“And what will they say when sixty or seventy thousand goblins suddenly bisect the Great Western Road between Vorone and Wilderhall, eh?” asked Reylan. “Those Alshari will be better put to use as spearmen and such than soup for goblins!”
“How many men, total, do we have at Tudry?” I asked, thinking furiously.
“Between the Tudrymen and your mercenaries, and then the knights from the surrounding baronies, Maybe . . . seven, eight thousand?” suggested Cormaran. “Perhaps as high as ten, if we conscripted more peasant levies. Another fifteen at Vore . . . perhaps as many as twenty or twenty five.”
“So twenty five or thirty thousand, against sixty or seventy thousand goblins,” remarked Taren. “And that’s not even considering the magical side of things.”
“Let me think on this a while,” I said, shaking my head. “I’ll even take the first watch. Everyone else get what sleep you can. I have a feeling that we’re going to have a busy day tomorrow.”
I went off into the back of the old hut where I could think in peace. I even chanced a pipe, and as I stared into the tiny fire and smoked, I could see all of the scenarios playing out in my imagination. Most of them were ugly. In fact, the most helpful of them were ugly.
The first point of business was to inform Mother and the Family about the danger. Then I had to write or dictate a dispatch to the Duke, himself, informing him and asking him . . . to do something. I wasn’t sure what yet. But before any of that, I needed some counsel. I reached out with my mind, the sigil sketched easier than every before, until I felt Penny’s mind from afar.
Min! What are you doing? Are you all right? she thought to me, concerned.
At the moment, I conceded. Got a minute? I just got some disturbing intelligence that you should know about. I spent the next fifteen minutes catching her up on developments: Garkesku, the Umbra, the Penumbralands, Terrorhall, Jannik, and, most importantly, the northern horde. She was properly horrified at all the right places.
So what can I do? I asked simply, when I was done. What can be done?
That’s the question, isn’t it? She replied. It makes a lot of sense, actually. He gets an awful lot for his trouble, too, half a bloody Duchy. Could Vorone stand an attack like that?
Not a chance, from what I have heard. As it is, it’s a lousy place for a fight, and the castle there is more decorative than defensive. But even if we were to get them all back to Tudry, against sixty thousand or more . . . Pen, I can’t let this happen!
I don’t see how you can stop it, Min. How can you stop an army that big?
Magic? I offered, dully.
Get serious, you thick barbarian tool! she scolded. If that bastard takes north Alshar, he’ll be in Castal by next year and in Remere three years after that! That can’t happen! If nothing else it will play havoc with the spring social calendar and I am not having it! So think of something!
But what the hell can I do? I demanded. Die gallantly? How is that going to help? Ishi’s tits, Pen, I’m all on my own out here!
There was a long pause, and then a sigh. Yes, a telepathic sigh. Such a thing exists.
All right, she said finally. I’m on my way.
What? I asked, confused.
Well, obviously we can’t just wave our wands and turn the goblins into turnips, so we’re going to have to figure out another way. And there’s no way you’re going to think of something on your own, you poor thing, you’re way out of your element. And I’m not about to let you go die gallantly and get all the credit for all the hard work that I’ve done! There are too many things at stake for it to be left up to you. So I’m coming in to help. I’ll bring every member of the Order I can, and as many troops as I can, but don’t expect much. Where shall we meet you?
You just head west, I said, after sighing back to her. I’ll head east. We’ll find each other. I suppose I can alert everyone else, too. If there was ever a time where we needed to pool our efforts, this is it.
That’s the spirit, Min! she said, encouragingly. Come on! Pull it together! We faced half a million goblins at Boval, spit in the Dead God’s eye, and lived to tell the tale. One little goblin army? You, me, and our friends? That’s small beer, fella!
Fine, I said, more resolutely than I felt. But I felt better. Maybe if we can all get convene soon enough, well, maybe we can find a spell that can make one swordsman into five. Or something.
