High Mage: Book Five Of The Spellmonger Series

by Terry Mancour

  “We’ve been preparing for this for over a year,” I countered. “We’d be disappointed if we didn’t at least try.”

  “Then let us not disappoint you,” Sire Koucey said in his rattling voice. “That is all we came to demand. If you wish to defend, we will be obliged to attack. And destroy you utterly.”

  “Not tonight. You do not have the forces here yet to assault the bridge,” Tyndal pointed out, unhelpfully.

  “You have no idea what forces we have at our disposal,” Ralun the Buckler said, mockingly. “Go back behind your river, cowards. The gurvani have shown me true warfare, and by the Old God’s grace I shall give you a lesson in it!” He added something in gurvani, to which the scouts responded by screaming warcries quickly echoed by their mounts.

  “If the formalities are dispensed with, then,” I said, in a bored tone of voice, “then I ask only that you allow us to return behind our lines before you begin your assault.”

  “But of course,” agreed Koucey. “We are not uncivilized. The truce was fairly observed and fairly discharged. You may return to your lines, across your plank, and we will refrain from firing for an additional ten minutes. We would not want it said we attacked you before you were ready to receive us.”

  “Stupid humani preening,” snorted the gurvan in cavalry armor. “Get gone, and prepare to meet our blades!” He showed his fangs in an effort to look fearsome.

  I glanced back over my shoulder at the raging Poros. “Not unless you brought a barrel to ride across on. But good luck with your assault, nonetheless. It is our honor to slaughter you.”

  That brought an amused (if ghastly) chuckle form Koucey and Ralun and the unnamed knight, but only scowls from the gurvani. I guess you had to be human to appreciate it.

  “That . . . went . . . surprisingly well,” Arborn admitted as he led us back across the plank. It was starting to get dark, now, which didn’t make the churning waters any less sinister below my feet. I cast a magelight, even though it might attract sniper fire. I wasn’t about to accidently fall in the river in the moments before a major battle. My pride couldn’t take that.

  “I really didn’t expect it to be much more than that,” I agreed. “Just a formality.”

  “Why warn your foe, though?” Tyndal asked, shaking his head.

  “We weren’t just warning them we’re here,” I pointed out, “we were able to make some determinations about their strategy from how they presented themselves. Whether they’re weak or strong—”

  “Definitely strong,” murmured Rondal, glancing back over his shoulder at the pacing hounds and pawing horses.

  “Whether they will be attacking magically or mundanely—”

  “Looked like both, actually,” Tyndal muttered, to an assenting nod from Lorcus.

  “And whether they might be able to be bought off,” I finished, weakly.

  “No, I did not receive that impression, Sire,” Sire Cei informed me, after a moment’s reflection.

  “No, me neither,” Lorcus agreed. “In fact, they seemed quite resolute.”

  “Determined, even,” agreed Arborn, as he crossed the last bit of distance.

  “Impassioned, perhaps?” offered Terleman.

  “I think we’ve made quite enough observations,” I decided, quietly, as we passed by the crossbowmen reclined behind barricades. “Yes, they’re going to attack. Yes, we’re going to defend. No, they’re not going to cross this bridge,” I added, a little more loudly, so that every man in earshot would hear it clearly.

  We made our way back to the much-larger side of town to a tavern we’d pressed into service as a field headquarters. Luckily, not all of the provisions had been carted away before the transition, and mulled wine was waiting for us when we arrived.

  “How many?” Wenek asked, huddling by the fire with a blanket over his shoulders. The warmage specialized in offensive magics. He was pretty offensive in his own right. Wenek lived for causing pain and suffering, death and dismemberment through artful expressions of magic. One of the many High Magi I’d called into service for this battle.

  “Just a few hundred, for now,” I answered, doffing my mantle. “But thousands more coming. I don’t see much point in them attacking us in force until they do, so we’re probably just looking at skirmishes and sniper fire this evening. But tomorrow, and the next day . . . that’s when that column will arrive in earnest. If they don’t take this place before then, then that army is going to start backing up. Once it’s stopped, we can summon reinforcements to attack them.”

