The Road To Sevendor - A Spellmonger Anthology (11 page)

Sending in such powerful forces told me that the Dead God wanted to fell this particular tree
very
badly.  And that was reason enough to deny it to him.

As I observed them, the gurvani priests were doing their best to counter the tree’s magical defenses, but I saw two gurvani go down to active defensive spells in just moments – one just collapsed and died for no apparent reason, the other took a two-foot long shaft in his chest that didn’t look like an arrow – it had no fletching and no point.  But it hit with penetrating force and the gurvan stared blankly at it protruding from his chest before he fell down.

As well as the tree was managing to fend off furries, I could tell the energy powering those defenses was lagging as the priests got better at countering them.  The battle must have been going on for
hours,
considering all of the dead gurvani circling the tree.  The priests looked haggard, but determined, and they were trying all sorts of innovative ways to get through the Tree Folk defenses.  I gave them credit for persistence – I would have given up after an hour.

The whole thing would have been fascinating to watch from a purely academic standpoint – it’s not often you get to see comparative nonhuman magical systems in action – but strategy was more on my mind than thaumaturgy.  Someone in there needed our help – or at least the goblins outside the tree needed to be removed, it was all the same to me.

I was about to slide back to our position to report, plot and plan when something else caught my attention.  It was a kind of flurry of magical activity at the very top of the tree.  I really had no idea what function it served but it seemed somewhat beacon-like, and so I took a chance.  I closed my eyes and carefully extended a tendril of force near to the swirl, nothing aggressive, just a friendly
‘hey, magic over here!”
kind of protospell.  I only had to wait a few moments before I felt the tendril grabbed…and suddenly my mind wasn’t quite my own anymore.

Who are you?
it demanded painfully.

A friend,
I insisted, frantically, as I struggled against the invasion. 
I am a human warmage, recently returned from battle with the gurvani hosts.  I was a recent guest at the Hidden City of Amadia.  I’m a friend of Lady Ameras,
I added,
if that helps.  I knew the Aronin of Amadia.
 

I
hoped
that helped.  The truth was, they had used my own spell so effectively against me that I couldn’t have blinked if they didn’t want me to – the Alka Alon are just that good.  And I was completely unaware of Tree Folk politics.  For all I knew, these guys were Aronin’s sworn enemy. 

But apparently not.  I felt the compulsion to
not
move leave me, then, but that didn’t mean I moved. 

Thank you.
 
Can I render assistance?
I offered, politely, in the silence.  My eyes looked around to make sure I wasn’t being observed by gurvani while I chatted with their sworn foes.

There are refugees here,
the voice admitted, eventually. 
Hurt and wounded from the storming of Amadia.  Yes, even that fair settlement is under Sheruel’s sway. 

So why are these gurvani so eager to burn out refugees?

They hate us with particular fury, and they know and fear our power.

Yet all that power hasn’t shaken these fleas of off your back,
I pointed out, helpfully.

I assume you’re pointing this out for a
reason
?
Just an observation,
I “said.”  I almost giggled, but that would be impolite.  It’s not often you hear an irritated Tree Folk. 
What seems to be the problem?  I have some men out here, beyond your foes.  If you asked nicely, I might use them to draw off your attackers.
And if we
don’t
ask nicely?
Then we’ll enjoy watching how the mighty magi of the Tree Folk use their extraordinary command of spellcraft to defeat two hundred goblins and a couple of trolls.  Oh, and three high-powered urgulnosti priests who seem
particularly
eager to turn your home into firewood.
  The
urgulnosti
were the Dead God’s dedicated shamans, super-goblin magicians who maintained an almost constant connection to their foul master.  They were his elite.
I heard a mental sigh, which I hadn’t expected from one of the stoic Tree Folk.  Must be a youngster. 
And you mention this because...?
I just wanted to offer our help,
I assured the mental voice.
But if you don’t need it . . . well, Ishi knows I’ve seen enough war, and if you folks are capable of handling this on your own—
No!  We are hard pressed, indeed.  Your assistance would be welcome.  
I stifled a chuckle.  I was a
noble
now.  It was
unseemly
to gloat.  
All right.  We’ll help.  What can you tell me about the situation?
There are seven Alka within the sphere of the tree
, the voice explained patiently.  
Four of us are wounded, three seriously.  All of us are survivors of the abandonment of Amadia. This tree was a simple refuge for our folk when traveling, and though we have augmented it greatly since we arrived after the loss of our home, it was still never meant as a fortress.
 
I snorted, noting the growing circle of bodies around the tree. If that thing wasn’t a military installation, I’d hate to have to go up against a Tree Folk lair that
was
.  Seven Alka Alon holding off more than two hundred goblins...that was
impressive.
Well, I don’t have quite enough men for a frontal assault,
I explained, patiently
.  Especially not against a couple of trolls and those damned death-priests.  Just a few dozen men and a couple of River Folk.  Half of the men have never seen battle.  But the good news is we have two half-trained warmagi and myself, all armed with Irionite.  
There was a note of disappointment in the voice. 
We must make do.  Still, that is better than an hour ago.  Perhaps if you can soften the foe, we can try to make an escape in the confusion.
I considered.  
Wouldn’t defeating them outright be easier?
More pleasing, yes.  I don’t see how it would be
easier.
You Alka are wise, learned, and skilled, but you lack imagination.  Bide a moment, and let me study the matter.
As you wish,
my contact said patiently.  I couldn’t help but feel that he or she was being a little patronizing.  I guess he or she – it felt like a she – figured that out as well.  
It may smooth our relations if you knew my name.  I am called Ithalia.
Minalan,
I replied, automatically.  
Sir Minalan.
Not that human titles made much difference to the Alka Alon . . . or so I thought.  One of mine had caught on.
The Spellmonger,
Ithalia said with a note of surprise.  
You know of me?
 Now I was surprised.
I saw you when you came to Amadia,
she said -- I was pretty certain it was a
she
now, for some reason, but that sort of thing is hard to establish with telepathic communication with non-humans, believe it or not.  
You caused quite a stir.
 
