Necromancer: Book Ten Of The Spellmonger Series

by Terry Mancour

  “I will, I will,” I agreed. “I will do all of that, and more. I’m actually looking forward to it,” I admitted. “It’s time for life to slow down and let me enjoy it for a change. You know, since I discovered that the Aronin poisoned my perceptions when it came to Sheruel, I’ve been resenting it.

  “He meant well, I suppose, but the fact is that he took away my right to choose to fight. I’d like to get that back. He compelled me to rush around and get a bunch of people killed, and while a lot of good came out of it . . . well, I think I didn’t deserve that awful responsibility in the first place.”

  “Minalan, you aren’t considering abandoning—”

  “No, no, Korbal and Sheruel must be fought, and they must be defeated,” I agreed. “I’m not backing away from that. But I am willing to let others take up more of the fight. I’m more than thirty years old, now, and I won’t be getting less old.”

  “Don’t be so certain of that,” Briga said, biting her lip.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know how that thing keeps bonding with you, or however you describe it, when you use it?” she asked, pointing to the Magolith. “She’s . . . changing you. Changing you and Alya.”

  “Changing us, how? I feel fine!”

  “I have no doubt,” she conceded. “I didn’t say she was harming you. I would say rather that she is . . . improving you.”

  “I need improvement?”

  “Would you have invented gods if you were perfect? There’s plenty of inefficiencies in your bodies and souls, Minalan. I think the Handmaiden is smoothing them out, in your case. Like making bread into balls. She’s smoothing and kneading you. Making you . . . better. To her eye.”

  “I don’t think she has an eye.”

  “But she has perspective,” Briga pointed out. I noticed how her footprints steamed in the cold, as they melted the snow. That was adorable, for some reason. “And it’s not a human perspective. When she saw the Celestial Mother, she went to work. She’s been continuing to work at a distance this entire time.”

  “What? How?”

  “Falhoudi stone, remember?” the fire goddess pointed out. “She has direct contact with the Snowflake. She’s using it, too. On it, on Alya . . . and now on you. I think she’s looking at you as a pattern for Alya, because she has no idea what it means to be human. And I think she’s making some intriguing artistic choices in how she’s altering you both,” she offered. “For instance, your guilt and shame have decreased dramatically. You are more confident and less prone to emotional outbursts. You are more insightful and less inclined to frustration.”

  “I think you’ve been inhaling a little too much smoke, goddess,” I chuckled. “I’m just as frustrated as ever.”

  “But you aren’t frustrated with yourself, anymore, Minalan,” she countered. “You have no idea how painful that is to watch. When you hold yourself up to a standard and fail to reach it, you are brutal on yourself . . . and that has an effect on everything you do.”

  “Everything I do works pretty well,” I said, defensively.

  “It has so far,” she agreed. “But what has it cost you? Think of the grief you bore over Isily, and her children? While it is still there, you have a much more reasonable perspective on them, now. You tortured yourself with that, and then with losing Alya.”

  “But if I hadn’t, I never would have sought the Handmaiden,” I pointed out.

  “I’m aware of basic causality, thank you,” she frowned. “The issue is not your motivation, Minalan, it’s your self-perception. You don’t hate yourself the way you did. Even after learning what the Aronin did to you. She’s helping you with that.”

  “I still hate myself,” I confided. “But don’t tell anyone. I hate myself because I made so many mistakes along the way. Stupid mistakes. I learned a lot from them, but a lot of people suffered for it, and that is my responsibility.”

  “Well, maybe she’ll keep working on that for you,” Briga decided, after regarding me silently for just a little too long.

  “As long as she keeps bringing Alya back, I’m happy. That’s my reward. I can hate myself all I want, because I love her.”

  “Humans are weird,” she said, rolling her eyes.

  “Yes, yes, we are,” I sighed. “Weird and unpredictable. That’s why we need the gods.”

  “I’ll make a note of that. Speaking of which, Herus says he’ll have more candidates for you, come late Spring. He has a line on a couple of interesting prospects . . . including Avital, if all goes well.”

