“The poison from their claws is different: they grasp their prey in them, and collect scraps of decaying flesh in small pockets near the nailbed of the claw. And yes, it is both powerful and sharp . . . but wounds can heal. The putrescence in the pockets cultivates a fungus that can be fatal, long term, if it infects the victim. But long before that, it erodes the higher functions of the brain. It can be cured, if countered quickly enough, but the effect on the brain is permanent.”
“How do you know the creatures so intimately, my lord?” asked Anguin, respectfully.
“During my youth, when my father was first building the City of Rainbows, it was our duty to rid the cliffs of the beasts,” he explained. “They are cunning and highly social, which means that hunting them oft led to swarms appearing, and that could prove deadly.
“A single bite will rarely kill you, but the accumulated swarms of wyverns can tear you to shreds,” he warned. “The moment one gives the hunting cry, it attracts every hungry wyvern in earshot. And they are always hungry. A single hunt can attract four or five. A large beast can lure hundreds. Few things can survive such an onslaught.”
Terleman snorted. “That’s a cheery thought. How did you clear them out?”
“In the end, it was only the power of our prismatic magic that kept them from nesting in the cliffs. They dislike the bright light of day, particularly the red end of the spectrum. It confuses them in the hunt. So they stopped nesting there, when our songspells energized the spectra. When the spectral field was stopped, and replaced with that hideous mist, they returned. Indeed, it appears someone has cultivated the vicious beasts,” he said, a sneer of disgust on his face.
“They do make an effective deterrent,” agreed Taren, objectively. “But that’s valuable intelligence, my lord. Thank you.”
“You have an idea?” I asked, curiously.
“Oh, I have it figured out, already,” Taren assured me. “Two different ways, in fact. Hells, I might combine them, just to judge their effectiveness.”
“That’s the way I like a wizard to talk!” I said, encouragingly. “Anyone else have anything significant to add? Or shall we begin work on assembling our teams, and agree to meet again in a few weeks to discuss our progress?”
“I was curious about one thing,” Anguin asked, after a moment of thoughtful silence. “What shall we do if we run into Korbal, himself? Or Sharuel?”
Another thoughtful silence prevailed, a much more dreadful one.
I swallowed, and tried to appear business-like. “We fight for our lives with everything we have. Or we run. Or both. And, more than likely, we’ll die.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
The Plan
My team, the Scholars, was the smallest of the four. I wanted to ensure that we had sufficient power to protect ourselves, deal with any obstacles, and complete our mission. Oh, and return safely. That was a priority.
Ours was the most difficult and ill-defined of the tasks in the mission. We were facing defenses of unknown type and number, inside a structure we knew virtually nothing about. One in which Korbal himself might be lurking.
I was going, of course. I had the Magolith, which would be needed to transfer the Handmaiden, once we got into the Chamber of Ages. So was Aeratas. I needed him to access the chamber, as well as get past the defenses he’d arranged to guard its secrets. And teach me to access the main vein of the Ghost Rock. I had no doubt he could take care of himself. He was a high lord of the Alka Alon, with the stature and strength of a perfect human form. He combined the better elements of both our races in his present form.
I would need additional warriors, I knew. Men as adept with spells as swords, as cunning as hunters as they were doughty as warriors. But I wanted to keep the number small. We needed to move fast, hit hard, and keep moving, if we were going to make the chamber.
I selected Sire Cei to come, as he was both the most loyal and the most powerful warrior I knew. He’d already volunteered, at Yule, swearing before Briga that he would see the quest done.
I would have liked to include Tyndal and Rondal, but I knew they would want to be near their sovereign on the mission, and to be honest I wanted them there. The last thing I needed was to get a sitting Duke killed on one of my foolish wizard’s quests.
Another one, that is.
