I hate to admit it, but that does fit the timing, she sighed. And that makes the good news I have all the better. The Bransei Kasari Council has met and agreed to support the duchy’s coming effort at slave emancipation and rescue.
Really? You’re planning a concerted program?
A grand raid, actually. It was Anguin’s idea, based on the petitions of the Kasari. Indeed, they’ve been agitating for something to be done about the matter for some time – there are more than three hundred Kasari who are believed to be enslaved in the Penumbra. To that end they’ve detailed two troops of scouts and a full company of rangers to the effort. They’re scouting the Penumbra as we speak, picking targets for the strike and laying out routes for retreating slaves. They’re going to establish caches of supplies for them along the way, to keep them from getting slowed down and recaptured.
What about the troops conducting the raid?
That will be the Alshari Third Commando in the south, the Iron Band and the Megelini Knights in the middle, and the Kasari and local forces in the north. We shouldn’t have any problem mustering, as most of them are itching for a fight. Going on the offensive appeals to them. We should be able to hit nine or ten large slave encampments within a single day, she predicted.
We should probably launch our secret expedition within a few days of that, I decided.
That’s what I was thinking, she agreed. Give them enough time to shift troops away from the west and south, leaving the Land of Scars unprotected. Arborn is leading a patrol of rangers and scouts through there, now, to gather intelligence.
She tried to sound casual about it, but I could tell Pentandra was worried about her husband on this mission. Arborn was a master woodsman, the chief of the Kasari Rangers, and as deadly in a fight as anyone I’d ever met.
But after Korbal had harassed Vorone last year, sending powerful undead to challenge Pentandra and her court, she was more fearful about that distant mildewy fortress than she was the thousands of goblins within a few days’ march of her home. I couldn’t blame her.
I’m sure he’ll be fine, Pentandra, I soothed.
Well, he was this morning, she replied, a little irritated. He’s checking in by Mirror every dawn and dusk. If he misses more than two reports, then I send the Wood Owls in after him. And he’s there with Ithalia, she added. If anyone knows that country as well as he does, it’s her. They just made it to the abandoned ranger camp last night. The place is crawling with bandits, gurvani, and squatters. There are undead, too, she added. So far, he can report that Korbal has established a picket outpost in the ruins of an old tower on the southern side of the Poros, a place they destroyed when they froze it. Only about fifty gurvani and a dozen draugen, but it looks like they’re establishing more, from what he said.
How soon until he approaches the city?
At least four days, she sighed, miserably. Four days of the most tortured countryside on Callidore, through hordes of goblins and bandit gangs. I swear, Min, if he doesn’t come back—
He will, I promised. And we need to be ready to act on his intelligence when he does. When can we all meet again?
Actually, the best time would appear to be at the dedication ceremony for Rard’s new palace, she decided. That’s in two weeks, and it’s a high court occasion. We can sneak away for a chat at the Chapterhouse while we’re in town and no one will be wiser.
Right under Tavard’s nose? I asked with a mental snort. Isn’t that bold?
He’s in Wilderhall, and will only be returning briefly for the ceremony, she reminded me. His court will already be out of the city by then. Most of us are going to be there already, so we might as well put an otherwise boring occasion to use. And there’s no more secure place in all of Castabriel, she added, proudly. She should know. For two years she had set up the place, and security had been high on her list of priorities.
True, I agreed. All right, two weeks.
By then, Rondal and Tyndal will have their team selected from the warmagi, Arborn’s scouting report should be back, and we should be nearly ready to muster for the emancipation raid. We’ll have enough information to begin planning the actual mission. Hells, I know Anguin’s ready to go. He’s spending at least four hours a day with his swordmaster and another two in riding. And he hates riding, she added, wryly.
Why is he so dead-set on going? He has men for that.
He’s feeling frustrated at the inactivity. There’s not much for him to do but stand around and wait for his castle to be finished. And there’s renewed talk of retaking the south from the rebels, she added, so this raid gives him something to divert attention to.
He should leave that for his grandchildren, I counselled. He has enough in his bowl right now.
He wants to do something to keep one of the Five Counts on the rebel council from declaring himself Duke. Right now, it looks like the Count of Rhemes is preparing to do just that.
It won’t matter what he does, or what he calls himself. He’s just as isolated as a Duke as he is a Count.
It matters to the Alshari! Pentandra snapped, testily. If the Count of Rhemes declares himself Duke, in two generations Anguin’s line will be an afterthought. But don’t worry, she added, slyly. I’ve dispatched some . . . emissaries to remind the Alshari that their Duke is alive and very much in power in the north.
You’re going to start an insurgency? I asked, amused.
Nothing so banal, she chuckled. Just a symbolic message the meaning of which will be unescapable . . . and make the rebels think twice about doing anything hasty, politically speaking.
I left that sort of thing to Pentandra – she understood politics better than I did, and if she was being subtle and tricky, she’d want the result to be a surprise that she could brag about later. Besides, the last thing I needed was to be entangled in a dynastic war in a duchy I didn’t even live in.
