High Mage: Book Five Of The Spellmonger Series (3 page)

I thought madly.  Sixty or seventy priests was a
lot
– more than I’d heard of assembled in one place at one time since the war began.  It didn’t take near that many to summon a nightsail.  No, that didn’t feel like what they were doing.  While there was no guarantee that each of them had witchstones, if enough of them did, it was bound to be trouble.  Actually, there was no way in which this was not going to be trouble.

A disturbing thought occurred to me.
You think that they’re building a bridge?

A magical bridge?

We’ve done that sort of thing before,
I reminded him. 
They aren’t stupid.  Merely unsophisticated.

Well, we do have contingencies for that
, he agreed.

I’ll handle it, I decided.  I’ll contact Terleman.  He’s commanding from the bridge.  I ended my discussion with Dranus and opened one to my old comrade, who had excelled at running the Magical Corps.  Terl really was made for this sort of thing.

I’ll have a few patrols converge on the spot.  And I’ll get a few of our pet Kasari try to get close enough to see what they’re doing.  Captain Arborn is with me now.

Have a full warmagic team assembled, too.  I don’t like it when that many gurvani priests go off and be sneaky about it.

It does sound like a bridge,
Terleman admitted, a few moments later. 
The height of the hill would be perfect from that sort of—bide.  I just got a report from the rangers.  Two units of gurvani cavalry have ridden to support the encampment.

Not good,
I agreed. 
They really are up to something.
 
Get that team together.  And keep me posted.

It was frustrating, having to depend on other people like that.  I really wanted to ride out there and see it for myself, but I couldn’t do that sort of thing anymore.  That’s not what commanders did – they sent other men to do it, and had to patiently wait and rely on other eyes.  Power, they called it.  I could order men to die and cause battles to happen without even leaving my chair. 

I sighed, debating whether or not to chance a nap.  The tavern was quiet, now, as everyone tensely awaited the first vollies of arrows or howls of defiance from the gurvani skirmishers.  That’s not to say they weren’t out there – our scouts were reporting more and more arriving every hour from the north.  Yet apart from some advanced scouts, they hadn’t tried to occupy Northbridge yet.  In fact, they seemed to be avoiding the village altogether.  Strange. 

We expected an attack that whole night.  By midnight, I was getting very antsy.  There were two thousand goblins gathered half a mile downriver from Northbridge.  But no rafts, no brave swimmers, no attempts to ford the river by even the most foolhardy goblins.  Just this mystical conclave on the banks of the Poros.

It has to be a bridge,
I blurted into Terleman’s mind, shortly after midnight.

I don’t think so
, he countered. 
I’ve been studying their deployment patterns.  If they were building a bridge, I’d expect them to line up perpendicular to the banks.  Another legion just arrived, and I expected them to fall in behind the first group.  But they’re lining up parallel.  That doesn’t make sense.

I thought for a moment. 
You’re right, it doesn’t.  Unless they’re planning more than one bridge.  I don’t like this, Terl.

Me, either.  We don’t have a contingency for that.  What should we do?

Do we have any troops in place to try their defenses?

Just a few Kasari .  The legions are too strong for a cavalry patrol to contest.  But the Kasari are all over that area.  The problem is Captain Arborn isn’t enthusiastic about using them as combat troops.  They can fight – they can fight like demons – but their skill is in their scouting.  He keeps insisting that they are not combat troops.

He’s right,
I agreed.
  No need to lose good men to test a theory.  I’ve learned to trust the man’s judgment – I’ve never seen a better scout.  Even among the Kasari.  Besides, Pentandra is twitterpated over him—

What?
Pentandra?
Over
Arborn?  His mental voice conveyed astonishment.

Yeah, although that’s privileged information.  She just told me a while ago.  Strangest thing.  Who knew tall, dark, handsome, strong, silent, and virtuous were the keys to her heart?

That’s terrible!  He seems like such a nice guy.  Now I feel sorry for the poor bastard.  Does he have any idea what he’s in for?  If Penny wants him . . .

Look, don’t tell him,
I urged. 
I want it to be a surprise.  And Penny will kill us both slowly if we say anything
, I added.

A fair point,
he conceded. 
Prissy Penny and the scruffy ranger.  I won’t be able to look at him with a straight face, now.  Thanks.

I waited an hour and had just decided to grab a nap in a chair next to the fire when Terleman called to me again.

Min, wake up.  Dispatches from the field.  Four thousand gurvani light infantry and two thousand hound cavalry have arrived at that damn encampment.  I’ve alerted our forces on both sides of the river to be ready for anything.

So? Have they attacked the bridge?

They’re still ignoring the bridge.  They’re lining up along the river bank.  They’ve traded shots with our outposts and sentries, but mostly they’re leaving our side of the river alone.  I’m . . . I’m worried
, he confessed.

It’s worrying,
I soothed.
You have reinforcements in the area?

About a thousand horse, spread out over six or seven miles.  And the rangers.  They’re starting to pull back over the river now, though.  They’re uneasy.

Why?

They can’t tell me.  But they feel it.  Damn savages.

Hey! The Kasari are an ancient people!  They date their culture from the arrival of humanity from the Void!  Not to mention an entirely literate people! Just because they live in sacred groves, practice animal totemism and dress in homespun hempcloth—

Look, the Kasari are great – perfect rangers, never met better.  Decent fellows, every one.  It would just be nice to have some actual evidence to base troop movements on, and not just a ‘bad feeling’.

The Kasari are canny, Terl.  Look, I sympathize.  I’m confused about this, too.  But if they have a bad feeling . . . well, I’m inclined to share it.  What in the name of Ishi’s dewy mound are those bastards plotting? 

