Shadowmage: Book Nine Of The Spellmonger Series (46 page)

“I’m always on my guard,” the Remeran grinned.  “Mention my name to His Grace, will you?”

Rondal shook his head as he prepared the spell from his stone, fixing on the Waystone Lady Pentandra’s necklace.  “You really don’t learn, do you?  When the Duke knows your name, he may call it.  And when he does, you
have
to go.”

“All the way to fortune and glory!” chuckled his friend.  “Farewell, Striker!”

“See you soon, Ace,” he said, with a wave, and allowed the songspell within his witchstone to pull him out of reality and then jam him back in.

Rondal was starting to get used to the experience, which was actually slightly better when you had some control over it.  It still made him nauseated, but he’d just spent his evening slaughtered goblins – breakfast hadn’t been an issue.  When he re-emerged on the other side of the Ways, it was into the Court Wizard’s office in the palace.

Pentandra and Terleman were huddled over a table in the center of the room as he materialized, and as Tyndal suggested, she didn’t even look up as he hitched a ride on her magical stone.  He closed his eyes and waited a moment for the vertigo to subside, then left quietly, after holding the door for a couple of pages with dispatches.  Two warriors of the 3
rd
Commando were standing outside, wearing the baldrics of palace guardsmen.

Rondal quietly left the wing and found Tyndal in the corridor outside, waiting.

“I thought you were already there?” he said, confused.

“I thought I’d wait for you,” he said, standing.  “I just got in myself from a patrol – nothing,” he pronounced, distastefully.  “Well, signs, and a single burnt hovel, but that’s all.  I could have slept through it.”

“This isn’t a serious attack,” Rondal agreed.  “It looks probing and opportunistic.”

“You make it sound so . . .
dirty
,” Tyndal said, staring at a pair of young women in matching green dresses.  “Apparently we missed a hell of a party, here, a few weeks ago,” he said, regretfully.  “But it feels good to be back in the Wilderlands again.”

“I was thinking that earlier,” Rondal agreed, as he followed Tyndal through the maze of the ornate palace.  “We should settle down here, someday,” he suggested.  “You know, once all the goblins are gone.”

“There’s no place quite like it,” Tyndal agreed, as a young maiden hurried past him, bearing a scroll and a worried expression.  “I spoke briefly to His Grace, and he’s preparing to launch a retaliatory raid into the Penumbra – hope we’re around to get a piece of that,” he said, enthusiastically. 

“What does he want?”

“You have a message for him, remember?” Tyndal prompted.  “When I told him that, he was eager to receive it.”

Rondal blanched.  He had all but forgotten about the letter from Master Hance he bore for Anguin, thanks to the hectic series of events this summer.  But this was, indeed, the first time he’d been near the Duke of Alshar in months, so this was, literally, the first convenient opportunity.

“You’re right,” Rondal admitted, guiltily.  “How does he seem to be . . . ?”

“Ruling?” supplied Tyndal.  “Well enough.  He listens to his advisors, it seems, but he’s got his own head.  He’s
smart
,” he said, admiringly.  “Not like Tavard at all.  He hasn’t panicked once all night, from what I’ve seen.”

“Well,
that’s
a good thing,” Rondal agreed, as they came to the Game Room His Grace has made his headquarters.  They found the young Duke behind a double-thick layer of palace guardsmen, as well as several armored knights who had volunteered to give chase to the raiders, and were generally loitering around the Duke, awaiting orders.

Thankfully, Anguin looked up from his desk and his aides just as the lads were passing the guards, and smiled.

“My good knights magi, Sir Tyndal and Sir Rondal!” he said, his youthful voice adopting a far more formal tone than Rondal had expected.  “Thank you for joining me.  Gentlemen?  Can I have the room?” he asked, to the others.

With some nods and some furtive glances the men retired to the chamber outside, leaving the three of them alone for a moment.

Anguin looked well, Rondal decided, older and more filled-out than the scrawny kid he’d met last year.  His eyes, however, were tired and worn, and had seemed to age beyond the mere year since last he’d seen them.  Ruling was taking a toll, Ron realized.