I chose Onranion, because he was useful, if annoying. And he was soaked in the lore of the Alka Alon. He suggested bringing Master Azhguri, his comrade and friend, because having both a Karshak and a master stonesinger along wouldn’t hurt. And he could carry a lot of things, even at his age, the old songmaster grinned. He challenged me to see just how many things I could convince the Karshak to carry.
The bastard.
Lilastien insisted on coming, simply for the chance to see the Ghost Rock in person, herself . . . and I almost said no. But she was the best healer in the world, better than Master Icorod, and her experience had given her some unique insights on both Alkan and human culture.
She was also familiar with the Vundel, which might be helpful. We might have to protect her, but she was pretty wiley. And no one on the Alkan Council would complain if she died along the way.
When it was starting to look like I had more brains than brawn, I decided to include a couple of fellows I knew I could rely on in a fight.
Sandoval, who had been recently rejected as Castali Ducal Court Wizard in favor of a friend of a friend of Moran’s, was between jobs. Not only was he a good combat mage, he was also another thaumaturge. Not as good as Taren, but good. Given some special armor and weaponry from Sevendor’s vaults, he could be quite formidable. More important, he was trustworthy.
I considered Lorcus, but I discovered that my vassal warmage had already taken a commission . . . for Dranus. He was consulting on the conquest of Moros. Apparently Dranus had been taken with how quickly and easily he’d prosecuted his war against Rolone, and wanted to benefit from his unique advice.
I couldn’t blame him . . . but this wasn’t the kind of mission Lorcus was best suited for. This was an infiltration, true, but I needed someone sneaky, not unpredictable. Likewise, Lanse of Bune was out. He was busy working on a special royal commission for the next several months. I couldn’t take a man away from paying work. That would be unprofessional.
I figured that if Azar would be involved in the Gatebreakers, then he’d recruit Wenek and Astyral out of a sense of competitive loyalty. The same with Terleman: his strength was commanding men in battle, not plunging into the depths of a cavern. He needed to be directing the battle for the Waypoints, not hiding his talents in shadow.
Instead I chose Mavone. He was dour, for a Gilmoran, but he was serious about his work, and not as flamboyant as some other warmagi I could name. He had a head for high politics, and he was as good in combat as most warmagi. I could trust him.
He’d been looking after the Order’s interests in various ways while tending to his own domain in southeastern Gilmora, chosen as his reward like I had selected Sevendor. But he was a warmage first, a magelord second. He was always ready to assist with little missions and such, and this was just too juicy a quest to pass up. When I asked him, he said he felt honored.
I debated long and hard before including another . . . but if one is going sneaking into darkness, then having a shadowmage along is not a bad idea. I happened to have the acquaintance of one, Lord Hance.
The master thief was reluctant to go, when I made the offer, mind-to-mind, until he discovered that Duke Anguin was going to be on the expedition, personally. Then he insisted on coming, and volunteered his talented family to help with the effort, as well. In particular, he insisted that his son Atopol accompany His Grace.
That would be a sufficient party, I figured, to get us through Korbal’s citadel and down into the undercaverns. I hoped.
The truth was, I had no idea what would be needed, or whose talents would be of most use on the expedition. I chose as wisely as I could from among the many talented people I knew, and that was the best
I could do. It would have to work.
I tried my best to let the other team leaders choose their members without interference. Indeed, I tried to avoid them, entirely, lest I get a reputation for standing over their shoulder. Anguin would choose who he would, but with Tyndal, Rondal, and Atopol along, I tried not to worry about him. His success or failure would be his own. I was just using him for the distraction.
The same went for Pentandra and Terleman, and their teams. Terleman knows violence like a bride knows kisses, and Pentandra understood organization and planning at a spiritual level. I had every confidence in their ability to choose their members without my advice.
Taren did, indeed, have a plan to deal with the wyverns. And a number of other things. Now that Master Ulin was not preoccupied with the centerpoint problem, Taren monopolized the enchanter’s time and most of the advanced enchantments in my private workshop to prepare his arguments. I left him alone, too.
