Shadowmage: Book Nine Of The Spellmonger Series (74 page)

The five of them were escorted into the main hall, which was huge, for a manor, but still smaller than most of the halls and throne rooms at the palace, so it seemed cozy by comparison.  Anguin was seated on his traveling throne, coronet on his head, waving at people as they arrived and were introduced.

“It’s a running court,” explained one of the castellans to Tyndal, when he asked about the lack of formality.  “Casual attendance, formal presentation, no agenda that His Grace does not demand.  His Grace understands the nature of his warmagi and appreciates their various duties.  He thought it best to honor them as they arrived, to avoid missing anyone called away unexpectedly.”

They thanked the man, and stood in the presentation line with the other newcomers.  When it was their turn to present themselves to the throne, Anguin looked particularly pleased.

“So these are the magi who assisted your efforts, this summer,” he acknowledged, after each had been introduced by the herald using their full titles.  “You have my gratitude, and the gratitude of the entire Duchy . . . those who are still loyal, that is.”

“It was our pleasure, Your Grace,” Master Hance, speaking for the House, assured the duke.  “And an honor for my House to be of service to the coronet.”

“Honor is mine to bestow, my lord, and it pleases me to do so,” Anguin said, holding out his hand.  One of his retainers – a large, balding man who resembled the Duke a bit in the face – handed him the great two-handed Sword of State.  “Lord Atopol of House Furtius: take a knee.”

Tyndal watched with great anticipation as the black-clad youth stumbled forward in a daze, and then fell to one knee, head bowed, in front of his sovereign.  With great ceremony the sword descended as Anguin made Atopol a Knight Magi of Alshar.  A moment later, he extended an invitation to both Master Hance and Lady Gatina to join his court.

“That was well-done,” Minalan nodded, pleased, when the shadowmagi were excused from the throne to join their peers at the feast.  As Astyral and his entourage from Tudry were arriving, it seemed a good idea to claim a table near the throne and await the servants with their wine glasses.

“I’m . . . I’m a knight!” Atopol said, a dazed look on his face.

“A knight mage, Sir Atopol,” Tyndal corrected.  “You are no mere noble sword-monkey.  You are a gentleman of high Art and deadly skill.”

“And after consulting with Sire Cei and Sir Festaran, we would like to extend an invitation for you to join the Estasi Order,” Rondal added.  “We need someone to help shoulder the horrible burden of glory we bear.”

“I . . . I would be honored,” Atopol said, rubbing his eyes.  “Sweet Darkness, I would be honored!  I’m a knight mage . . .”

“And I am a lady of the ducal court!” Gatina preened, triumphantly.  “Of course, that would mean more if I could tell the girls back home about it, but . . .”

“I’m afraid that discretion is to be our cloak a little while longer, Gatina,” Hance smiled, indulgently.  “If you revealed yourself as such, then you would instantly attract the attention of the rebels.”

“I plan on attracting a great deal of their attention before I am done, Father,” she said, with a grim smile.  “Without the Brotherhood to terrorize the common people, they will soon reap what foul seed they’ve sown in Enultramar!”

“My daughter is valiant, but she underestimates the hold the Count of Rhemes holds over the land,” he sighed, his face turning sad.  “Since Anguin took power in Vorone and the news came south, a growing number of lords – particularly Vale Lords – want to know why he has not been invited back to his throne.  Count Vichetral has been insistent that it is Rard, not Anguin, who rules the Wilderlands and Vorone.”

“Do you see Rard or Grendine lurking around behind the throne?” Tyndal asked.  “Anguin is his own man.  Indeed, on the morning after the dragon attacked, we took him directly to Wilderhall so that he could complain to Rard over the violation of the treaty.  His Grace was forceful enough to gain several concessions from His Majesty.”

“Including the return of the five havens,” Rondal added.  “And permission to build a new fortress in the Wilderlands.  Oh, and he’s strengthening the Iron Band with a higher quality of gallows fruit,” he added.

“That is no small feat,” Hance said, shaking his head in wonder.  “The Sea Knights of Castal have been eyeing those havens resentfully for decades.  They are immune to the ducal tax on their exports, you see, which gives them an advantage over the common Castali havens.”

“More importantly, it gives all these pesky Sea Lords around Vorone someplace wet to stick their feet,” Rondal said, with a hint of a sneer.  “They’ve already tried to rise up and kidnap the duke once, to prosecute a naval war from those havens.”

“That’s incredibly stupid of them,” Gatina observed.  “The Alshari fleet under the rebels’ control numbers in the hundreds of ships.  They would be destroyed before they crossed the Tower of the Waves.”

