Shadowmage: Book Nine Of The Spellmonger Series (37 page)

“Are they . . .
powerful
families?” asked Lorcus, curious.

“In their way,” nodded Atopol.  “Some are really specialized, like the seamagi along the Bay, and House Jakintus – they’re a family of Blue magi,” he said, as if confessing a secret.  “Like us, they mostly keep to themselves.  In fact, they’re damn near xenophobic.  And then there’s House Aurikus, well-known academics and thaumaturges of Moinir, less well-known as drug fiends.  That’s where Master Thinradel came from.  House Ademina are magical healers.  And House Zoragar, of the Barony of Tiothlan are Warmagi, and damn good ones,” he added, proudly.  “My uncle Gogoas trained with them.”

“Warmagi, eh?” Lorcus said, interested. 

Atopol nodded.  “And there are another dozen smaller families, commoners and such: swamp witches, spellmongers, footwizards – the Pirai have a clan devoted to magic,” he said, referring to the nomadic tribe of traders that plied the Five Duchies.  “But if Minalan the Spellmonger is popular with everyone, for what he’s done.  If he was to personally appeal to them to help restore Anguin to Falas, well, that might be significant.”

“I thought you said they weren’t powerful,” Tyndal said, frowning.

“I said ‘in their way’,” corrected Atopol.  “I wouldn’t count upon them to raise mighty armies, but that doesn’t mean that they cannot have an effect on the politics of Alshar.  They certainly have in the past.  And this is particularly relevant, as we’re coming to Falas,” he explained.

“Why is that relevant?” Tyndal asked.

“Because the Tower Arcane isn’t just a hall,” explained the shadowmage.  “It was the original stronghold of the Count of Falas, granted to the Court Wizard back during the Magocracy, so it’s more a complex, almost a small town on its own.  A town with plenty of magi, believe it or not.  Each of those houses have unofficial representatives, there, as liaisons to the Court Wizard, just like the great houses keep representatives to the court near at hand at the Duke’s palace.”

“Relevance?” prompted Tyndal.

“Well, I’m sure things are likely tense, with the Censors moved in . . . but as the center of the magical universe in Alshar, the Tower Arcane is an important symbol.  Give the wizards around it a reason to revolt, and they might be very good allies.  And Minalan the Spellmonger is the one person that to whom they might all listen.”

“That is a fascinating idea, Cat,” Lorcus sighed.  “I shall bring it to His Spellmongerness’ attention the next time we’re both sober.  But apropos to yon tower . . . just what kind of loot are we talking about?”

“Beyond the low-power irionite?” Atopol shrugged.  “A bunch of old junk, and it looks like they’re selling off a piece of the library, too.”

Rondal looked wounded.  “Why would they do
that?”

“To raise money,” Lorcus supplied.  “I guess that Count Vichetral’s benevolence to the Censorate didn’t extend to a generous stipend.  They can have the use of the old tower, as long as they keep the magi in line and support the council.”

“That’s what I would guess,” nodded Atopol.  “It used to be that the Censorate was given a grant every year by the Duchy, and they survived on that and fees for services they imposed on lords who summoned them.  With the ducal court non-existent, they’re probably trying to raise funds.”

“To what purpose?” asked Lorcus, mostly to himself. 

“Who knows?” Tyndal said, boldly.  “Who cares?  They’re
Censors!”

“The Tower Arcane will not be an easy place to invade,” Atopol said, seriously.  “It was originally a fortress, and it bears the wards and guards of a dozen generations of Court Wizards.  The pinnacle, where the Three Censors are likely in residence, is six stories above the ground.  The Tower is surrounded by a moat, which is more a decorative pond, now, but it’s defensible.  If we’re going to break in, it will be a major undertaking.”

“More than you can handle, Cat?” Tyndal challenged.

Atopol snorted.  “Not even close.  I’m just letting you know it will be a challenge.  Those aren’t just the clerks of the magical civil service in residence there, the place is full of Censors.  Warmagi.  And they aren’t shy about using irionite anymore, either,” he added. 

“We can contend with that,” dismissed Tyndal.  “We can always bribe them, if they’re that poor.”

“Well, the Tower isn’t attached to any estates,” Atopol said, wrinkling his forehead as he thought.  “I’ve heard that they brought a fair amount of confiscated materials here, when they came.  But you can’t
eat
that.  On the other hand, if they sold it, quietly, to certain collectors . . . like the Brotherhood . . . it could be problematic.”

“Yes, imagine Rellin Pratt with
real
irionite,” reminded Rondal.  “He’s almost obsessed with getting it – obsessed enough to steal Tyndal’s.  He’s the nephew of the Mad Mage,” he emphasized.  “And he’s likely not the worst the Brotherhood has to offer.”

“There are others, too, who would be eager to have some of those things,” Atopol assured his friends.  “If there are respectable houses of magi in Alshar, there are plenty of less reputable ones, as well.  And some individuals who would leap at the opportunity, for dire reasons of their own.”

“That’s not good,” Lorcus frowned.  “Then I suppose it’s not merely an issue of revenge and pure vindictiveness to break into the Tower Arcane and steal the Censorate’s toys, it’s a matter of righteous security!”

“It would be a crime to break up a collection like I’m certain the Tower Arcane has,” Rondal nodded.

