Necromancer: Book Ten Of The Spellmonger Series

by Terry Mancour

  “They weren’t joking, I’m afraid,” Tyndal said with a sigh. “And I think you would have joined them, once your purpose had been fulfilled. As Sheruel has designs on the Wilderlands, Korbal seeks to undermine the South. He’s infiltrated the rebel council,” he told her. “His minions are planning out every move the Count of Rhemes and his colleagues make, now.”

  “That . . . that would explain much,” she sighed. “There have been many policies from the council that made no sense, without that context. Oh, father will be angry, when he learns of this! Who do we have to thank for our rescue?” she asked, as Rondal re-appeared nearby.

  “Why, your own good Duke Anguin, who arranged this entire rescue,” Tyndal reported. “The one which the rebel council deems a captive in his own lands. Does this look like an operation designed by a man fettered by conquest, my lady?” he asked, when Atopol returned.

  “No, Sir Tyndal, it does not,” agreed the scrawny noblewoman, as she took Atopol’s hand for the transport. “It seems the righteous wrath of a powerful lord,” she said, as a loud boom shook the building. “Farewell – and I hope we meet again!” she said, as the spell took her away.

  “Can’t you go anywhere without flirting with the locals?” Noutha asked, irritated, when they were alone again.

  “No, not really,” admitted Tyndal. “Besides, it was good relations for His Grace. When Enisha is returned to her kin, she’ll bear the tale of who was responsible. That will help build support for his claim,” he reasoned. “In a decade or so, when he’s built up enough strength to challenge the rebels, she might be married to someone powerful enough to turn the tide of battle or politics.”

  “So, you don’t merely flirt, you scheme,” she snorted, disapprovingly. “What do you think that boom was?”

  “Spellcraft,” he said, shrugging. “Whether ours or theirs, and of what nature, I cannot say. Nor do I think it matters. We have at least one more floor to examine, before we can leave. And those gurvani will find a way around the spellbinding, eventually.”

  Noutha’s eyes opened wide, and she grabbed his shoulder as she whirled her spear into a guard position. “And then there are the things crawling up the side of the building,” she said, tersely. “One of which is now behind you!”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Pentandra

  Pentandra heaved a great sigh of relief when she received confirmation that Duke Anguin had arrived at the Waypoint outside with Princess Rardine, and knew at once she had to go greet them, personally.

  She used her baculus, Everkeen, as a mere lever, for once, and hauled her great bulk out of her comfortable chair. It had ceased being comfortable an hour ago, but she was beyond the point where she could be comfortable in any position: sitting, standing, or lying down.

  “Allura, a hand?” she asked, when her efforts weren’t enough. She’d be damned if she’d use magic to get around. Yet. Not when she had a perfectly good apprentice at hand.

  The blind girl groaned in annoyance, but held out her hand without turning her head. Her raven, Lucky, was keeping her informed of where everyone was in the room around her through the semi-permanent link they’d formed, but that didn’t keep her from normal teenaged frustration. Nor had frequent lectures on social propriety. Pentandra pointlessly rolled her own eyes and took the hand, leaning into both her apprentice and her baculus to haul her arse out of the chair.

  “This,” she muttered darkly, under her breath, “is ridiculous! We have the Princess,” she announced in a louder voice to her monitors, the wizards and clerks keeping track of each group. There was a ragged cheer, and a visible expression of relief from the Alshari courtiers who’d witnessed the tense expedition. “His Grace accompanies her, and all are safe and sound!”

  That wasn’t exactly accurate, considering how many brave men and women were still in the field, but it was enough to purchase another cheer. She began the long trek down the steps of the make-shift dais and out of the blue barn into the staging area for the mission.

  It was tortuous. Her feet hurt. She had to pee. Her back ached with especial urgency. Number Two was being fussy, keeping her sisters awake, Pentandra noted with irritation, and Number One was responding defiantly.

