“Just speak to my new valet?” I asked, bluntly. That startled her. Then her eyes narrowed.
“You are wiser than you appear, Spellmonger,” she said, admiringly.
“That isn’t hard, with my face,” I quipped. “Still, Hamlan came to me just a little too easily, and primed me with just a little too much helpful information for that to have been a coincidence.”
“You are correct,” she nodded. “I had Harrell – who is one of my Sons – suggest it to you. If you had been reluctant, another way would be found.”
“Is Hamlan one of your Sons, too?”
“No, he’s merely a Cousin, although he was a Stepson for a few years. The man is handy with a dagger in the kidneys, by all accounts.”
I instantly wanted to scratch the skin over my own, and suppressed it. “He seems a jolly enough fellow, for a spy.”
“He is quite handy,” she agreed. “And far smarter than he lets on. But he will be absolutely loyal to you—“
“When he is not being absolutely loyal to you,” I finished.
“Is that a problem, Minalan?”
I shrugged again. “I don’t see why. As long as he does his duties as given, we should be able to get along admirably. If you want to spy on me, you’re going to do it anyway. And I can only assume that one of your Children would get your protection and the benefit of your influence. So I guess I’m in.”
“Then it is settled,” she said, resolutely. “You will become one of my Sons, and I will be your new Mother, and between the two of us we will overturn these Bans, fight the goblin foe, and preserve the Duchies.”
“Shall I swear an oath, Your Grace?”
She shook her gray head. “Either you will keep your word and be loyal, or you not and you will die. Once you enter my Family, the only way out is death. Oaths will only bind those who will be bound by them, whatever the priests say about the justice of the divine.”
“Fair enough,” I nodded. “Is there anything further, Your Grace?”
She considered. “Perhaps amuse my ladies with some more of your feats of magic?” she asked. “A private display would help convince them of the powers involved, as I send them about their tasks.”
I bowed. “It would be a pleasure, Your Grace,” I said.
“Then I will retire to my afternoon nap,” she sighed, and yawned. “No doubt I shall see you tonight . . . when my lord husband and General Hartarian will question you.”
“Until then, Your Grace,” I said, handing her off to one of her guardsmen. As I watched her stroll leisurely back into the castle, proper, I realized that while Sago was a ruthless warrior, and Kindine was a political power of mythic proportions, I had probably just met the most dangerous person in the castle.
In the Duchy.
Chapter Nineteen:
The Shadow Looms
Tudry Town, Late Summer
Three days after the Battle of Tudry Commons, there was a pyramid of stacked severed goblin heads just south of the Great Western Road, downwind of the town . . . mostly. I could see it from the room in one of the squat towers of the castle which I’d adopted as a temporary office. The pyramid was covered with carrion birds as thick as fleas on a stray dog, and little fights would break out between them over the choice bits with predictable regularity.
Meanwhile, here in my office, a different kind of carrion bird was trying to find the choice bits of the corpse of Megelin, and was willing to fight about it.
“I’ve told you, more than once, that you aren’t getting those two villages,” I said, evenly. “Fesdarlen has more important things to concern itself with than two empty hamlets.”
“We can find peasants to replace them,” Lord Tondine said, dismissively. “But if no one asserts authority there, then Fesdarlen will have chaos on our frontiers . . .”
“Authority over whom?” I demanded, whirling around to face the lord. “There is no one there who isn’t furry and four feet tall! And the lands aren’t going to get up and walk away. You worry about chaos on your frontier? That stench you smell is but a tithe of what awaits, as I’ve repeatedly said. Yet you and your liege persist in squabbling about who has the right to claim nonexistent rents from empty lands. Look to your own defenses, Tondine,” I warned.
“That is Lord Tondine,” the man reminded me, sourly. “Be certain you don’t forget that.” Clearly it annoyed this noble that a mere commoner was obstructing his master’s plans. It was bad enough I was a mage – but a mage and a commoner both? That offended his dignity.
