Thaumaturge

by Terry Mancour

  “I’m going inside to look after their Majesties,” I called to them all. “Hold here with your lives!”

  I received some shouted affirmations from the men as they took a vigilant pose – they were professionals and recently bloodied by the civil war – and one began relaying my orders to the other guardsmen as I tried to get inside. The problem was, Rondal had wisely spellbound the door.

  I could have taken the time to counter-spell it away, but instead I reached out to Rondal, mind-to-mind.

  Ron, I’ve secured the door outside – what’s happening in the palace?

  I have Anguin and Rardine in an antechamber just off the main hall, he answered. The Royal Court Wizard took the Royal Family back to the Royal Palace. We mere ducal courtiers took refuge, as Anguin did not want to abandon a second palace. We’re in a secure room with twenty guardsmen outside. Gydion and Salgo are here, too.

  Where’s Pentandra?

  Still in the main hall, fighting. She has help, he said, quickly. Lord Furitus, Atopol, and Gatina are there, as are a bunch of warmagi and plenty of guardsmen. They’re fighting against at least a score of draugen.

  Any Nemovorti?

  Not that I’ve seen, he admitted. But I was just starting to scry when you contacted me. I would think they would have announced their presence by now – you know how dramatic and egotistical they are.

  A pure terror raid, then? Why would Korbal do that?

  We assaulted his palace, Rondal reasoned. He’s returning the favor. During Anguin’s big moment. We anticipated something like this, he admitted, and took every precaution we could think of. Extra guards. Extra warmagi. Extra wards. They didn’t come through the Waypoint, he added.

  No, they didn’t. The place was warded up tightly, when we arrived, I agreed. If you gazed at the palace with magesight, all manner of Pentandra’s spells were evident. I was thinking it was the molopor, I proposed, as I leaned on the spellbound door.

  They had to, Rondal agreed. Either that or a hoxter. The Waypoint wards are undisturbed. And Korbal hasn’t yet discovered how to use our Waystones, to my knowledge. I think someone smuggled in a spell and brought those draugen here in a hoxter, on purpose.

  The molopor would be easier for them to control, with Sheruel-on-a-stick’s power at Korbal’s command, I pointed out.

  No, it was a wide-area attack. When we used the molopor as a portal, it directed all of us who went through it to one point of emergence. The attack happened simultaneously across the palace complex. These are hoxters. We’ve established that undead can survive hoxters.

  Good point. I defer to your judgement. Some idiot has a hoxter wand that produces draugen on command, I agreed. Someone who was already within the wards of the palace. A confederate.

  We’ll have to track them down, later. Damn the Enshadowed for stealing that pocketstone!

  It could have been worse, I reminded him. Do you mind telling me the counter-spell for the spellbinding on this door?

  By the time I got the great wooden thing cracked open enough for me to slip inside, there wasn’t much left to do.

  I was amazed – there were bodies everywhere, but they were mostly those of the draugen, not the courtiers attending the reception. Pentandra and Rondal stood in the middle of the carnage. From the number of bodies, I assumed it had just ended. Rondal bore his mageblade, and Penny carried an antique-looking scimitar, both bloodied, if you can call the dark ichor the draugen used as blood. Around them milled other champions of Alshar – Gatina the Kitten of Night and her father were present and armed, and seemed to have played a major role in the outcome of the battle from the ichor on their blades. Three warmagi I was unfamiliar with, dressed in the livery of the palace guards, carried Sentry Rods as well as blades, and watched the entrances to the hall warily.

  “Penny, how did you—?” I began.

  “Oh, good, you’re here,” Pentandra said, looking up. “Take a look at this,” she said, using her sword to poke at one of the fallen undead. It had a short, vicious-looking blade like a sickle attached to each arm . . . where the hands had been hewn off. “What do you make of this?”

  “It was probably nearing the end of its functional use,” I reasoned. “And likely had a hard time understanding . . . hands,” I tried to explain. “I’m guessing not all of the creatures they’re using to possess these bodies adapt easily to human physiology. The blades might have made it more useful than hands.”