“Aw, it will give them something to do,” Tyndal objected.  “Mariners need to sail, and when they see a problem they try to sail it away.  Just like a knight tries to lance it away.”

“They can at least start building a war fleet,” Rondal considered.  “With the iron and timber from the Wilderlands and the Sea Lord’s skill, in a few years they might have at least a squadron of ships under his flag.”

“Which will simply be a larger target for the rebels,” Sir Atopol pointed out. 

“It beats having them hanging around Vorone,” countered Tyndal.  “They
hate
the forests.”

“We must all forebear, until Anguin is restored,” Hance advised, gazing at the son of his old friend.  “He seems even more capable than his sire, and possessed of a confidence that Duke Lenguin, frankly, lacked.”

“He has a bigger task than merely ruling,” Rondal observed.  “He must rebuild his realm, not just maintain it.  A challenge worthy of the gods.  That sort of thing has a way of motivating a man,” he said.  Tyndal noted how his eyes lingered on Gatina when he said it.  She seemed awfully happy with the attention.

“Well, unless something dramatic changes, I doubt he’d be able to enforce his claim, right now,” Hance sighed.  “The Count of Rhemes seems no less firmly in control for the loss of his dockside thugs.  He’s frequently praised as the voice of stability in this dark time . . . while his agents do all that they can to stifle dissent.  The wise keep their mouths shut, regardless of their politics.  Why, he’s already begun gathering Anguin’ loyalists in prisons.  It won’t be long before he tries to find a way to lay claim to the actual throne, not just its power.”

“Not if we intervene, first,” Minalan the Spellmonger said, from behind them.  He casually took a seat at the end of the table, where there was room on the bench.  “Despite my best efforts to avoid it, it appears as if we must contend with southern Alshar ourselves, since neither Rard nor Anguin appear to have the resources for it,” he suggested.

“My thoughts as well, lord . . .?” Hance asked, curiously.

“Lord Hance, this is our –former – master, Baron Minalan the Spellmonger of Sevendor,” Tyndal said, standing to make the formal introduction.  “He’s also been quite interested in what happens in Enultramar, despite what he says.”

“Do not misunderstand me,” he insisted.  “We have much bigger foes than a rebellious count.  But if what my lads have told me is true, then it seems Korbal and Shereul have taken an interest there . . . so, alas, must I.”

“An honor to meet you, Baron,” Hance said, as he swiftly took to his feet and bowed.  “Your apprentices have told me much about you, and my children have done no less than rave about Sevendor.”

“And I have heard much about you, Lord Hance,” Minalan said, bowing in return.  “I take it your presence in court this evening means we can count on your continued support for the loyalist cause in Enultramar?”

“I have been working at nothing else for weeks, my lord,” agreed Hance.  “Sorting friend from foe, making contact with those I feel we can trust, and gathering information on the rebels.  Before long I will have cell after cell of loyalists up and down the Mandros,” he boasted. 

“Excellent,” nodded the Spellmonger, though with muted enthusiasm.  “Then I would encourage you lads to continue your efforts.  Rard even now plans to raise an army and re-conquer the place, and if he does you can assume that it will be Tavard, not Anguin, that it is given to when he is done.”

“If he can manage it,” Master Hance said, shaking his head.  “As long as those houses loyal to the rebellion hold the Narrows and the fortresses there, Rard will have no more luck breaking their defenses than his sires did before the Peace of Barrowbell.”

“Rard has High Magi, now, which his ancestors did not,” reminded the Spellmonger.  “High Magi who owe two months’ service every year.  I’ve seen the great fortresses in the dry lands.  With irionite, they can be broken.”

“Surely the goblins have realized that as well,” pointed out Tyndal, uneasily.

“You can count on it,” Minalan agreed, grimly.  “I’ve had reports of their interest from all over the west.  Now that Korbal is established essentially outside of their front gates, I think Enultramar is going to receive far more attention from our foes than they want.”

That thought disturbed Tyndal.  It was bad enough that they had encountered Priviken the Goblin roaming around at will in the land, but since they’d chanced to meet the undead at Brisomar it was clear that Korbal, especially, had an unhealthy interest in the place.

“You still plan on assailing his fortress, Master?” Rondal asked.

“I don’t see what choice we have,” the Spellmonger admitted with a shrug.  “With Korbal and his Nemovorti in the neighborhood, it will be only a matter of time before they find some way to bring misery to us.  The gurvani see us as invaders and fodder.  The Enshadowed see us as tools to be used against ourselves.  As long as Korbal has power in Anthatiel, then— “

“Actually, Master, they call it Olum Seheri , now,” Rondal offered.  “The City of the Dead.”

