Court Wizard (Spellmonger Series: Book 8)

by Terry Mancour

  “That does have a certain satisfying truth to it,” Pentandra smiled.

  “Oh, it gets better,” Sir Vemas assured, tying his mask into place. “By all accounts he’s approaching Vorone with an army of such magical warriors, and when he arrives the last of the Rats will be driven away.”

  “That’s a pretty elaborate myth to have arisen in just a few weeks,” Pentandra said doubtfully.

  “You are not wrong, my lady mage. Nor an inexpensive one. It cost me nearly twenty ounces of silver to have the minstrels and storytellers to spread it these last few weeks, on top of the stories we seeded before the first sighting of our bestial warriors. Just another front in the war,” he mused. “But it has given us popular support and an air of the supernatural that keeps the common folk from interfering with our operations. And it spooks the foe at a primordial level,” he added, amused. “Are you ready, then?”

  *

  *

  *

  When the column of strangely-dressed warriors approached the shop within which Opilio the Knife ran his gang, the place was already abuzz with activity. The Woodsmen stopped just out of sight of the entrance, but

  Indeed, Pentandra saw by Cats Eye, there were at least five or six ruffians clustered around the solitary door to the shop alone. Others wandered the area with a nonchalant casual bearing that alerted just about any reasonably understanding passer-by that they were guarding the place. Whether they were Opilio’s or Bloodfinger’s she couldn’t tell – all Rats looked the same in the dark – but they were all heavily armed, bearing stout cudgels, long knives, and even slim infantry swords. Some of them were patrolling the rooftops with crossbows.

  “Just in time for the show,” Vemas whispered, as the Woodsmen silently took up position around him. ”It shouldn’t take long, now. If you’d like to enjoy protection spells, my lady, perhaps now would be the time to activate them.” It didn’t take the ruffians long to recognize the presence of so many animal-headed foes in the street outside their headquarters. Soon one of them started toward the shadowy figures to investigate – then thought better of it and returned to his mates when he saw the nature of the intruders.

  “Are they fighting in there?” asked one of the Woodsmen in a muffled voice. Pentandra cast a Long Ears spell to check, not the easiest thing to do in a mask. But with Everkeen’s help – she couldn’t help referring to her baculus like that, now that Alurra had given the name to her – soon she was listening in on the sounds within the shop.

  They weren’t at all what she expected.

  They’ve arrived, one voice said in a thick southern accent. At least ten of them, in the street.

  Only ten? Came another voice. I expected more than that. That was Opilio’s voice, she recognized.

  I brought twice that many with me, came the voice of Bloodfinger. Why so few? We gave them the tastiest bait they could ask for.

  It’s a start, Opilio replied. As soon as we get their masks off of their corpses, we can see who is really behind this mummer’s play.

  “Ishi’s Tits!” Pentandra whispered aloud, “It’s a trap! Opilio and Bloodfinger are staging this to lure us into—”

  Before she could finish her sentence, a crossbow bolt blossomed from the shoulder of the Woodsman standing next to her. He grunted in pain and whirled around, but the angle of the bolt told Pentandra that their attackers were not on the same level as they.

  “On the rooftops!” Ancient Andolos bellowed as he clutched his pierced shoulder. “Archers! Find cover!”

  More bolts rained down on them from above, with limited effect. Apparently the Rat Crew didn’t emphasize archery as much as thuggery in their training, for only one out of every three bolts seemed to strike anywhere near a target. But that was enough to worry the Woodsmen, who had little means to return fire as they scrambled to find cover.

  Pentandra felt a wave of fear nearly overwhelm her as she plastered herself against a wall, desperately trying to avoid the volley of missiles. Arborn would be vexed with her if she ended up with an iron arrow in her gut, she knew. There were two men down in the street already, she saw, and the shapes on the rooftops told her there were plenty of foes left to contend with. Nor was there much in the way of good cover, considering the way the Rat Crews archers jumped from position to position on the roofs above. The Woodsmen were vulnerable targets to the Rats’ inept archery, but as harsh as the attack was, it did not stop them from advancing.

