Necromancer: Book Ten Of The Spellmonger Series

by Terry Mancour

  “A wizard always has reasons for what he does,” I said, cryptically. “If you don’t mind awaiting the others, Your Majesty . . .”

  “Of course, of course, I don’t want you to have to repeat it, whatever it is,” he conceded. “Is that wine?”

  “I have news of Princess Rardine,” I began, thoughtfully, once everyone arrived.

  “What? Rardine?” Rard asked, inhaling sharply.

  “Has a ransom been issued?” Count Kindine asked, sharply. Grendine just blinked in confusion.

  “Indeed,” I nodded. “Though this matter concerns not her ransom . . . but her rescue.”

  “What?!” demanded Grendine, even more sharply.

  “Princess Rardine was rescued from her prison in Olum Seheri – not in rebel-controlled Alshari territory,” I stressed. “She was, as we suspected, a prisoner of Korbal. She is well and has been resting in a safe place, for the last few days, to recover from her ordeal.”

  “Trygg’s Grace!” Grendine said, her eyes growing teary. “My baby is safe!” She broke down in an uncharacteristic display of maternal emotion. It made me uncomfortable, seeing such a strong and self-controlled woman sob like that – especially after she’d obstructed any chance of rescue. She wasn’t insincere, though. Rard put his arm around her, his face serious, his eyes closed.

  “A week?” Kindine asked. “Why were we not informed of this at once, Minalan?”

  “By Her Highness’ request,” I answered. “She wished to restore and refresh herself from her imprisonment before she presented herself to the court.”

  “Fuck the court!” Rard snarled. “I want to see her, Minalan!”

  “Of course,” I nodded. “She will be along presently. But before this descended into a teary reunion, I wanted to relay the news and the tale of her rescue.”

  “Who did it?” Grendine asked, suddenly. Her eyes were still full of tears, but she was suddenly attentive. “You?”

  “While I and my associates assisted,” I said, carefully, “the man responsible for your daughter’s rescue did so of his own accord, only coming to me for assistance when he had need.”

  “He shall be a baron twice over,” assured Rard, his arm still around Grendine’s shoulder. “Just bring my child to me!”

  I considered explaining in more detail how the operation was carried out, but the look in the king’s eye was compelling. His priority, as any good father, was establishing the security of his family. I made the mental contact necessary, and in a moment Sirs Rondal and Tyndal appeared through the Ways on my personal stone. Each bore a passenger: Duke Anguin and Princess Rardine.

  “Mother,” she said, evenly, when she appeared. “Father—”

  Before she could say another word, she was engulfed in an embrace by them both. There was more weeping on both sides.

  “So you are the rescuer of the Princess?” Count Kindine asked of Tyndal.

  “Nay, my lord, Sir Rondal and I merely accompanied His Grace on his adventure, as good gentlemen should,” Tyndal informed him. “The operation was Duke Anguin’s idea, and he funded and executed it.”

  “It was my duty,” Anguin said, quietly, as he watched his aunt and uncle welcome his cousin. “She was being held within my lands. And she is my . . . family,” he added. No doubt he was torn at having rescued the woman who’d likely ordered his parents’ execution, but he did not allow that to interfere with his ambition. “The wizards are being overly modest, however: without their assistance, I could never have achieved it.”

  “Did you not also just lead a liberating attack on the Penumbra, Your Grace?” Lord Argas asked, politely.

  “I did,” Anguin assured. “That was just as important as my cousin’s rescue. Over a hundred thousand former slaves of the gurvani are free, now,” he said without boast. “It was part of the larger operation. While the gurvani were distracted at the loss of their chattel, we were able to launch a surprise raid on Olum Seheri. I thank Duin and Trygg that it was successful,” he added, piously.

  “I dislike bringing up a delicate matter,” Count Kindine asked, softly, while the Royal Family continued their display. “But was Her Highness’ virtue preserved?”

  “Yes, I remain unravaged, Prime Minister,” Rardine stated, breaking away from the loving arms of her parents. “The gurvani have little desire for human lovers, and as for the undead servants of Korbal, they are uninterested in my charms, however noble.”