  “It also indicates a certain disposability,” Rondal proposed as he studied the corpse with his baculus. “Removing the hands would hasten the degradation of the body – undead don’t heal. I don’t think these gentlemen were intended to survive. Old stock, almost expired,” he concluded.

  “That would make them useful in such a raid,” I agreed. “And explains the lack of better leadership. A suicide attack . . . with men already dead.”

  “This was meant to slay us all,” Pentandra pronounced, as she surveyed the bodies in the hall.

  “Was it Korbal?” Anguin asked, arriving with a dozen guards and his bodyguard, as well as Count Salgo. “More revenge for Olum Seheri?”

  “More likely one of his lieutenants,” Pentandra decided. “Last time Korbal sent a dragon. He doesn’t seem to be the type to send less than his full force. These were all draugen,” she said, slinging her scimitar over her shoulder. “Combat draugen. Slayers. That’s more like the Nemovorti, although this was an expensive gambit for them. I counted at least thirty in the palace before Rondal spellbound the door.”

  “There were at least twice that many outside,” I agreed, leaning on Blizzard. “Terleman and the palace guard are taking care of them. That’s a lot of draugen.”

  “Each one was a mage, once,” Pentandra reminded me, sadly, as she came across a horrifically scarred specimen. “They’re making an effort to secure as many as they can to be turned into this . . . or worse. And these are the ones who survived the process. Well, were successful,” she corrected. “We theorize that likely only one in three bodies can take the new enneagram successfully.”

  “That means they slew three hundred to get this company of slayers,” Rondal agreed. “And then put them in a hoxter wand, smuggled them into the palace, and . . . instant invasion.”

  “Instant assassination,” corrected Pentandra. “This was an attempt on your life, Your Grace. Yours and the Royal Family. An attempt to destroy Alshar by political decapitation. The entire kingdom,” she corrected herself. “That speaks to more subtlety than Korbal has demonstrated. This was Reshtitelin or Pratanik, I’d wager. Thankfully, we were prepared. I had additional warmagi stationed amongst the guards,” she said, nodding to the trio who continued to scout the bodies.

  “If it was a Nemovort, why did they not come themselves?” I asked.

  “Because Korbal grows stingy with his toys as he becomes more decrepit,” Rondal reported. “We’ve been monitoring the swamps, as close as we are able. We occasionally hear things about the other side. With bodies with rajira so difficult to come by, Korbal’s inner circle conserves the best for themselves. He uses them as rewards for success,” Rondal added, distastefully. “This seems more like Pratanik’s style,” he decided. “Reshtitelin is more cautious.”

  “You seem to know them personally,” I observed.

  “’Tis best to understand an enemy thoroughly, Excellency,” Gatina commented. “We have studied our foes most carefully as we fight for Caramas and the docks. Many have made bold plays in our shadow war, but each has a distinctive style. I concur with my beloved,” she nodded toward Rondal. “This stinks of Pratanik the Emissary. The Nemovort behind this attack would have to be highly placed to command such a large force. That means either Pratanik or Reshtitelin, of those who are known to us. I favor Pratanik. He is the one who brought that unfortunate embassy to Kaunis. He uses his resources in lavish displays and bold moves designed to win the game at one throw. He has yet to be successful,” she added.

  “I did not eliminate one kind of slavery
in Alshar to countenance another,” Anguin declared. “Caramas is all but overrun, and now they attack me in my palace . . . for the second time!” he said, darkly.

  “Like it or not, you and Her Grace have earned their enmity,” Pentandra observed. “One of his minions took the opportunity to earn Korbal’s favor in a lavish attempt on your life. Had one of you been slain, it would have been worth all the effort.”

  “What I want to know is who brought such filth into my palace?” Anguin demanded.

  “I have already begun the investigation, Your Grace,” Lady Gatina assured her duke. “I pledge that I will find the traitor as soon as the scrying is done.”

  Min, we just took out the last of them, Sandoval reported, mind-to-mind. Apparently Terleman reported the same to his boss, Pentandra. She looked at me and nodded.

