Shadowmage: Book Nine Of The Spellmonger Series

by Terry Mancour

  All right, I think we’ve had enough excitement for one night, he said, and broke contact.

  In a moment, there was a high-pitched female scream ringing out through the square. Gatina, Tyndal realized, but it wasn’t a scream of pain or surprise, exactly, though it kind of sounded like it. Then, to his amazement, he began watching the principal players in this twisted mummer’s play begin to drop.

  He wasn’t at all certain what spell Lorcus was employing, at first, until he used his magesight to inspect the body of the first Censor to drop to the ground. He noted the man was still moving, dazed, and that he had a large indentation on his helmet, as well as a sticky residue. Further inspection revealed a smashed apple core next to him.

  That explained the need for apples out of season, he realized.

  Lorcus, who had picked a vantage point on the Tower’s wall, concealed among the decorative shrubs that grew there in place of armed guards, was using magic to propel apples at select individuals at great speed. First a Censor – beginning with all of the Three Censors – and then a Rat, starting with Hunik the Butcher. Each combatant he targeted from his hidden position took an apple in the face moving about thrice the speed of a man’s ability to throw it.

  Tyndal could barely contain his laughter as magical fruit began to selectively rain down on the riot.

  Nor was he acting alone. Gatina wandered through the crowd of angry men without concern, and used her apparent harmlessness to trip as many angry Rats as she could from behind, either with magic or with the walking stick she carried. No one seemed to even see her, Tyndal realized, as she strolled unconcerned through the riot and ensured that the leaders and strongest combatants were quickly taken out of the fight.

  Between the efforts of the two magi, the Town Watch seemed to gain confidence in their ability to quell the riot. They moved in, shoulder to shoulder, with blunted pikes in their hands, separating Censor from rioter and arresting those who were unwilling to disband voluntarily.

  Tyndal made sure that his friends were safe for as long as he could before he abandoned his post. With the shadowmage out of danger and the loot recovered, Gatina and Lorcus were the last two in action. As soon as he saw them both sneak away while everyone else was distracted by the punishing volley of produce, he took his leave of the tiny boardinghouse and met Onnelik down in the street.

  “Well, another successful heist by House Salaines,” he said, with a note of satisfaction in his voice as they watched the Censors finally put out the fire. “Thank you for a most interesting week, Sir Tyndal.”

  “And thank you for the hospitality, Onnelik,” he replied. “This would have been much, much harder without your assistance.”

  “Particularly when those writs are discovered at the magistrate’s office,” he added, with a grin. Though the Brotherhood of the Rat was no stranger to prisons and magistrate’s courts, they took pains to avoid any entanglements when they could – even if that meant bribery or even slaying a lawbrother.

  To make Hunik and the other Rats of Old Falas more uncomfortable, Lorcus had commissioned Onnelik to forge several outstanding warrants of arrest from various cities across the Great Bay and then had Gatina insert them into the magistrate’s office’s files. When each Rat’s arrest was recorded, their names would be matched with those warrants . . . and the Rats themselves would be thrown in jail.

  Ultimately, Tyndal realized, the warrants would be shown as forgeries. But until then it gave most of the Old Falas crew new quarters in the town’s old prison tower, which would only add to the instability the two boys had been sowing.

  “What will happen to the Censors, I wonder?” Tyndal mused aloud as they walked, slowly and casually, not attracting anyone’s attention.

  “They will have to explain this ruckus to Baron Eldrid – he’s the one acting as steward for the Count of Falas – that is, Duke Anguin. Baron Eldrid is not known for his sympathy or good nature, so he could actually issue them a penalty. Or even throw them out of the Tower Arcane for good.”

  “What about you? Will you be okay? I’d hate to think we got you involved in something that gets you arrested.”

  “While I appreciate that, I am entirely unconnected to anything . . . which is precisely what I would say to a magistrate or officer of the watch who questions me. This will be talked about for months, no doubt, but apart from the one butcher shop there really hasn’t been much destruction. But no one will ever think to connect Onnelik the Translator to it.”

