Necromancer: Book Ten Of The Spellmonger Series

by Terry Mancour

  “Oh, there will be children!” Lilastien chuckled quietly to me. “We covered that part! They are both healthy specimens. Their genetics should prove no barrier to offspring. In fact, they should prove quite extraordinary.” She gave Trygg, the goddess of Motherhood, a very human-looking wink. I think Lilastien was drinking a lot, too.

  Almost everyone in the canopy looked relieved at the revelation– everyone but Lady Falawen. All the blood had drained from her face. Sire Ryff looked overwhelmed at the unexpected attention.

  I realized it was my turn. “Sire Ryff and Lady Falawen already stand high in my counsels,” I began. “But proximity to snowstone and the unique nature of this union may well produce magi, as well as warriors, in the line.

  “Should any of their children have sufficient rajira, then they will be apprenticed or enrolled in the study of arcane science, at the barony’s expense.” It wasn’t much – but with the blessings of the gods, the elevation to the councils of princes, and the lavish gifts they’d received, free tuition for any Talented kids was about the best I could do.

  There were other pledges by both human and Alkan lords – it seemed nearly everyone wanted a chance to add their blessings. Afterwards, Herus began blessing everyone in attendance with smooth journeys, while the others added their good wishes. The young Princess, her entire body shaking, presented the infant Heir to the Allmother, herself, and asked for her blessing.

  Trygg looked at the babe thoughtfully, then leaned down and kissed him, whispering a tender blessing in the baby’s ear.

  “He won’t have colic, anymore,” she promised. “He will begin sleeping through the night, now.”

  “Will he be king, goddess?” the Princess asked, pleadingly.

  Trygg was startled by the question. “I am not a goddess of prophecy, my daughter,” she explained, quietly. “I cannot see the future. Only that he will grow into a strong young man, if fate so wills. A strong boy, with no infirmities. A keen eye. A strong arm. A beautiful voice, like his mother,” she smiled.

  “But . . . but you cannot tell me if he will wear a crown?” Armandra asked, frowning.

  “Daughter,” Trygg said, quietly, “I cannot assure that he will be king – ask Luin, if you ever chance to meet my son. My sphere can only tell you that unless fate intervenes he will be well and whole, and that he has my blessing and protection against illness until he becomes a man. There is no higher aspiration for a mother to hold,” she added, looking back at the Princess. A divine glow filled her face, and washed over the trembling consort, and then the rest of the court.

  “Yes, goddess!” the Princess said, overcome with religious awe.

  There was a stir, a kind of moan that emitted from the ladies of the court who were assembled. Trygg’s blessing filled the canopy, and I think every woman there with a lick of maternal instinct was its beneficiary. Even the Tera Alon were affected, I noticed, the bride not the least.

  Indeed, the blessing caused a surge in the interest of the duchess in the Temple of Trygg. The experience resulted in her endowing a new abbey outside of Castabriel at one of her estates, and spending lavish amounts on supporting midwives and orphanages. Two of the ladies of the court were so moved that they took holy orders. Paintings and poems were commissioned of the event.

  At last, the summoning trumpet for the tournament sounded in the distance. That was our signal for starting the procession to the listfield.

  I took the chance (while the clergy were adding their supplemental blessings to the union, rather unnecessarily, after what the seven gods had done, I thought) to sidle up to Herus, who seemed inordinately proud of the occasion.

  “How did . . .?”

  “It took a lot of effort,” he said, proudly, “but I got it done!”

  “You realize . . .?”

  “Of course I do, Minalan,” he said, without looking at me. “Desperate times call for desperate measures.”

  “I didn’t think things were that desperate,” I replied, quietly.

  “Then you obviously don’t understand what in nine hells is going on,” he said, still smiling. “Perhaps it escaped your notice, but the Sea Folk have taken a few hundred tons of snowstone and relieved you of a mountain.”

  “Actually, I sold it to them,” I informed him. That earned me a glance from the god. “Good price, too.”

  “You . . . of course you did,” he said, the mirth leaving his face. “I—”

  “It occurs to me, gentlemen,” Sire Cei said, interrupting the god, “that perhaps this is not the ideal occasion or location for such a discreet subject.” I shot a grateful look at my castellan.