There you go, oh Wise Master. Just keep it together until I get there, and then we’ll all pitch in and have this settled by Yule. And in plenty of time for you to see your child born.
So what are you waiting for? I demanded. Don’t you have a dozen traveling bags to pack, Princess? Come on! Hurry up! I’m two feet from death! And you’re sitting on your lazy aristocratic butt—
Min!
All right! I’ll let you get to it. And Pen?
What? She snapped, sharply.
Thank you.
Another psychic sigh. Anything for you. And that’s such a pain in my lazy aristocratic butt I can’t stand it.
I took a moment to get up, check the wards, make sure all of my comrades were safe, check on the horses, take a leak, eat a hunk of cheese, wash it down with a mouthful of travel wine, and then sat back down and closed my eyes again. I had other agents to check in with, especially since this news concerned them and their mission.
Mavone! Are you asleep?
No, Min, he said at last. Just needed to find a quiet corner. I’m at a . . . small celebration. How fare you?
Well enough, I admitted. But there have been some developments. I’ll get into the details next time we meet, but suffice it to say we’ve received some reliable intelligence that suggests that that big horde of sixty or seventy thousand in the north is about to fall on eastern Alshar like an early snowstorm.
Oh my gods!
That’s essentially what I said. It makes sense, though, once you realize why. I sketched enough of Jannik’s story for him to see the reasoning. He was thoroughly horrified.
So what are we going to do?
Have you and Isily been busy?
Well, yes, although we haven’t actually done anything constructive. But we managed to shield the castle and most of the town from the worst of the despair spell. Things have gotten perceptively better. On the other hand, the price of bread just went through the chimney, because the refugees from Vorone are starting to show up . . . hungry. They’re not happy about it. Or you.
Who?
Everyone. The common folk resent having to share their food and pay for the privilege; the refugees are cursing you for making them leave their homes behind and then defeating the goblins, the aristocracy is livid that a Castali force rescued Tudry while they stood three days ride and waited. And Duke Lenguin is outraged that you – a mage and worse, a commoner – have usurped his authority and taken command of Tudry.
He wasn’t using it, I dismissed. He can even have it back, after I’m done with it. Don’t I get any credit for defeating the goblins?
Not from here. In fact, you’re the one who stirred them up in the first place by stealing their witchstones and waking up the Dead God. At least that’s one popular theory in the refugee camps. Oh, except the priesthood, they like you. Your protection of that temple earned you some friends at two of the larger temples in Vorone, which became a political issue when the Hearthmother preached a sermon calling you the Defender of the Gods, and berated Duke Lenguin’s manliness to boot. I think she was trying to shame him into action, but then again I think she’d do just about anything to spite him. They have a long history.
Well, I guess it can’t hurt that the gods are on our side.
For what it’s worth, Mavone said, wryly. Skyfather Vren of Orvatas’ temple, who’s always been seen as a conservative voice within the religious community, has come out in support as well. And Orvatas supposedly carries a lot of weight with the other gods, since he’s the Skyfather, but what that means against the goblins . . . I felt a psychic shrug.
Right.
Well, perhaps they can be of use against the humans, if they can’t help against the gurvani. I need to convince the Duke to lead his troops north to confront the goblins before they get to Vorone. That’s really the only answer. If they make it all the way to Vorone and they try to make a stand there, they’ll sack the place through sheer numbers. But if he can catch them out on the fields north of there, maybe use the cavalry to their best advantage, they can brunt the blow.
But not defeat them, he observed. Not that many.
He wouldn’t be alone, I suggested. We can pull another six or seven thousand from Tudry. Professionals, too, some of them.
That would stretch the battle out longer, he admitted. But I don’t see it changing the outcome.
Me either, I agreed. But I’m working on it. He’d have the Order at his back.
The Order of . . . what, exactly?