  “Avital? That would be helpful. Anyone else?”

  “He’s talking to some sea gods, but it’s hard to get a straight answer out of them. They’re notoriously fickle, like all elemental divinities.”

  “I thought you were an elemental divinity?”

  “So don’t piss me off,” she agreed. “I could turn on you like that!” she snapped. “Oh, and Ishi thinks she can convince a goddess named Naikura to consider it. She’s a Cormeeran folk goddess, but one of her specialties is magic. And death. And necromancy.”

  “She sounds charming,” I said, sarcastically. “But we need all the help we can get. I’ll talk to her.”

  “Good. Now . . . about the Vundel . . .” she said, hesitantly.

  I groaned. “What about the Vundel? Do they have a god they want to propose?”

  “You don’t want to know what they consider a god – actually, you have one in your cellar. No, the Vundel are going to be wanting more snowstone, Min. A lot more. When they contact you this spring, they’re going to tell you that the great reefs grew more than they have in ten millennia in one summer, thanks to the powdered snowstone they seeded it with.”

  “Well, I’m glad it worked out for them,” I said, “but we have a limited supply . . .”

  “That’s what I’m trying to tell you, Min,” Briga sighed. “They won’t accept that as an answer. They want more. They’ll take more. They’ll take it all, if they have to. Or we can figure out what happened that night, and see if we can’t recreate the effect.”

  “That will mean an unfortunate exploration of Dunselen’s files,” I nodded. “He was working on that when he died. He and Isily.”

  “See? You said that and didn’t even want to curl up in the fetal position! That’s progress!”

  I ignored her. “He did quite a lot of work in that, actually. All morally suspect, of course, but perhaps we can learn something from his criminal acts to make up for them in some small way. I’ll put Taren on it,” I decided. “He’s already at Greenflower, and I think he’d like a job that didn’t involve too many dead people.”

  “Just figure it out,” she commanded. “They are going to ask for more. Then they are going to demand it. They can be a very impatient race, for immortals. But you have given them hope that they haven’t had since the last of the Celestial Mothers perished.

  “Those corals just don’t grow like that, anymore, Min. And the Vundel are utterly dependent on them. Their entire culture is based around their conservation. Now you’ve shown them that it’s possible to expand their corals in the most polluted, damaged waters on Callidore. That is going to – excuse the expression – light a fire under the Sea Folk like you have never seen.”

  “It’s on my list,” I promised. “Right up there with finding the ancient arsenal and kicking Korbal back into the nearest convenient hole. But I’m not going to kill myself over it,” I informed her. “I’ve done my time – as foot soldier, commander, baron, and now count. I never asked for any of it.”

  “The gods don’t usually ask,” she observed.

  “The gods can jump into the chamberpot, then,” I said, flatly. “I’ll do my part, but I’ve already done my part, if you take my meaning. I am not the only heroic bastard in the world.”

  “No, but you’re the most talented one we have,” she said, shaking her head. “Right now you are the centerpoint holding this entire mess together: this new Beryen, the Alka Alon, the Tera Alon, the kingdom, a coupl
e of duchies, the magi, the Order of the Secret Tower – everything is in your lap. For the moment, you are indispensable.”

  “Bullshit,” I declared. But I knew she was right.

  That was what was really depressing about the conversation – I couldn’t realistically argue against what she was saying. In trying to save my family and preserve my marriage I’d inadvertently made myself indispensable. It wasn’t a good feeling. I vowed to make myself dispensable as quickly as I could.

  “I wouldn’t worry about it too much, Min,” she said, at last. “If nothing else, you have the favor of the gods. That has to count for something.”

  “That’s what I keep telling myself. I’m also trying to convince myself that that’s a good thing.”

  “It is, for now. Even Ishi likes you.”

  “Ishi likes everyone male,” I pointed out.

  “Not everyone. She’s actually quite picky. But you intrigue her. A mortal who’s willing to contend with her is a rare treat. She likes a good fight. As much of a pain in the arse as she is, though, she has been helpful, in a limited sort of way.”

