Necromancer: Book Ten Of The Spellmonger Series

by Terry Mancour

  I placed it precisely where Terleman had put his magelight. The axis of action, he’d called it.

  “Everyone inside!” I called, as the troll-killer stomped off toward the hobgoblins. “This is our forward position, now. We stay here, soak up as much of their attention as we can, and try to allure Sheruel over here to contend with us. The moment he shows his round head, we attack him viciously.”

  “All right, perhaps charging directly into overwhelming numbers wasn’t such a bad idea,” Terleman said, sourly. “Min, are you crazy? We’ve got momentum, a bit. If we get bogged down here –”

  “This isn’t about taking territory, Terl,” I reminded him as the warmagi began to inhabit the Sudden Fortress. “It’s about getting Sheruel to quit the field, if only for a moment. Then we get our people out. That’s how we win this battle.” I was gratified to see Azar nod in agreement.

  “You’re the Spellmonger,” he conceded with a sigh. “We were just doing so well . . .”

  “We’re still doing well,” I encouraged. “But it helps to recall the conditions of victory, not just the glory of advance,” I reminded him, earning me a snort. That was right out of our classes at the War College of Relan Cor, back before we went to Farise. “Why don’t you go activate the arcane defenses while Azar gets everyone organized?”

  The Sudden Fortress provided more than protection – Gareth had thoughtfully stocked it with bandages, medical salves, and other supplies – included some rations and a plethora of wineskins. There were barrels of arrows in each corner of the wooden floor, as well as bags of smooth river stones for throwing and a few casks full of alchemical supplies.

  While intended as a temporary installation, the defenses and supplies meant that a well-armed party could hold out in defense for quite some time, under normal circumstances. These circumstances were far from normal – I’d be happy if it survived the next few hours.

  Within moments, more than forty warmagi and Wilderlords filled the redoubt and took positions along the edge of the wall. The Tera Alon reinforcements filled the upper stage until it was packed, and the few men who’d been wounded in the advance were taken into the protected center for treatment.

  “Now this is how you stage an assault with style!” Caswallon said, admiringly, as he joined me on the command platform just under the north wall of the center. It was elevated just enough that I could see the field, but not so much that I’d interfere with the archery overhead. “Truly you are the master of warmagic, Minalan!” I didn’t invite him, but Caswallon is the kind of warmage who always insists on being under the eye of his superiors.

  “I hire good people,” I dismissed. “These things are insanely expensive to produce, but if there was ever a time to employ them, it’s now,” I said, watching the troll-killer plow into the first ranks of determined infantry. The first construct, the sphere-thrower, had exhausted its supply of missiles by that point and was now scuttling toward the foe as well, clanking its axe-blade claws together as it marched resolutely toward the hobgoblin line.

  I felt a powerful sense of expectation, as we laid our final pieces on the board. I could be setting ourselves up for a slaughter, I knew – this entire maneuver was risky in too many ways to consider. But unless I could draw out Sheruel, and convince him to jump into a hoxter pocket, we were as good as slaughtered, anyway.

  I glanced up at the Magolith, which was throbbing and pulsing above my shoulder, and silently hoped that we could pull this off. I tapped it for a tiny bit of power and then cast another grand white snowflake magelight over the Sudden Fortress. It was better than a battle banner.

  “Come and get me, you hateful genocidal bastard!” I murmured softly to myself.

  The wave of infantry swept down the rise and over the troll-killer and the sphere-thrower. Both inflicted a lot of damage to the hobgoblins, who were advancing without the slightest hint of fear or hesitation. It was eerie, in a way – I was used to gurvani advancing while chanting and beating drums, but this time I heard only an occasional snarl and the relentless thump of iron boots on gravel.

  The Tera Alon archers began pouring waves of shafts down on them, but there just weren’t enough of them to make a dent in the tide. They soon approached close enough to force them to switch to sniping at individuals.

  The Sudden Fortress’ defensive spells – the kind that befouled incoming missile fire, retarded the chances of casual fires breaking out, and psionically projected the emotional futility of attacking the place – were virtually ignored by the approaching infantry. They went through the perimeter of the field without a thought, propelled by their master’s dark intent.

