“Or at least to one of his vassals, the Alkan renegade Korbal, called the Necromancer,” Rondal picked up. “We suspect that Her Highness and her entourage are being transported to the remote mountain fortress of Olum Seheri, in the Land of Scars. That is why the rebels in Enultramar have not released any demands. They do not have your daughter,” he guessed.
“To our thinking, Your Majesty,” Tyndal continued, quickly, “the rebels knew you’d try to invade at once if you knew they had her, and so they passed her off to someone who . . . well, who wanted her more.”
“But why would they want poor Rardine?” he demanded.
Why would anyone want that murderous bitch? Tyndal asked himself, restraining himself from sharing it with Rondal. He had no doubt his partner was thinking something similar. Rardine was a particularly unpleasant woman, vicious, calculating, and willing to do anything to accomplish her aims. The thought of her in a prison, somewhere, actually soothed a part of Tyndal’s mind.
“For a number of reasons, Your Majesty,” Rondal said, smoothly. “To use as a lever against your policies, for one; as a hostage she can keep you from prosecuting the war further. As an intelligence resource alone she is a trove, merely for being Princess of the realm. If they discover her unique position in Castalshar’s intelligence service . . . well, that could prove dire for the government, and not just for you as a father, my liege.”
“But . . . but the gurvani are just mountain savages!” he said, shaking his head in disbelief. “They can fight, it is true, but this . . .”
“Clearly, Uncle, there is far more going on in the West than you have considered,” Anguin said, quietly. “Thankfully, the attentive gentlemen of my court have been keeping an eye on the Mindens while you and my dear aunt have been building your palace. But now that events have overtaken us, I think it may be time for you to reconsider your perspective on this matter.”
Rard’s eyes narrowed, and his brow furrowed while he was deep in thought. None of them dared to interrupt the king when he was, clearly, doing kingly things.
At last he sighed, and motioned Anguin to sit across from a small desk. Tyndal took a position on his liege’s left side, as Rondal did to his right.
“My lords,” Rard began, “I am not entirely ignorant of events in the West, as you may assume. My agents have infiltrated the rebels in Enultramar, and were even quietly observing events in Vorone,” he said, apologetically. Admitting that your spies are spying on the man you are addressing must be awkward, Tyndal considered.
Anguin nodded, unconcerned. “As I have observers in Castabriel and Wilderhall, among other places.”
Rard halted, ever-so-briefly. Apparently the idea that the penniless Orphan Duke and his rustic court had the wherewithal to undertake espionage on his own king was startling news to Rard. But then he continued, as it was of no consequence.
“Then you understand how detached from such events it can make you, Nephew. Let me give you some advice in governance,” he said, taking a more fatherly tone. “If you react to every bit of news that your spies dump into your lap, then wisdom dictates that you treat it very carefully before you commit to action. Half of what you will hear will be untrue or incomplete, and the other half will be out-of-date by the time you can take effective action.
“But I have, indeed, been watching the West, as best I can. And perhaps this is the bit of news I need to consider a new policy toward the gurvani. But as to what that policy is . . . gentlemen, entire nations tremble depending upon what I decide.”
“The importance of your decision is appreciated, Uncle,” Lenguin agreed. “But as your loyal vassal, so is my duty. I have been attacked, and while I have attempted to handle the matter myself, locally, things seem to have escalated to the point where I must now come to you.”
“A dragon eating your palace is, indeed, an escalation.” admitted the king. “And this . . . acquisition of my daughter . . .”
“I think it demands a response, Uncle,” Anguin advised, quietly.
“Indeed,” he agreed. “But what response . . . that is my burden. I must not imperil my daughter’s life, but I cannot let this violation go unanswered.” He stared out of the small round glass window that looked over the rose garden. “As for you, Nephew,” he said, before returning his tired eyes to Anguin, “now that you have faithfully discharged your duty and informed your liege of your trials, what do you intend to do?”
“I shall return to what remains of my palace, bury my dead, and see to my wounded,” Anguin quietly declared.
“And I take it that you desire some compensation from the crown to pay for a new palace?” Rard frowned.
