“Gods, it almost looks human,” I swore.
“It is human,” Bendonal agreed. “Well, not biologically – it’s pure gurvani. But they’ve bred a remarkable number of human-like traits into this strain. Aesthetics,” he said with a sniff, “was not one of their constraints.”
“He is ugly,” agreed Azar. “And tough. Usually any of my men can take any goblin, no matter how tough. Sometimes they get lucky, but usually we win the contest. This one, though, killed two of my men before we brought it to bear. It’s tougher. More dense. It’s faster. It’s a hell of a lot stronger.”
“No hair to burn, like we did at Timberwatch,” Bendonal pointed out. “And stature like that . . . this one is five feet, nine inches. Plenty tall enough to ride a horse.”
“If he could find one to bear him,” I pointed out.
“Horsemanship is not going to be our concern,” Azar said, shaking his head. “Gillain Manor was one of several breeding pits we’ve discovered. The priests are using their fell magics to improve the gurvani race . . . improve it to make it far more deadly to the human race.”
“How many were there?”
“In Gillain? A few dozen. But there will be more, many more. They mature quickly, too, from what I can see. This one barely has calluses on its hands and feet. The teeth look like they just broke through. Young, not more than a few years old.”
“They tired of losing every contest with us on the field,” Bendonal concluded, lighting his pipe. “So they built an even better goblin, one that could contend with a man, toe to toe. In a generation, this is what we’ll be fighting.”
“That’s not very encouraging,” I said, shaking my head. “First that horror of darkness—“
“A nightsail, I call it,” Azar said, proudly. “Beastly things.”
“Good name for it. Between the nightsails and this improved goblin, we’ve got problems. The advantages we had, we’re losing . . . and not even magic can make that up.”
“We’re holding,” Azar said, indignantly.
“You’re holding because they have yet to test your strength,” I countered. “Meanwhile they send legions south and march prisoners north, and you have had little effect on that. Raids and quick strikes – good in their place, but hardly decisive.”
“We need more manpower,” Azar declared. “Another thousand knights and I will drive the gurvani back to their dens!”
“Even thrice that number would not be enough,” I countered. “And manpower is needed in Gilmora, which bleeds at Shereul’s invasion. Yet you are not wrong. We need more men here, more trained soldiers. This Iron Ring of Rard’s might be a fool’s dream, but it would help keep the Penumbra contained.”
“You have made that case often enough before,” Azar pointed out. “Why would Rard listen to you now?”
“Because I’m going to dump the body of our little friend, here, at the foot of his throne,” I said, boldly, “and I’m not going to accept a refusal.”
Chapter Sixteen
Wilderhall
I rode into the courts of Wilderhall at the head of twenty-one men. Twenty cavalry troopers Azar insisted accompany me, and Sir Festaran. Alscot had elected to stay at Megelin Castle, now that he had his witchstone, so he could continue to experiment with it where the only ones he’d hurt were goblins. Sir Festaran remained as my aid. The unexpected battle and aftermath had done the boy no harm – indeed, he seemed to carry himself more confidently now – but he had also lost a bit of his provincial charm.
He was still a good traveling companion, though, and the relatively peaceful trek from the Penumbra to northern Castal was a pleasant enough journey at this time of year. Once we crossed the frontier, the war seemed far away. We were passing fully-manned farms, peasants harvesting barley and cows being driven to summer pastures.
The men we traveled with were eager for quiet duty. I discovered that inclusion in the mission was a reward for exceptional service: other than their commander, the men were noncommissioned officers or men-at-arms. Escorting the Spellmonger was seen as a high honor, it seemed. I was flattered, enough to give the men twenty ounces of silver to drink to my health in the quaint taprooms of Wilderhall, when we arrived. I’ve never had a more loyal or cheerful unit at my back.
Wilderhall itself was in the midst of its annual bustle as the court officially arrived for a few months. The palace and the towers had been cleaned and the summer’s entertainments had already been planned, but there still seemed to be no end to the carriages and wains arriving hourly from the south. The King and Queen had arrived only a few days ahead of me, and much of the court was still in transit.
