It was the contraption the three Dradrien brothers had sketched and tried to explain to me. It was larger than I expected, a multi-segmented cylinder of metals with a wide and complex mechanism at one end.
“I thought he’d be taller,” Sire Cei said, looking up at the towering undead lord’s battered face skeptically.
“And you’re the bad memory from another age, Necromancer, who has intruded on a world where you are not welcome,” I replied. “I am Baron Minalan the Spellmonger, Marshal of Alshar. These are my comrades, Marshal Terleman, Warden of the Penumbra, and Sire Cei the Dragonslayer,” I said, emphasizing Cei’s nickname. “I believe I’ve met Sheruel, the Dead God.
“And on behalf of his Grace the Duke of Alshar, the Alka Alon Council, and the Arcane Orders of the Kingdom of Castalshar, I order you to get your ancient, decomposing ass out of our lands, and down the most convenient dark and formless hole!”
Chapter Forty-Seven
The Parley
There was a moment’s silence on the field as my bold words hung in the air. Then Korbal began laughing, his deep voice booming through the quiet desolation.
“I walked this land a thousand years before your miserable race ever arrived on Callidore,” he sneered. “I would no more heed a human instructing me than a Tal Alon. Why would you think I would?”
I shrugged. “I’m just being polite,” I informed him. “I figure I’m going to have to compel you, one way or another, but I thought I’d extend you the courtesy of an opportunity to capitulate, beforehand.”
Korbal continued to grin, but the humor left his eyes. “And what makes you think you have any chance of doing that?”
“I’m here, aren’t I?” I pointed out. “We’ve left an abundance of your soldiery dead on the field, and have generally won every engagement we’ve had with them. If you were all that powerful, you would have kicked us off this island hours ago.”
“You assume I want you off this island,” he countered. “If you have the temerity to invade my home, then I have the right to take advantage of your stupidity. I admit, you fight bravely . . . against mere gurvani. And seeing your attempts at magic has been intriguing.
“But I am not deceived by your strengths. This very parley tells me how desperate you have become,” he added, smugly. “One does not bargain for terms when one is in a position of weakness.”
“Who’s bargaining?” I asked. “There is no bargaining, here. I am charged with removing the criminal Korbal and his associates from the Duchy, and that requires that I give you the opportunity to acquiesce before I resort to sterner measures,” I said, as if I was a landlord talking to a peasant about an eviction. “That’s the Duke’s Law,” I added.
“And what do you propose to do if I . . . resist that charge?” he hissed, the amusement returning to his voice.
I glanced over toward the Dradrien, who were still standing near the remains of the draugen I slew with the Expiry. “Ask those draugen,” I said. “They resisted.”
“Those were mere beasts of burden, not true Nemovorti,” he dismissed. “While your race has utility, you are hardly durable. Nor does slaying gurvani impress me,” he continued. “They are weak and ephemeral.”
“You hear that, Sheruel?” I taunted the big green ball floating nearby. “Your master thinks you are weak and ephemeral!”
I am no mortal gurvan, his “voice” said, loudly, in our heads. Nor is Korbal my master. We are allies in this great undertaking.
“You aren’t an ally,” sneered Terleman. “You’re at best a vassal, and at worst a slave. Even your own folk whisper how you have surrendered to Korbal.”
“The gurvani have proven loyal and steadfast allies,” Korbal said, glancing at the floating ball of irionite. “We shall see them delivered to their ancient homelands.”
“Well, you’ll have to put them somewhere,” I agreed. “But I suggest you stick them far away from you. They’re going to be a little upset with you, when they find out what you did to them, and your plans for them.” I was doing my best to sow seeds of discord between the two factions, but, it didn’t seem to have much traction.
You know nothing of our plans, Sheruel insisted.
“Actually, I think I do,” I said, as arrogantly as possible. “And apparently you gurvani are as stupid as Korbal thinks you are, or you’d be in revolt against him. But that’s not my concern,” I dismissed. “My concern is removing you from this island.”
“Your concern should be invoking my mercy, before I have you screaming on the slab,” Korbal said, his humor gone. “You have provided me with a bounty of host bodies from which my Nemovorti may choose. If some of you die in agony before they can take possession, that matters little to me.”