  “We are clear of the raiders, Your Grace,” she informed him. “But I urge you to be cautious. Pratanik is a straightforward foe, but anything is possible.”

  “I will be wary,” Anguin promised. “This is not how I imagined my wedding day to turn out.”

  “It was a lovely ceremony, Your Grace,” Rondal assured him. “This little party afterwards will be legendary.”

  “No doubt it will,” the Orphan Duke chuckled.

  “I still don’t understand how you managed to kill so many of them so quickly,” I offered. “Ron is good, but . . .”

  “We were prepared,” Pentandra repeated, firmly. “Not for this, specifically, but we suspected some mischief, today. We knew not from which quarter, but something like this was not unlikely.”

  “Our men responded quickly,” my former apprentice observed. “The warmagi were ready with spells against undead, and took a toll on the attackers from the beginning. The guards gave an excellent account of themselves. My friend Sir Gydion used the Sword of State to actually cleave two of them as he fought his way out of the hall. That’s probably the first time it’s been used in earnest in two centuries.”

  “Rondal slew three the moment he entered the hall,” Pentandra agreed. “And Lady Gatina and her father were highly effective, under the circumstances. I mostly just watched.”

  “My lady is too humble,” Rondal chided, gently. “Master, Pentandra slew at least five of them, herself. With that old thing,” he added, nodding toward her blade.

  “It was blessed by Ishi, herself, in the crypts of Murvos. I figured I would hang on to it. The undead dislike it. Intensely. The question for me is not who sent these, or why, for we can guess well enough. The question is how. From what new quarter has a traitor emerged?” she asked, rhetorically.

  “It had to be one of the guests or one of the servants,” Gatina reasoned. “More likely a guest – we have been observing the servants for months. We would have learned had one of them considered treachery.”

  “Unless they were under a compulsion, my love,” Rondal reminded her. “It would not take much to get someone to use a hoxter wand . . . or whatever the object was. They might not even know they were doing it, until undead started sprouting like wildflowers.”

  “Either way, I will find them,” she vowed, fervently. “I take their treachery personally.”

  From any other fifteen-year-old maiden I might have been skeptical of such a declaration; but Lady Gatina’s dedication and devotion had lead to the unexpected restoration of Anguin to his legacy. As both a mage and a master thief, the lass had already accomplished more in her short span than most magelords. I took her at her word.

  “Whichever Nemovort was behind this,” Anguin said, as he walked through his bloodstained halls, “one thing is certain: they have irritated His Majesty terribly. Rardine is reassuring him now, by magic mirror, but he was quite vexed. He still blames Korbal for his grandson’s death and the attack on his own palace. I have a suspicion that my uncle will feel obligated to respond.”

  I tried not to think about just how he might respond – I had a suspicion it would involve me, and I had no time for that. I had my own Nemovorti to worry about.

  “What of Her Majesty?” Pentandra asked her liege. And mine too, I guess. “Do you think she would support such a campaign?”

  “I think she was nearly overcome at the sight of the beasts, and sought first and foremost to protect the Prince Heir,” Anguin said, dryly. “Before even her own husband. Count Minalan, Baroness Pentandra, if these fiends can use your magical pockets to travel anywhere they like, what recourse do we have?”

  “I’ve warded and guarded the Ways, my lord, but there is no defense against manifesting a hoxter that I’m aware of.”

  “I promise to study the matter,” I agreed. “But I cannot guarantee an answer. Best we all stay armed and alert for such attacks; that is the best counsel I know. Now, let me go fetch my wife and collect my men, and I will speak to Rard myself, and see if I can beat his foolishness into something useful.”

  As I made my way back to the alcove shrine where Alya was still warded and guarded, I noted how quickly the palace staff had managed to recover from the attack. Bodies were being carried to the temple for identification, and most of the wounded had been evacuated to surgeries nearby.

  As I neared the shrine, I noted a familiar-looking group of men loitering close at hand, clearly discussing the attack. Two had been mildly wounded, I saw, and all three still bore bloody blades that told the tale of their eventful afternoon.

