Shadowmage: Book Nine Of The Spellmonger Series (47 page)

“The same goes for the Count of Rhemes, and his supporters.  As long as they believe I am a pretender to the throne, content to rule here in Vorone, I’m harmless.  The moment they realize that I intend to retake my legacy, I become a liability.  And then a corpse.”

“You are well-protected, Your Grace,” Tyndal countered, putting his hand on a warwand.

“No one is
perfectly
protected,” he disagreed.  “I am surrounded by stalwarts, but it takes but one swallow of poison to end me.  Tasters are helpful, but avoiding attracting the ire of those who command assassins is a wiser strategy.

“But I cannot continue to ignore Enultramar,” he said, guiltily.  “As important as Vorone and the Wilderlands are right now, I
must
retake the south, or lose claim to it forever.  I have neither the forces, nor the resources, nor the fleet I need to do so, but it must be done.”

“Which suggests a more robust clandestine force than you have,” Rondal pointed out.  “Who is your current head of intelligence?”

Anguin frowned.  “The post is vacant.  The last man who held it here was retired, after the death of my parents, and is of limited use now.  No one in my court, at the moment, truly has the subtle touch needed by a spymaster.  For all of my aunt’s faults, she does appreciate the nuance of the art.

“What of Lady Pentandra?” Tyndal asked.  He always seemed to be coming to her defense.

“Lady Pentandra may prove capable, but her talents in other areas make her indispensable there.  I require her abilities elsewhere.  Nor do I think she has the temperament for sustained viciousness.  She’s a Remeran, but she’s not
that
much of Remeran,” he smirked.

“Until you find one, then, we will act as your agents in the South,” Rondal pledged.  “If you can give us leave to . . . work a little magic,” he said, offering a small smile at the metaphor, “we can at least give you some advantage, the day when you stand in Enultramar.”

“That will be enough, I hope,” he sighed.  “If I do not do something soon, though, my shaky Alshari alliance will fall.  The Sea Lords and Coastlords already grumble that we ignore their exile, and the Wilderlords fear we will abandon all we’ve done here in favor of an expedition south.  If I do not make some effort, I will lose my support.”

“We understand, Your Grace,” Tyndal said, confidently.  “Leave it in our hands.”

“If . . . we have your full authority,” Rondal added, cautiously.

“I shall have warrants drawn up attesting to your permission, and detailing the scope and nature of your mission.  As with Lady Pentandra and her efforts, I authorize you to proceed under the Laws of Kulin, on my behalf.  Establish allies, conspire to prepare forces, learn the nature of our enemies . . . and kill every Rat you wish.”

“Your Grace?” Rondal asked, for clarification.  Anguin did not hesitate to give it, sounding positively regal in its delivery.

“Henceforth the Brotherhood of the Rat is declared a threat to state security, and therefore shall be destroyed.  Even if they
were
framed for my mother’s murder, that does not excuse what they’ve done elsewhere.  Slavery?  In this age?  And now they dabble in politics?  Too long have we tolerated their presence.”  He looked at them, and his eyes narrowed.  “I’ll write that one up, too.  And put that big ugly ducal seal on it under my signature,” he said, as Tyndal helped him strap on his thickly-padded gambeson.

“I don’t see how Queen Grendine could possibly take issue with you issuing edicts to keep order in your own realm, particularly against the ostensible killers of your mother,” Rondal agreed, appreciating the duke’s shrewdness.  If the Brotherhood really were keeping the poor of Enultramar cowed as the Count of Rhemes and his band of rebels prepared to usurp the throne, then striking a blow at them would serve to weaken the rebellion. 

“Might I suggest that you survey the court in Vorone for hints as to whom it is known in the south might be in favor of your return, Your Grace?” Tyndal asked, politely.  “It may help to establish to whom we visit to assemble allies.”

“Indeed, I think we can recruit . . . your father’s friend to act as your agent in that regard,” Rondal added.  “He is already eager for a visit by the Spellmonger, to help unite the Houses of magi in the south.  I think he would be ideal to serve as your eyes and ears in the region.  If you authorize it, that is,” he added, in deference to the duke.

