“That was oddly satisfying,” Rondal murmured, as they walked away from the ruin they’d set ablaze as a courtesy to the local architectural aesthetic. “Of course, now I’m hungry. Eat here, or back in Sevendor?”
“It seems a shame to come all this way and not enjoy it,” Tyndal shrugged. “There’s an inn over there, and it smells like lamb.”
“I like lamb,” nodded Rondal, suddenly hungry. “Think we can do three tomorrow night, too?”
“Let’s look at the schedule,” Tyndal suggested. “We don’t want to over-commit. And we need time to assess how effective we’ve been, before we proceed. But we should be able to hit at least two. Hey, that is lamb!”
Chapter Twenty-Five
The Council Of The Brotherhood
No one knows how the Brotherhood of the Rat came to dominate the politics of the Great Bay, but by the time of the Third Count of Falas during the Magocracy, the Brotherhood had spread up the coast from their lairs in the swamps and broadened their membership to include hundreds. Not only did they actively recruit able-bodied mariners to their cause, but also extended invitations to those too wounded or maimed to continue a profession at sea.
Taking advantage of the desperate nature of their membership, over the first thirty years the organization began to expand and even contend with the Iris over some enterprises. Yet while often compared to that other great criminal organization, the Brotherhood had a reputation for brutality that matched the Iris’ reputation for cunning and subtlety. Soon the problems in Merwyn forced the Iris to abandon many of its enterprises in Alshar, leaving their completion and profit to the Brotherhood of the Rat by default. Without adequate completion, the sway of the Brotherhood was felt from one side of the Great Bay to the other, and far up the Mandros, until they controlled nearly every dock and wharf in the country.
As they made their way to Falas, Gareth would report nightly to Rondal on their progress. The two supposedly-fugitive wizards attracted an increasing measure of attention once they made it to the cities and towns along the Great Bay. They’d already raised significant interest amongst those with the desire for irionite and the cash to get it, and their own stones demonstrated that they were not just protected from petty thievery, but that their wares were authentic.
By the time they saw the sea at the mouth of the Mandros, they were being invited to some of the finest great houses in the Coastlands as the guests of one enterprising lord or another. Iyugi deferred, preferring to pay to stay at inns that increased in luxury as they went south. He doubled the number of hired guards, as well.
Gareth was growing increasingly nervous as the number of people who seemed to know all about their business was growing. Nor were they the better sort of people, he insisted to Rondal, later. In fact, they seemed to grow more exotic, wealthy, dangerous and desperate as they went downriver and across the coast.
Once they came to the Coastlands they could not avoid the visit of one of the Three Censors, who had heard about their stock and had insisted on halting their journey long enough to inspect their wares. They’d lost several pieces of irionite to theft, themselves, they declared to Iyugi, and wished merely to ensure that these pieces were not theirs.
The meeting was wary – neither wizard was pleased to be in the presence of the dreaded checkered cloak, nor have their faces known. But they presented their stolen stones to them and submitted to a truthtelling to verify that they had, in fact, stolen them from Minalan’s workshop.
The Censor made some pretense about confiscating them on the spot, but while Iyugi and Gareth were anxious, they were not helpless. Brandishing their own stones, and mentioning powers that the Censorate were not yet aware, in their fallen estate, they persuaded the man not to engage in a duel . . . and likely destroy the fine inn they had chosen in the process.
The next day word came down the river that two wild magi were rampaging through the upper Great Vale. Iyugi’s contacts, Gareth reported, told him that it was exclusively installations of the Brotherhood that were targeted . . . and that the two were clearly in pursuit of them.
It was about that time that the Brotherhood, sensing opportunity from the two, graciously offered to broker the sale of the stones . . . for a fee. Three members of the senior council approached them, something Iyugi assured Gareth was nearly unheard of. But after intense negotiations, Iyugi relented. The Brotherhood would handle the sale, provide security, and ensure payment and delivery for the stones, as well as provide escape for the two thieves on a ship to any port in the Shallow Sea.
