Necromancer: Book Ten Of The Spellmonger Series

by Terry Mancour

  “Those are what I need,” I agreed. “I have no idea what this stuff is. You do. I figured if you could identify some of the pieces for me, we could at least grab what we need to heal the . . . whatever it is. It says some things are missing,” I said, being able to translate at least a few words. “And this references the great Eagle of Orvatas, Calsat,” I pointed out. “His eyes over the world and his messenger.”

  She giggled. “I love that! Calsat isn’t a big eagle in the sky,” she corrected, “Calsat is the network of tiny machines your people installed in the heavens to facilitate communication over long distances. Much like you do with the mind-to-mind enchantment. Calsat stands for the Callidore Satellite Network. Calsat. But if I recall, their corporate logo included a stylized eagle,” she remembered.

  “The Skyfather will be very upset to hear that his noble companion is a mere . . . artifact,” I chuckled.

  “Orvatas himself wasn’t originally a sky god,” Lilastien continued, as she began to survey the piles of tekka around us. “In fact, Orvatas was another machine, of sorts. Orvatas is the Orbital Vehicle Transport system,” she informed me. “The small ships that your ancestors used to ferry themselves from the New Horizon down to Callidore, and back again. Or to bring supplies to their various colonies separated by distance.”

  “Are there any other . . . divine misconceptions?” I asked, amused. “Briga, for instance?” I couldn’t resist. If I could get some gossip on my patroness, I had to.

  “No, no, Briga is pure Narasi barbarian fire-and-vengeance goddess,” she chuckled. “Ishi was originally a beautiful performer who looked nothing like her present incarnation. Herus, though,” she smiled. “Herus is partially derived from a messenger and delivery service from the Later Magocracy. The Herus Company shipped goods overland between the new colonies. I believe Herus evolved in part when his first devotee was born in an abandoned shop of theirs. Just a theory.”

  “Somehow, I don’t think he’d find that scandalizing.”

  “No, I think he’d be proud,” she agreed. “Oh, this is nice!” she said, picking up a . . . thing. “A food processor. Or part of it. Once, every home on Perwyn had one of these. It’s like having an entire kitchen full of servants preparing your meals,” she said, putting it back down.

  “What’s this?” I asked, moving over to the largest piece. It was huge, resembling a wagon down to the wheels. Only they weren’t like any wheels I’d ever seen. There were six of them, for one, three on each side, and the wagon – if that’s what it was – was fully enclosed by thick metal and painted dark green. “It looks impressive.”

  “That is one of the ancient exploration vehicles – self-propelled,” she added, as she walked around the wagon. “Armored, self-contained power, full of equipment to inspect and survey the colony’s transformation of the mainland into what it looks like, today. I only saw a few of them, but in the early days they roamed all over Merwyn and the coasts. They were called ‘beasts’.”

  “It looks pretty beastly,” I agreed. “It’s like a tiny castle on wheels. And that?” I asked, pointing to an elegant-looking thing like a long, shiny lance.

  “Some sort of antennae,” she said, absently, as she rooted through another pile. “Part of a device to send messages back and forth over long distances. Ah! I think this is what we’ll need, based on what you showed me,” she said, raising a device triumphantly into the air in her frail hands. “This is from some library. A study device. But it should have everything we need to supply your project. It should interface with the other unit automatically.”

  “Interface?”

  She sighed. “There is so much technical language you have lost, Minalan. It’s sad that only an old bird like me remembers any of it, anymore. And I only know a very small part of it.”

  I looked around some more. “Are there any weapons?” I asked, hopefully, as my eye settled on a pile of dangerous-looking . . . things.

  She followed my gaze. “Oh. Those. Yes, technically, those are weapons . . . but if you’re looking for something to kill a dragon, I doubt these would be adequate. They were designed to work on humans, or similar human-like creatures.” She started sorting the pile carefully. “Your ancestors had a remarkable talent with such things, despite their generally peaceful nature. These weapons are as powerful as warspells, but completely mechanical.”