  But then there was the spellfield the place cast in a circle around the perimeter, pre-positioned fields of sigils Terleman had activated from within, that made such an attack hazardous. Berserker sigils, explosive runes, flares, runes of pain and sleepfulness, sigils inspiring panic and dread, and a host of nasty little irritating cantrips that made a frontal assault on the Fortress inconvenient.

  Even those were limited in effect, against Sheruel’s possessed army, I saw with dismay. Sheruel’s will overcame the berserker sigils and Blue Magic sigils designed to demoralize. The more active physical spells were more effective, thankfully, and I saw a few clusters of hobs go down to a sudden explosion or a gout of flame.

  But not nearly enough.

  The warmagi had better luck. From the relative security of the magically-hardened walls of the redoubt they could ply their deadly trade.

  Thankfully, they weren’t a subtle bunch, and had prepared spells designed to do more physical damage than emotional. Lances of light shot from the battlement of the tiny redoubt to blast and slaw, concussive spells and spheres of raw power tore at the black-armored infantry, and sudden eruptions of brilliantly-colored plasma engulphed entire companies, sending scores to the ground with screams of agony.

  While they did a lot of damage, they didn’t deter the advance in the slightest. Morale and despair were no longer our allies. The dark eyes of every hobgoblin in Korbal’s livery were as determined and unafraid as one of the constructs they continued to battle.

  It didn’t take long for the advance to flank and then surround the “axis of action” we were standing on. Since we weren’t planning to go anywhere, it wasn’t really a problem – it just gave the gentlemen on the back side of the redoubt an opportunity for their own target practice. But any time you’re in the field and you see your escape route cut off, it’s discouraging.

  Behind the thick hedge of hobgoblins the tiny castle had grown, a crowd of a few hundred draugen were gathered. The armored variety, standing taller than the hobgoblins by a foot or more, their red eyes glowing malevolently from the slits of their iron helms. They bore sinister-looking swords, spears, and glaives of their own, of superior manufacture than the hobgoblins – Dradrien work, I started to recognize. Korbal’s shock troops were massing for an assault.

  “Get down there and prepare everyone for undead,” I ordered Caswallon, more to get him out of my way than to relay my orders. It would soon become clear what kind of foe we faced. “I’m going to unleash the power of the Magolith,” I said, dramatically. I couldn’t help it. Caswallon was just too good an audience for such vainglory.

  His eyes widened, and he bowed, hurrying to do my bidding. Once I got him off the platform, I really did close my eyes and prepare some potent warmagic spells. In the process, I noted how much more complete the Handmaiden seemed within the centerpoint, and I did the magical equivalent of petting her like a kitten. Or something like that. We greeted each other.

  I could sense a vestigial intelligence coalescing within the ever-changing gem, and I spent a moment contemplating how that might affect the outcome of the battle. But only a moment. I was in a hurry.

  When I opened my eyes again, it was in just enough time to duck from a volley of iron quarrels the hobs fired at us. Not all of them were carrying crossbows, but the ones who did were good shots – and the arbalests were pow
erful. Not as elaborate or sophisticated as the ones we used, using windlasses to draw, instead of the levers and pullies, but they were far stronger. Under Sheruel’s domination, they volleyed with the precision of the Alka Alon.

  I felt the surge of power from my connection to the Magolith, and I encouraged the flow as I set up the spells I wanted to use. I was ignoring the hobgoblins in favor of the draugen, because there were some Dradrien filling in behind them, and I figured a dramatic display would be instructive for them.

  I began by using Blizzard to delineate the target and control the flow of power. Then I activated the spell – a multi-phased blast I’d developed with Kedaran that would, if it worked, disrupt the flow of their necromantic energies, while at the same time challenging their physical hosts with a bolt designed to desiccate and burn. The reasoning, Kedaran had pointed out, was that even undead bodies usually needed water to function.

  Kedaron’s Expiry, as he called the spell, took a little preparation, but it was scalable: the more power I pushed into the thaumaturgic array, the more powerful the blast that Blizzard directed into the midst of the distant draugen. We hadn’t really tested it, but the thaumaturgic principles were sound.

