Necromancer: Book Ten Of The Spellmonger Series

by Terry Mancour

  “So . . . you sent me back to Boval Castle, knowing that it was doomed? And made me feel entirely responsible for it, so that I wouldn’t run away?”

  “You were but one tool at my disposal, Minalan. And not a particularly sharp one, at the time. I did what I could to fortify you, but I did not expect you to survive,” he admitted. “And I needed the humani in the vale to distract and occupy Sheruel, until I could strike. When you used the molopor so . . . novelly, it gave us the opportunity we needed. Your resistance to the gurvani allowed me to complete the evacuation,” he added, pleased.

  “While my people were being killed,” I said, feeling slightly less inclined toward the old Alkan. “You know, we could have escaped, had we evacuated the valley ourselves, before the siege.”

  “I needed you there,” the Aronin insisted. “It was a minor sacrifice, considering the stakes.”

  “I don’t see it as minor!” I said, through clenched teeth. “I could have saved thousands, had I had my own will! Instead I came back from your refuge determined to make a stand . . . to hold out against them, when I should have been leading them away!”

  “Would you regret sacrificing your hound to save your family from brigands?” the Aronin asked, sharply. “I am fond of your race, Minalan, and I delight in the richness it has brought to Callidore. But you are an ephemeral people,” he reminded me, unnecessarily.

  “You mean an ‘expendable people’,” I countered, my ire rising. “We value our short lives as much as you value your long ones! You tinkered with my mind for your own purposes!” I said, suddenly appalled by the arrogance that implied. I felt as victimized as I had with Isily.

  “I gave the hound a spiked collar and a reassuring pat on the head before it met the brigand,” the Aronin disagreed, serenely. “And I let him know that afterwards, even if I did not survive, where he might find refuge, should he survive. I had as little knowledge of how events would unfold as you did.”

  “You could have been honest with me, and enlisted my aid without coercion,” I said, bitterly. Lord Aeratas was watching the argument thoughtfully. I ignored him. I was pissed.

  “Would it have been sufficient, in the face of such peril? I needed a champion, someone truly committed to the fight, not merely dedicated to it. Expanding your concern from the folk of the Vale to the rest of humanity might seem excessive, but it worked best with your mind. You were already seeking a way to transform your fear into action. I merely provided a mechanism for that desire.”

  “You molested my mind!” I spat, angrily. “You made me assume responsibility for the entire human race!” I said, realizing the truth of the matter. Indeed, many of the “heroic” actions of my recent past presented themselves in a different light, now.

  “And see where it has brought you,” Lord Aeratas interrupted. “Into the highest councils of men and the Alka Alon, at the head of a mighty army, challenging the very forces that seek to destroy your world. Exploring the boundaries of magic and lore.”

  “When I could have been peacefully raising my family a long way away from all of this shit!” I said, my heart smoldering with rage. “Ishi’s tits, I am not your damned hound!” I exploded. “My race did not come here to be pieces in games between the Alka Alon!”

  “It is no game, Minalan,” Aeratas assured. “We stand in the ruins of a city that thrived for over two thousand years. Korbal and the Enshadowed are outlaws, criminals, in this realm. Did we not invite you to the council?” he reminded me.

  “And threw me some pretty bones, as well,” I grumbled. “I feel so . . . cuddled.”

  “The comparative lifespans of humans and Alka Alon make maintaining meaningful alliances difficult,” Aeratas insisted. “It is a problem we have struggled with since you arrived. Only the Valley People have anything close to a reasonable longevity, and trusting to the quality of your institutions to maintain an alliance has proven complicated. You seem to want to re-arrange things every few centuries,” he said, crossly. “It’s like dealing with a bunch of unruly Tal or gurvani.”

  “I’m sorry our mortality inconveniences you,” I snorted. “We find it challenging, ourselves. Particularly when it is exploited so cavalierly. Damn it, we are not expendable!”

  “Our fates are bound to yours, Minalan,” the Aronin insisted. “We are all expendable, in this struggle. While I regret that my race has brought such a danger to a head, your race has, in the past, proven as much a peril to us all. The crisis that precipitated the loss of the Forsaken was one such matter. We acted then, as we act now, to protect the future of both Alon and human on this world. I am as committed to that as I am to my charge as Aronin. Indeed, it is intrinsic to it.”