  There were fifty or sixty thousand troops or more downriver from here, feudal levies from Wenshar and Remere under the ostensible command of the Prince Heir, Tavard. They could be summoned at any time, and move swiftly up the river to any of the three bridges that might have need of them.

  I didn’t know much about the future king of Castalshar as a commander in the field, but Tavard was only a few years older than Tyndal, and I barely trusted him to empty my chamberpot. The reserves were there, if we needed them. A big, long, relatively undefended column of goblins standing around patiently waiting for the bridge to open up sounded like a good place for them to go.

  The tavern was warm against the chill, with a fire and food in a kettle, and I honestly didn’t expect there to be a major skirmish that night. While Koucey and the other commanders were here, they wouldn’t do anything decisive until they got reinforcements, too.

  Or so we thought. About an hour after I had settled into a chair by the fire with a pipe and a cup, I got a message from Dranus, mind-to-mind. I’d left my Court Wizard back in the more comfortable and secure quarters at the castle, overseeing the scouting reports for me and scrying for details while I was in the field – just the sort of useful work a court wizard does for his employer. Some of those reports had come back with interesting results.

  There’s some activity from the advanced scouts I thought you’d be interested in. They aren’t advancing in force yet, but they are sending out scouting parties. The interesting thing is, they aren’t focusing on the bridge. They’re heading for the river, away from our defenses, he reported, dutifully. A party of a hundred, mounted on hounds. Mostly priests, he added.

  Priests? I asked. That was interesting. What are they doing? Trying to build a magical bridge? Raising nightsails? That was an unsettling thought. Nightsails would not have any trouble crossing the river. They would just float across, and then the gaseous-looking things – we still weren’t certain if they were spells or creatures, though I favored the latter theory – would play havoc among our defenseless troops. That was a worrisome thought.

  Let’s hope not . . . but that might be it. It takes a while to summon those things, though. I remembered my first encounter with them in the Penumbra last year, where it had taken both me and Azar to defeat just one of the insidious things. If that’s what they’re doing, we should have plenty of time to disrupt them, I think. Where did they set up? That could be telling. We had some warmagi hidden on the north side of the river for just that sort of thing.

  They found a spot along the river near a hillock on the north side. They’re doing . . . something. A ritual. So far the closest we can get is about a quarter mile.

  What kind of something?

  We don’t know. But they’ve set up a camp and built a fire, and our scrying shows an increase in magical energy in the area.

  Dranus, just how many priests?

  Uh . . . sixty? Seventy? Plus guards?

  I thought madly. Sixty or seventy priests was a lot – more than I’d heard of assembled in one place at one time since the war began. It didn’t take near that many to summon a nightsail. No, that didn’t feel like what they were doing. While there was no guarantee that each of them had witchstones, if enough of them did, it was bound to be trouble. Actually, there was no way in which this was not going to be trouble.

  A disturbing thought occurred to me. You think that they’re building a bridge?

  A magical bridge?

 
We’ve done that sort of thing before, I reminded him. They aren’t stupid. Merely unsophisticated.

  Well, we do have contingencies for that, he agreed.

  I’ll handle it, I decided. I’ll contact Terleman. He’s commanding from the bridge. I ended my discussion with Dranus and opened one to my old comrade, who had excelled at running the Magical Corps. Terl really was made for this sort of thing.

  I’ll have a few patrols converge on the spot. And I’ll get a few of our pet Kasari try to get close enough to see what they’re doing. Captain Arborn is with me now.

  Have a full warmagic team assembled, too. I don’t like it when that many gurvani priests go off and be sneaky about it.

  It does sound like a bridge, Terleman admitted, a few moments later. The height of the hill would be perfect from that sort of—bide. I just got a report from the rangers. Two units of gurvani cavalry have ridden to support the encampment.