  “I was thinking of the pirates,” Kindine shrugged. “No matter. We are all just happy and thankful that you are safe, my dear,” he assured her.

  “So . . . it was you who rescued her,” Rard said, striding over to his nephew. “You, who have every reason . . . thank you,” he said, with heartfelt gratitude, as he embraced the young man. “Thank you, Anguin, with every breath in my body. You brought my daughter home to me, and saved her from those . . . criminals.”

  “As I said, it was my duty,” Anguin replied with a bow. “I might only hold a fraction of the lands that are my legacy, but I endeavor to manage those lands as well as any ruler. If there are bandits in my woods, I want them dealt with – particularly when they start kidnapping my family.

  “But full credit goes to the Spellmonger and his brave men – I merely sponsored the expedition, and accompanied the final assault.”

  “You? You went to that horrible place?” Grendine asked, surprised.

  “She is my family,” Anguin repeated, firmly. “That means much, to me. When you are known as the Orphan Duke, family becomes particularly important,” he said, letting the unspoken accusation hang in the air.

  Anguin is smart. He let Grendine know that he knew of her role in his parents’ death, but he did not call her out on the crime. His magnanimous attitude toward his family was, of course, partially affected; after what they’d done to him, I was shocked he didn’t hate them all. But then Anguin’s complexities are one of the things that make him a good ruler.

  “Of course, as it should be,” Grendine said, her face a little pale. “You have our gratitude, not just as monarchs and liege lords, but as your aunt and uncle.”

  “Do you mean to claim the reward, Your Grace?” asked Lord Argas. It was a simple question, but it was an important one.

  “I believe that is my due,” Anguin said, simply, in a friendly tone that communicated his expectations. “I am a poor lord of a poor land. The revenue from those estates would go a long way toward stabilizing my impoverished realm. And keeping up on my tribute,” he added, with a smile. As the Prime Minister was, indirectly, responsible for the collection of that tribute, he chuckled.

  “Of course, of course,” Kindine agreed. “I shall have the parchments drawn up to transfer the properties.”

  “And any other reward you care to name!” Rard added. “In truth, I will be glad to see those Gilmoran baronies taken in firm hand. Since the invasion, and without a real baron running them, they have been in a wretched state. They need to be put a-right. I will grant two thousand Roses for each of them, to help you with the task. Rogue mercenaries, goblin bands hiding in deserted places, bandits running wild – they will need some strong leadership. And it seems,” he added, indulgently, “that you are more than capable of managing your estates.”

  “Your Majesty,” Anguin said, bowing in gratitude, “I thank you for your generosity. “I ask for no further reward . . . though I do beg a boon,” he asked.

  That got Rard’s attention. “What would you ask?”

  “That my sisters, who are nearly of age, be given into my custody so that I might enjoy their company and see to beneficial marriages for them.”

  The suggestion clearly made Grendine uncomfortable. “My nephew, while I commend your ambition and bravery, I think that under the circumstances they are safest where they are.”

  “Safest for whom, Mother?” Rardine asked, sharply. “Let us not mince words, not after the ordeal I’ve endured. They were always but hostages for Anguin’s loyalty and behavior. I think that he has demonstrat
ed both to any reasonable lord’s satisfaction,” she said, pointedly. “Continuing to hold them thus creates an unnecessary strain on the political order.”

  “Not back from captivity an hour, and she’s already lecturing us!” Rard said, fondly.

  “Princess Rardine has a rare and keen intelligence, Your Majesty,” Tyndal commented, quietly.

  “That she does,” Grendine finally said, biting her bottom lip. “We shall grant your boon. Once you take possession of your new lands, we shall have them both sent to you at Vorone. As a token of our confidence in your responsibility.”

  “That is all I ask, Your Majesties,” Anguin assured.

  “Shall we announce this to the Court, then?” Lord Argas asked, looking around the room. “This will be great news – greater than His Highnesses’ punitive expedition.”

