Thaumaturge

by Terry Mancour

  “Rondal says that Pratanik is the Nemovort who sponsored the attack,” Tyndal reported, when we had all gathered in a tavern off of the market square for a late. “I hate that I missed it!”

  “Did they ever learn how the draugen gained access to the palace?” Terleman asked, curious.

  “Gatina traced the source to a necklace worn by a knight who was already under suspicion of sympathy with the Four Counts’ rebellion. His presence at the wedding was to demonstrate his loyalty and good faith. I believe it failed,” he said, philosophically. “Now Pentandra and Rardine are interrogating him, and if he’s lucky he won’t live out the week. Thirty-four guests and guardsmen dead, hundreds wounded. Why didn’t you call me?” he added, looking at me a little offended.

  “There wasn’t time – and I didn’t know what you were doing, at the time,” I answered, apologetically. “Besides, I needed you here, in case we all got killed. Thankfully, Pentandra was ready for such deceits.”

  “Do you think Korbal’s interest in the south means he’s less likely to attack Vanador?” asked Thinradel, conversationally.

  “Not a chance,” Terleman said, sourly, as he buttered a biscuit and then smeared far more honey on it than should be allowed by law. “Mavone is scouting the west even as we speak. He received some intelligence while you were gone that disturbed him, and he saw to it personally.”

  That wasn’t a good sign, I knew. Mavone is adept at military intelligence, and if he was worried about something, I was too.

  “The gurvani can just stay in the west,” Sandoval declared. “We aren’t ready, yet. Not enough trained men, not enough weapons, not enough castles, too much country to defend.”

  “That would be too much to ask for, I’m afraid,” Tyndal sighed, shaking his head. “I’ve purged them from Callierd, but they have outposts just across the river. I know when I’m being scouted.”

  “It’s inevitable,” I agreed. “I’m afraid I’ve done nothing to help the matter by coming here. Indeed, I feel I’ve put a target on Vanador by my presence.”

  “We’d rather have you here than not,” Tyndal assured me. “Besides, this distracts attention away from Sevendor. And there’s less to get damaged in a fight in Vanador.”

  “Just all the homes and shops and civilization we’ve been struggling to build,” complained Sandoval.

  “We can rebuild, if it comes to that,” Tyndal dismissed. “It’s the people I’m concerned with. But they’re coming,” he warned. “Maybe sooner, maybe later, but the goblins will come.”

  “I cannot help but be disturbed by this,” Thinradel said, shaking his head. I know Korbal is arrogant, but two attacks on capitals in a year? He—”

  “Three,” Tyndal corrected. “Vorone, remember?”

  Thinradel made a face. “I try not to count that one. Dreadful place.”

  “I agree with Sandoval,” Terleman said, darkly. “This was a raid, designed to instill fear and disrupt our proceedings. There was no follow-up, no demand, no Nemovort cackling evilly in the background. This was designed to show us that Korbal can strike at us at any time, no matter how much protection we provide.”

  “I take your point,” Sandy said, reluctantly. “By the time we got there, there were very few of the buggers left. Rondal mentioned that these were soon-to-expire draugen. But if he wanted to send a message, I think we have received it. The question arises of how much danger we might be in, after a raid like that?”

  “Let’s see what Mavone has to say on the subject,” I proposed. “That will tell us if we’re better served to build castles or build farmsteads.”

  As it happened, we didn’t have long to wait. Before another day had passed Mavone contacted me and others. But instead of desiring we bring him through the Ways to Vanador, he requested we join him through at a battlefield only ninety miles west of the Wildwater.

  It was a battlefield, all right. But for a change it wasn’t littered with human corpses. Every body on the field was gurvani. That didn’t improve the aroma. I could figure out the basic story of the fight at a glance, but Mavone had more time to study the matter, and had prepared a more detailed briefing for me.

  “This was a clash between around two-thousand tribal gurvani and their canine confederates and a legion of hobgoblin infantry,” he explained, as we walked through the carnage. “It happened a day and a half ago, under the full moon. The tribals surprised the hobs with attacks from two directions,” he suggested, pointing out the advances. “The tribals won, technically, but it wasn’t much of a victory. Both sides left most of their forces here.”