I seem to have that effect.  A pleasure to meet you, Ithalia.  Now, give me half a moment to think about this, and see if a little classy spellwork and a little
humani
guile can take the place of a cavalry charge.
 
I closed my eyes and considered all the possibilities I could.  We were outnumbered, scattered along one side of their perimeter, but we had the element of surprise.  They were focused on the tree and the seven squirrels hiding within.  And hiding very well, despite their desperation.  In fact, whenever the shamans lost focus, I observed a few moments later, the Alka Alon’s adept spellcraft made them forget where it was all over again.  The
urgulnosti
were having to constantly keep discipline, both magically and militarily.   Unfortunately,
they
were adept at
that.
A simple assault would be suicide -- the goblins could wipe us out and reform around the tree before lunch time was over.  They were protected against the light of day, obviously, or they wouldn’t have been able to go near that glowing tree.  I peered at their defenses in magesight and tried to untangle the nasty swirl of wards around them, and checked off counters to all the major magical attacks I’d usually consider against them.
That didn’t leave much room.  But then I’d been specializing in hopeless situations for a while now, and I was starting to appreciate the challenge.
The problem wasn’t the quality of my troops -- in any small engagement of equal numbers, I’d lay money on the Nirodi archers every day.  But even with volleyed fire the Nirodi wouldn’t be able to get off more than three flights before the goblins could close with them.  And as adept as the mercenaries were in close combat, they would have been overwhelmed.  I had even lower hopes for our militia allies.  And the River Folk.  It was too bad I couldn’t transform the gurvani into potatoes and onions -- the little guys would have made short work of them.
And that got me thinking-- not about comparative strengths and weaknesses, armor and weapons, charges and skirmishes -- but about
logistics
.  We were, technically speaking, pretty far from where the lines between our forces had settled.  That meant that the goblins were either living off the land (and in this sparsely-settled region of the Wilderlands, that would prove difficult) or they had brought some sort of baggage train.  You just couldn’t run a force this large without supplies, and a lot of them.
Ithalia?  Have you plotted just where all the goblins are in relation to the tree?
In my spare moments.  Why?
Do you see anything that looks like a wagon or a pack beast?
There is a pile of baggage to the northeast of the tree,
she answered, after a moment.
 I believe the trolls brought it up, after their scouts located us.  They retire there, every few hours, to sustain themselves.  
Is there any way to attack it?  Destroy it by magic?
I doubt that will have any immediate effect, Spellmonger,
she said.  Patronizing again.
We do not have the strength to maintain long enough for them to starve to death.  At most it would be a minor inconvenience.  At worst, it would provide further incentive for them to overwhelm our defenses.
 She didn’t have to remind
me
that the Dead God’s minions had no compunction about consuming the flesh of other sapient species, and had a particular taste for Tree Folk, humani, and River Folk.  In fact, I was kind of counting on that.
Don’t be so sure about that,
I advised.  
Like I said, you folk lack imagination.
So this is the
humani
impermanence I’ve heard so much about,
she said, amused.
Can you do it?  Destroy their provisions?  We can do it from this side, but we’d lose the element of surprise
.  There was another pause.
Yes, it can be done.  Give us . . . ten minutes?  Then they will be deprived of victuals.
Perfect,
I agreed.  
You do that, my lady, and let us take care of the rest.
I’ve never been rescued by a handsome
humani
before,
she added before she left.

Ishi’s bush
, was she
flirting
with me?  Didn’t I have
enough
female problems?  

I cast aside the improbable idea with an annoyed shake of my head, and cut contact.
 I took three deep breaths to calm down and think before I reached out through my stone to call Tyndal.
Are you still in position?

Of course, Master!
Then move everyone back a hundred yards or more.  I want them completely out of bowshot, and well away from any wards the goblins have up.
There was a pause.  
You have a plan, don’t you, Master?
Of course I do.  And make sure the River Folk are safely with you when you withdraw.  They’re essential to my plan.
As what?
 
Spies?
No,
I smiled to myself.  
Appetizers.

                                                        *                                   *                                    *
While I didn’t see any real sentries, the
urgulnosti
priests had done an outstanding job of protecting their forces from obvious magical attack.  That doesn’t mean that I couldn’t have poured magical fire down upon them without effect, but it did mean that most of the offensive stuff I could throw was going to be weak, at best -- and hardly decisive. Even the knot-untying spell I’d used at Boval Castle, or the blindness spell we’d used so devastatingly a few days ago at Timberwatch were protected against.