  “Yes, yes, it will need to be,” sighed Grendine, her mind already working. “Schedule a meeting of Court for later this morning. We shall make the announcement then,” she decided. “Let’s get you settled into your quarters,” she said, fussing with Rardine’s hair, “and then we can catch up. Thank you, Anguin,” she said, genuinely, as she embraced her daughter again. “And thank you, our noble wizards. Despite your humility, I suspect your role was larger than you let on. It will not be forgotten.”

  “She’ll forget about this as soon as there’s news from Farise,” Duke Anguin said, sourly, as we walked the new garden in front of the palace. Rardine was still closeted with her family, while the castellans of the palace sent word of the Court, so the lads and I spent the time touring the new complex and gardens. “Indeed, I feel she will regret her boon, and the rescue itself, in time.”

  “As long as she doesn’t forget the baronies,” Tyndal commented. “And your sisters.”

  “Yes, that will be helpful,” Anguin agreed. “I barely recognized them, when I saw them last. Rardine said that this would be the best time to ask for their release. Her mother wanted to marry them off, herself, to loyal Castali lords who would then have a claim on their supposed dowries, back in Enultramar.”

  “You are taking advice from your cousin, now?” I asked, surprised.

  “She’s . . . changed,” Anguin admitted, guiltily. “Oh, she’s still the same crabby, arrogant little princess she always was, but I think her time imprisoned gave her an opportunity to reflect. Particularly upon her parents’ lack of action in rescuing her. When she heard that Tavard was using her imprisonment as a pretext for an invasion – of people who didn’t even capture her or were holding her – she was livid. Her mother has had designs on Alshar her entire life. To see her use her captivity as a point of leverage in that quest . . . well, I believe it changed her perspective,” he said, tactfully.

  “I bet she’s giving them an earful, right now,” Tyndal said, staring back at the grand palace. “She’s not the type to mince words.”

  “She’s been quietly using her contacts in court to find out what’s going on all week, without revealing herself,” Anguin nodded. “She was not pleased by what she heard. Indeed, she feels rejected and abandoned. Considering all that she’s been asked to do for her family,” he said, meaningfully, “she feels betrayed by those who were supposed to protect her. So . . . while I do not doubt her loyalty to the Crown, her happiness with her father and mother are in question.”

  “I honestly feel for her,” Rondal said, shaking his head. “She was already having a hard time finding a husband. Now that she’s been a prisoner, that’s going to get even harder.”

  “I bet they’ll try to stash her in an abbey,” guessed Tyndal. “Some big, prestigious abbey that proves the family’s piety. And where she’ll stay quiet.”

  “Oh, I don’t think they’d be well-served to do that,” chuckled Anguin. “Within a year, she’d be High Priestess. Within five, she’d be on the Royal Ecclesiastic Council, only this time with the power of religious law at her disposal. That would also put her beyond the reach of her brother,” he added.

  “Somehow, I don’t see Rardine content with a life of holy orders,” I agreed. “She was weaned on power, and she will find some way to gain it, if she lacks. But I don’t think she would move in opposition to her mother.”

  “Don’t you have five sisters, Master?” Rondal asked. “Have none of them ever contested with your mother?”

  “A fair point,” I conceded, remembering the legendary arguments my various sisters had with Mom. “Perhaps she would. But without a power base, there’s little Rardine could accomplish, if her mother was set against her. I’m guessing they’ll try to use her to cement an alliance with one of the other duchies, if she found no suitors in Farise. I’m sure there’s some rich old geezer in Vore who’s deaf enough to marry her.”

  “She’d hate that,” Anguin observed. “She’d be in a completely foreign land without any real power base. It would be as good as exile.”

  “I think that was my master’s point, Your Grace,” Tyndal suggested. “I got the distinct impression that, for all of their relief and joy at seeing her alive again, that they were afraid of her. They want to see her safe, but . . . safely out of the way.”

  We were joined shortly by Master Hartarian, who wished to hear a first-hand account of the news himself. We enjoyed spending an hour recounting the details of the raid on Olum Seheri and much of what we discovered, there. But he was disturbed about the implications, though he was ignorant of much of my larger concerns.