Terleman snorted. “With a third of your army already dead, your prisons sacked, and your fortress damaged? We haven’t even been here a full day, yet!”
“You’ve overwhelmed a few outposts, started a fire, and killed a few sentries,” one of the Nemovorti said, stepping forward. He was almost as tall as Korbal, and he was armored under his black mantle. Dradrien armor, with a close-fitting helm on his head under his cowl. “I am Nadziratel, commander of my lord’s armies,” he added, because the Nemovorti can’t open their mouths without introducing themselves and bragging about their position.
“So, you’re the guy I’ve been beating senseless for the last twelve hours?” grinned Terleman.
“You have not beaten me!” snarled the Nemovort. “You have . . . had some fortunate encounters, while our forces contained the incursion!”
“Contained?” snorted Terleman, looking back at the Sudden Fortress, filled with our men. “Maybe you missed the triple-flanking maneuver we pulled off about four hours ago that slaughtered a few thousand of your gurvani. I think we lost maybe . . . a score of men? If you’re in charge of the defenses, I would be concerned for your future,” Terl chuckled. “Unless, of course, your master tolerates monumental fuck-ups in his security staff for political purposes,” he speculated. “Then you might be fine.”
See why I love Terl?
“Your gains, such as they are, are inconsequential,” Korbal said, before Nadziratel could respond. “Our losses, likewise, are inconsequential. More draugen can be created. More gurvani can be bred. And slaying a Nemovort is no great loss – I can return them to new bodies as fast as they are slain,” he bragged. “We are truly immortal, now. We are deathless.”
“You are nothing but death,” Sire Cei countered, disgusted.
“In a few hours, you’ve managed to bring my land to disarray,” he conceded, “but that is all. My loyal commander is correct: you have been contained. You have not reached the tower in force, nor will you,” he said, gesturing toward the smoking spire only a quarter mile away. “And you are far, far from threatening my home,” he said, nodding toward the black pyramid beyond. “You have gained nothing, save a few miserable slaves worth more to me dead than alive.”
“He really doesn’t know what’s going on, does he?” I asked Terleman, incredulous.
“Nope. He has no inkling,” he grinned, shaking his head. “Totally self-absorbed. That’s always a sign of a poor commander.”
“It gratifies me to see our foes so poorly informed,” Sire Cei nodded.
“Korbal, our efforts here are not beginning, they are concluding,” I informed him. “I don’t need to threaten your home, because I’ve already been there. While my men were keeping you preoccupied, I was exploring your innermost secrets and rifling through your underthings, thaumaturgically speaking. It was instructive.”
“You . . . did not enter my home!” Korbal said, frowning. “You lie!”
“We walked right through the gate, after your idiot guards went running,” I revealed. “Your security is poor, and your ability to be misdirected is astounding. I did a complete inspection tour, as my mandate insists.”
“You did not enter my home!” Korbal insisted.
“Let’s begin with the Nemovort you left in cha
rge of the upper halls, the draugen construction crews in the subterranean chambers, and the laboratory, well-stocked with prime rajira-laden human hosts ready to be processed. Well, formerly well-stocked,” I corrected. “We got those poor folks out, before you blocked the Ways.”
“You . . .” he began, realizing I was telling the truth. “You dare . . .!”
“I did,” I nodded. “While you were playing tag with my friends up here, I ransacked the entire place. But that was just the beginning. After I freed those prisoners – all but that pathetic Stulka Dumi – then I went all the way down those miserable stairs – all the way – to the Chamber of Ages, or whatever you’re calling it these days. I met some interesting folk along the way. Dradrien, humani, Alka Alon – even ran into some old friends,” I added, casually. “The Aronin of Amadia, for one.”
“What?” Korbal snapped.
“Oh, we’re old friends, we’ve known each other since I was a village spellmonger in Boval Vale. I was genuinely surprised to see him there. We had a lovely chat, caught up on old times, and he told me where the ancient Alka Alon armory is hidden,” I mentioned, casually. “Apparently if you torture an Alkan, he’s unlikely to cooperate. I was far more successful than you. All I had to do was say ‘please’,” I reproved.
