Shadowmage: Book Nine Of The Spellmonger Series (27 page)

“But aren’t you two
friends
with Festaran?”

“Sure,” shrugged Tyndal.  “But what makes you think
we
think that he’d be better off with Dara than you?  Personally, I think you’re both a bit mad, but . . .”

“We have no preference,” admitted Rondal, a little guiltily.  “You two can contend for her all you wish, and Haystack and I will remain objective parties.”

“Yes, we would be making you . . . helping you . . . assisting you to make a better presentation in general,” Tyndal reasoned.  “Indeed, your best tactic may well to court other girls, before you consider making an approach to Dara with your feelings.”

“
Other
women?” Gareth asked, confused.  “Why would I court
other
women?  She might think I’m not interested!”

“That is
precisely
what you need to have her think,” Tyndal assured him.

“He might not look very bright,” Rondal said, putting his arm around Gareth’s thin shoulders, “but Sir Haystack is surprisingly adept in this realm.  And I think I agree with him.  Nothing makes a woman take interest in you than seeing another woman take interest in you.”

“That . . . I just . . . really?” he asked, confused.  “
Really?
”

“Let’s table this matter for the moment,” Tyndal declared.  “We have much, much work to do over a long period of time before you’re ready.  Until then, let’s buy this plot, build this hall, and enjoy the weeks we have before we head back to Alshar.  To our new partnership!” he said, raising his glass.  

They found Lorcus sitting in the Great Hall of Sevendor castle the next morning, and after they’d visited with a few enchanters of note they tried to convince him to join their endeavor.

Tyndal was eager to enlist the warmage’s aid in their efforts.  The Remeran had the twistiest mind Tyndal had ever met, and he was fascinated by his approach to things.  While a fierce warrior and a crafty soldier, Lorcus brought a certain mad insight to complex problems that Tyndal greatly admired.

Rondal was less certain about recruiting him, but agreed that they needed some skilled assistance if they were going to attack the Brotherhood in their own lands and escape with their lives.  Not to mention have any real success. 

But when it came to hurting people and breaking things in the pursuit of a goal, Lorcus was dedicated.  Tyndal was in charge for this mission, so Tyndal wanted him.  Badly.

As it turned out, negotiations were not as strenuous as Tyndal had feared.  He and Rondal met the mage at the second table on the west side of the hall, which had become known as the Wizard’s Table, due to the number of visiting magi who came to Sevendor.  He was eating an enormous bowl of bacon and fried apples he had apparently specially ordered from the cook.

“Lorcus,” Tyndal began, “are you under contract, right now?”

The Remeran considered.  “Not at the moment, lads.  You have a lead?” he asked, perking up.  “I was hoping that Min would get involved in this dust-up between Sashtalia and Sendaria, but it appears he’s being unreasonably wise and trying to bribe his way out of it.”

“Want to go to Enultramar for a couple of weeks?” Rondal proposed, cautiously.

“And do what?” Lorcus asked, with interest, as he spooned another bite into his mouth.

“Attack an entrenched criminal organization by surprise and cause as much havoc and damage to them in as short amount of time as possible?” Rondal supplied.

“We’d also technically be fugitives, being High Magi and all,” reminded Tyndal.  “The Censorate still holds sway, there.  And the region is in rebellion to the rightful Duke and the King.  So anything you mess up there we won’t be responsible for.  Unless we get caught.  In which case we’re probably all dead.”

“And we’ll be gone how long?”

“Just a few weeks,” Rondal decided.  “Maybe a month.  We should be back in time for the Chepstan Fair, if we hurry.  Oh, and we’ll pick up travel expenses.”

“Let me get my toys,” the warmage said, deciding on the spot.  “I could use a bit of holiday.”

Chapter Twelve

Return To Enultramar

It only took a week and a half to cross the great expanse of the Riverlands, as the three wizards liberally used magic to force their way upriver and over road. 

They were helped in this by the new tools at their disposal.  Both young knights had taken the opportunity while at Sevendor to build their own thaumaturgical baculus.  Indeed, Minalan had nearly insisted, and both of them had the wit to realize why.  The art of enchantment was entering a bold new stage, thanks to the unique circumstances in Sevendor, and they had an ideal opportunity to take advantage of the rapidly-developing art. 

The magical rods, popular with the enchanters of Sevendor, were like levers in their arcane work, making complex spells simple and simple spells elementary. 

Rondal had chosen a larger staff of weirwood for his baculus, nearly five and a half feet long and almost two inches thick.  The exterior was studded with practical enchantments and augmentations, with snowstone and other elements pragmatically used to improve function.  The head of the staff was a simple round bronze cap, engraved with sigils and runes, and the heel of the staff was a matching bronze spike that was designed to aid in collecting information. 