  “We were peaceful?” I chuckled. “That doesn’t sound like us.”

  “Actually, your race was completely peaceful during the initial colonization phase. They didn’t start to get violent until almost a century later, and even then, they largely only fought among themselves. In fact, most of this stuff is simple security material, not military weapons. This,” she said, removing a large, heavy cylinder from the pile with a grunt, “is the most powerful one here. The charge is long gone, of course, but once it was capable of projecting a powerful and highly destructive beam of plasma.”

  “I’ve got warspells that can do that,” I bragged.

  “So, do we . . . as your race discovered when the troubles began. The first time our two peoples came to blows, that I can recall, involved a dispute between a coastal settlement and a refuge in Merwyn. Some troublemakers on both sides pushed the issue until it got violent. The civil authorities dispatched a military expedition from Novaminos to quell the trouble, and they got there just in time to see some authentic Alka Alon warmagic. After that, we moved our refuges back from the coast. And your people were a lot more respectful of how you spoke to us.”

  “But there’s nothing here that could take a dragon?” I asked. I was amused by the story, but I needed answers.

  “Not that I can see,” she admitted. “But then I was far more familiar with the colony’s medical technology than I was their military machines. But they did have powerful weapons. They were just wise enough to keep them on the New Horizon, not leave them laying around for rebels to get ahold of.”

  That was disappointing. But informative. The Forsaken were guarding a cache of ancient weapons, somewhere in the sky.

  “Oh, well, it was worth a shot,” I sighed. “I really had hoped that there would be something useful here.”

  “Are you joking, Minalan?” Lilastien asked. “This is a trove! There is plenty here that can be put to use, and things that could lead us to other pockets of your ancestors’ craft hidden away. The ancient knowledge locked away in some of these things is priceless. If you can but assemble and restore it, and access it, you will have done your race a boon that can never be repaid.”

  “I think you might be overstating that.”

  “I don’t,” she defended, picking up a stack of . . . something. “What you don’t understand is just how sophisticated your ancestors were about such things. They took their fetish for the written word to extremes. And they had innumerable teaching machines, as intelligent in their way as a servant. If you can restore but a few of them, enough to give you a glimpse, I’m hoping that you can begin discovering the incredible legacy your ancestors left you.”

  “Perhaps. So how much of this should I take?”

  “How much can you take?”

  “My agreement with Tavard was that I pay fair market value,” I told her. “I have the money. I just need to know what to take.”

  “Take it all,” she decided. “No, really, Minalan, as expensive as that sounds, take it all. This equipment is irreplaceable. And, honestly, I really don’t know which things are going to be useful, and which aren’t. Even though I lived amongst your ancestors for a few decades, my experience was limited. Take it all.”

  I sighed, and drew the wand I use for carrying hoxters. “You’re lucky I’m unimaginably wealthy. And insatiably curious.” She smiled as I began to push everything there into the big cargo hoxters in the wand. A few minutes later, everything in the vault, including the “beast” wagon, was stuffed into an extradimensional space.

  “Have His Highness send me a bill for the entirety,” I told the guard, tipping him generously on the w
ay out. “I’ll pay it directly.”

  I accompanied Lilastien back to the Tower of Refuge, because I desperately wanted to see Alya. And I did. Some of the real Alya.

  My wife was walking the grounds of the tower as she did most afternoons, Lilastien told me, and we caught up with her at the far end of the compound.

  As usual, I was amazed to see her look more like Alya.

  “The Handmaiden is doing a remarkable job,” Lilastien said, pleased. “I was going to contact you, before you summoned me to go junk shopping. Yesterday, right after her treatment, she took a nap. When she woke up, there was a noticeable improvement in her condition.”

  “What?” I demanded, anxiously.

  “Let’s go see for yourself,” she said, smugly, as she led me to my wife.

  Alya looked up as we approached, and for the first time in a year I saw her recognize someone.

  “Hello, Lilastien,” she said, clearly. I almost jumped out of my skin.

  “Hello, Alya,” Lilastien said, in a friendly, clear voice. “How are you feeling?”