“You can be certain I won’t,” I replied, darkly. That took him aback, as he realized that he had – yet again – annoyed me. “Now, shall I arrange an escort for you back to your lands?”
“There is the matter of the Temple of Huin, in our northernmost province—”
“It’s not your northernmost province, any more,” I observed. “That temple is Ducal property, now.”
“That is patently unfair,” he began, in his irritating manner, “since we have enjoyed the revenue generated—”
“Do you know what’s unfair?” I interrupted. “That twenty or thirty thousand people had to leave their homes behind in Tudry to flee for their lives, that thousands more perished in the fields outside, hundreds were brutally tortured to death, and to the west entire baronies have disappeared . . . yet you, my lord,” I said, emphasizing the title sarcastically, “are as yet unscathed by battle. Just where were you when the horde was attacking?”
“I had a duty to see to my lord’s interests—” he protested. We both knew that his cowardly ass never left the relative safety of Tudry’s walls. I slammed my fist down on the table in front of me hard enough to interrupt him.
“Your lord’s interests are secondary to the interests of your Duchy,” I muttered darkly, “and tertiary to the interests of the war. Go back to him and explain your failure while you can do so without shackles, Lord Tondine.”
The little cockerel stood defiantly. “Your legal claim to military rule here is shaky, Spellmonger,” he said, bitingly. “That parchment won’t hold up in the Ducal court, before Lenguin himself! It’s signed by a mere functionary, a cowardly lickspittle whose authority is meager, at best! I’ll have you know that my lord is a sword sword-brother of His Grace, and—”
“And when that day comes, I look forward to hearing your robust arguments. Since that day is not today, kindly show yourself the door and do me the favor of getting on your horse and getting the hell out of Tudry. I’ve wasted far more time with you than I have to spare already, and I don’t intend to waste any more. You’ve done your duty. You’ve appealed to the highest authority available. You failed. Don’t compound your failure with a summary execution.”
Tondine didn’t have a good answer for that, so he left without another word. I counted that a favor I owed him.
I had tried to avoid the hazards of being a military governor by delegating authority and responsibility to my men, Azar and Astyral in particular. The former had returned to Castle Megelin and had begun putting the fortress on a permanent war footing. The latter had managed to cobble together an administration out of the ruins of Tudry’s old government – mostly with the help of the guilds who remained – and with the assistance of the City Guard. That left me to handle only those matters too great for their prevue, like irritants such as Tondine.
Indeed, my next interview was with Captain Volerin of the Guard. It was the first time since the battle I had been able to speak with him, since then we’d both been extremely busy afterwards. Ham ushered the big mail-clad man in and then brought us two glasses of wine I was about to ask for, along with a smug smile.
“Captain,” I said, raising my glass in his direction.
“Captain,” he nodded, raising his own. “What shall we drink to?”
“How about . . . our Mother?”
That startled him – startled him far more than I’d expected, actually. He quickly glanced around the small room as if there were a dozen spies hiding under th
e table. Then he eyed me carefully. “If we drink to our Mother,” he said, carefully, “then perhaps you might know where the baby is?”
“She’s safe at the hearth,” I assured him. He relaxed – but he wasn’t off guard in the slightest. “Indeed, Mother is anxious that you haven’t written of late.”
Volerin nodded his big shaggy head. “I barely know how, and I’ve been a bit busy the last few weeks. I hope she will understand.”
“She’s just worried. You know how she is.”
“In any case, I don’t think you would have brought her up if you didn’t have some Family business to attend to.”
“Indeed,” I agreed. “She’s asked that you help this poor Son figure out where the pitfalls are around here. Politically. I know the Family has a presence in council,” I acknowledged with a nod toward him, “but who are the other players?”
“Well, the guildmasters are always a power,” he conceded, “but their interests are fairly straightforward. There is me, and then there is Sir Istabal. He was appointed by the Baron, as was his right, and was a loyal man to him until the end. Now with His Excellency dead, he is adrift. It might not take much to lure his allegiance to the Family.