It was a total lie, of course, but it was just plausible enough to be true. Or at least raise the suspicion in his mind. Korbal’s ruined face betrayed a very human expression of confusion and doubt, suddenly.
“He told you nothing!” Korbal insisted.
“He wasn’t the only one I spoke to,” I continued. “I also had a long, long chat with your girlfriend, Mycin Amana, before I inspected the Ghost Rock vein and looted your laboratories. But I do have to admit . . . your personal quarters? That mosaic over your bed . . . tasteful, without being gaudy,” I complimented. “But the entire place needs a splash of color.”
“You insolent, arrogant thief!” Korbal raged. “You lie! Speak another lie, and I will have your precious princess hauled out here and executed before your eyes!”
“Princess Rardine was rescued within the first hour of the operation,” Sire Cei reported. “She is resting safe and comfortably back home, now.”
“I told you he didn’t know what was going on,” I said to Terleman.
“Self-absorption,” he agreed, sadly. “I’ve seen it a hundred times. And it gets their followers killed,” he added, for the benefit of the Nemovorti and the Dradrien within earshot.
“So, you don’t have that bit of leverage, any more,” I pointed out. “Half your tower is ruined, and I pillaged your palace. The only thing left to do is kick your stinking ass back into a hole again, and lose the hole. Or maybe turn you over to the Vundel for safe-keeping,” I added, menacingly. “I’m certain they would be very interested in your plans for them.”
That actually did disturb the Nemovorti supporters surrounding the Necromancer. They might see themselves as superior to humans and the legitimate masters of the Alka Alon, but they could not deny the power of the Sea Folk. Nor could they contest it, yet.
“Mycin Amana would never have let you escape our chambers alive,” countered Korbal, hesitantly, as he tried to parse truth from fiction.
“She had no choice,” I shrugged. “She was dead at the time. I mean, more dead than she was when we got there – we cut off her head. But she was eager to show off what she’s been working on . . . because her boyfriend has been far too busy to pay her attention,” I chided. “That’s not good for your relationship, Korbal. She might start looking elsewhere for attention. That is, if we hadn’t cut off her head.”
“You fool!” he seethed. “Do you think you can kill a Nemovort? When our host bodies die, our spirits flee back to the vusradahn devices, where it can be re-inserted into a fresh body.”
“Perhaps that was your plan . . . but alas, Mycin Amana will not be returning,” I said, sadly. “If you have a mood for exercise, you may take all those blasted stairs and see for yourself. I think we left her body right outside of the Grotto of Ages,” I recalled. “I don’t know what became of the head. I lost track,” I admitted. “I’m sure someone did something properly dignified with it, though,” I added, sarcastically.
“You lie! I do not need to take the stairs to achieve the undercaverns,” he sneered. “Nor have you damaged my beloved!”
“There’s no Waypoint, down there,” I cautioned. “Believe me, if there was I bloody well would have used it! But yes, I did slay her. Permanently,” I lied. “Go ahead and try to contact her. I’ll wait,” I said, patiently.
He started to refuse, then abruptly closed his eyes. A moment later they snapped open.
“You . . . dare!” he said, his ruined nostrils flaring, and his yellow eyes blazing.
“I was pretty clear about that,” I nodded. “I really messed her up. You won’t be bringing her back. Hells, I doubt you can even get to your quarters, now,” I pointed out. “You’ll have to get past Lord Aeratas. He’s down there, waiting for your return. And he’s pretty upset what you’ve done to his ancestral legacy,” I warned.
Sheruel decided to speak up, as his fellow dark lord started to rage. I suppose not having genitalia – or a fully functioning central nervous system – allowed him a certain detachment to the situation.
This is immaterial, he said, into everyone’s mind. This does nothing to change our plans.