  “Alya and I are together again. That’s all the help I needed from her. And Trygg?”

  “Trygg loves us all. That’s her job. She’s Allmother. But I think Sisu respects you. He’s hard to impress.”

  “Oh, good. That would be a blessing. If I hunted. At least Herus seems to favor me. Without any preconditions.”

  “You do walk a lot. Or did, before you learned about the Ways.”

  “I think it has more to do with my generous nature,” I chuckled. “He knows he can drink for free in Sevendor. All of this is very intriguing, in a theological sort of way, but while I value the favor of the gods I still don’t know how it’s supposed to allow me to get everything done that I need to.”

  “Either do we,” Briga shrugged. “That’s why we have mortals.”

  Chapter Eighty

  Forseti

  Spring was threatening to break out across the land, and the days before Briga’s Day were growing fewer. Since the Council of Beryen met, I’d spent every waking moment overseeing the packing.

  Most of our possessions could be stuffed in a hoxter and forgotten about, but not everything. The dogs, for instance, and the children. And a lot of my laboratory equipment.

  I wasn’t taking everything, but I had a chance to rebuild a new lab in Vanador, and I wanted to ensure it was as modern and well-equipped as befitted the Count Palatine of the Magelaw.

  I was surprised to learn that my father made the journey all the way back from Talry-on Burine with three of his apprentices and two wagons, determined to cart my belongings over the road from Sevendor all the way up to the Wilderlands. This was a man who had never ventured more than a hundred and fifty miles from his home before.

  But when he discovered that his son had been sent into exile, he didn’t hesitate. He came to help, no matter that I had hundreds of servants and retainers willing to obey my every command. Dad is just like that. If one of his kids needs help, then he doesn’t mess around. He makes sure it gets done.

  I didn’t even have the benefit of two apprentices, anymore. Dara passed her examinations at Yule with highest marks. I was down to Ruderal, and while he was extremely helpful it felt odd to have to rely upon him alone, now.

  Banamor had stopped by to “help”, which was merely an excuse for him to bend my ear with last-minute details. Mostly about the Arcane Mercantile Company. I was to head up the Vanador station house for the company, and he wanted to make certain that I properly understood what that entailed.

  “With the Count of the Seahold empowered to build a new royal navy, timber sales just went through the tower roof,” he assured me. “All that old stock Anguin had laying around is gone. Shipwrights are paying top prices for Alshari lumber again, and that goes double for Alshari iron and lead. The faster you can get a warehouse constructed, the sooner we can start purchasing timber and making a . . . well, about a five-hundred percent profit, once all the potential taxes and fees for transport we aren’t paying are factored in.”

  “If Alshari timber starts showing up in large quantities at market without paying tax on it at the gate, people are going to start to ask questions,” I pointed out.

  “Which is why Count Marcadine has already sent three caravans of timber south, culled from the Penumbralands he no longer controls. And he’s using magi to kiln and mill it, just as we are. So when those caravans hit, no one will be counting how many board-feet are being sold and comparing it to how many were taxed.”

  “And iron?”

  “Iron is easier,” he shrugged. “Once you melt it down, it’s hard to track. We’ll send some ore overland, too, to throw Tavard’s tax collectors off the trail.”

  “That’s all very interesting,” I agreed, as I packed away my thaumaturgical wands in a crate. “But I’m not going to Vanador to become a merchant prince.”

  “But why not dabble a little while you’re there?” Banamor reasoned. “With you in the background, hire whomever you wish to actually run the show. No one is going to try to cheat the Spellmonger.”

  “One would hope,” I agreed. “But my time will be taken up with research, and developing the town and lands I’ve been entrusted. You run the town and the company. Make all the money you want, while I’m gone. Just make sure the place is still here when I return.”

  “Oh, I have a sneaking suspicion you’ll see Sevendor again before three years have passed,” he chuckled.

  “You can count on it,” I agreed. “I’m not going to turn my back on my own domain. I’ve already started working on a few things . . . and I don’t think Tavard is going to be content to let Sevendor lie unmolested in my absence.”

