Shadowmage: Book Nine Of The Spellmonger Series (9 page)

“I have no idea, my friend,” Rondal said, apologetically, steering Tyndal toward the modest inn at the far end of the street they’d taken a room in.  “But if I had to guess, I’d say it was the bird shit on your doublet.”

At dawn the next morning, both lads had the opportunity to prove they were right.  

Rondal ventured forth before the sun rose, and using magesight tracked the traces of Tyndal’s enchanted, slightly-used ale from the previous night . . . deposited as close to the warehouse as possible.  He found it clearly pouring forth in frothy abundance in the scummy wash near the old stone bridge.  A closer inspection underneath revealed an opening concealed in the northern bank, just large enough for a decent-sized punt to come through.

Tyndal was vindicated in his belief that mixing ale with brandy, wine, and seawater was a fundamentally poor idea.  He heaved miserably into the chamberpot until the innkeeper threatened to call a physician.  Rondal returned just in time to cast a calming charm on his friend and help him recover.

“You did that on purpose,” Tyndal accused, as Rondal brought him some clear broth and porridge.  His blue eyes looked crazy under his unkempt hair, crimson spider webs screaming his discomfort.  Tyndal drank a cup of water and was packing his pipe while Rondal set up his breakfast.

“I did,” Rondal agreed.  “I figured the easiest way to avoid suspicion was to look like two out-of-town errants on a drunken lark.  I think we were convincing.”

“And the mission was to take a piss in front of the place?”

“And you performed spectacularly,” Rondal assured.  “I shall make note of this in the Order’s chronicles.”

“I cannot wait to regale my chivalric brothers with my heroic tale of urination,” he agreed, charming his pipe into life.

“The tunnel I found clearly leads to under the warehouse,” reasoned Rondal.  If we make our way upstream, we would be right under Ruderal and his mom.”

“So we would,” Tyndal said, exhaling a huge cloud of fragrant smoke.  

“Of course, we’re still separated from our quarry by a thick wooden floor,” reminded Rondal.

Tyndal snorted derisively, sending forth another cloud of smoke.  “Wood?  Are we not magi?”  Tyndal could enchant wood into all sorts of interesting shapes, as Rondal knew well.  Getting through the door would take a few moments and a spell.

“We can, indeed,” Rondal agreed, pushing the porridge toward him.  “In fact, if we time this properly, I think we can have a lot of fun with this.”

Chapter Four

The Arrunatus House

The reputation associating the Great Bay of Enultramar with thieves and scoundrals is doubtless tied to its piritical past; a storied history of bloodshed and plunder.

One can scarce look at the proud cities of the Great Bay today and imagine the squalid conditions of the earliest folk on this rocky shore, but it is well-known – nay, even boasted by Sea Lords, that their ancestors were the storm of the Shallow Sea in the great days of their fleets. 

Yet the Sea Lords of Enultramar were not thieves, themselves, once they were back under the protection of the Maiden of the Havens and safely away from the dangers of the Shipwrecker.  While ashore, the Lords of Enultramar treated each other with honor and respect, settling their differences by council or by duel.

Indeed, the Sea Lords blame the original tribes of Enultramar’s fertile coastland for the association with thievery.  Rich in land yet poor in resources and primative in comparison to the Cormeeran pirates, the scattered tribes of the coastal plains at first traded with the Cormeerans, but then realized how vulnerable their encampments were whilst their fleets were away.  Soon the coastland tribes were raiding as seasonally as the Sea Lords themselves, causing the pirates to erect strong but crudely built fortresses to protect their loot and their harbors, and leave behind strong garrisons.

Amongst the tribes, those who were best at thievery quickly gained status, and a host of petty gods devoted to the practice emerged from the crude civilization that grew up in the wake of the Sea Lords’ majesty.  That culture became even worse when the towers of the Sea Lords began to establish farms nearby, and import thousands of slaves to work them.  Many slaves escaped into the tribal regions, particularly the swamps and uplands, and joined the tribesmen in their unremitting shadow war against their enslavers and oppressors. 

