Necromancer: Book Ten Of The Spellmonger Series

by Terry Mancour

  I awaited the Prince in my own finery, the garb I’d associated most with my role as Magelord. It was a Sevendori green tunic that was a looser fit than the doublets the courtiers favored, with snowflakes in enchanted thread-of-silver glowing at my neck and sleeves. A darker green mantle, lined with rabbit fur against the cold, kept my neck warm, and the big green emerald around my neck looked just a tad bit too gaudy to be stylish. Which was by intent.

  “Welcome in the name of Briga, the Flame that Burneth Bright, to Sevendor, my Prince!” I called to him across the square, my voice amplified by magic. A crowd of about a thousand was assembled to witness the scene. They burst into cheers.

  Now magical flames danced across the market square and disappeared. Tavard’s device appeared briefly in the sky – a nice touch. Banamor, the Lord Mayor smirked at it, too. I’d assembled all the nobility of the domain to welcome Tavard,

  “How much did that cost?” I whispered to him.

  “If you’re gonna kiss a man’s arse, best to pucker up your best and don’t spare the tip,” he snickered. “A Prince deserves the very best.”

  “I think it’s pretty!” Dara commented. “That’s some impressive work!”

  “Just wait for this next part,” Olmeg the Green said, smugly. “It is sure to win the Prince’s favor.”

  “Olmeg, you, too?” I asked, shocked. He was not a man who usually indulged in such pettiness as political favors.

  “I’m in it for the herbs,” he shrugged. “Besides, this was inspired. In Briga’s honor,” he said, with a hint more reverence that I suspected. Olmeg was not known to be a religious man, but then not all prayer and devotion happens in a temple.

  When the Princess’ carriage entered the square, I saw what he meant. The number of sparks and flames settled down, while from the sky rained thousands of fresh flowers. “The next part,” as Olmeg called it.

  “Briga’s bright bunions, that’s lovely!” I said, as the Prince’s horse was led to the reviewing stand under a rain of roses.

  “Fresh from Remere,” Olmeg confided. “From Planus. He’ll be here, later.”

  I had no doubt. If there was potential commercial gain to be had, you could always count on Planus to be lurking in the background. This display had his touch to it, I realized. Spring flowers came far earlier in the subtropical climes of Remere. Many of them, I discovered later, were from Her Highnesses’ homeland. Planus always pays attention to that sort of detail.

  Princess Armandra was delighted, especially when a huge bouquet in the intricately-woven Remeran style was presented to her, filled with warm Briga’s Cross buns from my brother-in-law’s shop. I’d tutored the girl in the basics of magic, as it was now practiced, and the scope of my profession a few months before, in Castabriel. She was not particularly bright, I’d realized then, even if she seemed to have a good heart and good instincts. Tavard had not wed with intelligence in mind.

  We had to wait for Her Highness and the Prince Heir to disembark from their coaches, servants and attendants in tow before we could proceed. The Duke and Duchess (Moran never far away from the Duke’s elbow) were escorted to the canopy erected at the western end of the square by Sire Cei and Lady Estret, where we waited.

  I’ll spare you the ceremonious greeting that followed, save that it involved a warm welcome, an assurance of loyalty and fealty, the blessing of the High Priestess of the Temple and the other clergy, and a symbolic meal of wine and bread.

  After that, Sire Cei escorted Princess Armandra and her guard to the castle to let her rest at the Spellmonger’s Hall.

  Count Moran and Prince Tavard deigned to join me for a more substantial cup of cheer on the overcast day at a respectable tavern on the market square, across from the temple.

  “It drizzled all the way from Sendaria Port,” he said, shaking out his rich blue mantle. “Can you do nothing about the weather, Spellmonger?”

  “It’s spring, it rains,” I shrugged. “That’s the province of the divine, not the arcane.”

  ‘Yet the two seem to mix freely, here in Sevendor,” Count Moran pointed out, nodding toward the big red-domed temple behind the bakery, where the Everfire lived.

  “Occasionally, the interests of the two realms overlap, my lords,” I pointed out, congenially as Banamor poured a much stronger grade of wine for us. “As do many, in Sevendor.”

