“It is helpful to have a staff,” he answered, dryly. “In addition to the warmagi I have on the payroll, I’ve got a half-dozen clerks and a couple of specialists. That’s apart from the two-hundred man force Count Salgo loaned me – his personal guard. The remnants of the Royal 2nd Commando,” he reminded me. “I pair three commandos with a warmage, and sometimes a Kasari scout for that kind of reconnaissance mission. It keeps me from having to do everything myself. Anyway,” he continued, irritated, “I’ve seen a pattern emerge.
“In each case the military complex was neutralized – that’s a fancy technical term for ‘burned to the ground by dragonfire’. The civilians were raided by class, with the artisans and merchant classes largely spared while the villeins and freemen were hit hard. And in most cases the means of producing food were damaged, but not the stocks themselves.
“That tells me that someone wants to loot those towns, for whatever it’s worth. You take out the castles, you eliminate the town’s basic defenses,” he said, ticking each point off a finger as he explained. “You kill a bunch of peasants, you damage the labor force and reduce the potential resistance. Without the lords to keep order, what peasants are left will struggle with the surviving burghers – who were largely spared. With their treasures,” he reminded us. “Take away the ability to grind grain, and you create food shortages almost by default. That’s a recipe for a riot,” he concluded.
“That would indicate that they’re trying to destabilize this entire region,” Mavone nodded. “Not that there’s a lot out there, mostly marginal farms and forests, but each of these targets shares another commonality: it’s remote. It would take days for any serious force to reach them,” he pointed out. “I think he’s preparing them for conquest.”
“He’s got to know if he tries that, we’ll have an army marching on him within a fortnight,” Sandoval said, shaking his head. “He had a lot of forces at Olum Seheri. Maybe fifteen, twenty-thousand. But that’s not enough to take all five of those places, before they were attacked, much less defend them from us.”
“I agree,” Mavone said. “But let that situation fester all winter, and when the weather clears in the spring you’ll have a bunch of half-starved, rebellious peasants and whatever burghers didn’t have the sense to flee. You could take a town like that with a company of gurvani. And while we can get an army there, eventually, that will take weeks. And that’s assuming we aren’t dealing with something else more pressing at the time.”
I was still discussing the situation and assessing the damage when Master Hartarian called me, mind-to-mind, and requested a meeting on behalf of His Majesty. Rard wasn’t happy about having more dragon attacks in his realm, and he wanted his chief wizard to yell at.
“Looks like I’m being called into the master’s study,” I told them with a sigh, when I broke contact. “Rard wants to see me. I’ll let him know what we’ve figured out. He’s not going to like the implications.”
“No one does,” Terleman frowned. “Let him know we’re working on it, but we’re at a disadvantage. We can’t post wizards in every small town in Castalshar. Not dragonslaying wizards. Our best bet is to move troops into the region to help defend it. And get aid to those people, so they don’t succumb to Korbal’s plans. Apart from that, I don’t have much.”
“Taren’s been working on the dragon problem,” Sandoval pointed out. “He had some things prepared for Olum Seheri, in case they brought them in. Maybe he can give you something.”
“I’ll check,” I said doubtfully, as I rose and prepared to leave. “In the meantime, continue to gather information, and let me know at once if there’s another attack. I’ll go bury His Majesty in bullshit until we have something better to tell him.”
The palace at Kaunis was hopping, when I arrived. Hartarian was in the corridor just outside Rard’s study, and as I came through I noted a steady stream of pages and messengers, castellans and servants moved through like a river of bureaucracy.
“Busy day,” I noted, as I nodded to Hartarian. The Court Wizard looked harried, which was unusual in him.
“More than you suspect,” he nodded cryptically in return. “Rard is upset. I’m hoping you calm him down before he does something rash.” Something in his tone told me it wasn’t dragons that were preoccupying his thoughts.
“Why, what happened?”
“Several things,” Hartarian said, as he walked me slowly down the corridor to the ornate entrance to the study. “Anguin has proposed marriage to Rardine. Tavard is in trouble in Enultramar. Farise is threatened. Three dragon attacks in the last few days.”