“I love fighting warmagi!” Tyndal nodded, enthusiastically.

Lorcus clapped his hands together.  “Boys, I think we’re going to have a whole lot of fun in Falas!”

The Tower Arcane was a spectacular feature as they rounded the bend in the river that revealed its glorious spire.  Built on a motte, itself on a hill, the Tower jutted out into the river defiantly, and seemed far taller than its six stories from the riverbed.  Originally it was a Sea Lord fortress built far inland in the early days of Enultramar, when the Sea Lords contested with the native tribes for control of the river up to the great falls. 

But since those early days the Tower had been expanded and improved upon.  The original tower, a great windowless keep four levels high, had six supporting turrets that reached from the square base all the way beyond the peaked roof.  The Tower had been rebuilt during the Magocracy to include two more stories and a watchtower at the peak of the spire.  A platform next to it held an imposing-looking trebuchet of ancient design but sufficient size to hit any point along the river.  The uppermost level was roofed at a steeply-pitched angle and tiled in bronze. 

The Tower’s more modern upper stories were replete with windows and arrow slits, and the topmost story was machicolated, though the defenses had been converted to stained glass windows in the absence of a real foe.  Those were the private apartments and laboratories of the Ducal Court Wizard, Atopol explained.  The entire keep was whitewashed, though it was streaked with verdigris and rust where the rain washed down. 

The Tower Arcane lay within a walled district called Old Falas, Atopol reported as they came near the docks.  Old Falas was where many spellmongers, enchanters, and magi of many stripes gathered. 

“And my family has a townhome here,” Atopol added, as they disembarked.  “No monks’ habits and flea-ridden inns, this time.”

“Galvina?  Solashaven?” Rondal asked, skeptically.  “Those were
palaces
, compared to Mysteries of Duin!”

“Yes, you’re
terribly
manly,” Tyndal dismissed, crossly.  “I, for one, would not mind enjoying our friend’s hospitality.  Hopefully one day we can return the favor at the Rat Trap.”

“The what?” Atopol asked, curious.

Tyndal spent the rest of their journey walking through the streets of Old Falas explaining the bit of wonder he and Rondal now lived in, back home in Sevendor.  He was just getting to their innovative defensive construct when they came to the door of a stately, well-kept home along a street of such fine houses.

The servant at the door was wary, until he saw Atopol’s face . . . then he broke into a grin and welcomed the four of them inside.

“Your cousin is away for the evening, Master Atopol,” the old man said, as he shuffled through the old house.  “Business over in Falas, though he’s likely seeing his mistress while he’s there.  You and your friends are staying?  I’ll prepare the guest chamber.”

It turned out that the place had a vacant chamber the four of them could live in while they investigated the Tower’s security.  Indeed, the edifice loomed outside of the house, dominating the skyline and providing a spectacular view on the rear balcony, which had been fashioned as a kind of place of meditation. 

“We’ve had this place for over a century, now,” Atopol said, as he settled into the chair on the balcony.  “I’ve always favored it.  But this should provide the perfect spot from which to consider how to enter and leave the Tower.”

“What about your cousin?” Rondal asked.  “Will he mind?”

“Onnelik?  Not at all,” dismissed Atopol.  “He’s not Talented, so the House lets him stay here and act as a caretaker.  He does some translations on the side.  He’s also a first-rate forgery artist.  He’s not a thief, precisely, but he doesn’t mind helping out.  But I have full use of the place,” he bragged.  “Journeyman’s privilege.”

The house was as pleasant on the inside as it was stately without, and included a small but rich library suited to the needs of the family’s magi.  Atopol ordered the servant to fetch a meal for them from a nearby inn, and while he was gone he took a thick folio hidden in a cache behind a wardrobe and showed it to the others.

“Basic plans for the Tower Arcane,” he announced.  “They’ve been kicking around the family for years, but no one has bothered with them, in recent memory.”

“Why would your family have floor plans to the Tower?” Rondal asked, suspiciously.

“We’re
very
thorough,” Atopol replied, as he unbound the folio and spread out the parchment drawings.  “We have similar folios on most of the major buildings in Falas.  And elsewhere,” he added.  “You never know when you might have to steal something, and it’s best to be prepared.  For that matter, I’d better start the book on this heist,” he added, drawing a blank sheet of parchment to him.

“What book?” Tyndal asked, confused.

“Whenever a thief is preparing to rob a place,” Atopol said, quietly, “one of the first things he should do is write down everything about it.  You never know what details are going to be important.  It helps keep things organized, and afterwards you can include the information in your records, in case you have to go back.”

“That’s terribly organized, for a simple robbery,” Tyndal frowned.

“Burglary, not robbery,” corrected Atopol, as he began to fill in the blank parchment with a quill.  “Robbery implies the threat of violence to get what you want.  What we want to do is
burglary
.”

“Speak for yourself,” snorted Tyndal.  “Those are Censors in that Tower.”

“We don’t have the best of relationships,” agreed Rondal.

“The
loot
is the goal,” reminded Atopol, firmly, looking at each of them.  “Killing a couple of Censors isn’t.  Those are the priceless treasures of the duchy that the Three Censors are stealing.  Recovery of as much of it as possible is the goal,” he stressed.