The Seven Forges Novels

by James A. Moore

  “Did you think you could kill any member of this family without consequences? Did you think you could kill my grandson without me finding out?”

  “Frankly, I never much cared.” There was a long, dramatic sigh. “I’ve been stripped of my money, my title and even my name, you toad. What else do you think you can take from me?”

  He could hear the purr in the old woman’s voice. “Your dignity. Your life.”

  “Do your worst! There are guards outside the door! And I am not without my influence!” He did not speak or merely yell. He roared his words.

  Her voice did not change in the least as she responded. “Do you know what the best part of still having my fortune is, Laister? I can pay enough to reach past your influence. And I can pay these fine men to take care of the rest of my desires, too.”

  The sounds of a scuffle were clear. Though he had never been one to indulge in fisticuffs, the priest knew the sounds clearly enough. Laister made a few inarticulate growls that were surrounded by and eventually overwhelmed by the noises made when fists and boots meet soft flesh.

  It was a long fight, but ultimately the end result was inevitable. The whispery noises that came his way were those of a man being dragged and then carried away.

  Teagus considered the noises and worried at his lower lip while he clenched and unclenched his hands nervously. It was appalling to think that someone could be taken away so easily.

  He had almost calmed down when he heard Danieca’s voice addressing him. “I haven’t forgotten about you, either, Teagus. You are a vile man with disgusting habits. Had I not trained my blood to know better than to answer to your type, I’d have killed you a long time ago. Or possibly just nailed your manly parts to a bench. I’m still considering that possibility.”

  That was all she said. It was all she needed to say. He could not tell when she left or if she left, so he did his best to cry silently.

  Inquisitor Darsken Murdro looked at the cloth-covered body as it was pulled from the water of the docks, and stopped the City Guard long enough to take a long and hard look at the corpse.

  Laister Krous was dead. Darsken was not the least surprised. His flesh had been beaten until it was a deep combination of colors. Several of his teeth were broken or missing. His knuckles showed signs that he had fought hard for his life, but, ultimately, there had never been any doubt about the way his life would end.

  The City Guard were well compensated to protect the upper echelons of society in Old Canhoon. They knew the faces of the powerful and they also knew when the powerful fell. Laister Krous could not have fallen much further.

  Tataya was nearby, lurking in the shadows. She did not lurk often, but when she did it was an impressive feat. Her hair alone normally stood out enough to guarantee that she would be noticed and her clothes, usually designed to catch a man’s eye, were now replaced with subdued colors and a cloak that hid away all of the assets she usually used to make certain she was not easily forgotten.

  When he had finished examining the body he waved a hand at the guards to continue their work. He had what he needed. There would be no further punishment, for now.

  “I know what you want, Lady Tataya. I do not believe that I can help you.”

  Tataya frowned from the shadows.

  “There are laws, you see? And if I am to enforce them, I must also follow them. To do otherwise sets a bad precedent.”

  “I never asked you to resurrect my Sister. I asked if you could let me talk to her.” She stepped toward him, her eyes looking toward him with the sort of intensity that very likely withered lesser men.

  “It is the same thing. It requires the use of abilities that I have sworn would only be employed in answering the question of who has committed a crime and even then only under the most dire of circumstances.” He kept his smile in place. Remarkably little made him lose his smile.

  “I–”

  “Ultimately you know that the only person who can give me permission in this case is the Empress. I would likely accept the word of Desh Krohan, but I am not likely to listen to anyone else. I am very sorry, Tataya. I would help you if I could.”

  The simple fact was that necromancy took a lot of effort and the dead themselves often suffered for the actions of the necromancer. Pulling a spirit back from the realms beyond the living took effort and often caused a torturous amount of pain for the spirits. Why else would they scream so much when he summoned them?

  “I understand, and I thank you.”

  Someone else sighed. Darsken felt his skin crawl. It was seldom that anyone could surprise him, but the sorcerer had managed.

  “I need to speak to Goriah, Darsken.” Desh Krohan’s voice was immediately recognizable.

  Darsken lowered his head and nodded. “Then you shall, but understand I accept no responsibility for any pain she suffers as a result of the summoning.”

  The sorcerer came out of the shadows, seeming to pour from them like water from a spilled jug. “What must be must be.”

  “Not here. I need to see her body.”

  “Then come with us. She is waiting.”

  Darsken felt the smile slip on his face. They were prepared for his request.

  The palace was a solid distance from the docks. He made sure to take his time on the walk.

  “You have employed necromancy in your past, Desh Krohan?”

  The sorcerer looked at him for a moment and nodded. “You know I have.”

  “It is true I know that you were one of the reasons that necromancy was forbidden. That said, why do you not handle this matter yourself and avoid the chance of indiscretion?”

  “I do not believe there’s threat of that.” The wizard paused and sighed. “And I have forgotten more of necromancy than I now know.” The wizard looked toward the palace and his lips pulled down in a quick scowl before he caught himself. “Also, I suspect I will be called on to defend this city soon and I need to conserve my energies.”

