Necromancer: Book Ten Of The Spellmonger Series

by Terry Mancour

  That’s mitigated by the fact that he has, in fact, discovered many things in the past, she reminded me. I trust his judgement. You should, too.

  Not if it gets him killed!

  He’s managed to survive, so far, Pentandra insisted. I’ve been getting the reports from them, you haven’t. That place is a massive barracks complex. Armory, storehouse, the whole works. That’s why they put the special prisoners there. If we weren’t certain before, now we have confirmation that Korbal is a threat to the Kingdom.

  Yes, that nearly escaped my attention, I shot back, sarcastically. The plan was to rescue the princess, any other high-value prisoners, and get the hells out!

  The plan has changed, she said, simply. Rondal is headed back with a small team of volunteers to support Tyndal and Noutha. They have their mission, you have yours.

  My mission hasn’t changed!

  Really? she replied. Then why am I suddenly contending with eighteen unanticipated prisoners?

  I . . . because . . . damn it, they have valuable intelligence on Korbal’s schemes!

  Which is precisely what Tyndal is trying to discover, she reasoned, patiently. Damn it, Min, you have to trust me to do my job, and you do yours. My job is operational control of this mummer’s show. Yours is to retrieve the Handmaiden.

  I took a deep breath. I really hated it when Penny was right.

  Fine. Prepare to receive prisoners. I’ll send as many through as I can with Mavone, Sandoval, Onranion and Lilastien. They’ll have to take them in relays, but they should be able to handle it. The rest of us will proceed into the caverns. I’ll report in as soon as I have something else meaningful to say.

  Good boy, she soothed. Was that so hard? Trust me, we know what we’re doing. And we’re doing a lot of damage, she added, proudly. Azar is like a kid at Yule, and Terleman is eliminating enemy positions like a conqueror.

  Casualties?

  Don’t worry about that until you return, Pentandra urged. It will just distract you.

  She was right. Again. Shit.

  All right. Tell everyone I wished them Ifnia’s blessing.

  I opened my eyes and blinked.

  “All right. New plan,” I announced.

  “Why would anyone think they could attack the Vundel?” I asked Lilastien, as Sandy and Mavone started taking the naked prisoners through the Ways. “Do they misunderstand their power?”

  “Misunderstand?” she asked, a little dazed. “No, they understand it completely. The Enshadowed and their forebears have always resented the power and control the Sea Folk have over Callidore. When our ancestors first came here, the more extreme factions interpreted the agreement with them as absolute: the Vundel would control the seas, and – with a few notable exceptions – the Alon would rule the land.

  “It was pure arrogance, on their part. Most of us were happy to settle for the bounty we were given, and grateful for the opportunity to repair these tortured lands,” she sighed. “But the fanatics were convinced of their traditional sovereignty. When conflicts arose between the races – as they inevitably do – more reasonable heads have prevailed in council. That’s why the Enshadowed were exiled here, from more . . . civilized realms, to begin with. But they hate the Vundel, as much as they hate the councils.”

  “But they can’t hope to succeed in attacking them!” I frowned.

  “They don’t need to succeed,” she stressed. “Though I suspect they have the means to cause great destruction for our hosts. Korbal’s goal is clear in that sigil: he means to conquer this realm, defend it against the Vundel, and use it as a springboard to conquer the rest of Callidore!”

  “Even the united strength of all the Alkan realms would be insufficient to contest with the Sea Folk, if what I’ve learned is true,” I said, worriedly.

  She nodded, her face just as stricken. “Indeed. Yet he feels he has the means to try. If my suspicions are correct, he plays an even more dangerous game that we could have imagined.”

  I heaved a deep sigh. Lilastien was the only Alkan to ever give me a straight answer, when I asked. That made it even more frustrating when she lapsed into obscure language.

  “Then let’s keep exploring. You keep ferrying the prisoners back to Timberwatch with the others, and I’ll take the rest down to the undercaverns. When you’re ready, you can join us through my Waystone.”

  “Minalan, we don’t have any idea what’s down there!” she protested.

  “It’s stairs,” I pointed out. “I think I can manage to travel down them.”

