High Mage: Book Five Of The Spellmonger Series (63 page)

The pieces fell into place.  “You don’t need an army to discover Korbal’s Tomb,” I reasoned.  “But you
would
need an army to assault an unassailable citadel.  A big one.”

“An army so large . . . an army about as
large as the one Shereul has gathered,” Onranion said, his eyes wide in fear. 

“An army outfitted with siege engines and great beasts to assault the gates,” I agreed.

“An army provided with iron cleats to fight on the solid ice,” Arborn nodded, grimly. 

“Still,” Onranion rationalized, “even with that force, they still have to ascend the rapids and get through the other defenses.  As long as the Alka Alon hold the defense in force, their army will fail.”

“Not with dragons,” I pointed out.

“Dragons,” Onranion said, a faraway look in his eye.  “Yes, the dragons.  Well, I suppose that would do it, then.”

“Five dragons and a massive army?  Not even the best of the Alka Alon lords could hold out against that!”

“The audacity is breathtaking,” Onranion concurred.  “The council lords have been sitting and observing the fight between the gurvani and the humani, when the Abomination’s goal is no less than destroying the closest Alka Alon citadel to his seat.  Their own arrogance has caught them by surprise.  And it will be their undoing.

“Shereul is going after the ancient Lake City of Anthatiel, to destroy the Tower of Vision.  The seat of Lord Aeratas.  That’s the only thing that makes sense.”

*                            *                            *

Arborn and I discussed the possibility all the way back to the castle, after we stopped so he could check in on some of his wounded rangers.  He was universally respected among his fellows, I noticed as he spoke to each wounded man in the tent, which was a high mark in his favor.  I could see why Penny was attracted to him.

For a humble backcountry tribal ranger, Arborn proved wise in matters of strategy, I found as we discussed the potential ramifications of Onranion’s analysis.  By the time we got back to the headquarters room, we had pieced together nearly every aspect of the campaign.  Shereul had feinted at Castalshar while preparing to strike a far more powerful foe unsuspectingly. 

The Alka Alon were, of course, the real powers in the region.  Eventually they would have intervened in the war more forcefully, I hoped.  I’m sure that’s what Shereul feared, as well, and attacking one of the most powerful, and the one positioned to do him the most harm with a powerful surprise assault, made every kind of strategic sense.  Once he’d defeated the Alka Alon in their own keeps, he could look down on the humani lands with impunity.

That did not bode well for either race.  That was the consensus, when we got back to headquarters.  We explained what we had learned from Onranion to Terleman, Count Salgo (who was riding on an inspection tour), and the other commanders, and why it made strategic sense.  Despite some initial skepticism, they could find no fault in our reasoning. 

“Why, that’s great news,” Count Salgo observed.  “If they are throwing themselves at the Tree Folk, they aren’t ravaging our countryside!”

“Yes, they can leave that for next year, when they can come back down that icy road in strength . . . without fear of penalty from the Alka Alon!” Terleman countered, sourly. 

“If they come back at all,” Salgo riposted.  “You said yourselves that the Alka Alon are the masters of magic.  Surely they can defeat this rabble for us.”

“Not with five dragons to contend with as well,” Arborn pointed out.  “That army would likely be smashed, if the gates are tended and the defensive spellworks are maintained.  But if the city is a smoking ruin when they get to the gates, they have a good chance.”

“I don’t see how that is our problem,” Salgo shrugged.  “Nor is there anything that we can do about it.  This is a gift from Duin, gentlemen!” he assured us.

I wasn’t so sure.

I had to agree with Onranion: the audacity was majestic.  Turning a sandlot scrap between two inferior races into a full-blown war with the powers of the region was a bold move.  It could not help but solidify the Alka Alon council against him.  Yet if that was inevitable, then striking a blow when they were unawares and unprepared was brilliant.  It raised the stakes in the war.  It also endangered one of the ancient citadels of the Alka Alon.  Remembering my time in Carneduin, I could not abide such a thing.

