High Mage: Book Five Of The Spellmonger Series (32 page)

. . . and I had been all too eager to hear how much she admired me, and all warmagi. 

I felt like a cur.  She was no more than seventeen, if that, a young and frightened girl whose family had disappeared into the Umbra.  She had little in this world but her looks, and she had traded on them to get access to me.  Or to anyone with the ability to protect her.  I tried desperately to piece together the events of the previous evening, even using magic to aid my recall. 

I did manage to remember offering her to show her my witchsphere and its capabilities in private, using one of the dead warmagi’s rooms, after I rescued her from the grabby hands of a fat warmage who thought she resembled his daughter.  She had been grateful – ever so grateful – and suitably impressed.  Then we started drinking more Pearwoods spirits, raw and wicked in our throats, and then I was kissing her because she seemed so desperate and vulnerable and needing to be kissed.

It took me a little while to do it, but with a little magic I was able to establish that we had not fully consummated our lust before we were overcome with liquor.  But we had removed our clothes and she had first teased and then relieved my virtue with that intention.  For once being drunk had saved me from myself . . . mostly.

I did not blame her.  Olna was a lovely girl in a difficult position.  I had no doubt that if I had not intervened she would have spent a much less agreeable night in the arms of the fat warmage.  She wasn’t incredibly intelligent, nor well-educated, but she was smart enough to make the most of her opportunities when they came.   She had even been wise enough not to risk getting with child in a warzone, despite how that might secure her passage elsewhere.  She had just done the best she could with what she had.  I could not blame her for that.

As for me . . . I blamed me, plenty.  I could try to rationalize my behavior all I wanted, but the fact was that I had lied to myself when I told myself I was doing this for her benefit.  Honestly, I felt angry and hurt that Pentandra and my wife felt the need to guard me from such incursions . . . but here was the proof that there was a need.  I had been tested, and I had failed.

In retrospect, I knew what had happened, even if I had an imperfect recollection of it: she had admired me ruthlessly, and I had drank her praise like thick ale.  Feeling unappreciated by my wife, I had let a young, pretty girl tell me what I wanted to hear.  Feeling lonely and desperate myself, I had succumbed to the allure of the desperate vulnerability of Olna’s situation, and when she had started unlacing her gown I did nothing to stop her.  Indeed, one hazy memory recalls me sitting down and enjoying yet-another glass of spirits while I watched.

She wasn’t a professional whore.  She was trying to get the hells out of Tudry, and was looking for a way.  In her desperation, she was willing to sacrifice whatever she needed to in that pursuit. 

I finally decided to quit trying to figure out whom was exploiting whom and tend to the situation at hand.

Pentandra had shown me a few Blue Magic spells for altering memories in people, after the tumultuous events of my wedding.  Regretting it even as I did so, I summoned power from my sphere and began working on Olsa.  Olna.  The girl.  It didn’t take long, and I didn’t even disturb her – such spells are easier when the target is already unconscious.  But when I was done I moved her off of me without fear of waking her.  She would sleep for several more hours.  And when she did wake, she would have no recollection whatsoever of the previous day’s memories.

I dressed quickly and quietly, and then as an afterthought tucked six ounces of gold into her anemic purse, where it dangled from the belt of her dress, which I found in a heap on the floor.  That should be more than enough to secure her passage east, even hire a guard or two, if she couldn’t join a proper caravan.  I knew not where she might go . . . but anywhere was better than here.  And no, I didn’t want her anywhere near Sevendor.  She was a gorgeous lass, and while I was contrite and wracked with guilt, her charms were nigh irresistible.  No need to have that temptation near at hand.

I was able to leave the upper room and descend to the main hall without seeing anyone.  I was relieved.  I felt like a criminal fleeing a crime.

Sandoval, an old comrade who was on duty as Master of the Hall (which meant he was in charge of Horka Hall’s facilities at the moment – a shit job) was overseeing the drudges who were tending the morning’s fire.

“Sleep well?” he asked, his face a smirk.