  Not good, I agreed. They really are up to something. Get that team together. And keep me posted.

  It was frustrating, having to depend on other people like that. I really wanted to ride out there and see it for myself, but I couldn’t do that sort of thing anymore. That’s not what commanders did – they sent other men to do it, and had to patiently wait and rely on other eyes. Power, they called it. I could order men to die and cause battles to happen without even leaving my chair.

  I sighed, debating whether or not to chance a nap. The tavern was quiet, now, as everyone tensely awaited the first vollies of arrows or howls of defiance from the gurvani skirmishers. That’s not to say they weren’t out there – our scouts were reporting more and more arriving every hour from the north. Yet apart from some advanced scouts, they hadn’t tried to occupy Northbridge yet. In fact, they seemed to be avoiding the village altogether. Strange.

  We expected an attack that whole night. By midnight, I was getting very antsy. There were two thousand goblins gathered half a mile downriver from Northbridge. But no rafts, no brave swimmers, no attempts to ford the river by even the most foolhardy goblins. Just this mystical conclave on the banks of the Poros.

  It has to be a bridge, I blurted into Terleman’s mind, shortly after midnight.

  I don’t think so, he countered. I’ve been studying their deployment patterns. If they were building a bridge, I’d expect them to line up perpendicular to the banks. Another legion just arrived, and I expected them to fall in behind the first group. But they’re lining up parallel. That doesn’t make sense.

  I thought for a moment. You’re right, it doesn’t. Unless they’re planning more than one bridge. I don’t like this, Terl.

  Me, either. We don’t have a contingency for that. What should we do?

  Do we have any troops in place to try their defenses?

  Just a few Kasari . The legions are too strong for a cavalry patrol to contest. But the Kasari are all over that area. The problem is Captain Arborn isn’t enthusiastic about using them as combat troops. They can fight – they can fight like demons – but their skill is in their scouting. He keeps insisting that they are not combat troops.

  He’s right, I agreed. No need to lose good men to test a theory. I’ve learned to trust the man’s judgment – I’ve never seen a better scout. Even among the Kasari. Besides, Pentandra is twitterpated over him—

  What? Pentandra? Over Arborn? His mental voice conveyed astonishment.

  Yeah, although that’s privileged information. She just told me a while ago. Strangest thing. Who knew tall, dark, handsome, strong, silent, and virtuous were the keys to her heart?

  That’s terrible! He seems like such a nice guy. Now I feel sorry for the poor bastard. Does he have any idea what he’s in for? If Penny wants him . . .

  Look, don’t tell him, I urged. I want it to be a surprise. And Penny will kill us both slowly if we say anything, I added.

  A fair point, he conceded. Prissy Penny and the scruffy ranger. I won’t be able to look at him with a straight face, now. Thanks.

  I waited an hour and had just decided to grab a nap in a chair next to the fire when Terleman called to me again.

  Min, wake up. Dispatches from the field. Four thousand gurvani light infantry and two thousand hound cavalry have arrived at that damn encampment. I’ve alerted our forces on both sides of the river to be ready for anything.

  So? Have they attacked the bridge?

  They’re still ignoring the bridge. They’re lining up along the river bank. They’ve traded shots with our outposts and sentries, but mostly they’re leaving our side of the river alone. I’m . . . I’m worried, he confessed.

  It’s worrying, I soothed. You have reinforcements in the area?

  About a thousand horse, spread out over six or seven miles. And the rangers. They’re starting to pull back over the river now, though. They’re uneasy.

  Why?

  They can’t tell me. But they feel it. Damn savages.

  Hey! The Kasari are an ancient people! They date their culture from the arrival of humanity from the Void! Not to mention an entirely literate people! Just because they live in sacred groves, practice animal totemism and dress in homespun hempcloth—

  Look, the Kasari are great – perfect rangers, never met better. Decent fellows, every one. It would just be nice to have some actual evidence to base troop movements on, and not just a ‘bad feeling’.