We’re working on the name, I promised. For now it’s the Order of Really Nervous Warmagi, after what we’ve just seen. We’ve been to the Umbra, all the way through the shadowlands surrounding it. It’s bad, Mavone. And it’s growing. Worse, the Dead God has started using collaborators and human slaves. I’ll spare you the details, but we’ve taken to calling them the Soulless. They’re branded with the mark of the skull. You can spread that around, if you like. If people aren’t scared enough of goblin attack or the prospect of ending up a sacrifice on some altar, let them know that there are worse things than death.
I don’t think I want to know, now, he said, and I felt the psychic equivalent of a shudder.
You don’t. But you will. And the news keeps getting worse: among his new human lackeys is Garkesku the Mediocre, who’s spilling every misremembered detail of Imperial magic to him. The fool thinks he’s doing himself a favor. But whatever advantages Imperial magic holds over gurvani shamanism, it’s about to fade away.
That’s not good news, Captain, he agreed. But here is some that might be. There’s a peasant brigade that has arisen amongst the refugees outside of town, nearly four thousand strong, and they’re near to rioting outside of the city gate for someone to lead them against the goblins. It’s one step away from a peasant revolt. It’s got a lot of the nobility nervous.
That’s all I need, to be involved in another peasant revolt. So the gods and the worms of the earth are on my side. Great.
Don’t count them out. Among them are a lot of Farisian veterans, and even a few dispossessed knights. They over-ran a caravan from the south two days ago and plundered a shipment of weapons, so now they have a few thousand spears and swords in hand. They spend all day drilling and marching, preparing. They’re getting decent at it, too.
Well, do what you can to keep them putting the pressure on Lenguin. If we’re going to keep that horde from doing its job, we have to get that precious army of his moving north out of Vorone in the next few days – no more than a week or so – or that horde is going to make Tudry look like Grimly Wood.
Where? Never mind. Captain, Isily has been working the court. And she’s good – very good. She does things with light and shadow that I’ve never seen before. She’s got spells for eavesdropping, spells for hearing through walls, spells for—
She’s a shadowmage, that’s what they do, I said impatiently. What has she found out?
That the Alshari court is a mess.
I think that was readily apparent, I said, dryly.
It’s worse than you think. There’s five different factions trying to influence policy, and most of them hate each other so much they refuse to cooperate on anything. Worst of all is this southern baron, Jenerard. He’s extremely wealthy and everyone seems afraid of him. He was named Lord of the Coasts last year, although what he’s doing in Vorone so far away from so much as a dinghy, I have no idea.
He’s after power, not ports. Tell me, have there been any unfortunate accidents around the palace recently?
Now that you mention it, yes, a squire was found dead in the stables a few days ago. And a peasant was discovered stuffed into a root cellar with his throat slit two days after we arrived. Why is that significant?
I’m going to guess that those two ran afoul of our opposition. This Jenerard might be working on behalf of a clandestine criminal organization.
What, like the Iris?
The Iris was the most famous criminal organization in history, because it had its roots in ancient Perwin and had survived the Inundation, the Mage Wars, the Imperial Consolidation, and then the Narasi Invasion, all without apparently ceasing operations one moment. They controlled most of the smuggling and criminal work in Merwin, and had major colonies in Remere and Vore. They had a sophisticated culture of graft, bribery, assassination and other crimes that had at times even affected the course of history.
No one who was in the organization claimed any knowledge of it, and anyone who claimed any knowledge of it wasn’t in the organization. They’d even commissioned ballads about how ruthless and deadly they were, which was the only reason why anyone in Castal or Alshar had ever heard of them. There was even a certain amount of class and elegance associated with them, although I’d been assured by people who’d dealt with them that it was all just propaganda.
Yes, sort of like the Iris, I agreed. They’re called the Rat Crew. They want to be the power behind the throne.
Well, it’s getting kind of crowded back there, he grumbled. Jenerard might be powerful, but he’s no where near the front of the line when it comes to who is controlling His Grace. That position would fall to Count Marcandine, the Lord Marshal; when he isn’t whispering in His Grace’s ear, then Viscountess Threanas has her hand firmly entrenched up His Grace’s fundament. She’s his banker, from one of the coastal cities, and Alshar is in some debt.
