“Much has changed, since then, and there is more than one reason for such a castle. The west bank of the Meir is dangerous. With Nandine destroyed, there is no town of note in the north, anymore. This site is idea for such a place: easy to defend, arable land, and some industry. More, now that you’ve brought the Dradrien.”
“How long will you stay here?” I asked.
“Long enough to see these folk settled for winter, before we return to Vorone. Pentandra has been granted a leave-of-absence, until the Royal Curia at Yule. We intend to enjoy it,” he said, simply. “Olum Seheri was difficult for both of us. In truth, there were several times I thought I would never see my daughters born that day.”
“It was harrowing for us all,” I agreed. “But a tale for the ages. Let’s hope that the next time we go back there, it’s to wipe it clean and rebuild lost Anthatiel.”
We drifted off into silence, as we smoked and stared at the stars. They seemed much clearer at this elevation. I could not help but wonder which among them was concealing the mighty ship that brought us to this world. I thought of the forty thousand forsaken souls locked within that ship, hopeful of a new life on a new world someday but condemned to drift in eternal darkness.
It was a sobering thought. I had no explicit duty to the Forsaken, outside of common humanity (well, I was assuming it was common . . .) but something in my heart moved me to consider their fate. I could see no real way I could affect their rescue – I was no Celestial Mother, to guide the stars in their courses.
Of course, I did have access to the next best thing, I reminded myself. I had no idea how I could or would do such a thing, but that’s never stopped me before. But on further reflection, as much as delving into such a fascinating historical riddle held much intellectual appeal, it just couldn’t be a priority.
There was a war on. One that was heating up. Because of my raid. That had to be my first priority, now that Alya was healing.
“It’s pretty up here,” I said, finally. “Like Boval Vale, before the invasion. I like it.”
“I’ve always been partial to the eastlands,” Arborn affirmed, as he packed his travel pipe. “I’ve known it since I was a boy. The Kasari have camped and hunted this territory for hundreds of years. Since before the Narasi came. We have hidden refuges and camps all over here. Good fishing, too,” he added.
“Have you had any issues with your Narasi vassals?”
“From Otter’s Point? Nay,” he said, shaking his head. “The old lord was the last who saw the Kasari in an ill light. The few hamlets betwixt there and here don’t even know I’m their lawful lord now,” he chuckled. “I visit them, from time to time, just to see how they fare. I suppose they’ll figure it out eventually.”
“How are the Kasari taking your new rise in position among the Narasi?”
“They see it as a fulfillment of our duty to be helpful,” he said, diplomatically, after a moment’s thought. “Anguin’s use – and prompt payment – for the services of the rangers he’s hired has helped build some trust. But a few still see me as betraying the spirit of the Kasari, if not the law, by taking service with the duchy. Now is not the time to nurse old feuds,” he pronounced.
“No, it is not,” I agreed. “Well, I wish you luck. What you and Pentandra are doing here is much like what I tried to do with Sevendor: mixing different peoples together, trying to maintain security and order, and developing a town from scratch through magic and an obscene amount of gold. Of course, if I can do it, you two won’t have any problems,” I dismissed. That earned me a look.
“You do realize that we’re doing this with very little resources, scant support, on the edge of a war zone?” he pointed out.
“Well . . . yes,” I agreed, reluctantly. “But you’re starting from scratch,” I emphasized. “You didn’t have to start out correct someone else’s mistakes and neglect. And you have me to help you. I didn’t have that.”
“You have an intriguing and . . . unusual perspective on things sometimes, Minalan,” he reflected, after smoking for a moment.
“I’m a wizard,” I shrugged. “Thinking up elaborate rationalizations is my bread and butter.”
On the way back to Sevendor, I took the opportunity to stop by Vorone, at Terleman’s invitation.
Actually, I was getting ready to take the Ways back to Sevendor when Terleman burst into my mind as loud as anyone but Sheruel ever had.
