Shadowmage: Book Nine Of The Spellmonger Series (73 page)

“Yes, well, I suppose there is no good reason to keep them from you,” he frowned.  “There’s a small sized merchant fleet attached, too, but of course you know that.  Very well, I shall inform the Prime Minister to release those lands, and you can assign proper tenant lords to them.  Or grant them outright,” he shrugged.

“You are most gracious, Uncle,” Anguin said, standing.  “I hesitate to take up any more of your time, and in truth my own realm requires me.  But I very much appreciate your willingness to hear me, and I pledge to continue as your lawful, loyal vassal.”

“It is pleasant enough just to hear a kind word from my nephew,” Rard smiled, sadly.  “It is more than I have had from your cousin, since he took his legacy.  As much as I love my new grandson, Tavard wishes to have little to do with me, these days, if it doesn’t involve expanding his holdings.”  He sounded sad as he delivered the news.

“I wish for nothing that I have not fairly earned, Uncle,” assured Anguin. 

“At least you are well-served by your retainers,” Rard said, shaking his head as he rose.  “My son surrounds himself with lickspittle sycophants who seek nothing but his favor, and will whisper anything to get it. 
These
two scoundrels,” he said, smiling at Tyndal and Rondal, “have more ambition in their big toe than my son’s entire court.  You would do well to keep them close,” he advised, as he showed them to the door.  “Like their mentor, they are smart, quick-witted, and bold.”

“Yes, Uncle,” he replied, as he bowed respectfully to his king.  “I have recently come to appreciate just how well-served I am by them.”

“You know, I have offered two baronies to the man who rescues my daughter.  Two baronies in Gilmora,” he added, knowingly.  “A couple of brave wizards might earn them, should they complete such a quest,” he said, looking from Tyndal to Rondal and back again.

“Your Majesty, we are, alas, engaged in His Grace’s service, at the moment,” Tyndal said, boldly.  “But we shall keep that opportunity in mind.  One never knows where a knight mage might find himself.”

Chapter Thirty-Four

The Recovery Of Vorone

“What in nine hells was
that
all about?” Anguin demanded, angrily, as the three of them strode away from their audience.  “You just pledged a thousand ounces of
my gold!
” he said, angrily.  “You realize that if it hadn’t been for your magic, I would not have had the funds to even
travel
to Wilderhall?  Viscountess Threanas is going to give birth to a live troll on the spot, when she hears about that!”

“Not after she hears our news, Your Grace,” Rondal said, quickly, as he followed his liege.  “Sir Tyndal and I were quite successful in our errantry in Enultramar.  We . . . well, we ended up stealing the entire treasury of the Brotherhood of the Rat.”

“The . . .
what did you say?”
Anguin said, stopping in the middle of the aisle. 

Tyndal looked around to ensure no one was near enough to overhear.  “Your Grace, we took their
entire treasury
.  We were on our way to reveal that to you, when the dragon intervened.  We procured it for
your
treasury.”

“
My
treasury?” he asked, curious.  “How much?”

“Over two million ounces of gold,” Rondal said, very quietly.

“And some change,” Tyndal added.  “So a thousand toward the Iron Band is not going to be difficult to manage.  And it makes you look both generous and invested in the defense.”

“And while we were at it, we secured royal permission for you to establish a new stronghold.  A city you can defend.  That we can defend,” he emphasized.

“That . . . that’s true,” Anguin said, his eyes dazed.  “Two million? 
Two million
. . . of
gold?”

“And a dragonload of silver,” Tyndal agreed.  “Consider it confiscated from criminals.”

“You . . . you two . . . you have
saved us!”
he said, his eyes wide.

“We have merely given you what is your due, Your Grace,” assured Rondal, philosophically.  “But it should be adequate to stabilize your government, start construction on your new palace . . . and build the city the Pentandra and Minalan are so intent upon.  A new capital for the Wilderlands,” he proposed, “a fortress built with magic, strengthened with magic, and protected with magic.”

