Necromancer: Book Ten Of The Spellmonger Series

by Terry Mancour

  “And when to melt an enemy’s castle with sorcery,” Moran observed.

  “Well, the Warbird did attack my lands first,” I pointed out. “I merely responded as any good lord should. With every power at my disposal.”

  “I will be frank, Baron,” Moran said, after peering at me a moment in thought. “I dislike the way that magic has evolved, under the new regime. It is disrupting the social fabric of the realm, at all levels. Magelords conquer with impunity, wizards strut around like burghers, and sorcery abounds. There are rumblings across Castal,” he said, warningly.

  “There are always rumblings across Castal,” I dismissed. “I’m keeping the magi in line. If you see a case where I’m failing, bring it to my attention. I will take care of it.”

  “And who takes care of you, if you get out of line, Baron?” Moran asked, pointedly.

  “The gods,” I shrugged. “You saw them today. Right now, they’re supporting what I’m doing because it is in humanity’s best interest. That may not coincide with the Duchy’s best interests,” I conceded, “but generally if the people are happy, the government has less to worry about. That’s how the gods seem to see it.”

  That shut him up, a bit. Count Moran was as publicly pious as any public figure, though to my knowledge he didn’t favor any particular temple. Getting a ringing endorsement on your administration from the divine really did undercut any earthly argument, especially when you used divine favor to uphold your rule.

  “Yes . . . the gods,” he conceded, quietly. “Her Highness in particular was moved by the visitation,” he added, uncomfortably.

  “That’s the sort of thing that happens in Sevendor, I’m afraid,” I sighed. “It’s a mageland.”

  “As is the barony of Greenflower,” he agreed. “An entire barony under the control of the Arcane Orders.”

  “Because Dunselen and Isily conducted such horrid experiments that much of the domain is no longer fit for human use,” I countered. “When I suspected such terrors, I moved quickly and decisively . . . and suffered accordingly,” I added, darkly.

  “Yes, I heard the news of your wife’s injury,” he said, with formal sympathy. “May the gods see her healed.”

  “The gods have done what they can. It lies to magic to make her whole again. Which means I may have to travel to the ends of Callidore to see it done.”

  “What a shame it would be for His Highness to lose the benefit of your counsel, even for a short time,” Moran said, dryly, as I walked him to the door. “But that brings me to another matter. While I concede that you have been more than generous in supporting His Grace, financially, I have heard less enthusiasm for his adventure.”

  “I am a Riverlands baron,” I pointed out. “That puts me at a distance from His Grace’s maritime adventures. If that is how he spends his leisure time, that is his business. Mine is Sevendor.”

  “And Alshar,” Moran countered. “It is whispered that you favored – nay, even arranged! – Anguin’s sudden seizure of Vorone. Your colleague became his Court Wizard, and it is said that you introduced Count Angrial and Count Salgo to that priest who wards the boy.”

  “The Orphan Duke needed to go back to Alshar,” I riposted. “As hostage in Castal he weakened Rard’s claim to rule over three duchies. By reigning in Vorone, the rebel Alshari counts couldn’t very well claim that he was Rard’s prisoner.”

  “It was adeptly done, I agree,” Moran said, nodding his head. “Though to get the Orphan Duke’s palace destroyed suddenly by dragonfire doesn’t exactly inspire confidence in his rule,” Moran chuckled. “But it seems unusual for a loyal vassal of a Castali duke to support an Alshari duke so thoroughly.”

  “I am more than just a baron, Count Moran. I am also a member of the Royal Court. What I did, I did in the interests of His Majesty and the kingdom.”

  “Yes, so you are,” Moran conceded. “Yet that did not extend to you aiding in establishing Rard’s rule over Enultramar and the South, when he asked you to.”

  “Rard has a Minister of War, an army, a navy, and an adept intelligence service. If they cannot do the job, then what is a spellmonger to do?”

  “If you will not aid your king, then would you aid your duke?” he quietly demanded.