  “The Alka Alon,” Tavard said, his eyes narrowing, as he glanced toward the mist-shrouded Lesgaethael. “Their fey tower looms over your land, Spellmonger.”

  “Yet their presence has enriched both our houses,” I pointed out. “And may yet, further. Perhaps we can discuss that future at length, after tomorrow’s rite.”

  “We look forward to it, Baron,” Moran said, with a smile. I didn’t trust it in the slightest. “His Highness has had many novel ideas about magic. The wonder of your domain has sparked many wild tales and songs. I see now that they were understating the matter,” he said, gesturing to a brightly-colored snowstone fountain that was firing bursts of glowing water through the air.

  “These are mere amusements and entertainments, Excellency,” Banamor boasted. “The really good stuff is in the Enchanter’s Ward. Here, my Prince: a sample of one of our newest enchantments, and one that may aid you in your errantry: wear this pin, and you will never drown,” he promised, “though you be in the fiercest tempest. It increases your buoyancy so dramatically that you’ll scarce get wet. And it has fifty breaths of air available, at a kiss and command I’ll teach you.”

  “Really?” Moran asked, interested. “Proof against drowning? That’s remarkable! Is it easy to prepare?”

  “Alas, no,” Banamor said, regretfully. “This prototype is the result of a year’s work by a number of enchanters. If I had to put a cost on it, it would be over a thousand Stags to pay for such a thing. Now that the enchantment has been perfected, perhaps we can get the costs down.”

  “Well, that is disappointing,” Tavard said, frowning.

  “Alas, there are no shortcuts in magic, my lords, else we would use them.” He pinned the elaborate broach, in the shape of the rose-and-sword, on Tavard’s collar, where it seemed to fit his dignity well.

  “Remarkable!” the Prince admitted. “I can no longer drown? Then I could swim to Enultramar and wage war, and damned their coastal defenses!”

  “More like to save your life in an emergency, Your Highness,” Count Moran counseled. “But a handsome gift, nonetheless.”

  “And something for His Little Highness, too,” Banamor continued, sweetly, like a market-day pack trader selling discount eggs, as his assistance brought forth his next present. “A magical cradle that rocks on command. Enchanted to repel vermin and insects, as well. And another command soothes the babe, in his anxious moments, with the softest of harp songs and a soft display of illuminance.”

  He demonstrated by whispering a command, and the sound of a lap harp playing a lullaby began playing, while tiny magelights chased each other overhead.

  “Dear gods!” Tavard said, eyes wide. “This is a wondrous gift!” he said with more emotion than usual.

  I actually felt a little sympathetic for the man, at that point. All new fathers have that that look in their eye for months after a new baby is born – no matter how many servants you have. When your child is fussy and restless, it makes your wife fussy and restless. You can guess where it goes from there.

  “And lastly, something for Her Highness, the beautiful-beyond-compare Princess Armandra,” Banamor said, proudly, as his men brought forth another cask. Within was a beautiful set of four pure white opaque glass goblets. “The finest products from our new potter, Master Gayle, who alone works with the Snowglass,” he said, in an entirely theatrical manner. Moran and Tavard were eating it up like a couple of rustics at the fair for the first time.

  “What do they do?” Tavard asked, his eyes gleaming.

  “My prince, they are enchanted to glow entertainingly when the one who drinks from it enjoys the vintage,” Banamor said,
proudly. “Every color of the rainbow, save red. Should the goblet glow red, then it has detected the presence of one of many poisons used commonly among assassins. When it thus glows, the drinker will not be able to pick it up without sustaining a powerful, but harmless, shock.”

  That made Moran and Tavard give each other a meaningful look.

  “This is a truly royal gift, and one that will bring much peace to my mind,” Tavard said, earnestly. “My lady wife frequently fears conspiracies against her, since she came to court,” he confided, mournfully. “Even from dear family members,” he said, apparently unaware of the irony.

  “But the truth is that the Five Counts of Enultramar would enjoy seeing me tormented by her death as much as they enjoy my dear sister’s imprisonment. I shall make them pay for the temerity of striking the Royal House!” he declared.

  All of his gentlemen cheered. A few Sevendori in the room picked up the cheer, but most just smiled.

