Necromancer: Book Ten Of The Spellmonger Series

by Terry Mancour

  He was awakened deep into the night by a mysterious sound: as if someone were playing the same note on the harp, over and over again. He sat up, mystified.

  “Someone playing a harp?” he asked.

  “I hear it, too!” someone replied.

  Before they could investigate, the note changed . . . and their heavy collars opened.

  “Finally!” someone gasped.

  “Quiet, you fool!” Severin spat. “Do you want to bring the overseer? Lady Gatina did not break faith,” he pointed out. “She freed us.”

  “To what end?” complained another voice. “We’re still inside this shed. I’m still naked.”

  The latter complaint ended a moment later, when suddenly the small shed was filled with the smell of leather and steel. There were a few curses as the men stumbled in the dark . . . but there were their weapons and armor, shields and packs. Just as they’d been when Lady Gatina had sent them away, magically.

  “My sword!” one of the younger men cried, excitedly. “How I’ve longed for you!”

  “Armor yourselves,” Sir Severin commanded, as he found a scroll of parchment Lady Gatina had given him, sealed before it was included with his kit. His orders.

  The ink on the paper glowed in the darkness, he saw as he unfurled it. Wide, big letters spelled out the details of their part of the plan. In a moment he knew just what to do.

  “As soon as you’re armed, eat,” he encouraged, opening his own kit and removing a water bottle. Cool, sweet water, drawn from a spring at Timberwatch. “We are to wait here until the overseer comes to wake us, at dawn. Then we are to slay him and capture this manor,” he revealed. “If all goes according to plan, boats bearing our comrades from similar excursions upriver will be joining us mid-morning. We’re to board and take them downriver to a bridge . . . Sandaskay Bridge,” he said, referring back to the scroll. “We’re to take the bridge and hold it. In two days, we should be relieved by a force from upriver. We’re to let no one else pass.”

  “That’s not so tough,” someone remarked, with their mouth full.

  “We’ll find out on the morrow,” promised Sir Severin, as strapped his sword belt on over his armor. “After that, this adventure will be firmly in the hands of the gods. And Lady Gatina.”

  Chapter Seventy-One

  Korbal’s Demand

  There was a general murmur of outrage and disgust, and dozens of bare blades surrounded the Nemovort. He took no notice of them, standing imperiously and addressing us all as one.

  It was odd, being this close to a Nemovort and not actively trying to kill him. This one was dressed in some unfortunate mage’s body, once fit and muscular, now a mere frame for the necromantic architecture that propelled its limbs. This was, thankfully, relatively fresh and unblemished by putrescence or damage, yet.

  The runic scars and tattoos the Nemovorti employed to maintain them had become smaller and more sophisticated, Insight noted. There were new elements in this one that seemed to weave an entire field over the creature, creating a kind of Necromantic Shroud that enveloped him with a cloak of energy. That would bear consideration, I knew. Pratanik wore but a simple robe of black over his gaunt frame, and a strange wrapping of cloth over his brow.

  A few of the counts and their men began to approach the undead monster aggressively, but I didn’t want the place to erupt into slaughter. I strode to the gap that had opened around the undead emissary and held up Insight. The Magolith soared over my head of its own accord, pulsing warningly.

  “My lords! His Majesty is not unaware of this unusual embassy. I urge you to lower your guards until he can be summoned to answer this emissary’s queries.” There was more murmuring, but the nobles ceased menacing the Nemovort. “Pray someone summon His Majesty, so that we may see this embassy to its speedy conclusion!”

  “You must be Minalan the Spellmonger,” Pratanik said, his inhuman voice tinged with amusement. “My master has taken a particular interest in you.”

  I turned to face him – and regretted it. While a fresh body, the host the Nemovort chose was not pretty, up close. It was laced with tiny runes branded into the flesh of his face, connected with lines of tattooing ink.

  While the smell of the thing made getting closer to it unappealing, Insight was eager to get a closer look for a better analysis.

