Necromancer: Book Ten Of The Spellmonger Series

by Terry Mancour

  “I have an idea about the dragon,” I said. “Can you and Sandy set up a fire retardation spell?”

  “Sure,” the warmage agreed. “On what?”

  I explained my reasoning, and he saw the merit of the plan at once. He added some augmentations for the original idea, and promised to get the process started.

  The dragon seemed content to cling to the top of Madden’s Helm, under the smoldering spire of Lesgaethael, and guard the scene. That is, until Tera Alon warriors began spewing out of the Waypoint, firing arrows and singing spells at everything in sight.

  I was watching in amazement as dozens of tall, elegant-looking warriors appeared and started fighting with the unmatched precision and coordination of the Alka Alon. Some threw themselves at the wyverns and Nemovorti, while others launched their attacks at the dragon, at near point-blank range.

  “What in nine hells are they doing?” Loiko asked, his mouth agape.

  “Counterattacking,” Lady Falawen said, as she and her husband appeared through the Ways – they must have used my stone. Sir Ryff was armored as a Riverlord ready for battle, bearing a two-handed great sword, while the Lady of Hosendor wore the distinctive bark-like armor of the Tera Alon, and carried one of their incredibly powerful bows. “As soon as we heard, we sent every warrior we had against them,” she said, with the confidence of a military commander. “The knights of Hosendor ride as we speak, those who were not already here, They will arrive within the next two hours.”

  “Then they will be late,” Loiko pronounced, as he surveyed the battle on Matten’s Helm. While the Alka Alon took a toll on the undead and the wyverns, their efforts had been less effectual on the dragon. It looked annoyed. It didn’t look any closer to death. “In a moment, they will drive the beast from the hill . . . and it will attack in earnest,” he said, grimly.

  “Mayhap,” agreed Lady Falawen, “but we cannot let it linger unchallenged. Look, there are yet more wyverns coming through!” she pointed.

  She was right. The Waypoint seemed to be producing almost as many winged predators as Tera Alon. True, half of them fell to the deadly arrows of the Tera Alon, but the other half didn’t. Maybe I could do something about that.

  Using the power of the Magolith, I activated the three arcane constructs I’d planted at the top of Matten’s Helm for the Spellmonger’s Trial. Let them contend with those while they tried to collect themselves.

  They didn’t stop coming, but they had a much harder time with a couple of angry crab-like constructs vomiting fire, acid, and other disgusting things all over the place. I noticed something else disturbing, though, while I surveyed the chaos with magesight. About every third reptile bore an undead rider with an iron lance. Not all of them lingered in the air above us. Some started to wing their way north and west.

  “We can’t let them spread across the Riverlands, my lord!” Sir Ryff said, pleadingly. “They do not have Sevendor’s defenses!”

  “Nor can we permit the dragon to lay waste to Sevendor!” Loiko said, shaking his head.

  “I have a plan about that,” I said, hurriedly. The dragon was thrashing around in annoyance, knocking wyverns and Tera Alon alike off the summit. It still didn’t look dead.

  “Is it a good one?” Sandoval asked, skeptically.

  “No, not at all,” I said, “but unless you have a better idea . . . we have to do something.” I wish I could have used the vacuum bubble spell to drive the thing off, but the defensive spells its Nemovorti rider were casting to protect against the Tera Alon onslaught were far too strong to allow me to hook the spell, in the wake of the Tera Alon assault. The rider in Castabriel hadn’t been expecting a magical attack – this one had come hunting for magi, and was better prepared.

  We were interrupted by a manic chase in the air that swooped so low as to include us. One of Dara’s Sky Riders was chasing a wyvern carrying a Nemovort, and two unmounted wyverns were chasing the fleet falcon she rode. We all paused in our conversation to fire at the wyverns, with Loiko’s blast disintegrating the wing of one while Falawen’s arrow buried itself in the heart of the other.

  “As I was saying,” as the reptiles fell from the sky, shrieking in pain, “we don’t have a lot of time, and this is a really crappy plan, even if it goes well. But I don’t have another,” I admitted.