  “And now, thanks to you, so am I!” I fumed.

  “If you resent my interference, then appreciate how my actions contributed to my current condition,” he said, spreading his useless arms weakly. “I have paid grievously for my sins, Minalan. I have watched my friends and kinsmen die, and sent my daughter into exile in the wilderness.

  “But in sinning, I have preserved some hope for our mutual futures. I do not regret my sacrifice, as painful as it has been. Nor do I linger in guilt over the minor transgressions of my conscience in risking you and your life. It is not the time for such regrets. We are at war, Minalan,” he reminded me, sternly. “At war with an insidious and existentially dangerous force that will see both our species extinct on this world, if it lies unchallenged.”

  “Oh, I agree,” I said, standing. My knees were complaining. “The foe you created needs to be fought, and we are both committed to that end. But one thing that gains that foe my enmity is the arrogant way it treats the lives of my people. I’m starting to see a pattern emerging,” I said, darkly.

  “You keep drinking your nut juice,” I muttered. “Suddenly, I feel the need of some air.”

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Master Suhi

  I wandered back to the main chamber before following the other additional tunnel. As the first one had, the second was also a prison, though the cells at the end were both larger and more plentiful. This was a far more secure dungeon than the one the weakened Alon were held in; there was a stout iron gate that secured it (Master Hance had politely opened it for us) and each of the cells was likewise furnished with a thick grate and strong iron door.

  This was a more professional operation than the Alkan side. The remains of the turnkey were just within the main chamber of the prison, a draugen or Nemovort who’d gotten on the wrong side of Sire Cei’s hammer. There wasn’t much left of him. There was a score of cells, ten on each side of the long, roughly-carved chamber. Only a few were occupied, thankfully. Cei, Hance, and Azhguri were inspecting each of them when I arrived, a magelight providing some scant illumination in the darkness.

  “This is a nasty place,” Hance observed, as I joined them. “You must have gotten on Korbal’s especially bad side, to warrant such hopeless conditions.”

  “Actually, the other side is even worse,” I replied, gloomily. “Whom have we recovered?”

  “We’re still figuring it out,” Hance said, gesturing toward Sire Cei. “Apparently one didn’t have to be human or Alkan to earn a coveted spot in this dire place. Or even alive. One of the Nemovorti is in that cell,” he warned.

  “A Nemovort?” I asked curious. “That is interesting.” I walked over to the cell, where Cei was standing warily, his hammer at the ready.

  The thing on the other side of the grate was a pitiful example of necromancy. Whatever human who had contributed the host body had been slightly built before the transformation, with eyes set too close together. The arms and legs were likewise frail looking.

  “He dares taunt me,” Sire Cei murmured, as I approached. “He says his name is Stulka Dumi.”

  “So, Master Stulka Dumi,” I said, rapping on the grate with my staff. “What earns you the honor of such fine accommodations from your master?”

  “And who are you, to question me so?” demanded the Nemovort, in a high
, wavering voice.

  “Minalan the Spellmonger,” I announced, as gruffly as I could. “And I can question you as I please . . . and compel your testimony, if I have need,” I added, warningly, as I directed the Magolith to float into his view. I don’t know if a big green pulsating ball of irionite was particularly threatening, but it got his attention.

  “Oh ho! So you’re the rebellious humani mage who has caused so much consternation to the gurvani!” he giggled, hysterically. “Korbal is looking forward to consuming your soul, in particular!”

  “I doubt it will agree with him,” I dismissed. “But if I can irritate Sheruel, you can imagine what I can do to one pitiful Nemovort. Why are you here?” I demanded.

  “Oh, I . . . transgressed,” Stulka Dumi jabbered. “I spoke foolishly, and angered Korbal in front of his court. Some people just cannot appreciate the truth, no matter how wittily presented,” he sighed. “Critics!”

  “Why didn’t he just destroy you?” Cei demanded, disgusted by the filthy creature’s behavior.