  “It’s what’s at the bottom that concerns me,” she said.

  “And you’re worried I’ll contend with it without Alkan supervision? I’ll have Aeratas with me,” I reminded her. “He knows the way.”

  “You do realize he’s nearly suicidal?” she asked in a whisper.

  “He is?” Why didn’t anyone tell me these things?

  “He’s walking through the ruins of a home he’s enjoyed for over a thousand years,” she reminded me. “The foulest of folk have slithered into it, and made it a refuge of evil and destruction. One of the most sacred and unique elements of Anthatiel is being used by an abomination to pollute the land he loves. His only daughter is married to a mortal, and will bear him mongrel grandchildren in exile from his ruined legacy. His pride won’t let him take his own life, but it will allow him to die heroically in a hopeless quest.”

  “And that’s . . . my guide?” I asked, my heart falling.

  She nodded, gravely. “Watch him, Minalan. I don’t think he’s planning on coming back from down there.”

  That was a depressing thought. “I will,” I nodded. “Anything in particular I should be wary of? I’m not really an expert in Alkan psychology.”

  “It’s mostly just like human psychology, only more complex and subtle. Trust me, when the time comes, Aeratas will put himself in mortal danger, on purpose. So . . . watch him.”

  She turned to begin escorting the next few humans through the Ways to Timberwatch and safety. I turned toward the doorway that led into the underworld, and unknown danger. I nearly ran into Hance.

  “That was disturbing news,” he murmured.

  “You heard?” I asked, automatically.

  “Of course I heard,” he said with a small shrug. “I’m good at that sort of thing.”

  “I hope you are good at discretion, as well,” I suggested.

  “I appreciate the precarious nature of the situation regarding our friend,” he said, nodding slightly toward Aeratas, who was peering down the stairwell. “I would hesitate to do anything to inflame it.”

  “Are you certain you’ll be all right, just the five of you?” asked Mavone, skeptically.

  “I think we’ll manage,” I agreed. “But I enjoy your company. Return them to safety and get back here, quickly.”

  “Yes, Captain,” he nodded. “Keep your guard up.”

  “Are we finally ready?” asked Azhguri impatiently, as he fiddled with his beard. “I’m growing old, here!”

  “Yes, we are. Master Hance, if you will do us the honor of leading the way?”

  “Of course,” the master thief said, disappearing into the darkened stairwell, his black cloak fading into shadow. Sire Cei hefted his warhammer, slung his shield, and followed bravely behind him. Aeratas, Azhguri, and lastly, myself, began the long descent into the undercaverns.

  I don’t know how long it took for us to climb down the first several hundred steps, but it quickly became a mental exercise to compel my boots to keep going down. It was different than marching, for some reason. The air became thick and oppressive. Every step I took seemed to draw me closer and closer to . . . something. Some nameless fear.

  It didn’t help that the staircase seemed to go on for forever.

  We paused at the first landing to get our bearings, and then continued another long flight that opened up into a chamber about the size of Sevendor Castle’s great hall. I was surprised to see Aeratas stop and regard a . . . shrine? Altar? I still didn’
t know enough about the Alka Alon to understand, but he touched the collection of objects arranged artfully on a carven alcove in such a way as to make me think of reverence.

  Along one wall there was a wide basin, about four or five feet high, filled with water. I almost paused for a drink, when the smell hit me.

  “It’s lake water,” Aeratas explained. “When we cut the original shaft, we had to get through the water table. My father had this section built to keep the lower regions from flooding. It was once pristine enough to drink,” he said, regretfully gazing into the polluted pool.

  “So this is the entrance to the Chamber of Ages?” Azhguri asked, as he peered down the next long flight of stairs. It was one of three doors, beside the way we entered.

  “Yes, which is why we should avoid that direct route,” Aeratas counselled. “If Korbal seeks to guard the place from such intrusions as this, that would be the most obvious path to ward.”

  I summoned my thaumaturgical baculus and studied the arcane emanations from that route. It was difficult, this far away, but the robust power of the Magolith greatly assisted the effort.