  The two of them skirted the smoldering remains of the riot, noting that the Watch was still sorting out the living from the dead or unconscious. Already a healer was darting from one victim to another.

  When they got to the docks they found everyone but Lorcus waiting. Onnelik, of course, would be staying on here indefinitely, but after their spectacular heist both Tyndal and Rondal wanted to escape back to Castalshar. He watched while both Cats of Enultramar embraced their cousin and bid him well before they started off toward the south.

  “You realize, they’ll be able to track this barge,” Tyndal reproved, when they were all aboard again.

  “Yes, they will,” Rondal agreed. “Which is why we’ll be transferring to another barge about three miles downriver. We’ve already paid and booked passage. I’ve also cast a spell to suggest that we are, indeed, going downstream toward our supposed confederates and patrons, after such a successful heist. And while the Censors chase this empty shell down to the Bay and beyond, we’ll be on our way to Sevendor, already.”

  “If we hurry, we might get back in time for the Chepstan Spring Fair,” Tyndal agreed, eagerly.

  “But we’re leaving all of the loot with you,” Lorcus informed Atopol and Gatina. “In trust to your house, to be returned to the Court Wizard of Alshar at the earliest convenience.”

  “It would be our pleasure,” agreed Atopol, who was still soaking wet from his flight and landing in the river. I will have Master Hance secure it in our most secure vaults.”

  “Do that,” Lorcus said, solemnly. “You can’t be too careful. There are a lot of thieves in Enultramar, I hear.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Lord Whiskers

  At last the warmagi and the shadowmagi came to the point in their journey where they had to part ways. The thieves insisted on hosting them in a small inn just north of Falas, beyond the falls, where the next morning the three warmagi would depart for the long journey back to Sevendor.

  “I’m looking forward to getting home and resting after this eventful little holiday,” Lorcus announced, after downing an enormous quantity of well-seasoned mutton at the board. “Don’t mistake me: this has been fun, but I think petty larceny will always remain a mere hobby of mine.”

  “Petty larceny?” Atopol said, his eyes wide and his jaw slack. “We just executed an amazingly complex theft of a heavily-guarded installation – an arcane installation – and managed to not just get away with a treasury of priceless works and heirlooms, but did so without even being suspected! All without more effort than planning a garden party! Believe me, this is going into the annals of House Salaines the moment I can commit it to parchment. It makes breaking into the palace look like robbing a cot!”

  “It was good work,” Gatina said, a little reluctantly. “You fellows are excellent magi, even if you entirely lack subtlety and finesse.”

  Tyndal was about to object when Atopol stopped him.

  “Take the compliment,” he warned, with a grin. “That’s about as much as you’re like to get from her.”

  “I’m just disappointed we didn’t get to see the faces of their buyers – and their hosts – when that table was uncovered,” sighed Atopol. “That would have been the perfect capstone to this caper.”

  “You would have been pleased,” came a strange voice from the doorway.

  Afterwards, Tyndal was impressed at how fast everyone moved at the unanticipated interruption. True, the thieves were relaxing after a mission, their guards down. But none of them remained un
armed or unprepared.

  For Tyndal’s part, he drew his mageblade from his hip while at the same time summoning Grapple from his ring into his left hand. The augmentations and protections built into the blade activated automatically, and with a thought Tyndal connected his mind to paraclete within and readied it for action.

  Around the table his mates were similarly prepared: Rondal had Bulwark in his hand and was already casting, while next to him Gatina had her slender sword in one hand and a fistful of sharp instruments in the other. She was actually interposing herself protectively between the stranger and Rondal, part of him noted. Atopol had knives in each hand and was already starting to fade from view.

  Only Lorcus didn’t move.

  “Please, don’t get up,” the man said, as he entered. He wore a wide-brimmed hat with a feather – a Merwyni style, Tyndal knew – and he had a large winged reptile curled on one shoulder. He held his hands clear of his waist, but close enough to reach his weapons. “I do not want a fight.”

