The Spellmonger's Honeymoon: A Spellmonger Novella (The Spellmonger Series)

by Terry Mancour

  I took a deep breath, mentally speaking, and then pulled on the spell the same way I had at the river when I commanded the elemental. It took affect almost instantly, and I got to watch with some amusement as Brinthildin’s lips moved frantically. Glaring and outraged he looked around – but I’d let my eyes slam shut again. When I was sure he wasn’t facing me directly, I slid off of the couch or table or whatever it was and landed face-down on the floor. My borrowed spell faded as fast as it had been brought on, but it done the trick. Brinthildin’s power had been temporarily broken. And Lilastien had been ready to take advantage of it.

  Suddenly the room was filled with radiance as my hostess surrounded herself with power using a single note. She was moving, now, as her captor struggled with his voice. Then my spell was shattered, and the old Alka sorceress and the younger Alka were locked in struggle.

  It was fascinating to watch, or would have been if I hadn’t been in a blind panic. Alya had yet to wake up, Ithalia and the two assistants were sprawled on the floor unconscious, and the arcane forces squaring off against each other in a space just a bit larger than a peasant’s cottage had the promise of destroying us all – including my new bride and baby. I couldn’t let that happen.

  How did you do that? Brinthildin demanded, as he began weaving lines of force with a hum. I had you bound!

  I am far more powerful than you realize, Outcast! Lilastien said, confidently. Do you think I’ve spent five hundred years picking flowers in here? Just because you surprised me doesn’t mean you out-class me!

  At first I thought she hadn’t realized that I had been the one who had broken his spell, but then I saw she was trying to distract the malicious Alkan from noticing me. Not that it did me much good. My body just wasn’t cooperating, and my mind was moving almost reflexively, so my options were limited. I could try to hurl more magic, but I had no idea what would actually be effective against him. I could see through slitted eyes that Brinthildin was casting some powerful spells, and I could feel the hesitancy with which Lilastien was preparing a defense. , but anything else I cast now, I knew, could hurt her as well as him. Or myself.

  Or kill us all. I really didn’t know much at all about those spells. Or Alkan magic in particular.

  Lilastien, however, was an adept, even by Alkan standards, apparently. I suppose one doesn’t get the name Sorceress of Sartha Wood just by being mysterious. The Alkan grandmother was weaving together some powerful songspells. Now that she had overcome the surprise attack she was able to defend herself. I was glad I could help out. As I fought against sliding back into unconsciousness, the air around me began to crackle.

  I think I did lose consciousness again for a few moments, which I regretted. I doubt any mage in my lifetime had witnessed such a potent contest between two Alkan spellsingers, and even if I didn’t have the magical context to appreciate it fully, it would have been instructive to observe. As it was, residual flashes of light, sound, and vibration, strange forms of feeling and sensation washed over me and filled the room and perhaps the entire tower - but it wasn’t as messy or as flashy as a fight between warmagi.

  Instead it was almost elegant, as much duet as duel, with each of them singing and casting against each other while trying to protect themselves. Once I regained my awareness of the situation it was fascinating. The “translation” provided by my sphere encouraged me to view it in magesight, and hinted at dimensions of the combat that were, alas, tantalizingly out of the range of my ability to perceive them.

  There were epithets that didn’t translate peppering their duel, but every now and then I would catch snatches that were as rough, in their way, as a tavern brawl. There were several from Lilastien regarding Brinthildin’s parentage and family, and plenty from the darker Alkan concerning the old woman’s fidelity and honor.

  I was gallantly attempting to move my right arm in some meaningful way when a bolt or a wave or a cascade of magic affected me like an ice-cold stream. I don’t know where it came from, but it cleared the cobwebs away from my mind. Suddenly I was profoundly aware. Of everything. It didn’t help with gaining control of my body, but it did make me keenly aware of just how little control I had, which was frustrating and comforting at the same time.