  A little mental debate with my magical implement finally got it to suggest that the field might allow the Nemovort to traverse a hoxter pocket without the necessity of re-energizing its necromantic architecture afterwards. If true, it was a disturbing development. One that also implied that someone here had to have activated the hoxter that brought him into the palace.

  I had no time to investigate, however – I had a room full of angry, frightened nobility who wanted to slay this thing – and would likely die the moment they attacked it.

  “I have admirers everywhere,” I shrugged. “I’m getting used to it.”

  “He has especial plans for you,” Pratanik insisted, quietly. “You destroyed his bride!”

  “Don’t be silly,” I snorted. “I captured his bride. She is my prisoner, as is your horrific vivisectionist. They’re being interrogated in a secret location. I’m thinking of starting a collection,” I added, surveying him, speculatively.

  “You . . . hold the Nemovorti prisoner?” he asked, scandalized and disgusted.

  “In chains,” I nodded. “Please relay that to Korbal, next time you see his ugly, decomposing face. She lives – or unlives – at my pleasure. And should I decide to end her life, it will be in a way from which there is no necromantic return.” I glanced up to the Magolith, which obligingly throbbed in a threatening manner. “I assure you, I have that capability.”

  That was news, and troubling news, to Pratanik. “Interesting . . .”

  “More than interesting: we have learned a great deal from our prisoners,” I told him, without really knowing what the Tera Alon had gotten from the Nemovorti in their care. But I had a good chance here to screw with Pratanik, and I couldn’t resist. “I would tread warily, if I were Korbal. He should not be so certain of his followers’ loyalties.”

  “All the Nemovorti are loyal!” Pratanik barked, angrily. “We endured a millennium of internment together! We are bound by loyalties mortals have no manner of comprehending! We—”

  “Will bargain for your comfort and security like any gurvani wretch, while in chains,” I finished. “Fear not: Mycin Amana is being treated far better than the Aronin of Ameras was at Korbal’s hands.”

  “Mortal, you interfere in matters you do not understand!” Pratanik growled.

  “Why do you think I have so many admirers?” I countered. “It’s what I do. Someone has to.”

  There was a disturbance at the edge of the crowd as King Rard arrived, with Count Kindine and other high court officials in tow. Everyone looked angry and frightened.

  “Your Majesty,” I said, before he could speak, “I have the honor to introduce Lord Pratanik, emissary of Korbal the Necromancer, Lord of Olum Seheri. As we were previously informed,” I emphasized.

  “You are granted temporary grace, to deliver your embassy, Lord Pratanik,” Rard said, as he studied the foul ambassador. “Once it is said, you are to leave my palace. And my lands.”

  “These are not your lands, King Rard,” Pratanik countered. “They belong to the Alka Alon. You are in the precincts of Castabriel, domain of House Meresthel. Of whom I am the rightful heir.”

  “A house long extinct,” I countered. “This land was granted to humanity by the Alka Alon council. And you are no living heir.”

  “Improperly granted,” the Nemovort insisted. “The council has no right to dispose of land to foreigners, aliens, unclean—”

  “You will keep a respectful tongue in your head in my house,” Rard warned, “else I revoke your embassy, Lord Pratanik. If you take issue with how the Alka Alon conduct their business, take it up with them. My family has ruled this land for four hundred years,” he said, proudly.
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br />   “A blink of the eye,” sneered Pratanik. “One does not question the ancestry and lineage of the mice who infest your house. But I will be civil, if I am able, in order to ensure that there is no misunderstanding about the message I bear.”

  “Speak it plainly, then, Lord Pratanik,” Count Kindine said, in his tired voice. “We have important matters to discuss today.”

  “I will not waste your time, then,” Pratanik grinned, wolfishly. “My master, Korbal, rightful ruler of these lands, bids you to remove your settlements from western regions near the Mindens,” he demanded, arrogantly. “You are to withdraw to this point, and come no further west. In his mercy, Korbal will grant you two years of peace to conduct this withdrawal.

  “Should you fail to heed his wishes, your lives are forfeit,” Pratanik continued, imperiously, as the counts murmured among themselves. “You will become Korbal’s enemies in earnest, not mere nuisances. Further,” he continued, “you shall surrender all irionite to Korbal, as it is improperly in the possession of those too foolish to use it wisely.” He looked at my big green glowing sphere. “Such powers have no place in the hands of mortals!”

