my way toward the commanders of the battle, who were in a forward position overseeing the front defenses.

  Both looked tired, but Azar looked like he’d been through hell. His black armor was beyond battered, and he was missing one of his ornate pauldrons, but he seemed unwounded. He leaned on the guard of his two-handed mageblade, a serene expression on his face.

  Terleman didn’t look fresh, and he’d taken some blows, but he didn’t seem too disturbed by them. He had his cloak thrown back as he studied the killing field in front of him, one foot resting on a block of rubble, looking for all the world like a master warmage contemplating a thorny practical problem.

  “Good evening, gentlemen,” I said, quietly. If I expected them to rejoice in surprise, I was disappointed.

  “Minalan,” Azar nodded. Terleman didn’t spare me more than a glance.

  “Good, you’re here,” the commander said, returning his attention to the battle. A sortie of hobgoblins, with a few draugen flanking them, began a charge over hundreds of bodies. The warmagi in blinds directly below our position began to pick them off, throwing spells and firing bows or crossbows as they crossed the grisly terrain.

  “You seem to have things well in-hand,” I noted, gazing around at the i
mprovised battlefield fortification. The rubble had been strategically placed to offer cover and concealment, surrounding the natural Waypoint with concentric circles of defense. The portion of the redoubt facing the foe had been augmented with additional makeshift fortifications, with flanking blinds and a couple of strategic trenches that funneled the attackers towards the strongest portion.

  I was impressed to see a couple of warmagi directing some prisoners to continue construction even while the place was under active attack. They weren’t happy about it, but then no one was. Yet they moved with alacrity and purpose, quickly depositing their loads and scurrying back to the relative safety of the inner quarters of the redoubt to pick up another while the warmagi melded the stones into the defenses.

  In another few hours, I had no doubt they’d have a lovely little castle, here.

  “It could be worse,” Azar dismissed. “We prevail in most individual contests. In twelve hours we’ve sustained very little loss, considering the magnitude of the foe we face.”

  “They’re being gentle with us,” Terleman said, shaking his head. “They don’t want to damage the merchandise. They are trying to get us to submit, not destroy us.”

  “They didn’t expect us to counter-attack,” Azar smirked. “When it was clear my position was relegated to secondary status, I took issue with that. As soon as Sheruel disappeared, my men carved our way out of there – Azar is no one’s second battle,” he snorted. “We came across country and attacked them in the rear. Ten Nemovorti fell, and hundreds of draugen.”

  “Unfortunately, so did a score and a half of our men,” Terleman said, finally turning his attention away from the front. There wasn’t much need to watch, anymore – when the surviving hobgoblins and one lone draugen got within range, a dozen Alka Alon archers popped up and ended their effort. “While the foe can raise the dead on both sides, and send them back into the fray. The arithmetic of the situation is not favorable . . . and with no line of retreat . . .”

  “Let’s see what we can do about that,” I proposed. “Pentandra is working on it. In the meantime, let’s see what we might chance to disturb Korbal’s composure.”

  We talked for fifteen or twenty minutes about possible solutions to the situation. I discussed certain resources we had at our disposal, and they went over the positioning of the troops.

  It was a fairly straight-forward problem: we wanted to leave, and they wanted us to stay and, ideally, surrender. Because of that they were limited in the kinds of magic they could throw at us . . . while we really weren’t. The challenge was that if we fought so hard that they abandoned their strategy, they could call in the dragons and we’d all be in a mess.

  My former apprentices were leading a band of warmagi from the hidden Waypoint, which Korbal’s troops still hadn’t discovered, striking at the rear and the flanks of the army that opposed the redoubt. Arborn was leading the Kasari rangers who’d blanketed the island, gathering intelligence on our foe while the rest of us fought (or, in my case, took the stairs). They were in a separate position, on the other side of the army, harassing them mercilessly from the rear.

  If you’re wondering how a bunch of backwoods rangers without magical talent was doing that, you don’t know the Kasari. They used snares and traps, ambuscades and sudden attacks in fiendishly clever ways. They preferred to discomfort their enemies at a distance, but they were savage fighters, at need. Each one of those rangers was a Raptor, the highest level of achievement among the Kasari. If it was a fight between three armed hobgoblins and a Kasar with a piece of rope, I’d bet on the Kasar.

  By the time Azar brought out a flask of brandy, we had a pretty clear idea of what we wanted to do. Terleman, who had taken over-all command, started issuing orders to his subordinates, while Azar went to his part. I made my way back to the center of the redoubt, and hunted for the wizard I wanted.

  Taren looked worn and tired, but the moment he saw me he perked up. He was sitting in armor, his helm off and his legs crossed, his baculus in his lap.

  “Min!” he called, a smile breaking out on his beleaguered face. “How did it go?”

  “A lot of stairs,” I shrugged. “We lost Aeratas . . . sort of. And I learned a lot. But it was successful,” I said, nodding toward the Magolith. “How goes breaking the block on the Ways?”