  The Kasari are canny, Terl. Look, I sympathize. I’m confused about this, too. But if they have a bad feeling . . . well, I’m inclined to share it. What in the name of Ishi’s dewy mound are those bastards plotting?

  We won’t be able to fly birds overhead until morning. Scrying is being blocked. If the scouts pull out . . .

  Another anxious hour passed. More goblins arrived to crowd the bank along the northern side of the Poros. Their bows were just able to shoot over the wide river. Ours had better distance. We taught them to keep shy of the bank, but other than that there was little fighting. Terleman called again.

  Our warmagic team is finally in place. Four men. They’re going in now. He told me their names. I knew two of them. Time was when I knew every High Mage by sight. No more. That was a good thing, I reminded myself. All four were outstanding candidates, or else they wouldn’t have been chosen.

  They’re . . . the shamans are preparing a spell, he informed me, twenty minutes later.

  Well I didn’t think they were planning Princess Rardine’s bridal shower! What kind of spell? A bridge of some sort?

  Whatever it is, there’s a lot of energy involved. Report says that even with the irionite on the ground, they’re getting power imported from elsewhere.

  Shereul? Directly?

  It would make sense. Shit, Min. Now I have a really bad feeling about this!

  Is the team in a position to disrupt the spell at all?

  No, he answered after a moment’s silence. The shamans are well-guarded. A whole pack of those godsdamned dogs. And light infantry. Anything they did would get them more attention than they would be comfortable with.

  I don’t blame them, I replied, glad that Terleman wasn’t the sort of commander who saw his men as expendable.

  What about the siege engines? Could a trebuchet reach there?

  I don’t know, Min, and I don’t think – wait. Bide a moment.

  Uh . . . I said into the darkness. Several excruciating moments later, Terleman returned.

  Min, you should put on your armor. You need to get up here.

  I’m still wearing it. To the castle? Why?

  Uh . . . actually, go look at the river. You’re close to it – go look at it. Apparently the priests just . . . attacked it.

  Attacked the river? Not the bridge?

  That’s what the report says. I need you to confirm it. Can you get down there? I need eyes I can trust, and right now I’m getting a lot of shock and confusion.

  I’m on it, I agreed, and reached for Blizzard.

  I ran the length of the road, through two checkpoints, until I got to the base of the broad
stone bridge. Something had changed, I could sense it. There was an awful lot of magic that had just been released. And that had done something else, I knew, although as I ran I could not figure out what.

  I gazed down into the riverbed, suddenly realizing what was missing. The sound of the river moving by. There was . . . nothing.

  I peered down into the Poros. There was no constant twinkle of splashing a river makes, nor the sparkle of starlight from the surface. There was nothing.

  With a sharp and painful horror, I realized what they were doing, now. Something that shredded each and every single one of our well-thought contingency plans. They had, with one spell, rendered our entire defense of Gilmora utterly moot.

  The bastards.

  I headed back to the castle at a dead run.

  Terl, mobilize the troops. Everyone back to the castle. Withdraw from the bridge. Defensive positions. Pull in the patrols. Get everyone off the road. Close up the castle, prepare for siege.

  Ishi’s tits, Min! What the hells is happening? You want me to abandon the bridge?

  The bridge is pointless, now. Get everyone back. Now. I explained why. It only took a single sentence.

  Holy shit, Min, he replied, in awe. How did they . . .?

  Who knows how? They did it! That’s the important thing. All of our plans are in the chamberpot now. You understand what this does to our defense?

  Shit! Yes!

  I’ll be back at the castle in a few minutes. We won’t have long after that. Get someone to use the Mirror to contact the King at Castabriel. Let him know what happened. Even he will be able to see what this means.

  The king? Yes, I suppose he needs to know. He is the one in power.

  Power? I asked, humorlessly chuckling. Power is a joke, my friend. He doesn’t have any more power right now than I do. Shit! Do you realize what this means for our reinforcements?

  Duin’s axe! What should I tell Rard, then?