“A refuge for the folk of the Wilderlands,” Tyndal said, ambitiously.  “Such a city would provide the foundation for a foray into the south.”

Anguin considered it, and then continued walking, shaking his head.  “That is a great undertaking, my friends.  I will have to consider it.  Now that I have the funds to do so, though, it gives me great hope.”  He looked at them both.  “
Why
, gentlemen?  It is not that I’m unappreciative – and you shall be rewarded, as well as I can – but you wish to simply
give
me this fortune?  This fortune of fortunes?”

“What would
we
do with it?” Tyndal shrugged.  “We have more coin than we can spend as it is, and we have no wish to become entangled in the management of lands, prematurely.”

“Indeed, we have taken a vow to restore all of Enultramar to your rule, Your Grace,” Rondal agreed.  “This is but a step on that path.”

“Remarkable,” Anguin said.  “Master Minalan said you would be assets, but I had no idea . . . name your reward, my friends.  Surely you have some boon you desire?  If not lands, what?”

“Let us postpone that discussion, Your Grace, until we have something more worthy to reward than mere thievery,” Rondal suggested.  “Indeed, if there should be any who deserve recognition for this feat, it is your loyal subjects in House Furtius.  A young nobleman we know, who risked his life to accomplish our task, and his kin.  The son of the man whose letter I bore to you,” he reminded the duke.

“Let us contend with the disaster in Vorone, and then I will be happy to honor these remarkable people,” he declared.  “My gods, I owe them – you –”

“You owe us nothing but your grace, Anguin,” Tyndal said, with as much humility as he could muster.  “Now, would you like to return immediately to Vorone . . . or would you like to stop by the great hall, first?  From what I recall of our examinations, here, they do a delightful breakfast . . . with the palace kitchen in ashes, it may be a while before you are afforded a hot meal again.”

*

*

*

The recovery at Vorone took days, and the toll of the dead rose with each new section uncovered.  Carmella sent for her students from Salis Tower to assist with the search, and hundreds of workers poured in from the refugee camps for the promise of a few pennies to clear away the wreckage.  A few survivors were discovered, early on, thanks to the help of the magi who scryed the site and directed the effort, but as the day grew older, the hopes toward finding more dimmed. 

The dead were carried to the Temple Ward, where they were laid out to be identified and given burial rites before being claimed by their families.  When the final tally was taken nearly six hundred bodies were taken from the palace.  Among them were many who would be missed.  While many of the ministers and officials had been away from the palace, proper, during the attack, there were entire ministries that had been wiped out . . . and the toll amongst the many servants and their families, who mostly lived in the East wing where the attack first occurred, was devastating.

The number of wounded was far higher.  Hundreds were burned, some near to death,

Tyndal and Rondal pitched in with the rest of the magi.  Minalan worked quickly to organize campaign tents to be erected to cover the dead and wounded, and imported a few key physickers from Sevendor, to lend a hand.  Monks and nuns poured out of the abbeys to come give their aid for the wounded, and assist in the burials.

The palace, of course, was almost a total loss.  Only the far western end of the place was spared the worst of the damage, and while there were several key offices there, the destruction of the rest of the palace forced many offices to crowd into the undamaged portion, temporarily.  Those that were left.

Tyndal didn’t envy Pentandra her job, particularly after losing three of her staff to the dragon, including her maid and her castellan.  She looked terribly distraught, as he worked around her and Master Minalan, constantly looking up at the scorched palace and shaking her head, as if she could have predicted a dragon attack.  Tyndal counted himself lucky that he’d escaped such a position of responsibility as long as he had – he wasn’t sure he could have dealt with the situation with as much grace as Pentandra did.

He still couldn’t figure out what her words to Minalan as the dragon attacked meant: Drink mead.  The Spellmonger had many, many problems, Tyndal reflected, and plenty of enemies . . . how was drinking mead supposed to cure that, he wondered?  He intended to ask Pentandra about it several times that day, but never found an opportunity.