MIN! You have got to drop what you’re doing and get to Vorone and see what this girl is doing! he insisted, before I could get a word in. She’s got this vase, and—
Wait, wait, wait, my friend, I said, trying to calm him down. Terleman is an old soldier with an old soldier’s capacities, but he was clearly drunk. Where are you? Exactly?
Vorone, he repeated, Street of Flowers. I love this place! Wenek and I brought a bunch of the boys along to spend some of our pay, and we got distracted.
Just when did you arrive?
Huh? Nine days ago, he said, after struggling with the number. Don’t worry, we haven’t spent the entire time drunk. But old friends kept dropping by to congratulate us, and so we kind of lingered. Sandoval showed up with his new girlfriend. Astyral was here a few days, went back to Tudry, and then came back, and he brought Rustallo. You remember Landrik? Landrik was here, just met him in the street. We’ve been drinking this Pearwoods stuff for hours now. But you really should join us, he pleaded. We’ve been talking about the raid, and how things stand, and . . . well, your name has come up. We’ve all wished you were here. I didn’t want to disturb you, but then this dancer came out with a vase, and I thought ‘y’know, Min would love to see this!’
I sighed. I didn’t much feel like socializing, after the pleasant evening with Pentandra’s new family, but then I had a responsibility to support my men even when they weren’t on the battlefield.
Astyral, Sandy, Terleman, Wenek and those guys didn’t feel rewarded by speeches and estates, at this point. They fought because it was what they were good at, and they fought for me because I was their friend, as much as I was their commander. A night drinking and carousing in Vorone’s increasingly popular red-magelight district with them would mean more for our relationship than riches or flattery.
Those relationships required as much maintenance as any, despite the camaraderie of war. A wizard who didn’t have good friends to call upon to, say, assault the secluded fortress of an evil dark lord had only himself to blame.
Fine, I admitted, finally. It was already too late in Sevendor to see the children, tonight – my sister would have already tucked them in. No one was expecting me anywhere tomorrow . . .
I’ll be there shortly, I finally agreed. Just a few drinks, I warned. I still have important Spellmonger stuff to do.
Like what? he asked, with drunken curiosity.
Like . . . building my new warstaff, I said, grasping for something Terleman would appreciate.
You can do that later, he said. But if you don’t hurry up you’re going to miss what she – Ishi’s Tits! How does she get it all . . .?
Alas, by the time I brought myself through the Ways to Terleman’s stone, just outside of the tavern, the show was over . . . though Terl didn’t have any problem explaining the technical and dramatic elements of the piece, occasionally using hand gestures to symbolize positioning.
I didn’t even get to hear how it turned out, though, because the rest of the party was moving from the tavern/brothel complex to a much statelier tavern up the street, where it was rumored a minstrel of rare wit and a squadron of youthful dancers was performing.
The moment they came out the door, I was swarmed and embraced by sweaty, drunken warmagi. I greeted them all eagerly, and we started down the street in a tangled mob. Wenek’s arm was still in a sling, a result of the last duel he’d had with a Nemovort, while others were rescuing us, and Terleman was still bandaged in at least three places, but it appeared all were healing.
Sandoval’s new girlfriend proved to be the woman he rescued
from the Necromancer’s dungeons. Andra anna Corseen looked much better than the last time I’d seen her. She was wearing a new gown of local style, a lovely dark green with light green trim. She seemed to hover closely to Sandy, I noted – indeed, she never got more than arm’s reach from him all night.
He seemed to share the attachment, I also noted. Whether there was some previous spark there that had rekindled, or if his rescue of her from certain death and post-mortem insult had driven them together, but he acted very protective of her all evening.
Andra was a very pleasant woman, I discovered, the descendent from an old Imperial house in southern Alshar. She was a practical adept, but one who focused on thaumaturgy and spell design theory – not a great way to earn a living, to my mind, but she’d done well enough before she was kidnapped.
The tavern we lit at for the next few hours was a relatively new one known as the Daffled Dragon, and bore a sign with a cartoonish geriatric dragon with a beard, clearly in his cups. It proved a merry place with wide windows, tables outdoors, a trio of musicians (fiddle, tambour, and cittern) and five busy barmaids to serve.