The important officials had already arrived, particularly Count Salgo, the Warlord. He had regained his old offices in the palace complex and was there when I sought him out, before I had even refreshed myself from the journey.
I sought him because I needed his authority to compel a secure storage place for the overlarge gurvani corpse I was carrying. I had preserved it from rot with magic, but it was still frightening and unsightly. I didn’t want word of the development leaking out, not before I could speak to the King about it.
I showed Salgo, of course. The old soldier studied the thing intently, to the point of lighting a pipe and contemplating it. He was immediately aware of the implications.
“There goes much of our natural advantage,” he grunted. “See the teeth? Meat eater. That’s going to be difficult to feed. But pound for pound this looks like a lot more goblin than I’d want to face. As bad as fighting a man.”
“We’re going to need more men,” I pointed out, as delicately as I could. “Not just in Gilmora. The Penumbra garrisons will need to be reinforced. They might be five or six years away from beginning to field these scrugs, but when they do they’re going to give us a rout, if we’re not prepared.”
“What about an attack in Gilmora this summer?” he asked, suddenly.
“It isn’t looking likely,” I admitted. “We saw no sign of preparation for such an attack, and they couldn’t hide that. They were settling in, not moving out.”
“That will give us more time to move men into place,” he agreed, pleased. “And perhaps use them elsewhere, for a time.”
“That sounds ominous,” I observed. “Is there trouble?”
“Along the frontier with the rebellious counties of coastal Alshar,” he nodded. “A few barons thinking they can play both sides in the conflict. A few thousand men and a few raids will sort things out, and we can have the men in garrisons in Gilmora by winter.”
“What about supply?”
“That, thankfully, hasn’t been a problem yet. The harvest has been good in most places, and we’re stockpiling in several castles along the river to keep the troops provisioned. Food isn’t a problem – yet. Either is paying for it. But the king’s largesse will eventually run out,” he warned. “I’ve spoken with the Prime Minister and the Minister of the Treasury. At the current rate we can keep the army in the field about two and a half years.”
“That’s . . . not long enough,” I said, disquieted.
“That’s assuming much,” he explained. “And none of it is firm. But the surplus the treasury enjoys now is not eternal. The Royal Commandos I can keep in the field for longer, but we run out of money for mercenaries and supplies in two years’ time.”
“I’m not about to worry about my pay two years from now,” I chuckled. “I’m dedicated to being around to bitch about it in two years.”
“Just so,” agreed Salgo, with the tiniest of smiles. “Survival’s price is never too high. But moving men and feeding men and arming men costs money, and that money has to come from somewhere.”
“We’ll find a way,” I said, thinking about my mountain of snowstone. I didn’t really want to fund the war effort with it, but . . .
“It’s not goblins – even great goblins, like that fellow you brought in, that concern me. We can kill goblins with men. Dragons –and that nightsail thing you were telling me of, t
hose concern me. I cannot defend a castle against a dragon. For that I need magic.”
“And I need a weapon I can use against them reliably,” I agreed. “It’s on my list.”
“Did you not slay a dragon?”
“I arranged for it to be slain,” I corrected. “It took the combined might of the entire Arcane Orders, as well as a lot of luck and the help of the Alka Alon. Could I do it again? Doubtful. Oh, I’d try – I’d throw everything I could into the endeavor. But would I win? Who knows?”
“Gathering men for defense or attack is pointless, if it merely makes them vulnerable to dragons,” he pointed out, patiently.
“Ishi’s tits, Salgo, I know!” I said, exasperated. “I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeves, but you’re asking for certainty, and I’ve got hope and prayer in my pocket. I’m consulting with the Alka Alon,” I reminded him. “I can do my best, but no, I don’t have a remedy for dragons yet. Or nightsails. Or great goblins. Or traitorous dark magi. I’m doing the best that I can.”
“I was not criticizing, my friend,” he assured me. “Merely laying the problem out for you. I am a soldier, not a king. I do not make demands, I issue requests for personnel and material. And magic.”