  She could sense each of the triplet’s personalities, now. Number One was a fighter, Number Two was the sensitive one, and Number Three was the troublemaker. She didn’t view such predictions as prophesy, as much as observation; having three other people actually inside your body gave you incredible insight into their personalities, without the benefit of magic or even conversation. Sometimes it was a like a pile of kittens, in there. Other times it was like an overcrowded tavern.

  Pentandra never expected to appreciate the proximity of her child – children – as much as she did, but she’d come to enjoy the process of gestation despite the severe discomfort and inconvenience it caused. The priestesses called it Trygg’s Maternal Grace, the special divine patience a woman cultivated as she brought forth new life into the world. It was considered a holy benefice from the Mother Goddess. It was Pentandra’s professional opinion that there was some internal alchemy at play.

  Thankfully the girls had settled down when she got up. Pentandra leaned on both Alurra and Everkeen as she walked with the stately grace of a woman trying desperately not to stumble. The weather of the morning was starting to turn, and she could feel a few sprinkles of rain from the overcast sky on her face.

  The mage-cobbled square was far more vacant, now, with only the reserves gathered in force at their station. Even the Sky Riders were deployed, now, in support of the operation. Pentandra did her best to hurry over to the Third Waystone, where the first rescued prisoners were being escorted away by the Alshari knights at hand.

  “Your Highness!” she said, breathlessly (Number Three was stabbing her diaphragm most painfully) “Your Grace! Are you well?” she asked, concerned.

  “I live, stand, walk, and can hold a sword,” Princess Rardine assured her, displaying some unbloodied blade she’d picked up. “I want to thank you all,” she said, looking around at the people crowding in to witness her return. “When I was imprisoned and bereft of hope, you came to my succor: I shall not forget,” she declared, to cheers.

  “Nor shall I forget the bravery of my dear cousin in daring such a dangerous mission. No one knows the perils of that dark tower more than I.” She looked fondly at Anguin’s blushing face. “Thus, no one knows what courage it took to assail it better than I. My most profound thanks and gratitude are yours, eternally.”

  “My lady, I could no more let you languish in captivity than I could my own sisters,” he said, with special emphasis.

  Anguin was starting to understand the value of political theater. There were enough members of court here witnessing the safe return of Anguin to spread the rumor of his response to Rardine’s gracious thanks.

  “Is there someplace I could go to . . . to wash up, Lady Pentandra?” she asked, demurely.

  “I have a hall prepared, Your Highness,” she assured. “Just a short distance away, though I can summon a carriage, if you prefer.”

  “I prefer to walk,” she declared, defiantly, the sword still in her hand. “For months I have been captive, in one form or fashion. I wish to use my legs as a free woman for once. Trygg knows I could stand the exercise,” she said, proudly, and began following Duke Anguin and his bodyguard toward the hall.

  Pentandra followed behind, trying to keep up with the stream of congratulations while still being hailed, mind-to-mind, from the battle.

  Thankfully, there was a lull in the fighting. Azar had secured his area without further opposition, Terleman was dug in far in advance of his retreat position, and Tyndal and Noutha were rounding up additional prisoners to rescue.

  She had one terse conversation with Minalan, in which she had to remind him that she was in charge of operations, but he’d been the only issue, so far. He was safely inside the dread pyramid, now, beyond her ability to assist him.

  By the ti
me she was done with him, they’d arrived at the simple hall. Pentandra watched as Princess Rardine’s entire manner changed, as she entered the hall behind her cousin. Her shoulders slumped, her chin rose, and her expression turned to a scowl as the door shut behind them.

  “Is there something amiss, Highness?” Pentandra asked, troubled, as the princess issued a tortured groan.

  “No, my lady, the entire world is askew!” Rardine said, dropping her borrowed cloak to the floor. “I’ve been held captive for months, and my parents – the all-powerful king and queen of Castalshar – can’t be bothered to send even one man to rescue me? I have to depend on the unforeseen kindness of my poor cousin for rescue? No, my lady, there is something completely amiss!”

  “My cousin,” began Anguin, thoughtfully, “I hope that my intervention didn’t—”

  His hesitant words seemed to enrage Rardine, though. She snapped viciously, though her ire was not directed at him.