  “We cannot allow such a place to grow, even at the farthest edge of the Kingdom,” he declared. “You may have struck a decided blow, but you did not end the threat.”

  “At most, I bought us a few months of time,” I agreed. “From what the Kasari scouts report, they have already begun establishing fortresses throughout the Land of Scars, and garrisoning them with hobgoblins. And undead. Put a Nemovort in each one, and they’d be tough to remove.”

  “It’s not as large a matter, with Enultramar sealed off behind its northern walls right now,” he agreed. “But when the duchy is reunited, those forts will be perfectly placed to divide it, again.”

  “That may not be within our lifetimes, particularly if the Count of Rhemes declares himself Duke,” Rondal observed. “He will see the way stays sealed. Enultramar has a grand armada. They do not need to trade overland.”

  “Why, do you doubt our noble Prince’s brave expedition to crush the rebels, Sir Rondal?” Hartarian asked, with a wry grin.

  “Candidly, I doubt His Highness’ ability to find his arse with both hands. It’s not merely the Alshari fleet he faces. The Farisi navy and a great number of privateers have joined the raiding fleets of the rebels. That’s well over three-hundred ships, to Tavard’s hundred. And they are not armed merchantmen,” he reminded. “They are warships and raiders, and they are sailing in their territorial waters.”

  “You seem incredibly well-informed about such matters, Sir Rondal,” Hartarian said, appraisingly. “An academic interest?”

  “The Estasi Order has had reason to infiltrate rebellious Enultramar, of late,” Rondal conceded, glancing at Tyndal. “We had some errantry with the Brotherhood of the Rat. Along the way we picked up some intelligence on the local situation.”

  “So . . . you’re telling me that we may have to mount a rescue operation for Prince Tavard, after just concluding one for Princess Rardine?” he asked, half-horrified and half amused.

  “We would have to check our schedule, my lord, to see if we had other engagements,” Rondal smirked.

  “It was the slave trade that was the most troubling,” Tyndal added, thoughtfully. “Since the rebellion, the Five Counts have permitted the practice, even encouraged it, as they profited in many ways from it. It allowed the inland lords to dispossess their free peasantry and replace them with slaves. With supply so steady, it is cheaper to purchase a man for a lifetime at market than pay him out wages for his service over many years. Now free men go without work and are being evicted from their cots while slaves toil under the lash,” he prono
unced, disgusted.

  “Any who do not support the industry are condemned as disloyal,” Rondal continued, gravely. “Even lords who despise the practice are forced into it, as their neighbors and competitors profit. The dispossessed peasantry are doubly injured, as if they are not wary they might wake to discover themselves fifty miles downriver, a collar on their necks and a slave trader beating their new name into their head.”

  “It is a crime and an affront to my ancestors’ pledge against the practice,” Anguin frowned. “As it is being used to line the purses of those who would see me disposed as well, it is doubly foul in my mind.”

  “The Alshari never seemed to mind piracy before,” Hartarian observed, wryly. He had a point – even during the periods of best relations between the duchies, the Alshari fleet continued to capture ships, sell them and their cargoes at market, and ransom the passengers.

  “Taking prisoners ransom at sea is one thing. Enslaving the entire crew and auctioning them off next to the cargo of their captured ships is quite another,” Anguin, the descendent of Sea Lords, insisted. “When we take a ship in the Shallow Sea, it is a prize of war. The cargo and ransoms are fair recompense. Condemning the crew to involuntary servitude is not.”

  “Then should we not have supported Tavard to a greater extent, and end this threat?” Hartarian asked. He wasn’t trying to make a political point, it was an honest question.

  “It is not a question of support,” Anguin countered. “Tavard could have hired double the number of ships, and he would still lose. The Alshari fleet is massive, in both number and size. The men are marine warriors, not mere mercenary sailors. It would take years to build a fleet that could challenge it at sea. My cousin was foolish for trying. Or being advised by fools,” he added. “The only way to stop the practice is to deprive them of the market – which is what my father and grandfather tried to do. And it worked, until the rebellion.”

  “Now, Korbal has infiltrated the rebels, in part,” I explained.

  “What?” Hartarian asked, troubled.