  He was a short man, wearing a mantle of black and gray, and he was armed with a plain-looking sword at his hip – a rapier, in the Vorean style of dueling masters, Tyndal noted. His dark hair spilled to his shoulders, and he wore a mustache above his clean-shaven chin. His eyes were dark and darting, but filled with confidence bordering on bravado.

  “You’re the representative for the Iris!” Atopol said, ceasing his obscuring spell.

  “Sit down, lads,” Lorcus instructed, quietly. “But don’t put your toys away, yet. I thought we might have been followed, though I took great pains to avoid it.” He studied the Iris agent carefully. Tyndal saw that there were two large bodyguards outside on the stairwell, acting casual in a manner which was pure aggression. Tyndal waited until the man from the Iris sat at an empty chair before he joined the others and sat down.

  “Wine?” Lorcus offered, graciously.

  “More of a brandy man, but the night is chill above the falls,” he said, removing his hat, to the annoyance of his reptile. Tyndal was fascinated by the strange creature on his shoulder – it looked like a miniature dragon, from a distance. Of course the bone structure and musculature was all wrong, but it resembled a dragon the same way a Tal Alon resembled a human being. Its eyes were filled with intelligence and curiosity.

  Lorcus poured a cup into his own goblet and passed it to the man.

  “You are, I take it, the thieves who burgled the Tower Arcane yesterday, are you not?” he asked, as plainly as if he were inquiring about their families.

  “We have that pleasure,” Lorcus agreed. “I do hope you were not injured in the aftermath.”

  “Inconvenienced, only,” the stranger conceded. “I am Lord . . . Whiskers,” he said, with a hint of a wince. “Professional alias. No, it was not a name I chose, it was assigned to me,” he sighed, resigned. “Long story. In any case, it is my duty to oversee the affairs of my organization here in Alshar. While they are not many, they give the Iris the premise to be able to observe our competitors, even as we do business with them.”

  “It sounds like a decent posting,” Lorcus nodded.

  “It has its merits,” conceded Lord Whiskers, as he fed a scrap from the table to his reptile. “When the Three Censors invited me to a jumble sale at the Tower Arcane, I couldn’t very well ignore it. That would not be in the best interests of my organization. But I was just as pleased to see that those powerful tools were kept out of the wrong hands. I merely had to ascertain which hands they had fallen into.”

  “That would be us,” Atopol agreed, nodding his head.

  “Lord Atopol.” Whiskers said, nodding in acknowledgement. “Your House is known to us. We’ve even hired you, upon occasion.”

  “Then you know that we are honorable,” Atopol reminded him. “We procured those items not to profit from them, but to secure them on behalf of the Duchy.”

  “That was one of my guesses,” conceded Lord Whiskers. “And while I know the Cats of Enultramar, at least by reputation, these stalwarts are unknown to me,” he said, indicating the three warmagi at the table.

  “We are the Knights Magi of the Estasi Order,” announced Tyndal, formally. “We are on a mission of errantry here in Alshar.”

  “I’ve never heard of you before,” admitted Lord Whiskers.

  “We get that a lot,” agreed Tyndal.

  “I take it you are also responsible for the destruction of the Brotherhood installations in the last few months? Galvina and Atarapatus?”

  “And Solashaven,” added Tyndal.

  “Ah. Well, I’ve been observing my colleagues react to those incidents with a great deal of amusement. They even accused me and my organization about it – as if we would concern ourselves with them at that level! They are perplexed.”

  “Then we accomplished our mission as intended,” nodded Tyndal.

  “The Estasi Knights are dedicated to the overthrow of the Brotherhood,” explained Gatina.

  “Overthrow . . . the Brotherhood?” asked Lord Whiskers, as his reptilian companion curled around his neck.

  “It’s vengeance, combined with political expediency,” answered Rondal. “We are also friends with His Grace, Duke Anguin II. Who has taken power in Vorone,” he added. “As the Brotherhood is cooperating with the rebel council, and acting in its interests, striking against them strikes against the enemies of His Grace.”