  “The Dragonslayer is correct,” I agreed. “Sire Cei, please escort our guests to the listfield. Inform them I’ll be along shortly. I have some . . . Spellmonger business to conclude. Herus: bring them all to the Everfire. Have the Flamemother vacate the temple for the purpose.”

  “Oh, he’s giving orders to gods, now,” Herus said, rolling his eyes.

  “In Sevendor, that is the Magelord’s prerogative,” Sire Cei said, simply.

  “Fifteen minutes,” I ordered the god, hoarsely. “And make sure Ishi keeps her boobs under control until I get there.”

  The pillar of flame in the center of the temple was gigantic, in the presence of so many divine powers. In its quiet moments, the Everfire was only a plasmatic plume of twenty feet tall or so. If it was “awake”, that could double.

  Now a lance of flame roared twice that or more, piercing through the hole in the white-domed roof of the temple and disappearing into the overcast sky.

  “I know you’re all wondering why I called you here, today,” quipped Herus, as I joined the loose circle of divinities who loitered in the temple sanctuary.

  “Oh, stop it,” dismissed Ishi with an irritated tone.

  “Sorry, couldn’t resist,” the Messenger of the Gods chuckled. “Min, you wanted to say something?”

  “I . . . just what was the purpose of today’s exercise in divine intervention?”

  “Technically, it was merely a divine visitation,” suggested Slagur, helpfully.

  “Just a couple of drinks,” agreed the God of Hospitality. “We didn’t do anything more than a casual blessing.”

  “Oh, that was more than a casual blessing,” Briga said, shaking her head. “That was the combined divine power of seven disparate divinities, soaking into the very essence of those two newlyweds. You do that sort of thing, especially when I’m involved, you can figure that something . . . unexpected is going to happen,” she said, staring at the Everfire. “Especially here!”

  “Oh, I would say it was inspired,” Herus quipped.

  I smiled. I wasn’t feeling cheerful. “Herus, a word? Just some . . . administrative details,” I assured my divine guests.

  The others looked at each other and shrugged, while Herus strolled over to the edge of the circle.

  “What in ninety-nine sadistic hells did you do?” I demanded in a hoarse whisper. “Do you need me to take another journey? Because throwing seven corporeally manifested divinities into the middle of this political cesspit is suddenly inspiring me to take an extended trip to Outer Vore! My liege, my neighbors, my prince, all my vassals, and the highest-ranking delegation of Alka Alon to visit the human realms since Rard’s coronation . . . and you decide to throw half a pantheon into the stew?” I asked, my nostrils flaring.

  “Slow your pace, brother!” Herus snorted, a bit annoyed. “You wanted me to gather allies, so I’ve been gathering. This was the right point in the journey for a little divine visitation, so I took it.”

  “And as the Messenger of the Gods, you couldn’t drop me a godsdamned note before crashing the party?”

  “Your surprise added to the effect,” he dismissed. “Ishi thought it would sell it to the Prince and Princess. You saw the reaction some of them had . . . open disbelief!” he said, as if insulted. “Seven acknowledged gods show up, and those asses think it’s the Spellmonger’s magic show!”

 
; “And now you have half the ducal court on the edge of religious hysterics,” I sighed. “The Princess is bordering on mania, the already-scandalized Alka Alon are further scandalized, the Prince is having an existential crisis—”

  “Hey! Do you have any idea what I just did for the pilgrimages in this town?” Herus demanded, getting just a little too close. “I busted my ass, trudging across the Duchies, trying to round up as many manifest gods as I could for this party. I just missed Falassa, in the Wilderlands, who pops up for a few days as the first shoots appear after the thaw, when I stumbled across Sisu, here, chasing the wolves out of the mountain passes during the full moon.”

  “Who is he?” I asked. “I’ve never heard of him.”

  “Sisu? He’s the patron god of one of the ancient tribes who range north of the Wilderlands. Descendants of some wayward settlement. They hunt, follow the great herds in a semi-migratory pattern, and enjoy a fairly stable existence. Until recently,” he added, darkly.

