The Spellmonger Series: Book 02 - Warmage

by Terry Mancour

  But they all had that stunned, tired, shocked expression on their face that you get when your entire life is torn away from you and your future is uncertain. Eventually it turns either into a grim determination or a complete abandonment of rational thought, the animal urge to survive the only thing propelling you forward.

  I pitied them, those poor refugees. But they had gotten away. They were in front of the worst of the invasion, not behind it. I was asked a dozen times along the road to Green Hill where the Duke’s army was, and how far it was to the next village, or begged for food. The most I could do was offer encouragement, that the Duchy would have food and shelter for them when they crossed the big river. I wasn’t sure that was true, but I said it often enough and confidently enough until the word started spreading down the line. Hope will keep you going some times when grim determination runs out.

  We marched in column from dawn to dusk, and lightly encamped on a low hill in the middle of a pasture. No tents – the men slept on the ground in their cloaks, their saddles and weapons ready to go at a moment’s notice. Our night patrols skirmished with a few gurvani – I had had the foresight to use a darkvision spell to allow them to see as well as the goblins, another validation of warmagic for Kaddel – but there wasn’t a serious attack on us. By dawn we were already in the saddle, eating cold rations and moving at more brisk pace as the road took us to up the long slope to Green Hill.

  As our column broke through the treeline into the village, proper, I could see why they named it Green Hill. The old gray stone castle stood at the summit of a gently rising green hill towering a hundred feet over the wooded vales around it. It was pretty, in the distance, and even a bit majestic as we rode to the edge of the village. I was grateful to see the pennant of the Baron of Green Hill flying from its watchspire I was even more grateful to be greeted by a heavily-armed ten-man picket on the road. Green Hill, at least, was still defended.

  The castle itself was a double tower affair, with two baileys in concentric circles around two large square keeps, and small towers dotting the inner wall every seventy feet. It was ideal for keeping your warlike neighbors from conducting a cavalry raid on you in the middle of the night or discouraging a peasant uprising. Less effective for stopping the gurvani legions, perhaps. But it was a big castle, and the Baron of Greenhill, Iron Magonas, had many men under his command and was a fighter of some repute.

  I got the history from one of the Hellriders who’d grown up in the area as we were riding through the village . One of Baron Magonas’ grandsires, Astrus, a poor country knight who distinguished himself at one of the frontier skirmishes with Castal, had been an aide of the fifth Duke of Alshar,. At the time, most of northern Alshar was mere wilderness. Astrus got the fief as a reward, but precious little else. He was instructed to improve his lands or give them back within a year’s time.

  As poor as the fief was at the time, Baron Astrus was an industrious noble. He settled his comrades as knights and yeomen, built a rickety wooden fortress, and then even used his destrier to help clear and plant the land for the few peasants he could lure to the site. At the end of the year, his overlord was impressed at the prosperous little village and extended his rule over the surrounding parcels.

  Eventually his son built the first real castle on the hill, and was invested the Baron of Green Hill soon after. And instead of naming the barony Astrus, which would have been a much better name, Astrus called it after the green hill he planned to build his castle on. His arms were – you guessed it – a green hill under a blue sky with a stylized tower on top.

  Not very imaginative, these Alshari nobles.

  The present Baron of Green Hill was a veteran of the Farisian Campaign, one of the lucky ones who got to go by boat, like gentlemen. Alas, he arrived too late for any real choice loot, and even missed most of the battles, so he returned to his home with his warlike spirit unfulfilled. None of his neighbors would even give him battle, persisting in being reasonable vassals. So he’d been spending the last few years flirting with war with his southern neighbor and looking for an opportunity to distinguish himself. But apart from the occasional tournament or border skirmish, all had been quiet. Not even a dynastic feud had broken out.

  Until now.