I closed the connection feeling satisfied that my pieces were truly placed. Two weeks would be adequate time to prepare myself, both magically and personally, and with the Magolith I was quite confident I could do both.
But there was one last piece I needed to see to, I knew. I needed to tell my family what I would be doing, and make some preparations on that front, particularly before they left for Talry-on-Burine for good. They were scheduled to leave about the same time I would be in Castabriel, so I thought it would be best to spend some time with them and prepare them for the worst.
The Baker’s Hall looked no worse for wear for having been used as a repository for surplus nobility. But it did look a lot emptier, without the possessions my family had accumulated in the few years they’d been my guests.
Most of their goods had been packed up and some had already been shipped ahead. What was left was just what they would need for the next few days and the journey home.
The two sisters who would be staying with their husbands to run the Sevendor bakery had already moved into town, purchasing (at a very reasonable rate, considering who their brother was) a large lot on which they built a townhouse big enough for both of their growing families.
That would leave the hall depressingly empty, at least for a while, but I didn’t fault my parents for wanting to return home. They’d lived in Talry all their lives, and this was the longest either of them had been away from it. My mother missed her friends, and my father missed his own ovens. Sure, he’d gotten to meet his patron goddess in person, but you cannot replace the comfortable feeling a man has about his livelihood with religious awe.
That didn’t mean they wouldn’t miss me and my kids, too. My mom was spending every moment she could with Minalyan and Almina, and my father had started to take Little Min fishing in the pond with his older cousins. That made him feel like a very big boy.
After taking dinner at my mother’s table, with the usual roar of children and adults competing for attention, my dad and I retired upstairs to the solar he’d turned into his office, while he was there. It, too, was barren, but he’d saved a bottle of local spirits. Unt
axed, I noted. Just because his son was the baron didn’t change Dad’s habits.
“So, you’re going to do it,” he said, simply, before I had a chance to tell him.
“I . . . yes,” I decided. No use equivocating. “It’s my best hope of restoring Alya.”
“And it’s dangerous?”
“The most dangerous,” I corrected. “I’m going into the very lair of our enemy.”
He looked troubled, but he didn’t try to talk me out of it. He poured me another small glass of spirits, instead. “I see you’ve made another magic ball. Will it be enough?”
“We’ll find out,” I shrugged. “There are still many things left to be determined. But I’m hopeful,” I offered. “I’ve been studying the situation since I got back. With the right planning and a whole lot of luck, it’s possible.”
“Then you should do it, then,” he murmured. “Your mother wouldn’t tell you that – believe me. She was beside herself when you went off to war, and when you came back and kept fighting, she was livid. I think she was relieved when you gave up warmagic and went into spellmongery. A mother always thinks of the safety and security of her children, no matter what. No matter what age they are.
“But a father,” he said, waxing philosophically, “A father looks to what kind of people his children turn into. I’m proud of each of my children, and they’ve each blessed me with grandchildren, now – a finer life a man could not wish for,” he assured me, as one of my nieces began to scream like her legs were being sawed off, downstairs.
“Your sisters have all done well for themselves, and done well by their mother and me. And you, son . . . you’ve exceeded expectations,” he chuckled, looking out the window at the town, below. “But as proud as I am of how high in the world you’ve risen, I’m prouder that you are the kind of man who sticks by his vows. You could abandon this fool quest and no one would think less of you,” he pointed out.
“I would,” I insisted.
“Exactly,” he chuckled. “That’s my point. That’s the man I’m proud of. Many can say that they’d go through darkness for their love, but when the day comes, they fail. When you’ve been given every reasonable excuse to avoid the darkness, you plunge in anyway . . . because that’s the man I raised you to be.”
“Would you do such a thing for Mama?” I asked, hesitantly.
“I could say ‘yes’ and mean it,” Dad sighed. “But the fact is, I don’t know. I’d want to try. But somehow I think the mighty Spellmonger is more likely to succeed than the best baker in the Riverlands.”
That was a lot to think about. The validation was certainly helpful and welcome. But at the same time I could tell my father’s pride was tinged by concern he’d never speak of.
I’d gone to war before, I reasoned, but this was the first time I was planning and executing an attack on the foe, not responding defensively. Since the beginning of the war we’d been playing constant defense, as robust as it had been.
Now was the time to do it, I decided. The presence of the gods and the success of the royal visit had given me confidence – perhaps too much. The sale of the mountain had given me resources beyond my wildest dreams. And now I had this powerful artifact, bursting with arcane power and thaumaturgical possibilities.
Now I just had to settle a few matters with the Royal Court, before I began the planning phase in earnest. I had to feel out Rard on the subject and determine whether or not I should involve him or not in an official capacity. A lot of that decision would be based on his mood, which I wouldn’t be able to determine until I met with him at the new palace at Kaunis Estate.
By all accounts he was distraught over the loss of his daughter, but strangely ill-disposed to actively seeking her repatriation. He was being restrained, it was whispered, by the reluctance of the Queen and Princess Armandra. No doubt Tavard’s hatred for his sister had a role to play, too.