.

Even after the coming of the Magocracy and the civilizing of the entire coastal plain of Alshar, the tradition and culture of theft and casual murder has dogged the wharfs and allies of Enultramar.

A History Of The Great Bay

Sage Redico of Farise

Their Riverlands garb showed them out as strangers.  Rondal knew it would be important for them to blend more with the natives of Solashaven if they wanted to operate freely around the port.  Finding suitable disguises was therefore a priority, before they began their mission, proper.

The lads found a pawnbroker easily enough - Enultramar seemed filled with them, and Solashaven had several shops with the three golden balls displayed outside their door.  They chose the closest and spent a few hours picking through the wares.  Piles of boots and racks of clothes of various styles, colors, and integrity warred with shelves packed with exotic knickknacks and precious treasures from distant lands for their attention.  As they were the only patrons in the shop that morning, they receive all the attention of the sharp-eyed pawnbroker and his arbalest.  

Tyndal was able to find garb appropriate for a Sea Lord, including the distinctive boots, heavily embroidered doublet, and half-cape the nobility of the havens preferred.  He also found a serviceable scimitar with a tarnished silvered bell in the shape of three crabs.  He added a relatively new hat with a gull feather, as was the fashion at the moment.  He would have looked almost authentic, if it wasn’t for the wild shock of blonde hair few Sea Lords had. 

For Rondal’s part, he sought to dress as a landsman.  He found the more conservative dress better suited to his personality - particularly when they were trying to avoid attention.  A wine-colored doublet of simple cut and clean lines fit him nicely, and he didn’t even complain about the small bloodstain and hole over the left kidney - a little magic and it would be like new.  A wide leather belt and baldric was added to his collection, as was a short, leaf-shaped blade that the Coastlords favored.  He was reluctant to choose a hat, but at Tyndal’s urging he found a short-brimmed felt hat that matched the color of his doublet.  His mantle was already in the style of the Coastlords, so he kept it.

The entire spree only cost two ounces of silver, too - the pawnbroker was eager to clear his inventory, for sellers were far more frequent patrons than buyers of late.  When they walked out of the shop, their old clothes in a parcel under Tyndal’s arm, they nearly looked like they belonged on the docks and havens of the great bay.

“Now what?” Tyndal asked, straightening his sword belt under the weight of the scimitar.

“Now you go find us a boat,” Rondal directed.  “A small boat, big enough for three.  Small enough to make it through a narrow passageway to under the warehouse.”

“This is a haven, boats should be plentiful,” Tyndal reasoned.  “And then what?”

“I’m going to arrange for a distraction,” Rondal reported.

“What kind of distraction?”

“I don’t know yet,” Rondal admitted.  “But I’ll come up with something.  If we can lure the guards outside, or at least away from proximity to the prisoners . . .”

“You’re being awfully subtle about this mission,” Tyndal suddenly accused.  “What’s wrong with bursting through the front door and slaying everyone in sight?”

“Because that runs the risk that they’ll kill the hostages,” Rondal pointed out, evenly.

“Not if they’re too busy fighting for their lives!”

“There’s too much potential for chaos,” Rondal said, firmly.  “And we might lose any opportunity to gather intelligence on the Brotherhood, which is our secondary objective.  You wanted me to plan this mission, this is how I’m planning it.”

Tyndal’s shoulders sagged.  “Fine.  We’ll be sneaky about it, then.  What kind of distraction are you considering?”

“I don’t know yet.  But I’m thinking it needs to be something . . .
unusual.”

“Where have you been all day?” complained Tyndal, as he sat atop the porter’s hall overlooking the bay and sipped on a mixture of brandy and fruit juices that were popular among those who could afford the luxury.  It had to be better than the cheap porter’s punch the barman downstairs sold for a half-penny a pint.  The more expensive concoction was served in a half of a melon which slowly disintegrated into a sweet pulp under the influence of the brandy and flavored the spirit nicely.  There were four empty melons stacked up on the table.  “I’ve been up here for hours, waiting.”