  Now the frontiers of Green Hill had been invaded. Goblin scouts had been sighted on the outskirts of the barony, and chased away by the Green Hill knights. But there were larger bands skulking around the shadows and making raids on isolated farmsteads. Peasants and tradespeople on the road had been attacked by small troops of ten or twenty. Most were killed on the spot, their bodies looted and thrown to the side of the road, but some were tortured or mutilated and some just . . . disappeared.

  Baron Magonas hadn’t been idle in the face of all of this. Word of the failures of the nobles in the far west had spread quickly, and he had acted. He had been stowing away supplies, calling his peasantry inside the safety of the outer bailey, and was frantically raising his banners and summoning his vassals to defend Green Hill. Just what any responsible lord would do in defense of his lands. And the three-score goblin heads strung together like grisly beads and hung over the gatehouse at the edge of the village demonstrated that the swords of his knights and men-at-arms had not been idle, either.

  I took a force of twenty Hellriders and rode ahead of our main force, so that I could arrange for their quarters when they arrived. I also took Redshaft, because I’d come to respect the man’s eye and I was growing tired of Kaddel’s company in the saddle. I also took Lady Isily, summoning her by stone from the rear of the column to ride to the front with me.

  She galloped up on her bay mare just moments later, eager to escape the gossip and mindless chatter she’d been forced to endure from the other women in the column: whores, cooks, warwives and seamstresses, some all of them together. Isily was a lady of a noble house, used to refinement and culture from the ancient land of Wenshar – and she was also a highly-trained mage, in addition to her other talents. The least I could do was rescue her from banality.

  “Ride with me,” I commanded her, and she nodded and fell in behind Redshaft, just like that. Pentandra would have argued with me the whole time and ended up doing whatever the hell she wanted. I was starting to appreciate the benefits of Isily. Not the least because she was eager to learn and prove her value to me in the field. “You are a Shadowmage. I might need you to do reconnaissance in the future. Look at the castle and tell me what you see. How would you report it to me, if I asked?”

  I didn’t feel bad testing her. Isily had only had her stone for a few weeks, and was still learning its power. But what I was testing had nothing to do with how much magic she could sling, it had to do with her abilities to observe and interpret.

  “I see two thousand peasants living in huts and tents in the outer yard, their cows and sheep and goats crowded into the far end while they huddle near the gate. Beyond them over a thousand men of war are encamped inside the outer bailey, mostly horse, probably mercenaries, waiting for us to arrive. The castle towers and gates are well-staffed and there is ample provision within, if not ample feed for this many horses. There is yet little sickness within the outer bailey.”

  “The castellan knows his craft,” I nodded. “Continue.”

  “Within the inner bailey are another thousand men, two thirds infantry, one third horse. The Baron’s household and attendant knights, from their banners. And it looks like . . . perhaps as many as five hundred archers, mercenaries? And another five hundred mercenary infantry? And their families,” she added.

  “How long could this many – not including our own force, just this many people – how long could this castle survive a siege?”

  She chewed her lip as she surveyed the grounds, no doubt using magesight and other spells to investigate. “In my opinion, Master, Not more than three months. Perhaps four, if enough fell in battle or to fever to feed the rest. No more than that.”

  “And what would be the easiest way for an enemy to win a siege? What
strategy would you use to win the keep, besides starving them out?”

  She looked around again. “Take the outer gate by stealth and guile,” she said, hesitantly. “Corrupt the guards or kill them silently, and then open the gate. The inner bailey would be quickly closed to you, it is true, but if the troops in the outer bailey were slaughtered, those within would not last three weeks before a breech could be forced. If that.”

  “I’d say four to five, but that’s close,” I admitted. “Pretty good for someone who isn’t a warmage, or been to battle.”

  “I’ve been to the Wenshari Spring Ball, it is not dissimilar. You are gracious, Master,” she said, nodding deferentially.

  “I am not. But you were wrong about something else, too. Goblins are unlikely to try to bribe guards, and the guards are even more unlikely to look the other way while their fellows are slaughtered.”

