One thing I pride myself on as a wizard, besides creative bullshit, charm, and making stuff up as I go along, is learning from my mistakes . . . and my enemies’ successes.
I knew just the spell to end this thing. Sheruel had taught it to me.
I shifted focus, while maintaining the strong flow of arcane power through the sphere, and made a request of the Handmaiden. She knew just what to do to accomplish what I wanted. In an instant, the appropriate Alka Alon song played in my mind . . . and the entire millpond was frozen solid, from surface to bottom.
“Ishi’s tits, Min!” Sandy exclaimed, as Ruderal fell back as his spell of control ceased with the movement of the elemental. “You froze a dragon!”
“Not the dragon, just the water!” Loiko corrected. “One burst of flame and he could boil the entire pond!”
“He has to inhale before he can exhale,” Ruderal panted, as Sandy helped him to his feet. “He can’t do that with lungs full of water. Ice,” he corrected. “Thank you, Master! I didn’t know how much longer I could keep the elemental that angry!”
We watched with anxiety as the right wing and foot of the dragon, as well as it’s huge tail, frantically struggled as the beast slowly lost oxygen and desperately sought to free itself. While Dara’s Sky Riders slew the last of the wyvern raiders, and Lady Varen (who’d escaped the dragonfire and Nemovorti attack with a handful of her attendants) sealed the Waypoint to Lesgaethael, as Lady Falawen’s warriors took a guard around the damaged tower.
It took an hour for the dragon to stop moving – a stressful, anxious, fretful hour, until the tail stopped twitching. Even then, I did not stop the power that kept the ice frozen solid. I waited until Sandy pronounced its spark finally gone, and Ruderal confirmed that its enneagram, from what he could see of it, was fading. Only then did I allow the energy to drop. The ice remained, but it would melt, now, in the autumn air.
“Scratch one dragon, and I didn’t even use the Snowflake,” I finally said, wearily . . . and collapsed.
Ruderal helped me to a bench in a park behind the Temple of Briga while I recovered. I’m good, but sustaining that much power for that long is brutal. It might have killed me, had not the Handmaiden managed the load and manipulated me to better bear it. I felt exhausted down to my very cells. Taking a step became arduous. Then breathing. Then blinking.
But the Handmaiden was there, I knew.
I felt her, quietly tending to me behind the curtain of my mind. She was sweetly nursing the damaged portions of my . . . soul? Enneagram? Sense of self? I didn’t have the technical language to describe what she was doing. It was too personal. Too subjective. I only know what I felt – and that I didn’t have the perspective to comprehend it.
But a few moments later, when Ruderal held a cup of water to my lips, it didn’t hurt so much to accept it. I could even swallow, once I thought about it really hard and came up with a complex plan to see it done. Breathing was an automatic process, once again. Blinking was less painful. I didn’t have to think about how to move my eyeballs anymore – that was nice.
Piece by piece, my body and my mind seemed to be getting . . . serviced, like taking a knife to a tinker for sharpening every market day. I was being sharpened.
“Master?” Ruderal asked, his voice odd and stretchy. I almost giggled. “How are you doing?”
“Getting . . . better,” I nodded. That was the up and down direction. I remembered that, now.
And I was.
After twenty minutes, speech was no longer difficult. I drank more water and watched a succession of wizards examine the corpse of the dragon sticking out of the ice, while Riverlords and town guards kept curious onlookers at bay.
Most were involved in sorting through the damage from the attack, assisting the wounded, and putting out fires – and there were a lot of fires to put out.
Much of Brestal was burned, including the tower, and parts of Southridge, Boval, and Hollyburrow had been scorched. Several patches of Sevendor Town had been hit with dragonfire, and a large portion of the fairgrounds were devastated by an early blast. Had Banamor not kept tight control over fire regulations and fire-retardant spells, it could have been much worse.
As it was, hundreds died. The fact that it could have been thousands did little to soothe those who grieved.
