Gareth didn’t seem bothered by the accusation. “I’m rich now,” he countered. “I can do that.”
“Your friend seems obsessed with wealth,” Gatina whispered to Rondal as she served him a bowl of porridge.
“There’s a girl involved,” Rondal confided. That seemed to answer all of Gatina’s remaining questions.
“So you three live . . . here?” she asked, looking around. “I drank too much too quickly last night to appreciate it. It’s . . . unusual.”
“It’s kind of a horrific combination of wizardly construction, Karshak moonlighting, and whatever materials we could find lying around,” Gareth assessed, looking around at the hall he had overseen as it was built. “It’s ugly as a bucktoothed maiden aunt, but it’s functional.”
“It stands out,” Rondal said, discouraged. “You’ll see. There are a lot of pretty buildings in Sevendor. The Rat Trap is not one of them. We actually have a small castle too – the Order of Estasia does,” he corrected. “It’s about a day’s ride from here . . . although I suppose we should install a Waystone there, too. It’s pretty. Desolate, but pretty.”
“I look forward to seeing all of the things that make your home special,” Gatina assured him with a kiss on his brow.
“There’s actually a lot to see, here,” Gareth said, around bites of apple. “The snowstone mountain and Sevendor Castle, of course – as well as the construction on the new keep inside the mountain – the spire of Laesgethal, the Everfire in the temple of Briga . . . and the mill pond has a permanent water elemental Minalan put there,” he added, with a pleased gleam in his eye.
“There are many wonders in Sevendor,” conceded Iyugi, as he sent up a huge cloud of smoke. “The marketplace is filled with them. Magi hawk wands and stones like chickens and geese.”
“That would be something to see,” agreed Atopol, sleepily, as he rose. His hair was a tangled mess. “From what I can tell, we have about . . . eight hours to kill before we have to go back to work. What do you do for fun in Sevendor? For eight hours?”
“Let’s find out,” Rondal decided, gazing at Gatina. “Someone wake up Haystack,” he directed. “He’ll be upset if we go out without him.”
Iyugi elected to visit the Spellmonger, instead of joining his friends.
“I’m worried about him,” he confided to Rondal, as they left the Rat Trap and headed into town. “I’ve never seen him this despondent. It’s been a steady decline, but losing his wife . . .”
“She’s not lost,” Rondal said, firmly. “She’s just . . . wandering,” he said, guiltily. The older man looked at him skeptically, but did not argue.
“What it has done to him is troubling. I am worried. I want to see if I can help, or at least lend my assistance, if I can.”
As he took his leave, Rondal considered the odd-looking footwizard – who was now wealthy and powerful – and wondered why he affected poverty and destitution so well. Then he felt Gatina’s hand curl around his arm, and he forgot all about the man.
“So where shall we go first?” she asked, brightly. She had elected not to don a wig or employ other devices to conceal her strange appearance, for which Rondal was glad. Sevendor, of all places, where the Tal Alon and Karshak walked the streets daily and at any moment a lordly, stately Alka Alon (or even that rascal, Onranion) might grace you by walking past, was a safe place for mere white hair and beautiful purple eyes. Gatina’s natural look was striking, here in the mageland, but it was not particularly noteworthy.
Tyndal, Gareth, and Atopol followed behind, joking as the two Sevendori pointed out the sights to the shadowmage: the graceful spire of the Alka Alon embassy, the majestic white mountain, the shining white castle. As they passed through the market Rondal was eager to visit old friends among the merchants and introduce Gatina to some of the wonders they hawked.
By the time they visited the incredible Everfire in the temple of Briga, it was near luncheon. Tyndal suggested they retire to The Alembic for a fine meal and a bottle of wine, and Rondal could think of nothing better.
It was odd . . . he had been so fearful of Gatina’s aggressive courtship that he had scarcely had time to appreciate her as a girl. Their short time together in the cottage in the Coastlands had been pleasant and sweet, but he found strolling through a town he’d seen built from scratch, past magical fountains and shops selling spellbooks with her on his arm pleased him enormously. He saw the way that others looked at them – he and his Sevendori mates were well known in town, of course, but the looks that he got with Gatina on his arm made him stand straighter.