Rondal spoke, before Anguin could. “And force Castali lords to pay for an Alshari duke’s palace? Nay, Your Majesty. Alshar will look to its own.”
That surprised Rard . . . and earned a dirty look from Anguin, who did not yet know about the two million ounces of gold that was going to unexpectedly appear in his treasury. Tyndal felt obligated to support his partner in his bold assertion.
“Your Majesty, we ask nothing from you but your lawful duty,” he said, smoothly. “When Duke Anguin returned to restore his realm after being your guest, he committed to do so without undue assistance. We will, of course, be forced to move some of our forces around,” he said, casually, “perhaps see to a safer location for the capital . . . surely the Crown would take no issue with that, if it involved no expense from the royal treasury. Perhaps just a more secure stockade, in some defensible region”
“Yes, yes, if you need to relocate your government, say, closer to the Castali frontier, I completely understand. The Crown takes no issue with a Duke’s right to fortify and defend his lands,” he declared. “See to the safety of your people, however you see fit, Nephew.
“For my part, at the very least I can strengthen the forces protecting the rest of the Kingdom. Clearly, the Iron Ring is not sufficient to screen the people, there. I shall draw up an edict strengthening it.”
“That would be a blessing from Duin, Your Majesty,” Rondal agreed, with a bow. Of course, Tyndal knew, the Iron Band, the corps of royal mercenaries who patrolled the Iron Ring, the string of fortresses in and around the Penumbralands, were mostly debtors – lousy gamblers and decent troops, if only for garrison duty. But they were hardly better than the peasants they allegedly protected, so spread out and diffuse were their settlements. “And while His Grace will have to consult with the Treasury, I believe that Alshar can pledge a thousand ounces of gold to support that.”
“Yes . . .” Anguin said, looking at Rondal with a strange expression. “I am certain we shall be able to contribute something to such an important effort. And building a new stronghold would be advisable, if expensive,” he added, wistfully. “But it must be done, with your blessing.”
“Perhaps if Your Grace was granted his full sovereignty over the Castali Havens,” proposed Tyndal, boldly, “then those revenues would assist.” The five coastal fiefs on the western portion of Castal’s coastline had been ceded to the Dukes of Alshar, in fief to Castal, as part of the Gilmoran settlement after the Second Peace of Barrowbell. Returning them to Anguin’s control could mollify the Sea Lords in his court, Tyndal knew. He’d heard all about their aborted uprising, and the subsequent executions, of the Sea Lord loyalists from Pentandra. Apart from a few large estates in Gilmora itself and the Wilderlands, it was the only bit of Alshari territory within Anguin’s grasp.
“That would provide at least a little more revenue,” agreed Rondal, reasonably. “Currently they are administered by the Crown, I believe. The money is not huge, for a treasury the size of the Kingdom,” he pointed out. “But it could give the non-rebellious parts of Alshar some additional stability, if they were returned, Your Majesty.”
“Yes, well, I suppose there is no good reason to keep them from you,” he frowned. “There’s a small sized merchant fleet attached, too, but of course you know that. Very well, I shall inform the Prime Minister to release those lands, a
nd you can assign proper tenant lords to them. Or grant them outright,” he shrugged.
“You are most gracious, Uncle,” Anguin said, standing. “I hesitate to take up any more of your time, and in truth my own realm requires me. But I very much appreciate your willingness to hear me, and I pledge to continue as your lawful, loyal vassal.”
“It is pleasant enough just to hear a kind word from my nephew,” Rard smiled, sadly. “It is more than I have had from your cousin, since he took his legacy. As much as I love my new grandson, Tavard wishes to have little to do with me, these days, if it doesn’t involve expanding his holdings.” He sounded sad as he delivered the news.
“I wish for nothing that I have not fairly earned, Uncle,” assured Anguin.
“At least you are well-served by your retainers,” Rard said, shaking his head as he rose. “My son surrounds himself with lickspittle sycophants who seek nothing but his favor, and will whisper anything to get it. These two scoundrels,” he said, smiling at Tyndal and Rondal, “have more ambition in their big toe than my son’s entire court. You would do well to keep them close,” he advised, as he showed them to the door. “Like their mentor, they are smart, quick-witted, and bold.”