“No,” I admitted.  “Not at all.  Whoever used my mouth for a chamberpot this morning should be wary that I find them.”

“You can blame Wenek for that,” he chuckled.  “He pays his tribute in Pearwoods brandy, and makes certain we’re constantly stocked.  Not the good stuff, of course – you burned up most of that at Timberwatch – but the green stuff right out of the distillery.”

“It felt like dragon’s blood hitting my stomach,” I said.  I paused.  “I do hope I didn’t do anything . . . awkward last night.”

“What happens in Horka Hall isn’t spoken of elsewhere,” Sandy agreed.  “Don’t worry, Min, you’re among friends.  Even Magelord Astyral was deferential to you, and he runs this place like it’s his own personal kingdom.”

“Despotic?  Astyral?” I asked, surprised.

“No, not at all,” Sandy assured me.  “He just doesn’t depend on his title and his powers to get by.  He’s really invested in Tudry.  He sees its success as a personal reflection on his own.”

“I can’t really ask for better in a military commander,” I conceded. 

“Oh, he’s a sharp one,” Sandy agreed, nodding solemnly.  “He’s the one most responsible for the defense of the north.  He keeps the Megelini in line, makes sure the Iron Ring has what it needs, and keeps the local lords under control.  Once Ducal authority broke down, he assumed virtually all powers of administration here.”

“That’s better than that stuffy baron in Vorone,” I agreed. 

“Edmarin?  He’s an ass,” Sandy agreed.  “I’ve met with him several times.  He’s a pipsqueak baron who used his cousin’s marriage to the King’s niece to get his position.  His barony is half-consumed by the Penumbra, now, but he’s abandoned its defense because his work in Vorone is more pressing,” Sandy reported, a disgusted look on his face.  “If there was someone better to replace him with, I’d encourage it.  But no one wants to run that town.”

“The Brotherhood of the Rat will be running it soon, if nothing is done,” I pointed out.  “I’ve established a kind of safe-house there, for now, but I want a permanent presence in Vorone.  Has the Mirror to the capital been set up yet, or should I call mind-to-mind?”

“It’s set up,” Sandy affirmed.  “I helped.  That’s a lovely enchantment, too, just the sort of useful stuff we should be doing.  The Arcane Orders have an official hall here, besides Sparktown.  Astyral gave us the use of the Lumberman’s Hall, since there isn’t too much going on in the way of timber, right now.  We’ve got a quiet room in the back that’s monitored day and night.”

“Then I’ll send word that way.  But I’m not happy about Vorone.”

Sandy shrugged.  “Who is?  But what can you do?  Do you know anyone who wants forty thousand starving peasants?  We have enough of that here.”

I spent the remainder of the day touring the garrison and the city wall in company with Astyral,  Sir Festaran and Alscot, trying desperately to forget shapely Olna.  Olsa.  Thankfully no one else asked me about her – apparently our exit had gone largely unnoticed.

Without any evidence or witnesses, I tried to put the matter firmly out of my mind and focus on the work.  Astyral had done an outstanding job of rigging the defenses of the town, I saw, including strengthening weak points in the walls that had been neglected during decades of peaceful prosperity.  I watched a two-hundred man cavalry patrol return from the newest Iron Ring fortress, a castle called Herfidol, to the southwest of Tudry. 

The Iron Ring was an interesting military order.  Founded and chartered by Rard on the occasion of his coronation, their stated purpose was to “build an iron ring around the neck of Shereul”, figuratively speaking.  They were the order charged with guarding the perimeter of the Penumbra and making forays within, as was needed.  It wasn’t a glamorous job, even by military standards.  And since paying for garrison soldiers is expensive, Rard had contrived so that enlistment in the Iron Ring for a term allowed a man’s debts to be forgiven – the more debt, the more time in service.  Each man wore an iron ring on a chain around his neck telling just how long he had left. 