But Anguin seemed nothing but cheerful and enthusiastic as he invited them to sit.

“So, what have my two favorite knights magi been doing while I’ve been dusting off this rustic throne?” he asked, once he got settled in with them.

“Mostly we’ve been doing terrible,
terrible
things to the Brotherhood of the Rat in Enultramar,” Tyndal began.  “Destroying their hideouts, stealing their coin, assassinating their membership . . .”

“But while we were indulging in our quiet little war,” Rondal continued, trying to keep to the meat of the matter before Tyndal began extolling his own virtues, “we made some new friends.  Friends who were, apparently,
also
friends of your late father.”

“Friends?  What
kind
of friends?” asked Anguin, curious and concerned.

“
Secret
friends,” emphasized Rondal, as he summoned Bulwark, and then shook the letter loose from its magical pocket within the baculus.  It was just as fresh and crisp as it had been when he’d placed it there, months ago.  “From what this . . . gentleman said, he and Duke Lenguin were confidants.  He wanted me to give this to you personally, without the knowledge of even your closest advisors.”

Anguin stared at the parchment and the black wax seal that bound it with some hesitancy.

“If it makes any difference, Your Grace,” Tyndal prompted, “this gentleman enjoys our highest confidence.  He and his house were instrumental in the success of our efforts.”

Anguin looked at them both before nodding and taking the note.  Once committed, he eagerly split the seal and began reading.

It was only a few moments before he sighed and looked up, dropping the parchment on the table.

“Oh, my,” he said, shaking his head.  “I believe you are correct, Sir Rondal.  This . . . loyal gentleman was, indeed, a friend of Father’s.  Indeed, just a few weeks before he died, I recall him mentioning that he knew the best thief in the realm, when we were out fishing.  He said he met him as a boy, and had made him the unofficial ‘ducal thief’.”

“That would have been an apt description, if he was in your father’s service,” agreed Tyndal.

“I believe you can trust him, Your Grace,” Rondal volunteered.  “He seemed quite intrigued with your restoration and voiced considerable support for your return to Enultramar.”

“Well, since my great-uncle is rebelling against me with the vast majority of the Duchy’s resources behind him, that might take a while,” chuckled Anguin.  “But there is considerable support for that in the court.  Indeed, I was nearly overthrown a few months ago by a conspiracy of Sea Lords who wished me to abandon the Wilderlands and take to sea to fight for my legacy.”

“I am gratified that Your Grace elected
not
to do so,” Rondal said, shaking his head.  “The rebels’ fleet is not just comprised of the old Alshari navy, but is augmented by hundreds of Farisi expatriate mariners, pirates and merchantmen, who have sought haven in Enultramar.  Had you attempted to take the place by sea, you would have been defeated handily.”

Anguin smirked.  “You don’t have confidence that the gods would have favored the true ruler to the realm, and struck aside my opponents?”

“We believe that the gods often favor the side with the largest force and the wisest commander,” Rondal countered.  “As much as we support your reign, Your Grace, we’re not
stupid
.  The rebel coalition led by the Count of Rhemes is still very much in charge.  Enultramar is not going to fall into your hands just because of your legacy.  In our opinion,” he said, glancing at Tyndal, “it’s going to be because you won it back.  And
not
at sea,” he emphasized.

“Oh, I know, I know,” the Orphan Duke agreed.  “Yet this letter gives me some hope that I can, the gods alone know how, generate enough support within the Great Vale and the Bay to overthrow the rebellion.  Or at least offer a better alternative than being conquered by Rard.  Or Tavard,” he added, snorting at his cousin’s name.

“Is there any answer or response you wish to send this gentleman, Your Grace?” Tyndal asked.

“Yes,” the duke nodded.  “Tell him – personally, I don’t want to commit this to writing – tell him that I accept his pledge of loyalty and his service, and ask him to work with my designated representatives in preparing the realm for my restoration.  At some point.  In the distant future.”