  “Yes, he has a few wardings, I would guess,” I said. “Nothing we can’t contend with, I’m certain.” I wasn’t, but now was a hell of a time to start voicing my doubts.

  “Thankfully, I know another way,” Lord Aeratas said, smugly. “The left-hand doorway will lead us down into a secondary chamber. My father’s laboratory was there, once. That was where he plumbed the deep mysteries of the Ghost Rock. If we can make it there, it offers a means of access to the main vein without contending with any defenses.”

  “That sounds like an ideal place for Korbal to use as a headquarters,” Azhguri said, doubtfully.

  “If he knows it is there,” corrected Aeratas. “When my father went into the Realms of Light, in my grief I had the place sealed over. Few even know of its existence. If we can make it to that point, we should be able to consider our final task nearly complete. And it is unlikely Korbal warded that route – it has been little used for centuries, save to check the safeguards keeping the lake water out of the caverns.”

  “I do love a back entrance,” nodded Hance. “It simplifies things.”

  “I am more concerned that we have met so little resistance, thus far,” Sire Cei said, apprehensively.

  “If you were a guard, would you want to have to walk down all those stairs to get here?” asked Azhguri. “As the complex above is incomplete, as are the necromantic facilities Korbal is building, I would guess that Korbal sees little value in squandering what manpower he has on guarding a damp old cavern that only he and his necromantic cult have an interest in.”

  “Especially since we have yet to encounter the . . . things that our prisoners told us of,” I agreed. “Could it be that’s what is behind the third door?”

  “It was once a chamber of reflection,” Aeratas informed us. “A place where one could settle your mind before continuing down to face your ancestors.”

  “That’s what you were doing down here?” Azhguri asked, skeptically.

  “Most of us,” agreed the Alkan lord. “My father long ago contrived a way to call forth specific enneagrams from within the matrix of the vein, and temporarily install them in a mechanism that would allow some limited reanimation of their spirits. Enough for brief conversations, at least.”

  “So you were dabbling in necromancy!” I said, amused.

  “Not in the way you humani think of the practice,” Aeratas said, making a face. “We merely wish to be able to commune with the essence of our loved ones, not create horrors and arcane curiosities. We largely eschewed the deeper areas of the vein – the places that interest you, so. We wished to honorably use such a powerful resource, not exploit it for our own gain.”

  “I suppose it’s a matter of perspective,” I conceded.

  “Speaking of perspective,” Master Azhguri said, studying the fetid pool that I’m sure was once quite lovely. “I think I have an idea,” he said, and explained himself.

  Aeratas immediately jumped on the details, and the two argued back and forth over them for nearly ten minutes. I added my own perspective, and gave some helpful suggestions. But it was a good idea, and I approved. Azhguri got to work.

  Hance and Cei, meanwhile, were more concerned with the Third Door . . . the one that led to the former meditation chamber.

  “I’m thinking there are horrors behind that door,” Hance considered, studying its elegant – but thoroughly fortified – design. “It’s just the sort of door that conceals horrors.”

  “Does that thought stay your courage, my lord?” Cei asked. It wasn’t meant as a dig, I could tell – it was merely his chivalrous response to the situation. He was looking for an opportunity to inspire someone. I’m certain he had a pithy proverb or motivational tale at the ready.

  “Courage isn’t the issue,” I said, thoughtfully regarding the door. “I’m just wondering what further horrors my mind can manage without going mad,” I said, and pushed it open.

  PART III

  The Battle Of Olum Seheri

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Assault On The Tower of Despair

  Tyndal

  “Ishi’s tits!” Tyndal said, as he stepped through the Ways into the burning tower. “How high up are we?”

  The view below was cataclysmic, a hellish chaos of fire and pain, smoke and suffering, anger and ashes. The flames were climbing incessantly up the front of the Tower of Despair, as they consumed the wooden structure within, and a massive pall of putrid smoke mixed with the thick, hot air that stung his face and challenged his lungs. He could barely hear the fighting on the street, seven stories below, though he could not see it beyond the thick wall of flames.