Then I remembered something else about Carneduin.  And I summoned Lady Fallawen, and told her what we had figured out. 

“My . . . my
father’s
realm?” she asked, her face as white as a sheet.  “They dare?” She was trembling with rage as we explained the details, until even she had to agree that there was a danger.  She immediately departed to warn her folk of the threat.

Onranion had done his part to spread the word among his kindred, and soon the Alka Alon encampment seethed with anger and expectation.  They reflected the sentiment of Fallawen:
how dare they?
The idea of a race of former trash pickers challenging the dominion of one of the greatest of Alkan works left in the world was appalling to them.  They were outraged by the mere suggestion. 

Meanwhile, the human troops seemed visibly relieved that they were not going to be facing the endless line of worms and goblins and trolls that had descended from the north.  They seemed almost happy to go after the marauding bands that were harassing the Gilmoran countryside by preference.  Those “cleaning up” duties were keeping them plenty busy.  Fell hounds still carried their riders everywhere in the night, manors were still under attack, and the Buckler was raiding in strength.  There was plenty to do – but it was manageable.

What the Tree Folk were facing was not.

Of course I had to summon Rard by Mirror and report what we’d discovered.  He was beyond pleased. 

“The gods are with us!” he said, visibly relieved in the water.  “Let them break their teeth on the Tree Folk.  We can keep the kingdom secure while their armies grind themselves against their masters!”

“It is not that simple, Majesty,” I tried to point out.  “An alliance works both ways.  The Alka Alon have assisted us in our hour of need.  Now it is our turn.”

“What would you have us do, Spellmonger?” Rard asked, amused.  “If the mighty Alka Alon cannot repel this army, then their worth in the alliance is suspect.”

“Against dragons even the Alka Alon will be challenged,” I countered.  “I know not how we will respond yet, Majesty, but if there is some way in which we might assist, I feel we are obligated to do so.”

“I disagree,” the king said, shaking his head.  “Protecting the heartlands of the kingdom is our highest priority.”

“Majesty, if we used the First and Third Commandos—”

“No,” the king said in a tone that brooked no argument.  “Those are royal troops.  Their job is to defend Gilmora which is, as you’ve pointed out, heavily infested with goblins.  They are not to go running after an army twenty times their size.”  I had a hard time countering that reasoning.  In truth, I had no idea what we could do, to assist the Alka Alon.  Throwing good men to their deaths would not do it.

“Understood, Majesty,” I nodded.  “I will find another way, an arcane way, to help our friends.” Rard seemed satisfied with that, but I was disturbed.  If he didn’t take the Alka Alon alliance seriously, then soon neither would the Alka Alon.

On the other hand, he’d been right.  There was little we could do against the determined, powerful army that was marching up the icy floe of the Poros toward the Land of Scars – the backcountry of the wild Alshari Wilderlands. Even if we mustered every man we could, we still could not catch them. 

I needed more information.  I felt helpless, as if I was profiting from the misfortune of a friend.  When I quit the Chamber of the Mirror I took a walk down to the townlands, to the banks of the Poros, where our men were still guarding the bridge that didn’t mean anything anymore.  There were snipers and goblin patrols on the other side of the river, and encampments of their hordes were scattered across the farms to the north.  I was careful. 

I sat there and I smoked a pipe while I thought about the situation.  I felt trapped.  What could I do about the receding army? What could I do about the dragons?  What could I do about the frozen river that so many lives depended upon flowing?

Rard would have me stay here and wait, protect the heartlands and see if the Alka Alon could defend themselves.  I did not see passivity as the key to this engagement.  While pacifying the raiders that Shereul had intended as distraction was a worthy goal, to do so while one of the greatest of the Alka Alon realms was destroyed seemed callous.  There had to be something we could do.  Something.

After an hour or so of staring at the dirty ice, Lorcus joined me.  He had brought a flask of spirits and a look of concern.

“Some folks are worried about you,” he said, when he took a seat beside me on the bank.  “This has been a tough turn for us all, but you’re the one they look to.  And you’re . . .”