  I snorted. “Not bloody likely. Your next demand?” I asked, with casual arrogance.

  Pratanik glared. “You will cease your alliance with the degenerate Alka Alon council,” he continued, staring at the king. “You will no more entertain the perverse mixing of your genetics, producing half-breed mongrels that insult the memory of our people. You will acknowledge the sovereignty of Korbal over these lands.

  “You will swear to not take up arms against Korbal and his forces, nor will you interfere in the conflict between Korbal and the so-called Alka Alon council. You will deliver any Alka Alon artifacts you may possess to Korbal, through his emissaries, and seek them out no more.

  “In return, he will grant you limited use of these lands until a final disposition for the infestation of your people can be determined. Fear not: Korbal rewards loyal and devoted service from his vassals. Much as he punishes disloyalty and betrayal.”

  “Is there anything else?” Rard asked, his patience stretched.

  “As a token of your obedience, you will deliver three hundred human bodies bearing rajira to Korbal every year,” he continued. “They are to be the most gifted, as well as physically fit and hale. Additional requirements for the purposes of labor may be made, but this is essential: we will have your magi,” he said, looking at me balefully.

  “I believe you already had us, once, and you didn’t fare so well,” I pointed out, bravely. “Else Korbal might be here in a grand new body, himself. Why isn’t he, I wonder? Not looking pretty this morning?” That was for the benefit of the counts around me, not Pratanik. Still, it had an effect on the Necromancer’s emissary.

  Pratanik glared at me balefully with his tallow eyes. “You will cease all interaction with the Vundel. No trade or communication with the Sea Folk is permitted. You will consider any agreements made with the so-called Goblin King null. All further negotiations on behalf of the gurvani will be made through Korbal.

  “And, finally,” he said, grinning nastily, “you will pay restitution for your recent incursion into Olum Seheri. I have a list of materials that Korbal finds acceptable for this payment,” he said, taking a scroll of vellum out of his robes and dropping it on the floor. “I trust you have someone here who can read?”

  “Your understanding of civility needs attention,” Rard said, gruffly, as he stared at the scroll at Pratanik’s feet. “But I will spare you the lesson, in honor of your embassy. Why should I consider even a single point?” he asked, proudly.

  “Did you not hear the threat implicit in the demands, Rard?” Pratanik asked, scornfully. “I knew your folk were simple, but I expected at least some basic comprehension.”

  “I heard a list of Korbal’s fears, my liege,” I countered. “In making his demands he reveals his darkest worries. He fears the magi,” I said, addressing the entire hall. “He fears our alliance with the Alka Alon. He fears us making peace with the gurvani. He fears our interactions with the Sea Folk. And he shows us his most dire needs: a list of things he lacks and a demand for magi to host his foul brood.”

  That changed the mood of the hall – and Pratanik helped by immediately denying the charge.

  “Korbal fears nothing! He is the most powerful Alka Alon in five thousand years. He has armies of devoted Nemovorti! He rules legions! He—”

  “He couldn’t get more than a handful of Alka Alon to support his mad policies,” I interrupted, “and when he got unruly the responsible parties put him in a hole. Now that he’s escaped, he seeks to impress us with his potency . . . but he reveals instead his weaknesses and fears. I urge you to reject this embassy, my liege,” I said, boldly. “I’ve heard better boasts from bandits.”

  “I have my own demands to lay in this council,” Anguin said, striding forward bravely, to my surprise. And everyone else’s. “I am lord of the western lands. As you are the emissary of the Necromancer, you may bear him my message.

  “Korbal has taken up residence in my realm,” he said, in a loud voice. “Since living memory the Land of Scars was peacefully maintained by Lord Aeratas at the edge of my lands. Now your banditry has made it the abode of the foul creatures and wicked men. If anyone deserves restitution, it is I!” he snarled. “He has usurped the throne of an honest neighbor, and bred corruption in its place.

