Falconfar 03-Falconfar

by Ed Greenwood

  "And I doubt that I'd succeed in doing anything to Talyss and Belard beyond letting them know we're watching them."

  "Ah. Very well. I ache to destroy them, but perhaps a better time will arise."

  "Oh, it will." Maera smiled sweetly, and added, "Lyss and Bel want one thing above all else: power. They're in Galathgard right now so as to be properly situated to control whoever rises to rule in Galath."

  "Does not Brorsavar rule?"

  "Until the first dagger finds him, a few days from now. I think even he knows that. Were I him, I'd be butchering nobles right and left, and using wizards to cow the rest into cringing obedience... but he's an old man; I think he's looking for a way to die swiftly and soon, that he can feel truly noble about. Either that, or he's insane or being made so by some wizard no one saw conquer his wits."

  "Complicated intrigues you spell-dabblers embrace, to be sure," Lord Tesmer murmured. "So we let Talyss and Bel sink their claws into the new king of Galath... and then?"

  "Once the struggle for the throne has sorted itself out—the first claimant after Brorsavar falls may be far removed from the ultimately successful one, ere everyone sickens of the slaughter and depart Galathgard—we strike, taking down my traitor brother and sister. Thereby gaining control of Galath and taking our rightful revenge, at one stroke."

  "'Our'?" Lady Tesmer's voice was deceptively mild.

  "Mother, they stole magic and coins from me, too." Maera held up her hand. "One amendment to my words, though. I should have said not 'my traitor brother and sister,' but rather 'these traitors.' I think you'll find your other sons have been even more disloyal, if you look closely. I've noticed a few things, recently, but was more intent on working on my magic than in by thrusting my nose where it wasn't wanted."

  "I'd be surprised if any of my children were not engaged in intrigues in their own interest," Lord Tesmer observed, "but have my thanks, daughter. We shall... look more closely."

  Maera nodded. "I'm surprised the hedge-wizard you hired a while back hasn't reported anything of this to you. I'd be concerned about his loyalties, if I were you."

  "Well, actually, no, dear," her mother said gently. "He's been reporting often and diligently, and we think highly of his performance."

  "Oh?"

  "Yes, dear. He's been watching you."

  Maera snorted, shook her head, and said, "I see."

  "Precisely." And on that note, Lady Tesmer rose demurely, nodded farewell, and strode to her robing room.

  Maera looked at the scrying-window. Belard and Talyss had rolled the arduke's corpse off the bed and were putting it to good use, bloodstains and all. "I take it Mother feels she's seen enough?"

  "It seems that way," said Lord Tesmer, then seemed on the verge of saying something more.

  She looked at him, and he smiled thinly and added, "You can also take two things more, Maera."

  Something in his tone made Maera stiffen and look at him sharply. His gaze, on hers, was as mild as ever, even approving. She waited, crooking an eyebrow when he remained silent.

  That earned her a dry smile.

  "End your scrying," he directed.

  She did so, and he continued, "The first, patient daughter mine, is that your mother and I agree with your views on dealing with Belard and Talyss. We should plan this together, scrying often in the next few days and talking together often."

  Maera bowed her head in acknowledgement and agreement. "And the second?"

  Lord Tesmer rose to stand facing her, open robe swirling and hands clenched into fists. "If this is the first step in a bid to seize Imtowers and become head of the house, dearest Maera," he said quietly and coldly, "be very cautious. You are my favorite. I would hate to have to destroy you."

  He opened his right hand to her then, palm up, and an emerald glow appeared out of nowhere to fill it.

  The radiance was coming from a symbol now visible on his hand. A magical rune.

  Maera stared at it, horror clear on her face for her father to see, but could not stop. It was unmistakable.

  She had come upon this symbol thrice down the years, in the pages of the most secret and powerful of grimoires she'd managed to get glimpses of—but she had never expected to see it aglow with power, on anyone's hand, in Falconfar.

  It was the rune of the long-dead archwizard Lorontar.

  Yes, it's mine, said a cold voice inside her, then. The gloating voice Maera had heard in her head for as long as she could remember, not often but whenever her life depended on knowing something. Something it had always provided.