“Perplexed would be the right word,” I supplied, packing my pipe again.  “I’ve been forbidden by my king from sending his loyal men on a suicidal mission against a superior foe,” I pouted.  “Meanwhile, dragons are in the air and there is precious little I can do about it”

“Well, the question is what
can
you do?  Stop looking at it in terms of accomplishing the singular task of stopping the army.  What are you capable of? What are your resources?”

“A hundred-odd warmagi,” I chuckled.  “A few hundred Alka Alon, giant-sized.  My household guard.  The sphere.  The falcons.  The magical auxiliaries.  A mountain of snowstone. A bunch of magical rocks.  The Kasari.  Good humor, wit and wisdom.  A winning smile.  Ishi’s tits, how can I turn
any
of that into anything helpful?”

“Good question,” agreed Lorcus, lighting his pipe by cantrip and passing me his flask.  “Personally, I think the Alka Alon are screwed.  Dragons or an army they could defeat, perhaps.  But together? Even if they won, I’m not certain it would be worth winning.”

“If Shereul wants the city, then I don’t want him to have it,” I reasoned.  “That’s what it comes down to, for me.  I just don’t know how to get there from here.”

“I’d say the first step would be to figure out what the Alka Alon are doing about their incipient goblin infestation,” he recommended.  “See if they do have a response, and offer our assistance.”

“Even if that means pissing off the king?”

“Especially if that means pissing off the king,” he agreed.  “I wouldn’t worry about that.  He’s facing new attacks in Gilmora, he’s got bigger things to worry about.  It’s true he fears your indispensable position as an ambassador to the Alka Alon.  This is an opportunity to demonstrate why it’s indispensable, by acting independently of the crown.”

“You think I should just go pay a call on the Alka Alon?  And ask them what they were planning on doing about it?”

“Yes, in a nutshell,” he agreed with a chuckle.  “Offer your assistance.  See what they say.  The worst that can happen is they take you up on your offer.  At best, they say
‘no, thank you, we have this under control,’
and start singing like it’s a festival day.”

“That’s actually not a bad idea,” I said, after sipping his flask and returning it.  It was good.  Lorcus always finds the best liquor, I’d noticed.  “It wouldn’t take long, if we can persuade one of the emissaries to bear us by their waypoints.  And we might learn something useful.”

“Us?” Lorcus asked in surprise.

“You don’t seem to be doing anything else useful at the moment,” I observed.  “Go scrape up your best court finery.  And tell my apprentices to do likewise.  I think it’s time the Spellmonger paid a call on our honored allies.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

The Tower Of Vision

As Lady Fallawen had already departed, and Lady Ithalia was leading a chase party for a band of fell hound cavalry that was harassing the countryside twenty miles west, it fell to Lady Varen to escort us to the halls of council in Carneduin.

She had spent the last few weeks with Pentandra at our field hospital and support facility, using her magic to aid in the defense of the complex and the aid of the wounded.  While there was still plenty there for her to do, she was happy to take a break from her duties and escort me and a small party to Carneduin through the waypoints.  And since we both possessed waystones, her coming to me before escorting us all was easy.

As entourage I had chosen Lorcus and my three apprentices, plus Captain Arborn.  He wished to make his own report to the council, and seemed certain that they would hear him.  I suppose I didn’t have to bring my apprentices, but they have an annoying habit of being useful.  I also felt the journey would be educational, despite the drama of the moment.  They had all dressed in court apparel, with the addition of three Sevendor Green cloaks with the white snowflake embroidered on the breast.

To my surprise, Pentandra had presumed to invite herself along.  I was pleased – I always appreciate Penny’s counsel, now more than ever.  She had her own perspective to add to the report, and wanted to make certain I did not screw up something this important.  When I’d explained what we’d figured out about the vanishing army’s intended target she had been naturally horrified. 

