Necromancer: Book Ten Of The Spellmonger Series

by Terry Mancour

  “It does?” Rardine and I both asked at the same time, earning each other a glance.

  “Spend a few years in a monastery with a patriotic monk, sometime, and you’ll learn a few things,” he said, wryly. “Yes, Mitholiand is an ancient fortress, one of the oldest in the Wilderlands. When the Alshari began exploring the Wilderlands, the first acknowledged Wilderlord was created at Mitholiand Castle, when Duke Asluin recognized Sire Dorcei of Mitholiand for sending a company of axemen to Gilmora in support of his claim. The good Duke even travelled to Mitholiand to hunt and hawk with the barbaric lord in his splendid hall, bathed in the hot springs naked with local maidens, and caused quite a scandal back in Gilmora.”

  “Why does every story with you end with naked maidens?” complained Rardine.

  “I just know a lot of stories about naked maidens,” the young duke shrugged. “Did I mention I spent my adolescence in a monastery? Something had to keep me going. In any case, the southern Wilderlords all count their ancestors among that first group of axemen Dorcei led, so the significance of his seat will not be lost.”

  “It sounds as if you have everything already figured out,” I pointed out.

  “We like the validation of wizardly approval,” Rardine said, without sarcasm. “The magi are going to be key to pushing to restore Anguin to Falas in the years to come.”

  “I appreciate your confidence, Highness, as well as your ambition,” I said, politely. “But let us not make plans for the color of the scarf before the wool has grown on the sheep. Let’s keep you out of an abbey and see if we can’t just get you wed without starting a civil war,” I pleaded. “Leave the empire-building for another day.”

  “Oh, I’ll just fill my head with pretty dresses and romantic poetry, then,” she said, her sarcasm returning full-force as she batted her eyelashes. Then she abruptly stopped. “I can’t stop plotting any more than you could stop shitting sparks, Minalan,” she said, boldly. “It’s in my nature. If I’m going to marry this man, it is with the expectation that we will work to restore his birthright. A birthright my mother covets with all her being,” she added, evilly. “You have no idea how upset she was when she learned of the rebellion. A kingdom without the jewel of Enultramar is incomplete, in her mind.”

  “Your brother means to complete it,” I reminded her.

  “My brother cannot complete a sentence without two counselors and a servant to tell him when to stop,” she snorted. “His chances against the Five Counts are non-existent. I’m amazed he’s still alive, after what I saw of the Alshari armada. I will help Anguin re-take what was unfairly taken from him . . . in recompense for past wrongs,” she added.

  “So be it,” I sighed. “If this is the course you choose, then I will bear the message . . . and, yes, I will negotiate a dowry, in due time. But let us get through this Curia first, shall we? Without more . . . complications?” I pleaded.

  “Why Minalan!” Rardine giggled. “I thought you’d enjoy helping the Orphan Duke and the Discarded Princess!” she joked. “You always struck me as such a rebellious spirit! Now, I believe we have luncheon with Lenara and Andine,” she said, referring to Anguin’s younger sisters,” she said, rising. “They are the sweetest young maids!”

  I realized, with a start, that as Anguin’s wife Rardine would have social control over who they wed – or didn’t. Or she could just turn them into killers.

  Love is always a little complicated, at court.

  I reported my findings to Rard through the discreet ear of the Court Wizard, passing along what I’d witnessed – in edited form – to Hartarian, mind-to-mind.

  They want you to do what? he asked, in disbelief.

  Believe me, it’s not something I asked for, I assured him. It’s not even something I have time to do. But they want me to open negotiations for Rardine’s dowry. I don’t even know what that entails! When the girls in my village had a dowry, it was figured in cows, sheep, and pigs!

  We’re speaking of a significantly higher sum, here, Hartarian agreed. It’s different among noble families, too. A small estate, maybe a few cots to rent, and some silver to start a family with. But this . . . I’ll speak to Kindine and see what he says. Regardless, it seems a bit premature, considering how against the idea Grendine is. She returned from meeting the clergy at Castabriel assured that they would rule in whichever way she demanded.