  “I witnessed the filth you have heaped in Olum Seheri with my own eyes. Regardless of what my uncle may decide, the folk of Alshar will not bow to such demands. We are too proud to be ruled by corruption,” he said, flatly.

  “You admit even your children to council?” Pratanik asked Rard, sarcastically. “Be silent, Duke Anguin, lest we send another dragon to Vorone!”

  “Considering what happened to the last one, you would think you’d be more careful,” the boy quipped, dangerously.

  “Perhaps more cautious speech would serve us better, my lords,” Duke Clofalin suggested, anxiously.

  “The time for caution passed when this thing’s foul master kidnapped my bride,” Anguin insisted, hotly. “With respect, my lords, I have seen the result of Korbal’s rule myself – none of you have. If Olum Seheri is any mark or measure of what kind of treatment we can expect under Korbal’s rule, then better we all perish here and now than see that suffering inflicted on our people.”

  “Keep silent, cub!” hissed Pratanik. “My embassy is with King Rard!”

  “And my message is for Korbal,” he said, boldly advancing in the face of the Nemovort and addressing him boldly. “I’ve spent half my life witnessing what Korbal and his minions plan for humanity. I’ve fought his gurvani in the field, and I’ve seen what his schemes portend: enslavement, death, and debasement to all humanity.

  “Would our noble ancestors allow such a threat? Would your fathers have shied away from evil, because of its pretense to power?” he asked. “House Terine will stand against it until the last man falls with his sword in hand in defiance!”

  He delivered it with more passion and zeal than I’d anticipated – usually Anguin is reserved, observant. But his mood was enflamed, now. As he stared down one of the undead lords who infested his broken realm, he allowed his deepest feelings to pour out in front of his most distinguished peers as if he were a lad challenging a bully in the temple yard.

  There were a few cheers from the crowd, but Anguin wasn’t finished.

  “My lords,” he continued, addressing the counts, “we are gathered here to see to the more efficient order of the realm, an effort which I wholeheartedly support—but it is vital that we keep in our minds the reason we do so: not to fund palaces, but to see to the defense of the kingdom. This,” he said, pointing at Pratanik, “is the reason for that effort. The forces that imperil not just my lands, but yours as well, are gathering on my frontier. I cannot allow them to go unchallenged. I will do so alone, at need, but with help I can keep them at bay.”

  “You have no unde
rstanding of the forces you challenge, boy,” Pratanik declared. “Dragons are but a taste of what Korbal can do!”

  “All the more reason to contend with you now, then,” Anguin agreed, defiantly. “I am the scion of Sea Lords and warrior-princes. The gods have declared that I shall be the protector of my people, and threats and shadows will not make me betray that sacred responsibility. Tell Korbal this: Alshar will stand against Olum Seheri. Always!”

  There were even more cheers at that, as Anguin resumed his place in the crowd. He was getting a lot of admiring glances. I wasn’t the only one who noticed that, either.

  “As does Castal,” Prince Tavard declared. “I return from war to hear of five unprovoked attacks on castles in the Westlands? Dragons? Against simple country fortresses?” he asked, in disbelief. “Has your master no concept of proportion? Of honor? Of chivalry?”

  “He has such an acute conception that he’s unconcerned with your barbaric warrior codes,” Pratanik sneered. “When one’s home is infested with pests, one does not debate about which mallet is fairer to use upon them. Is this council for children?” he complained, looking at Rard. “Or are you master in your own unruly house?”

  “These are my sons, and in their hands the future of the kingdom lies,” Rard declared, taking a strong pace forward to regard the ambassador. “They have a right to speak their minds in this matter. If two duchies are willing to stand—

  “Three,” old Duke Clofalin said, proudly. “Remere does not bend to foreign despots. Bad for business,” the commerce-minded duke declared. “I stand with my brother dukes on this matter.”

  “Then the kingdom, united, only awaits the king to rule,” Rard said, with a grateful nod to Clofalin. “And the way is clear. I reject this embassy utterly. I see no reason to entertain threats from an undead madman in the wastes. Not when I have the power to contend with it,” he said, putting his hand on his sword.