  “Perhaps we can discuss the matter further, in my chambers tonight, noble gentlemen,” I said, putting a hand on each of their shoulders and steering them towards the High Priestess of the Temple. “Indeed, I think we have much to discuss, before tomorrow’s rites.

  “Flamemother Diastra is eager to give you a tour of her beautiful new temple, and a private moment of contemplation before the holy Everfire, before you will proceed to the festivities and entertainments. After you check on Her Highness and ensure her comfort, please join me at Spellmonger’s Hall for a private meeting this evening, after matins. No doubt you will want to attend to your private prayers for inspiration, before our discussions.” I tried to keep my voice light, but Moran caught on immediately.

  “Discussions, Baron? That implies a certain transactional nature of the evening,” Moran murmured, indulgently.

  “I don’t see why a religious holiday should preclude a mutually beneficial discussion,” I demurred. “Perhaps even an inspired one.”

  “I’m certain the goddess wouldn’t mind,” Moran concurred.

  I knew for a fact that Briga didn’t really give a damn what happened to the kingdom, or much in human politics in general. She certainly wouldn’t care about some minor feudal agreements. Her vision was more continental in scope.

  While I waited outside the temple for the ducal party, I summoned Banamor, mind-to-mind. His stone was one of the smallest, but it allowed him to use the enchantment.

  Good work, there, Lord Mayor. I think you made a few friends for Sevendor Town.

  For all of Sevendor, Min, he assured me.

  Of course, you just removed the possibility of an accidental drowning at sea, I pointed out.

  And send the Kingdom into a succession crisis? he scoffed. That’s bad for business. Besides, he continued, between you and me, my lord, that may not be the only enchantment laid upon that pin.

  What do you mean?

  I thought it might be helpful to know just where His Highness might be, at any one time. So embedded within the broach a tracking charm. Very difficult to detect. And a tiny but powerful Sympathy stone, in case one wishes to hear what His Highness hears.

  I thought for a moment. You understand that is treason, don’t you?

  That’s for the lawfather to decide, he said, directly, giving me a stare across the square. I’m protecting my interests. Our interests. Knowing what counsel is being given Tavard could be critical for our future.

  Oh, I don’t discount that, I agreed. I just wanted to make sure you understood what you were doing.

  Remind me to tell you about the four poisons that I purposefully did not have added to the goblets’ enchantment, sometime, he replied. It’s insurance, Min. An arrow in the quiver, if we need it.

  So, are you doing this out of loyalty or avarice? I asked. I had to know.

  Why must the two be mutually exclusive? Look, I’ve built something here, under your auspices, and I want to keep it growing without too much interference. You’re a good master to serve. You mostly leave me alone, and you made me rich. I’m not going to get a better deal anywhere, even if I tried to set up independently. So yes, I’m protecting my assets by making strategic decisions without informing you until after the fact. If you want to hang me for treason, that tree over there appears to be vacant.

  Thankfully, this conversation never took place, I agreed. But good work. Now, let’s see if we can bribe this boy prince into submission.

  I’ve warmed him up, Banamor agreed, it’s time for you to take him out for drinks. Make it a good one, Min. I’ll be following up with my wish-list afterward, but that will go better if your negotiations go well.

  That’s why I loved Banamor. He was as corrupt as Sir Cei was noble. But his heart – and his interests – were in the right place.

  While I was discussing potential treason with Banamor, my younger apprentice, Ruderal, sidled quietly up next to me. He waited patiently until I took note of him, expecting he bore some message or other.

  “Master, the man in the dark cloak,” he said, nodding toward where Count Moran was coming out of the Temple after his tour, “he’s twisted. Lying. He . . . he has very dark thoughts.”

  “That I knew the moment I met him, Ruderal.”

  “His darkest came when he came to this land,” Ruderal insisted. “He hates it, for some reason. He means it ill. And all within it.”

  “That’s . . . interesting, lad,” I answered. “And good to know. And the Prince?”

  Ruderal shrugged. “He just looks like any other foppish nobleman to me, Master. He frets about how he appears, his marriage, and fears assassination more than anything. He’s not fond of you, but he fears you a bit. He doesn’t trust many in his counsels, I’d say. Typical stuff,” he dismissed with a shrug.