  “To conquer another duke’s province? That seems unwise. And opportunistic. No, Count Moran, if there really was something for the nobility to fear from the magelords, then I would be eagerly assisting in hopes of acquiring new lands and new revenue. But I don’t. I’m happiest here in Sevendor. I need no Alshari lands.”

  “Reasoned like a wizard,” Moran said, sarcastically.

  “Occupational hazard. You will be taking your leave in the morning?”

  “At dawn,” Moran agreed. “The Prince rides to Wilderhall.”

  “And he rides thousands of Roses richer for his stay. May his quest in the Castali Wilderlands be as productive. It may well be, after news of the visitation is learned.”

  “It will take many more thousands to enact his plan,” the minister admitted. “Our admirals say that it will take no less than a hundred and fifty ships to make landing with enough force to gain a foothold in Enultramar. We have the troops, but we must pay for scores more of these caravels if we’re to deploy them.”

  “Assuming he does,” I proposed. “What happens when he gets to Falas and learns that his sister is no longer prisoner there?”

  “Things are already in motion,” Moran said, shaking his head. “They cannot be stopped. I expect that when Prince Tavard is hailed as the conqueror of Enultramar, the issue will be forgotten.”

  “And what of the captive princess, in the meantime?”

  “Have you not met the hateful bitch?” Moran asked, in a rare display of candor. “Korbal did us a favor when he removed her from court politics! Now Tavard at least has a chance to assume the throne, one day. With Rardine skulking around that was seriously in doubt.”

  “So you are loyal to the boy?”

  “He’s going to be king, some day,” shrugged Moran. “He’s an idiot, but I served his father with honor, and I will prepare him to rule us all, one day.”

  “With you at his side,” I observed.

  “Someone has to tell him what to think,” Moran murmured, as he passed the guards. “Briga’s blessings on you, Spellmonger.”

  “You, too, Count,” I said, seeing the man to his door. As I walked back to my castle room, I lit my pipe and reflected on our conversation. Moran would be a problem. He didn’t like me. I didn’t particularly like him. And he wasn’t particularly pro-magic, despite everything that I’d shown him.

  I’d have to watch him. He was a piece of work.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Gareth’s Resignation

  The next night we all got drunk.

  Though they started out at dawn, getting the ducal party underway was an all-day affair. A delegation of clerks and lawbrothers lingered to finalize the agreements for signature and seal, and Tavard signed charters and grants for nearly an hour before he took horse.

  Banamor got ducal sponsorship for the Arcane Mercantile Guild, with a motherhouse to be built in Sevendor, and which had access to the Wilderhall Fair. In addition, they got relief from all ducal tariffs and fees while moving goods between chapterhouses.

  The nature of the goods was unspecified in the charter, I noticed.

  Rael’s Enchanter’s Guild likewise gained a charter, though the terms of it were vaguer than Banamor’s. Banamor also got a civil ducal charter for Sevendor Town, granting a number of traditional rights and privileges for his few hundred golden Roses. Money well spent . . . especially when he pointed out those rights included building a non-crenelated wall around the town.

  He hadn’t consulted me about that beforehand, but then Banamor is a crafty mage. Usually a sitting baron is leery of allowing the town nearest his castle to build a wall of any sort – his ability to protect it is the basis of the payment of their taxes. And towns with walls often don’t see any good reason to pay t
axes.

  But I wasn’t worried about that. After the ducal visit, I was certain that the place was in far more danger from other quarters than from an irritated baron. Thick snowstone walls would be insurance against any future threats against the town. I couldn’t care less about the taxes.

  After I saw my vassals leave with the bulk of the ducal party, around luncheon, I retired to my workshop. Then Onranion stopped by, griping about snooty Lord Aeratas and his conservative perspectives on interspecies socializing. I poured him a glass of wine for form’s sake, and had one myself. We were finishing it when Olmeg stopped in on his way home from the Westwood groves. He had a glass to be sociable and brag about the incredible number of new herbs he’d soon have access to.

  Then my brother-in-law, Sagal, stopped to present the bill for the rooms we’d rented for the occasion. I paid him in cash, on the spot, rather than deferring it to Sir Cei in the morning. I had it sitting around, and it’s best to take care of that sort of thing sooner rather than later. Particularly for family.