  “Goblins fighting goblins?” Sandoval asked, confused.

  “The tribals are allied to the Goblin King, in exile,” Mavone explained. “The hobgoblins are garrison troops for one of the forward positions that are loyal to Korbal, the fortress called Urrej – once the Castle Jalodor, to the north. We think they were being transferred to Urrej when they were ambushed. That is good news for us: King Scrug has taken the offensive,” he said, approvingly. “That also corroborates some of the intelligence we’ve gathered from the deep Penumbra.”

  “How long do you think they’ll keep at it?” Sandoval asked, kicking the arm of a fallen hob out of his path. “I could get used to more battlefields like this.”

  “Alas, as much as I appreciate the acrimony among our enemies, this bold of an attack this far east is troubling. We were hoping the Scrug King would send his warriors against Korbal’s strongest points, keeping them embroiled for years. But he has been attacking his outposts and smaller installations on the periphery of the Penumbra, instead. And reinforcement-and-supply trains like this.”

  “And that’s a bad thing?” Sandy asked, skeptically. “The few settlements in the Penumbra were getting raided by these fellows all winter!”

  “We’ve received word of the disposition of their destination,” Mavone explained. “It’s one of the fortifications on the gurvani’s side of the Penumbra. Those outposts are strong points, the strongest forces Korbal holds that far east,” Mavone explained. “When the urgulnosti were in charge they remained loyal to the King . . . but Korbal ensured his Enshadowed allies staged a purge of the leadership. It almost lead to a full-scale slaughter before one of the Nemovorti arrived. About the same time Minalan did,” he noted.

  “Nemovorti?” Sandy asked, his eyes growing wider. “This close to Vanador?”

  “Oh, no,” Mavone assured. “Urrej is ten miles northeast of here. Much closer. And Sablahka is forty miles closer, still. It, too, is now commanded by a Nemovort. As is the much, much larger fortress of Gizlinir, to the south. That was the old baronial castle of Narahath. When the armies of Korbal come against us, those are the three forts where they will gather and stage their attack,” he pronounced. “I was hoping their presence was merely to pacify any rebellious gurvani, but these hobs support the idea that Korbal intends to hold them to greater purpose.”

  “Korbal isn’t going to give up those outposts,” I conjectured.

  “Because you’re here, now?” Sandy snorted. “I know you pissed him off, but those forts are far from their main supply depots. It’s going to take an effort for him to keep them, with us on one side and the rebels on the other. I don’t see the strategic value.”

  “No, it’s because the Alka Alon’s last major fortress, Anas Yartheral, is a hundred and seventy miles east of here, in the Kuline’s proper, and he needs those forward bases to prepare an assault. Vanador just happens to be in his way. Korbal isn’t going to give up his dream of conquest simply because I’m in the Wilderlands, now.”

  “Indeed,” Mavone nodded, gravely. “Though the details are sketchy, from what we’ve heard there are now more powerful generals now in command. In combing through the corpses we learned that this column was but one of several sent to support Urrej in preparation. It was pure fortune that the tribals struck them and alerted us.”

  “New generals? You mean the Nemovorti,” Sandoval said, sharply.

  “The
Demon God mistrusts his new servants, after his betrayal of Sheruel,” Mavone agreed. “Even those who have not joined the Goblin King’s rebellion bristle under the rule of the Enshadowed, we hear. They obey, but their devotion to the Dead God is not transferable to the Necromancer. So Korbal has placed more loyal servants in command. His lieutenants.”

  “They are his most powerful vassals. It will be to them that he will entrust the softening of the Alka Alon,” I agreed.

  “So when will they attack?” Sandy asked, his face pale. He really didn’t like undead.

  “It could be at any time,” Mavone shrugged. “They are reinforcing those positions for a reason.”

  “Maybe to pacify the Scrug King?” Sandy suggested, hopefully.

  “That would be a secondary objective, at best,” Mavone said, shaking his head. “And they are too far east to do that effectively. The Goblin King is not a serious threat to Korbal’s power, alas, merely an irritant. A few thousand more light infantry in the region would suffice to keep them pinned down and in their territory. But legion after legion of troops? Good troops? These are fresh hobs, no previous battlescars, wearing newly-made armor. No, Korbal has a higher objective with these reinforcements. They are for siege work and open battle, not pacifying rebels.”