  “We’ve established that Sheruel is either the source or the focus of the blocking spell,” he reported. “When he goes into a hoxter pocket, the spell stops. But he won’t go into one without a fight,” he sighed. “We lost seven men proving that. Damn it, Min, I was so close to those necromantic bastards, and then the Nemovorti pushed back, and I lost my chance.”

  “But what did you learn?” I asked, taking a seat. Around us, people began to move in response to Terleman’s orders – even the Tera Alon, who looked a little dazed. Most had not seen battle like this before. Then again, I don’t think anyone had seen a battle like this before.

  “That the Nemovorti are tough sons-of-bitches,” Taren said, as he began listing the enemy’s capabilities. “They’re using high-energy necromantic spells to keep us away from Korbal, unfortunately. We got pretty close, but the Nemovorti are dedicated. And the Dradrien reserves they have there are almost as tough – they make hobgoblins look like Tal Alon, on the field. And they have plenty of hobgoblins left, too. It seems to be Korbal’s preferred infantry.”

  “What’s your recommendation?”

  “Get Sheruel to hide in a hoxter long enough for us to escape through the Ways,” he decided. “As many of us who could.”

  “That’s . . . an interesting idea,” I agreed. “How long do you figure we’d need?”

  “That depends,” he considered. “When we observed the phenomenon earlier, he reasserted control of the spell almost at once. There was a duration of only six, maybe seven seconds.”

  “That would be difficult to coordinate,” I pointed out. “Not to mention that we have a lot of non-magical troops in the field who would need to be taken through.”

  “We’d probably end up abandoning most of them,” he conceded.

  “That is unacceptable,” I snapped. I thought of the Kasari rangers, and the brave Wilderlords who’d volunteered for this madness. I would not depart until they did.

  “I agree,” he nodded. “But Rondal and I have been working on something,” he added, slowly. “Assuming we got Sheruel to go into a pocket for a moment, we think it’s possible to cast a spell using an oscillating vibrational pattern, that could disrupt him from re-establishing control . . . for a while,” he conceded. “Maybe long enough to get a couple of trips through the Ways and back. Thing is, it requires a lot of power. A whole lot of power, if we want it to be effective against Sheruel. And it won’t last – he’ll find a way to counter it pretty quickly, just like he did with the Alkan time-dilation effect,” he said, somberly.

  I tickled the bottom of the Magolith. “I have power,” I boasted. “And I think I can get Sheruel to leave the field, momentarily. And perhaps Korbal, too.”

  “How?”

  “I have something he wants,” I said. “And I’ve screwed with his plans more than he suspects. Once I let him know that, I expect him to do something unpredictable. With a little calculation, I think I can convince him that he has urgent business elsewhere.”

  “Is that thing that powerful?” he asked, his eyes flitting to the Magolith.

  “No,” I conceded, “but I can be a righteous pain the arse, when I put my mind to it.”

  He grinned, which was good to see. “I think we can work with that. I’ll start setting up the framework for the spell,” he said, pulling himself to his feet with his baculus. He stretched his long, skinny frame tiredly, before using the staff to flip his helmet up into his hands. “But it’s pretty simple. Just large. Let me know when you’re ready to start irritating him.”

  “It’ll be soon,” I advised, glancing up, where the Thoughtful Knife hovered over the battle. “I have a couple of things to prepare, first. And moral
e to boost,” I decided, seeing far too many grim faces around me. Taren’s included. I couldn’t promise them that I could get them out of this alive, but if my presence could give them some hope, I owed it to them to advertise it. I began by casting a display spell, the sort I used all the time back home in Sevendor.

  In a moment, a spectacular white snowflake appeared overhead, fifty feet across, glowing brightly in the gloom. Almost at once a rousing cheer went up from across the redoubt, from human and Tera Alon throats, alike.

  “Step One,” I sighed. “Now on to Step Two.”

  “That snowflake was a little showy,” Terleman frowned, as we assembled back at the front of the redoubt. I’d spent my time visiting various wizards and Wilderlords, Tera Alon and even the prisoners, giving them my assurances that everything would be all right. I had no real evidence for that, but it was what they needed to hear.

  “I have an ego,” I shrugged. “How did the opposition respond to it?”

  Azar shrugged, as Sire Cei joined us. “They were not pleased,” he admitted. “You have apparently developed a reputation.”

  “I certainly hope so,” I muttered. A lot of my plan depended upon my reputation. “Has Gareth delivered, as requested?”

  “Every last one in the workshop,” Terleman nodded. He’d been in deep conversation, mind-to-mind, with both Pentandra and other wizards back at Timberwatch, arranging for supplies and coordinating our escape efforts. “And Ormar has prepared some more of his alchemy for use. The archers have arrows, the prisoners have been furnished with basic weaponry, those with the strength to bear arms, and the rest of us are waiting patiently,” he said, with especial emphasis.