“Five,” I corrected. “You haven’t gotten word, yet. Doleang and Borfeyd were both struck. I just came from Vorone, where Terleman and his staff are analyzing them.”
Hartarian’s face fell. “Five? Oh, this just gets better and better,” he said, shaking his head. “That’s going to make the last piece of news all the more compelling.”
“What news?”
“A message was delivered to the palace this morning – we aren’t certain by whom. It’s from Korbal,” he said, darkly, as we approached the two halberd-armed guards at the study door.
“Korbal? Really?”
“That’s what the seal says,” he agreed. “That’s why Rard wants you here. We haven’t even read it, yet, as His Majesty suspects treachery, and trusts no one but you to clear it for inspection.”
“That’s actually not a bad idea,” I agreed. “Korbal is a lot sneakier than Sheruel. And, worse, he has a flair for drama. That is the sort of thing he would try, I think,” I said, as the guard opened the broad wooden doors for us.
Rard was within, with several of his ministers and gentlemen. He looked agitated; he was bare-headed, pacing pensively behind the table on which was a roll of thick, dark parchment of unfamiliar origin.
“Ah! At last, the Spellmonger,” Rard sighed, hopefully. “Minalan, I’m having a day sent to torment me. I would appreciate your counsel.”
“I am ever at the Kingdom’s service,” I bowed. “Upon what do you wish my council, my liege?”
“Let us begin with this . . . thing,” he said, distastefully. “It was found on the front steps. It looks sinister, and is sealed with an unfamiliar seal which Master Hartarian assures me says ‘Korbal of Olum Seheri’. There is a spell laid upon it,” he added, glancing at it suspiciously.
“Allow me to take a look, Majesty,” I agreed, summoning Pathfinder. The baculus told me in short order that the scroll was not the usual sort of parchment. It was a kind of vellum, animal hide. Human hide, it reported, a moment later. It got more specific than that, but as I was feeling ill at the details, I’ll spare you.
The spells on the scroll were for preservation, principally, and they were necromantic in nature. I found that intriguing enough, but there was more than that. Insight laid apart two other spells, a simple one to inform the sender when the seal was broken, and a more sophisticated one that made the object seem far greater in menace than it deserved.
No matter how repugnant or fearsome you felt at the scroll’s sinister appearance, the charm made it seem far more foreboding. It was a message that literally dared the reader to accept it.
I chuckled. Rard looked at me sharply.
“I told you that Korbal has a sense of drama,” I said, using Insight to dispel the charm. “He enchants the message to challenge the reader with dread,” I reported. “He wants you pissing your pants when you open it. Nothing dangerous,” I assured. “He doesn’t want to cause physical harm from this. He wants to scare you.”
Everyone looked relieved, as Insight countered the spell. There was a palpable change in the atmosphere of the room, I noted.
“There,” I sighed. “Now we can talk without feeling like death is looming in the room. Shall I break the seal, Your Majesty?” I asked. Rard nodded, curtly, staring at the scroll like it might rise off the table and attack him.
I used my new Dradrien dagger to break the seal, knowing it would
activate the first harmless spell. I unfurled the distasteful message and saw it was written in standard Narasi, though the calligraphy was . . . off.
“‘To the self-styled King of Castalshar,’” I began to read aloud. “‘Rard of House Bimin, squatting in the ruins of Castabriel. It has come to my notice that your foolish and short-lived race has deigned to attack my stronghold. While you have been on Callidore only a short period, and likely have no real conception of the powers you are contesting, that is no excuse for such action. Like an errant child, I will instruct you only once against such dangerous pursuits: continue with your aggression and you will be punished.’”
That produced a murmur of outrage in the room. I looked around before I continued. Rard was staring thoughtfully out his window, a grave look on his face. Count Kindine merely looked exhausted beyond all measure. Count Sabas, the new Minister of War, looked troubled. I continued.