  But I also became aware that Lilastien, for all of her power, was losing the contest. That didn’t bode well for her laboratory subjects, and I couldn’t let that happen. As Brinthildin bore down on her with a crushing staccato of arcane power, the Sorceress was forced to defend. Her song became more of a desperate scream, and his became a vicious rebuke.

  I took a few moments to study him, eyes open and magesight engaged, and I began to understand, a little, about who we faced. There was anger in his eyes, anger and fury that surpassed what most humans had ever seen. That anger was compelling him, feeding his melody. Whoever Brinthildin was, he had a burning passion that I could almost admire, if it hadn’t been directed at our hostess.

  I’ve been anticipating this moment for centuries, his voice said, when he came to the end of one spell and rested. Lilastien was struggling, and there was a trace of fear in her eyes. After the shame and outrage you have inflicted, my only regret is that your suffering will be short-lived.

  You and the rest of your pathetic band speak of treasons? The irony alone should kill you with shame! she tossed back as she strove to counter his unseen attack. Out of the corner of my eye I glimpsed movement: whatever had awakened me fully had also affected Ithalia and the attendants. Ithalia’s eyes opened, dark and terrified, but then resolute. Suddenly she was on her feet, adding her song to her grandmother’s in opposition.

  Outcast of shadow! she sang, defiantly. Defiler of the lifeforce! A ray of blue force leapt from her fingers, but the dark Alkan’s stout defenses weren’t overly challenged by it. Her attack was brave and perhaps a bit reckless, as Brinthildin made a graceful sweep of his fingers and dismissed it. Splitting his attention was enough of a distraction to allow Lilastien to repair her own defenses. Nor was Brinthildin able to overwhelm either of the sorceresses, not without allowing the other to prevail. But he was still decidedly holding his own.

  Spawn of traitors and rebels! He added to the din. Is that the sum of your power? I need not even summon my brothers to contend with you!

  Then you will have no one but us to be humiliated in front of when you lose! Ithalia said after a musically magical snort. I almost giggled. Until Brinthildin retorted.

  You know of our vow: should one fall, then all work to avenge, he sneered, enwrapping them both in a gray mist that rose from the floor. Whoever shall spill our blood is accursed. Even if I lose, I win.

  You . . . are such . . . an asshole! Ithalia grunted in response. Yes, it translated exactly. I suppose some insults are universal.

  One of the attendants seemed to be trying to pull himself into the battle, but Brinthildin countered the weakened Alkan mage handily without softening his attack. The other one wasn’t moving much, yet, and was bleeding. I realized that if there was other help to be had within the tower, it was running late . . . and from the strain on the Sorceress, any later might be fatal. Then I realized that my fingers were wiggling more or less the way I wanted them to, and I could feel the pins-and-needles in my feet and legs as feeling came back to them. Time to do something stupid.

  I looked around for Twilight, but it was probably stuck downstairs in a closet somewhere. That would have been too convenient anyway. That left magic. My sphere was nearby, I knew, well within range for me to summon power and utilize magic, so I searched through the alien spells within and chose one almost at random to lob at Brinthildin’s back. Then another. Then another. I had little idea what I was doing – my intent was to harm, that was all. The sudden flurry of pre-sung songspells wasn’t potent, but it was unexpected. Brinthildin whirled in surprise. Whatever that gray cloud was doing stopped, and Lilastien banished it with a hum.

  Blasphemy! Came the uneven translation. Such songs are forbidden to foul beasts like you! he rebuked.
r />   “You really are an asshole!” I shouted back, relying on the sphere or his own spells to translate while I volleyed more and more Alkan magic at him. His small face twisted up into a savage scowl while he blocked it. I didn’t do any harm, I could tell, but from his occasional looks of confusion I knew I was affecting his concentration, there from where I was sprawled on the floor. I felt like a goodwife throwing plates and cups at an armored knight. Annoying, but not threatening, except by accident.

