Shadowmage: Book Nine Of The Spellmonger Series (45 page)

“Well,
that
was unexpected,” Lorcus sighed, relaxing.  Tyndal hadn’t realized the warmage was so tense.  “I thought I spied something overhead as we came north up the river, but I decided it was merely a bat.  It appears I was mistaken.”

“How in six hells did he get through the spellbinding?” Rondal asked, shaking his head in astonishment.  “That door shouldn’t have opened for anything less than a battering ram, and he opened it up like he was bringing dinner!”

“Lord Whiskers is a mysterious man,” Atopol agreed.  “It’s nice to put a name to the figure.  Father said he showed up in Enultramar just after the rebellion to manage the Iris here – apparently it’s punishment duty,” he added wryly.  “He’s always lurking around the edges of things, but rarely gets involved.”

“He’s got Talent,” Tyndal realized.  “Maybe a sport, but he’s got some Talent.  That has to be it.”

“Regardless of how mysterious our visitor was,” Lorcus sighed, “he was also insightful, and gave us a gift in return for his entertainment.  His advice.  It should be heeded.”

“You want us to trust the advice of a crimelord?” Tyndal asked, amused by the idea.

“Lord Whiskers is clearly a different kind of crimelord than the Brotherhood,” Rondal pointed out.  “Indeed, our new friends could be likewise considered crimelords.”

“Does that mean you’ll take my advice, Beloved?” Gatina purred, as she clung to Rondal’s arm.

“More like criminal specialists,” suggested Atopol.  “It’s about the art, not the gain.”

“Darkness!” swore Gatina.  “If there’s nothing to gain, what is the point of the art?”

“Lord Whiskers was not incorrect.  You fellows are involved in a shadow war,” Lorcus said, thoughtfully.  “Against a much larger and stronger foe.  After what I’ve seen here in Enultramar, my hopes for your eventual victory are slight, on parchment.  If you want to prevail, you are going to have to define what conditions victory entails.  You will not be able to eliminate criminal gangs from such a rich and corrupt society as this.  Or any society.

“So what, exactly, would you say constituted victory?” he asked, significantly.

Tyndal considered the matter.  His rage was directed toward the Brotherhood of the Rat, not crime in general.  True, he was appalled at the brutality he’d seen amongst the picturesque plantations and estates of the Coastlands, as serfs and slaves were driven to their tasks.  And the casual attitude toward life along the Bay was shocking to his Wilderlands’ sensibilities.  The Brotherhood was the most sinister manifestation of that attitude, but it was infused into the culture at every level, he noted.  Even the lad Ruderal had a certain fatalism about him that demonstrated that.

But Lorcus was correct.  Fighting the Brotherhood to any meaningful victory would require deciding at what point they were beaten, and the Order of Estasi victorious. 

If for no other reason than to assist the Orphan Duke restore his rule over Enultramar and the Great Vale.  And see Rondal resolve his embarrassingly complex relationship with Gatina. 

“If we remove those who are at the center of their power,” Tyndal reasoned, “and bankrupt their ability to project that power into the affairs of magi, I would count our debt of honor satisfied.”

Rondal nodded.  “We cannot hope to destroy crime, but we can wreck their ability to conduct their affairs with such arrogance and confidence.  We attack their organization, thoughtfully, and dismantle it.”

“Then you are either looking at a protracted war requiring tremendous expenditures invested in the development of forces with which to wage it,” Lorcus agreed, “Or . . . you must discover a way to use what little force you have to cunningly contrive the collapse of the Brotherhood in one deft, subtle, and decisive strike,” he declared.

“I’m too lazy to raise an army of thugs and thieves,” Tyndal pointed out.

“Rondal has better things to do than to run a secret criminal organization,” Gatina observed.

“Not to mention our duties elsewhere,” Rondal added, his eyes darting to the white-haired, purple-eyed maiden who was uncomfortably close.  “We cannot devote that kind of energy to this when the war might start up again at any time.  Or the Spellmonger require us for his purposes.”

“So you lads are proposing to take down the Brotherhood in your spare time?  As a
hobby?
” Lorcus asked, his eyes burning with merriment. 