She turned into a giggling schoolgirl the moment she got around Arborn, however.  For a woman who studies human sexual interaction at the arcane level, Pentandra could still be gnawingly typical when it came to love.  Arborn was nearly embarrassed by her flirtations until we entered the waypoint.

Arriving in Carneduin sobered everyone.  The beautiful valley was no less gorgeous at this time of year, but its serenity was shattered.  The peace that seemed to imbue the place a year ago was replaced by a tense watchfulness that was palpable from the moment we arrived.

“This way,” Lady Varen indicated, smoothly, and led us to one of the smaller halls, not the council  chamber in the Hall of Wisdom we’d been to before.  “That room is used only for the meeting of the full council.  The Master of the Vale is seated here, at the moment.  He will see you,” she explained, solemnly, as she pulled the door open.

“Ah!  Our humani friends!” Master Haruthel said, as we entered.  He was seated on a cushion in front of a number of strange-looking potted trees.  He rose immediately, and then suddenly transformed.  He was six feet tall, a bit rotund, and squinty, but he had mastered the transgenic enchantment perfectly.

“That’s better,” he mused, brushing off the long verdant robe he’d manifested.  “They’re right, this is easier than looking up all the time.  Oh, my, what a change in perspective!  You’re here about the gurvani advance, I suppose.  I’m afraid we have little further assistance to offer you, Master Minalan,” he said, apologetically.  “All of our powers are bent to defend the fair City of the Lake against the Abomination.  The ice . . . the ice makes defending her difficult, now, and . . .”

“Begging your pardon, Master Haruthel,” I said with a deep bow.  “We are not here to beg for aid.  Indeed, we are here to offer our assistance.”

He looked startled.  “Your
what?”

“Our assistance in the defense of the Alka Alon, as perthe terms of our alliance,” I said, simply.  “It was my understanding that we were to offer mutual aid in this endeavor.”

“Mutual aid . . . you’re
serious?”
he asked, sounding a bit condescending.

“We are not wholly impotent, Master Haruthel,” I pointed out.  “We’ve been fighting this enemy for three years, now.  I know not how, but there may be some part we can play.”

“Why . . . why that is very generous of you,” Haruthel said, sincerely.  “Isn’t that just . . . that is very noble of you, Master Minalan.  But I cannot think of anything you might do to help.  Here,” he said, and sang a quick melody.  A magemap appeared, but far more fluid and detailed than any crafted by a human mage.  He waved his hands until it showed the Poros, a gleaming white serpent cutting through the greening lands of western Alshar.

Until it came to the horde.  Then the ice turned black, as Dara had reported.  The column of goblins went on for miles and miles, with dozens of siege worms pulling massive wains or huge loads across the gleaming ice on long, trailing platforms.  Half-assembled siege engines on great wheels were pulled by worms and pushed by trolls.  There were whole centuries of those foul beasts, each with a tree-trunk for a club and a huge bronze shield strapped to their back.  Some wore helmets of steel or bronze as well. 

The goblin infantry seemed to go on forever.  The gurvani were struggling with their iron cleats, but every few dozen rows there was a hobgoblin with a whip that kept the straggling to a minimum.  Many wore cloaks made from captured blankets, sheepskin, or cowhide, and none of them looked particularly happy.

As the scene zoomed along the map halted on the image of a large redoubt atop the back of one of the worms.  While there were several of these portable castles, this one was particularly stoutly built and heavily ornamented with the tokens and signs of the Dead God. 

It was a frightening vista, seen that way.  The goblins were marching relentlessly across the ice, farther and farther upriver.  There was no tell-tale plume of dust, as an army treading a road inevitably kicks up.  But the path of the army was clear to see.  In its wake it left a filthy sheen of debris and jetsam, feces and urine, vomit and blood and the occasional gurvani corpse, all mixed into the surface of the ice by countless pairs of iron cleats.

“This is what approaches the citadel,” Haruthel announced as we watched in dismay.  “In addition to a number of dragons.”  He stated it matter-of-factly, as if he wasn’t talking about mammoth castle-destroying killing machines.  “Anthatiel seems to be severely challenged, if they cannot stop one, the other, or both.”