  “You asked what I would do, Master, not the goblins,” she pointed out, a little defensively.

  “So I did,” I sighed as I showed my pass to the guard at the gatehouse into the inner bailey. I didn’t even have to show him my Warrant. He told us where the Baron could be found, and offered to take our mounts. I had my Hellriders stay there, mounted, and preceded on foot with Redshaft and Isily.

  “I like their taste in decoration,” Redshaft murmured, nodding toward the portcullis gateway into the inner bailey as we crossed under it. There were a few dozen more gurvani heads on spikes there, which cheered me. And the fighting men looked well-trained and well-fed, which was a welcome change to the usual peasant levies who volunteered for army service merely for the chance at food.

  I was passing over the drawbridge between the outer and inner baileys when someone in a cowled cloak snickered.

  “Say, ain’t that the big scary spellmonger the Duke sent to save us?” quipped one, in a thick country accent.

  “He don’ look like much,” another voice spat, derisively. “Needs muscles, y’ask me.”

  I turned to see who was judging me so harshly – and saw Curmor and Mavone, two of my comrade warmagi who had escaped from Boval castle with me. They were part of a trio (I had Astyral probing the southern roads) from wealthy Gilmora, in southwestern Castal, and after three weeks of dust and marching with a bunch of grunts they were a welcome sight. Especially considering just where I had sent them to scout. I howled and swept them both into a big bear hug. I was so thrilled at seeing them alive – and there to help me – that I forgot all about their teasing.

  “So what have you two been doing, while I was off arguing with the Duke?” I asked, as I walked toward the donjon with them, leading my horse.

  “Harassing the foe, mostly,” admitted Curmor, the tallest of the three Gilmorans. Contrary to popular belief, though they looked similar, the Gilmorans weren’t brothers. Only he and Astyral were related – distant cousins. They just liked to work together and shared similar tastes. I’d given each of them a stone at Boval, and they were three of my best warmagi. “We hunt them by day, using magic. When we find a big lot, we notify the local lordlings. They love beating up goblins, it makes them feel manly and superior.”

  “Of course, we miss a band, every now and then,” admitted Mavone, shaking his shaggy head. “We left a band of thirty alone, because we were on the trail of a much larger one. But those thirty sacked the village of Nandine, about seventy miles north of here, and killed every human inside. Over fifty people. Or at least I hope they’re dead. There weren’t any bodies.”

  “So where is the ‘front line’?” I asked. “Last time I heard, there were some heavy forces moving east and south from Farenrose.”

  “You’re about two weeks behind,” nodded Curmor, sadly. “Farenrose fell. The survivors retreated south to Tudry, and some went directly to Vorone. The main goblin host – it’s not organized enough to call an army – is moving on Tudry to join the thousands already near that town.”

  That was grave news – Farenrose was a well-built, stoutly-defended baronial castle northwest of Green Hill. One of the Northwatch fortresses – the line of castles subsidized by the Duchy to keep the tribesmen of the north at bay. I’d done some work for Baron Raskean of Farenrose a few years ago, and I liked the look of his fief. It would have been much more defensible than Green Hill’s older castle.

  “Damn it!” I sighed, angrily. “That’s where I was going to make our stand!”

  “Our stand?” Mavone asked, raising an eyebrow. “Didn’t we make a last stand together, already?”

  “Boval doesn’t count,” I complained. “That was just practice. So if Farenrose fell . . . what’s the next strongest castle in the Alshari Wilderlands?”

  “That’s still reachable?” Mavone asked. “That would be Autumnly. Castle of Count Jendan of Autumnly. Another Warden of the North.”

  “You know him?”

  “Actually, I do,” Mavone admitted. “I worked for him, three years ago. Just got back from the war, and he needed his walls shored up. Then he didn’t want to pay, and I had to threaten to give his daughter some nasty pox before he settled. After I got his respect, we got along fine.”