“That’s all we can spare,” Tyndal nodded.  “Errantry is fun, but duty is eternal.”

“Then a single strike it is,” Lorcus recommended.  “Which means you are going to have to learn everything you possibly can about your foe.  Every name, every location, every operation, every—”

“Done,” declared Gatina. 

“What?” Tyndal asked, surprised.

“Leave the intelligence-gathering to me,” she said, confidently.  “I’m at the portion of my apprenticeship where Daddy is giving me a fair amount of discretion . . . particularly since I keep mastering the skills he’s taught me.  I will undertake to prepare every bit of information we need.  It will take me a few months,” she considered, her lips twisting into a frown, “but no more than that.”

“Gat, you’re talking about a huge, far-flung clandestine organization of cutthroats and killers!” her brother objected.  “Master Hance will
never
let—”

“You leave Daddy to
me
,” she snapped.  “On the chance that you haven’t realized it, we left the realm of an ordinary apprenticeship in Solashaven, weeks ago.  This isn’t merely a girlish whim, this is
statecraft
, Atty.  The Brotherhood is providing support for the rebel council, which
must
fall if Anguin is to be restored.  Which will not only be an incredible benefit to both the people of Enultramar and the Vale, but will reunite the realm and ensure the political viability of Alshar.  Not to mention be of great benefit to our House, if successful,” she added, glancing her cat-like violet eyes at Ron for the briefest of moments.

“That’s a surprisingly apt summation, Kitten,” Lorcus smiled.  “So we have noble motives behind our dirty war.  But how best to win it?  I would suggest, as thievery is one of your strong points at the moment, that you consider employing it against your foe.”

“How? asked Atopol, confused.

“Steal their money, stupid,” snorted Gatina.

“They have a
lot
of money,” Tyndal pointed out.  “From what we understand, they have hideouts all over the place.”

“Not their day-to-day coin,” Lorcus said, pouring more wine, “but their operating capital.  Their reserves.  Go after their
treasury
.”

“The Brotherhood’s treasury is impenetrable,” insisted Atopol, enunciating the term with professional authority.  “It’s somewhere in the eastern swamps, likely in the middle of the lake, guarded by swamp people, venomous snakes, ravenous insects, poisonous plants, wild swamp magi, giant caiman, and the swamp itself.  It was designed to keep any large amount of it from being removed at one time, the lore says, and only the senior members of the Brotherhood have access to it.  It just
can’t be done
, not without a major military operation.  That’s what the best minds of my House have concluded,” he added.

“We have access to a lot more magic now, than you ever did,” Rondal assured him.  “You’ve seen the sorts of things we’re capable of, with irionite and snowstone.  If we’re going to rob the Brotherhood’s treasury, it will be with spellcraft, not mere stealth and skill.”

“We’ll need all of that and more,” assured Atopol.  “And if we succeed, it will be one of the biggest heists in the history of my House.”

“So how do we do it without implicating your House and inviting repercussions?” asked Tyndal, concerned that the shadowthieves would face reprisals in the underworld from a broke and irate Brotherhood.

“We’ll have to be
sneaky
,” Lorcus shrugged.  “You fellows are getting good at that.”

“At the very least,” nodded Atopol.  “All right,” he sighed, “I’ll start researching the job.  It will, as Gat said, take a few months.  And it would probably be a good idea to lay low, after the Tower Arcane.  Eventually they’ll figure out that it wasn’t an ordinary theft, and as there are only a few extraordinary thieves in Enultramar . . .”

“With the fleet gone and a quarter of their strength with it,” Gat dismissed, “the Brotherhood won’t have time for a deep investigation,” she predicted.  “Not if they just got stirred up as bad as they have.”

“The Spider’s eyes are everywhere,” Atopol said, shaking his head.  “

Tyndal thought that an odd thing to say . . . and just a little creepy.  He was not fond of spiders.

“Who is the Spider?” asked Rondal.

“The member of the Brotherhood who oversees their intelligence gathering,” explained the thief.  “He’s a senior member, and one of the four or five serious players in the organization.  It’s his business to know everything.  He has spies, it is said, who don’t even know they are spies, he is so subtle.  Only a few in the underworld have ever claimed to have met him face-to-face, but his influence extends throughout the Brotherhood and beyond.  He, if no one else, will try to untangle who is attacking the Brotherhood.”

