Shadowmage: Book Nine Of The Spellmonger Series (43 page)

Striker, Cat is on the roof,
he reported to Rondal, mind-to-mind. 
Prepare to receive.

This is the stupidest part of this entire plan,
complained Rondal. 
What if he misses?

Cats always land on their feet,
Tyndal replied, with false confidence.  In truth, he didn’t know if this part of Lorcus’ plan would actually work.  He was shocked when Atopol agreed to it.  But the young shadowmage had an adventurous spirit, Tyndal reflected, and as crazy as the idea was, it was the one certain way to get both Cat and loot out of the top of the Tower Arcane without fighting his way down six stories of angry Censorate only to face a garden of vicious Rats.

I’ll be certain to tell Gat that if her brother ends up a sticky spot on the cobbles,
Rondal replied, darkly.

Lorcus, Cat is ready to go
, he told the warmage, when he’d made contact again
.  Time to wrap up this riot.

I’ll signal Gatina,
he agreed. 
Then let’s leave this charming little town as quickly as oar can bear us!

It was a few more endless minutes before Tyndal heard a strange but unmistakable sound . . . and the Tower shook.  While the sound distracted a few of the Censors, the Rats took no notice of it.

Cat is away,
he reported to Rondal.  Then there was nothing.  And nothing.

And nothing.

Tyndal felt the panic rise up in his chest, and was nearly overwhelmed by the thought of failure, when his partner finally replied.

I’ve got him!
Ron said, proudly. 
Him and the loot!
 

Is he okay?
Tyndal asked, anxiously.

He’s fine.  Just wet.  And a little crazed by being flung through the air like that.

Lorcus had realized that getting a thief into the Tower Arcane wouldn’t be hard, providing a sufficient enough distraction and a high point of entry.  But once the distraction was underway, sneaking back down would be difficult.  Even now the rioters were nearly surrounding the Tower, and if Atopol had tried to leave the way he’d come in, no amount of shadowmagic could have disguised a black-clad youth on a whitewashed wall, dangling five stories in the air.

So Lorcus decided to utilize the other means of exit from the Tower Arcane: the ancient trebuchet.

The thing had not been used as a weapon of war in a century, thanks to the relative political stability of Falas.  When it was first constructed it was designed to discourage anyone who wanted to approach the great falls and lake upon which Falas, proper, was built.  Since then it had served as a visible warning for anyone foolish enough to contend with the Counts of Falas.

Lorcus made a study of the device from afar, augmented by some quiet conversations around town, and figured the engine could easily bear the weight of the loot and the thief. 

It was inherently dangerous, of course, to be flung through the air at such a high speed . . . and then land in a river that was usually flat as glass.  But Atopol was game, particular after Lorcus explained how he could use spells to protect his body from the impact.  Lorcus helped persuade him by casting a number of spells designed to sustain him in the case of accident, and allow him to resist the effects of sudden acceleration and even more sudden deceleration.  It was simple warmagic, but a field which the shadowmagi were largely unfamiliar.

So when Atopol had finished looting the Tower Arcane of its most precious treasures, he strapped himself and his big, ungainly sack of cargo into the net below the trebuchet, cast the spells . . . and with a prayer to the darkness, he pulled the cord that held the pin.

A few endless moments later, he and his bag splashed down in the river, just a few yards from where Lorcus had calculated . . . and within ten yards of the barge Rondal was waiting within.

Both the thief and the loot were recovered, the precious books sealed within an oilskin bag that had been additionally augmented with spells to keep the water out.  Now they were waiting for the rest of the party at the abandoned docks just outside the Tower Arcane’s own postern door.

The fourth-floor balcony where the buyers were observing the fight stirred, and three men in Censors’ cloaks – but each bearing a thick gold necklace – took their places on the edge of the balcony. 

Uh, oh
, Lorcus commented.

The Three Censors revealed themselves as High Magi, bringing out their three stones and beginning to rain destruction down on their attackers.  Bolts of green fire erupted in the midst of the crowd, while a large magelight began to form over the mob.  Tyndal watched as the three consulted and began putting together a much more elaborate working.

Tyndal wasn’t too concerned – he could tell by how quickly they were working, and by the size of the effects, that the Censors’ witchstones were far less powerful than even the first shard of irionite he’d gotten.  But that still made them far superior to an unaugmented mage, and instant death to a mundane gangster.   Lorcus let the Three Censors have their fun with the Brotherhood and their auxiliaries until he saw people start to get killed.

All right, I think we’ve had enough excitement for one night,
he said, and broke contact.

In a moment, there was a high-pitched female scream ringing out through the square.  Gatina, Tyndal realized, but it wasn’t a scream of pain or surprise, exactly, though it kind of sounded like it.  Then, to his amazement, he began watching the principal players in this twisted mummer’s play begin to drop.

He wasn’t at all certain what spell Lorcus was employing, at first, until he used his magesight to inspect the body of the first Censor to drop to the ground.  He noted the man was still moving, dazed, and that he had a large indentation on his helmet, as well as a sticky residue.  Further inspection revealed a smashed apple core next to him.

That explained the need for apples out of season, he realized.

Lorcus, who had picked a vantage point on the Tower’s wall, concealed among the decorative shrubs that grew there in place of armed guards, was using magic to propel apples at select individuals at great speed.  First a Censor – beginning with all of the Three Censors – and then a Rat, starting with Hunik the Butcher.  Each combatant he targeted from his hidden position took an apple in the face moving about thrice the speed of a man’s ability to throw it. 