“Of course,” nodded Anguin.  “If he is the man my father referred to, then he is not only loyal, he is adept at his craft.  I shall compose a letter for you to return to him, when next you travel south.  More importantly, he is apparently in possession of something that can be used as a weapon against my aunt, though he did not specify what that might be.  Ishi’s tits!” he swore, bawdily, “if he has something to make Grendine afraid, I don’t care if he’s four feet tall and covered in black hair!”

“Speaking of which,” Rondal said, as he detected the arrival of Anguin’s armsmen with his armor, “I believe Your Grace has an engagement north, do you not?”

“I do,” he sighed, resolutely.  “My first time going into battle, technically.  Of course, I’ll be surrounded by two thousand heavily armed men and a couple of really tough warmagi, but . . .”

“No man who wasn’t a fool ever went to battle unafraid,” Tyndal said, probably quoting someone.

“I’m sure you will do fine, Your Grace,” Rondal said, encouragingly.  Anguin scowled, unexpectedly. 

“Oh, no, thank you for your kind wishes, Sir Rondal, it’s just . . . well, ever since I came to Vorone, I’ve been referred to as ‘Your Grace’ about a thousand times a day.  When we are alone, and discussing matters as friends, I invite you both to call me Anguin.  Gods, it is my name, isn’t it?”

“One we shall make certain every Alshari knows, before we are done,” promised Tyndal.  “Really, Your—Anguin, I think we’ve got a good eye on the weather in the south.  We’ve made some cracks, and I think if we can jump on them a little, we can ensure your return.”

“You have magi on the case,” agreed Rondal.  “Knights magi.  And a couple of really clever shadowmagi,” he added.

“I look forward to your reports, gentlemen,” he said, clasping their shoulders before he opened the doors for his courtiers.  “Now . . . let’s get this done,” he sighed, as they rushed in, each bearing a piece of his finely-wrought mail.  “At least it’s not mere jousting,” he consoled himself, as he began stripping.  “Can you stick around and help support us through this crisis?  I understand if the Spellmonger needs you, but . . .”

“It would be our pleasure,” agreed Tyndal.  “What would you have us do?”

“Well, if one of you can help Lady Pentandra around the palace coordinating our response, I’d like the other of you to venture forth and do battle.”

“I’ve got the battle!” Tyndal said, hurriedly.

Rondal snorted. 
Typical.

“All right, I’ll stay behind and help out, here,” he sighed
.  Unless I can find someone better at it than me,
he added to himself.

“Thank you, gentlemen,” Anguin said, rising to signal the end of the meeting.  “Keep me appraised of your progress through Lady Pentandra and let me know if I can assist with your efforts in any way.  It would be nice if I could rule the richest ninety-percent of my realm.  This budgetary process might encourage outstanding fiscal responsibility, as Father Amus suggests, but being one of Five Dukes and still being almost too poor to pay your own guards is . . .
awkward.”

“Let us see what we can do about that, Your Grace,” Rondal nodded, standing himself as they took their leave while their liege was armed. 

“So . . . we’re real spies, now,” Tyndal grinned as they left the Game Room. 

“We’ve always been agents,” Rondal said, philosophically, as he looked for a castellan.  He had been here for hours, now, and he needed at least a little rest.  The castellans could point him in the direction of a cot or a corner somewhere he could take a nap in.  He was running on warmagic and adrenaline, and the adrenaline was wearing off.  “Just agents in our own service – or the service of the Order.  Now we’re in direct service to the Duke.  We just can’t really tell anyone.”

“No, I suppose we can’t,” agreed Tyndal, his enthusiasm dampened a little.  “Yet it is nice to have permission to do all of that destruction.  Warrants.  The Laws of Kulin.  Master Hance as a spymaster . . . ”

“That
is
a point,” Rondal agreed.  “Let’s go get these goblins sorted out, and then see what we can do to reconsider our mission to Enultramar . . . as
spies
,” he said, discovering that he indeed liked the idea.  Unfortunately, it took Tyndal’s big mouth to remind him why.