Just as they had planned.
Atopol filled in some of the blanks that evening in Falas, where the three met up for dinner in an elegant salon before the knights continued a third night of destruction.
“The Rats are squirming,” he assured them, smiling broadly. “I never realized how much I hated those guys until I got to start fighting them. Everyone in your path is terrified that they are next. And that you won’t stop until everyone is dead.”
“That is precisely what we want them to believe,” Rondal said, tapping the table with his finger. “We want them scared enough to give Iyugi a quick way out. Which means a quick sale, likely at a discount, and safe passage through the Bay. The Rats either get the stones or they get the coin. They win either way.”
“How many people are interested in them?” Tyndal asked, his mouth full of pheasant.
“Well, the entry-fee deposit is ten thousand ounces of gold,” Atopol pointed out. “That’s going to keep the bit-players out. Of those who can afford it, there are probably nine or ten. Whether or not they will take the bait and show up at the auction is debatable. But the Brotherhood will be bidding on it, the Censors certainly will, and at least two families of magi are considering it . . . even though they’ll be exposing themselves to the Censors.”
“If they have irionite, they can afford to,” nodded Rondal.
“That’s what the Censor’s fear . . . but they’re losing influence on the rebel council, what little they had. They are under pressure to drop their cloaks and become the High Magi of Alshar, but they cling too tightly to their doctrine. Indeed, they make the pretense that they only take up the stones to defend against . . . well, you two, among others. They are smarting deeply from the theft at the Tower Arcane.”
“I’d like to fight a Censor with glass, mageblade to mageblade,” Tyndal said, recklessly, as his eyes narrowed. “That would be fun!”
“You may get your chance,” Atopol assured him. “If you try to interrupt the sale, then you’ll be facing at least one of them. Of the three stones, only one is a match for a Castalshari High Mage, Master Hance says. The others are flawed in some way.”
“Don’t worry,” Rondal said, confidently. “I don’t want to interrupt this sale in the slightest. I want to see who wants a stone badly enough to pay top price for it.”
“What do you think they’ll go for?”
“It costs fifty thousand ounces of gold to become a sworn High Mage in Castalshar,” Tyndal reasoned. “It will be at least that much.”
“Each,” agreed Rondal. “Probably much more. That’s a lot of gold . . . more than most people have laying around.”
“That’s why the Brotherhood is involved,” explained Atopol. “They’re one of the few institutions that do, right now. Whomever wins the auction will have to settle terms with the Rats. Even the Censorate. And the Rats will keep possession of the stones until they are satisfied with the bargain,” he added. “No one breaks an agreement with the Brotherhood.”
“That’s important,” Rondal realized. “Whomever wins the sale isn’t just going to be a customer with the Rats . . . they’re going to end up partners, unless they can come up with that much gold right away.”
“How many days until the sale?” Tyndal asked.
Atopol smirked. “Five. They want to get everything ready at Vaxel, where they have a secure base. That also gives time for the news to spread and attract more buyers. They want as many bidders
there as possible, for this.”
“All the better,” Rondal nodded. “Who is overseeing it?”
Atopol looked impressed. “The Spider, himself. One of the top three decision makers on the council.”
“I thought the council was larger than that?”
“Oh, it is,” Atopol agreed. “There are fifteen members, the senior Rats. Each is in charge of a major territory or specialized sphere of activity. But the over-all organization is steered by three executive members.
“Remember, the Brotherhood is descended from shipwrecked pirates, and not the nice sort, either,” Atopol explained. “Without a ship, it was decided that the Captain – the Rat King - was no longer needed to run the actual business. The position today is nominal, and within the organization the Rat King is a ceremonial position alone, it is theorized by my father. His leadership was replaced with the three senior officers: the Navigator, the Pilot, and the Quartermaster. Those three are responsible for the policy, operations, and material of the Brotherhood, while the Rat King lives in seclusion. The rest of the council votes and gets a voice, but those three run the day-to-day operations and long-range strategy for the organization.”