  I hate the politics of the powerful, I admitted. But please let Rard know that they’re serious. It’s not mere rebellion, or opportunity for betrayal, it is calculated, and it’s actually based upon genuine affection. I think they see each other as abused by the same people, or something, and have found . . . something between themselves in their pursuit of common cause. Something a little disturbing, to be honest.

  I’ll pass that along, sighed Hartarian. You know what this will do to the Royal Court, don’t you?

  I think that’s Rardine’s intent. But she’s determined to force the issue.

  And Grendine is just as determined to stop it, and put her wayward daughter in her place. I think she’s so passionate about it because she’s worried about Tavard. He was in a skirmish, yesterday. Bandits. He lost nearly twenty men and got chased back to Maidenspool. And our crown princess is beside herself with anxiety. She goes to the temple more often than the nuns. She’s using her piety as leverage, with Grendine’s direction and support.

  I take it you aren’t pleased with that?

  I honestly don’t see the issue, Hartarian dismissed. If Anguin was Duke enough to put Rard on the throne, he’s duke enough to marry who he pleases. And they wanted Rardine out of the palace anyway. I just don’t see the problem. Kindine is more cautious, but then that old man sees plots everywhere.

  It’s because after his long service in the Castali court he’s seen plots everywhere, I pointed out. I can’t see any way around it. The Princesses are going to have it out.

  Gods save us all, he sighed.

  “Yes, gods save us all,” I said, aloud, as I ended the connection.

  “Good to know you remember us, from time to time,” came a sultry voice from beyond my closed eyelids.

  “I figured you’d show up, sooner or later,” I shrugged, as I watched an intensely sensual young woman with long blonde hair spilling attractively over her shoulders sprawl immodestly on the couch in my study. “Indeed, you have. Advising Rardine to marry Anguin?” I asked, accusingly.

  “It wasn’t mere whim,” Ishi insisted. “I was under orders. Of a sort. The two shall be wed. The gods so declare.”

  “That’s . . . you . . . why . . .”

  “Your infamous eloquence seems to have fled,” she smirked. “You need to get laid, Minalan. It’s been too long.”

  “I’m a married man!” I reminded her, crossly.

  “So, do your wife,” she shrugged. “That’s what she’s there for.”

  “She has the mind of a child!”

  “She has the vagina of a healthy woman in her twenties,” Ishi countered. “She wouldn’t mind. Take my word for it.”

  “I would mind,” I insisted.

  “No matter,” she sighed, musically, her voice making my spine tingle. “Just my advice. You’re Trygg’s problem, now. Speaking of which, Our Holy Mother has declared that Anguin and Rardine should be wed. Will be wed,” she emphasized.

  “Why?” I demanded.

  “Because she said so, and she’s a goddess, so you must do what she says,” Ishi taunted me.

  “Six hells, I do,” I snapped. “Enough with the ‘mere mortal’ crap. Why?”

  “There’s a prophecy involved,” she finally admitted, quietly.

  “Oh, nine fucking hells!” I exploded, angrily. “A prophecy? Really?” I demanded.

  “Yes, a prophecy,” she agreed, enjoying my discomfort. “You are just dreamy when you get worked up, did you know that? I’m all dewy! In any case, I have it on highest authority that this prophecy must come to pass. Mama says.”

  “Can’t she give me any better reason than
that?” I whined.

  “What better reason than combining love and revenge?” Ishi countered. “Come now, Minalan, even you have to admit the match has a romantic element to it. It’s a romantic lay for the ages!” she said, delighting in the double meaning.

  “It’s a pain in my ass,” I groaned. “They’ve got me discussing terms of dowry, now,” I complained.

  “Details,” she dismissed, with a pretty wave of her hand. “I trust you to do right by her – she’s earned it. She’s a virgin, you know,” she confided, a twinkle in her eye. “She’s going to—”

  “This is not something I want to hear,” I insisted. “You know she tried to kill me, once?”

  “You got better. Now she’s on your side. Or you’re on her side. Whichever. But the prophecy said that they must wed. The less detail you know, the better – it would only complicate things.”