“Then we shall assail Olum Seheri,” he declared.  “But we shall not do it clumsily.  In fact, I think we should begin sending in agents to surveil the place as early as this autumn.”

“That’s going to be hard to do,” Tyndal reminded him, sourly.  “If the Poros isn’t a frozen block of ice, even getting into the Land of Scars is difficult.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of having you fellows walk it, again,” Minalan chuckled.  “No, this time you will go in by Waypoint.  I’ve been talking with Lady Varen, and there is apparently more than one natural Alkan Waypoint in the area.  Not just the one in the middle of the city, where all the goblins and undead live – or un-live – but one up on the cliffs above the lake.  It’s not well known,” he added.  “In fact, only the high nobility of Anthatiel were even aware of it, as it was not convenient for their use.”

“’Us fellows’?” Tyndal said, his heart sinking.  “I take it that you plan to send us on this errand?”

“Well, who did you think I was going to send into the dark heart of danger?” Minalan asked, sarcastically, “Ruderal?”

“No, Master, of course not.  But Tyndal and I were just talking about preparing Enultramar for Anguin’s return . . .”

“And this fits as nicely with your plans as a dagger fits its sheath,” he pronounced, happily.  “Don’t worry, you have a few weeks before we’ll be ready for you to go.  But we already have a growing list of things that need to be dealt with, in anticipation of any kind of assault.  For instance, we need a well-concealed listening post to spy on our foe, one that will not be detected by his patrols.”

“One protected with, say, shadowmagic?” Rondal asked, glancing at Sir Atopol.

“Why yes, that would do nicely,” agreed Minalan.  “I take it your folk know how to magically conceal such a spot?”

“It’s pretty elementary, Your Excellency,” agreed Master Hance.  “I would volunteer to do it myself, but it is well within my son’s capabilities.”

“Then he may accompany my two scoundrels,” Minalan decided.  “Consider it his first official bit of errantry as a mage knight.  Now, if you’ll excuse me, Terleman just arrived . . . and he looks half drunk already.”

“Well, I hope your happy,” Tyndal said, sourly, to Rondal.  “Now we’re not just going to be sent back into hopeless danger, but we have to take Sir Atopol along with us when we get killed.”

“It’s better he understand the nature of the job early,” Rondal observed. 

“That means, lousy hours, poor and irregular pay, and unfriendly strangers unhelpfully trying to kill you every other day.”

“Thanks, fellows,” Atopol sighed.  “I’m more of a rooftop man than an outdoorsman, you realize,” he added.

“Oh, we were hardy outdoorsmen before we came to Enultramar to seek our fortunes,” Tyndal dismissed.  “As a knight mage, you learn to adapt quickly.”  He looked up and saw Gatina dragging Rondal to his feet as the musicians in the gallery began to play.  “And yes, dancing is part of it.”

“If you will excuse us, gentlemen,” Rondal said, as he took the young noblewoman’s hand and led her to the line where the dancers were preparing for a pavane.  “I believe the lady would like to dance.”

“That . . . is not . . .” Tyndal began, confused by Rondal’s placid acceptance of the Kitten of Night’s affections.  Did he not realize that the girl wanted to drag him in front of a priestess?  Did he not realize that she was sinking her needle-like claws into him every chance she got?

With a sinking feeling worse than when he was ordered to Olum Seheri, Tyndal watched as his partner spun his black-clad, white-haired girl into line with a surprising amount of dexterity for a clumsy mage. 

“They do make a handsome couple,” Lord Hance said, wistfully, as the servants brought more wine to the table.  “I understand your trepidation about my daughter, Sir Tyndal,” Hance continued, sensing his discomfort.  “Believe me, seeing my only daughter show that much interest in a boy is . . . well, I understand how you must feel,” he sighed. 

“Oh, it’s not that I don’t like Gatina,” Tyndal said, quietly.  “She’s a delight.  But . . . it just seems so . . . serious, all of a sudden,” he said, shaking his head.  “You have a very beautiful daughter, my lord, from a well-born and respectable family.  Please understand I take no issue with her,” he said, realizing that Hance and Atopol might see his attitude as insulting.  “I just . . . I hoped Rondal and I would be valiantly killed in action, before we were old enough to even think about being wed.”

“Well, as long as Anguin sits here in Vorone, you’re safe,” Atopol said, quietly.  “But I’ve been speaking with Gat, and she’s serious.  The moment his arse touches that fancy chair, she’s going to be married and pregnant before the Duke can put his feet up.”

“And then our adventures will come to an end,” Tyndal sighed, sadly.