  “You did nothing wrong, Anguin!” she declared. “I was not facetious in offering my thanks and my gratitude so publicly – I have been betrayed by my closest kin, resigned to an enemy prison to further the schemes of my mother and brother. And that bitch he married! Lady Pentandra: your understanding of court matters is well known: what say you? What meaning can I draw from my family’s inattention?”

  “Well, your brother did begin an invasion of Enultramar,” she offered, hesitantly. “And your father offered two vacant baronies in Gilmora for your return.”

  “Two baronies? I should have more in my dowry!” she scoffed. “And Tavard was going to engage the rebels, anyway. He’s been planning it since they rebelled. He wants to conquer Enultramar for himself.”

  “Enultramar is mine,” Anguin insisted. “He gets none of it!”

  “Relax,” Pentandra insisted, indulging in the informal for the sake of brevity. She had a battle to get back to. “He’s going to get shredded at sea. Everyone knows it but he and the fools in his court backing the measure. May I examine you, Highness? Just to ensure nothing serious is amiss, physically,” she added.

  Rardine nodded and spread her arms, as Pentandra peered at her with Everkeen’s insights. The baculus obediently reached out and probed Rardine’s thin frame from Arcane Shroud to her core enneagram. The princess saved her invective for her family, not her erstwhile physician.

  “It would serve the idiot right! And my mother for supporting such nonsense! I saw the defenses Enultramar has, from the deck of a slave ship. And they let me languish in support of that?”

  “I believe his plan concerns seizing large portions of the coastline and then demanding your return,” Anguin said, with a snort.

  “So, I’m merely a pretext for a conquest,” Rardine said, angrily. “That’s even worse! In your opinion, Lady Pentandra, what does my family’s response to my captivity indicate about their motivations? Candor, please,” she directed.

  Pentandra looked up from the readings she was taking through her enchanted rod. She struggled to find some way to equivocate, but it was against her nature. And she felt the girl deserved the truth. “They have abandoned you, Highness,” she admitted. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be,” Rardine said. “Pity them, instead. Did they not realize how much danger they were in, for having me in the open? I revealed nothing, nor did those beasts know to ask . . . but if they had, I might have been tempted to relent. Especially if I’d known they were sending no help! They abandoned me? They dared abandon . . . me? The finest jewel in the castle, and they let it be stolen like yesterday’s bread!” she fumed.

  “I offer you refuge, for as long as you require, before you return home, Cousin,” pledged Anguin. “I don’t have much in the way of grand estates to offer, but what I have is at your disposal.”

  “Thank you, Anguin,” she said, with a sigh. “Of all people to offer me kindness, yours is most unexpected. And therefore, the most appreciated. Allow me some time to clean, eat, and rest, and I promise I will inform and advise you in a better humor.”

  “You are as well as can be expected,” Pentandra pronounced. “Everkeen tells me you need to slake your thirst and eat well for a few days, but some sleep and rest should restore you completely.”

  “Take the time you need,” Anguin nodded, graciously. “I’m afraid I have to return to service; as important as this operation is, we conducted a massive raid to act as a distraction, and I still have troops in the field to oversee. Summon me, at need.”

  “Thank you all,” the emaciated princess sighed. “I had nearly given up hope of a real bed or a hot meal again, let alone freedom and safety. I will repay your kindness,” she insisted.

  “It is repayment enough that you are well, my cousin,” Anguin bowed, and gestured for Pentandra to follow him.

  “What do you make of that?” he asked, as the door shut behind them. Sir Gydion kept step with them, but walked behind them deferentially.

  “Was that really Rardine? What did they do to her? She was almost . . . nice!” Anguin blurted.

  “They didn’t do anything to her, beyond confining her in chains and in a cell, Your Grace,” Pentandra assured him. “She holds no taint of Blue Magic, necromancy, or any other glamour that Everkeen could see. It could be that her time in seclusion was an opportunity for self-reflection. But there is no doubt it wrought a change in her,” she said, glancing over her shoulder at the hall.