“Then I suggest we spend no more time than we have to learning about our foes in detail,” Tyndal urged.  “We shall contact you with what you’ve discovered, and perhaps we’ll be able to formulate a plan before the fleet returns in the autumn with its slaves and loot.”

“Yes, we shouldn’t take any more time than that,” agreed Atopol.  “We’re good at hiding, and I don’t really fear the Rats discovering my House’s most secret refuges, but that does not mean that they won’t try.  The sooner we can put down their threat the better.”

“Oh, yes,” agreed Gatina.  “The sooner the better.  Then we can get to restoring Anguin, and . . . more important things,” she added, grabbing Rondal’s arm possessively.

“Then let us discover a way to topple the Brotherhood, once and for all,” Tyndal said, enjoying watching Striker squirm.  “For I have no higher purpose, at the moment, than seeing him there in all of his glory.”

You are
such
an asshole
, Ron said, mind-to-mind, in the most disgusted tone Tyndal had ever heard.

And you two will make
such
cute babies
, Tyndal agreed. 

Part III

Thieves

Rondal

Chapter Twenty-One

The Orphan Duke

Long known as the Jewel of the Five Rivers Vale, the beautiful fief of Vorone was chosen as the site for the northern summer capital the same time a capital was being considered in contested Gilmora.  The selection was easier in the Wilderlands, for few of the Great Houses were positions to contend over it, and the Duke had already found the site he wished, one ideal for hunting, fishing, hawking, and tilting on the big Wilderlands warhorses the Wilderlords favored for battle.  The grand palace he planned there was completed by his grandson, though the taxes he imposed on his Gilmoran possessions to do so encouraged rebellion

The Northern Settlements

Countess Andine

Rondal felt exhausted but somehow fulfilled, after the unexpected battle in the Wilderlands.  One minute he was minding his own business, the next someone is screaming in his mind and the next he was away to Castabriel at the Conclave, and thence to Vorone, and thence to horseback to defend his homeland against a midsummer raid by goblins.

It was one of the first actual battles he’d participated in, during this busy summer, and while violent, deadly and chaotic – as battle always was – it was refreshingly straightforward: the goblin raiders were terrorizing a village, he and thirty 3
rd
Commando troopers rode in with lances and swords and warmagic and drove off the survivors of the sudden charge.  Only two of his borrowed men had been injured so far this bloody night, but the messages he was receiving from the palace assured him that he had plenty of work left to do.

It was annoying, too, in its way: he and Tyndal had just finished helping Lorcus conquer a domain in a tight little war in the Castali Riverlands, on behalf of his former master, and decided to take the
smallest
of breaks.  Lorcus’ approach to warmagic and conquest was every bit as novel and interesting as his approach to thievery and clandestine action, and the few weeks they’d spent helping him take over one of the largest domains in Sashtalia was every bit as much fun as the weeks they’d spent in Enultramar, attacking the Brotherhood.  Of course, when Lady Mask, renegade warmage and ally to the Necromancer, attacked Master Minalan, breaking his Witchsphere in the battle, things had soured a bit.

Rondal was honestly worried about Minalan, and it had little to do with his broken Witchsphere. 

There was something . . .
off
with his master, these days, he reflected.  He saw it in a dozen tiny ways, little things too subtle for Tyndal to pick up on.  But they were
there
.  Something was affecting the Spellmonger, and whatever it was seemed to also be affecting his judgment.   It had been so disturbing to him – and to Tyndal, once Rondal had pointed it out – that Rondal felt genuinely uncomfortable being around his former master, these days.  There was just too much tension, anxiety, and worry in him, though he did his best to hide it.

But Minalan’s moodiness was enough catalyst for the knights magi to want to leave Sevendor before they’d truly returned.  After deciding to skip the boring Midsummer convocation of the Arcane Orders in Castabriel in favor of heading back to Enultramar to press their shadow war, he and Tyndal were most of the way across Castal toward the great gates of Alshar when the call came, a few days after the solstice.