  “Have you?” Darsken frowned at that thought.

  “I am old, Darsken Murdro. I am very, very old.” The sorcerer considered him carefully. “Are you saying you would not willingly forget necromancy?”

  “Not while it is a tool I must use.”

  “Then I pity you.”

  “But without it, how would you get your answers, Desh Krohan?”

  The wizard nodded his head.

  Fifteen

  “Would you explain how this is even possible?” Merros’s voice held an edge that would not go away. The man had been smiling when he showed up, but now he stared around him with a brow that was heavy with tension and one hand resting on the hilt of his sword. Desh made it a point to study people. Whatever had relaxed the man so thoroughly was now a thing of the past.

  The general was not addressing him. He was actually speaking to the stable master, a man who currently was looking around the room as calmly as he could for a method of escape. To be fair, Merros Dulver could be a bit intimidating. He also had earned a reputation when he started punishing the occasional deserter or soldier who simply would not follow orders.

  “I swear to you, General Dulver, that I or one of my men have been here at all times.” The stable master was trying to put on a good face, but he was shaking and his brow was pimpled by fat drops of sweat that the weather was not responsible for generating.

  Merros Dulver looked at the dead horses throughout the long stables and cursed under his breath.

  Desh and the general had been taking one of their fairly regular walks and keeping each other posted on what had occurred in the last few days. They had passed communications back and forth but mostly had been far too busy to consider an actual meeting. Now, frankly, there wasn’t much time to spend on anything else. The armies of the Sa’ba Taalor were on their way. There was simply no way to avoid that unpleasant fact.

  While Merros looked at the dead animals, Desh considered what they had in common and made a deduction.

  “Poison.”

  Merros turned
his way, scowling. “What did you say?”

  “Poison. We should check the feed and the water. I’d guess poison. And a good one, too. That sort of thing is not inexpensive.”

  “And do you have a list of poisoners and how much inventory they carry? Can we query them and find answers?”

  Desh ignored the sarcasm in the question and smiled tightly. “I have just the man to help us with this.”

  “Oh, really?” He had Merros’s undivided attention.

  “I have seen him work near-miracles. He is responsible for the recent change of events in the life of Laister Krous.”

  Merros nodded. “I like him already.” He then looked back at the stable master. “I want samples of the water and the feed set aside. Keep them safe.” The look he skewered the poor bastard with was exactly why Desh had wanted him for a general in the forces.

  “Who in the name of all the gods would poison a stable full of horses?”

  “Who has the most to gain from killing them, Merros?”

  Merros looked at him and scowled. It seemed the only expression he was capable of generating. “You think the Sa’ba Taalor murdered every horse in the royal stables?”

  “I think you need to find out if the horses at your military stables are well.”

  “Oh, by the gods!” Merros looked around for his personal aide. Taurn Durst was watching from easily a hundred feet distant and started in their direction before the general could call his name. The man was a bull, pure and simple. He had somehow managed to fit a human skin over his preposterous body, but Desh had a powerful suspicion that Durst was actually a very large bull. It explained why his face looked so heavy and his body shook the ground when he walked.

  “Aye! Ho, sir!”

  Merros closed his eyes for a moment, a look of long suffering moving across his features.

  “Taurn, I need you to alert the stables. Have all of the horses checked, and have the feed and water checked for poisons. Set samples aside. Get fresh water drawn from the river for the horses.”

  “Aye! Ho, sir!” The man turned and stalked away. He didn’t just walk, but seemed to actually generate an air of menace that moved with him. Desh was suitably impressed. It had taken him lifetimes to manage what the man accomplished simply by existing.

  “I keep asking him not to bellow,” Merros said. “He keeps explaining to me that he has to lead the troops around me by example. I’d like to yell at him. I would, but he has a point.”

  “You chose him for a reason. Allow that he has the right idea and worry about other things instead.”

  “Aye. You’re as right as he is, I suppose. Still, the way he’s always there and always waiting for my commands…”

  “That’s his duty.”

  “I know. But, your Sisters never seem so bloody eager.”

  “They have plenty to be eager about, Merros. Mostly they enjoy the finer things in life, like tormenting the men around them with their looks.”

  “They are rather… spectacular.”

  “They should be. They use sorcery to make certain they are noticed.”

  “Really?” Merros shook his head. “I’d have never noticed.”

  “If you could notice, they’d be doing the work the wrong way.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What do you see when you look at the Sisters?”

  Merros grinned. “I tend to see them and little else.”

  “That’s the idea. They are gifted at keeping people offguard.”

  “To what end?”

  “The exact same end that your Taurn Durst manages so easily. When people are looking at them, they are not looking at me. When he comes stomping up the street, most eyes are on him, and that allows you a modicum of freedom.”

  Merros looked at him for a long moment and shook his head. “You have a strange way about you.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “I mean if I take off my uniform no one looks at me. I know. I’ve done it.”