  Which meant that her inner voice, the thing that Maera Harilda Mehannraer Tesmer had always taken to mean she was truly special, was not the Falcon or a guardian ancestor but the legendary first Lord Archwizard of Falconfar.

  Lorontar, who was not dead, but lived on. Inside her.

  Maera would have cried then, if she'd dared. Would have fainted, or turned and fled, shrieking, if a cold claw hadn't suddenly tightened its grip on her mind, controlling her utterly. Making her stand right where she was, still and silent.

  Greetings, little pawn. Yes, be as grateful as you know how. I kept you alive all these years for this.

  Her father's eyes glowed a piercing, emerald green, a terrible rictus of a smile on his face.

  Maera screamed, long and silently, inside her own head, but heard only echoing, gloating laughter.

  HO, ASKURR! WHAT d'you think?"

  Bracebold was holding up some kind of triple-pronged sword, whose blades appeared removable, although whatever else could be fitted in their place was missing from the rubble.

  Askurr shrugged. "If it were me, I'd put that down very gently and carefully, and run far away from it. If it's not a coin or a gem, I don't want it. Being as this was a wizard's abode, anything else could mean some horrible doom for me, that I might not even notice coming until too late. But that's just me. You suit yourself. One man's refuse is another man's plunder."

  Bracebold scowled. "I was looking for some words to hearten me, not bid me walk away emptyhanded."

  "Then talk to Glorn, or Zorzaerel. They're always eager for treasure and adventure and doing the daring thing, so they'll probably tell you to keep it, carry it off, and find out later what it does. Just remember you'll be learning its purpose the hard way, and don't come crying around my door when you do—if you have anything left to cry with."

  Bracebold growled, flung down the three-armed thing, and strode away across the rubble.

  He was a good nine strides away when it exploded.

  MORL FROWNED DOWN at the man sprawled on the gravel in front of them. "So why did he die, when the other one just fainted?"

  Tethtyn shrugged, and spread his hands. "And I became an expert on this 'Earth' place when, exactly?"

  Mori sighed. "I wanted one we could question." "So heave this one into this metal bin that smells so bad, set fire to it, and let's be gone from here and trying to find another man to question," Tethtyn suggested patiently. "I think I heard him call it a 'dumpster.'"

  Mori gave his fellow wizard a dubious look. "Nothing says 'A wizard did this' as loudly as a body that's been burned to ashes."

  "True, in Falconfar. Yet if they have no wizards here, they'll hardly think the same way about a mysterious killing, will they?'" "Now, now; all we know is that this man hadn't heard of wizards, except in something called 'Diznaekartouns.' Didn't the other one call us kulkists, or something? Sussussaetannik kulkists?"

  "Cultists," Tethtyn corrected, frowning. "Yes, he did. You think that's the local word for wizards?"

  Mori shrugged, spread his hands, and grinned. "And I became an expert on this 'Earth' place when, exactly?"

  "BEHOLD," DAUNTRA SAID gently as they regarded the sprawling encampments. "The stormclouds gather at Galathgard."

  Garfist shrugged. "I care not, if all of them bring sausages."

  Iskarra gave him a sour look. "Sausages you'd not be having, nor the eggs, either, if I hadn't persuaded yon cook to part wi
th them."

  "Persuaded, hey? How soon is he likely to wake up? That crack ye gave him was a good hard one—an' the skillet was sizzling when ye did it, too!"

  Her look a silent question, Iskarra turned to Juskra.

  Who shrugged. "Who knows? I'm no expert on the skulls of strange men. 'Twas me swooping he saw, though; they'll not be looking for Isk."

  "Leaving me free to tackle the next camp kitchen," Iskarra concluded triumphantly. "There seems to be no end to them."

  "There certainly seems to be no end to the nobles, to be sure." Dauntra said darkly. "Gar, are you about finished? I'd like to get gone from here, up onto the castle roof yonder, before too many more of them wake up and happen to notice Aumrarr flapping around. We're none too popular—and I've noticed no shortage of archers serving these nobles, either."

  Garfist thrust all six sausages into his mouth, chewed triumphantly for a moment, then managed to say around them, "Ready. Ye fly, Jusk, an' I'll chew—or is it cuddly little Dauntra's turn to fly me about?" He leered.

  Dauntra rolled her eyes, then gasped in mock breathlessness, "I've a notorious weakness for men with sausages; however did you know?"