“Are you kidding?” Terleman scoffed. “Minalan has completely destroyed your plans. He’s rescued Princess Rardine,” he said, ticking off my accomplishments on his gauntleted hand, “he’s exposed your schemes to meddle with the Vundel, he’s now in possession of the location of the Alka Alon arsenal – which you are not – and he’s ransacked your lab, killed your consort, and put your greatest enemy in wait for you in your own bedchamber. I’d say your plans are screwed,” Terl summarized.
You know nothing of our plans, Sheruel stated. You have proven more resilient than I anticipated, he admitted. But you are an irritant, nothing more.
“I might not know what your plans are, Sheruel,” I countered, “but Mycin knew Korbal’s. Especially concerning you, and the destiny of your folk.” I was bluffing – Mycin never said much about Sheruel – but they didn’t know that. I was trying to sow dissention. “If you knew what they truly planned, you never would have helped recover this undead shitstain from his tomb.”
Sometimes bluffs pay off. While I naturally couldn’t detect any expression on Sheruel’s face, Korbal’s was easy to read. Guilt.
“Do not listen to what he says, my friend,” Korbal assured Sheruel, “he lies in desperation to save his own life.”
“Sheruel, you may not know me well, or trust me at all – and you shouldn’t, I hate you – but even you should be able to see that Korbal has no intention of fulfilling his promises to the gurvani. He’s using you, and will discard you as soon as you are no longer of use. At least, that’s what Mycin Amana confessed. It’s all a big lie. They have no intention of supporting your plans against humanity. They just let you set up a power base that was easy and convenient to take over, when the time was right.”
“We are allies!” Korbal insisted. “You will not divide us!”
“I don’t need to,” I reasoned. “It’s really none of my business, but . . . ask him,” I said, simply, to my mortal enemy. “Go ahead. Ask Korbal if he intends to uphold his bargain. No oath he would swear to a mere gurvani – much less the head of a mere gurvani – would he consider binding. But ask him, right here, right now, in the presence of disinterested witnesses,” I proposed. “Maybe you have a hard time telling when a human face lies, but I don’t.”
You seek to drive a wedge between our alliance, Sheruel said, in the same flat, expressionless mental voice.
“Well, yes,” I agreed. “That doesn’t mean I’m wrong. I went to the undercaverns to investigate, on behalf of the Council. I discovered that Korbal plans treachery against the gurvani, among other things. That is what I plan to report to them.
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“Either I’m lying, or I’m not. I won’t be lying to them. But it’s up to you to make that determination,” I said, letting some of persuasive tones from my days as a spellmonger invade my voice. “I’m sure you have nothing to worry about,” I added. “The Enshadowed have a long history of honoring their bargains and living up to their word, don’t they?” I asked, sarcastically.
There was a moment’s silence, as Korbal struggled to find words and Sheruel contemplated the ones I’d given him. Without turning to face his ally – no need to, really – Sheruel began interrogating him.
Is what the Spellmonger says true?
Korbal paused, and then quickly spat “Of course not! I deal in good faith!”
“He’s lying,” Terleman pointed out.
“Our agreement and our mutual goals make us equal in this endeavor!” Korbal insisted.
“A lie,” I observed. “It’s all over his face. Ask him if he really wants to exterminate my race . . . or if he wants to use it, in preference to the gurvani, as a platform from which to conquer Callidore,” I goaded.
Answer him, Sheruel demanded, without changing tone.
“This is madness,” Korbal fumed, guiltily. “I must need see to my chambers, and the delicate work that is there,” he insisted.
We have unfinished work here, Sheruel stated, flatly. Answer him.
“I need not answer him,” Korbal said, beginning to pace around his ally furtively. “For the context of his question is in error. He does not understand the natural order of Alon society – he is an outsider. A humani. He rejects our ways and despises our people!” Korbal insisted.
“S
That sounds like a big fat rationalization, to me,” I offered. “An argument for keeping your people slaves, or worse.”
“Silence!” Korbal insisted, growing more irritated. He shifted his iron staff from hand to hand as he paced, nervously. “When our people came to this world, it was with the intent to be its master – not powerless subjects to some strange alien race who made unreasonable demands of us. Not to squander our great civilization with rustic indulgence and decadent corruption!”
Necromancer: Book Ten Of The Spellmonger Series Page 71