  Baron, I am in the Snowflake Chamber, and have placed the falhoudi stone, Master Ulin reported to me, mind-to-mind. You should be able to use it at any time. Oh, and your wife and children are safe here, with me and Ruderal, he added, lightening my burden somewhat. No matter what else happened, I could count on Alya and the kids surviving this attack. That gave me confidence.

  Me? That was another story. I was about to do something stupid.

  “Minalan! Hey, Spellmonger!” Banamor called out over the screaming. “It’s done! We’re ready!” he called, waving his arms in the air. “You’re getting charged for this!” he reminded me.

  Dara, I said, changing the spell to contact my senior apprentice.

  What? she barked back into my mind, annoyed. I’m a little busy, here!

  I know, but I need you, I said, and explained why. She groaned, when I was done.

  And you want me to do this?

  You’re the only real mage in the air, at the moment, I pointed out. And would you honestly trust anyone else with the task?

  No, she admitted, sullenly. Clear a spot and warn some folk. Frightful is coming down, she cautioned.

  A moment later Dara’s giant bird glided to a majestic stop directly in front of me. My apprentice glared down at me over her bird, who was also glaring at me.

  “I’m still mad at you!” she said, as she took out a wand.

  “I know,” I nodded. “You’re allowed. You can still be mad at me later. Promise. You ready to try this?” I asked. The dragon chose that moment to push itself off the top of Matten’s Helm, it’s massive wings dwarfing Frightful’s. It gusted the spot it had vacated with a cloud of burning gas, sending friend and foe alike diving over the ledge. I watched one of my constructs curl up and die like a flaming bug, then tumble over the edge of the hill.

  “Do I really have a choice?” she asked, skeptically, as she quickly dismounted and headed over to the fallen pavilions.

  “No,” I sighed, following after her. “Neither do I.”

  Chapter Seventy-Three

  Illegal Bathing

  I watched Frightful launch herself into the air, her blood-stained talon blades flashing in the afternoon sun as she beat her wings to gain height. The rest of Dara’s wing was already circling Lesgaethael, hunting wyverns and awaiting orders. I was intrigued to see that a few of the wild giant hawks who had escaped the mews a few years back and nested in the Uwarris had joined the fray, fighting alongside their larger cousins against the invaders.

  Dara sent her Riders quickly into battle. The hand signals she’d developed to signal orders from bird-to-bird were inspired by the Kasari flag-language, but adapted to the needs of a combat wing. With a few wild gestures, the other three birds in her wing fell into formation around Frightful, while the second wing – already one bird down from Olum Seheri – continued interdiction duty.

  Minalan! someone called to me, mind-to-mind. I just heard! An attack on Sevendor? Dragons? It was Lilastien.

  Yes, and I’m a little busy with it, just now, I said. Alya and the children are safe in the mountain. I’ve got half the warmagi in the world with me, right now. And we have giant wyverns, being ridden by Nemovorti, popping out of the Waypoint at Lesgaethael like long-lost relatives after you inherit. So if this can wait . . .

  It can! I’m on my way! Good luck! she said, and was gone.

  That’s what I like about Lilastien. She’s practical, and understood the value of my time.

  “How is this other part going to work?” Loiko asked, curious, as he blasted his mageblade at a wyvern skimming over the fair. “Because I’m a still a little shaky on that part.”

  “It’s a simple glyph, like a berse
rker spell,” I assured him. “Taren developed it for Olum Seheri. It’s just . . . bigger,” I said, glancing at the Magolith that would power it. “Much bigger. But then we’re dealing with a bigger problem, here.”

  “Is it going to work?”

  “Ask me in half an hour,” I said, as I watched Dara contend with the three intertwined tents. “Most of it is out of my hands, now.”

  If there was chaos and fire in the air overhead, on the ground things were far more in our favor. As the dragon circled around Lesgaethael, giving the structure brief blasts of flame, the few Nemovorti who had survived landing were overwhelmed when they tried to capture one of the many wizards running around.