  Worse, there were cages and gibbets hanging from the corners and face of the building, and those unfortunate souls – both human and gurvani – screamed in terror, as their iron bars heated up and their lungs filled with smoke. They screamed in desperate agony as – one by one – they succumbed to the flames.

  But as bad as the stench of burnt hair, oily smoke, and living flesh burning below was, it was the great height that commanded his attention. He’d rarely been this far above the ground, before, and never so suddenly. His head spun crazily as the flames under the ledge he found himself on seemed to spin.

  “Nine stories, give or take,” Atopol said, casually, as he hung over the firestorm by one arm and one leg. “I didn’t pick you for one to be scared of heights,” he observed, thoughtfully, as Tyndal’s hands scrambled to grab the iron bracket nearby.

  “Not scared,” Tyndal insisted. “Not of heights. Or even of falling. It’s the inevitable conclusion of the experience that concerns me.”

  “It’s usually graciously brief, if that’s a help.”

  “It is,” Tyndal agreed, nodding nervously. He’d been in tall places before, like the rooftops of Inrion Academy or the battlements of Sevendor. But in each case, he’d arrived at the height by his own power, not suddenly propelled by magic. And he’d been far from the edge, not staring down between his feet into a hellish blaze. “Could you not have chosen a more convenient spot?”

  “This was convenient,” Atopol countered, pointing upward with one gloved finger. “We’re but two stories below Princess Rardine’s chamber. It’s directly above. This way, we can get to her without all that mucking around avoiding guards in the corridors.”

  “I hope you don’t expect His Grace to go this route,” Tyndal said, grasping his iron strut tightly. “As gentlemen of the court, I hope you see that would be beneath his dignity.”

  “And if he dies, there’s no one around to reward us for this,” nodded Atopol. “Quite right: that’s why Sir Rondal and Noutha have gone through this entryway,” he said, nodding toward a narrow arrow slit in the side of the fortress. “They will clear the way, and once they locate the cell door, they will bring His Grace through the Ways to affect a rescue.”

  “It’s just like him, to take the easy way,
” Tyndal said with a frown, as he stared up at the long vertical pathway above him. It was only thirty-five, forty feet, he reasoned. Thirty-five or forty long, treacherous, painful feet. In full armor. He stared back down at the flames below. They were fifty feet away, now. They were rising with an alacrity he just didn’t feel.

  Forty feet suddenly didn’t seem too far to climb.

  He closed his eyes and summoned a few spells from his stone. The smooth sphere of irionite in the golden cage around his neck obeyed, and suddenly his vertigo receded. His gloved hands now also adhered to the side of the building, requiring great effort to lift clear of the wall.

  “All right, I’m ready to go,” he announced. “Shall I lead? Or do you want to?”

  “I’m less likely to fall on top of you than you are me,” Atopol pointed out. He reached out his long arms and pulled himself easily to the next stone ledge. Thankfully, the gurvani’s sloppy masonry provided a plentitude of such holds. “And I do know the way. I peeked in her window to ensure it was truly hers.”

  Tyndal was startled. “You saw her?”

  “Yes, and what a wretchedly regal woman she is,” he snorted. “She’s scrawny, but still hale. It doesn’t appear that she’s been tortured, yet.” Atopol leaped from one perch to another without any visible concern for gravity, entirely resembling the cat that was his namesake.

  Tyndal nodded as he began to follow the shadow thief. He supposed he climbed as well as his own war namesake, a haystack. “That’s good to know,” he gasped as he made the next difficult ascent to a ledge no wider than his pecker. “I would hate for us to rescue Rardine and not have her in a mood to berate us about it.”

  “Is she really that difficult?” Atopol asked, as he made the next leap.

  “She’s highly placed in an organization of murderous, beautiful assassins,” Tyndal pointed out. “Her charm is merely an affectation for court appearances. Personally, she’s vicious. In ways that would make a Rat shudder,” he added. The Brotherhood of the Rat, during its heights, was known for its brutality, even among other criminal gangs. But from what Tyndal had learned about the Castali ducal court’s “Family”, the thugs could take lessons from Queen Grendine in ruthlessness.