  “Much better,” Alya said. “I ate all my luncheon. I had a nap.”

  “Good, good,” Lilastien said, as she began doing a cursory examination of Alya, checking her pulse, pupils, and reflexes while she spoke. “This gentleman here is special, Alya.”

  “I know,” she said, nodding her head solemnly. I felt a surge of excitement.

  “Do you remember him? From . . . before?”

  “I . . .” she began, searching. Then her face wrinkled up in contrition. “A little?” she offered.

  “He is a very important man to you, Alya,” Lilastien explained, gently. “He is your husband.”

  “My . . . husband,” she repeated. “You are my husband.”

  “He is your mate,” she explained. “The father of your children.”

  “My children,” she repeated. “I have children.”

  “You know what those words mean?” the Sorceress asked, patiently.

  She nodded her head, solemnly. She looked at me. “You are my husband.”

  “He’s been very worried about you for a very long time, Alya.”

  “I am much better,” Alya assured me, gravely.

  “Yes, you are, Alya,” I said, my voice breaking. “I’ve checked on you often.”

  “I know,” she said, without elaborating. “I am much better.”

  “She’s been like this since yesterday?”

  “Every day the treatment knits together more,” Lilastien agreed. “Sometimes the results are dramatic, like this. It’s only been a few weeks, Minalan. Give it time, and we’ll see just how much we can get back.”

  “Minalan,” Alya stated, loudly. I startled.

  “Yes, my name is Minalan,” I agreed, trying to steady my voice.

  “Minalan. You are my husband,” she stated. It almost sounded like she was pleading.

  “Yes, Alya. I am your husband. And I love you more than anything in the world.”

  She stared at me, then nodded and looked away.

  “That,” Lilastien said, with a gasp, “was remarkable!”

  I didn’t have any words. This was far more than I dared hope for. This was so much less than I’d dreamed of.

  But it was progress.

  I returned to Sevendor after that, stowed my hoxter wand away in my workshop, and returned to the dull and dreary world of being a master-class wizard amid a political crisis.

  I spent the rest of the evening speaking to various magi and informing myself on the latest developments in Alshar, in Maidenspool, and elsewhere, but particularly in the capital. Rumors were flying everywhere about the scandalous proposal of marriage among the Royal House.

  I made some arrangements with various people as contingencies, but I knew in my heart that there was no way Grendine would allow the alliance to continue. For both political and personal reasons. The signs in the capital were clear.

  Princess Armandra had wrapped herself in a thick mantle of piety, lavishly donating to temples and abbeys while speaking about her divine visitation in Sevendor. She was whipping the entire Temple Ward of Castabriel into a frenzy, and suddenly every pulpit and street corner preacher were giving sermons on morality.

  I admit, it was a more politically astute move than coming out against the proposal on the basis of Anguin as duke of Alshar. The Crown still depended upon his nominal support, and until the Curia met and reformed the tribute payments, the Royal Court still needed all three Dukes to be seen paying their fair share. Hammering at the match from an ecclesiastic perspective was less damaging.

  But I had a little pull of my own. Through associates at the Arcane Orders complex, several discrete donations were made to the Temple of Ishi . . . and soon every whore in the capital was whispering in favor of the match. It wasn’t much, perhaps, but it was what I could do.

  At last the fateful day came when Tyndal told me, mind-to-mind, that Duke Anguin and Princess Rardine had been summoned to the royal palace to consult with Their Majesties and certain members of the court about the proposed marriage. I dressed up in my finest wizardly court robes, grabbed Pathfinder and came through the Ways on Hartarian’s Waystone.

  The hall I materialized into was large, and it needed to be. Behind a table on the dais Rard and Grendine were seated, with Kindine at hand along with three clergymen and a squadron of lawbrothers and clerks. They were both dressed somberly.

  To one side stood Princess Armandra, with a retinue of lawbrothers, Castali court officials, and Count Moran. She was elegantly dressed in a Remeran gown of severe cut and exquisite fabric. She bore her coronet like a buck bears his antlers.