  “They’re going after the Alka Alon,” I repeated. “And Vanador is dab smack betwixt them,” I observed, gloomily.

  “I thought you wanted Vanador to be a threat to our foes?” Mavone asked.

  “As a screen against another advance into the heart of the kingdom,” I agreed. “A military fortress carefully constructed and professional garrisoned to keep Sheruel from being able to walk into Gilmora unchallenged. Instead, we have a couple of villages and refugee camps and a single town hiding under a really big rock. That’s all that’s standing in the way of a major offensive between Korbal and his most ancient and hated foes.”

  “That does seem like poor planning,” Sandy remarked, unhelpfully.

  “It was a good idea, at the time,” I sighed. “Sheruel was bent on genocide against humanity. Now that he’s a fashion accessory, the motivations and objectives of our foes have changed.”

  “Perhaps the Necromancer will be content to focus his efforts on Enultramar,” suggested Terleman. I could tell by his voice that he didn’t believe such a thing any more than I did.

  “Korbal hates the Alka Alon far more than he hates us. In fact, he wants to use us against them. Enultramar is just an exercise. Our kingdom is a practice piece. We are a novelty to the Necromancer, remember. Smashing through the Magelaw before he challenges Anas Yartheral will merely whet his blade for his assault on the Alka Alon. I thought we’d have more time,” I complained.

  “How much time do we have?” Sandoval demanded.

  “If we are insanely lucky, we may have a year,” Mavone predicted. “But they’ll start probing our defenses long before that. Raids, more spies, feints, that sort of thing.”

  “What defenses?” Sandy pointed out, unhelpfully. “Megelin? A couple of crappy pele towers? A few thousand peasants with spears? How many men under arms are in the Magelaw, right now?”

  “Ten thousand, at most, spread out over thousands of square miles,” I answered, gloomily. “How many goblins do we face, Mavone?”

  “There are more than ten thousand arrayed in the two forwardmost castles, alone,” the Gilmoran supplied, somberly. “There are many more are on the way. Korbal is using the great armies of Sheruel built lavishly. When he will use his gathered strength will depend largely on the temperament of his generals.”

  “Any idea who they might be?” Sandoval asked.

  “Actually, yes. The captain of Urrej is Karakush. He’s apparently one of Korbal’s greatest field captains, from his ancient wars with the Alka Alon. He’s taken the form of a man the size of a bear. He’s also a hero to many of the Enshadowed, and prone to sudden fits of violence. Sablahka is now ruled by one of his rivals, a fellow named Gaja Katar. He wasn’t as popular, but he got results in the old wars, and Korbal wants the rivals to challenge each other.”

  “Any chance they’ll go after each other and leave us alone?” I asked, hopefully.

  “Not likely,” Mavone admitted. “Korbal would not stand for such a waste of resources, if I read the intelligence right. The third Nemovort is probably the greatest threat, though furthest away. Shakathet,” he said, pronouncing the name with distaste. “He’s more sorcerer than warrior. And a genuine sadist. He has a reported fascination with humanity . . . and not in an admirable way. He’s been experimenting with slaves in order to learn our strengths and weaknesses, by all accounts. Of the three, he is by far the most dangerous, in the long run.”

  “Who’s most dangerous in the short run?” Sandy demanded.

  “Gaja Katar is,” Mavone said, without hesitation. “And at Ullej, he’s the closest to Vanador. There are nearly ten thousand gurvani there, and more arriving daily. He’s more impetuous than Karakush, by reputation, and holds humanity in low esteem. He wasn’t at Olum Seheri during the attack. Karakush was. He sneers at those who were bested by ‘mere’ humani. His contempt and ambition will drive him ahead of his fellows,” Mavone predicted.

  “How soon?” I asked.

  “Far sooner than we’d prefer,” Mavone said, glumly.

  “How soon?” demanded Sandoval, impatiently.

  “Possibly . . . in months,” admitted Mavone with a frustrated sigh. “It depends upon how many reinforcements he gets at Ullej and how he deploys them. But I foresee he will come against us as early as this autumn.”