I ordered several bottles of wine for the table, paying a Rose in advance (I honestly didn’t have anything smaller on me) and ensuring incredible service all night. Once I complained about the lighting, and threw six magelights into the air around the tavern, I became the barman’s new favorite customer.
The discussion was loud and boisterous as we complimented each other about various elements of the recent raid – particularly my “inspired” use of the Handmaiden to fuse Korbal to his body. I was pretty thick with the praise myself, picking out particular instances of impressive performance among my comrades.
“You missed all the really exciting stuff while you were down in that hole,” Terleman taunted me, trying hard not to slur his words. “We were throwing spells we wouldn’t have dared throw on a human battlefield. I killed hundreds of hobgoblins – personally,” he bragged. “Damn near blew out my warstaff. Exhausted every spell on my blade,” he added, proudly. “But Duin himself couldn’t have thrown a better battle,” he said, encouragingly.
“Oh! I tried a new anti-personnel spell you missed,” Wenek said, excitedly as he could with one arm. “I call it Wenek’s Calenture,” he declared, pronouncing the words with great deliberation. “Pure Red Magic – Rael gave me the idea. It’s a cast sigil that targets the enemy’s hypothalamus. In sixty seconds, the target is running a high fever, high enough to cause them to pass out. Sometimes they die from shock, the weak ones, anyway. Used it twice – it was glorious!” he smirked, his fat face smiling.
Before the conversation could descend into pure shop talk – a real danger, considering the amount of wine involved – I quizzed Terleman about the others from the raid, and their whereabouts. There were a few funerals for prominent dead, approaching, including one of Count Marcadine’s popular bannermen who’d volunteered.
“All in all, the Wilderlords have been pleased with how it went, though they bore the bulk of the casualties. Those who survived are describing it as the biggest battle of their lives, against the most evil force on Callidore. I’m considering commissioning a ballad,” he admitted. Unlike Azar, Terleman tended to be fairly humble about his abilities, when it came to professional aggrandizement.
“It does seem like the first successful offensive strike of the war,” Wenek agreed. “That, alone, makes it noteworthy.”
“Well, while you heroes were away in the Mindens, some of us stayed behind and kept the gurvani at bay,” Rustallo, who’d managed to grow an impressive beard in the last few years, said defiantly. “We had incursions all over for a week or so, after the great escape. Thankfully they skipped the villages for once, and went straight after the military outposts.”
“Carmella told me that two of the pele towers were besieged, briefly,” agreed Sandoval.
“For all the good it did them,” Landrik said, smiling. “I was at Traveler’s Tower when we were hit with a company of goblins and fell hounds. They tried to use a battering ram to take the door, until I turned it into splinters. Then someone used a sonic spell to chase the doggies away, and it was just target practice, after that,” the former Censor grinned.
“The worst incursion was at Lorvay,” Terleman reported. “About six hundred goblin infantry tried to cross the ford in pursuit of the southern group of escapees. They got pegged at the ford by archers and charged by Wilderlord cavalry as soon as they crossed. A company of Commandos swept in from behind and slaughtered every furry one of them.”
“Good mercs, those Commandos,” Wenek nodded, approvingly. “Tough as boot leather. Glad Anguin got ‘em. Had them training my lads back in the Pearwoods. Cavalry, infantry, archers, sappers, whatever you need ‘em to do, they know how.”
“Good, we’ll need them,” Sandoval predicted, putting his arm around Andra. “They’re going to have to hit us back for that. I’m guessing Tudry.”
“Vorone,” Wenek said, instantly. “They’ll hit Vorone.”
“I think they’ll go further south,” Landrik proposed. “Preshar Castle, Marcadine’s seat. The Umbra is only six miles away from it, now. They’ve already taken a lessor fortress, nearer at hand. Preshar is the largest defense between the Umbra and the Five Rivers.”
“Marcadine will destroy it, rather than see it captured,” Terleman said, shaking his head. “We are in agreement that a fortress that large, that close to Tudry and Vorone, cannot be allowed to be held against us.”