  I was gratified to watch the massed undead contort and wither under the combined effects of the Expiry. Some were even so good as to burst into flames, as the water in their limbs suddenly evaporated and the heat of the blast caught their lifeless flesh on fire.

  I enjoyed the destruction, I can honestly say. Everything up to this point had been plotting and planning, positioning and preparing. Even when I was fighting, I’d stayed back and allowed others to do the dangerous stuff, for the most part.

  But destroying those draugen gave me the simple, giddy pleasure enjoyed by a sadistic seven-year old with a cup of boiling water and an ant hill.

  I played the blast back and forth in their ranks, sending dozens of draugen falling, their red eyes dimmed forever as their flesh withered. The Dradrien behind them apparently weren’t as subject to Sheruel’s control . . . they hesitated from moving forward as the undead collapsed in front of them.

  That did nothing to stop the hobgoblins from swarming right up against the Sudden Fortress, in the meantime. They attempted to scale the ten-foot walls in force, using spear shafts and glaives to give them leverage and height. They were beaten back the moment they tried – not just by the warmagi on the walls, but by the walls themselves.

  Gareth’s ingenious design included concealed iron spikes and a spider web of cunning iron grating. Controlled entirely by the paraclete inside, the Fortress saw the interlopers as a threat and began using her many sharp iron appendages to discourage them.

  It didn’t, really. Under Sheruel’s control, they were fearless in their assault. They continued to swarm against the walls even as they were being impaled and hacked at by them. More waves of iron darts pelted us, not nearly enough being taken off-course by the defensive spells. As I finished the Expiry, I watched a gallant young Wilderlord who’d survived this hellish battle thus far take a vicious-looking barbed dart in his shoulder that lodged itself painfully through his scapula. He would have died upon the spot if his comrades hadn’t instantly attended to him.

  I took a couple of deep breaths. I felt a little dizzy, channeling that much power. The Magolith was clearly a deeper reservoir than the Witchsphere had been. It took a toll on my body – not that I could bother with that, now. I was just warming up.

  It was time for Part Three of my plan.

  I formed the next spell. Completely non-lethal. Just a simple charm to augment the volume of my voice.

  “KORBAL!” I thundered over the din of battle. “ARE YOU AFRAID TO FACE THE SPELLMONGER?”

  That earned me a couple of quick looks from our more cautious defenders. I likely would have been among them, had I not been running this festival.

  I finished the challenge by lobbing a pre-prepared globe of energy from the sphere above my head over the rise, to approximately where I thought the two dark lords were lurking. I didn’t really know if it would hit them or not, but for my purposes it would actually work better if it just landed nearby and assaulted some of their followers. I wasn’t trying to bombard Sheruel, I was trying to goad him into a fistfight.

  When I got no response from my hosts, I amused myself by showering the Dradrien infantry with flaming gravel while they were trying to maneuver through or around the still-smoldering (and, in some cases, still quivering) remains of the draugen I’d slaughtered. It didn’t keep them back or even slow them, much, but it made them even more uncomfortable while they pushed through the smoking corpses of their allies.

  I was about to lob another long-distance attack when I saw movement behind the Dradrien trying to enter the field. More draugen – yay! – but now they were led by Nemovorti. And, finally, Korbal himself, towering over everyone else in his oversized human body, with Sheruel hovering next to him.

  It was a ghastly sight. Korbal had not gone through the battle unscathed, I saw: his tattooed face and arms were pocked with scars and fresh wounds, and it appeared something acidic had burned the side of his face. Undead don’t fester, the way humans do; there’s no inflammatory response to wounds, so the savaged flesh hung unpleasantly from the left side of his face, revealing a portion of his cheekbone, under the Necromancer’s cowl.

  He looked pissed.

  I decided to taunt him a few more times, because when else was I going to get the opportunity?

  “AT LAST,” I sighed, dramatically. “THE VAUNTED NECROMANCER FINALLY EMERGES WITH HIS GURVANI SLAVE AT HIS HEEL LIKE A FAITHFUL HOUND. SHALL WE ALL APPLAUD?” I mocked. I got a few helpful jeers from my men.

  The booming voice caught Korbal’s attention, and he glared at the fortress and the gaudy snowflake above it. A few of the lads on the walls dared to applaud with rude gestures, insults, and – in one bold case – the quick dropping of armor to present their buttocks to the dark lords of Olum Seheri. It was a foolhardy and dangerous display, but I could appreciate that, too.