  “Master Korbal has plans for us all, he does,” Stulka Dumi said, flamboyantly. “Even for fools who have long outlived their purpose. It’s too much trouble to install us in these fragile vessels to waste them,” he admitted. “And it is so degrading to be locked within such an abysmal body as it decomposes around me. He really could not have selected a more abasing punishment,” he said, sounding oddly proud of it. “So why are you thieves breaking into my master’s chambers?” he asked, suddenly throwing himself against the bars.

  “Only one of us is a thief,” Sire Cei said, evenly. “This is a military mission.”

  “Our business is our own,” I said, sternly. “Be content to rot here, then, until your master has need of you.”

  “You’re going to see the Cavern of Ages?” he asked, excitedly. “Korbal forbids it! None but he and his most trusted have access to that!”

  “I find I care not for the dictates of the Alka Alon,” I sneered. “I shall go where I wish.”

  “You think he left it unguarded? His own laboratory lies within! His most trusted . . . oh, she will delight in you!” he said, his manner changing abruptly. I could see why Korbal imprisoned him. He was as crazy as a shithouse rat. “She shall lick the remnants of your entrails from her fingers! She—”

  I grew tired of his babbling – he wasn’t giving me much in the way of meaningful intelligence, and I wasn’t inclined to set him free. So I blasted him with a suppression wave – a kind of powerful blast of energy tuned to confound the human nervous system. It wasn’t completely successful, thanks to the necromantic nature of his existence, but there were still enough active nerves in his system to feel it.

  “Enough!” I spat. “If you see Korbal before I do, tell him I’m planning on finding an even deeper hole to stuff him into, this time. After I kick his arse until his nose bleeds,” I said, adding an old Riverlands peasants’ threat to the message.

  “Watch him,” I instructed Cei. “Tell me if he says anything of worth. Otherwise, just kind of stand there stoically and glare at him, if you can manage that.”

  “I shall challenge myself, Excellency,” my castellan assured.

  The next cell had attracted the attention of Azhguri. The old stonesinger was standing outside it, leaning on his hammer and smirking at the prisoner within.

  “My lord, may I present Master Suhi – Head of the Taguma clan of the Q’azarai,” he reported, a gloating note in his voice.

  “Hello,” I said, ignoring the smug tone. The Karshak and the Dradrien have had a rivalry that goes back millennia, from what I understood. There was a lot of mutual antagonism between the two cousin races. “I am the humani wizard Minalan the Spellmonger. Why are you imprisoned in the dungeons of the Necromancer?”

  “I was kidnapped,” the impossibly-low voice stated. “Forced to work at his forges against my will. At the threat of my life.” His Narasi was slow and heavily accented, but he spoke it with deliberation.

  “What would you pledge to me, if I set you free?” I asked, recalling the bargain Tyndal had struck with the dwarf’s nephews.

  I wasn’t being an asshole – in my discussions with the three Dradrien smiths I’d come to understand a little about how their society worked. In their way, the Dradrien were just as adamant about contractual obligations as the Karshak. If one was indebted to you for service, that debt was absolute – including loyalties. Without that bond, there was no guarantee that I could trust anything that came out of his mouth, by the Dradrien’s own admission.

  “Ten years of my service,” he finally admitted, with distaste.

  “Ten years? For a rescue from the deepest prison in the land? That seems . . . cheap. But perhaps your service is not worth much,” I suggested.

  “Twenty years, then,” Suhi said, with a resigned sigh. “All my craft and all of my . . . my . . .”

  “The word you’re looking for is ‘fidelity’,” prompted Azhguri, enjoying the dark-haired Dradrien’s discomfort. “Your craft and your fidelity. For twenty years. By the beards of our ancestors, I witness the pact!” he cackled.

  “Then free me!” demanded Suhi, arrogantly, as he shook his thick chains at me behind the grate.

  The grate was common iron, but the chains were steel, I noticed. And they were heavily enchanted. I pulled Insight out of its pocket and examined them.

  My baculus suggested that the bindings were necromantic in nature – they drained the energy of their bearer and fed on the desire to be free. That was insidious – the more the prisoner wanted to be out of their chains, the stronger the field that sapped their ability to make the smallest move to release them. The spell was forged into the very links of the manacles in a way I’d never seen before.