  “Prophecy always complicates things. I don’t know why you gods allow it.”

  “Not all of us do, Handsome,” purred Ishi. “The most I’ll give one of my worshippers is a clue as to whether or not they’ll have a successful seduction. I leave the heavy lifting to the mystical types.”

  “Good thinking. Play to your strengths,” I said, earning a look. “So, I get them . . . married. Then what?”

  “That’s all you need concern yourself with, for now. You’ll have enough other matters to concern yourself with afterwards that I don’t think . . . oops! I’ve said too much!” she said, dramatically, looking around for imaginary eavesdroppers while placing her dainty fingers across her lips, mockingly.

  “Yes, I’m assuming I’ll be busy,” I said, patiently. “There’s a war on, remember? One that just heated up. By dragonfire.”

  “We’re aware,” she sighed. “Korbal is nasty business. Korbal with Sheruel in his pocket is nasty and dangerous. The dragons are just frosting on the cupcake.”

  “I know. We’re preparing. The goblin civil war might buy us a little time . . . or it might not. If you have a prophecy concerning that, don’t tell me – I like to be surprised.”

  “Aw! Then I probably shouldn’t tell you that Grendine and Rard are planning on summoning Rardine and Anguin to the capital to hear the clergy’s decision. It’s a surprise, to keep them off-guard. They think if they present them with the report, forcefully, they can guilt Rardine into either a sub-standard marriage with that boor from Vore, or into a convent.”

  “They dramatically underestimate her determination,” I observed.

  “That, they do,” Ishi agreed. “Rardine matured a lot, in that cell. It shook a lot of the girlish peevishness out of her soul, and made her face life as her own woman. That’s not something even a Queen can take away from her. She sees her best opportunity for a happy life and she’s taking it. Grendine doesn’t realize that. It’s going to bite her in the ass so hard!” she said, giggling.

  “You enjoy this kind of madness?”

  “Intrasexual competition is always fun,” the goddess of love and beauty sighed. “Add in the intergenerational component, and this is just juicy! Like that crack Princess Armandra made to you about your wife? Oh, that was painfully delicious. And it compelled you to choose a side,” she added. “You must find that amusing!”

  “I fail to be entertained,” I admitted, dryly. “But thank you for your warning about the surprise summons. I’ll ensure that the happy couple has a lawbrother at the ready, and are prepared to answer it. Forcefully.”

  “Oh, I just love it when you talk that way!” she cooed.

  “While I have you here, do you have any . . . divine guidance for my older apprentice?”

  “Lenodara?” she snorted. “She needs to get her head out of her nest, get over herself, and make some decisions,” she said, crossly.

  “Anything . . . helpful?”

  “My sacred tits, you mortals want everything spelled out, don’t you? Tell her to follow her heart, trust herself, and make the decision her heart says will make her happy,” she recited, rolling her eyes. “But that she shouldn’t linger. She’s not getting any younger, and Festaran’s head is already turning in other directions.”

  “What about Gareth?”

  “Gareth? She burned that boy badly,” she said, shaking her head. “They would have made a magnificent match, but she rejected him and hurt his pride. He will never come back to her. Unless I get involved.”

  “Would you?”

  “I sent her two perfectly-good suitors to choose from, the arcane and the chivalrous. She rejected the arcane. Rejected him so hard that the boy is nearly immune from my influence, now . . . nearly,” she added. “So, unless Dara wants to spend the rest of her life alone, smelling of bird shit, she’d better make a decision. Or I’ll make it for her. And she’ll regret that for the rest of her life. Tell her that,” she snapped.

  “Now, I’m so glad I stopped by,” she said, standing. “but I have to get out to the Westlands and get those people procreating.”

  “Really? Ishi’s tits, they’ve just been through a horrible disaster!” I said, appalled.

  “Which really hikes up the sex drive,” she assured me. “Put a man and a woman in a life-or-death situation, see them both survive, and the first convenient opportunity they’re going at it. Someone has to make that kind of irresponsible, spontaneous bad decision happen,” she said proudly.