But that wasn’t the Rard I knew. While he was a capable administrator and a man of vision, he was also a man of action. He loved his daughter despite her obvious character flaws . . . but then he loved his son, too. Count Kindine, the Prime Minister, had apparently advised cautious optimism and patient waiting for her captors to contact the kingdom to arrange a ransom, but as the weeks went by and none appeared, anxiety was beginning to build in the court.
From everyone but the Prince and Princess. They seemed fine with the captivity.
No matter their reluctance, however, the fact was that Rardine was in a position to aid me in my endeavors. I was appreciative of the irony, of course – she’d tried to kill me, once. I was still sore over that.
But who she was and where she was now gave me the impetus I needed to act in Rard’s absence. And that action would play a role in how I prosecuted my own proposed raid on Olum Seheri. After all, if I told Rard I needed to poke the Necromancer of the Mindens in the eye for a stupid piece of magical rock, he might be reluctant to grant me permission.
Rescuing his daughter, on the other hand, was something he was interested in. He wouldn’t care what else I got into, as long as I brought Rardine back to the palace. At least, that’s what I was counting on.
It was time to take the fight to the foe. To strike against those who had done us so much harm. To punish those who had created so much suffering.
The Spellmonger would go to Olum Seheri. And doom to whichever dark lords got in his way.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The Dedication Of Kaunis
The new palace north of Castabriel was built on one of Rard’s favorite estates, Kaunis Estate, a beautiful and prosperous domain his sires had claimed during the original settlement of the broad and fertile central Riverlands region known as Narasidor. Its close proximity to the capital made it an ideal country home, in ages past. A great deal of Castal’s business was done there when Duke Rard was in power.
But Rard and Grendine wanted to establish a Royal capital with a palace far grander in scope than the castle that dominated Castabriel, and Kaunis was their favorite estate.
I’d never been to the old estate of Kaunis, but from what I understood it had been a beautiful, picturesque hunting lodge in a charming little valley between the rolling hills of the Riverlands. It had originally been a large, simple country hall, modified from its original purpose as a model estate over the years by the generations of Ducal families who’d lived there.
Now it was being dramatically remodeled, with large parts of it torn down for the new palace. The central hall had been expanded into a grand edifice four stories high. They style was distinctively Castali, though there were some Remeran influences here and there, I noted. Two lessor wings depended from the imposing central structure, though the hammers and saws that rang right up to the start of the dedication ceremony demonstrated that they were not yet complete.
The lower entryway was finished, a temple-like portal supported by imposing effigies of Rard’s noble ancestors, starting with King Kamaklavan and Duke Bimin the Bold, and it was a grand display of the sculptor’s art – far more than the greedy old murderers deserved.
The central portion of the upper levels was clearly still under construction, the scaffolding pulled down and hidden away under tarpaulins for the ceremony. There were signs of construction everywhere, despite scores of planters with early-blossoming flowers attempting to obscure them.
I discovered that Rard eventually planned a massive spire rising a further eighty feet or more behind the main hall, as a part of his garden and amusement complex. It was to be gilded and lit brightly enough to be seen for miles. Especially from the walls of Castabriel, six miles away, where it would represent the permanence of royal sovereignty.
That spire was far in the future, without magical assistance. By the number of stakes and flags scattered behind the palace, it was only a quarter complete. Using traditional techniques, and spending a tremendous amount of gold, workmen had toiled on this palace for the last five years – work began before Rard was even officially King. Despite the impress
ive transformation of the core structure, there was still far to go before it was going to be a real center of government.
Most of the original outbuildings to the estate had long been demolished, as the gardeners used the space for a long central ornamental garden that ran the length of the palace compound. The fields and vegetable gardens of the original estate had been replaced with more flags and stakes, with string outlining the grand future Rard envisioned for his capital.
The ring of buildings to house the various ministries were mostly just foundations lining the central garden, at this point, with only the halls for Ministries of Ecclesiastic Affairs, War, and the Royal Treasury complete enough to function.
The Ministry of State had its own mini-complex that would eventually house the entire diplomatic corps, on the south side of the gardens, across from the temple square the architect’s drawings envisioned. Both were currently just mazes of intertwining strings and carefully-placed stakes. They were to be built as soon as the other projects were done . . . and paid for. More than a dozen of the grand edifices still awaited funding, from what I understood.
But the central residential Palace of Kaunis was done . . . or done enough for their very impatient majesties. Done enough to throw a party about it and remind everyone that they were King and Queen.
Queen Grendine pushed for the dedication ceremony to be held as soon in spring as possible, which I knew was about more than flattering her vanity. Nor would it concern Princess Rardine’s captivity (which was rarely spoken of, in the royal court) or Prince Tavard’s ambitious attempt to invade Enultramar in response. It was quite clear to everyone watching the court that both subjects bothered the monarchy enough to not speak of them casually.
No, the Kingdom was starting to flounder, and this dedication ceremony was Grendine’s effort to shore it up. With one of her children captured and the other behaving like a spoiled brat, Grendine needed to reassure the kingdom that Rard was still firmly in power, and that their combined vision for the future warranted respect. And a possible donation.
Necromancer: Book Ten Of The Spellmonger Series Page 32