“But truthfully, the biggest obstacle is the one your man burned to death in council,” he admitted. “The Lord Mayor was a tool of . . . some interests in the south. Mercantile interests. Interests which might oppose the Family business, in some ways.”
“South?” I asked. “South Alshar, or South Castal?”
“South,” he said, simply. “They’re known by a number of different names – the Crew, the Pack, the Dark Shadow of Death, but their symbol is the wharf rat. We call them the Rat Crew, usually. What they call themselves . . . well, we aren’t sure.”
I was intrigued. “So what do they do?”
Volerin shrugged. “Whatever they want. Smuggling, thieving, raiding, looting, piracy – half of the port officials in the Duchies are on their secret pay rolls. It’s rumored that they began as a crew of shipwrecked Farisian pirates a few hundred years ago, back when the western ports weren’t more than fishing villages. They had an island or something, and some treasure, and one of their captains became the first King Rat. They took over the wharfs and the ports to the point where no whore on the coasts can drop to her knees without paying the Crew a toll. They used to be content with such enterprises . . .
“But now their dirty fingers are everywhere. They’re a bloody-handed crew, as well, cutthroats in deed as well as name. They use small, thin knives – Rat’s Whiskers, they’re called. And they don’t mind using them.”
“So how did they come to Tudry?”
“One of the Lord Rats – those are the ‘territorial governors,’ if you like – one of the Lord Rats won an interest in one of the lead mines in some unsavory way. He sent a trusted lieutenant here to oversee it, and to conquer some new territory for their criminal enterprises. Within a few years, the Lord Mayor was living in the purse of the Lord Rat.”
“And Duke Lenguin didn’t do anything about that?”
Volerin made a sour face. “His Grace, as well, is infiltrated by the Crew. His court has several of their agents there, particularly surrounding the Alshari Lord of the Coasts. Almost as many as Mother does. But when your man Azar killed the Lord Mayor, he also killed the biggest opposition to the Family Business in Tudry. I will be happy to inform Mother as much,” he added.
“Good. She’ll be pleased to hear it. I think.” Hard to tell what that woman was really pleased with. If anything. “So how do you rate Captain Astyral as a governor, Volerin?”
“Oh, he’s a fair enough one, that one,” the big man said approvingly. “Seems made for the job. Has a real eye for keeping things moving, finding good people, and seeing past all of the dung that usually piles up around a council meeting. And he’s a warrior too, no doubt about it.”
“Glad you approve. Now, if you ever need to get in touch with me about Family business, you can contact my servant, Hamlan, who showed you in. He’s a cousin of ours.”
Volerin nodded. “I’ll keep that in mind. Now, if I may, Captain, can I ask you what you see in Tudry’s future?”
“I’m assuming you’re asking for a legitimate guess, and not a scrying of the future,” I postulated. “I’d say that Tudry is going to end up as our advanced base against the Dead God. It’s only five days march away from Boval Vale, and it’s the strongest, largest defensible point in the north. I’ll have a few more warmagi arriving to help strengthen it further in a couple of days, as well as prepare for a more long-term defense. But until then, enjoy the light duty. With twenty five thousand residents fewer to patrol, your men should be at ease for a while. Until the soldiers start showing up in earnest.”
“I’ll remind them of that, next time I catch them muttering,” he chuckled. We exchanged a few more pleasantries, and then he went back to his duty.
“Everything well, Master?” Hamlan asked, curiously.
“He’s a loyal Son,” I agreed. “He’s just been preoccupied. He warned me about the Rat Crew, too. That makes Mother’s note a little clearer. And apparently the chief rat was killed in council, so we shouldn’t have many problems with them.”
Hamlan nodded sagely. “The Family has run afoul of the Crew before. Nasty brutes,” he agreed. “I had no idea that they were this far north.”
“Make certain that Mother does, if you don’t mind,” I instructed him. “Including in Duke Lenguin’s court. That should give her something to think about.”
That seemed to disturb Hamlan more than I thought it should. I wondered what he knew about the Crew that I didn’t. I could ask him, if I wanted a lot of vague generalities and useless I made a mental note to investigate the matter further, as my last appointment of the day came in: Master Cormaran.