  That was so humiliating that I changed my approach. He could see the Alkan magic coming . . . but I had plenty of Imperial spells hung, thanks to my encounter with the three trolls. I sat up and flung a few nastier attacks at him, and was gratified to see Brinthildin recoil. The cups and plates had been irritating. The bolts of warmagic I threw were like a pot of hot water. And the nature of the attack was as much an insult as the damage to his defenses it inflicted.

  Silence, animal! he commanded, furiously, as he spared me some real attention. I am a prince of the royal house of Varas, and you will not interrupt me again! He gave me a contemptuous wave with his small hands . . .

  . . . and suddenly I couldn’t have cast a cantrip. Some variation of Annulment, I gathered, and it was potent. My connection with my sphere was cut. My mind struggled in vain to regain it. I was back to the glorious role of mortal bystander. So much for the might of Imperial warmagi. That was even more humiliating, somehow, than throwing cups and plates.

  But Ithalia and Lilastien were able to regroup and send a better-coordinated attack, so I suppose I helped. The attendant who had revived added his song to the duel, and Brinthildin looked challenged while I felt helpless. Thank Briga, goddess of healing, my body was almost normal again, I comforted myself. And if she was handy, I would not have minded a divine intervention about now . . . because whoever this clown was, I had a feeling that the sudden appearance of an angry fire goddess might wipe the sneer of contempt off of his face.

  That gave me a thought, and part of me also recalled Briga was the goddess of inspiration. My legs, at least, worked. I was too far out of range of his tiny legs to kick him, but I did notice a stool of some sort nearby, something I hadn’t noticed from the couch. I didn’t have the strength to pick it up and throw it at him, but I realized my foot wasn’t too far out of the way. I quietly placed my right toe against it . . . and kicked.

  If the Imperial magic attack had been gratifying, seeing Brinthildin’s tiny legs swept out from under him, and seeing him go ass-over-elbows in surprise was delightful. But it caught my allies by surprise, too, and for a fleeting moment all the songspells stopped. Brinthildin started to struggle to his feet, shock and fury on his face. Because I was still sprawled, he was almost at eye level as his dainty arms pushed him up. And I was still weak and powerless as a kitten.

  I will watch you die in agony— he began . . . and then a steel blade sliced more than halfway through his neck. He crumpled in surprise, a fountain of blood spewing from his wound and splattering everything in the area. Alya dropped the dagger – that sturdy, new-forged, utterly non-magical peasant’s weapon she’d bought in Banajistal – as Brinthildin died at her feet.

  “Everyone . . . stop . . . singing!” she demanded, her brow knitted in pain. “I have . . . the worst headache . . . and I, I have . . . to . . .” she glanced down at the dying Alka Alon at her feet, and seemed to see her bloodied dagger for the first time. She stared at it like it was a snake.

  Then she vomited, all over Brinthildin’s lifeless body. When she recovered, she looked up at the rest of the room, unsteadily. “I have to pee!” she said, before sinking back onto her couch in a faint.

  * * *

  The next few days were a blur to me. After meticulously and thoroughly examining the baby for ill-effects (there weren’t any I could determine) and doing the same to Alya, I allowed Lilastien and her minions to do the same. I was not terribly eager to allow it, after the trauma in the tower, but I was also anxious over the condition of my wife and child and Lilastien had convinced me she was adept at human medicine. Someone handed me a glass of wine and I downed it while she worked. The moment she pronounced them both in no danger, I felt my knees give out, and the next thing I knew I was waking up in a low bed in the east side of the tower, Alya snoring next to me.

  It was Ithalia who answered many of my questions, the day after the attack, while the rest of the refuge scurried around at their tasks – one of which was probably connected with a dead Alka Alon princeling’s body. Ithalia met me in the great chamber at noon and ate with me while she patiently tried to explain what happened.

  “You understand that my grandmother is a . . . a bit of a rebel,” she began, over porridge. “She has many enemies, some formal . . . some not as formal.”

  “We all collect enemies,” I agreed. “But this one was able to pierce the barrier and invade her home – which I can only assume is warded against such things – and then nearly kill her, you, me, and my wife and child.”