“Which sounds suspiciously like the prelude to a request for just that,” I chuckled.
“Indeed,” he nodded. “But a favor you may not mind granting. As you know, I have commissioned and staffed three Royal Commando units. They were designed to fill in where the talents and abilities of a regular feudal levy may be amiss,” he said, diplomatically. In truth the average feudal levy was generally light on both talent and abilities – knights knew how to charge and peasants knew how to retreat. Trained soldiers were few and far between. To seriously prosecute the war, it had been decided, the King needed some stability to add to his part-time forces.
“I’ve got some outstanding men now, thanks to the bonuses we’re paying. We’ve attracted some first-class mercenaries. Excellent officer corps, too. We’ve even got a supply stockpile and quartermaster set up in southern Gilmora. I’m ready to deploy them.”
“Then what is the hold up?” I asked. “That might be the perfect salve to soothe the rape of northern Gilmora.”
“I need magic,” he said, plainly. “I have a dozen good wargmagi, graduates of the war college, enlisted in service. But none of them have witchstones . . . and I have guessed at much of the power of those artifacts,” he said, quietly. “The ability to speak over long distances, for instance.”
“That . . . is supposed to be a secret,” I said.
“I’ve told no one my suspicions. But it is obvious, to the observant. It would be quite helpful if each of my Royal Commando units were so equipped.”
“So you want three new High Warmagi,” I reasoned. “Sworn to King Rard.”
“That is not how I would put it,” Salgo corrected, gently. “I would ask the Arcane Orders for a loan of three warmagi – or more – for the duration of the war. We can treat them as though they were hired mercenaries, as far as command goes – but they would not be sworn to Rard, if that is what you fear.”
“I fear any unintended split allegiances,” I agreed. “If we can run it that way, I have no objections. I have the stones. Send me the candidates and I will administer their oaths and prepare them.”
“Thank you, Minalan,” Salgo said, visibly relieved. “The better-equipped the commandos are, the less-likely we’ll be dependent upon summer soldiers.”
We made the agreement official at the meeting of the War Council, the next morning, convened in part because of my recent return from the Penumbra. There, with just Rard, Salgo, the Prime Minister, and a half-dozen sworn aides, I revealed the great goblin to the court. They were properly aghast. My mumbled point about loaning warmagi to the commandos went virtually unnoticed, even by Rard, so great was his thoughtfulness at seeing the new form of our foe.
But that didn’t stop them from discussing the on-going rape of Gilmora. The newest reports from the region detailed terrible raids on the remaining villages north of the river. Using magic, treachery, and subterfuge, entire hamlets were being swept up by gurvani slavers, herded into pens, chained neck to neck, and eventually marched north, into shadow. There seemed to be little that could be done to combat the raids, save post more vigilant guards, more robust defensive spells, and move people to more secure sites.
The lack of manpower to combat the raids was discussed. There were few rangers in the civilized countryside of Gilmora, and though reports of humans resisting behind the lines were frequent, it was difficult to communicate or coordinate with these irregulars. That left much of what we knew about Gilmora dependent upon the observations of the cavalry patrols that swept its periphery.
“We need more intelligence on the ground,” Salgo said, for the third time that afternoon. “I hate sending in the commando units blind, like that.”
“Then let’s get some,” I finally said, staring at the map. “We can start seeding the area with clandestine refuges and fortifications,” I offered. “If the gurvani are going to give us a gift of time this summer, let us use it. If we insert a number of small units into the countryside, re-occupy a few manors and castles, we can coordinate with the resistance, rescue the slaves, and do some forward observation on our foes. But we’ll need rangers,” I added. “Cannot the Kasari be hired for this? It seems a task ready-made for them.”
“They are creatures of the Wilderlands,” Rard dismissed. “Great hunters and trackers in the wilds, but this is Gilmora—”
“Begging Your Majesty’s pardon, but this is a bit of the Wilderlands that leaked into Gilmora,” I offered. “The Kasari might be a bit out of their element, but I daresay so are we. But they are woodcrafty and cautious, and excellent observers.”