The news was bad: while most of the Alshari warmagi in the Wilderlands had been away at the Convocation in Castabriel, something had stirred up the gurvani, and inspired them to launch a series of harassing raids from their bases in the Penumbra.

To Rondal’s mind it was clearly a probing attack.  None of the units which had thundered across the hills in the moonlight toward the villages left in Alshari territory were large enough to challenge the defenses of even a small town.  But they harassed the smaller villages around the few great castles left in the northwest of the Wilderlands in a score of attacks, and left the strongest military fortifications alone.

Thankfully, Master Minalan had been at the Convocation.  And Gareth, brilliant, bird-chested,
painfully
awkward Gareth, had figured out how to use the Alkan Ways – an achievement only Master Minalan had mastered with the help of the Tree Folk.  The technique was simple, Rondal had learned, and anyone with one of the smooth, tiny spheres of Alka Alon irionite could learn it.  While that still was only a few handfuls of people in the world, a great many of them had been there at the Convocation to learn how. 

It had proven decisive.  The Alshari contingent of warmagi (and a number of eager volunteers, including Magelord Terleman, who was between assignments) was able to get back to the Wilderlands without traveling overland and killing horses in their haste to return. 

Instead, Gareth, Dara, he and Tyndal had used the new spell to bring as many volunteer warmagi back to Alshar that night, following the Horkans who lead the way with a fierce vengeance in their hearts, and distribute them around the Alkan waypoints to their best effect before retiring to the palace for assignment.  Returning in the nick of time, fresh from days of lazy banquets, panel discussions, and organizational meetings to surprise the gurvani’s surprise attack left the warmagi fresh and eager to fight.  That had saved a number of villages and villagers who might have been destroyed otherwise.

But it was a busy, bloody night. 

There were some unexpected benefits to the third war he’d been involved in this year: he’d enjoyed a reunion with a few of his comrades from the Mysteries of Duin.  When he’d arrived at the palace in Vorone late that busy night, volunteering to lead a unit in response, he was surprised and gratified to find that Duke Anguin had invited the former Royal 3
rd
Commando to the Wilderlands, just before they were driven out of their encampment in Gilmora.  When he was milling around the stately garden pressed into service as a deployment point, selecting men for his force, he’d recognized a familiar face: a mercenary with strong, handsome Remeran features in cavalry armor, bearing the insignia of an Ancient on his baldric.  He bore a thin iron bracelet on his wrist matching the one Rondal wore.

“
Walven!
” he exclaimed, when he’d seen the weary face of his old squadmate from the Mysteries.  “
Ace!
  Over
here!
”

“Rondal? 
Striker!
” his mate returned, as they collided in a brotherly embrace in the middle of the barracks. 

“What are
you
doing here?” they both asked, simultaneously, when they broke it.

“I’m helping repel the gurvani,” Rondal explained.  “Haystack and I were at the Convocation, when word came.”

“I heard about that,” his fellow soldier nodded.  “Nice piece of work, getting back here so quickly.” 

“Magic,” Rondal shrugged.  “It can be useful, sometimes.”

Walven looked older, of course, but though he carried himself with confidence and maturity, the scraggly patch of beard and the youthful gleam in his eye told him out as a young man . . . though he bore an Ancient’s insignia on his baldric, now.

“I see you’ve been promoted,” he noted.  “How’s life in the 3
rd
Commando?”

“Better than life in the Third Squad, but not by much,” his friend grumbled.  “Two bloody years we were adrift in Gilmora, before the Orphan Duke invited us here.”

“He
hired
the 3
rd
Commando?” Rondal asked, surprised.  From what he understood the unit had been disbanded by Royal decree, shortly after the Battle of the Frozen Lake.  And Anguin was broke, running his court with borrowed money.  Not enough, from what he understood, to hire an army of mercenaries.

“He
invited
the 3
rd
Commando,” corrected Walven, frowning.  “He isn’t paying us in coin – not much, anyway.  But we’ll get land and supplies to freehold, and such.  It’s not a great deal, but it was the only offer on the table.  With three barons warning us it was time to move on, it seemed like a good idea to move on.  We lost some men along the way, as some joined other units or struck out on their own, so there were some openings among the non-commissioned officers.  Eventually someone was dumb enough to make me an Ancient.”