“Anthatiel is doomed,” Arborn said, bluntly.  I felt Penny shiver next to me.  “I know not the full extent of the mastery of your kindred, Raer Haruthel, but I cannot foresee a victory here.  Not unless the might of all the elders is united
and dedicated to this purpose.”

“What aid that can be sent is being sent,” Haruthel assured us.  “But there are limits to what we can do, this quickly.  If the gurvani keep moving at this pace they will be at the edge of the Land of Scars in four, perhaps as many as six days.  They will have to make that difficult journey through the broken country, ascending the escarpment, until they come to the secluded valley lands near the source of the Poros. 

“That journey could take anywhere from three to five days, depending on how adept they are at scaling the rise.  Once they achieve this waterfall,” he said, indicating a space on the magemap, “all the natural defenses are behind them.  All that stands between them and Anthatiel is the great gate that seals the lake valley.  The great gate that is frozen open, at the moment,” he added, worriedly.  “It is well-guarded, but it cannot be closed while this enchantment stands.”

“So what recourse does Lord Aeratas have?” demanded Arborn.  He must stand and fight  . . . or abandon the city.”

“Both courses of action are being considered,” the Master of the Vale said.  “Lord Letharan has sent some Alkan warriors to assist in the defense, but he looks to his own skies.  Should the Abomination find Anas Yartherel undefended, it could prove disastrous for more than one realm.”

“King Rard is similarly poorly-disposed of the idea of sending aid, for much the same reason,” I agreed.  “Yet I find I cannot abide the thought of sitting idly by while Shereul gets his way!”

“Yet what could you do, Master Minalan, that an Alka Alon elder could not?” he challenged.  “While your pledge of assistance is appreciated, my boy, I cannot think of a way in which you can stall this battle.  Or win it.  You have developed some impressive – and surprising – capabilities in a short time, but I cannot imagine how they could prove helpful.”  I could tell he was straining courtesy not to sound condescending. 

My people leapt to my aid before I could speak.

“Oh, you don’t know Master Minalan very well, then, Sire,” Lorcas said, unbidden from behind me.  “The man excels at finding ways to prove helpful.  A deep and cunning mind, he has, and subtle beyond the ken of most magi.”

“He is a wise and determined leader,” agreed Arborn.  “He is loyal, courteous, and brave.  He is, indeed, cunning,” he said, almost grudgingly.  That was high praise from a Kasari ranger.  “If there is a way to relieve Anthatiel, he will surely find it!”

That was more confidence in me that I felt, certainly.  Of course Pentandra could not keep quiet.

“If nothing else, Master Haruthel, we could coordinate our efforts,” she proposed.  “Master Minalan has many magi at his disposal – human magi,” she said, almost apologetically, “but they are skilled at their craft and enriched by irionite.  Surely we can be of some assistance.”

“My dear, it is doubtful that Lord Aeratas would even accept your assistance, though there were dragons at his doorstep.  He has little love of humani,” the kindly Alkan reminded us.  “Indeed, he is one of your biggest opponents on the council.”

“Be that as it may,” I dismissed, “we would not have it said that humani stood by and watched helplessly while Anthatiel burns.  If Lord Aeratas doesn’t want to thank us for our help, we’ll just do it without his gratitude!”

“You are free to spend your lives as you wish,” shrugged the Alkan.  “I will not discourage such a noble and courageous gesture.  We will summon you if we feel there is some role you might play in the defense of Anthatiel.  And Master Minalan,” he said, reaching out and touching my arm, “your offer is, indeed, truly appreciated.  Do not mistake reluctance to exploit it for contempt.  I just honestly do not know what can be done,” he said, with a rare and somber note of despair in his voice.

We headed back to the waypoint with a feeling of helpless dread wrapped around our party like a cloak.  Lorcus and Tyndal tried to trade a few jokes, but no one felt like laughing.  Lady Varen was nearly silent as she escorted us.  The most mysterious of the three Alkan emissaries halted when we arrived at the spot in the plaza.