  “We’d heard that, about the Orphan Duke,” Lord Whiskers agreed. “And you have chosen a challenging foe, if you intend to destroy the Brotherhood of the Rat. But while I’ve been amused by what I’ve seen, you fellows have a lot of work ahead of you.”

  “We know,” Atopol said, flatly. “There are scores of Brotherhood crews in Enultramar.”

  “Scores? Try hundreds,” Lord Whiskers said, shaking his head. “You could eliminate their crews as viciously as you have for years, and they would always have more. They might be thuggish and inelegant, but the Brotherhood has numbers. Particularly in eastern Enultramar.”

  “This is but one battle in a larger war,” protested Rondal.

  “A war you cannot win through single battles,” countered Lorcus. “Lads, don’t mistake me – I had fun. It was a real riot,” he grinned. “But as for even making your foes unstable, you’ve merely inconvenienced them. If you truly want to overthrow the Brotherhood, you must reach far beyond the mere crew captains and strike at the head of the beast.”

  “That would be challenging,” Lord Whiskers repeated, shaking his head. “The Brotherhood is highly decentralized; it’s one reason for their success. They ensure that no one captain has too much power, and keep the bosses at the top divided through institutional means. In fact, their bosses rarely congregate. At most, they’ll meet two or three at a time to set policy or discuss business, and let the rest of the enterprise be run by their subordinates.”

  “So we assassinate them one by one,” Gatina said, shrugging girlishly as she proposed bloody murder. “Eventually they’ll tire of it.”

  “No, they won’t,” Lorcus warned. “They will respond. Right now you have the advantage, because you hit them by surprise and managed some impressive successes that way. But after the Tower Arcane fiasco, they know that they are being assaulted by magi – by High Magi. And there are only a few of us,” he pointed out.

  “You . . . are High Magi?”

  “We are armed with irionite,” agreed Tyndal. “Sir Rondal and I are the former apprentices of Minalan the Spellmonger. We fought in the goblin invasion,” he added. “When we were at Inrion Academy in Castal, one of their agents cruelly slew a friend of ours. After that . . . well, things just kind of spun out of control.”

  “When the Brotherhood makes an enemy, they don’t do half-measures, either” Lord Whiskers warned, after a moment’s contemplation and a sip of wine. “They will hunt for you, after the Tower Arcane. It proves that young tough’s contention, that he was not responsible for the abbey’s destruction, as he’s been accused. I knew that magic had to have been used in robbing t
he Tower Arcane—”

  “Burglarizing the Tower Arcane,” corrected Atopol.

  “I suspected a sport Talent, perhaps, or a wily enough thief to employ an adept. But a conspiracy, backed by ducal authority? This explains things much more satisfactory.”

  “Now that you are informed of our existence, Lord Whiskers,” Lorcus said, continuing to study the man thoughtfully, “what do you intend to do with that information?”

  Lord Whiskers studied Lorcus with equal intensity. “If you are worrying that I will sell that information to the Brotherhood, rest assured I will not. They are colleagues. They are also competitors. If they are not strong enough or smart enough to contend with this challenge, then they do not deserve their place in the underworld. The Iris will not attempt to prop up a weak competitor, nor would I wish to give them information they did not learn themselves.”

  “Not even for gold?” Tyndal asked.

  Lord Whiskers snorted. “Gold means nothing to me,” he dismissed. “And little to the Iris. It is a means to an end. The few ounces I could gain with this information is insubstantial, compared to the pleasure I gain from watching this little shadow war unfold.”

  “So you are merely an interested observer,” Rondal offered.

  “Just so,” agreed Lord Whiskers.

  “But how did he track us?” demanded Atopol. “We were flawless in our execution and planning!”

  “His other little dragon,” supplied Gatina. “That’s how. He sent it to follow us, when he realized that the place had been robbed.”

  “Actually, I sent him to see about the large and unusual splash I heard over the din, right after the trebuchet unexpectedly fired,” Lord Whiskers pointed out. “Everyone else was distracted. From there, he flew overhead while you switched boats downstream, and then followed you past Falas and up the road beyond the falls.”