For a unit full of poor gamblers, unlucky peasants and bankrupt knights, they were surprisingly professional, and dedicated to their mission.  Each fortress held about two hundred men in its garrison, and they regularly patrolled the roads around their keeps for goblins and refugees.  The Iron Ring had a depot and camp in the remains of New Town where another thousand men were trained or were awaiting deployment.

I stopped and spoke with the returning patrol.  They had driven off a small raider band, but had seen nothing significant since they had liberated three hundred slaves from Gilmora a week before.  That didn’t mean the foe wasn’t out there, though – their warmage had scryed out as many gurvani warrens and cantonments as they could, but the goblins just weren’t attacking in force.

But there were disturbing signs that might not hold true for the rest of the summer.  Strange tracks had been seen by their men in the Penumbra of late, tracks heading south.  Gigantic tracks.  Something with feet as big as a dragon, and that did not bode well.  Other beasts were starting to come out of the Umbra, too: savage predators with long, vicious claws and a poisoned bite.  They were feral, not as intelligent as a troll, but they savored human flesh.  It was theorized that the Dead God’s priests had loosed them simply to increase the terror of the few remaining humans in the Wilderlands.  The Iron Band hunted them, when they appeared, but so far they had proved as elusive as they were deadly.

I gave a little speech, told them how proud the King was of them, and I passed out two witchstones to their two warmagi, prompting them to come over to Sparktown to learn how to use them properly.  Then I contributed another few ounces of gold to the troops for the purpose of drinking to His Majesty’s health that night.  I didn’t mind.  Those men deserved a free drink or two after what they had endured.  Besides, I figured I would charge it to the crown as an expense.

Later Astyral showed me his complete campaign map – more of a diorama, really – in one of the burgher’s storerooms repurposed for the task.

“I had Lanse of Bune set it up a few months ago,” he explained as we overlooked the diorama.  “It’s crude, but effective enough.  We’re looking at a more permanent one once we catch our breaths.  But as you can see, the Umbra continues to grow.  It’s moved more than two miles since you were last in Tudry.  We’ve lost . . . hundreds of square miles,” he said, sourly.  “And wherever it goes, it pushes the Penumbra out.  No one wants to live that close to the thing.”

I couldn’t blame them.  You could see the massive dome of dark magic that protected Shereul’s minions and delineated his zone of absolute control all the way in Tudry, now.  It was just a shade darker than the surrounding sky, but the menace emanating off of that foul circle was palpable.  It even affected the weather patterns.  There was a steady vortex of air current that had left the area south of the Umbra a soaking mess far beyond the normal rainy season this year. Even if you could stand your neighbors, it was difficult to grow crops in that.

The Iron Band castles on the diorama were small wooden models, and there were four, at the moment, all to the south of the Umbra.  Tudry stood fast to the east of the circle, and Megelin Castle, just to the northeast, was another bulwark.  But beyond Megelin there was a small string of outposts and no more.

“Why neglect the northern front?” I asked, curiously.

“It’s not neglected,” he assured me.  “Those three little outposts each have twenty Iron Band there.  Not enough to stop a thrust, but enough to warn us of one in time to mobilize.”

“But what if they simply by-passed them farther north?  They could march legions through that gap and your men would be none the wiser.”

“Only if they overcame Bransei Mountain,” he pointed out, as if that answered everything.

“What is Bransei Mountain?”

Astyral looked both shocked and amused.  “You don’t know about Bransei?  I guess they don’t make it into the dispatches very often.  There’s a local lord there who has been holding out his folk against the gurvani – and quite successfully.  From here, to here, all three passes through the foothills are guarded by the rangers of Bransei Mountain.  It’s an extinct volcano deep in the Wilderlands, in the very northwest of Alshar.  But its death for any goblin to go there.  They’ve held out two years, now, without any help.  I sent a patrol of two hundred men out there to rescue them, but they didn’t need it.  Their land seems secure.”

“I find that hard to believe,” I said, shaking my head.  “Magic?”

“No, those Kasari aren’t partial to sparks,” he mused.

“Wait, Bransei Mountain is a
Kasari
land?” I asked, intrigued.