  “Since the invasion they’ve been fighting goblins. The tribes who follow him have been invoking him to hunt the fell hounds that have been ranging the northeast; that’s how I recruited him. And it wasn’t easy – Sisu is one of those heroic masculine archetype divinities, all woodsy lore and quiet strength. They’re loners,” he sneered. “I had to really get into my Trickster guise to even arrange a conversation. I promised him that he’d have the chance to hunt them all, throughout the summer when it’s difficult for him to manifest. That’s the only way I got him here,” Herus said.

  “What about the other two?” I asked, quietly.

  “Slagur was easy,” Herus conceded. “He manifests every two years to participate in the great gaming tournament in Dikos Artis. I just had to hang around the temple and figure out which one he was. Then I had to convince him that we needed his strategic genius.”

  “Do we?”

  “I haven’t exactly seen any other strategic geniuses wandering around here,” Herus pointed out. “He’s not a hugely popular god, but his cult has persisted since the Early Magocracy. I figured we could use the help.”

  “What about Trygg?”

  “Pentandra,” he supplied. “When she got pregnant, apparently that attracted the Great Mother, over there. She’s been lingering until I could get her here. Thank goodness her manifestations generally are tied to the duration of a pregnancy.”

  “And Couther?”

  “Oh. That was a total accident,” Herus blushed. “I was skulking along the roads in southern Gilmora, and one of my shrines was in horrible repair. Vomit, feces, no firewood, no—it was a mess. I was in the middle of fixing it when I realized I needed a hammer and a couple of nails. I went to a nearby inn to borrow them, and ran into him.”

  “You just . . . ran into the god of hospitality?”

  “He’s the patron of innkeepers,” he reminded me. “It was the place’s first day under new management. The innkeeper invoked him, and apparently it was a slow day in innkeeping. I’m also the god of chance meetings,” he reminded me. “That’s how the divine life works. We had a couple of beers and I recruited him.”

  “What good can he do against the gurvani?”

  “What good can I do against the gurvani?” riposted the god, irritated. “I have no idea, Min. But he can keep the sheets clean and the stew hot for us, while we fight. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to first find other gods actually manifesting, and then convince them to help? I mean, Sisu isn’t even from our pantheon!”

  “I’m not criticizing!” I assured him, hastily. “I’m just incredibly surprised by the sudden and unexpected nature of a major divine manifestation.”

  “I was moving in mysterious ways!” the scrappy little god said, defiantly. “I got them here. We blessed. They’re in agreement with our aims. And they would like you to grant them persistence,” he finished. “It is my opinion that these are all good assets to our makeshift pantheon. And the dangers of making any of them persistent are small,” he added.

  “Barring unforeseen consequences,” I grunted.

  “All life is an unforeseen consequence,” he said, with divine smugness. “You wanna write that down? That one’s quotable!”

  I shook my head in resignation. “Fine. Let’s get this over with. I don’t mind missing the first few rounds of the tournament, but if I’m not there at the end it will be noted.”

  “Sorry that the whims of the gods interceded with your well-made plans,” he snorted. “I’m sure that’s a novel experience.”

  I called the bizarre collection of divine powers together and addressed them, as politely as I could.

  I explained the situation, the dire threat to all of humanity implicit in the dark forces coalescing against us in the West, the suffering of the people of the Wilderlands and Gilmora, the horror of Korbal the Necromancer’s rise and his alliance with Sheruel, the Dead God, the existential crisis that faced both humanity and the Alon, in relation to the Vundel . . . I covered a lot of territory.

  But it was a highly receptive audience. For the most part. Because there is always one . . .

  “May I ask why we’re allowing this mortal to lecture us, thus?” asked Slagur, arrogantly.

  “Because he’s the one with the power,” Ishi stated, flatly. “Only he knows how to use the Alaran stone. Or something like that.”

  “And you allow him to dictate terms to you?” the god of strategy asked, coolly. “Can you not just demand his compliance?”

  “What is your objection?” Herus asked, curious.