  “Also good to know,” I agreed. “Keep those keen eyes on them, inform me of any further interesting observations. And have Lesana summoned to serve, tonight. I think I’ll have need of her.”

  “I’ll let her know,” Ruderal nodded. The insightful boy’s special Talent had allowed him to discover my truth-telling sport’s own special Talent, and I had taken him into confidence about her. “And about the seamage . . .” he began, hesitantly.

  “I have given it some thought. If you are convinced the man’s enneagrams are an echo of your own, enough for him to be your father, I shall find him,” I assured. “As soon as this . . . holiday is passed, I will put my best finder on the trail. He will discover where he is.”

  “Thank you, Master,” Ruderal said, relieved. “My mum always said my sire was a seamage, but . . . well, I wasn’t sure until I saw the man. I might even look like him, under all that hair,” he added.

  “If it is important to you, I shall find him,” I promised.

  “I just don’t want to cause any problems,” he confided. “Or . . . I don’t want him to take me away from Sevendor.”

  “That won’t happen,” I said, shaking my head. “Your mother agreed to your apprenticeship, and that’s legally binding. He cannot remove you without kidnapping you, and I would find you if that happened. As would Rondal and Tyndal, who have no small love for you. You are safe, here, in Sevendor,” I vowed. “No one will remove you without my leave.”

  “Thank you, Master,” he said, quietly. “I’ll go tend to that message, now.”

  I sighed as the boy went away. I didn’t have his Talent for observing enneagrams, but I could recognize the look of a burden lifted from the boy’s shoulders. He really had been anxious about the prospect.

  “What a wonder, Spellmonger!” Prince Tavard said, shaking his head as he exited the temple on the arm of the high priestess. “I’ve never seen the like: a column of flame with no fuel. Surely a miracle of the goddess!”

  “And a blessing on all who witness it, from what the clergy say,” I agreed, smiling broadly at the Flamemother, who was smiling back broadly. “Now, if you’d like to retire to Spellmonger’s Hall to refresh yourself, I would be honored to accompany you myself, my lords.” Sir Festaran led my horse out, whil
e the other gentlemen mounted, and the streets were cleared for the procession.

  “So tell me, Minalan,” Moran said, as he rode next to me, “how do you do that trick with the flame?”

  “No trick, my lord, just divine magic. I, myself, do not entirely understand it.”

  “And you are certain that is arises from Briga?”

  “As certain as I am of anything, Count Moran. If the attestations of the clergy are not sufficient, perhaps Briga, Herself, will decide to validate her creative expression.”

  “Well, that would be convenient,” the count said, slyly. “Word is that you have nearly moved mountains to build this lovely mountain estate,” he said, his tone pregnant with meaning. So he knew about the missing mountain.

  “I live to redecorate,” I agreed, nodding toward the New Castle in the distance, behind the old one. “When one has such a delightful place to work with, creating wonders is natural.”

  “It is quite quaint,” he agreed. “And quite prosperous. A credit to its lord,” he nodded toward me.

  “I hire good people,” I shrugged. “People who understand how coin and magic both work.”

  “In regard to the former,” Moran said, quietly, “it is well-known that His Highness seeks to build a fleet to assail Enultramar. And that he’s looking for funding.”

  “Sevendor is a prosperous realm,” I reminded him. “We might be open to a contribution, if circumstances were right.”

  “No doubt we can arrange to find them acceptable,” agreed Moran. “But I must insist that you not meet with the Prince on the matter without my leave.”

  “I would never attempt to deprive His Highness of his most valuable counselors during negotiations,” I agreed.

  “Ah! We’ve moved from discussions to negotiations, now,” Moran said, affably enough. “What would Sevendor seek, in return for its contribution?”

  “Nothing untoward,” I shrugged. “Ducal chartering of our Magical Fair, acceptance to the Wilderhall Fair for our trade delegation – we’re dabbling in wool, now,” I explained, affecting a bit of irritation. “Perhaps chartering our proposed Enchanter’s Guild and Arcane Merchants’ League, to expedite the transfer of vital magical resources without undue taxation . . .”