  There were warmagi and local Riverlords knights who were eager to prove themselves in such a dire situation. The two Nemovorti I saw afoot were learning about the militant side of chivalry as they tried to defend from a dozen angry humans apiece.

  It was a complicated bit of flying, above. The three other birds in her Wing and some of the wild birds harassed the dragon, trying to get close enough to annoy it without getting burned. The hawks were decidedly faster, though they could do little but dart at the worm’s head and threaten its eyes or its rider.

  But then Dara saw her chance . . . and used her hoxter wand to dump the three pavilions over the top of its head and wings. The heavy canvas was pulled down by a tangle of ropes and stakes, some three feet long, and of course the heavy center poles that had been left lying with them. They floated for a moment, like a cloud, as they caught the air . . . but as soon as one wingtip brushed through a leading rope and got the stake wrapped around it, things started to go poorly for the dragon.

  The tents didn’t settle neatly over its head, like I envisioned. But every sweep of its mighty wings flung the odd collection of cloth and ropes around like a net, and in short order its left wing and leg were hopelessly entangled, both being bound loosely to its body.

  Another twist sent a tent peg lashing across the top of the beasts back, unseating the Nemovort rider before a panicked contortion succeeded in pulling its wing tight to its back. Nothing that it couldn’t get out of, eventually, and nothing that actually hurt . . . but dragons need two wings to fly.

  I watched helplessly as the great worm made a long, desperate arch over the entire town, it’s malevolent shadow passing over the smoldering fires it had started within the walls. I prayed that it would avoid most of the residential portions of the town, and was gratified when its head was still thirty feet above the tallest spire on Temple Street as it fell.

  “It’s headed for the mill pond!” called Banamor, excitedly. I was surprised to see his old mageblade in hand, the one I’d taken from a Censor at the Chepstan Fair a few years back. It was stained with blood. “Murvos take it, it’s going to hit it!”

  The entire field seemed to calm for a few seconds, as we all watched the twisting, smoking body of the dragon flip over its head and twist around as its head plowed into the dam, then acted as a fulcrum, sending the bulk of its massive body twisting into the pond.

  The huge tail slapped the millhouse into splinters like it was made of twigs, not heavy logs. The great head of the worm was half-enwrapped in ropes and canvas, and half submerged in the froth of the pond, once the waves settled. It was a scene of majestic horror, the kind you can’t take your eyes from until it’s over. When it was, everyone looked around to make certain that everyone else had seen the remarkable sight, as well.

  Then everyone started killing giant wyverns again.

  Except for me, and many of the other warmagi. I ran up the road toward the pond against a throng of screaming civilians who’d been heading past it, toward the castle, and were now fleeing the dragons dropping from the sky. When I scrambled up the steep embankment that led to the pond, I stopped. As my head peered above the bank, my field of vision was filled with half-naked soggy dragon ass.

  That worked for my purposes – I just needed to be close enough to cast and fuel the spell. I called the Magolith to my hands and let the Handmaiden help me with activating the spell and directing it to the dragon.

  Actually, to the cloth that was covering the dragon.

  Dragons are notoriously difficult to use magic against. Their thaumaturgic resistance is massive – you can’t hook even a simple spell to them, and doing any kind of complicated magic in the vicinity.

  But we were in Sevendor, surrounded by snowstone – indeed, the dragon was lying in a pond full of water that contained, according to Banamor, a tremendous amount of snowstone particulates in it. Magic resistance in general is non-existent here, which put me at a distinct advantage. More, I wasn’t casting the spell on the dragon. I was casting it on the tents and canopies that it was tangled in.

  The spell was the same one that Taren used in Olum Seheri to attract wyverns to his constructs, before sending them into hoxter pockets to kill them. Only I was doing it on a much larger scale . . . because of the much larger wyverns. And the much larger dragon. It required orders of magnitude more power, but with the Magolith and the help of the Handmaiden within, I was able to energize a powerful temporary enchantment.

  In seconds, that tent-covered dragon butt looked like the tastiest thing in the valley, to the giant wyverns. First one, then another, then several broke away from the nasty cockfight they were having with the giant hawks and began to screech to each other. In moments, they were circling over the dragon, and then diving in to attack it, despite the screams of protests from the few Nemovorti who were still mounted. Apparently, they didn’t know how to swim.