Tyndal could barely contain his laughter as magical fruit began to selectively rain down on the riot.

Nor was he acting alone.  Gatina wandered through the crowd of angry men without concern, and used her apparent harmlessness to trip as many angry Rats as she could from behind, either with magic or with the walking stick she carried.  No one seemed to even see her, Tyndal realized, as she strolled unconcerned through the riot and ensured that the leaders and strongest combatants were quickly taken out of the fight.

Between the efforts of the two magi, the Town Watch seemed to gain confidence in their ability to quell the riot.  They moved in, shoulder to shoulder, with blunted pikes in their hands, separating Censor from rioter and arresting those who were unwilling to disband voluntarily.

Tyndal made sure that his friends were safe for as long as he could before he abandoned his post.  With the shadowmage out of danger and the loot recovered, Gatina and Lorcus were the last two in action.  As soon as he saw them both sneak away while everyone else was distracted by the punishing volley of produce, he took his leave of the tiny boardinghouse and met Onnelik down in the street.

“Well, another successful heist by House Salaines,” he said, with a note of satisfaction in his voice as they watched the Censors finally put out the fire.  “Thank you for a most interesting week, Sir Tyndal.”

“And thank you for the hospitality, Onnelik,” he replied.  “This would have been much, much harder without your assistance.”

“Particularly when those writs are discovered at the magistrate’s office,” he added, with a grin.  Though the Brotherhood of the Rat was no stranger to prisons and magistrate’s courts, they took pains to avoid any entanglements when they could – even if that meant bribery or even slaying a lawbrother. 

To make Hunik and the other Rats of Old Falas more uncomfortable, Lorcus had commissioned Onnelik to forge several outstanding warrants of arrest from various cities across the Great Bay and then had Gatina insert them into the magistrate’s office’s files.  When each Rat’s arrest was recorded, their names would be matched with those warrants . . . and the Rats themselves would be thrown in jail.

Ultimately, Tyndal realized, the warrants would be shown as forgeries.  But until then it gave most of the Old Falas crew new quarters in the town’s old prison tower, which would only add to the instability the two boys had been sowing.

“What will happen to the Censors, I wonder?” Tyndal mused aloud as they walked, slowly and casually, not attracting anyone’s attention.

“They will have to explain this ruckus to Baron Eldrid – he’s the one acting as steward for the Count of Falas – that is, Duke Anguin.  Baron Eldrid is not known for his sympathy or good nature, so he could actually issue them a penalty.  Or even throw them out of the Tower Arcane for good.”

“What about you?  Will you be okay? I’d hate to think we got you involved in something that gets you arrested.”

“While I appreciate that, I am entirely unconnected to anything . . . which is precisely what I would say to a magistrate or officer of the watch who questions me.  This will be talked about for months, no doubt, but apart from the one butcher shop there really hasn’t been much destruction.  But no one will ever think to connect Onnelik the Translator to it.”

The two of them skirted the smoldering remains of the riot, noting that the Watch was still sorting out the living from the dead or unconscious.  Already a healer was darting from one victim to another. 

When they got to the docks they found everyone but Lorcus waiting.  Onnelik, of course, would be staying on here indefinitely, but after their spectacular heist both Tyndal and Rondal wanted to escape back to Castalshar.  He watched while both Cats of Enultramar embraced their cousin and bid him well before they started off toward the south.

“You realize, they’ll be able to track this barge,” Tyndal reproved, when they were all aboard again.

“Yes, they will,” Rondal agreed.  “Which is why we’ll be transferring to another barge about three miles downriver.  We’ve already paid and booked passage.  I’ve also cast a spell to suggest that we are, indeed, going downstream toward our supposed confederates and patrons, after such a successful heist.  And while the Censors chase this empty shell down to the Bay and beyond, we’ll be on our way to Sevendor, already.”

“If we hurry, we might get back in time for the Chepstan Spring Fair,” Tyndal agreed, eagerly.

“But we’re leaving all of the loot with you,” Lorcus informed Atopol and Gatina.  “In trust to your house, to be returned to the Court Wizard of Alshar at the earliest convenience.”

“It would be our pleasure,” agreed Atopol, who was still soaking wet from his flight and landing in the river.  I will have Master Hance secure it in our most secure vaults.”

“Do that,” Lorcus said, solemnly.  “You can’t be too careful.  There are a
lot
of thieves in Enultramar, I hear.”

Chapter Twenty

Lord Whiskers

At last the warmagi and the shadowmagi came to the point in their journey where they had to part ways.  The thieves insisted on hosting them in a small inn just north of Falas, beyond the falls, where the next morning the three warmagi would depart for the long journey back to Sevendor.

“I’m looking forward to getting home and resting after this eventful little holiday,” Lorcus announced, after downing an enormous quantity of well-seasoned mutton at the board.  “Don’t mistake me: this has been fun, but I think petty larceny will always remain a mere hobby of mine.”

“
Petty
larceny?” Atopol said, his eyes wide and his jaw slack.  “We just executed an amazingly complex theft of a heavily-guarded installation – an arcane installation – and managed to not just get away with a treasury of priceless works and heirlooms, but did so without even being suspected!  All without more effort than planning a garden party!  Believe me, this is going into the annals of House Salaines the moment I can commit it to parchment.  It makes breaking into the palace look like robbing a cot!”