  Unfortunately the Crew were not content to merely lob bolts at them. Pentandra noted that there was also a line of thugs who had appeared from a shoddy wooden door and filled in behind them in the street, blocking their escape.

  It was a trap, and one that the over-confident Sir Vemas had walked right into.

  The constable wasn’t sounding so confident now, but neither was he frozen in fear – he barked orders to his men to drag their wounded comrades out of the street, while the one archer among them – Fen the Quick – did his best to find targets.

  But the menace from the thugs behind them couldn’t be ignored, either, as they closed in. There were at least half a score of them in a line, all armed, completely blocking the street. Pentandra felt fear rise from her stomach to her throat as the thugs on the began to close. More rats were spilling out of the shop in front of her, too, each bearing an axe or sword.

  They were surrounded, she realized. She was no warmage – she had been in battle, but had rarely struck a blow. And certainly not dressed as a Wilderlands hare. But even she knew the military consequences of allowing your force to be surrounded.

  Just as things began to seem dire, however, a number of things happened at once. The most important, to Pentandra, was the feeling of calm that came over her in the midst of her panic.

  She was not, after all, merely a scared girl in a tight situation . . . she was the second most powerful mage in the world, and she had had a very long and exhausting day. Dying at the end of it was just not on her agenda.

  Pentandra whispered a word and suddenly Everkeen was in her hand. Once the baculus was active, Pentandra’s perspective on the fight changed. The helpful paraclete inside the rod determined precisely how many foes she was facing and their positions, as well as the positions of her allies. Everkeen seemed to intuit the nature of the problem and helpfully suggest resolutions.

  Without thinking about the consequences, Pentandra first elected to remove the archers above as a threat. Everkeen eagerly took her wishes and transformed them into actions . . . and in moments every Rat on the roof with a bow in their hand was struck blind with a spell. She could hear the startled cries above her.

  Before she could turn her attention to the thugs approaching from the street and the shop, however, other forces became involved in the fight. Just as she was casting her attention toward the men approaching from the shop, more arrows descended – on the Rats. Not the short iron bolts shot by crossbows, but huge, three-foot long arrows expertly fired from heavy Wilderlands bows. One by one the gangsters emerging from the barber’s shop fell to one of the deadly shafts, many staggering to the side before they fell.

  Nor were the Rats from the shop the only victims being suddenly attacked by surprise. A low growl soon turned into a symphony of angry animal noises, and the thugs approaching from the street behind them halted their advance as they were assaulted from behind. Pentandra took a cautious step into the street and studied the matter with magesight – and with Everkeen’s assistance, she realized that a large pack of stray dogs had materialized in the night and set themselves on the Rats.

  The sudden appearance of unseen allies might have startled Sir Vemas, but the constable wasn’t about to let the advantage go to waste. He quickly formed up the Woodsmen who were battle-worthy and led them into the bloody fray in the street. While the unarmored Rats did their best to fend off the wild dog pack, the Woodsmen waded into the carnage and used their heavy, jagged weapons to execute the distracted foe.

  The shadows made fighting difficult, though the
animal masks made telling friend from foe easy enough. At one point a thug fell at Pentandra’s feet, a savage cur’s jaws clamped around his wrist. Pentandra tapped him with the heel of Everkeen, and the baculus finished the job with a spell. The man went limp, his bowels and bladder relaxing as the life left him. The dog, realizing his fight was over, looked up at Pentandra’s rabbit mask, barked once, wagged its tail, and went back into the fight.

  Since when did the strays in this town become so accommodating? She asked herself. Vorone was filled with hundreds of dogs, since the invasion, but she had never heard of them gathering in a pack like this. Or attacking criminals so obligingly.

  That mystery would have to wait, she realized, as Everkeen informed her of the presence of her other rescuers. She straightened as the last rat on the street died, and recognized the silhouettes of the men leaping or climbing down from the roof.

  “Who are they?” asked Carastan, as he nursed his wounded shoulder, his big falchion held loosely in his left hand.

  “Kasari rangers,” Pentandra answered, nodding toward the fletchings on the shaft sticking out of a Rat’s chest. “The most adept bowmen in the Wilderlands. Apparently,” she said, smiling, “my husband has finally returned from his mission. And brought guests,” she added. There were at least six Kasari with bows in their hands, according to Everkeen.