  The dragon barely stirred with the first attack. The wyvern chomped its toothy mouth on the big worm’s shoulder, and then wrapped its tail around it as well as it could before it started stabbing with its barb. A second chose the exposed right hind claw as its target, while the third was going for its long, snaky neck.

  By the time the fourth was on it, the dragon was thrashing and reacting to the bites and stings. They didn’t seem to be penetrating the beast’s thick hide, but the multiple attacks were causing it anxiety.

  “It’s working!” Sandoval called excitedly from behind me, as I poured more energy into the attraction spell. “They’re going to kill it!”

  “No, they aren’t!” Loiko countered, as he leapt up the bank beside me. “They can’t break through its hide, and in a moment, it’s going to get out of that trap. Summon Sire Cei, quickly,” he ordered his former subordinate. “And if anyone has any good ideas about how to kill this thing . . .”

  “It’s in the pond outside bathing hours,” Banamor pointed out, helpfully. “That’s a two-penny fine!”

  “Let me know how you collect that,” Sandy snorted, readying his staff. “I don’t have any good ideas. Maybe Cei can crack its skull . . .”

  I couldn’t say anything for or against the idea – I had so much power coursing through my brain that speech was a luxury I couldn’t afford.

  But then we were joined by a fourth wizard, and one I didn’t expect: Ruderal. He climbed up the bank and sprawled on his hands and knees at the sight of the beast up close . . . and the smaller beasts trying to eat it.

  There was terror on the boy’s face, but also a great deal of bravery, as the massive monster thrashed in the foamy water of the millpond as it struggled against both the ropes and canvass that entangled it and the half-dozen vicious wyverns who were trying to kill it. His eyes were wide, but I couldn’t spare the attention to yell at him to flee the dangerous area.

  Instead, he did something unexpected. He started casting a spell. I wasn’t certain what he was up to – pushing enough energy to enrage the hunger of giant wyverns to the level of psychosis was taking up most of my attention – but a moment later something else stirred in the churning pond. Just as the dragon’s right wing destroyed the bathhouse, a stream of milky-white water leapt twenty feet in the air, then fell back down over the dragon.

  The water elemental. The one I’d enchanted when I’d first started messing around with the Alar
an Stone. A simple piece of elementary magic made permanent. An essay, an experiment, nothing more.

  But Ruderal was doing something to control it, to direct it. In moments, the elemental was pummeling both dragon and wyverns with manic abandon. The former took the beating better than the latter, but neither species of reptile could do much against a few hundred gallons of sentient water.

  “Get its head under the surface!” Loiko commanded Ruderal. Sandoval started casting supportive spells, the kind that keep another mage focused and protected while he’s working – monitor work, quite unusual in the middle of a battle. But then this was a highly unusual battle. And Loiko’s advice was uncommonly good.

  Breathing had always been a dragon’s weakness – Tyndal had exploited that in Vorone, when he and Rondal had slain the dragon that attacked the palace with liquid lead. While water didn’t quite have the same shock effect as molten lead, Ruderal’s spell had the benefit of a very determined intelligence behind it. Once he directed it to do as he wished and pull the dragon’s head under, the thing began wiggling into its nostrils, mouth, and down its throat.

  Nor were the wyverns immune from the tactic. While they can swim, they can’t breathe water, either. Half of them were drowned, crushed, or both by the flailing dragon, and the others were sent reeling.

  A crowd of warmagi and guardsmen, as well as some civilians more captivated by the sight than their survival, lined the pond farthest away from the fight. The warmagi dealt with the last of the wyverns, while others merely gawked. The elemental was strong, and didn’t grow tired, but the dragon was stronger, and increasingly desperate. Every time it thrashed hundreds of gallons of water flew out of the pond. Its right claw was tearing holes in my dam the size of plow furrows.

  But without the wyverns to be concerned with, my spell was no longer necessary. I dropped it . . . and prepared another one.