“Good point,” the monarch grudgingly admitted. “I’ll send word to their chief. And you will be able to supply warmagi for support?”
“Several,” I agreed. “They’ll need to learn the countryside anyway, if there is a campaign next spring.”
“The levies from Remere and Wenshar are making their way down-river now,” suggested an aide. “They will be ready to quarter for the winter, if there is sufficient space.”
“Good gods, we will find some,” Salgo swore. “I have fields ready for encampments in Barrowbell, Darkfaller, Gavard, Liston, and other places. I just need the men.”
“You do realize that imposing on my great nobles for troops so early in my reign presents difficulties, do you not?” asked Rard, his eyes looking worried.
“And does His Majesty realize that by mobilizing his great noble’s military, he deprives them of the means of rebelling?” reminded Salgo. Again Rard grunted. He still wasn’t happy about the need.
It was a short meeting.
It wasn’t that Rard and Salgo didn’t get along, or didn’t like each other. The nature of their roles put them in conflict. Rard was a military leader, but he also had a political battle to wage. Salgo had to execute his military duties in spite of politics, and he was loath to take them into account. They both had the best interests of the kingdom at heart, they just didn’t agree on what those were. The differences in position and character put them at odds, not their personalities. They both had power, as I did, but they were both beset by the limitations of that power.
But I was glad that I did not have to contend with that relationship on a daily basis.
* * *
I took the opportunity of being in a delightful town like Wilderhall to do some shopping. As many of the craftsmen and artisans who catered to the nobility in Vorone had fled to Wilderhall, competition was stiff and prices were good. I felt compelled to buy a few small presents while I was there – for Alya, little Min, the baby, Dara, Tyndal, Rondal, my nephew, even a present for Sire Cei’s new son.
Gift-giving is actually a large part of the feudal economy. Whether ostentatious or pragmatic, a lord was expected to be openhanded and generous when it came to his friends, family, vassals and
overlords. Further, there is a decided art to the practice that can gain or lose a man his honorable reputation. I had more money than I knew what to do with, and a long list of people I felt obligated to. Wilderhall provided some unique opportunities for fulfilling that list.
Sir Festaran accompanied me, after we were settled down into spacious quarters in the appropriate Tower. His unique talent for estimation was canny at ferreting out the best bargains in Wilderhall’s luxurious markets. Shoes, tapestries, cloth and books all went on to my account, after getting Festaran’s approval. We must have ordered a wagon’s worth of goods, when we were done, but a great deal of my list was dealt with.
I spent the afternoon inspecting the operation of the Mirror Tower of Wilderhall. The king had ordered that an actual turret along the wall between the inner and outer bailey of the castle be given over to the Arcane Orders, which included the use of a largish hall on the outer side of the wall, proximate to the tower.
The actual Chamber of the Mirror was just a quiet, small room in the upper portion of the tower that held the basin, the enchantment, and a desk for the monitor to write down his messages. Three young magi had been hired by Hartarian, on behalf of the Order, to vigilantly attend the Mirror, take down any messages, and relay any messages given promptly.
They were dedicated, I knew. Each was in training and had aspirations of becoming High Magi someday. Getting paid nine silver pennies for an eight-hour shift of staring into a bowl of water was generous duty. The attendants and the complex were overseen by a middle-aged enchanter, a friend of Hartarian’s named Dejoli, from Wenshar, and he seemed a capable enough man.
In the name of promoting the Arcane Orders I had Hartarian cast a special green magelight to hang over the tower like a looking-glass-shaped beacon. It was a bit gaudy for the refined luxury of Wilderhall, but that was the point. The Arcane Orders were open for business here. The next morning was a market day, and I paid nearly an ounce of silver to have the city urchins spread the news far and wide that any man could pay to have a message sent to the tower of Castabriel or farther. By the end of the day Dejoli had collected fees from two nobles eager to try out the service.
High Mage: Book Five Of The Spellmonger Series Page 30