“Yes, they’ve been there forever.  Since long before the Wilderlords claimed this territory.  They’ve maintained an independent lordship in return for paying a fee to the Duke for the last three hundred years.  Keep to themselves, mostly, just move back and forth between their settlements and leave most everyone else alone.  But they’re deadly fighters.  More, they’ve recruited a couple of bands of Tal Alon to fight for them.”

“Riverfolk?  As troops?” I asked.  My turn to be shocked.

“That’s what I thought too,” Astyral agreed, a smirk on his lips.  “I didn’t take them seriously, but by all reports the Kasari have created quite a little troop of irregulars up there.  They keep the Bransei region clear, for the most part.  The nearest Iron Band outpost is two day’s ride, but we’re going to establish one somewhere around here,” he said, waving at the region with a magically-produced light from his finger, “this spring, when we get more troops.  That will put us in a position to support and communicate with the Bransei folk better.  They’ve already sent us some valuable intelligence.  I think we can build a good alliance, there, if we can maintain contact.”

“And that spares us from having to fortify the place ourselves.  How many Kasari are there?”

“At least five thousand, maybe six,” he shrugged.  “Hard to say, with that folk.  Those sacred groves of theirs are off-limits to outsiders.”

“It would be grand if we could convince a few of their rangers to take our service,” I considered.  “Both here and in Gilmora.  There is a distinct lack of them there.”

“So I hear.  That was one of the reasons I made the overtures I did.  We have some good woodmen here, and plenty of professional rangers – the Kasari know their business like my tongue knows my teeth.  If we can open contact, I plan on pushing for that . . . and for more iron.  Rumor has it that they have an open pit iron mine within their domain, and right now there is just not a lot of iron coming our way.  Our smiths have been reusing scrap, of course, but the more men who need to be armed for the Ring and our own defense, the more iron and steel we need.”

“Can’t you get some of the mines around here operational?”

“There are decent mines nearby,” he agreed, “but most have already become the haunts of gurvani.  If they aren’t actively mining them, they’re using them as bases.  Mining is dangerous enough work without something angry and furry stabbing you in the darkness while your arms are full of ore. So it’s hard to find good miners.  If the Kasari have a safe iron mine, I can pay for it,” he vowed.

“They don’t seem like the mining type,” I shrugged.  “But see if they can help.  I’m sure we can make it worth their while.  Have you noticed any Alka Alon activity in that region?”

“We sent the one patrol,” snorted Astyral, “and that was perilous enough.  That’s very wild country, Min.  My men were looking for Mountain Folk, not Tree Folk.  But since you asked, there is rumored to be a few strange groves in that area.  More than a few, actually.  There’s even some weirwood stands, among other oddities.  But I couldn’t tell you where.  I can’t even tell you precisely where Bransei Mountain is.  The maps I have seen can’t seem to agree on it, and just label the region as ‘Kasari Land’.”

“I’ve just learned that the Alka Alon have worked with the Kasari for centuries,” I said, quietly.  “In consideration of our new alliance, I wanted to make sure we were keeping proper care of their auxiliaries.”

“Human auxiliaries?” he asked, curious.  “That doesn’t sound like them.”

“For all of their bluster about withdrawing from the affairs of humanity, I have some doubts,” I admitted.  “But anywhere their affairs and ours overlap, I want to know about it.  And it seems that includes anything having to do with the Kasari.”

“You don’t trust them?”

“They’re human,” I pointed out.  “That’s in their favor.  But they’re strange, too, compared to the rest of the Duchies.  That doesn’t mean that they’re enemies, but it does make them worth observing.  Especially if there are all of these missing Alka Alon running around in the Wilderlands, now.  We could improve our alliance if we could find them and rescue them, and that’s just the sort of thing the Kasari are good for.  And they do seem to crop up in the oddest places,” I pointed out, noting the Bransei region.

“Don’t they?” Astyral asked.  “Very well.  I’ll be open and friendly, but I’ll keep my eyes open.”