  To the other was Duke Anguin, Princess Rardine, and his courtiers, including Count Angrial and several High Magi. Tyndal, Rondal, Mavone, and – surprisingly – Lord Hance, who stood out with his striking white hair and violet eyes.

  I took a place somewhere in the middle. I wasn’t exactly neutral, but I didn’t want to be visibly associated with either side, at the moment. Politics.

  “My lords and ladies, we call this special court today to address the proposal made by Anguin, Duke of Alshar, to wed Rardine, Princess of Castalshar,” Rard began, after the herald called everyone to order. “As this is as much a matter of state as it is a matter of family, I felt obligated to open these proceedings to all interested parties.”

  “My liege,” Anguin objected, “while I appreciate your discretion to rule your court as you see fit, may I ask why Princess Armandra is therefore included? What interest does she have in these affairs?”

  “She stands representative of her absent lord husband, and sovereign of Castal in her own right,” Queen Grendine answered, coolly. “He has a fraternal interest in this proposed marriage.” There was much murmuring from the Alshari side.

  “Why?” demanded Rardine. “I am not a member of the Castali court . . . any more,” she added, with a snort. “This is a matter between the Royal House and the House of Alshar, not Castal. It was made abundantly clear that I was no longer considered part of the Castali future when I returned from Olum Seheri.”

  “Because someone must stand for propriety in these matters,” Armandra said, haughtily. “Your brother would object to this ill-considered proposal, were he here.”

  “By what standing has he to object?” countered Anguin. “His father, the head of his house, is hale and in his prime. It is his decision, under the law, that matters. Not her brother’s.”

  “Yet this is also a marriage between great houses,” Lord Moran countered. “As such, Castal has an inherent interest.”

  “We have no political objection to the marriage,” Armandra clarified, “but we are concerned with its propriety. I speak for Tavard who would surely wish to ensure that morality was firmly adhered to regarding his beloved sister.” That earned her a look from Rardine that would have killed a lesser woman.

  “I have determined that Castal has a right to be present in these proceedings,” Rard said. “I did not say
that the duchy has the right to do more than observe and advise. I have been assured that this is a legitimate proposal, and one that merits all due and valid consideration.”

  “Thank you!” Rardine huffed.

  “It is my understanding, then, that you wish to wed your cousin, Rardine?” Grendine asked, severely.

  “Yes, my Queen, it is,” Rardine agreed, pleasantly.

  “Despite your close relation?” she added.

  “There is ample history of such unions in the Five Duchies,” Rardine reminded her. “I brought a couple of lawbrothers full of them. Including the Duke of Merwyn marrying his half-sister, sixty-five years ago.”

  “Over the objections of the clergy,” one of the high priests pointed out. The Temple of Orvatas, of course. They were among the most conservative of sects.

  “Yet their son was known as ‘the great’ after his death,” Rardine continued, smoothly, “and both father and son are regarded with admiration and respect to this day. Where, then, was the taint of impropriety?”

  “This is Castal, my lady, not Merwyn,” Armandra insisted. “We have a higher standard to uphold here. The ways of the Merwyni are well-known to us.”

  “And you are from Remere, so don’t pretend to suddenly bear Castali standards, my lady,” Rardine charged in return. “Observe, please, as you were directed.” She turned back to her parents. “I wish to marry Anguin. My cousin. The man who rescued me from oblivion when no one else would,” she added, harshly enough to make Grendine flinch. “Would any woman in my position be willing to offer a lesser reward for her life and freedom?”

  “Your gratitude to your rescuer does you credit,” Grendine replied, “but there is far more at stake than mere thankfulness can purchase. You are a Princess of the Royal House.”

  “And he is a Duke of a brother house,” Rardine contested. “He is of rank. He is of station. He bears me kindness, respect, and affection. He professes to love me, and I return the emotion. We are young and eligible. Therefore, there should be no legal impediment to our union . . . unless you wish to make this a political matter,” she said, her tone changing from reasonable to threatening in an instant.