Master Loiko and Banamor had taken charge, while I was in my stupor, until Sire Cei had arrived. He’d been delayed by a battle with a Nemovort who’d sought him out, specifically – apparently, he’d earned some enmity from Korbal for cracking his new Sheruel toy, and the Necromancer wanted Cei alive. No doubt his sport talent would make a mighty host for some sadistic Nemovort.
Once Cei arrived, I allowed Ruderal to help me to the back of a cart and take me back to the castle. I couldn’t do much, even with the Magolith floating around my head anxiously, like a worried hound, and trying to re-invigorate my depleted frame.
But I could think. And cast simple spells.
Pentandra, I announced, we are down one dragon.
Good news, she agreed, gravely. Dead?
Yes, I said, with a sense of satisfaction. Another group effort and some inspired magic. Remind me to thank Briga.
I will. It’s too bad you couldn’t have taken care of the one in Castabriel, first, she added, sadly.
I drove it off, I pointed out. It was the best I could do with a thaumaturgical baculus!
I know, Min, she agreed, tiredly. Not everyone sees it that way. A lot of people died today.
I know, Penny. Count Kindine, among them. Master Hartarian might not survive. Maybe others, I conceded.
Minalan, Prince Tavard’s son was killed. He was with his nurse. In the spire.
Oh, shit, I said, my heart sinking.
The Prince and Princess are . . . well, you can imagine how they are. But Castabriel is still burning, Min. And it was attacked through the Waypoint. A couple of Nemovorti and two score draugen. They were headed toward the Arcane Orders, and would have made it, too, if a burning building hadn’t fallen on a third of them and cut them off.
Undead? In Castabriel? I asked in disbelief.
Yes. The last of them are being hunted down now. Dranus is overseeing the hunt, with the resident adepts of the Order assisting. About a third of the city is on fire, and the palace is entirely gone. Tavard is blaming you for that, she added.
But I drove the dragon off! I protested.
Not in time. Min, he’s lost his only child. Princess Armandra is stricken, and may lose her pregnancy. Tavard had to be restrained. I’m sure he’ll see reason, eventually, but right now he thinks you’re to blame. Rard isn’t much happier. His palace was turned into a charnel house. He lost his Prime Minister.
Again, not my fault!
Again, they don’t care. You’re the wizard. This was a magical matter. You are to blame, even if you aren’t at fault. That’s your job as a member of court.
We’ll deal with the political fallout, later, I dismissed, I’ve got people dying, here.
So does Castabriel. Thousands, Min. Most of the commercial district, the warehouse district, and the main market are still on fire. The palace district was all but destroyed. A couple of villages outside of town were damaged and the temple ward got hit just as bad as the market. The Arcane Order was damaged, but not extensively, she reported, woodenly. The Temple of Trygg was razed, and the Temple of Luin sustained heavy damage. The . . . oh, shit, Min, I can’t do this! she declared. I lived in Castabriel for three years!
And it will recover, I promised.
I know it will, Min, she said, miserably. Vorone did. But the casualties . . . from what Dranus has reported, there could be as many as ten thousand. Perhaps much more, if they can’t get the fires under control. There were a thousand just in the main palace, alone. They’ll be pulling bodies out of the rubble—
Focus, Penny, I ordered her, as her tone got higher and more anxious as she went. We still have a crisis unfolding. Does Dranus need help with the fires?
&nbs
p; I think he has it under control, she answered. When Loiko told me what was happening in Sevendor, I didn’t bother you with it. But I alerted all of the Sevens, she said, referring to the twenty-one magi who bore special Alka Alon-crafted witchstones. Astyral was there with Dranus. I got Carmella and four of her people there to help, along with Bendonal and a team from Megelin. Oh, and I got Taren and his men to go, she added. He’s got some enchantments for this sort of thing.
I’m glad someone does. I was scared with this one, Pen, I admitted. It was here. It was home. This wasn’t a bunch of Alka Alon housebreakers, this was a fucking dragon and five squadrons of giant Wyverns! Nemovorti, Penny, right here in Sevendor!
You make some big enemies, Min, she pointed out. You knew Korbal was going to strike back. You just didn’t know how, where, or when. You did the best you could.