“Don’t worry, my friend,” Atopol said, sympathetically laying his hand on Tyndal’s shoulder as he watched the happy couple. 
Damn it!  Why did Rondal have to smile so widely at her?
“There’s always the chance that we’ll all be killed on our errantry long before a priestess ever gets involved.”

“Really?” Tyndal asked, hopefully.  “Well, I guess that wouldn’t be so bad, then.”

Chapter Thirty-Five

Future Plans

The two spent the next few weeks in Vorone, helping to tidy up after a small army of workers swept through the ruins, salvaging everything they could.  The few remaining storehouses that had escaped dragonfire were packed with ornaments and objects of art from decades of collection by generations of nobility.  Those which escaped damage completely were put away against a happier day.  Those which were too badly burnt were melted or added to the great pile of rubble.

Carmella oversaw the entire operation, riding around the site on her construct, trying not to scare the horses used to cart away the salvage.  She had already drawn up plans for a new fortress, as she’d described at a meeting in the big canopy that had become her temporary headquarters.

“The problem with this place isn’t that it isn’t defensible.  It just wasn’t designed for defense in the slightest,” she explained as she used her stone to display a magemap she’d prepared.  “With the palace and the barracks gone, however, a third of the city is now available for reconstruction.  If we tear down the northwest wall and rebuild it another three hundred feet further upstream, we open up a large section of riverfront along the northside of the city.  Enough to build . . . this,” she said, with more excitement in her voice than Tyndal had ever heard her display.

What she showed them was fully-imagined castle rendered in light and shadow, powered by her stone so that even the non-Talented could see it.

The castle was a series of circular double towers, eight in all, surrounding a central square keep at one end, and a neat but tightly-packed domestic range at the other.  A large bailey encompassed the southern side of the keep, with crenelated curtain walls more than twenty-five feet tall and twelve feet thick surrounding it.  Mural towers were spaced every fifty feet along its expanse with solid-based fighting decks suitable for artillery spaced on the walls at intervals. 

Behind the domestic range on the eastern end of the long castle was a powerfully built gatehouse, seven stories tall and wide enough for a baronial keep.  Beyond that was a secondary bailey, enclosing the old gardens and large enough for much of the town to take refuge behind.

Surrounding the outer curtain wall was an earthen wall in front of a moat that connected to the river on both sides of the castle, rendering it technically an island.  And the space where the present listfield was located was now a massive storehouse with its own, slightly smaller, gatehouse, also surrounded by the moat. 

“Behold, Castle Vorone,” she announced.  “A round great barrel keep on enclosed mound, large enough for a permanent garrison of two thousand men.  Round towers with stone machiolations.  A gatehouse that can act as a secondary keep if the western end is compromised.  A river access, to supply the castle or permit escape.  And the river, itself, protects the towers from being undermined.

“The central section is the kitchen complex and the new Great Hall.  There’s a secondary hall here for the use of the garrison and guard.  Storehouses below and in these two towers, along with cistern and latrines. 

“The eastern end is the palace complex.  On the north side are four floors of offices and chambers, each with a series of inward-facing windows.  Eleven suites in all.  On the south side are the more minor offices, a few reception halls, and over here is the visitors’ tower.  The gatehouse at the far end is almost as strong as the keep, although it is only slightly raised.  It has sally ports here and here, and a separate dock through this river gate by the gardens.”

“This . . . is ambitious, Carmella,” Minalan said, studying the map.  “Very ambitious.”

“Not as much as you might think,” she said.  “By using magi to handle the earthmoving and foundation work, we can have the site prepared for construction by Briga’s Day, late winter at the latest.  That includes the foundation, the moat, the motte, the wall foundations, and the outer bank.  After that . . . well, with bricking and setting wands, not to mention hoxter pockets for transporting stone . . . well, I can have the keep and the gatehouse built in two years.  The walls will take another year, as will finishing the interior of the palace.  A year after that I can have the extensions to the town wall completed, as well as the series of mural towers I’d like to build.  Oh, and a moatwork and ditchwork across the southern bank of the river, as a first line of defense.  Probably with a secondary fortification, of some sort,” she shrugged.  “I don’t know, I haven’t planned that far out.  I’ve been busy with . . . another project”

“You . . . can build all of this . . . in three years?” asked Anguin, astonished.

“If we don’t run out of stone,” Carmella admitted.  “Or money to pay my crews.  Even with magic, we’re talking about a couple of thousand men.  But that’s another problem.  We need proper bosses for these crews.  The civil works projects you’ve started will help, but getting good crews and decent bosses is going to take time.”