Rondal blinked. “Looks like you learned a hell of a lot about the Brotherhood!”
“Too much,” the journeyman thief replied. “Me and my entire House. Master Hance is not pleased with what he’s discovered. For example, one of the members of the rebel council is also the Brotherhood’s Pilot, Count Jenerard. The current Quartermaster is an avaricious old fart named Lord Prudna, he’s the one who has pushed the Rats to get actively back into the slave trade. And the Navigator’s position is held by the Spider. He’s their head of intelligence, and the brains behind most of their most recent aggressive moves into politics and slavery,” Atopol said, in a grave voice.
“So he’s the one running this auction,” Tyndal nodded.
“Definitely. And he’s perhaps the most dangerous of them all. Few even know his name, no one knows where he lives, and only a handful have seen his face. He conducts most of his business in secret, through agents . . . some who are not within the Brotherhood. That’s how he keeps an eye on the rest, and determines who’s getting too strong and who is too weak.”
“And then what happens?”
“They wake up with a Tail in their ear,” Atopol shrugged. “No grand statement, no bloody scene, just an iron spike driven into your ear and wiggled around a bit.”
Rondal shuddered at the thought. “Why doesn’t the Brotherhood just seize the stones themselves?”
“It’s already too well-known that they’re for sale – your man Iyugi did an excellent job in ruining that route for them. Too many powerful people want a chance at them now and know where they came from. More, such a move would be seen as bad faith by many of those same people. They might be horrible, evil thugs,” reasoned Atopol, “but even thugs need to be able to do business honestly. That’s why the Sea Lords venerated the Fair Trader as much as the Shipwrecker or the Maiden. If the Rats offered protection to your friends and then violated that, no one of consequence would do business with them.”
“Well,” Rondal considered, an idea dawning on him. “Let’s see if we can’t drive the price up a bit. You said that the major players had to bring ten thousand ounces, just to get in the door?”
“Well, yes,” the dark-eyed thief nodded. “Some will bring considerably more. Not all in coin, mind you, but something of equivalent value.”
“Then it sounds like an excellent opportunity for your sister to get her claws wet,” proposed Rondal. “With all that good loot lying around, barely guarded, if some were to disappear, well… it is said Enultramar is full of thieves,” he said, knowingly.
“You mean have Gat . . .? Oh, I like it!” he said, grinning. “She will too, I’m certain. I’ll send word to her at once, and have her head toward Vaxel. She can pick the place clean while they’re bidding,” he envisioned. “As the Rats took it as security, they will be obliged to repay the bidders!”
“Which wouldn’t improve their dispositions one bit, during the actual auction,” agreed Tyndal.
“You know, I think this just might work!” Rondal smiled. “Now, let’s finish up dinner. I want to stretch a little bit before we break up this . . . brothel?”
“Casino,” corrected Tyndal, his mouth full of bread. “It’s a black market casino under an abandoned pier in Kultanen.”
“That’s right, the casino,” Rondal said, shaking his head. “Then we hit the big brothel in Ruori, just south of Roen.”
“Just two tonight?” Atopol asked, surprised.
“It’s a really big brothel,” Tyndal said, his eyes narrowing. “Last time we destroyed a brothel, we couldn’t stick around afterward. To enjoy the congratulations of the emancipated victims,” he said, knowingly.
“Oh. Well,” the lad said, seeking to change the subject, “When do you think you’ll be back around here?”
“Night after next,” Tyndal said. “By that time we’ll need a breather. Iyugi and Gareth need time to set up. And Kitten needs time to get to Vaxel.”
“Ugh! I hate Vaxel,” Atopol said, sourly. “Most of Enultramar is pretty sad, but that town is like a gilded pile of shit, and nothing better. There’s a big lead mine nearby,” he explained. “Half the town are idiots, because of the lead. And that’s the region that produces the most powerful poppy gum in the world. The half of the town that isn’t stupid from lead is stupid from smoking that stuff. It’s forbidden, most places, but the Count of Caramas is huge devotee, so it’s sold openly on the streets.”