Cormaran was a magi – technically, he was an enchanter, but he specialized. He was from southern Alshar, but had served as a warmagi all across the Duchies before a wound made him too lame to fight. Instead of retiring to be a spellmonger or look for a teaching position or a court in need of a mage, he had turned his studies to the creation of mageblades and other enchanted weapons.
He could have made a lot more in the east, no doubt – magi in general are thin on the ground in Alshar, and warmagi even less so. But he liked Tudry and it was close by to the iron mines, and there were other reasons, too, he had hinted the last time I’d seen him. That had been at the beginning of the summer, when I was here recruiting mercenaries and needed to get my apprentice Tyndal a proper mageblade. Four short months ago, that is.
Back then he had been semi-retired even from enchanting, and was enjoying a life of leisure. He had worn a comfortable, richly-embroidered robe like a successful merchant. He was in his late fifties, and had boasted a shock of wavy gray hair and a trimmed beard. He kind of reminded me of my father.
Now he had shaved his head and face (though he retained a stripe of a mustache), and his dress made him look far more like the other warmagi I’d known: leather weapon harness festooned with warwands, custom armor, bronze vambraces, hard soled, knee-high boots, a dashing cape, and not one but two matching mageblades crossing his back. I could see the gorgeous, intricately crafted silver pommels peeking over his shoulders when he came in.
“Master Minalan,” he said, bowing formally. His voice was deep and resonant, almost melodious. I stood and returned the courtesy, and invited him to sit.
“What may I do for you today, Master Cormaran?”
“To be frank,” he sighed, “I wanted to know just what I had to do to procure a witchstone. Short of taking one myself,” he added.
“It’s not impossible,” I admitted. “I’ve done it – but the shaman was stupid and I was lucky. But if you did that, you would likely fall prey to the mind of the Dead God.”
His shoulders sagged. “So there is little hope—”
“Oh, I didn’t say that,” I said, shaking my head. “In fact, you could possibly obtain a shard of i
rionite by the simplest expedient possible.”
He looked at me, his head cocked in inquiry. “How?”
I shrugged. “Just ask me.” That made him smile, and then chuckle.
“Master Minalan, may I please beg a shard of irionite from you?” he asked, his voice torn between begging and condescension. I guess he thought I might be teasing him.
“Sure. I’d be happy to. I happen to have four or five that have been cleansed of the Dead God’s taint. The more warmagi that have them in hand, the better.” I sketched out the oaths involved, and explained my reasoning, and he agreed, after some reflection, with the wisdom of the precautions.
“And there is one more thing, before I administer the oath: the Censorate—”
“Yes, I’d heard a rumor of some . . . trouble in Castal, over in Wilderhall.”
“That’s a mild way of viewing it,” I agreed. “I just wanted to remind you that by accepting this stone, you make yourself a target for the Censorate. If you’re a stickler for the Bans—”
He used a sharply-uttered oath that convinced me, without a doubt, that he had spent a lot of time around soldiers. “I despise the Bans,” he said, with an effective curl of his lip. “And considering what we face now . . .”
“My argument, entirely,” I agreed. “Or it would have been, had I gotten that far. Someday I’ll tell you what really went on at that meeting – it was quite exciting. But don’t be surprised if you have someone in a checkered cloak try to arrest you, if you run into one.”
His lip curled into an even more sinister grin. “I would love to see them try,” he said, earnestly. “I’m not twenty-five anymore – I’m not even forty-five, any more – but the man who can best me with a mageblade has yet to be born.” He said it not as a brag, but with the utter confidence of a man who has no doubt that he could back up such a claim with steel. I know I believed him.
“So what do you plan on doing with the shard, once you have it?” I inquired. “You are, of course, free to use it as you will – within reason – but a man of your Talents . . .” I trailed off. An enchanter with irionite could make himself obscenely rich in a very short period of time.
The Spellmonger Series: Book 02 - Warmage Page 35