  But they were still separate from Suhi. I used Pathfinder’s discrimination to select the steel, alone, and transferred the bonds into a hoxter.

  Suhi blinked, and looked at his liberated hands. He was free.

  “I accept your service of twenty years,” I said, as he looked up at me, sharply. “It begins now.”

  Suhi grinned, and grasped the lock on the grate in one hand. With some effort, he twisted it off the door and tossed it aside. Azhguri frowned and picked up his hammer, but stood aside as the dark-haired Dradrien pushed open the grate and stepped into freedom.

  “What are your orders, my master?” Suhi asked, mockingly.

  “I’m not the kind of master who needs his arse kissed, for one thing,” I replied, sharply. “Your three nephews can attest to that.”

  “My nephews?” he asked, surprised. “You’ve seen them?”

  “They’ve been my guests – well, the guests of a colleague of mine – for a few months, now. They’ve told us everything they knew about Olum Seheri, and what they were doing here.”

  He snorted derisively. “That didn’t take long,” he said, rolling his dark blue eyes. “But I am happy they are away from this place, the idiots.”

  “Don’t be so hard on them,” Azhguri said, sternly. “They might be young, but they are loyal to kin and clan!”

  “They were stupid!” Suhi countered.

  “Not stupid enough to give away twenty years of their service for rescue,” I pointed out. “They offered but ten each.”

  “They are not worth that much,” he said, wiping his huge nose with his hand. “Good boys, in their way, but . . .”

  “Right now, we need to know why you’re down here, what Korbal is planning, and what lies beyond the great doorway that leads to the Chamber of Ages.”

  “I am down here because my work for that monster was complete,” he said, stiffly, as he rubbed his wrists. “He forced me to build for him a . . . a device, using the rarest of metals and all of my skill.”

  “I’ve seen the plans,” I nodded. “I just want to know what it can do.”

  “It can do a great number of things,” the Dradrien said, scornfully. “It was not a poor design, for an Alka Alon.”

  “Something specific,” I
urged. “What was its main purpose? An evil dark lord doesn’t go out of his way to kidnap a powerful magical Dradrien smith and compel him to task unless there is significance to the work.”

  “There is,” he sighed, distastefully. “Once powered, I know he hopes to use it to communicate with the Deeps,” he said, with a shudder.

  “Well, what does that mean?” demanded Azhguri. “That’s just another piece of the ocean!”

  “You recall the terror your folk unleashed on the world, when it awoke the Menace from its rocky tomb?” the Dradrien asked, darkly. “That monster is but a vassal of those who lie trapped within the Depths. With this . . . this tool, Korbal hopes to conspire with those horrors.”

  “That was an accident!” Azhguri said, defensively. Suhi shrugged it away.

  “Well, that is helpful,” I decided. “That tells us he has yet to enter an alliance with the Formless, in any case. Perhaps we have a little time.”

  “He plans to destroy you humani, first,” the Dradrien said, gloating a little. “Then use you to destroy the lesser races,” he said, casting his eye on his Karshak escort.

  “We’ve heard,” I dismissed, casually. “He doesn’t know us very well, yet.”

  “There are two other prisoners,” Hance reported, when he rejoined us a moment later. “Two humans. Alshari, in fact.”

  “More hosts for the Nemovorti to consume?” I asked.

  “Oh, no, these fellows didn’t have rajira,” Hance supplied. “They were political prisoners. Two members of the larger rebel council in Alshar who disappeared about a year ago: Baron Valkid and Viscount Cinam. Both stooges of the Count of Rhemes, and instrumental in silencing loyalist opposition to the Council of Counts, after the Duke was assassinated. They must have been sent here for ‘safe keeping’.”

  “By the Count’s request?” I asked. Hance was far more familiar with Alshari politics than I was.

  “Oh, I don’t think so,” Hance replied. “They were invaluable to His Excellency, in terms of keeping the southern counties in line. If he’d had problems with them, he would have had them executed. The fact that they are here tells me that Korbal does not trust his allies any more than his enemies.”