He felt more mature, in the company of a woman, he realized . . . and it wasn’t a bad feeling. Though he was far from seriously considering marriage, if he went through with it there were worse women than the Kitten of Night to which to bind his fortunes.
She was sweet, he realized, when she wasn’t working. She had a keen wit and was masterful at observation, eager to experience the exotic nature of the town yet smart enough to ask intelligent questions about the people and the crafts.
“It’s wonderful!” she declared, when Tyndal asked how she liked the place. “It’s like a town built just for magi!”
“That’s because it was,” Tyndal assured her. “And largely by magi. All the timber you see in this place was magically cut and cured. A spell I came up with myself,” he added, proudly.
“I prefer stone,” Rondal said, shaking his head. “Someday I’ll show you the bridge I built as an apprentice. By myself,” he added.
“Why is everyone so somber, though?” Atopol asked, as the barman brought them drinks and bread.
“It was the Magewar with Greenflower,” Rondal answered, quietly. “When it was discovered that Baroness Isily and her husband were plotting against the Spellmonger – and the Kingdom – with the gurvani and their allies, it was Baroness Alya who lead the assault.”
“Is she a mage?” asked Atopol, confused.
“No,” Tyndal answered. “She’s mundane. But a brave lady, and one who would not endure her husband being ill-served. She gathered the warmagi of the Arcane Orders and coordinated the assault, poor Master Min was so distraught. And when Isily attacked her in the fight . . .”
“She wasn’t defenseless, even then,” Rondal nodded, solemnly. “We were there. She drew a dagger and struck at her . . . and when Isily turned it, she used the pommel to smash her witchstone.”
“The blast killed Isily, in that horrible place. But it . . . maimed Alya’s mind,” Tyndal reported, his voice breaking. “She’s in an abbey, not too far from here, being tended by the merciful sisters.”
“That’s terrible!” Gatina said, looking around. “Was she well-loved?”
“By all,” Gareth assured, looking depressed himself. “And Minalan hasn’t been the same, since. His melancholy seems to infect everything. Not even his family can seem to reach him,” he added, sadly.
Just then a shadow crossed over them, and the two shadowmagi jerked their heads up.
“What in darkness is that?” Atopol asked as his sister gasped.
“That? That’s Fateful, I think,” Rondal said, using magesight to see. “One of Dara’s cast.”
“Cast? Cast of what?” Atopol asked, his wide.
“It’s a bird!” Gatina declared, shielding her lavender eyes from the sun to see the sight.
“Yeah, that’s one of Lenodara’s giant hawks,” Tyndal said, dismissively. “She and the Alka Alon started messing around with transgenic enchantments . . . so now we have giant hawks. She rides them – she and a bunch of kids and Tal she’s recruited.”
“Rides them?” Gatina asked, her eyes filled with wonder. “And flies?”
“Not just flies, but flies them into battle,” Gareth said. “She and the Skyriders have gone to war a few times, now. It is dangerous work, but having someone in the air really does help out, sometimes.”
“I . . . I had no idea such a thing was even possible!” she said, shaking her head in wonder.
“Well, I’ll introduce you to Dara, and maybe she can take you up,” proposed Rondal. “Probably after we’re done with this mission. Faithful, there, is the largest of her brood. He’s big enough to carry a full-grown man. Most of them are smaller, and the Skyriders have to be light to go aloft with them. But once in the air they are incredibly fast and agile. They can fly behind enemy lines and drop enchantments, scout from the air, and even attack with those flying javelins of theirs.”
“Dara’s pretty proud of them,” agreed Gareth. “She’s raised two clutches, now, and she has two full squadrons of four birds each. Some have even escaped into the wild. And you won’t find too many stray goats or roe deer in the area,” he chuckled to himself.
“Just one of the wonders of the mageland,” sighed Rondal, feeling good about Gatina’s reaction. He’d grown used to the strangeness of Sevendor, but he was seeing it, in a way, for the first time through her eyes. “Like the Enchanted Forests. Those are Master Olmeg’s pet projects, and the one leading into the domain is designed defensively.”