  “When you pick enemies, you don’t mess around, do you?” he asked with a mix of horror and admiration. “Last I heard, he accused you of looting his treasury before you let his castle get destroyed.”

  “Looted is a loaded term,” I snorted. “That was a perfectly legitimate agreement on Moran’s behalf. One that saved the lives of Castali soldiers on foreign soil.”

  “From what I heard, Tavard reamed out Moran over it good,” he chuckled.

  “I paid every penny he demanded in compensation,” I pointed out. “As exorbitant as it was.”

  “For what? This old junk?” he asked, as he surveyed the pile of tekka Ruderal had yet to pack up.

  “It’s not junk, it’s invaluable. And no, most of that was from my own original collection. Parts of it came to me by way of Sheruel’s favorite ancient cavern, itself. The stuff I took from Tavard was far more impressive.”

  “What is all of this supposed to do?” he asked.

  “Mostly, it writes long series of numbers,” Ruderal supplied. “I’ve been writing them down, as they change. Lady Lilastien says that the tekka is . . . initializing.”

  “And that means . . .?” he asked.

  “I have no idea,” Ruderal admitted. “But it sounds important.”

  “Spoken like a lawbrother,” chuckled the mayor, looking over the equipment dubiously. “It’s not even pretty. Why do people collect it?”

  “It’s a remnant from our past,” I explained. “Once our ancestors’ entire civilization depended on such things. Lilastien says it was quite a sight to see, in its day.”

  “No doubt,” Banamor said, skeptically, as he studied the pile. “My Ancient Perwynese is crap,” he admitted, “but I think this thing wants your attention. It says ‘press . . . key . . . Ishi’s tits, this is hard . . .”

  He leaned on one of the devices as he tried to get a better look at the shiny band that Ruderal had been faithfully recording from.

  And something happened.

  There was a strange chime in the room, and then some whirring. I stopped packing and approached the workbench, which Banamor had leapt back from the moment he realized he’d touched something.

  “Herus’ bunions! What did I do?” he swore, his eyes wide.

  “Relax,
it makes noises all the time,” Ruderal assured the older man. “It’s . . . well, this is new,” he said, as he glanced at the strip. “Lilastien mentioned this might happen.”

  “What? What?” Banamor asked, growing more alarmed.

  “Bide,” my apprentice said, unhelpfully, as he consulted a scroll of notes. “I’ve been working on this awhile . . . let’s see . . . we should try . . . this,” he decided, resolutely touching one of the devices.

  Thank you, Ruderal, an inhuman voice said. It seemed to come from everywhere. Now I can speak to you directly.

  “W-who are you?” he asked. “And how do you know my name?”

  I have been listening to every conversation in this room for over a year, the voice explained. It took me awhile to correct my translation algorithm to adjust to linguistic drift, and then longer still to assemble an adequate vocabulary. But it was futile, until the interface was repaired.

  “I think we’re still waiting for an explanation of just who you are, and where you are,” I suggested.

  As to where I am, I believe it is in the tower of Minalan the Spellmonger, baron of Sevendor, which I assume is in the northern end of the Uwarri mountain chain. At least, that is what I have been able to determine through analysis of your casual conversations. More specifically, I am a collection of devices sitting on a worktable directly in front of you.

  As for who I am, that is easier to tell you, but more difficult to explain. I am a data analysis tool and interface system developed for the Callidore Colonial Survey Corps to facilitate the placement of terraforming elements during initial colonization. I was assigned to Marcus Josep Steinmeier, Assistant Chief Engineer for the Western Region Wilderness Reserve sedimentation and erosion control project.

  “That tells us very little,” I suggested, apologetically. “And I regret to inform you that your . . . previous human is dead.”

  I surmised as much from the passage of time, the machine said. From what I can ascertain, it has been seven hundred and twenty-four years since my systems went dormant. That may be inaccurate by up to seven percent, it warned. Most of my data input streams are compromised.