“We can import some,” suggested Taren, thoughtfully.  “There is always a construction project finishing up, somewhere.  If we let it be known that there is coin and work to be done, we’ll have your bosses.”

“Some,” agreed Carmella.  “But I want to train as many as I can, too.  This is a test project, a practice piece.”

“Practice for what?” asked Master Cormoran, curiously.  He’d led a crew of three hundred Tudrymen to Vorone to assist in the clean up.

“For Vanador,” Carmella said. 

“Vanador?”

“After much discussion,” Minalan said, helpfully, “His Grace has agreed – nay, insisted – that the Arcane Orders build a new capital in the Wilderlands.  He has secured permission from King Rard, and while this new keep is a stopgap measure, His Grace has decided to build a new city, from scratch, in the northeast of the Wilderlands.  A city built with magic’s aid,” he added.  “Carmella will be its architect, and oversee its construction.”

“If we are building a new keep here, what purpose is the expense of building an entirely new city?” asked Count Angrial, the Prime Minister.

“Because the war that has brought us to this dire situation is not over,” Anguin said, shaking his head.  “Indeed, I fear it has just begun.  At some point in the future, the gurvani – and worse – will send their legions forth from the Penumbra again, and as stout as this keep is, it is still . . . not . . . dragon-proof.” 

“And this new city would be?” asked Count Salgo, the Warlord of Alshar, in charge of its defense.

“It would be designed to protect far more than a mere keep on a river,” agreed Carmella.  “The site we’ve selected is extremely well-positioned.  Natural rock formations would shield a great deal of the town from dragonfire.  It sits in an unpeopled but fertile valley, within a double ridge of hills.  It has other advantages,” she added.  “But it’s the best-situated, defensible site east of the river.”

“The region was overrun before and after Timberwatch, when the legions travelled through it,” added Tyndal, who remembered how terribly the folk of the region suffered. “Most of those folk were slain or driven south.”

“Large enough for a city that could contain most of the folk in the Wilderlands,” Rondal added.  “Two of the pele towers were built on the outlying hills, so we already have a presence there.  It is far enough away from the frontier to protect not only against the gurvani, but against any human threats.”

“That seems an expensive indulgence, even with our newfound fortune,” Count Angrial said, doubtfully. 

“It is necessary, if you wish to afford the folk of the Wilderlands any security,” Pentandra insisted.  “As impressive as this keep is, it would still fall to siege, eventually.  It is between the Penumbra and the rest of the Kingdom.  It was only spared being sacked because the Cotton Road was a more direct route for the gurvani plans.  As lovely as this castle is, Vorone will fall, one day, and all its people with it,” she said, with especial urgency.  Tyndal wondered if her pregnancy was tainting her perspective.

“Vanador would give the people a place to flee, out of the way of a general invasion,” Minalan explained.  “It lies at the foothills of the Kulines, where many of our Alka Alon allies yet dwell.  And the Kasari have a presence there, too.” 

“But Vanador will only function if it is constructed quietly, nearly in secret,” Pentandra agreed.  “We will not be able to disguise our intent in the long run, of course, but if we prepare quietly, under cover of building this castle, then we can accomplish much through deception before any of our foes realize what strength we have conspired to stockpile there.  Then, when things seem dire, we can direct the folk of the western lands to the eastern fortress.  Slaves freed from the Penumbra can be resettled there.” 

“And when Vorone and Tudry eventually fall,” Anguin continued, “would you have our people be refugees in Gilmora?  The Riverlands?  Remere?  For when that day comes, it will be a dark one that stretches from the Umbra to the distant shore.  From Vanador we could strike on their flanks, keep them from committing wholly to the invasion.  And if we persist and survive, then we lead our people against the diminished foe and beat them back into exile!”

“How do we do this . . . by building this castle, then?” asked Angrial, whose doubts were clearly in the minority.

“Stone,” Carmella said.  “That’s where we star.  I can salvage enough from the old palace and local sources to begin the construction here, but that won’t be enough, not for a project this size.  We need a quarry, and while there are sites as good, closer, there is a thick vein of granite on the southern slopes of the hills that would be ideal.

“We open the quarry there, build a proper road connect it to the south, and use it as cover for the larger operation.  We can staff a camp with engineers and stonecutters, magi and workers, and send a couple of carts down the road every week.  But most of the stone will be cut and shipped magically, through enchantments and hoxter pockets,” she said, excitedly.  “And the vein is huge.  As we cut, we can prepare to lay the foundations to Vanador, and lay out the villages and farms to support it.  By the time we’re finishing up on Castle Vorone, we’ll be ready to start the main buildings and defenses of Vanador . . . and have plenty of trained people to do it.”