“Oh, it would be six kinds of hells to attack through,” agreed Tyndal. “Every tree is a trap, ever bush a secret.”
“It’s a lovely land,” Atopol sighed. “Not nearly as big as Enultramar, of course, but charming. And enchanting.”
“There’s still more to see,” Rondal urged, as they were finishing the meal. “How about we walk up to the pond and make the elemental do tricks for the children? That’s always entertaining.”
By the time the late afternoon sun turned their sport with the elemental into an excuse for a towel, the five friends walked back to the Rat Trap, feeling good from the brief holiday from their stressful mission. But there was still work to be done.
“He’s arrived,” Atopol reported, after the group reconvened in the main hall. “I’m sure of it, now.”
“Then it’s time,” Rondal agreed. “Armor up, Haystack.”
“You think we’re going to need armor for this?” Tyndal asked, skeptically.
“It makes you look tough,” Rondal dismissed. “And it might distract him.”
“If it’s all the same to you,” Gareth decided, “I’ll let you finish this. Not exactly my kind of thing. But I’ll be here, if you need help,” he added.
“You’ve been great, Gareth, you really have,” Rondal said, shaking the young man’s hand. “We couldn’t have done it without you. If Dara doesn’t see your value, she’s an idiot.”
He helped the two warmagi with their armor while the Salaineni siblings prepared themselves. Rondal was pretty certain that he and Tyndal could finish the job, but Atopol did not want to be left out of the finish, and Gatina was unwilling to let him go into danger without her watching his back. He found the sentiment endearing, but he could see where it might prove troublesome, someday.
But tonight, he didn’t mind the company. They were headed into the unknown, into the darkness, and he needed someone who could see in the dark watching out for him.
“All right,” Tyndal said, strapping his helmet on and drawing his blade. “I’m ready.”
“As are we,” Gatina agreed, drawing her own slender blade and saluting. Atopol had a warwand in hand, borrowed from Tyndal, and his dark cloak was filled with weapons of various subtle and insidious sorts, Rondal knew. The elder sibling gave him a terse nod, as he prepared himself mentally.
“Do we have a good idea of where we are going?” he asked, anxiously. Atopol was still getting used to using the Ways.
“Not a bit,” admitted Rondal, confidently. “But the spell won’t let us come out in the middle of a wall, or anything dire like that.”
“A pond full of poisonous snakes, caiman and broken glass, sure,” added Tyndal. “I’ve got it . . . I’ll take Cat through first, you follow with Kitten.” Rondal watched as his partner activated the spell and vanished, with Atopol at his side.
“Let’s give them a moment to clear the area,” Rondal said, as Gatina quickly leaned in for a surprise kiss.
“For luck,” she added, shyly. “I couldn’t do that with my brother around.”
“Why?” Rondal asked, confused. “I thought he liked me!”
“He liked you more before I liked you so much,” she reasoned. “He’s a great thief and a wonderful brother . . . but he’s still a brother.”
“Oh . . . all right,” Rondal said, not understanding what she was talking about in the slightest. To forestall any more confusion, he quickly summoned the songspell from his irionite marble and took them through the Ways.
When they had constructed the snowstone box in which the “stolen” irionite was contained, they had purposefully made it ornate. Among the gems embedded into the lid was a Waystone from Minalan’s collection. Once the Spider had secured the box within the treasury, past all of the traps, locks, and guards that kept the Rat’s gold safe, using the Ways to enter the main treasury was elementary. The core of the plan involved someone taking the box here. Everything else was decoration and misdirection.
The nausea was getting better, he had to admit, though Gatina was looking poorly when they arrived. They were in near darkness, lit only by a tiny magelight Tyndal had thrown above them.
“Welcome to the treasury of the Brotherhood of the Rat,” Atopol said, dramatically. Tyndal helpfully increased the intensity and height of his magelight until the entire chamber was illuminated . . . and sparkling. As Rondal looked around he saw cask and coffer stuffed with silver and gold, lining the chamber on all sides, stacked to the height of a man.
