Court Wizard (Spellmonger Series: Book 8) (135 page)

“What, then, Master?” Rondal asked.  It wasn’t accusatory, or critical.  It was a respectful request for guidance.  

“We use this information - and these resources -
very
carefully,” he supplied.  “If Anguin suddenly starts spending money unexpectedly, not only will that attract the wrong sort of attention from Duke Tavard the Bold,” he said, sarcastically, “but the Brotherhood will have a fairly good idea of where all of their money went.  So let’s keep this quiet, for now,” he counseled.

“That does make sense,” Terleman admitted.  “It will take time to employ those resources to their best effect.  Advertising you have a room full of gold is just asking for people to take it from you.”

“There’s more to it than that,” Pentandra pointed out.  As much as she wanted to fill the coffers of Alshar with stolen Brotherhood gold, that would cause more problems, ultimately, than it would solve.   “We cannot risk inflation in such a small and fragile economy.  It would ruin us.  If Anguin is revealed as too wealthy, too soon, before he’s strong enough to defend himself, he loses everything.  And so do we.  And without us, who will contend against Sheruel?  Who can win against Korbal and his walking corpses?”

“Wise words.  It’s whispered that the gods themselves are at war with Sheruel,” Master Cormoran said, quietly.  “If they are devoted to the task, and the Alka Alon, then how can we proceed foolishly?  Yes, let us conceal this development.  But let us not deprive ourselves of what we need to progress.”

“It will be easy enough to admit enough funds through normal means to avoid attracting attention, I believe,” Pentandra said, trying to remember everything Sister Saltia had ever said about the subject.  “We can add a little to our receipts every month.  We can fabricate the sale of certain properties, arrange to collect a little more in taxes than usual . . . all without arousing suspicion.  That should be enough to conceal our efforts.  But it might be helpful to know what our efforts are.”  She looked pointedly at Minalan.  So did everyone else.

“We must turn our attention westward,” Minalan said, finally, with a sigh.  “We must defend against the Umbra, guard against the Penumbra, and marshal our strengths here in Alshar,” he decided.  “But, most importantly, we must strike a blow against Korbal while he’s fresh from the tomb.  Before he’s too well-established in Olum Seheri Before he learns how to use the Ghost Rock to its full effect.”

“What do you mean, Min?” Terleman asked.

“Those minions of his, the
draugen
, they are what happens when you put a simple, aggressive primordial enneagram into a human body.  Consider that the Ghost Rock has untold numbers and varieties of ancient creatures buried within.  Including some as powerful as gods or worse.”

“From what I learned recently, there are limits to how sophisticated an enneagram you can put into a human body,” Pentandra said, recalling her conversation in the croft about just that subject.  “The
draugen
degrade after only two years or so.  And they are relatively simple.”

“In ways,” conceded Minalan.  “But we don’t know enough necromancy yet to understand the nuances.  I have people working on it,” he assured her.  “The thing to worry about is what happens when Korbal delivers some horrific ancient evil to Sheruel . . . in the body of a
dragon
.”

The thought terrified everyone in the room, for good reason.  The dragons they had faced thus far were immensely strong, nearly invulnerable, magically resistant . . . and not terribly smart.  They were powerful but they fought like animals.  Such a beast as attacked Castle Cambrian with the intelligence and talent to use magic?  She clutched her swelling belly protectively.  

“Yes.  And that’s just the worst possibility I thought of, and I’m not particularly bright,” the Spellmonger informed them.  “But we can’t risk whatever devilry Korbal plans to develop.  We must prepare a strike against him.”

“Another trip up the Poros?” Azar sighed.  

“Come on!  It was
fun!”
Terleman insisted.

“We will not be going in force,” Minalan informed them, firmly.  “This will be a carefully planned mission, because so much could go so terribly wrong.  But I feel the answers we seek are back in that hidden fortress.”

“Well, the Alka Alon will certainly be in favor of that,” Astyral nodded.  “But what do you propose we do once we get there?  Steal the Ghost Rock like a room full of coin?  From what I recall, the substance was embedded in tons of limestone under a city full of corpses and goblins, under a lake . . . oh, and
guarded by a dragon
, now.  That might be beyond the capabilities of even these cutpurses,” he said, nodding toward the young knights magi.

“At this point, I see it as a reconnaissance mission,” Minalan said.  “And possibly a rescue mission, if Rardine is indeed being held there, we need to try to rescue her as a matter of state security.”

“We could just
kill
her, if she’s been compromised,” suggested Tyndal.  “I will undertake that mission, if called upon.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Minalan said, with a scowl.  “And it may well come to that.  But we are very far from embarking on this journey, yet.  We must study our foe, take his measure, and find the counter to his designs or I fear we will be lost,” he said, without much hope in his voice.  “It will take much work.  We’ll have to disguise our true purpose behind other things.  

“But we must
stop
this,” he declared, not looking anywhere in particular.  “Too many have died already.  Too many have suffered because this evil persists.  If we are the only ones in a position to stop it, then the magi of Alshar shall do our best.”  There was courage and commitment in his voice, but Pentandra could tell that despair haunted every word.  “Are you all with me?”

“Always have been,” Terleman assured, raising his mug.  

“I will bring the spirit of death itself to stare them in the eyes,” Azar pronounced, his voice chill and a fell look in his eyes.  Pentandra wondered how often he practiced that.

