Necromancer: Book Ten Of The Spellmonger Series

by Terry Mancour

  “Let us be civil about this,” Rard insisted. “Rardine, we’re here because we are considering this seriously. But there are reasonable questions to be asked, and the issue of consanguinity is paramount.”

  “Letting that issue aside, a moment,” Rardine said, “I wish to hear what dowry you have prepared, before you make your objections. To demonstrate your good faith,” she said, her eyes narrowing.

  “Isn’t that quite premature?” Grendine asked, icily.

  “Is your good faith so difficult to prove?” Rardine returned.

  Grendine sighed in frustration, but nodded toward a lawbrother. He came forward and read a list of properties that would be included in any marriage contract between the two houses.

  It was a long list . . . but I realized fairly quickly that on it were many of the choice estates Grendine had originally taken in her own dowry.

  Estates that lay in rebel-controlled Enultramar.

  Oh, there were plenty of bits of Castal that were on the list, mostly estates in Gilmora or the Castali Wilderlands, but the real prizes were lands that Rardine couldn’t touch. It was subtle, but insulting.

  But when the list was read, after a brief consultation with Anguin and Count Angrial, Rardine and the Duke both nodded.

  “That is acceptable,” Anguin said, without emotion.

  “So good of you to approve,” Grendine said, crossly. “But the point is really moot, isn’t it? I have had the best minds of the finest temples in Castabriel researching the matter, and they are here to present their findings.”

  “No doubt you do, Mother,” Rardine nodded, calmly. “And I hope you paid them well for their researches.

  “But I wish to discuss a matter in private, before we hear their presentations,” she continued. “Just you, me, Daddy, Anguin, Master Hance . . . and Baron Minalan the Spellmonger,” she said. “And the Prime Ministers for each duchy.”

  “What about me?” demanded Armandra.

  “Count Moran can represent your duchy’s interests, but this is a family matter,” Rardine insisted. “My family.” She turned back to her parents. “We need to speak, in private, in confidence, now.”

  Grendine looked disturbed.

  “Why? Why do we need these wizards included? What are you up to, Rardine?” She thought furiously for a moment. “Dear goddess, are you pregnant?” she demanded, causing a burst of murmurs and titters among all in the hall.

  “I really suggest we don’t discuss this matter in open court, Mother,” Rardine said, carefully. “Indeed, for your sake, I suggest you swear all involved to secrecy, before we return to this proceeding. Because I really don’t think you’d like the results of some secrets being known.”

  “We will recess,” Rard declared, before Grendine could craft an acidic reply. “The Cloak Room. Now. The rest of you stay here,” he grunted.

  Chapter Sixty-Seven

  The Blood Of Grendine

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” demanded Grendine, as soon as the guards shut the door behind us.

  “I am doing what I have to, to get the job done – just as I was taught,” taunted Rardine.

  “Daughter,” Rard said, commandingly. “Explain yourself. With expediency.”

  She looked over at Anguin who nodded.

  “First of all,” she said, glaring at her mother, “I’m not pregnant. My virtue is entirely intact,” she said, sourly. “But thank you so much for introducing that element of speculation into court, Mother!”

  “Rardine!” Rard snapped.

  “Fine! Well, my revered parents, one of the great things about being rescued by a duke in his own right is he has access to all sorts of juicy gossip about his homeland,” Rardine began, pouring herself a glass of wine from the table.

  “In fact, my darling Anguin’s dear departed parents had many insights into the Alshari court. Indeed, some of their old friends still linger, lamenting the untimely and curiously-timed deaths of their sovereigns. Lord Hance is one such,” she said, bowing slightly to the white-haired shadowmage.

  “It is true,” Hance admitted. “Anguin and I had a friendship that went back for years. Mostly in the shadows,” he added.

  “I . . . do vaguely recall a white-haired boy in his company, from time to time,” Grendine acknowledged, cautiously.

  “I wasn’t always white-haired, when Lenguin and I spoke,” Hance chuckled. “But we were fast friends, as much as we could be. He trusted me. For example,” he continued, “he revealed to me the private name your father had for your mother’s dog,” he said. “The one he never used in front of anyone but family and his closest confidants. Lady Fart Puppy,” he said.