We won’t be able to fly birds overhead until morning.  Scrying is being blocked.  If the scouts pull out . . .

Another anxious hour passed.  More goblins arrived to crowd the bank along the northern side of the Poros.  Their bows were just able to shoot over the wide river.  Ours had better distance.  We taught them to keep shy of the bank, but other than that there was little fighting.  Terleman called again.

Our warmagic team is finally in place.  Four men.  They’re going in now.
  He told me their names.  I knew two of them.  Time was when I knew every High Mage by sight.  No more.  That was a good thing, I reminded myself.  All four were outstanding candidates, or else they wouldn’t have been chosen. 

They’re . . . the shamans are preparing a spell
, he informed me, twenty minutes later.

Well I didn’t think they were planning Princess Rardine’s bridal shower!  What kind of spell?  A bridge of some sort? 

Whatever it is, there’s a
lot
of energy involved.  Report says that even with the irionite on the ground, they’re getting power imported from elsewhere. 

Shereul?  Directly?

It would make sense.  Shit, Min.  Now
I
have a really bad feeling about this!

Is the team in a position to disrupt the spell at all?

No,
he answered after a moment’s silence. 
The shamans are well-guarded.  A whole pack of those godsdamned dogs.  And light infantry.  Anything they did would get them more attention than they would be comfortable with.

I don’t blame them,
I replied, glad that Terleman wasn’t the sort of commander who saw his men as expendable. 

What about the siege engines?  Could a trebuchet reach there?

I don’t know, Min, and I don’t think – wait.  Bide a moment.

Uh . . .
I said into the darkness.  Several excruciating moments later, Terleman returned.

Min, you should put on your armor.  You need to get up here.

I’m still wearing it. To the castle?  Why?

Uh . . . actually, go look at the river.  You’re close to it – go look at it.  Apparently the priests just . . . attacked it.

Attacked the river?  Not the bridge?

That’s what the report says.  I need you to confirm it.  Can you get down there?  I need eyes I can trust, and right now I’m getting a lot of shock and confusion.

I’m on it,
I agreed, and reached for Blizzard.

I ran the length of the road, through two checkpoints, until I got to the base of the broad stone bridge. Something had changed, I could sense it.  There was an awful lot of magic that had just been released.  And that had done something else, I knew, although as I ran I could not figure out what. 

I gazed down into the riverbed, suddenly realizing what was missing. 
The sound of the river moving by.
  There was . . .
nothing.

I peered down into the Poros. There was no constant twinkle of splashing a river makes, nor the sparkle of starlight from the surface.  There was
nothing.

With a sharp and painful horror, I realized what they were doing, now.  Something that shredded each and every single one of our well-thought contingency plans.  They had, with one spell, rendered our entire defense of Gilmora utterly moot. 

The bastards.

I headed back to the castle at a dead run.

Terl, mobilize the troops. Everyone back to the castle.  Withdraw from the bridge. Defensive positions.  Pull in the patrols.  Get everyone off the road.  Close up the castle, prepare for siege. 

Ishi’s tits, Min! What the hells is happening?  You want me to
abandon
the bridge?

The bridge is pointless, now.  Get everyone back.  Now.
  I explained why.  It only took a single sentence.

Holy shit, Min,
he replied, in awe. 
How did they . . .?

Who knows how? They did it! That’s the important thing.  All of our plans are in the chamberpot now.  You understand what this does to our defense?

Shit!  Yes! 

I’ll be back at the castle in a few minutes.  We won’t have long after that.  Get someone to use the Mirror to contact the King at Castabriel.  Let him know what happened.  Even he will be able to see what this means.

The king? Yes, I suppose he needs to know.  He is the one in power. 

Power?
  I asked, humorlessly chuckling. 
Power is a joke, my friend.  He doesn’t have any more power right now than I do.  Shit! Do you realize what this means for our reinforcements?

Duin’s axe!  What should I tell Rard, then?

Tell him . . . tell him the truth,
I said, as I burst into the tavern to gather up my startled men before heading back to the wedding cake castle.  I could already hear the orders to fall back being bellowed into the night behind me. 

Tell him we’re screwed.  This time next week, the goblins could be using his palace as their new dining hall.  If they don’t decide to unleash the dragons on it first.

Chapter One

The Spellmonger’s Marbles

Sevendor Castle, Year II of King Rard’s Reign

A year before that battle, I was reflecting on the nature of power.  Power was not everything I dreamed of.  Mostly it was boring and made my arse hurt.

I was in the Great Hall of Sevendor Castle when I first made that observation to myself year before the Battle of Gavard.  The dingy white walls of the castle had been recently scrubbed and the tapestries had been beaten, fresh rushes scattered on the hall’s floor (though I was considering having the place tiled, as was becoming fashionable) in preparation for this very event: my Spring court.  Not the criminal court, which was thankfully lean at the moment, but the civil court.

It was obligatory, as lord of the domain, and while the chore could theoretically be deferred to my castellan, Sire Cei, his mind was elsewhere: on the belly of his pregnant wife, who was due for delivery in a moon or less.  He was already involved in the management of my estates, and asking him to take on this task in addition would be doing us both a disservice.

Nor was he an ideal judge, as this was not merely the normal business of Sevendor domain.  I had five
new
domains I was responsible for now.  Each one seemed to be brimming over with problems and festering feuds that absolutely required the judgment of the liege in order for justice to be satisfied.   While a fair hearing could be expected in front of Sire Cei, this sort of thing was best done by the magelord, I knew.  It was one of the thousands of things expected of the seated nobility.  It was a hallmark of good leadership, I had learned in my brief tenure as a landed nobleman: if a you wanted your people to be loyal in times of crisis they needed to see you be judicial during times of peace.