“Tell me what you need, lad,” Master Cormoran assented.  

“We haven’t heard much from Taren,” Pentandra noted.  “What says our smartest mage?”

“I agree with Minalan,” he said, his voice . . . changed.  “My short time at Greenflower has shown me things I never thought possible.  I have spoken to the dead,” he said, as if admitting some great sin.  “I have spoken with gods.  There is far more at stake here than a little land in Alshar.  There is more at stake here than we could ever imagine.”

“So . . . are you in or out?” asked Carmella, confused.

“We
must
stop Korbal,” Taren pronounced with the utmost gravity.  “No matter the cost.  If he is allowed to pursue his ambitions, extinction will be a mercy.”

“That’s a dark way of looking at it,” Tyndal scowled.  “But . . . all right.”

“What about you two?” Minalan asked.

“Us?” Rondal asked, surprised.  “But we’re rich, now, filthy rich.  We can retire to become gentlemen of leisure!”

“Fine wine and pretty whores!” Tyndal agreed.  “Eat until we’re as fat as Wenek.”

Minalan gave them a look.

“Are you jesting?” Tyndal asked.  “A hopeless quest into an impenetrable fortress against untold hordes of evil to rescue a princess who is
literally
being guarded by a dragon?”

“A
retarded
dragon,” added Rondal.  “How can any knight resist that bit of errantry?  We’re with you until that fucking disembodied skull is ground up into dust, for what he did to our home, Master!”

“But we’re not
bitter,
” Tyndal agreed.  “We’re doing it as a public service.”

“How about you, Pentandra?” Carmella spoke up.  “What says the Court Wizard of Alshar?”

Pentandra regarded the faces of her friends.  She already knew what she had to do.  As dangerous as it was, to both herself and her unborn child, she knew that she had to commit to this quest.

“The Necromancer is a threat to the realm.  It is my duty to see it challenged.”

Minalan gave her a grateful nod.

“Then it is settled,” Carmella sighed.  “We guard against Sheruel while we strike against Korbal.”

“I don’t think we have much to fear from the gurvani at the moment, anyway,” Terleman dismissed, refilling his glass.  “From what I have seen, they have lost their stomach for war.  The Midsummer raids were a failure for them, and there is no sign that they prepare for another invasion.  We struck at them and took two castles weeks ago, and we haven’t seen them so much as steal a chicken, since.  Whatever Mask and her friends did to rile up the gurvani, it doesn’t look like they’re preparing any reprisals.”

“If that’s agreed,” Master Cormoran said, “then let’s eat.  I threw up everything I had when we arrived by the Ways.  
Hell
of a way to travel,” he said, shaking his head.

Pentandra was starving, she realized - but then lately she was always starving.  The aroma of food was starting to compel her . . . and she felt herself sliding into submission to the tiny baby that was growing inside of her.

That’s when everyone heard it - a sound in the distance that, once heard, one never forgot.  Pentandra looked from Minalan to the others to see if they, too, heard what she had.

“Is that . . . ?” asked Carmella.

“Oh,
Trygg’s twat!”
moaned Terleman as he sprang to the shutters at the far end of the hall and threw them open.  “The gods must have a fucking great laugh over this!”

They all crowded around the doorway, dread in their hearts as they searched.  For the briefest of moments Pentandra thought, perhaps, they had misheard.

Then it sounded again.  A horrific screech of warning.  Only much closer, now.

“Dear gods,” Carmella moaned.

“What were you saying about Shereul not retaliating, again, Terl?” remarked Azar.

“Oh,
shut up
, Azar!” barked Terleman.  

“A dragon
,” whispered Minalan.  

The Spellmonger named the terror they all feared, and as if to prove his observation a brilliant flare of flame burst out of the sky, casting haunting shadows over the town in preparation for the horror to come.  The second burst was even closer, and ignited the rooftop of the barracks on the far side of the palace.  

“Oh,
shit!
” Tyndal said.  Rondal just stood and stared, his hand over his open mouth at the sight of the dark shape moving through the mists over Vorone.  Alurra crowded behind him, unable to see with her own eyes but curious about what was happening. 

A third burst of flame tore through the far end of the palace, and marched in a relentless line across the rooftop.  With an angry bellow the great worm slashed his tail against the watchtower tops and sent them careening across the town like a child’s toy.

“Mistress,” Alurra said, in hushed tones.  “Did you know you are having triplets?”

“What?” Pentandra asked, her attention torn.  The dragon’s next blast was dangerously close to her office, she realized.  Where she would have been, had she not come to this meeting.  
“Triplets?”

“Pretty sure,” the blind girl said in a whisper.  “Is that a problem?”

The Court Wizard of Alshar looked from the mighty dragon destroying her home to her sightless apprentice . . .

. . . and fainted.

Chapter Fifty

Aftermath

The long walk from the Waypoint back to Antimei’s old croft was lonely, and made all the lonelier by the first cold breath of autumn . . . but Pentandra felt compelled to make the trip.  The Anvil was beautiful at this time of year, the trees that clung to its skirts beginning to change their colors and the fading sunset lighting the massive mountain into glorious shades.  It was a pretty place, she reflected.  She was almost saddened by the thought of Carmella and her construction crews appearing here next spring to set up the first camps.