  “Only that the divine should not condescend to be directed by mortal whim. I find it unnerving. That is a power that will inevitably be abused,” he projected.

  “Minalan has exercised great wisdom and judgement in his use of the stone,” Briga objected. “We are subjected to human whim all the time,” she reminded him. “Minalan has stood as a representative of humanity, with humanity’s interest in mind. He has the moral strength to stand against divine whim,” she said, glancing at Ishi, “and act with restraint and deliberation.”

  “Of course, you are his patroness,” Ishi pointed out. She hadn’t missed the dig. “You have to say that!”

  “I have been watching Minalan from afar since he became a father,” Trygg interjected.

  “You have?” I asked, startled.

  “Allmother’s prerogative,” she said, with a smug little smile. It looked like my mother’s. “You have a well-developed moral sense that is not confined to your class or profession,” she pronounced. “He has a dedication to fairness and the prosperity of his fellow man. He has used his power to enrich others, not merely aggrandize himself or flatter his own ego.”

  “I am also blessed with great humility,” I added. “All a credit to my mother. Yes, I have the power, Slagur. As a gamesman, you can appreciate that. But it is an advantage I have to use wisely and sparingly. I seek not to bind the will of the gods,” I pointed out, “but to act as a shield between their irresponsible whim and their faithful devotees. My goal is the defeat of those forces which imperil all human life on Callidore. I understand that is supposed to be your job,” I conceded, gesturing to the gods in attendance. “But it appears that the naturally-occurring divine sphere needs a little . . . focus,” I said, as reasonably as I could.

  “One player directing the course of action,” nodded Slagur.

  “Exactly. The goal is to win the contest, not make myself emperor of the world. I have better things to do,” I assured him.

  “Then I concede to submit to your terms for the duration of the conflict,” Slagur nodded. “And pledge myself to the effort.”

  “I look forward to your guidance and assistance,” I promised him. “Anyone else have any questions?”

  “The vermin that infect my vales and forests,” Sisu said, in a heavily-accented growl, “I will persist to fight them, wherever they stain my lands?”

  “That’s the idea,” I nodded. “Wherever they might appear. Hunt them all. Protect the woodlands. Pro
tect your herders and hunters,” I assured him.

  “Some of the Kasari pray to me,” Sisu nodded, sagely. “I will rally them against the foul folk. I will keep the hills and vales pure!”

  “How about you, Couther?” I asked the mild-looking deity. He wore an apron of special significance, I saw, the roof-and-bed sigil of his cult was embroidered on its breast.

  “Me?” he asked, startled. “Herus and I go way back, to the Conquest. Inns and roads,” he pointed out, unnecessarily. “If there’s going to be a war, there’s going to be people travelling and lodging. I can help keep folks fed and comfortable,” he promised. “Persistence would also improve guest services,” he added.

  “A point,” I nodded. “All right, the goddesses of fire, motherhood, and sex; the gods of the hunt, games, travel and hospitality. Against the Dead God and the Demon God. It’s a start,” I said, trying to convince myself.

  “It is a solid foundation,” my patron goddess insisted. “This is no ordinary war. These are no ordinary stakes. Focusing on the fundamentals now will pay larger benefits later, more than if you’d summoned Huin and Orvatas.”

  “I’m not complaining,” I countered. “I’m taking stock. Very well. I guess I’m convening the ad hoc divine persistent pantheon of Sevendor.”

  “Don’t you need the Alaran Stone for that?” Ishi asked.

  “I never let it leave my side,” I said, as I conjured the jewel from its hoxter pocket in my signet ring. “Who’s first?”

  Chapter Fifteen

  The Ambitions Of Gods and Men

  I arrived at the tournament in time for the semi-finals. The Ducal party was just recovering from their divine experience, drinking heavily to soothe their theological questions . . . but I have to admit the action was distracting. The four finalists in the lists were all Riverlord knights, including Sir Festaran.

  I was surprised – I knew the lad could use a lance as well as any country knight. Indeed, the bulk of his education had been devoted to the unique art of riding a horse and holding a stick. But like any art, it required skill and talent, and I hadn’t thought that Sir Festaran had an abundance of either when it came to the joust.