  “I would more likely credit sorcery, as introspection,” mused Anguin. “I know how to contend with a spiteful, hateful Rardine. I’m not certain I can deal with a grateful and respectful one.”

  “Give her a few days,” Pentandra ventured. “I think that with a few days’ sleep and some decent food, we’ll see much of the old Rardine return. Her ire is certainly intact,” she observed.

  “And for once not aimed at me,” Anguin agreed, relieved. “I really do have to get back to my command post, now that this is done,” he continued, placing his helmet on his head. “The Iron Band has reported much activity in the garrisons throughout the Penumbra. Likely I have another invasion on my hands.”

  “I’ll tend to the Princess, in the meantime,” Pentandra assured her liege.

  They both looked back at the hall, which seemed quiet. Too quiet.

  “I think I prefer my chances with the gurvani,” Anguin decided.

  “I envy Your Grace the freedom of that choice,” Pentandra agreed. “See one of the yellow-sashed magi. Those are Carmella’s folk. One of them will be happy to see you to wherever you need to go.”

  Pentandra took her time, getting back to her seat in the barn. Had there been any pressing emergency, she would have been summoned. She took the rare opportunity to send her apprentice to fetch something to eat from the kitchens, while she took advantage of a proper privy.

  By the time she returned to the headquarters in the barn, things had, of course, deteriorated. She settled in that damn uncomfortable comfortable chair and sighed, feeling somewhat refreshed and relieved.

  “Report,” she announced to her subordinates, as they moved from one station to another around her. She was gratified. The news could be worse.

  Azar’s brave commandos had secured a wide area on the western end of the island, but they were now spread out and had lost sight of each other in the maze of ruins. A few were being subjected to attacks by individual gurvani hiding in the rubble. Others swore that there were forces congregating just beyond easy view.

  For Terleman’s part, he’d liberated one large prison complex housing common slave laborers and had his sights set on the other.

  And Arborn’s Kasari, she learned in moments, were skulking their way across Olum Seheri, sticking to the edges of the battles erupting across the island, sniping, setting snares and traps, and gathering an enormous amount of intelligence while the defenders of the place were otherwise occupied.

  She checked in directly by Mirror with Arborn, who was leading his hand-picked Night Owls through a largely abandoned section of the ruined city. He wa
s not only hale and unwounded, he seemed to be having far too much fun on the mission for Pentandra’s comfort.

  Dara, at least, seemed to be taking her part of the mission seriously. Her Sky Riders had transported in to the second site, the one Terleman controlled, and transformed their flying steeds from there. Once they were ready, they took flight and provided not just excellent observations, but were able to provide support when either force became bogged down by defenders.

  The Sky Riders were a marvel to behold. Twelve giant hawks flew above Olum Seheri, working together and covering each other with the ease of long practice. Pentandra had to give credit to Dara – she’d been given some help in the transgenics from the Alka Alon, but recruiting Sky Riders and training had all been her own ambition. The Riders were becoming adept at combat operations – particularly the Alshari Wing, the one that had helped keep the Wilderlands clean of gurvani spies and raiders for the last few weeks.

  Now they flew in formation in an endless ring over the island, swooping to attack with hand-hurled thaumaturgic weapons or the deadly skybolts – special javelins designed to be thrown from hawkback with deadly accuracy. In addition, each of the giant birds was now equipped with steel barbs on their talons, and had been trained in how to use the devices with brutal efficiency.

  Even Minalan’s desperate journey under Korbal’s evil pyramid was going well – the additional eighteen prisoners he’d rescued notwithstanding. Only token resistance to the unexpected incursion told Pentandra that the multiple layers of distraction had been successful. The island’s defenders were so preoccupied with the raids that they left Korbal’s most intimate complex virtually unguarded.

  In fact, things were going so well that she knew they couldn’t last. Her limited experience with warfare had demonstrated that no plan went according to plan, once an actual enemy was involved.