“Yes, Uncle,” he replied, as he bowed respectfully to his king. “I have recently come to appreciate just how well-served I am by them.”
“You know, I have offered two baronies to the man who rescues my daughter. Two baronies in Gilmora,” he added, knowingly. “A couple of brave wizards might earn them, should they complete such a quest,” he said, looking from Tyndal to Rondal and back again.
“Your Majesty, we are, alas, engaged in His Grace’s service, at the moment,” Tyndal said, boldly. “But we shall keep that opportunity in mind. One never knows where a knight mage might find himself.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
The Recovery Of Vorone
“What in nine hells was that all about?” Anguin demanded, angrily, as the three of them strode away from their audience. “You just pledged a thousand ounces of my gold!” he said, angrily. “You realize that if it hadn’t been for your magic, I would not have had the funds to even travel to Wilderhall? Viscountess Threanas is going to give birth to a live troll on the spot, when she hears about that!”
“Not after she hears our news, Your Grace,” Rondal said, quickly, as he followed his liege. “Sir Tyndal and I were quite successful in our errantry in Enultramar. We . . . well, we ended up stealing the entire treasury of the Brotherhood of the Rat.”
“The . . . what did you say?” Anguin said, stopping in the middle of the aisle.
Tyndal looked around to ensure no one was near enough to overhear. “Your Grace, we took their entire treasury. We were on our way to reveal that to you, when the dragon intervened. We procured it for your treasury.”
“My treasury?” he asked, curious. “How much?”
“Over two million ounces of gold,” Rondal said, very quietly.
“And some change,” Tyndal added. “So a thousand toward the Iron Band is not going to be difficult to manage. And it makes you look both generous and invested in the defense.”
“And while we were at it, we secured royal permission for you to establish a new stronghold. A city you can defend. That we can defend,” he emphasized.
“That . . . that’s true,” Anguin said, his eyes dazed. “Two million? Two million . . . of gold?”
“And a dragonload of silver,” Tyndal agreed. “Consider it confiscated from criminals.”
“You . . . you two . . . you have saved us!” he said, his eyes wide.
“We have merely given you what is your due, Your Grace,” assured Rondal, philosophically. “But it should be adequate to stabilize your government, start construction on your new palace . . . and build the city the Pentandra and Minalan are so intent upon. A new capital for the Wilderlands,” he proposed, “a fortress built with magic, strengthened with magic, and protected with magic.”
“A refuge for the folk of the Wilderlands,” Tyndal said, ambitiously. “Such a city would provide the foundation for a foray into the south.”
Anguin considered it, and then continued walking, shaking his head. “That is a great undertaking, my friends. I will have to consider it. Now that I have the funds to do so, though, it gives me great hope.” He looked at them both. “Why, gentlemen? It is not that I’m unappreciative – and you shall be rewarded, as well as I can – but you wish to simply give me this fortune? This fortune of fortunes?”
“What would we do with it?” Tyndal shrugged. “We have more coin than we can spend as it is, and we have no wish to become entangled in the management of lands, prematurely.”
“Indeed, we have taken a vow to restore all of Enultramar to your rule, Your Grace,” Rondal agreed. “This is but a step on that path.”
“Remarkable,” Anguin said. “Master Minalan said you would be assets, but I had no idea . . . name your reward, my friends. Surely you have some boon you desire? If not lands, what?”
“Let us postpone that discussion, Your Grace, until we have something more worthy to reward than mere thievery,” Rondal suggested. “Indeed, if there should be any who deserve recognition for this feat, it is your loyal subjects in House Furtius. A young nobleman we know, who risked his life to accomplish our task, and his kin. The son of the man whose letter I bore to you,” he reminded the duke.