“Probably why the Brotherhood chose the place,” Tyndal observed.
“Yeah, they pretty much run it. When the fleet comes back in a few weeks, their holds full of chained captives, after they sort out which ones are rich enough to be held for ransom the rest will be sold to estates around the Bay. Mines, plantations, manufactories. The mariners will use that money to buy as much gum as they can. What they don’t use themselves they’ll sell to the smugglers outside of Merwyn for a fat profit.”
“Enterprising,” nodded Tyndal.
“Horrific,” Atopol disagreed. “The trade is brutal, both ways. A man can be captured at sea and have the proceeds of his sale into slavery used to enslave his children back home with the drug. It’s a scourge in the huge cities in the east.”
“Then we should probably destroy that, too,” Tyndal decided. “While we’re here.”
“I’d hate to make a special trip,” agreed Rondal. “I think—”
Rondal didn’t get to express what he thought, nor did he recall what thought he had later. At that moment a man with a short-hafted, large bladed axe burst into the salon and ran at the three of them.
While Rondal didn’t freeze, he reacted the slowest of the three. Atopol was already in the air, having sprung from the table like a cat discovering a snake behind it. His shoulder was in motion and the tiny throwing knives he favored were in the air while Rondal sat there.
Tyndal was also rising, tipping over the dainty table they were sitting around and drawing a wand from his belt as the axe descended toward where his shoulder would have been. While it demolished the chair, it left Tyndal standing proximate to the attacker, a wand in his hand . . . and in a moment the man was thrown across the entirety of the room where he landed in a heap. He did not move after he landed.
“Ishi’s tits!” Tyndal swore, putting the wand away. “I wasn’t done with dinner, yet!”
“They must be getting desperate, to attack in public like this so blatantly,” Atopol said, shaking his head, looking around for more foes. “Do you think there’s more than one?”
Rondal was already scrying. While it was difficult to determine threats in a crowded urban environment, he summoned his baculus and did a quick series of spells.
“I don’t think so,” he concluded, after peering beyond the walls of the inn. “I don’t know if he was purposefully sent, or he was just being opportunistic,
but Cat’s right: they are getting desperate to attack like that. Which means we’re having an effect,” he said, pleased.
“I should hope so,” snorted Tyndal. “I doubt they get a penny of tribute from north of Falas, this year, after what we did to them!”
“You have alarmed them, but you have not done more than wound them,” Atopol reminded, as he put his chair aright. “Next time they will send more than one, and they will strike at you relentlessly.”
“That’s what we’re hoping for,” Rondal nodded. “We can take it. The more of their resources they expend trying to stop us, the less they have to notice that you and Gat are taking their shroud measurements.”
“I doubt they have any idea we’re working together,” smirked the shadowmage. “Oh, the Spider might suspect, but he has a lot of webs to keep up with. And my House does such a masterful job of disinformation that it would be almost impossible to establish a link.”
“Unless one of you gets caught,” Tyndal pointed out. Atopol reacted like a challenge.
“Uh, House Salainen doesn’t get caught,” he boasted. “Ever.”
“Anyone can get caught,” Tyndal insisted.
“We don’t,” Atopol insisted. “It’s unprofessional.”
“This Spider sounds like the brains behind a lot of the Brotherhood’s operations,” Rondal said, before the two really started to row.
“Yes, he’s smarter than Jenerard and the Quartermaster combined,” Atopol said, with one final glare at Tyndal. “There are other men of intelligence on the council, but he is the one pulling the strings of this web.”
“Then that’s who we want to remove,” Rondal decided. “The others are thugs. The Spider is the truly dangerous one to our mission. That is the condition of our victory.”
“That’s not going to be an easy task. It’s not even a difficult task. That is an all-but-impossible task,” Atopol declared. “You don’t get to be one of the senior members of an international criminal organization without being tough, and the Spider is notoriously elusive on top of that.”
Shadowmage: Book Nine Of The Spellmonger Series Page 39