  “Trygg’s transcendent twat!” Sandy moaned, sagging. “Really? Are you certain?”

  “I am not certain. But that doesn’t mean I’m wrong. He has less to fear from the rebels than Karakush does,” Mavone explained. “He is in the forward-most position of his fellows. He is attaining sufficient strength quickly enough to make a credible attack. He has a reputation for impetuousness and bold action that he wears like a crown.”

  “What about Karakush?” Terleman asked. “Would he not likewise press his advantages? Especially if Gaja Katar contends with him?”

  “Karakush was at Olum Seheri, and bears his present ungainly form because Terleman apparently destroyed his first,” Mavone said, earning a smile from the Lord Marshal. “But I feel he will be more cautious and methodical in his approach than Gaja Katar, based on reports. He is the type of commander who waits until he has overwhelming advantage before he strikes. And then strikes mercilessly.”

  “Lovely,” Sandy grumbled, shaking his head. “How soon will he be striking us mercilessly?”

  “I would guess he will wait out the winter, and see how his rival fares against us, and then adapt his plans accordingly,” Mavone predicted. “Gaja Katar has a reputation for boldness that has served him well, in the past. Karakush’s approach will be more measured.”

  “And once we defeat both of them, the sadistic sorcerer will have watched and learned from both – assuming we survive,” I guessed, sourly.

  “We’ll survive, Minalan,” Mavone assured me, gravely. “We don’t have any other choice.”

  “Gosh, I like that kind of optimism,” Sandoval said, sarcastically. “Look, Min, I can appreciate wanting to make a stand, but . . . three Nemovorti? Three armies?”

  I paused a moment to think about it. “If they all came at us at once, no. We wouldn’t stand a chance. But one at a time . . . while they are learning from us, we’ll learn from them. Play around with some new magic. Get the Alka Alon involved. We might survive.” I tried to sound optimistic. I really did.

  “The hell we will, Min,” Sandy said, darkly. “Not without a much, much bigger army.”

  “Then we’ll get a bigger army!” I snapped. I valued Sandy for his realistic perspective, but sometimes that tended toward pessimism. Particularly when the undead were involved.

  “Things were far more hopeless than that when we were in Boval Castle,” Mavone observed. “We are far better prepared no
w against a tithe of what we faced in the siege. We survived.”

  “Because Min and Penny got lucky,” Sandy replied. “I appreciate the power of improvisation as much as the next wizard, but—”

  “I’m done making things up as I go along,” I declared, flatly. “I’m not improvising a defense, I’m building one. You’re part of that: you’re my constable, in charge of my army. If I need more resources, then I will plan to secure more resources. Right now I need more detailed intelligence, time, and, yes, more resources. I will secure them. We have allies,” I reminded him.

  “We will not receive aid from the Wilderlaw,” Terleman dissented. “Count Marcadine has two Nemovorti of his own to contend with . . . and the Umbra is about to take one of his castles. He was quite clear he could not spare a single man. Indeed, I would be shocked if he did not send for our help by next spring.”

  “We need more troops by autumn,” Sandy insisted. “Professional troops. I’ve got a thousand to cover hundreds of miles. We need ten times that number just to cover the fundamental defenses on the plateau. And Duin help us if they do anything tricky,” he said, shaking his head ruefully.

  “Be careful what you ask for,” I grunted. “Mavone is right. We are far better prepared. And far more powerful. This is not an unwinnable battle,” I soothed.

  “It’s three possibly winnable battles,” Sandy objected. “At best, I can get another thousand men trained and possibly armed by this fall. Perhaps twice that, if I press with all my might. The militias will help,” he conceded, “and so will Carmella’s fortifications, but if what you’re saying is true, we’re going to have a rough time of it under the best circumstances.”

  “We have a lot of talent on our side,” I pointed out. “This isn’t a game of mere numbers.”

  “It isn’t a godsdamned game at all, Min!” Sandy groaned. “I like a good fight as much as anyone, but these are not good odds. Numbers do count.”

  “So does magic,” I countered. “I get asked to do the impossible all the time. This isn’t even close.”