“Let us contend with the disaster in Vorone, and then I will be happy to honor these remarkable people,” he declared. “My gods, I owe them – you –”
“You owe us nothing but your grace, Anguin,” Tyndal said, with as much humility as he could muster. “Now, would you like to return immediately to Vorone . . . or would you like to stop by the great hall, first? From what I recall of our examinations, here, they do a delightful breakfast . . . with the palace kitchen in ashes, it may be a while before you are afforded a hot meal again.”
*
*
*
The recovery at Vorone took days, and the toll of the dead rose with each new section uncovered. Carmella sent for her students from Salis Tower to assist with the search, and hundreds of workers poured in from the refugee camps for the promise of a few pennies to clear away the wreckage. A few survivors were discovered, early on, thanks to the help of the magi who scryed the site and directed the effort, but as the day grew older, the hopes toward finding more dimmed.
The dead were carried to the Temple Ward, where they were laid out to be identified and given burial rites before being claimed by their families. When the final tally was taken nearly six hundred bodies were taken from the palace. Among them were many who would be missed. While many of the ministers and officials had been away from the palace, proper, during the attack, there were entire ministries that had been wiped out . . . and the toll amongst the many servants and their families, who mostly lived in the East wing where the attack first occurred, was devastating.
The number of wounded was far higher. Hundreds were burned, some near to death,
Tyndal and Rondal pitched in with the rest of the magi. Minalan worked quickly to organize campaign tents to be erected to cover the dead and wounded, and imported a few key physickers from Sevendor, to lend a hand. Monks and nuns poured out of the abbeys to come give their aid for the wounded, and assist in the burials.
The palace, of course, was almost a total loss. Only the far western end of the place was spared the worst of the damage, and while there were several key offices there, the destruction of the rest of the palace forced many offices to crowd into the undamaged portion, temporarily. Those that were left.
Tyndal didn’t envy Pentandra her job, particularly after losing three of her staff to the dragon, including her maid and her castellan. She looked terribly distraught, as he worked around her and Master Minalan, constantly looking up at the scorched palace and shaking her head, as if she could have predicted a dragon attack. Tyndal counted himself lucky that he’d escaped such a position of responsibility as long as h
e had – he wasn’t sure he could have dealt with the situation with as much grace as Pentandra did.
He still couldn’t figure out what her words to Minalan as the dragon attacked meant: Drink mead. The Spellmonger had many, many problems, Tyndal reflected, and plenty of enemies . . . how was drinking mead supposed to cure that, he wondered? He intended to ask Pentandra about it several times that day, but never found an opportunity.
Largely he was busy as Anguin’s aide, helping gather resources to help in the rescue and recovery process, then helping to stabilize as many of the wounded as he could, with magic. He was lousy at healing, he quickly realized, even with a witchstone. But his work in the field hospital was instructive of just how much he didn’t know about the subject. He vowed to devote more study to it, simply because keeping your friends from dying after battle seemed a useful sort of thing to be able to do.
Rondal, on the other hand, was assisting Taren with dismembering the dragon before it began to rot. Their experience with the beast at Cambrian had demonstrated just how quickly that could happen, if precautions weren’t taken. Spells were cast to prevent decay, and Taren had to use special enchantments to begin separating the massive pieces of the saurian corpse, it was so tough. Indeed, the skin of the wings alone was as tough as flexible steel, able to protect from arrows or even a sword blow, and it was the thinnest skin on the dragon.
The pieces were carefully taken away and allowed to cure, as they came apart. It took five days of steady work and hundreds of workers to get the beast in small enough pieces for the magi to dispose of it . . . though instead of merely dumping it in the river, as many suggested, each foot, wing, leg and bit of torso was stuffed into a hoxter pocket on Taren’s spear. He was eager to bring the corpse back to Greenflower for more study, and eventual use as armoring material.
While workers swarmed over the burnt-out palace like ants, Anguin was attempting to restore what government he could. Many of the offices important to the functioning of the court had ministers who held dependent estates from the coronet. Those he instructed to retire to their estates and re-establish their offices, as quickly as possible. For those lesser officials who lacked those resources, he had them set up their vital functions in tents on the palace grounds or rented halls in town.
Shadowmage: Book Nine Of The Spellmonger Series Page 53