“Who
are
your designated representatives?” Tyndal asked, confused.  Rondal wasn’t aware of anyone claiming to speak for the Duke in Enultramar.

“
You
are.  Starting now,” Anguin declared.  “Oh, I want to keep this secret, decidedly, but I also want to know that someone with some wisdom is working towards that end.”

Tyndal glanced at him, but didn’t try to communicate mind-to-mind. 

Rondal cleared his throat.  “Your Grace, while we are of course honored and proud to accept . . . we are not, strictly speaking,
spies
,” he reminded him.

“Or wise,” added Tyndal. 

“I know.  You are the first Knights Magi in the Alshari realm, next only after the Spellmonger, himself.  More, you are
native
Alshari, Wilderlords both.  And you have done great service to that realm despite the realm not being in a proper position to reward that service . . . yet.”

“Oh, we’re doing this for fun, Your Grace,” Tyndal assured him.  “We’re not looking for a reward.  We’re looking for
revenge.
”

“That being said, we’re more than happy to work in Your Grace’s interests,” agreed Rondal, evenly.  “Consider the Estasi Order at your service.”

Anguin thought for a moment.  “You really think this gentleman and his kin are loyal and worthy allies?” he asked.

“Rondal is so impressed with them that he has paid court to their daughter,” Tyndal informed his liege, smugly.  “Don’t think that he’s letting her skirts cloud his judgment on the matter, however.  From what we can tell, there are many in the south who yearn for your assumption of power there and bristle at the heavy hand of the Count of Rhemes.  It might be a slow process, but if anyone can quietly forge those loyalists into an organized resistance to the rebellion, it will be this family.”

“It’s not this family I’m worried about,” frowned the young man.  “What if Grendine finds out?  Her family will seek them out and remove them, just because they are helping me.”

“She’d have an incredibly difficult time finding them,” answered Tyndal, smirking at the thought.  “These are shadowmagi, Your Grace.  They can hide a horse through a crowded hall and get away with it.”

“My aunt has been known to employ shadowmagi,” he reminded them.

“Only the one, and she’s retired – and about to give birth, from what I understand,” Tyndal reflected.  “Besides, these folks are better than Lady Isily ever was.  She was sneaky.  They are silent and nearly invisible.  The Cats of Enultramar, they are called.”

“Well, the gentleman says he has something that might keep my aunt’s ambitions at bay, but he alone will put it in my hands.  So . . . I wish for you to return to Enultramar, at your convenience, and convey that message: I graciously accept his offer of assistance and service, and I place him in your capable hands to help coordinate the effort against our common foes.”

“He will be most gratified to hear it,” smiled Tyndal.  “So will his daughter.”

“Shut
up!
” Rondal said, utterly breaking protocol.  Anguin grinned.  He apparently didn’t mind breaking protocol.  “We’re working on refining our plans now,” he said, giving Tyndal a disgusted look.  “This gentleman and his House are actively gathering information on your foes, and we should have something put together by late summer.  Just in time for the slaving fleets to return.”

“I cannot believe they’ve allowed
that
hateful practice to return!” the young Duke said, shaking his head sadly.  “One of the most abdominal institutions of old Enultramar, worse than serfdom!”

“But lucrative,” reminded Tyndal. 

“I want you to do what you can to organize the loyalists in the south, and have them prepared to act, when the time is right,” Anguin said, thoughtfully.  “I know that might rile some feathers, in some circles, but if we’re going to take back Enultramar and the Great Vale before Rard does, we’re going to have to be ready.  Can I entrust you with this task?  As knights of Alshar?”

Rondal swallowed, and took a knee.  He was gratified to see Tyndal do likewise.  “It would be an honor and a pleasure, Your Grace.”

“Thank you,” he said, bowing in return and motioning them to rise.  “This will, of course, have to be kept in strictest confidence.  You are, in effect, intelligence agents of the coronet, now.
Secret
agents.  If you are caught or captured,
you must not reveal your purpose to anyone.
  If my aunt caught wind of what I’m planning she’d invade us at once, pretense be damned.  Or I’d end up with a dagger in my gut.