“I think you’re being very short-sighted, in considering Korbal’s response,” Andra said, speaking for the first time. “During my time in the dungeons I overheard many snippets of many plans the Necromancer has for us. And I can assure you, gentlemen, that they are far more majestic and multifaceted than besieging a rural castle. Or even sacking a provincial capital,” she said, apologetically. “They mean not to strike at any particular place, but at many places at once. They think not in terms of castles and armies, but in cities and infiltrations.”
“You don’t think Korbal will use the goblins?” Terleman asked, skeptically.
“Of course he will – but they are merely his soldiery, now, to keep the Enshadowed from being occupied by petty duty. The Nemovorti despise the gurvani, they seem them as nearly animals. They prefer hobgoblins largely because they find them less annoying and more purposeful. His real power is in his disciples.”
“The Enshadowed,” supplied Terleman.
“And the Nemovorti – they, most of all. The Enshadowed are his officers, but the Nemovorti are both general staff and secret weapons. Some are fearsome fighters. Others are canny adepts. Still others are fanatical and obsessive about their cause. They are who you should be fearing, not the gurvani.”
“How do you think they might infiltrate us, my lady?” Rustallo asked, curious. Apart from me, he was likely the least drunk among us.
“They delight in exploiting humanity’s own weaknesses against us,” she considered, cocking her head prettily. Her face looked thin and pale, thanks to her long imprisonment underground and poor diet. “They will attempt to dismantle our orderly society and replace it with something more controllable. They will act through human agents,” she reminded us, “using bribery, extortion, threats and murder to maneuver themselves into a vulnerable position . . . and then they will strike,” she said. Everyone at the table was quietly listening to her, now.
“They are scandalized by some of our cultural differences from the Alka Alon, and seek to exploit them. They understand the weaknesses in our food production, and will seek to undermine them to cause famine. They appreciate – far more than Sheruel – the nature of the human spirit, and will try to subvert it through fear, misery, and desperation.
“They will attack our weak points and bypass our strong points, assassinate our leaders and replace them with their puppets, feint at us with one attack while they bring the dagger to our heart with another. They are insidious,” she pronounced. “And they are abso
lutely certain not only of their inevitable victory, but of their eternal superiority.”
“Well, that should be easy to counter, then,” Rustallo muttered, sarcastically, earning a laugh from the table.
“What details did you learn of their plans, my lady?” I asked, gently. She seemed to have picked up more than I’d given her credit for.
“The Nemovorti have weaknesses,” she decided. “Both individually and collectively. Not every assumption of a new host body is entirely successful,” she added. “I heard whispers that, sometimes, the original host mind lingers, and seeks to cast doubt on their every thought. A few were driven mad by it.”
“Well, that’s good to know,” Terleman said, seriously. “What kinds of personal weaknesses?” he asked, taking another big drink.
“Vanity, flattery, pride, ignorance, stupidity – surely a warmage has knowledge of these,” she teased.
“I, myself, have been cursed with incredible humility,” agreed Wenek, sorrowfully.
“The Nemovorti seem even more obsessed with these matters than men,” Andra continued. “And they fight amongst each other incessantly, all the while declaring absolute loyalty to Korbal. There is a kind of . . . competition,” she recalled. “Each Nemovort will be responsible for destabilizing a different region. The ones who bring their region to conquest first will be rewarded with higher position in the Korbal’s court.”
“They think they’re just going to be able to dance into the Kingdom and slice it up between them?” snorted Terleman.
“You doubt their commitment, my lord Terleman?” Andra asked, doubtfully.
“I doubt their abilities,” Terleman countered. “I’ve faced them in battle, my lady. While individually powerful,” he conceded, “they don’t understand how to work together to complement their efforts. It’s like attempting an honest fight with a bunch of tournament monkeys,” he quipped. “Each one thinks he’s Duin, Himself, when it comes to battle, but they’re so full of their own ego that they can’t effectively fight as a unit.”
Necromancer: Book Ten Of The Spellmonger Series Page 89