With Ruderal’s assistance (and that of the sages of Sevendor, who were growing more profoundly adept in the art by the day) Rondal selected an enneagram from the Grain of Pors that Minalan’s newest apprentice assured him was inclined to deep thought and analysis, and while not naturally aggressive, able to defend itself handily at need.  Rondal called the staff
Bulwark
, and tied its appearance to a matching bronze ring in which a hoxter pocket was enchanted.

Tyndal, by contrast, had opted for a slender wand of weirwood only four and a half feet long, with an elegant, tapered shape.  The head was silver, of Karshak manufacture in the shape of a dragon’s head (chosen for no good reason except Tyndal liked the piece) with a sharp steel probe affixed to the heel.  Tyndal splurged to have emeralds set in the eyes of the dragon and scattered up and down the length of the rod in elegant settings, along with a fair amount of enchanted quartz and other shiny gems. 

The paraclete Tyndal selected was, Ruderal said, a highly inquisitive one with a fiery spirit, though it also had a slightly impetuous nature.  It had been a far-ranging scavenger, a swimmer not a crawler, back in its ancient ocean.  Ruderal seemed to think the flamboyant enneagram was a good match for Tyndal’s magical style, and he’d learned to trust the apprentice’s judgment on such things after seeing his power demonstrated over and over again.

Tyndal called his baculus
Grapple
, in counterpoint to his partner’s, and had a heavy silver dragon’s head ring to tie its hoxter pocket to.  Though it was different in style and function than Bulwark, the two wizards had worked side-by-side during their construction, ensuring that their functions were complementary.  They’d even purchased a Sympathy Stone from Banamor (at a discount) to link the two together.

Thus armed and augmented, they felt far more prepared for their mission of sedition and destruction.  Just being able to make a baculus appear out of thin air and then disappear again was entertaining.  Lorcus was highly amused, and sketched out the outrageous capabilities he expected his own baculus would have, when he made one.

As soon as they reached the farthest parts of Gilmora, where the land turned bleak, they stopped being so flamboyant with their magic.  Though still part of the Kingdom, the lands south of the Wilderlands and north of the great wall of mountains that shielded southern Alshar, both the people and the places seemed far more subdued and less friendly. 

Tyndal knew well why that was: the presence of the malevolent Land of Scars that blighted the lands of the west.  Between the great southern ridge and the spectacular peaks of the Mindens was a rolling, chaotic, unfriendly region, as if the giant fist of some ancient god had smashed a once green and pleasant land.  The soil was too poor to farm, the terrain brutally rough and treacherous, and the ravines and gorges of the tortured landscape were the haunt of bandits, wild tribes of humans and gurvani, hermits, heretics, and folk whose ancestors had fled civilized parts long ago for reasons long forgotten. 

Tyndal knew the place well enough.  He and Rondal had led almost a hundred young Kasari into it, two years ago.  They’d come out of it with seventy-two of them and a bizarre idol that Rondal swore was an ancient artifact of their ancestors.  While they’d been there, they’d been captured, kidnapped, nearly tortured themselves, and escaped only due to the bravery of Ruderal, a fellow captive at the time.

He wanted to shudder now, when he neared the place, but his honor would not let him. 

Instead he and his companions adopted plain travel clothing and quietly sought the contact in the village north of the mountains their friend Atopol had arranged.  The man, a hunter and smuggler of some repute, was able to easily escort them through the high passes and secret routes few were aware of . . . but after two days of ambitious hiking, they were on the other side of the great range, descending the trail from a lonely mining fief whose modest lord was quite willing to accept a bribe to allow his lands to be used thus.

Once they were within the Great Vale of Alshar, travel became far easier.  The great river Mandros that bisected the country let them move a hundred miles a day downstream even without magic.

However, the magical rods improved the journey as well as quickened it; conjuring a helpful water elemental to propel a barge was far easier, now that the paracletes could do the heavy lifting on the spell.  Or warmagic spells that improved the endurance and speed of their horses, which took no more than mumbling a mnemonic.  Lorcus was happy to let them experiment.  He was busy with the folio Gareth had prepared for them, detailing – as far as he’d been able to decipher – as much as he could discover about the Brotherhood’s operations in Enultramar. 

It was a surprisingly complete file.

Gareth managed to give important details on no less than seven ongoing operations that the Solashaven crew were involved in.  They ranged from protection rackets to smuggling to political corruption.  But amongst the tawdry ledger of crime Gareth spied what he proposed was an important organizational installation of the Brotherhood, within the old cotton weavers’ guild in the town of Reunus.