My kids were here, Pen. Alya was here. What if I lost her, when she’s just starting to come back to me? What if I’d lost the kids? Shit, Penny, I might not like Tavard, but I’m sympathetic as hell.
The Prince Heir was not the only babe to die in Castabriel today, she advised. When grief has passed and reason prevails, he will know it isn’t your fault.
I’m not sure it will matter, Pen. Think about it. If you thought I accidentally killed one of your daughters, how would you feel about it?
There was a long pause.
Yes, this might be difficult, she admitted with a sigh. But it will work out, in the end, Min. Trust me.
That was a hard thing to do, right now, but I didn’t really have much choice. I do, Penny. It’s the rest of the universe that has me concerned. I’m just glad I got them into the mountain before the dragon had a chance to find them. That would have made things a little too interesting.
Just promise me you’ll let me know that they’re okay, when you see them, she urged. You know how I worry.
I’m on my way now. Ruderal is carrying me in a cart. I don’t think I can walk. Not yet. I might take a little nap on the way, I said, feeling another wave of weariness wash over me.
You do what you need to do, Min, Pentandra soothed. I don’t think we have any active battlefields we need you for. Take a nap, she advised. You’ll feel better when you get there. I’ll handle the situation from here. I’ve got ample help.
Thanks, Penny, I sighed. I don’t know what I’d do without you. I’m utterly useless without you around to keep me sharp. It’s been rough having you in Vorone this last year. Especially with . . . especially with me grieving and obsessing about Alya.
Which drove you to find a completely improbable and unlikely solution, she pointed out, helpfully.
Which led to having my domain attacked by a dragon, I reminded her. When I think of all those people who died today, because I had to have my wife back—
Don’t do that to yourself, Min, she said, sharply. Ishi’s tits, don’t you realize that Korbal would have done all of this anyway, eventually? He was just biding his time and building his strength. You rushed him, and he made a tactical error. More than one. And perhaps a strategic error. But he’s no longer on his game, he’s trying to recover from a punishing raid, and now he’s got to contend with having lost one of his remaining dragons. None of that would have happened unless you’d gotten involved. Thousands more would have died. Sevendor wouldn’t even exist. You are not responsible for this, Minalan!
If you say so, Pen, I agreed, wearily. I laid back into the cool bed of the wagon and looked up into the smoke-streaked sky. Keep telling me that. Maybe I’ll really believe it one day.
Chapter Seventy-Four
The Snowflake And The Magolith
Ruderal helped me out of the back of the cart when we arrived at the Gatehouse, after he shook me awake. You’d think it would be difficult to sleep in a springless cart over bumpy cobbled roads, but you’d be wrong. I slept like a log. When my boots touched the ground my legs held steady, and with Ruderal under my arm I was able to make it to the castle.
I was gratified to see everyone had armed themselves and taken a station. There were two dead wyverns in the inner baily, impaled by arrows and spears. The battlements bristled with armored men bearing crossbows and bows, worriedly scanning the skies above. The lone catapult in the bailey was loaded and ready to fire. There were four guards at the entrance of the castle, two archers over the door, and guards patrolled the walls. The Gatehouse was filled with warriors, with dozens keeping watch on the smoking valley beyond.
It didn’t seem like nearly enough.
“Remind me later,” I told my apprentice. “I want some ballistae. And scorpions. And a trebuchet.”
“Master, we have magic,” Ruderal said, thinking I was raving.
“Not everyone does. And we might not, always. A few scorpions in the right place would have made this a lot quicker battle.”
“If you say so, Maser,” Ruderal said, sullenly. We were approached by Captain Forondal, the captain of the guard, as my apprentice helped me to my feet. He looked worried.
“Are you all right, Baron?”
“You should see the other dragon,” I joked. “I’m fine. Just wrung out like your sister’s underwear. Keep on alert,” I ordered, “and stay on patrol for any undead or wyverns . . . or anything else that might have escaped our notice. There’s no telling if any slipped into hiding to spring out at us later. The magi will be scrying, but stay on alert. Until I tell you otherwise.”
“Yes, Baron,” Forondal assured. “We have everyone evacuated to the mountain, now.”