“You wear it well,” Rondal noted, straightening his friend’s baldric.  “Want to go hunting?  I’ve been tasked with taking two score cavalry out tonight.  You can still ride a horse, can’t you?”

“My arse is saddle-shaped, now,” Walven agreed.  “I know
just
the lads, too: all good riders, and itching for a fight.”

“Assemble them,” Rondal ordered, with the proficiency of an officer.  “I’ll meet you at the stables in half an hour.  And . . . it’s
really
good to see you again!”

Walven was an excellent Ancient, Rondal noted several times that night, but then again the 3
rd
Commando were excellent soldiers.  By the time they rode into the third village of the evening at dawn, only one of his men had fallen, and only three had been wounded. 

Part of that was due to Rondal’s advice, after scrying the area with Bulwark’s aid.  He was able to determine the nature and disposition of the gurvani raiders with such accuracy that Walven was able to deploy his men to the best advantage during their attacks.  For his part, Walven invested far more trust into Rondal’s intelligence than most Ancients were willing to do with warmagi. 

It was an ideal partnership, and Rondal truly appreciated the cool and efficient manner of his old friend after working with Tyndal for so long, and the professional demeanor of the troops he commanded.  While there were less amusing observations and witty insults than amongst a band of part-time warriors, there were more dead goblins and tearfully grateful peasant families, too. 

At dawn, they were recalled back to the palace as a fresh patrol of cavalry was issued in their place.  Rondal led the men back to Vorone at a walk, after their busy night, and spoke with Walven at length in the saddle.  Hearing about the trials and tribulations of the 3
rd
Commando was fascinating.  And being back in the Wilderlands again, even this far south, was refreshing.  He was just about to launch into a long description about first their shadow war in Enultramar, and then another about their recent quick and dirty war in Sashtalia, when Tyndal had to mess things up with a message, mind-to-mind.

Striker, are you done yet?
his partner demanded. 
The Duke wants to see you.

Just finished
, he answered. 
I scryed the entire region, I think we got all the major bands this close to the palace.

Outstanding.  There are dozens more, from what Terleman says.  How far out are you?

Rondal checked his position on a magemap. 
About two hours away. 

Can you use the Ways?
Tyndal asked. 
Come in on Pentandra’s Waystone,
he suggested. 
She’s in her office.  Though she might not even notice you,
he added. 
She’s doing an excellent job of coordination.

Rondal sighed.  He was actually looking forward to a leisurely morning ride through the Wilderlands during High Summer, after such a busy night, but he knew that when the Duke wanted to see you, you went and saw the Duke.

Let me leave some instructions with my Ancient
, he agreed,
and I’ll be right there.  Where can I find you?  And Anguin?

The Game Room,
Tyndal replied. 
Dear gods, have you seen the girls in the palace, Ace?  I swear it’s like Ishi had a look-a-like contest!

Will you please pull your straw-filled head back to the matter at hand?
Rondal requested. 
You can chase skirts after the crisis is over.

Actually, I can chase skirts during a crisis,
Tyndal replied, boldly. 
I pride myself on my versatility.  I just finished kissing one of these delightful little maids in the gallery.  And I got the defense of Bonner’s Ridge organized, although Lord Bonner will no longer be leading that estate.

See you momentarily,
Rondal promised, ignoring his partner’s latest conquest.  It irked Rondal how easy it was for Tyndal to simply grin and act goofy and have women hanging off of him. 

Then again, after a few weeks of Gatina’s attentions, Rondal was starting to wonder about just how desirable being desirable actually
was
.  It wasn’t as if he didn’t enjoy the company (and soft lips) of the attractive young thief, but the intensity of her emotions was overwhelming.  If he had to deal with that all the time from such a confusing variety of girls, well, he’d likely spend much of his future married life in errantry or on the battlefield.

“I have to go,” he informed Walven as he called a halt to the party and dismounted.  “Duke Anguin wishes me to report.  Continue to lead the men down this road, with scouting pickets on both sides.  It scryed clear, but it’s possible that they have a shaman who employed countermeasures to hide scouts or snipers, so be on your guard.”