“I can’t
wait
to tell Kitten,” Tyndal smiled.  “She’s going to positively
purr!”

Chapter Twenty-Two

A Kitten in a Cottage

Often a man has no better purpose than to entertain and delight a beautiful woman.

Duke Enguin The Black

Rondal was always wary about casting a spell taking him through a strange Waypoint, even though he’d done it a dozen times, now.  The difference this time was that this portal to the Alkan Ways – more like weak points in the nature of the Magosphere, he reflected, thaumaturgically – was deep within rebel territory.  After searching and seeking for a means of returning to Enultramar, he’d finally discovered one, while prospecting through the Otherworld with Tyndal’s assistance.  The process was made far easier by their new thaumaturgical rods, but jumping blindly into the unknown was always prone to invoke anxiety in him.

Luckily, when the world returned to his view after three heartbeats of nothingness, and after his empty stomach heaved, he found himself in a broad meadow filled with sheep in the late afternoon.  He struggled to orient himself as he scanned the horizon to get his bearings. 

Then he sighed and summoned Bulwark.  Within moments the rod had conjured up precisely where he was: in the Coastlands, about sixty miles of the east of the great river Mandros.  And about a hundred and eighty miles away from Falas.  That put him in . . . the county of Rhemes, he realized.

His Waypoint was in the heart of rebel territory.  A glorious start to his career in espionage.  Technically, all the land was rebel-controlled, but the county of Rhemes was the home of the Count – Anguin’s great uncle, Vichetral, he’d learned.  Indeed, the House of Remigius was attached to the ducal line in several ways that gave him some legitimacy as he quietly controlled the duchy.

But it was unlikely that he would be hunting for spies in his own hinterlands, Rondal decided.  Particularly spies who could appear and disappear into thin air at will.  He calmed himself at he looked around at the peaceful meadow.  There were no shepherds in sight, but they would be along soon, he knew.  It was almost dusk.  He could see the first dark triangle of the Void starting to form over the southern horizon, and the waxing moon was already climbing in the east.

He made mental contact with Tyndal.

I’m through.  Looks like a sheep’s pasture, somewhere in Rhemes.

That must be lovely!
his partner replied, though he was still in Vorone.

It’s actually quite idyllic,
Rondal agreed, grinning to himself. 
Let Gat know.  I’ll hike to the nearest village and get my bearings.

That proved harder than he anticipated, though he found a road quickly enough.  He walked nearly seven miles before he came to a settlement of more than a hut, an hour after darkness fell.

The hamlet was called Gandy, and it lacked an inn, though the headman did have a cottage vacant he was willing to let Rondal rent for the night.  He explained himself as merely a lost traveler on his way to Falas, though his dress was far above his landlord’s station.  When he suggested he might stay awhile in Gandy the man became even more interested in catering to the mysterious traveler. 

Three silver pennies bought the man’s cooperation and silence, and the cottage for the rest of the month.  He didn’t need it that long, but he didn’t feel like haggling.  He was dressed well enough, in the Coastlord cast-offs he’d purchased in Solashaven, and his boots and bag were of good manufacture.  He spent ten minutes speaking with the landlord before he was given a wooden key and directions to the cottage, just outside of the village hedge.

Tell her it’s the village of Gandy, in the domain of Treaz, in the barony of Busolar.
  That should help. 
Just follow the road from the river and the alluring aroma of sheep shit.

It sounds perfectly romantic!

Rondal shook his head, but didn’t reply.  Tyndal’s teasing about Gatina’s affections – and plans for their future together – had become relentless, of late, and any response would release another torrent from the boorish knight.  The joke was old, now, he felt. 
Yes
, he was afraid of getting married . . . and having the matter decided for him was unusual. 

But the fact was, he really
did
like Gatina.  There were her obvious physical charms of course, and as unusual as they might be she wore them proudly and well.  She was a
very
attractive girl, when she wasn’t trying not to be, and she had a lean, slender physicality about her he found alluring.