  Grendine gasped, while Rardine giggled and the rest of us tried to maintain our composure.

  “That was, indeed, what he called her. She had stomach problems,” Grendine recalled. “Very well, you knew Lenguin. What of it?”

  “I not only knew him, but he trusted me,” Hance continued, removing a pouch from his belt. “He had suspicions of . . . certain persons at court who coveted his inheritance, and for various individuals he used me for protection, of a sort.”

  “You don’t look like much of a duelist, my lord,” Count Moran observed.

  “Let us hope we never find out, my lord,” Hance said, a clear warning in his voice. “Regardless, that was not the kind of protection he sought. He needed someone to entrust with his sensitive personal affects. I fulfilled that role.”

  “Just what do you mean?” Rard asked, frowning.

  “Among the items he gave me was this box,” he said, taking a small square container out of the pouch. “It’s Remeran make, designed to hold a signet ring,” he explained. Its original owner was your father, Your Majesty,” he said. “Perhaps you recognize it?”

  “I do,” Grendine agreed, cautiously.

  “Then perhaps you also recall that it was a gift to him from his cousin, Duke of Remere – Duke Clofalin’s uncle. And as Remere had a more tolerant approach to the practice of magic than Alshar, at the time, it was specially made with an enchantment to ensure that, once locked, it could only be opened by His Grace. Quite a reasonable thing for a duke to possess, wouldn’t you say?”

  He held up the box to all. It was only four inches by five inches, but it was exquisitely carved with the anchor-and-antlers device of Alshar – only with the cotton boll of Gilmora still surmounting it.

  “Indeed, the enchantment utilizes a rare and precious substance known as blood coral,” he explained. “Master Minalan, would you care to explain what blood coral does?”

  “It’s an exceedingly precious substance that can be gotten only from the Sea Folk,” I said, taking the box in hand. There was, indeed, a tiny shard of the stuff affixed to the design in the lid. “It can be thaumaturgically tuned to respond only to one particular family line. I use it myself, for things I want to keep private within my family,” I said, handing it back to him.

  “So do many magi,” he agreed. “I have some in my own house, to protect certain treasures and records from anyone outside of my family from disturbing them. But it is a well-known and commonly used – allowing for its rarity – magical component,” he stated, as I nodded in agreement. Then he suddenly turned and presented the box to the queen. “Your Majesty, would you be so kind as to run your finger over the top of the box? As you recall, that is how your father opened it.”

  Grendine stared at the box as if it was about to leap up and attack her.

  “My wife?” Rard asked, curiously, as she made no move to comply.

  “What is your point, my lord?” she asked, staring daggers at the black-clad wizard.

  “If you would just open the box, Your Majesty,” he urged. “Just put your finger there, enough to make contact with the coral.”

  “Why must I do this?” she demanded, angrily.

  “I think you know why, Mother,” Rardine said, her eyes slitted. “Here, let Anguin try,” she proposed. “He’s the duke’s grandson, so he should be able t
o do it,” she said, taking the box from Hance and handing it to the duke. Anguin ran his finger over the top, and the box popped open. It was empty, inside. All it contained was his legitimacy.

  “Here,” Rardine said, closing it again and handing it to her mother. “Now you try it,” she said, in a hurtful voice, as she pushed the closed box into her mother’s hands.

  Trembling, Grendine placed her finger over the blood coral. Nothing happened.

  “It looks like my sainted mother is actually someone’s bastard,” Rardine said, in a quiet but vicious voice. “Aren’t you glad you didn’t do all of this out in full court, now?”

  “You little bitch!” gasped the queen.

  “This development nicely removes the impediment of consanguinity,” Rardine said, snatching the box from her mother’s fingers. “Anguin and I are not cousins, as it turned out. Because my mother isn’t really his aunt, by blood. She’s someone’s bastard, which makes her ineligible to marry, herself, without acknowledgement. And certainly not to a sitting duke. Why, if the Castali court ever discovered such a thing . . .” she said, looking slyly at Count Moran. “There’s no telling what the reaction would be.”