  But that called for a glass of wine, and before we were done Sister Bemia came in to complain about the week-long vigil she’d had to oversee with a reluctant Tera Alon maiden, and demanded I pour her a glass.

  It was getting a little crowded in there, but I didn’t mind. It was a spontaneous party to celebrate Sevendor surviving a state visit. Even Sire Cei had shown up with a few of his gentlemen to give the party some class. But the emphasis was on drinking, complaining, and crowing, and we needed it.

  At some point, several glasses passed where I stopped counting, I stood on my workbench and addressed my drunken vassals, friends, and colleagues and thanked them for their hard work. I may have said other stuff.

  I awoke near noon the next morning on that same bench, hungover and feeling like death. The place looked like it had been hit with an arcane blast. I stumbled through the Great Hall, which was filled with the smell of sausages and onion mash, and nearly vomited before I got to the door. Then across the courtyard to the recently-vacated Spellmonger’s Hall where my Tal Alon servants were starting to drift back.

  “Bath,” I ordered Sprout, one of the downstairs servants, when I got in. I found the miniature apothecary I kept in the upstairs chamber and started mixing things in a mortar and pestle. A moment later I poured the vile concoction into a cup and added water, before I heated it up with magic. It tastes nastier that way, but it’s far more effective.

  An hour later, after a thorough scrubbing and an opportunity for the medicine to take effect, I didn’t have a trace of headache and I suspected that I might have food again, someday. I don’t drink that much often, but after the stress of the visit, it was good for my spirit. And for the spirits of my retainers. We’d all worked hard to ensure as good a visit as possible, and apparently it was good enough for the god of hospitality, himself. Or one of them.

  I spent the time in the bath getting Pentandra up to speed. She was in a carriage bound for Vorone, to meet with Carmella about the new castle, and delighted in hearing about it all.

  No, I had no idea that the gods were planning that, she said, when I told her about the seven gods in Sevendor. But it makes an odd kind of sense. I’m just glad Prince Tavard was able to be there to witness it.

  Perhaps it does make sense, I conceded, but it also complicates things mightily. I think we’re going to have to go ahead and execute the planned strike against Olum Seheri before summer’s end.

  Tyndal and Rondal are already here, recruiting, Pentandra informed me. They want to use Timberwatch as a training and evaluation area for the Estasi Order. Anguin granted it to them, as long as they also agreed to train some of his men there at the same time. They agree it’s good cover. Timberwatch is remote, and on Alshari territory. Hard for Prince Tavard’s spies to learn about. Or even Grendine’s.

  It is, actually. Smart of them. But I think we’re going to have to set up a planning meeting soon, if we’re going to do this right. At least to arrange for adequate scouting and intelligence.

  Where and when?

  Not here, and not for a few days. We’re recovering. But let’s invite Onranion, Aeratas, Lilastien, and Ithalia, from the Tera Alon. And I’d like to include Taren, Terleman, and yourself, to represent the magi. That should be enough to start.

  You’re forgetting the political side, Min, she reminded me. Before you plan anything, don’t you think it’s wise to ask permission of the duke in whose realm you are about to go adventuring?

  Yes, yes, absolutely right, I sighed. Include Anguin, and whichever counselors he decides to bring. That brings us to where . . .

  May I suggest we do it in Alshar? Not in Vorone, too many eyes around.

  What about Carmella’s place? Anguin’s Tower? She’s got a nice little holding there, for her and her students. Plenty of room for a discrete council of magi.

  And that wouldn’t be an unusual place for Anguin to visit, I agreed. Very well, if you’ll make the arrangements, perhaps some time next week?

  I look forward to it, she agreed. Arborn is out a-ranging in the north to Osbury, so he won’t be there, but I’ll make sure we are adequately secure.

  Thanks. I appreciate it. By then, perhaps Sevendor will have recovered.

  I finally managed to return to a reasonable state of usefulness that afternoon, joining a reception for the three newly-blessed apprentices my brothers-in-law were taking at their shop. I studiously avoided wine, contenting myself with ale and a few of the filling fruit and nut cakes Papa always recommended for hangovers.