  “Pentandra?” came Arborn’s worried voice in the night. “Are you all right?”

  “I am now,” she confessed as her husband emerged from the shadows, his own great bow in his hands. More bowstrings twanged from the rooftops, and the street was filled with muffled screams and canine growls as the unorthodox battle unfolded around them. “What took you so long? I expected you days ago!”

  “I was delayed,” Arborn said, grimly. “I’ll explain later. As it is, it seems like we arrived in the nick of time.”

  “Oh, we had things well in hand,” she lied. “Another few moments and I would have unleashed nine kinds of arcane hell on them.”

  “Which would have revealed we had a high mage working with us, and perhaps revealed which high mage,” Sir Vemas reproved. “Best we keep that secret for as long as possible.”

  “If that pack of curs you conjured doesn’t suggest that, the Crew isn’t as smart as I thought,” Arborn said, wrinkling his brow.

  “That wasn’t me,” Pentandra said. “But magic is really the only way to explain how the strays entered the fight, and did so on only our side. Unless you gentlemen have a few pounds of bacon in your pouches I am unaware of,” she added, as the dogs continued to savage the fallen Rats. The Woodsmen were doing their best to slip in and end the suffering of the mauled criminals with decisive thrusts of their blades.

  Just then a large raven flew by – when by all rights it should have been asleep. Pentandra started to guess where the canine assistance came from.

  “That was me,” came a quiet, girlish voice in the darkness.

  Slender, slight little Alurra walked into the center of the carnage, tapping her way with her staff, as casually as if she was on her way to the market. The young girl couldn’t see the blood and gore around her, of course, but the smell of battle was unmistakable. Her raven returned to her shoulder, and two of the stray dogs milled around her feet. “That was one reason why Antimei sent me – because I can call the animals to help. She told me to call all the dogs in Vorone to help tonight, else you all might have died. And then everything would have gone into the chamberpot, after that,” she ventured.

  “And who are you, my dear?” asked Sir Vemas, as his men began to treat the wounded Woodsmen, and finished dispatching the wounded Rats. It was a brutal business, but it was necessary. Kulin’s Law, Pentandra reminded herself, grimly.

  “Yes, who are you, girl?” Arborn demanded, sternly.

  “She’s my new apprentice,” Pentandra said with a sigh. It was the first time she had admitted it. “She’s on our side.”

  “Your new apprentice?” her husband and Sir Vemas asked simultaneously. Arborn added, “When did this happen? I’ve only been gone but for a few days . . .”

  “Today,” Pentandra groaned. “It’s complicated. I don’t even understand it, yet. And I don’t think the street, in the middle of the night, in the middle of a bloodbath, is really the best place to discuss it, do you?”

  “Quite right,” agreed Sir Vemas. “Let’s get these men some medical attention, then meet back at the hall. I’ll have my men deal with the corpses,” he added, grimly. “There must be a score of them.”

  “Including the two head rats,” Carastan said, hauling the lifeless body of Bloodfinger into the light. It was transfixed by two thick arrows. “Opilio took an arrow in the throat, coming out of the shop. If any of his men escaped, we didn’t witness it.”

  “So much for trying to drive them against each other,” Pentandra sighed. “I was hoping Bloodfinger’s paranoia would manifest against the Crew.”

  “The Rats are highly disciplined,” Sir Vemas observed. “It was a good strategy. But Bloodfinger’s paranoia drove him instead to confess to his superiors, I believe. And they set up this ambush in response. I’m guessing that these reinforcements were supplied by the other Crews, if not by Master Lothar himself. If it wasn’t for your warning, your husband, and your apprentice, my lady, they would have achieved their goal,” the constable guessed.

  “How did you know we would be here?” Pentandra asked Arborn. “And how did you know we would need your help?”

  “I went to the house as soon as we arrived,” Arborn told her, in his familiar deep voice. Every word seemed to fall around Pentandra like a warm, protective cloak. “There was a message waiting there, saying to meet you here with all the bowmen I could muster.”