  “Or the Alshari nobles who rebel against me, denying the legitimacy of your rule,” Anguin agreed. “They might be forced to kneel before Rard, someday, because they are forced to by politics or military force. But to call a bastard, and the descendent of bastards, a king? If I know the temper of my people at all, they will reject that.”

  “This removes any hope of Tavard or his descendants from claiming an inch of Alshar, without conquest,” Rardine continued, sweetly. “And I doubt the Remeran coronet would appreciate knowing they sent their pretty, pious brain-dead cunt to Castal to marry a duke who is illegitimate.”

  “Grendine?” Rard asked, troubled. “Is this true?”

  “There were always rumors,” Grendine said in a whisper, refusing to look at anyone. Her eyes were wet. “Rumors that my mother was unfaithful, back in Remere. But she denied them, she denied them all.”

  “Of course she did,” Rardine continued. “Revealing who your father was would destroy the opportunity to marry into Alshar. But it explains why she favored Lenguin so ardently over you,” she realized. “That’s why you always wanted Alshar for your own, because you knew you weren’t really entitled to it!”

  “Watch your tongue, girl!” Grendine spat. “I am your Queen!”

  “You are certainly my mother,” agreed Rardine. “But I am uncertain if you deserve to be queen. If the matter of my consanguinity with Anguin is of note, then we will be happy to delve into it, in open court. And let the bodies fall where they may,” she pronounced.

  “No!” Rard insisted. “Rardine, do you wish to plunge us into war?”

  “No, I wish to get married,” she replied. “Not only did he rescue me from Olum Seheri, when my own family scorned me, but he had devastating gossip that completely destroys the mother who abandoned me. That deserves the hand of a princess, in my estimation.”

  “If I withdraw my objection and allow this to proceed,” Grendine said, her voice a low and treacherous tone, “will you misplace that damnable box?”

  “It would become moot,” Anguin offered. “We could not deny your legitimacy without denying Rardine’s. Having successfully concluded negotiations about the wedding and dowry, I would consider such a matter to lie in the realm of . . . family secrets. And one I would be honor-bound, therefore, to keep.”

  “And the rest of you?” demanded Grendine. “What assurances do I have that this is never mentioned again?”

  “I, of course, am eternally at your service, my queen,” Kindine said, with a sigh. “You think I care if your mother . . . no, this will stay with me until I pass away.”

  “I am already honor bound to keep this secret,” Hance agreed. “I have fulfilled my duty to my old friend. I am willing to be bound by my friendship with his son.”

  “I am the epitome of discretion,” I pointed out. “This is a secret I can keep.” It also gave me some intangible leverage on Grendine – never a bad thing.

  Then everyone looked at Count Moran. As the Prime Minister of Castal, he had the most at stake in this deliberation. The scandal could destroy the realm. Yet Moran was enough of an opportunist to realize how he could potentially profit by the fall of the regime.

  “Your Majesty, as I am the Prime Minister, my first duty lies in the lawful protection of the realm,” he began. “I would be remiss—”

  “Please understand that if you answer in any manner that displeases me,” Rardine said, her brow furrowed, “you will not live to see sunset.”

  The count sighed. “Of course, Your Majesty. I have been entrusted with state secrets in the past. I see no reason why I cannot keep this one, for the sake of the duchy.”

  “That is uncommonly wise of you, Moran,” Grendine said, dangerously. “Particularly from my son and daughter-in-law. The result of this negotiation must be ensuring Tavard sits on the throne after Rard, and his son after him,” she declared. “If anything jeopardizes that, there are not enough holes in Callidore for all of you to hide from me. I won’t care if I am exposed as a bastard, because I won’t have anything to lose. Do we have an understanding?” she demanded, earning a nod from everyone in the room.

  “Good,” she finished, wiping her eyes with a handkerchief. “Then we have an agreement.” Without another word, she pushed open the doors and stomped back to the Library.

  “The Crown withdraws its objections to the proposed marriage, and fully supports the rite,” she declared to the stunned court, a few moments later.