The shelf they faced contained not merely the witchstones in their box, but a multitude of other treasures. Some were clearly valuable, like the great golden anchor on the bottom shelf, or the pile of gilded daggers and swords stacked like tomato stakes on the shelf above. Others were harder to determine a worth for. Rondal recognized art and craftsmanship from several different lands represented on the shelf, and the top shelf was filled with tekka – ancient human devices whose original purpose was lost, but for which there was a booming collectors market.
“This place . . . this is amazing!” Rondal said, as he looked around.
“And there are three more chambers like this one,” Tyndal reported. “And every corridor in between is stacked with coin.”
“This represents more than two centuries of criminal profit,” Atopol said, shaking his head in awe. “Thousands of thugs and petty criminals sending tribute to their masters . . . the proceeds of slaves . . . the sale of poppy gum . . . the profits of piracy . . .”
“All of which appear to pay pretty well,” Tyndal said, appreciatively, as he examined a box of rubies the size of a milk pail.
“Well, don’t forget that the Brotherhood now owes a sizable portion of this trove to the Iris, and the other bidders,” reminded Gatina. “They plan on paying it out of this.”
“Well, won’t they be disappointed when they try and their cupboard is empty,” Tyndal said, arrogantly, as he took the special wand out of his belt. Gareth had built it with a massive hoxter pocket. Tyndal began pointing it at the stacks of gold and pronouncing the command word. Each time he did, the affected gold slipped effortlessly into the pocket dimension tied to the wand, where it would wait safely – and without mass – until called forth.
It took nearly an hour to remove all of the gold within the four chambers of the great arched vault. They spared no treasure as too small, stealing every penny they could find, every paltry gem, every pearl. The volume and weight of the treasure was massive, but then so was the hoxter pocket. When the last coffer full of silver had been transferred, the four of them wandered around the empty vault, determined not to let a single coin remain.
That was when they were surprised . . . by the Spider.
The man apparently didn’t expect anyone else to be in a secret clandestine vault, so when he turned the corner into the chamber he was more than startled to see Tyndal and Rondal scrying the walls, each with a baculus in their hands.
The slender crime lord didn
’t hesitate to draw a dagger – no mere shiv, this was, but a foot-long spike of sharpened steel meant for disemboweling.
“Who the hells are you?” the Spider demanded.
“Oh,” Tyndal said, turning around as he walked in, a torch in his other hand and a basket over his shoulder. “Remember us? We’re robbing the place. Don’t worry, we’re about done here.”
“It really did take a lot of work,” agreed Rondal, turning to face the Spider. “There was a lot of treasure to take.”
“You!” the man spat, when he recognized them both. “You’re the—”
“The knights magi of the Estasi Order,” Tyndal interrupted. “Who have sworn to bring the Brotherhood of the Rat to its knees in vengeance for slaying our friend.”
“Which we’ve essentially accomplished, tonight,” added Rondal. “Without any gold, it’s going to be very difficult for you to pay off the Iris,” he observed.
“How do they usually handle collections?” wondered Tyndal, aloud. “I’m sure they’re willing to be generous. Lord Whiskers seems like a reasonable man.”
“He is most certainly not!” sputtered the Spider, as he looked around at the empty vault. “How in nine hells did you get the gold out?” he demanded. “There’s only one way in here, and you can only bring up as much gold as a man weighs!”
“We don’t like those rules,” Tyndal said, distastefully.
“We changed them,” Rondal agreed. “That’s what wizards do. We change the rules. Where once you were the mightiest criminal enterprise in the west, now you are indebted and beholden to your greatest rival.”
“You . . . you can’t do that!” the Spider said, passionately. The dagger in his hand began to shake.
“We just did,” Tyndal chuckled. “How will you explain that to the rest of the council, I wonder?”
“And what will the rebel council do when they find out their criminal henchmen are now taking orders from Merwyn?” speculated Rondal. “I can’t imagine they’d like that.”
“Oh, gods . . .” the Spider said, shaking uncontrollably now. “What have you done?”
Shadowmage: Book Nine Of The Spellmonger Series Page 46