  "YOU WORKED FOR him," Zorzaerel said almost accusingly. "You should know where his jewels are!"

  Glorn sighed. "Tell me, bold swordcaptain: how many wizards have you worked for? Have you ever met even one who trusts anyone? Still less, anyone who wears a sword and a dagger, and knows how to use them? He was a glorking Doom of Falconfar, not a lackwit!"

  Zorzaerel sighed, nodded, and waved his hands in exasperation. They were standing in an inner room of Malragard, ankle-deep in the shifting rubble of its fallen ceiling.

  "I just thought it would all be different," he grumbled. "Easier to find, harder to get in. Where are the guardian beasts, the trap—"

  "Youngling," a voice rasped from behind him, "clamp your jaws!"

  Bracebold was wild-haired and blackened from head to toe, the rear of his leathers and armor a scorched ruin. He now limped, or stood still, his customary restlessness gone. His every word was tight with pain.

  "Aye," Gorongor called, from the far side of the room. "Tempt not the Falcon!"

  "As it happens, I agree," Roreld said, from a distant doorway, "but as the last thing I want is for us to end up daggers drawn over any takings, hearken: Tarlund and I have found some gems. A lot of gems. Some of them glowing—and one of them winking like a signal-lantern."

  "Get well away from that one," Glorn snapped, "and take the rest of the gems with you. Three or four chambers away, at least."

  "My thinking too," Roreld agreed, half-grinning at the sudden eagerness with which all the hireswords were now converging on him, "but you may as well see, first."

  They all came, and crowded around, and saw. The winking gem was an angry rose-red and the size of a small man's fist, and in common accord they clawed in the rubble around the other stones—all different, none of them anything like as large; loot from many places, to be sure—until they were sure the room held no more. Then they bore the gems away, using what was left of Eskeln's overleathers as a sack for them. One-and-thirty, in all.

  More than one man looked back at the winking gem, sitting alone now, the rubble cleared away from it for several strides all around. Its inner light pulsed, silently and tirelessly, seeming to watch them.

  No one wanted to stay within sight of it.

  "Back the way we came," Roreld said firmly. "I'm not blundering in deeper when we're all thinking of gems instead of watching for perils. Besides, we know not if anything guards these stones, and will come after us; I'd prefer to fight on ground I know."

  "Well said," Gorongor agreed, amid approving murmurs from the rest. They hastened back out to where they'd camped on the edge of the ruins, sat down in a half-ring facing shattered Malragard, and unfolded the improvised sack to look at the gems again.

  They sighed with satisfaction. They were gazing at enough wealth, properly sold, for them all to retire in idle comfort. So long as they lived to depart the ruins, and got a fair share. The sidelong looks began.

  Roreld saw them and moved to quell that trouble right away, by clapping a gentle arm around Bracebold's shoulders and growling, "This, swordbrothers, is just a start. Yet consider— before we decide whether or not to risk our necks going on busily plundering Malragard—how many wizards may already suspect Malraun has fallen, and be on their way here right now to seek a Doom's magic."

  That turned the narrowed gazes at each other into peerings over shoulders and up into the sky, and the oldest of the warcaptains smiled; deed done.

  "Well," Tarlund said, stepping into the ploy, "if the Dooms are truly all gone—if, I say—then there's Empherel of Skoum, Lyrandurl—he of the golden, scented beard and arm-bangles like a dancing-lass—Roskryn who enspells swords to fight for him, and... ach, 'twon't come to me; that one in Tauren, he who took down Skelt Tower with his spells..."

  "Halavar Dreel," Olondyn supplied rather grimly. "I fought against him once. We were a very small part of an army he destroyed in, well, moments." He shook his head. "Aye, I've fought him—for a few volleys, before we all gained sense enough to run. If I see his face, I'll not be standing my ground to dispute with him, know you!"

  "Dreel of Tauren, aye," Bracebold muttered. "I've heard... things."

  "He took to killing hedge-wizards, didn't he?" Askurr put in, peering closely at the gems and then sitting back hastily, his hands spread wide to show everyone they were empty.