That’s interesting, I agreed. Any idea who their intelligence service might be?
Not the head of it, but I think we’ve identified one of his lieutenants, the one who speaks directly to Lenguin. Sir Daranal, the head of the Ducal Palace Guard. And he’s figured out that we’re working for someone else, and he’s very curious to know whom. He doesn’t believe that the Order To Be Named Later is working independently, because, and I quote, “magi aren’t political”. Meanwhile Jenerard is strutting around like he owns the place, intimidating anyone he can, and the whole issue of the goblin invasion is secondary to securing his position at court. Isily has managed to find some damning information on several courtiers, and we’re assembling dossiers on the chance we can use the information as leverage.
Why Mavone! You seem to have a Talent for this sort of thing!
That’s what Isily says, he said, sounding discouraged. Personally, I’d rather be in battle. It’s more honest.
But the food isn’t as good. And you’ll have more battle than you can stomach before Yule. Still, you’ve accomplished a lot more than I’d hoped. I’m going to need you to use every avenue you have to start convincing people that the only reasonable course of action is for Lenguin to ride to intercept that northern horde with every man who can hold a spear. Get the temples behind it, that peasant army, bribe people, threaten people, kiss some noble ass if you have to, but I need every voice within Lenguin’s ears to be screaming that until he listens.
You don’t ask for much, do you? Mavone asked, dryly.
It’s just our survival that depends upon it, I observed. I have confidence in your ability. More, I have confidence in Isily’s abilities.
She’s a sharp one, Captain, he agreed, a trace of reverence coming through the link. I swear she can disappear right in front of you. And she knows just what to listen for in someone else’s conversation. Wherever you found her, I approve of you giving her a stone. And I’m just glad she’s on our side.
I considered letting him in on Castal’s Family Business, but I didn’t see any compelling reason to, so I didn’t. Once you tell a secret, you can’t un-tell it. Expect to hear from me in the next three days. Anything else?
Oh! Yes, Carmella came through, from points south. She was doing research, she
said, and didn’t bother getting in touch with anyone until she needed Pentandra’s help with something. Penny filled her in, and now she’s got a telepathic link, too. She wanted something to do, and she’s not exactly suited for courtly work, so I sent her to scout north, to the west of the Pearwoods.
She was probably the last warmage I wanted doing that – Carmella is adept at a lot of obscure kinds of warmagic, but she wasn’t the stealthy, scouty type. She’s better at building siege engines or scrying for weaknesses in the enemy’s fortifications, that sort of thing. Personally, she was highly intelligent but just didn’t have that social awareness or understanding that makes a person’s company tolerable for more than an hour or so. Plus, she has this kind of barking laugh that’s really grating. Her professional competence and reputation gave her enough respect among her colleagues to overlook her personality, and she’d performed well at Boval Vale. But a scouting mission? What was Mavone thinking?
I wish you’d consulted me, I said, finally.
Should I have? Well, you are the Captain, but I was just trying to do something useful with her. Until there’s a siege going on, she’s pretty useless, otherwise.
You’re probably right, I said, unconvinced. Still, I suppose we need some sort of chain-of-command system in place for that kind of thing. Damn. One more thing.
I ‘heard’ his chuckle through the link. Being the beloved leader not the dream job you thought?
I never thought it would be, I just didn’t know it would be this hard. I’m making mistakes I shouldn’t be. But there is one piece of good news . . . Pentandra is coming west, with some help. She can work on all that organizational stuff while we fight.
That sounds wonderful, Captain, he said, utterly unconvincingly. And just what does Alya have to say about that?
Huh? I grunted in surprise. Why would she . . . oh.
Yes, your ex-girlfriend is coming to visit you on campaign. While your current girlfriend is where . . . ?
The Spellmonger Series: Book 02 - Warmage Page 45