Largely he was busy as Anguin’s aide, helping gather resources to help in the rescue and recovery process, then helping to stabilize as many of the wounded as he could, with magic.  He was lousy at healing, he quickly realized, even with a witchstone.  But his work in the field hospital was instructive of just how much he didn’t know about the subject.  He vowed to devote more study to it, simply because keeping your friends from dying after battle seemed a useful sort of thing to be able to do.

Rondal, on the other hand, was assisting Taren with dismembering the dragon before it began to rot.  Their experience with the beast at Cambrian had demonstrated just how quickly that could happen, if precautions weren’t taken.  Spells were cast to prevent decay, and Taren had to use special enchantments to begin separating the massive pieces of the saurian corpse, it was so tough.  Indeed, the skin of the wings alone was as tough as flexible steel, able to protect from arrows or even a sword blow, and it was the thinnest skin on the dragon.

The pieces were carefully taken away and allowed to cure, as they came apart.  It took five days of steady work and hundreds of workers to get the beast in small enough pieces for the magi to dispose of it . . . though instead of merely dumping it in the river, as many suggested, each foot, wing, leg and bit of torso was stuffed into a hoxter pocket on Taren’s spear.  He was eager to bring the corpse back to Greenflower for more study, and eventual use as armoring material. 

While workers swarmed over the burnt-out palace like ants, Anguin was attempting to restore what government he could.  Many of the offices important to the functioning of the court had ministers who held dependent estates from the coronet.  Those he instructed to retire to their estates and re-establish their offices, as quickly as possible.  For those lesser officials who lacked those resources, he had them set up their vital functions in tents on the palace grounds or rented halls in town. 

It was a week before things settled down enough for the duke to make good on his promise.  But once Minalan pronounced the situation well-in-hand, and returned to Sevendor, Anguin began holding small receptions in honor of those who’d worked so hard to recognize them for their efforts.  Among the first fetes he threw at his grand “hunting lodge”, Sealgair, built by his great-grandfather Joris II.  Sealgair was another masterful mansion for the visiting dukes, and it was as grand as the palace, in some respects.  But it was not ideal as an office, being half a day’s ride from Vorone. 

Anguin invited all of his warmagi to that first celebration, and asked Rondal and Tyndal to ensure that the members of House Furtius were in attendance.  It didn’t take long to collect them, and even Master Hance managed to attend.  All three appeared in their natural guise, in their house colors of black and gray, genuinely awed to be meeting so many important magi and the duke, himself.

“This is a lovely lodge,” Master Hance reflected as they arrived at the Waystone Pentandra had planted at Sealgair to aid the duke.  Indeed, the three-story building was far more like a manor house than a “hunting lodge”, but once they went inside the sheer number of animal heads on the wall was sufficient to prove how the place had been used.

The members of House Furtius were nervous, even Master Hance, as they were announced by the herald at the door.  Rondal was dutifully escorting Gatina for the occasion, who had found an even more beautiful sable gown to wear to meet her duke than she had for the Spellmonger.  The men of the House wore dark black doublets in velvet, chased with silver and gray embroidery of cats in various stages of pouncing.

“Don’t be nervous,” Tyndal whispered to Atopol.  “Anguin is younger than we are, and he’s actually quite a nice fellow.”

“I’m not – well, of course I’m nervous,” Atopol corrected, self-consciously.  “I’m about to meet a
duke!”

“You’re about to be
honored
by a duke,” Rondal corrected.  “We were quite explicit about the essential role you played in robbing the Rats.  And the Censors,” he added.

“As thieves go,” Tyndal agreed, “you are amongst His Grace’s favorites.”

“A position that can become very rewarding, if one takes advantage of it,” reminded their father.  “I’ve actually been here once before, when Lenguin wanted me to do . . . some errantry at Wilderhall,” he confided.  “That little estate on the coast where we took holiday when you were children was my reward for that job.”