“Yes, you look terribly disturbed by all the laborious drinking and enjoying the scenery.  Why didn’t you just contact me mind-to-mind?” Rondal asked, as he took the other chair at the table.  

“And risk you sending me off on
another
godsforsaken errand?” Tyndal asked, feigning outrage.  

“Well, I’m assuming you accomplished the first one without too much difficulty,” Rondal observed.  “Else you wouldn’t be sitting here guzzling brandy and melons all afternoon.”

“It’s actually not bad, once they sweeten it with sugar,” Tyndal said, staring critically into the top of the mug.  “It’s even better if you chill it down to just above freezing with magic.  Really takes the edge off a hot day,” he declared.

“And makes it
so
much easier to drink them in quantity,” Rondal finished.  

“Well, I did want to be properly prepared if you needed my drunken urination services again,” Tyndal replied, sourly.  “I’m a world-class pisser.  As a boat thief, I’m fairly passable.  I did not even have to steal one,” he admitted.  “Remember that punt outside of Ruderal’s shack?  That should serve nicely.  As narrow as a maiden’s hips and long enough for four.”

“That actually should work,” Rondal agreed, recalling the craft as he poured a drink from the pitcher himself.  “And the lad will know how to use it.  Well done, Tyn.”

“So what of your own efforts?” Tyndal asked, filling a second mug from the melon for his friend.  “What
were
your own efforts?  That took all day?”

“I had to make a quick trip upriver to arrange a suitable distraction,” Rondal explained.  “Something just right to ensure our success at both missions.”

“Well, good,” Tyndal said, nodding.  “Any particulars you want to share?  Or are you being mysterious for dramatic effect?”

“I discovered in my investigations, in the guise of an out-country Coastlord, that the warehouse does, indeed, cater to legitimate trade from time to time,” Rondal explained.  “There are a few merchants upriver who use the place as additional storage, or as a waypoint between shipments.  It’s just enough trade to keep the Viscount’s tax men happy, and obscure the real business of the Brotherhood.”

“So you decided to distract them by informing the tax assessors of their undeclared profits?” proposed Tyndal.  “That seems a little
too
subtle for the task at hand, Ron,” he said, sorrowfully.

“
Just
what I was thinking,” Rondal continued, rolling his eyes at his tipsy comrade’s suggestion.  “But what might be
more
expedient is arranging for a shipment to be delivered to the place from up-river, by way of one of the regular merchants who occasionally use such trade.”

“Well, that might be helpful,” conceded Tyndal.

“That’s what I thought.  So that’s what I’ve done.  The day after tomorrow, a shipment of nine hogsheads of wine from up-river will be delivered by barge, and then carted over the bridge to this warehouse.  There it will sit until it is retrieved by a barge bound for a distillery in the western end of the bay, four days hence.  Unless something
untoward
should happen,” he said, sipping the rich fruity drink.  

It
was
good, particularly with the sugar added, but he decided to try Tyndal’s suggestion and cool it by magic.  In moments his simple cantrip frosted the entire mug.  The drink was much better that way, he agreed.

“So,” Tyndal began, his face looking disturbed as he tried to puzzle through Rondal’s plan, “if this plan follows the general theme of the rest of the mission, I foresee myself being smuggled inside a keg of wine for two days,” he said, not pleased by the prospect.  “Really, Ron, I--”

“No, no,
no
,” Rondal said, with a heavy sigh.  “We are knights magi of the Estasi Order, my friend.  We do
not
skulk about in hogsheads of wine, waiting to spring into action.  We await the delivery of our distraction in the relative comfort of this unpleasant establishment, enjoying the beautiful view and sampling its delicacies.  And then when the shipment is delivered and all is in place, the distraction will allow you to enter the place like a gentleman: through the sewers.”