“Not everyone,” I sighed. “We took losses at the Fair, in town, likely many in Brestal. As soon as you have made a thorough search of the bailey, detail as many men as you can spare to assist in damage control and recovery.” I turned to my apprentice. “The mountain. Let’s head there.”
I was surprised to find the entrance to the mountain manned by six stout Karshak in sturdy armor and helms, hammers in their hands. I had no idea they even had armor. They were loitering more than standing guard, but I had no doubt they could handle anything small enough to try to make it through the twenty-foot tall doorway into the mountain.
Another trio of Karshak was at the other end of the corridor, at the entrance to the new Great Hall. It was only half-complete – meaning the eastern half had been carved out, block by block. That had fulfilled only about half of the planned excavation. This was where Guri was quarrying the stone slabs for the outer constructions that now rose two stories. Inside the mountain, the new hall was four stories, with three of the six massive pillars supporting the vaulted ceiling already roughed in. It would be magnificent, when it was finished.
Now, it was merely a rectangular chamber a hundred and twenty feet long by eighty feet wide, lit by simple magelights and serving as the staging area for the dozens of secondary excavations going on in the mountain.
On an ordinary day, that is. Today it was crowded with more than three hundred castle folk who sought the shelter of the mountain.
Everyone cheered nervously, when I appeared, and I explained the situation to them. They cheered even louder when they heard the dragon was dead.
They were happy to wait another hour or so before returning to Sevendor Castle – those who did not petition to join the rescue and recovery crews. I gave permission for Sister Bemia and the other clergy to lead a group of volunteers out to help with the wounded, but I wanted the children and the more vulnerable kept safe in the mountain until we were certain the danger had passed. That’s what we have castles for.
I was happy to push my way through the crowd, professing important business to help ease the way through the relieved Sevendori. Ruderal helped me get up the stairs and down the long corridor that led to the Chamber of the Snowflake without using profanity once – something I don’t think any of his predecessors could have managed. I didn’t really need his help at that point, so I manifested Insight and used it like a common walking staff, for a change.
Master Ulin met me at the door of the enchantment complex, lo
oking anxious. I reassured him that the dragon was defeated, and was amazed when I mentioned the giant wyverns. But he understood my desire to see my family ahead of all other things, and he took me to them. They were just as anxious to see me.
“DADDY!” Minalyan erupted, when I came through the door. “Rude’dral! You’re back!”
“Daddy’s back!” Almina squealed, excitedly, as she struggled in my sister Urah’s arms. Their cousins started squealing just as excitedly out of the pure desire to break the tension they no doubt felt.
“The dragon is dead, the worst of the danger is past, and the bakery was fine when I left it,” I assured my sister, knowing she’d want to know about her husband at once. She embraced me and thanked me, and gratefully accepted permission to remove all the kids to the great hall.
“They’re a little spooked by that thing,” Urah confided to me, nodding toward the Snowflake’s ever-changing, always glowing shape. As soon as she leaned toward it, Almina shirked away. “They think it’s watching them.”
“It might be,” I conceded with a shrug. “I—” I stopped, suddenly, realizing two things at nearly the same time.
The first was my wife, who was curled up with her arms hugging her knees, her eyes captivated by the polymorphic mineral. Not merely staring with interest, but physically enthralled by it.
“Urah? What . . .?”
“She’s been like that since she got in here,” Urah whispered. “She hugged the children when she saw them again, and then she was distant . . . but friendly. But as soon as she saw that thing . . . Uh, Min?” Urah asked, shielding Almina from the crystal with her body, “is it supposed to be doing that?”
What really had my attention wasn’t Alya, it was the second thing: the Magolith. It was circling the Snowflake like a dog sniffing another dog, its pulsations in perfect rhythm to the constantly-shifting Snowflake.
I hadn’t told it to do that.
“It . . . might be,” I offered, slowly. “Why don’t you get the kids out of here? Quickly? And send in Master Ulin, please. Quickly!” I repeated.
Necromancer: Book Ten Of The Spellmonger Series Page 111