  “I doubt that is true any longer.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “You tried this before, back when you were Captain Dulver?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re General Dulver now. You are in charge of the entire Imperial Army.”

  “Yes, but it’s rather like that cloak of yours, Desh. With it you are a presence to be feared, the powerful advisor to the Empress and a sorcerer of unknown skills. Without it, you’re rather nondescript.”

  “I’m not sure if I should feel insulted by that.”

  “You’re not one of the Sisters. Without their robes, there would be mass chaos.”

  “Fair enough.”

  Merros changed the subject back to more important matters. “They’re here sooner, not later, Desh.” He looked around the area, his eyes scanning every access point. It was an automatic thing and the sorcerer knew that, but it was still interesting to note that the last group he’d seen who had the same tendency was the enemy they now faced.

  “They are very likely already here. I have a few of my people trying to find any of their sort in town, but so far no luck.”

  “For how long?”

  “Since we arrived. They believe in war, Merros. Not every war I’ve been in involved swords and horses and shields.”

  “But you have found no sign?”

  Desh looked around very carefully for a moment and then shook his head. “I know they are here. However they are hiding, be it sorcery or something else, they are very good at it.”

  “What? You think their gods are helping them?”

  Desh felt a grin he couldn’t quite suppress. “You don’t?”

  “No.” The general shook his head.

  “You are a brilliant man. I’ve seen what you have accomplished getting a very weakened army in shape, and I’ve watched your work fortifying the defenses of first Tyrne and now Canhoon – and yet, Merros Dulver, you are sometimes powerfully stupid.”

  “Say again?”

  That made Desh’s smile grow a bit more. Merros was offended. So offended that he forgot who he was dealing with.

  “I spoke clearly. You have actually seen the actions of their gods in play and yet you deny them.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “By all the gods, Merros!” He was actually laughing a bit. Really, he’d had less frustrating conversations with Nachia when she was eleven and those particular discussions had often led to him ranting for hours. “You watched a man summon a volcano with a sword strike. That wasn't sorcery of any kind I know. That was divine intervention. A god literally forced a mountain from stable ground. What else do you need to understand the power involved here? We are lucky they haven’t simply eradicated us completely.”

  “Yes, well, when you say it like that…” Merros frowned, lost in thought, then shook his head and blushed. “I am daft.”

  “Or very optimistic.”

  “How can we possibly win this, Desh?”

  “You are working on your side of that equation and I am working on mine. You wanted faster communications and I managed it. You want answers on the horses and I’ll work on that as well. You wanted to know where the enemy is coming from and, well, I have accomplished that, too, though the answer is not a pleasant one.”

  “I am still trying to understand the idea of the Mother-Vine being gone.”

  “Aye. I’m finding that challenging, too.” He looked away from the general, lost in memories of when the Mother-Vine had been a different sort of entity entirely.

  “I know people who think you should be able to end all of this, Desh.” Merros wasn’t accusing him; he was making conversation. Desh was wise enough to know the difference.

  “We’ve already discussed that.”

  “I know. I’m just trying to find the right words to avoid having you boil me in my own skin.”

  Desh grimaced inwardly; there was a very real possibility that he would never live that incident down and it had occurred over three hundred years earlier. “Speak
directly. I like you, Merros. I’ll try to avoid killing you.”

  “You said it yourself. They have gods. They have shown us their strength. You doing the same might well work to deter them.”

  Desh nodded his head. “I’ve thought about that. The problem here is that it’s about fear.”

  “Well, yes, that was rather my point.”

  “So now we come to a different question. Do they fear me more than they fear their gods?”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I can threaten them. I can make them suffer. They have been raised to believe that their gods are all-powerful and all-important. Unless I can be those things, I have no hope of convincing them that I am anything remarkable.”

  Before Merros could answer, a young soldier ran up to them calling the general’s name.

  Dulver took the message the boy handed him and dismissed the lad immediately. Whatever had to be done, he had no intention of passing the information back to the same messenger. Too many chances of things going astray, Desh supposed.

  Merros read quickly and shook his head. “Every last horse. Every single horse within the Imperial palace and through the whole of the military stables.”

  “General Dulver!” They turned to see another young runner coming, holding another folded, sealed note.

  “Well, this bodes poorly.”

  The boy was sent on his way and the note was read and this time Merros Dulver grew pale. “It would seem the First Lancer Division is returning to Canhoon.”

  Desh frowned. “I though you reported them all slain.”

  “Well, yes, that was the problem. Still, they and the archers they took with them are on their way back here as we speak.”

  “General Dulver!” This runner came from the northern gate’s direction. He was older and he looked utterly terrified. Refugees had been coming in steadily from that direction since Trecharch fell. That the man could get through the press of people was impressive.

  “What is it?”

  “The enemy is coming, General. There is an army of the grayskins coming down the Imperial Road.”

  “How far out are they?” Desh interrupted, looking to the messenger and breaking protocol without the least concern.