  I had a good time, giving the bakers and the flamesisters every bit as much attention as I gave Prince Tavard and company. My dad, in particular, was enjoying his apprentices taking apprentices. He was soaking up all the glory he could, for in a few weeks he and my mother, and about half of the family, would be packing up and moving back to Talry-on-Burine. Mother had enjoyed her exile, with her son the baron, but I could tell she missed home.

  The only person who didn’t seem content with his lot that day was Banamor. I thought he’d be walking on clouds, after the major achievements he’d managed, but when I ran into him on the way back to the castle, his face looked stricken. I found out why quickly enough.

  “Gareth. He just . . . he just quit,” he said, shaking his head.

  “Ishi’s tits! Why?” I demanded.

  “I have no idea,” Banamor said, with a sigh. “But I don’t know how I’m going to run things without him. Gilard and Olven are useful enough, but no one understands how Sevendor runs like Gareth. He just showed up in my office, before I was headed out to dine, and gave his resignation. Both from my house and as Deputy Spellwarden. I asked him why and he said it was personal. Had me pay him out right there, and left. Haven’t seen him since.”

  That was disturbing news. Instead of heading directly back to the castle, I re-routed through town and stopped by the Rat Trap – the ramshackle townhouse that Gareth, Tyndal and Rondal shared.

  It was cold and dark. I questioned the enchanted guard that wandered the place, and learned that Gareth had been and gone. I tried to reach him mind-to-mind.

  Yes, Baron? he asked, when I contacted him. His mental voice sounded strained.

  I just heard that you resigned from Banamor’s service. I was curious as to why.

  I . . . I don’t want to be in Sevendor, anymore, he explained. I’m staying at Taragwen tonight. I’m headed their now, the long way. But after that I’m headed . . . elsewhere.

  Does this have something to do with Dara? I asked, cautiously.

  This has everything to do with Dara, he replied, hotly.

  Do you want to tell me about it?

  I went to see her, after the competition, he said, after a pause. She was speaking to one of her Riders. I proclaimed my strong affections for her, and inquired if they were shared. They were not, he said, sharply.

  Surely, she didn’t spurn you . . .

  She made her feelings clear. She values my friendship, but desires no more
attention from me, regardless of my feelings.

  So . . . you’re just . . . leaving?

  I cannot bear to remain, after that, he confessed. If Dara has no use for my heart when it was freely offered, then leaving my hand extended in friendship is just humiliating. I respect myself more than that, he said, proudly. Even her Rider was disturbed by her response. After all I went through to impress her . . .

  Gareth, are you sure you want to make such an abrupt departure?

  I do, he assured me. I want to get as far away from Sevendor as I can. Faster than a falcon flies. I put my heart in her hands, and she discarded it. I never wish to see her again, he pronounced.

  Whatever she’d said to him, Dara had hurt the boy terribly. I could feel his emotions through the connection, and I didn’t envy him.

  Gareth looks more like the popular caricature of a scrawny wizard than most, even to his preference for the traditional pointed hat. That doesn’t make him particularly attractive to the maidens, at first glance. Nor was he particularly aggressive . . . not when it came to girls. He’d had eyes for Dara for so long that he’d not cultivated other interests.

  That seems severe, Gareth, I said, gently.

  I don’t care, Minalan, he said, with sudden familiarity. Look, I’ve busted my ass for Sevendor. Most of the glamor and enchantment experienced today was my doing, he said, without bragging. I’ve learned a lot doing it. I’m particularly grateful for your guidance, and the opportunities you’ve granted me, he said, earnestly. But . . . I was staying for a girl. A girl I’m not going to get. She was clutching Festaran’s favor the entire time she spoke to me, he said, disgustedly.

  I sighed. There was no easy fix to this.

  Gareth, I can’t change her mind, I said, slowly. But if this is what you have to do, I understand. No man wants to feel like he’s beating his head against a tree if there’s no chance at least a few nuts will fall out. Where do you think you’ll go?