  “It just doesn’t seem like the kind of divine assistance they need.”

  “Don’t be silly, I need to ensure a wave of hope-dispensing births. It’s not about them, it’s about the next generation. Orders are to make babies. Because there’s a war on,” she reminded me, indignantly. “We need the people, so I’m off to make more.”

  And she was gone.

  At least she didn’t use a gout of flame for her exit, like Briga – just a quick shower of golden sparks and the linger scent of primal femininity in the air.

  I wasn’t sure how to relay Ishi’s advice to Dara without attracting more bird shit, and in truth it was not something I felt I should have to. But it was also something I couldn’t delegate. When you get a message from a goddess, you feel obligated to deliver it personally.

  But when the hell did I get that job?

  It was a minor inconvenience, I decided, in a world of calamitous inconveniences. Like Rardine and Anguin. That was a far more pressing issue. As was the approaching meeting of the new war council. As was the war – the war was always a pressing issue.

  I was feeling overwhelmed, and just the least bit sorry for myself, I knew. I poured myself a large cup of spirits, chilled them magically, and went upstairs to my workshop. I didn’t have any particular intention in mind, though the components of my new war staff were laid out. I considered working on them, but I just didn’t feel like enchantment, right then. Too much work.

  Instead I wandered over to the pile of tekka scattered across the other workbench. Well, not scattered, I could see – Ruderal had arranged all the pieces carefully and neatly on the cloth-covered bench. Nearby was a long scroll of notes on the various pieces that he’d put together, including a long stream of gibberish he’d recorded off one or more of the pieces.

  I studied the notes, grateful to have something intellectual to focus on that had nothing to do with evil dark lords, vengeful princesses, smart-ass goddesses, or romantically confused apprentices.

  It was intriguing list, detailing the composition, size, shape, and proposed function of each piece. Behind that, a second scroll detailed the symbols that appeared on one of the pieces – a “display module” according to Lilastien, whatever that was – and changed in a predictable pattern. The same three set of symbols, repeatedly.

  Ruderal’s notes indicated that the lines were new, following some other mysterious behaviors by the pile of ancient junk.

  I rolled up the scroll and decided to follow my intuition. As tired as I was, and as wary as I was of travel, this was a riddle that was – thankfully – entirely unimportant, in the scheme of things. A riddle that could be answ
ered, if you know the right people to ask.

  For once, I did.

  Chapter Sixty-Six

  Raiding Tavard’s Treasury

  NETWORK CONNECTION ERROR – CALSAT OFFLINE – NO SIGNAL DETECTED

  I/O DEVICE ERROR – NO OUTPUT DEVICE DETECTED

  POWER 7% - INPUT FACTORY PASSCODE AFTER INSTALLATION FOR REINITIALIZATION

  “So, what the hell does that mean?” I demanded of Lilastien, as we followed the guard through the long, vaulted corridor that lead to the treasury. “I know plenty of Old High Perwynese, but this . . . this might as well be nonsense.”

  “It’s technical nonsense,” Lilastien agreed, pleasantly, as she read over it and smiled. “A kind of obscure poetry, in its way. A language far more technical in nature than even your schools of enchantment. It took me years to learn how to interpret it,” she confessed. “It’s a kind of code, in itself.”

  “That’s why I needed you. I don’t know the code,” I said, simply. “And since I had a spare moment, I figured I’d invite you to help me plunder my liege’s collection of fine and rare antiquities, the largest collection of tekka in the Riverlands.”

  “Bunch of old junk, you ask me,” grunted the guard. “Hardly anyone even comes down here, anymore. Except to screw,” he chuckled, as he unlocked the thick iron door with a key from his belt. “Hold on, my lords, and I will fetch a torch.”

  “You needn’t bother,” I said, waving a big magelight into existence in front of me, and sending it to the top of the vaulted chamber. The pale light illuminated the odd shapes and various sizes of hundreds of strange pieces. Some emitted tiny lights of their own, like ancient enchantments perpetually waiting activation until their power fades away.

  “This is delightful!” the old Tera Alon lady said, clapping her hands together. “And it brings back so many memories!”