  “I left no message,” Pentandra protested. “I wasn’t expecting you back at any particular time, nor did I know about this ambush.”

  “That was me, again,” Alurra admitted. “Antimei gave me very specific instructions about tonight, to keep things from going poorly. I left the message at the Spellmonger’s Hall before I went to the palace this morning, Mistress.”

  “It appears that there is far more to your new apprentice than meets the eye,” Arborn observed. “Perhaps we should retire for the evening and discuss it?”

  “I’ll join you as soon as I finish up here,” Sir Vemas assured her. “And don’t discount the good we’ve done here on the basis of the blood. With this carnage we’ve managed to deal a stout blow to the Crew across Vorone. You don’t replace an organization like this overnight. By morning, the entire town will understand what has happened. But I’ll fill you in back at the house when I’m done and seen my men attended to.”

  “I agree,” Pentandra said. “This mask smells of some ancient coquette’s sweat. And I have developed a sudden desire for a glass of spirits or three.”

  *

  *

  *

  “’To Lady Pentandra, Court Wizard to His Grace, Anguin II of Alshar, I humbly send you greetings and hope to beg a boon,’” Pentandra repeated, that night, when she and Arborn had settled the Kasari into the loft above their heads and gotten the wounds of the Woodsmen tended. Alurra was waiting quietly and patiently in the kitchen, and only when the moon had begun to set in the west did Pentandra have time to sit down by the fire with the girl – and her prophesied husband – and read it.

  “‘I am known as Old Antimei, a hedgewitch in the remote village of Tolindir, and for over thirty years I have practiced the Good Art for the benefit of the people of my village and environs. It has been a good life, but a hard life made harder by the goblins in the west. With what Art I have I have done my best to provide and protect these people magically.

  “’But before I came into exile in this rustic land, far from the prying eyes of the Censorate, I was called by another name entirely, and was a registered mage in the south.

  “’Due to the blessings of the gods I was damned with the gift of prophecy early in life; thanks to my education, I knew full well t
he price of revealing it to others. Instead of turning myself in to the mercies of the Censorate of Magic, which would have imperiled my family, as I was legally bound to do, I kept my gift a secret as long as I could. When I could conceal it no longer, I fled to the farthest corner of the Duchy and changed my name before the Censors could take notice.

  “‘I have carefully practiced my cursed Art in secret, awaiting the long-foreseen day when the Bans would be lifted by the Spellmonger, before I revealed them to a living soul. Now that the time is finally upon us, the visions I’ve witnessed are finally coming to pass.

  “‘Among them are many concerning you, personally, my lady,” Pentandra continued, her voice full of intrigue at the unexpected message. “I have foreseen many events unfold in your life. Which is why I now must entrust the education and upkeep for my dear apprentice, Alurra, to you now. As she has already proven, she can be a great benefit to your undertakings, and you are, without a doubt, the mage best-suited to instruct and develop her impressive Talent. I have done so to the best of my abilities, but I am limited by both age and health. Alurra needs the strong hand of a seasoned wizard to bring her into the fullness of her power. I can only hint to you, now, how important that may become in the future.’”

  Pentandra dropped the parchment and looked at the girl, who was listening intently to the words of her teacher come out of Pentandra’s mouth. “So, according to this hedgewitch, I am fated to take you as an apprentice,” she stated.

  “If that’s what she said,” Alurra shrugged. “Antimei rarely discusses the details of her visions, even with me, and sometimes she spends weeks considering their meaning. When she does speak of them, she does so as . . . stories. She says they’re easier to understand that way. Is that all she wrote?”

  “Oh, no, there’s much more,” Pentandra assured her. She didn’t know what to think about this mysterious woman’s alleged gifts, and even less about how to proceed. “She continues, ‘I know all of this may come as a shock to you; indeed, I am anticipating no other reaction. Burdening you with this unforeseen responsibility when we have not yet even met seems like a harsh introduction. But I pray that you proceed with faith in my gifts, and faith in my good intentions. For I seek nothing else than the restoration of the Realm and its defense from the threat to the West. If my prophecies are true – and after thirty years, I am assured that they are – then your wisdom, will, and insights will become instrumental in the fulfillment of my visions.’