  “He is – was – one of the . . . less formal,” she agreed, sadly. “He is a scion of an ancient and honorable house, yet he is also a member of a faction that despises the humani. Lilastien was concerned that he or one of his fellows might attempt to interfere, but she never figured that it would come to violence. Brinthildin had deep, personal concerns with my grandmother over and above his fanaticism about the humani.”

  “I guessed that by the way he was trying to kill us all,” I said, dryly. “So he was not an official representative of the authority under which your grandmother is exiled?”

  “No – far from it. Indeed, he is . . . your word would be ‘outlawed’, within our realm. He wasn’t even supposed to be here. We can only assume he has been watching through auxiliaries for awhile, and when he saw the chance to strike, and apparent justification for doing so, he took it.”

  “May I recommend your grandmother reconsider her security,” I grumbled. “I was trusting of you, Ithalia – you and Lilastien. I was given assurances that no harm would come to us. Yet we were very nearly killed, and Alya had to begin her married life with a murder.”

  “She did no murder,” Ithalia said, shaking her head. A humani mannerism, I noted. “She acted in self-defense, whether she knew it or not.”

  “Intellectually, perhaps. But emotionally, that was an unexpectedly traumatic even during what was supposed to be a time of peaceful reflection. I’m not terribly happy about it.”

  “Nor should you be,” she assured me, a tiny hand on my arm. “My lord Minalan, we are as aggrieved by this breach as you, indeed far more so, as it portends . . . well, many things, and few of them are good. For anyone but the Abomination.”

  I remembered Brinthildin was working in association with Sharuel, somehow. I was about to bring it up, but Ithalia was still apologizing. “We – I – am deeply sorry for this. It was unexpected, but it should not have been. My grandmother is too trusting, I fear, of restraints from the past that no longer apply to her enemies. And while our peoples have many different customs, the laws of hospitality are the same between us. What occurred in the tower last night broke those sacred laws.”

  “But who the hells was he? Besides an enemy?” I demanded. I elected not to share with her just how much I’d overheard, or the fact that my sphere had translated much of the difficult Alka Alon language for me. I wanted to see how much she would reveal, and how much deception she would attempt.

  “Brinthildin himself is of the Versaroti kindred, one which was once considered great. While their star set long ago, many still adhere to the attitudes which prevailed during their ascendancy. He, himself, was even more fanatical than his kin. Brinthildin’s faction tried to attack humanity during the Old Magocracy,” she explained, choosing her words carefully. Too carefully. “They are purists, and he was among their leaders. They are adherents to codes and beliefs from a long-dead era. They are also fanatical and vicious. When their crimes were exposed – about the same time as Lilastien’s – they were banished from ou
r realm by the council.

  “But as they were as unwelcome in other realms as they were here, they instead built secret refuges from which they plot, plan, and watch. They have sworn oathsongs to each other to reinforce their resolve and attempt to ennoble their ignorant hatred. And they still have many who sympathize with their simplistic perspective among the powers of the realm. Some may have even been giving them support and guidance,” she added, guiltily. “They have even acted out against their foes, using magic and sabotage and even assassination to thwart them. Because of their fanaticism, and their willingness to hide and strike in secret, they have been given the name ulmaranaron kyroni.”

  “ ‘The Enshadowed Faction’,” I translated. “But why was he so hot to slay your grandmother, in particular?”

  “I do not entirely know,” she confessed. “Save that she had some role in the death of his father, himself a noteworthy adversary of the humani. She has not shared the details with me though I have asked her to. My lord, there is more: it is possible that these disaffected outlaws may be working . . . directly . . . with the Abomination.” Well, at least she had confirmed that. I started to trust her a tiny bit more. “That is disturbing news, and news which should be brought to the attention of the council. Unfortunately,” she sighed – another human affectation – “bringing that news would also require us to relate just how it was delivered. And by whom. And the results of that meeting.”