“‘Know that the era of Alka Alon indulgence for your miserable race is over. While you should never have been allowed to settle in our realm, as you are established, in some minor way, until a permanent solution to the problem of humani settlement can be resolved, I warn you against further attempts to extend your filthy colonies westward, lest they run afoul of my wardens. I have already taken steps to curb your race’s incursions into my territory. Your western skies darken with the smoke from that taste of my wrath.
“‘For I am Korbal, called the Necromancer and Demon God, and I have arisen! You are understandably ignorant of the history and implications of that, so I will explain. My purpose to reassert responsible control of the realm. I will contest with all who deny my sovereignty, particularly the Alka Alon council. I warn you strongly against alliance with that body, as it places you in peril during our deliberations. Once that matter is resolved, I will deign to review the role of humani in the new governance of the realm and affix it to its proper role. There is, perhaps, some small place for your race within the new order.
“‘Until that time, you are commanded to withdraw your military forces from western lands, cease any further raids on my territories, and begin removal of the colonies you have improperly established west of the ruins of Castabriel. Failure to comply will result in swift and decisive action against your tribes.
“‘To oversee this peaceful transition, I will be sending my ambassador to your tribal moot this autumn. Respect his position and authority, on pain of a far more active response to your ill-advised incursions. He will give you further instruction, guidance, and relay my wishes to you, directly. At that time, if you have any questions regarding this notification, you may put them to the ambassador. Faithful compliance will be rewarded. Disobedience will be punished harshly.
“‘This realm does not belong to you. You are trespassers here, improperly permitted to spew your filthy importasta among our sweet lands, and then indulge in uncontrolled breeding to fill them. While I am tolerant, this is unacceptable to the rightful sovereign of this realm. It is among one of many things to be addressed as proper and traditional rule is re-established. You humani have short lives. Do not waste what few years you have contesting with your betters. You may find them shorter for it.
“‘Signed and sealed, Korbal, Hallitan of Olum Seheri.’ I assume that means ‘king’,” I added.
“’Master’, actually,” Hartarian corrected. I raised my eyebrows in surprise. “I’m fairly fluent in Alka Alon, at least the scholarly texts. We had one of the best libraries of them in the world at Wenshar.”
“So, he’s the Master of Olum Seheri . . . and I am King of Castalshar,” Rard said, finally. “What makes him think he has the right to lecture me so?”
“Because he doesn’t believe you – or any of us – have a right to be in these lands. Note how he says the ‘ruins of Castabriel’, when there is a perfectly vibrant city there, now? That’s because he’s speaking of the old Alka Alon city it’s built upon. From his perspective, he took a thousand-year nap, and woke up to find someone pastured cows in his yard.”
“So, you think we should capitulate to these outrageous demands?” asked Count Sabas asked, suspiciously.
“Oh, Ishi’s tits, no!” I laughed. “Korbal is preying on your ignorance and your fears – hence his use of a fear spell on the scroll. He’s not entirely bluffing – he does have a fair amount of force at his disposal, and he is dangerous – but he’s puffing himself up to be far more than he is.”
“But,” Sabas said, anxiously, “three dragon attacks in a week—”
“Five,” corrected Hartarian. “Baron Minalan brought word of two more from his listening posts. Doleang and Borfeyd. But that seems to be all, for now.”
“Borfeyd?” gasped Count Kindine. “They’ve taken all the Westlands!
“Not all,” I countered, “nor really taken. They’ve eliminated the castles as a credible defense. They’ve killed a lot of people. But they haven’t tried to assert control.”
“Trygg’s holy twat,” swore Sabas, “with dragons in the air, have they not?”
“There is a difference between dominance and control, my lord,” I reasoned. “This . . . ambassador is their attempt to assert control of those lands – by proxy. If he can scare the court into withdrawing from those lands, then Gilmora will be next. Then the Riverlands. These were strategic attacks,” I pointed out, “not mere terror raids, or even retributory strikes for our raid on Olum Seheri.”
“He doesn’t mention Sheruel, I note,” Hartarian said. “Has the Dead God lost favor?”