  Nonpayment was a big issue with most warmagi, of course – after asking you to bend reality to suit their purpose, plenty of country knights or wily barons would try to claim that the work was unnecessary and tried not to pay you. But if you aren’t going to pay your bills, keeping your warmagi in arrearage is generally a bad idea. We aren’t very forgiving.

  “How is the keep disposed?” I asked, unfamiliar with Autumnly.

  “Big donjon, three walls, smaller gatehouse, a few towers on the wall. Bigger than this place by half. Nicer, too,” Curmor said, sniffing. He was always a bit of a snob. Hells, all the Gilmorans were. Gilmora was a rich and fertile land full of regal estates and stately manors, balls and parties. And everyone dressed really well, too, by the way my Gilmorans went about. “About three thousand men-at-arms. Of course, Count Jenden sent almost half of them to Vorone when the Duke called the banners, so it’s not as well-defended as it could be.”

  “Any large bands of furries molesting it?” I asked.

  “There wasn’t as of five days ago,” replied Mavone, shaking his head. “They’re keeping just enough of a presence around it to keep the knights inside.”

  “Hmmm,” I said, thinking about that. “That could be just because they don’t know how to run a proper siege,” I suggested.

  “They seemed to overcome that problem at Boval,” Curmor reminded me. “Maybe they’re just waiting for a proper artillery train from The Big Head In The Sky.”

  “That could be,” I nodded. “Tell me, how many are menacing Tudry?”

  “About five, six thousand,” supplied Mavone. “Another four on the way. Why?”

  “Because they couldn’t take the town with that many. Not really. Even twice that many would have a problem. But they are making it hard for the people to forage, which is what makes me think that they have another motive.”

  “True,” admitted Mavone, who had always been a bit of a specialist when it came to strategy. “They could gather their forces and take Tudry in earnest. The fact that they haven’t does suggest a larger plan.”

  “Let’s get inside and go over a map,” I nodded. “I want to get a better picture of what’s going on. Oh, yes – have either of you contacted Pentandra in the Otherworld?”

  They exchanged glances. “Uh, no, Captain,” Mavone said, guiltily. “We assumed that she was your woman—”

  “Oh, Ishi’s perfect tits!” I moaned. “Pentandra is NOT ‘my woman’ – nor should you ever be afraid to approach her! She does happen to be my . . . call it a steward -- my steward for our organization, which will be a magical order, if we all survive to form it. I want both of you to contact her as soon as practical. She has a spell for you. A spell that could help out in the field.”

  “If you say so, Captain,” Mavone agreed, uneasily. “Between you and me . . . she kind of scares me.”

  “Oh, stop it!” I dism
issed. “Penny’s about the least threatening woman I know, outside the bedroom!”

  “That’s just it, Min,” agreed Curmor, in a low voice. “She doesn’t scare me as a warrior. She scares me as a man. We all saw just what she’s capable of, at Boval.”

  I guess I could see their perspective. Any woman who can have sex continuously for six hours – and appear to enjoy it that much – while a thousand strangers parade past her naked body could be a little intimidating. Enough to frighten most mortal men. Myself included.

  “Fine, she scares you. Tell it to your priest. She scares me too. But get that spell – she’s found a way for mind-to-mind telepathy to work through our stones. I don’t think I need to tell you how important that could be for us, in the field.”

  Both of their eyes were open wide at the news, and they wanted details. I told them Pentandra would answer their questions – right now I needed to meet Baron Magonas and see my men quartered.

  “And just who is this young lady?” Mavone asked, when I walked them both back to the horses. Mavone made a proper formal bow, and took her hand. “Besides the loveliest thing in twenty miles?”

  “She’s a mage, you twit,” Curmor said, casually. “Aren’t you, my lady?”

  “Isily,” she said, introducing herself. “Lady Isily of Brawin.” The ‘lady’ was a courtesy due her noble birth. As a licensed mage she had abandoned her title.

  “And she’s working with me at the moment,” I growled. “So put it back in your britches, won’t you?”