  When else did the man have the chance to moon not one but two dark lords? If he survived this, he’d never have to buy another drink in his life.

  Korbal continued shuffling toward the Fortress in an attempt to appear stately, I think, just like all the Alka Alon seem to do. I wasn’t going to let him pull that off. Sheruel might not have a sense of dignity, but it was clear from his personal quarters that Korbal did.

  “WILL YOU PLEASE HURRY UP?” I begged him, after a few moments of advancing through his own troops. “SOME OF US ARE MORTALS, HERE! ARE YOU SO COWARDLY THAT YOU CONSPIRE TO MOVE SO SLOWLY AS TO USE OUR OLD AGE AGAINST US?” I mocked.

  My men howled in laughter at that, even as they continued to shoot hobgoblins. I watched the Necromancer’s entourage with magesight, and saw him glare even harder in our direction. I found that highly gratifying. In a moment, he finally responded with a resounding shout of his own.

  “I SHALL DELIGHT IN SEEING YOU SUFFER AS I PRY YOUR SOUL FROM YOUR BODY IN THE MOST PAINFUL MANNER!” he bellowed.

  That made me smile. Nothing lets you know you’ve gotten under a dark lord’s skin like excessive threats. No subtlety.

  “TAKE YOUR TIME THEN, OLD MAN,” I chided, cruelly. “I’VE COME FOR YOUR SURRENDER. IN THE NAME OF THE DUKE OF ALSHAR AND THE FREE FOLK OF THE FIVE DUCHIES, I SUMMON YOU TO APPEAR BEFORE ME AND ACCOUNT FOR YOUR MANY CRIMES.”

  He did start moving a little more quickly, and he didn’t respond again to my taunting, but that was fine. I made my point.

  When he drew within bowshot of the redoubt, I goaded him again.

  “IN DEFERENCE TO YOUR GREAT AGE, I WILL NOT ASK YOU TO KNEEL, KORBAL THE NECROMANCER. HALT YOUR FORCES AND WE CAN SPEAK.”

  I doubted the crack about his age really bothered him, but it amused my men. Korbal spoke to one of the Nemovorti, who did something I couldn’t see, and suddenly every hobgoblin on the field halted their attack and stood in place. The Dradrien still shuffled around,
but they didn’t look eager to fight.

  “Cease fire!” I called to my own men. “I want to parley!” It took them a few moments to respond, but soon no arrows flew across the field, no spells were cast.

  “KORBAL, COME HITHER, AND WE SHALL SPEAK IN PEACE.”

  The Necromancer and his retinue continued to advance, and I nodded to Terleman and Sire Cei to join me. Both nodded grimly and met me at the thick iron and oak gate.

  The carnage outside of the Sudden Fortress was appalling. Mangled hobgoblins were smeared on the walls, bodies were littered everywhere. The heaps of corpses around my ruined constructs were heaped six deep. Yet there were hundreds more standing there, ready to give their lives to Korbal.

  “Is this wise, Minalan?” Sire Cei asked, as we walked through the blood-stained rubble.

  “Oh, Ishi’s tits, no,” I said, shaking my head. “We’re about to piss off the biggest threat to human life on this world. On purpose.”

  “As long as we understand the goal,” Terleman said. I could tell he was chafing under what I was doing – this is not how he’d be running the battle – but then there was more going on here than mere fighting. I like Terl, but he’s a little limited in his perspective, sometimes. “Just try not to get us killed out of hand, all right?” he asked, looking around nervously at the sea of hobgoblins we stood in.

  “No promises,” I said, as I pulled my mantle over my shoulders. The lake mists were making it cool.

  We approached the spot where Korbal stopped, his black-robed cohort of Nemovorti surrounding him protectively. Sheruel hovered nearby, looking pale and malevolent, even in this hellish landscape.

  “So, you are the human who has caused me so much consternation, today,” Korbal said, his borrowed voice deep and threatening. He peered down at me from under the hood of his black mantle, his yellow eyes attempting to bore into me. He held a mighty metal staff in his hand – one I recognized.