“
Much
better,” Tyndal said, unconvincingly.  “I take it I bring them out through the floor boards, then?  From under the warehouse?  Or did you just want me to wallow around in human excrement as your distraction?”

“I considered that,” Rondal reflected.  “But as entertaining as that might be, it wouldn’t do anything beyond making a bunch of thugs laugh.  And it wouldn’t be much of a laugh, since they don’t know you personally.  When you see what I’ve
actually
planned, you won’t mind so much.”

“And while I’m going through the sewers to knock a hole in the floor and rescue our captives, what are
you
going to be doing?”

“I’m going to be stealing whatever I can from the Brotherhood and trying to learn their plans,” Rondal answered.  “That’s the most dangerous part of this job.”

“You’re going to do that through the sewers?”

“No,
you
get the pleasure of the sewers.  I will be entering the warehouse from the roof,” he said, indicating the broad, rickety-looking framework upon which cheap clay tiles were attached.  It seemed sturdy enough to keep the frequent rains off of the merchandise below, but not much more.  

“You’re intending on flying?”

“Something like that,” Rondal nodded.  “I’ll probably use magic.”

“I should hope so,” Tyndal agreed.  “So we have to wait here another day while all of this happens?”

“Yes,” Rondal said, stretching out.  “Wait and watch, and get ready.”

“And drink?”

“And drink,” Rondal affirmed.

“The things I do for a mission,” Tyndal said in mock indignation, refilling his mug.

Rondal was not without a plan about how to attempt the roof.  Getting there was not problematic, with the use of a spell to adhere his hands and feet to the exterior walls of the place.  The brick used to build it was not high quality, and in truth it would have been no great feat to climb it without magic.  But he wanted to do so escaping detection, and magic was the best way to go about it.

His investigation into the Arrunatus warehouse and its denizens included his own scrying efforts, not in the cellar where Ruderal was being held, but in the office of the crew’s local manager, the overseer Hard Skrup.  

From what Rondal could discover, the man was well-placed within the organization, and being entrusted to watch over Ruderal was a special responsibility.  But it was also the kind of tedious assignment that challenged the thug’s patience, and he did not spare griping about it, as Rondal learned spending a few hours employing a Long Ears spell among the villains while Tyndal was borrowing Ruderal’s skiff.

Once he’d learned the names of the merchants who did business with the Rats, he made a quick trip up the muddy river by barge and spent the afternoon making some decidedly unusual arrangements.  After casting a few simple spells, securing what he needed and paying liberally in silver for the service ahead of time, he returned to Solashaven.  

Despite his brave talk, Tyndal stopped drinking seriously before night fully fell, and was mostly sober by the Maiden’s Hour.  Both lads took turns scrying or using Long Ears to ensure that Ruderal and his mother were still hale.  Rondal even overheard some whispered talk between mother and son, and he was struck by how much they cared for each other, despite their unfortunate conditions.  The lad was brave, and never faltered as he assured his mother he’d take care of her, no matter what.  The mother was resolute in her willingness to protect her son, no matter what.

It was brave talk in the cellar of the Arrunatus House, but the news from the top floor was dire.  The captain of the crew, Hard Skru[p’s boss, was charged with Ruderal’s care; he had apparently received a recent message from his superiors ordering him to send the special boy away north to meet with an agent for some scheme they’d planned.  That plan did not include provisions for his mother, and the captain’s plans for her after the boy was moved were alarming.

They’d arrived in Enultramar just in time, Rondal realized.  A few more days, and Ruderal would have been an orphan.

His spying and scrying also revealed that the captain was in possession of a great number of secrets about the crew.  From the man’s dark grumbling, Rondal concluded that the warehouse was used to securely stash items of value for other Crews, in return for a fee.  There was some sort of vault or storeroom of such things in the secure office on the second floor.  That information intrigued Rondal.