  I thought Princess Armandra would soil her pretty little dress right there, and her dainty jaw dropped.

  “It has been decided that the consanguinity issue should be no impediment to the joyful union of my beloved daughter and my cherished nephew. It is the Crown’s ruling that there is nothing improper or immoral with two youths, raised separately, who choose to plight their troth. Trygg’s blessing on you both,” she said . . . and stomped out of the room.

  “Court is dismissed,” Rard called, loudly, by-passing the herald. “I suppose we have another wedding to plan,” he added, with a sigh.

  Rardine and Anguin embraced, and Tyndal, Rondal, Hance and the rest of his court actually cheered at the sight.

  You seem pretty happy about this, I accused Tyndal, mind-to-mind.

  I suppose I am, he admitted. It’s what Anguin wanted. And, I hate to admit, she’ll be useful to him. She might be a murderous, hateful bitch, but now she’s Alshar’s murderous, hateful bitch.

  An interesting perspective, I agreed.

  The worst thing is the dowry, he continued, as he took a position behind the happy couple to be led out of the chamber. Anguin was graciously allowing Princess Armandra’s retinue to retire first. It’s generous, but most of it is in Alshar. Rebel Alshar. Which means it won’t be recovered until Anguin’s kids are adults. But it’s his now, at least, he conceded.

  I watched the two duchies leave the room as Lord Hance sidled up next to me.

  “That was well done,” I praised. “I had no idea.”

  “I pride myself on subtlety and discretion,” he agreed. “I’ve been carrying that secret for more than twenty years. It was good to finally put it to such good use.”

  “You really want Rardine as duchess?”

  He shrugged. “We could do worse. Did you ever meet dear, departed Duchess Enora?”

  “You make a compelling point,” I agreed, reluctantly. Rardine was hardly a paragon of virtue, but she did have wit. Anguin’s late mother resembled Princess Armandra more in her mental faculties than his bride. “She’ll be an asset to the intelligence service, at least.”

  “Are you kidding? She’s already the head of the bloody intelligence service. When she found out we had the Spider in the dungeon, she pumped him for information for days. I’ve made extensive reports to her about matters in the south. She’s already got a bit of a staff,”
he chuckled. “Not that there isn’t much to know in the Wilderlands that isn’t of military interest, but she’s delved into the position with a passion,” he said, admiringly. “She may have sharpened her claws in Castal, but she’s Alshar’s cat, now.”

  “Tyndal was saying much the same. I do hope her loyalty is as steadfast as her passion.”

  “Considering she just burned the bridge back to her family’s good graces, I’d say it’s a safe wager to make,” the shadowmage agreed. “She’d rather be Duchess of a rustic castle in the Wilderlands than head of some decrepit abbey, under her mother’s thumb and her sister-in-law’s control. And she really does love the lad, I think,” he added, as they left the room behind the Castali delegation. “I think the rest of the court is headed to Castabriel for a few days, to celebrate the engagement. My children are going to meet us there,” he added. “It should be quite the revel.”

  I chuckled. “That will make Armandra sick to witness. No, I have to get back to Sevendor, now that this is settled. I have work to do that doesn’t involve matrimony and civil war.”

  “I’m glad someone is paying attention to those things,” Hance smiled. “Truly. Things are getting ugly, back in Enultramar – with the fleet out with most of the soldiers we’re having a bad spate of ‘insurrection weather’, as they say. A lot of grumbling about the state of the duchy, the Five Counts are arguing, and there’s something dark going on in the southeast that everyone is worried about but no one is talking about.”

  “No worry about Tavard’s intrepid expedition?” I asked, surprised.

  He shook his head. “Most don’t even know he’s there,” he admitted. “The fact that he tried to invade Maidenspool has amused those who are aware of him. The Count of Arangalan has nearly fifteen thousand troops in his lands, alone, and can have additional men brought in within days. He hasn’t mobilized more than a few companies. He hasn’t seen any sign of Castali on the bay side of his lands, so he isn’t concerned.”

  “Well, I’ve sent three shipments to keep his men eating so far. But not quite enough to allow him to extend his lines. I was essentially compelled to by Moran.”