“I shall take the rest of you back to where you wish,” she proposed.  “But my sister Fallawen approaches, and wishes to speak with Master Minalan.  Alone.”

“Me?  Why?” I demanded.

“She did not say,” admitted Varen.  “Where shall I take you?  Back to Gilmora? Without a waypoint there, it will be difficult . . .”

“No, take them back to Sevendor, instead,” I decided.  I turned to Tyndal.  “Have notice sent out to our allies that I am recruiting men for an especially dangerous mission – high pay, high danger.  Combat veterans only,” I stressed.  “This is no campaign for a new soldier.”

“How many, Master?” Tyndal asked, thoughtfully.

“As many as we can raise.  Have all interested parties appear on the Sevendor Commons four days hence.”

“Master?  What are you planning on doing with them?” he asked.

“I don’t know yet,” I confessed.  “But Rard denied me use of royal troops.  He did not forbid me from raising my own.  Whatever maneuver we attempt, I prefer to have men I’ve hired and that I can trust to execute it.”

“You can add my men to yours,” pledged Arborn.  “I will send word to Kasar, and see how many volunteers I can raise as well.”

“Your men are not soldiers,” I protested.

“We are hunters,” he agreed.  “And now we hunt gurvani.  You will need our skills, if I guess correctly what you will propose.”

“What I’ll propose?  I haven’t the faintest idea what to do now!”

“Yes, you do,” the big man said, shaking his head.  “You have already begun to form a plan.  When it is ready, so will be the Kasari.”

I couldn’t really argue with that.  Unfortunately, his confidence in me made me feel that much more pressure.  Pentandra, too, was looking at me expectantly.  The honest truth was that I had very little idea how to proceed, and felt that their confidence in me was misplaced.

But I couldn’t say that.  One of the curses of power is the responsibility of performing to the expectations of those who look up to you . . . and I wasn’t feeling particularly inspired.  Panicked, yes.  But inspired?

I waved at them as they disappeared in the light.  A few moments later Lady Fallawen appeared in her large form, and dressed in her battle armor.

“Master Minalan,” she said, bowing.  “Thank you for indulging me.  When I heard you were here, I was confused.  Until I heard why.  Your offer was nobly delivered,” she said with a bow.

“It is my pleasure.  What can I do for you?”

“My father is hard at work, preparing to defend our beautiful city.  He is confident of his victory, and while he has asked his fellow elders for assistance he feels pride in the city’s defenses, no matter that they are compromised.”

“I understand.  But what can I do?”

“Please come talk to him,” she begged.  “I have told him the reality of what he faces, and yet he ignores me.  I have pleaded with him to evacuate the city, but he insists Anthatiel will not fall while he is there to defend it.  I speak to him of dragons and he sends me away!  Help me, Magelord Minalan,” she pleaded.  “If he does not evacuate, thousands will die!”

I blinked.  This was not what I expected.  “I . . . I can spare a little time,” I agreed, reluctantly.  But then if I was planning on trying to rescue the city, I might as well see the real estate I might be dying to preserve.  “I’ll go with you,” I nodded, gripping Blizzard tightly. 

She looked desperate and relieved at the same time, and immediately began the song that opened the Alkan waypointss.  Our bodies were transported across a thousand miles in the space of three heartbeats. 

When we arrived – while I fought with the inevitable bout of nausea – I felt the temperature drop dramatically.  I felt cold wind on my face, colder than the early spring weather I’d become accustomed to.  The stones under my feet were dark gray, as were the graceful columns and delicate railing ahead of me.  I put out a hand to steady myself upon it – and immediately regretted it. 

We were up high – at least thirty stories – and the ground swam below me dangerously.  I felt Lady Fallawen’s slender but strong hand on my arm to steady me.

“Easy,” she urged, quietly.  “We stand in the Tower of Vision, tallest spire in Anthatiel.  The seat of Lord Aeratas, Raer of the Lake City.  My father.”