That didn’t mean I didn’t work on my own weapons and armor. With the new power of the Magolith I went back over my combat gear and improved it as much as I could. I did the same with Twilight, my mageblade, and Blizzard, my warstaff. I attached new hoxters to my weapons harness, filling them with things I thought might be useful. And a bunch of things I knew probably wouldn’t be useful, but I added them anyway.
One of the things I practiced while I prepared was using the Magolith, itself, as a weapon. The mage-hardened gold harness it sat within was pretty, but hardly lethal on its own. The incredible power bound inside the globe needed to be focused and directed before it could be purposefully lethal. I tinkered with the thing for three days, coming up with methods to make the Magolith a potent weapon . . . not just a floating bauble.
That turned out to be easier than I suspected, once Onranion got involved. He found a unique stone that could be used to filter and direct the arcane power of the sphere. With a little fiddling, we were able to get it to emit five kinds of usefully destructive energy.
I arranged for new hoxters containing my blade, my various staves, and other items I used frequently anchored in the stones around the base of the Magolith, the portion enclosing the knot coral that kept it suspended in the air. Keeping them in rings was handy, but rings could get lost. Just to ensure that none of my precious items could, even if the sphere was stolen, I anchored the hoxters to something in my tower. I’m paranoid like that.
A man can only do so much preparation before he realizes that he’s killing time. The weather was warming and the entire domain was beginning the all-important rituals of the agricultural calendar.
Tallies of those who died during the winter, and those babes who survived, were gathered by the Priests of Huin as they hurried from field to field, blessing the land and using the agricultural wands to plow and furrow the soil.
The foundations for a new shrine to the Visitation of the Seven was being dug on the commons. A new crop of squires showed up for training at the castle, and household knights left for their own lands as they were replaced by those whose turn at the duty it was.
I saw the first caravan of the Arcane Mercantile Guild set forth from Sevendor to Castabriel with a load of weirwood (freshly harvested from our own forest, and particularly potent for saplings), snowstone, three cartloads of enchantments, and a cart full of everything from Sevendor glass to sympathy stones from Trestendor’s mines.
I spent a lot of time with my family, who were extending their good-byes as long as they could. Mama was using the spring floods as an excuse as they began to swell the rivers that would take them home. I think I ate dinner at their hall every other night, while they were still there. Seeing my kids around their grandparents was worth a sphere of gold from my collection. No question.
Yet it all seemed empty and incomplete, without Alya’s presence. She left a hole in my life larger than the hole in the countryside left by my missing mountain. The kids missed her and were confused about where, exactly, she’d gone. I missed her desperately; she was who kept me from doing anything truly stupid. Like planning a suicidal an expedition into the very chambers of our darkest enemies for no better reason than to save my wife.
She would have been dead-set against me doing that.
We had one final grand strategy meeting at Carmella’s tower before we began the final preparations for the enterprise. Despite my impatience, I had to admit that a lot had gotten accomplished.
Pentandra had not only organized the support team, she had prepared a familiar place for them to reside: the Blue Barn at Timberwatch. The former battlefield was already swarming with magi, thanks to Tyndal and Rondal’s recruitment effort for the Estasi Order, and there were another couple of thousand Wilderlords and assorted mercenaries wandering around.
It was about as secure a location as we could ask for, and the Blue Barn wasn’t being used for anything but storage, at that point. We still didn’t know what the team would need, but Timberwatch was as good a staging area as any.
For their part, the Estasi Order had a very successful recruitment drive. The boys did me the courtesy of dropping by the tower a few days before the official meeting and showing off their results. They swaggered in, dressed like rich Wilderlords, and plopped down on stools in my workshop, just like the old days.
“We’ve just returned from a highly productive training and assessment,” Rondal began, producing a scroll from a hoxter. “One hundred and ninety-six warmagi and other interested parties appealed for consideration to the Order—”
“After we spent hundreds of Stags on minstrels and jongleurs to talk about how godsdamn wonderful we are,” Tyndal added, to Rondal’s annoyance.