  But they were seamagi, I saw by their dress. No doubt invited from the Sea Bretheren to witness the marriage on behalf of the order, as was traditional.

  I approached quietly and waited for an opportune moment to interrupt the distinctly-dressed magi.

  “I am Count Minalan the Spellmonger of the Magelaw,” I informed them. “Please bear a message back to your brethren: if the Vundel wish any more snowstone from me, they need to seek me out in my new seat. I will await their representative there.”

  It was a simple message, and once they understood who I was and to whom it should be delivered, they were eager to do so. All three were pleased to be introduced to me – they’d heard of me, and all thanked me for removing the Censorate from consideration. The Censors rarely bothered the Sea Brethren, but when they did things got touchy.

  “There is news your ears may be interested in, Excellency,” the eldest of the three maritime wizards confided, before I left. “Farise is conquered, as you know, by a confederation of pirates, Censors, and . . . other forces,” he said, darkly. “Though some of the natives celebrate their ‘liberation’ from the Kingdom, others whisper that the new regime is allied with a dark force. One that means to use Farise as a base for further crimes.”

  “Thank you for letting me know,” I nodded. That fit with the other information I had about the Censorate’s last remnants and their occupation of the Mad Mage’s tower. Planus’ local agent of the Mercantile in Farise was dutifully reporting that the Censorate was actively recruiting for new members, promising access to witchstones and other privileges. The magi were not interested – they were all afraid of whatever was kidnapping and disappearing so many of their colleagues. Korbal’s recruiters, it was clear, saw the mage-rich port city as a prime hunting ground for future draugen.

  It was valuable information, but then so was my message. If I didn’t want to return to Sevendor someday only to find it a hole in the ground where my castle once was, I needed to come to an understanding with the Vundel, and the Sea Brethren were the best way for me to do that.

  I was still musing on the conversation and its implications while I was closing down the spells and shutting down the constructs which had protected Alya.

  She was, indeed, unharmed from the attack. When I dropped the last warding spell I found her seated on the floor of the shrine, staring intently at the image of the goddess and her fishy, crabby friends. She was weeping.

  “Are you well, Alya?” I asked, concerned.

  “I am uninjured, my husband,” she agreed, wiping her eyes. “Tell me . . . what are those?” she asked, pointing to the shrine.<
br />
  “That’s the Maiden of the Havens,” I explained. “The Sea Lords’ cult sees her as a symbol of prosperity and trade. She’s a little bustier than most depictions of her, but . . .”

  “Not her,” Alya said, with an irritated shake of her head. “Those!”

  “Oh! Those are Sea Folk . . . well, a somewhat cartoonish artistic representation of the Sea Folk. The Wise call them the Vundel. They were the original inhabitants of this world, before we came from the Void. Why?”

  “I don’t know,” she confessed. “I haven’t been able to stop looking at them since I got here. Or stop crying. And I don’t have the faintest idea why!”

  “When Minalan returned from the Duke’s wedding in Falas, he was subtly changed. There was a new urgency to his preparations in the wake of that terrible assault. While his concern for his wife and family was always paramount, he began pressuring his men to produce the means by which Vanador could defend itself. For if the shadow of Korbal lay over the Great Bay of Enultramar, Magelord Mavone discovered it also lingered all too close to the nascent nation on the plateau, with the promise of darkness on the horizon.”

  From the Scrolls of Lawbrother Bryte the Wiser

  Chapter Fourteen

  The Goblin Civil War

  “It wasn’t an attack, it was a swipe,” Sandoval dismissed, the next afternoon in Vanador. “Something to keep Anguin and Rard from getting too arrogant.”

  I had planned on sticking around Falas to help with the recovery, but there was no need. Anguin’s court had things well in-hand only a few hours after the raid. Almost three dozen had been slain, and while that was appalling, considering the potential damage that could have been done, we counted ourselves fortunate. I brought Alya back to Spellmonger’s Hall and immediately gave her a treatment. It seemed fitting to re-hash the assault the next day, so I summoned my staff to do so. Tyndal, Sandoval, Terleman and even Thinradel joined me.