  "So he did, for a time, but he'd have to spend several lifetimes slaying, morn through even, to reap that crop," Eskeln commented. "There are hundreds—thousands—of jacks and lasses in Falconfar who can cast a few spells, and pretend to be able to work more. Enough of them that every noble in Galath who isn't terrified of magic can hire one or two, and be certain of finding others if he fires those he's paying."

  "And all a hedge-wizard would have to do is whisper a hint of strong magic for the taking, to get permission—and swift horses and a strong bodyguard—from glorking near every noble in Galath," Zorzaerel said disgustedly.

  "No," Gorongor disagreed. "Not now. Any other time, I'd agree, but not right now. Not when a Great Court's been called, and every noble of Galath needs to be seen there, to stand loudly loyal at the side of whoever wears the crown when it's done. Nobles don't trust underlings to go hunt down powerful magic behind their backs, when they need them—wizards and bodyguards both—as their shields instead. A mage who comes to plunder Malragard now is a mage whose only master is himself—or who has slipped away to see to this, probably on some other pretext."

  "I'd not want to be anywhere near Galathgard right now," Bracebold muttered.

  Zorzaerel nodded. "Aye! What if some noble decides to fling more coin than any of us will ever see in our lives, and hires one of the real wizards, from across the sea? This Taervellar of the Talons, now, or the wizard-king, Ommaunt Barlaskeir?"

  Glorn nodded, but raised one wagging finger. "Tales have a way of growing in the telling. I wonder, now, just how powerful those two truly are."

  Eskeln shrugged. "Takes cunning and strong spells to stay king for long," he said, eyeing the gems. "Otherwise, those who fear you always move from thinking they'd be safer if they put a blade through you to doing it."

  "Takes real power to sink four ships sailing hard up your behind," Tarlund added, "So I'd say this Taervellar is full coin for their fear of him."

  "I," Roreld said grimly, "fear someone else rather more: Lord Archwizard Lorontar. Whom I have a strong suspicion is not as dead as we all hope him to be."

  TETHTYN ELDURANT SMILED the sort of bright, ruthless smile he'd seen the Lord of Hawksyl use, when politely giving men a choice between obeying him or dying. "Tell us, man! Or—"

  He raised his free hand like a claw, fingers jabbing at the man's face as though casting a spell, and tightened his other hand around the man's throat.

  Mori Ulaskro gave the man a matching smile, over Tethtyn's
shoulder.

  Their captive gargled helplessly. Still maintaining his grin. Tethtyn loosened his grip, so the man could speak.

  "Tell you what? You're a pair of fucking lunatics, you know that? Wh—"

  "If this 'loonatiks' means wizards, yes we are," Tethtyn agreed. "Which means you know quite well what we can do to you. Which in turn means, I trust, that you will give us an answer— the right answer, your best answer, holding nothing back—to our questions. Now, I'll ask again: where is this 'Diznaekartouns,' the fortress that holds Saetannik cultists?"

  The man stared at him, then at Mori. "This is a joke, right? Hidden camera, you'll be showing it on the Internet, all of that?"

  He looked desperately from Mori to Tethtyn, and then back again. Then he twisted and squirmed in a sudden frenzy, and slammed his leg up into Tethtyn's crotch, in the hardest kick the underscribe's inexpensive codpiece had ever endured, and tore his way free.

  Tethtyn flung out one hand to grab the man's shoulder—and found himself clutching a torn scrap of collar as the man sprinted away across the parking lot.

  Mori sighed, raised his hand, and firmly declaimed the words Lorontar's cold voice had whispered in his head.

  The air around the running man erupted in a sudden burst of flame, as severe as it was sudden. Legs ran crazily beneath a writhing, darkening fireball, then collapsed into a rolling mass that settled to the pavement amid greasy smoke.

  Tethtyn and Mori exchanged glances, and then sighs.

  "Do they all want to die?" Tethtyn waved his hands in exasperation. "Is answering questions that hard for them?"

  Mori shrugged, frowned and dropped into a crouch, peering past Tethtyn. The other mage spun around to see the new peril.

  It was one of the warriors in the dark uniforms with the caps, popping up from behind a parked car with a gun aimed at them, held in both hands.

  "Freeze! Police! Get down! Face down on the ground, hands above your head and spread apart!"

  The yelling continued. "I saw that! You killed him! Dealer gone bad on you, huh? Goddamn druggies, think you can—"