“We assessed them on the basis of Talent, training, martial skill, and warmagic. A number of familiar faces appeared, interested in joining our illustrious—
“—and storied, in the songs and tales of dozens of expensive jongleurs and minstrels,” Tyndal interrupted.
“. . . and noble Errant Order of the Estasi Knights Magi,” Rondal finished, firmly. “We established a series of trials, based loosely on the Rites of Duin, to establish which among them was the strongest in each category. The cumulative scores were used to rate them, best to worst . . . with a number of special notes of interest,” he added, with a slight smile.
“We were liberal in our consideration for admission,” Tyndal grumbled.
“We wanted to ensure we got the widest possible pool of talent,” Rondal corrected. “And I think we profited by that. Among the notables are some familiar names and former students: Icars, Hanilif and Buselen all appeared for consideration, as did Caswallon. They all scored in the top thirty,” he added, proudly.
“They were high magi,” Tyndal dismissed. “They had an advantage.”
“Our top competitors were Caswallon the Fox, Golvod of Timaria, Gerendren who styles himself the Grim, these days . . . oh, and plenty more. It’s a real holiday parade of magical killers,” Rondal continued.
“Again, witchstones,” Tyndal shrugged.
“Some other intriguing competitors were Daro of Quins, that Remeran who won the Spellmonger’s Trial a few years back. He ranked at fifty-six. Coradine the Unkillable was our top-rated lady, at sixteen. The top-rated sport came in at number eighteen – a Castali knight named Sir Jessin.”
“What can he do?” I asked, curiously.
“He doesn’t get tired,” Tyndal offered. “Ever. We put everyone through grueling endurance tests – ten hours carrying rocks back and forth, it really brought out everyone’s cheery side. The first five hours were done without magical assistance. The second five hours it was allowed. At the end of the day, Sir Jessin was still moving them back and forth as fast and efficiently as he had at the beginning of the day. He doesn’t get tired.”
“Handy!” I chuckled. “And everyone is prepared to go on a secret mission?”
“We didn’t use your name, but they assumed it was for you. Either that, or Anguin was going to invade Enultramar with just us, which is laughable. But we let
it be known to the men we trusted that the best warmagi would be working with you. And that knighthoods would accompany the successful completion of the mission,” Tyndal added.
“We also let it slip that there would be employment for everyone who completed the trials who wanted it, whether they made the cut or not,” Rondal added. “Anguin is keen to see his enslaved subjects liberated, before he goes.”
“How is he faring as team leader?”
“He wisely deferred most of the decision making to Rondal,” Tyndal said, sourly.
“I am the better thaumaturge,” Rondal pointed out, without malice. “We need to get into that tower, and that’s going to be tricky. That’s why he put me in charge of that. Otherwise, I’m just another spark on the squad.”
“Well, there’s going to be an addition to your squad: Atopol. Magelord Hance has all but insisted he accompany His Grace to watch his back. A shadowmage should be good for that.”
“Hey! I thought that was our job! And Gydion’s!” Tyndal protested.
“We watch his front,” Rondal instructed his colleague.
“Gydion? He’s taking his body-guard?”
“Unacknowledged bastard half-brother, actually,” Rondal supplied. “One of Lenguin’s follies from his youth, raised in Castal. Professional jouster. Pentandra dug him up. Not as smart or educated as Anguin, but a good man,” he appraised.
“And he can do more than joust,” Tyndal added. “He’s fought with the Third Commando all winter, rooting out outposts and listening posts around Vorone. The man can use a cavalry blade,” he agreed.
“Good – I want Anguin’s ducal arse protected. In many ways, he has the easiest job, but he’s also got one of the more dangerous ones. If he falls into Korbal’s hands . . .”
“Master, that just isn’t going to happen!” Rondal declared, defiantly.
Necromancer: Book Ten Of The Spellmonger Series Page 36