“He’s lost independence, entirely,” I explained. “Korbal betrayed him at Olum Seheri. Turned him into an elaborate enchantment. A storehouse for energy and a paraclete to carry out his whims. But if there is any good news from this, it is that Sheruel’s genocidal war against us in abeyance. Korbal is a more sophisticated foe, but he’s also less committed to our destruction.”
“That’s hardly reassuring,” Kindine said, with a wheezy growl. “Clearly this Korbal is insistent that we leave the west. And preferably the Five Duchies.”
“Nor should it be, my lord. I’m just giving you my assessment. Korbal’s first order of business is not us, thankfully, it’s the Alka Alon council. See how he warns us against them? That is a sign of fear. It validates the alliance we have, and encourages me to improve it further.”
“But is Korbal not Alka Alon?” asked Rard, confused.
“He was, at the beginning,” I agreed. “But he used necromancy to flee his old body and take a new one. Several times. In direct violation of the council’s dictates. Then he made war on them, was defeated, and condemned. But since execution was not expedient – he could merely re-form himself into his next awaiting body, thanks to his knowledge of necromancy – they entombed he and his followers, instead.
“Now they all take human bodies, because of our greater strength and . . . disposability. It is also easier for them to take our form than their own. So, while Korbal may have been an Alka Alon, and still thinks as one, at this point he is all together a different sort of creature. He is not only unrepresentative of the council, he is exiled and outlawed within Alkan society.
“Likewise, his servants – the Nemovorti – were already considered fanatics and zealots when they were exiled. A long entombment has done nothing but enflame their fanaticism. Whatever Alkan elements that make up their souls are drowned in their own petty egos.”
“So, we . . . ignore them, then, Spellmonger?” asked Kindine. The old man looked depressed about the prospect, but then he looked depressed most of the time.
“We do not, my lord,” I said, defiantly. “But neither do we capitulate to the demands of an undead madman who sends us his commands written on the back of some poor maid he slew for the purpose. Perhaps he wanted to send the thing originally on Rardine’s flayed skin, to make a more compelling argument,” I suggested.
I didn’t have any particular evidence of that, but it was the sort of think I was starting to expect from Korbal. I was trying to steer policy,
here. Truth was . . . flexible, in the service of that. I suppose I’d become a courtier.
I wasn’t particularly proud of that, but there was a lot on the line. If Rard succumbed to fear, based on a few dragon attacks and a gruesome message, then our hope of mounting a credible defense was in doubt.
The suggestion had an effect. Rard’s face hardened, as the image of his daughter being skinned to create stationary for this undead madman fixed itself in his mind. His jaw firmed, and his brow knitted.
“I will not bow to such threats,” he announced. “I will not tolerate such filth making threats on my frontiers, when my noble ancestors would have proudly stood in defiance. Nor will I be commanded in my policies by anyone,” he said, angrily. He looked like a real warrior-prince for the first time in a few years. “We will hear this . . . ambassador when he comes, and fill his undead ears with words his master will not enjoy.”
“Well spoken, my liege,” Count Sabas said, fervently, in a display of gratuitous ass-kissing. “What are your orders?”
“You counsel we reinforce the Westlands?” he asked, suddenly glancing to me, Kindine, and Hartarian.
“I see no better option, at the moment, my liege,” Kindine admitted, reluctantly.
“Failing to defend the region invites its loss,” Hartarian agreed.
“I, too, am in favor, Your Majesty,” I advised. “But I would discourage concentrating them in any one location. As convenient for provisioning and strength as the method is, it also makes our forces vulnerable to dragon attack. I counsel to send our forces in companies of two-hundred lances each, reinforcing strategic roads and manors along the way. Avoid large castles,” I suggested. “And include a competent Magical Corps to further obscure movement.”
I’d worked in the Westlands for a few months, back in my mercenary days. Though it lacked grand castles, most manors and domains had small keeps to keep the bandits, peasants, and each other at bay.
“A few companies that size would not be able to contest an invasion,” Count Sabas said, doubtfully.
Necromancer: Book Ten Of The Spellmonger Series Page 96