Shadowmage: Book Nine Of The Spellmonger Series (53 page)

“Like hell they are!” the man said, moments before a concussion blast from Rondal’s wand sent him flying across the room.  The place erupted in an explosion of screaming whores and angry shouting from their customers.  Two more ugly-looking guards ran into the room to quell the disturbance, and ended up getting smashed across the bridge of their noses by Rondal’s shield.

“Closed,”
repeated Rondal, emphasizing the point by extinguishing the candles and tapers on the tawdry shrine to Ishi in the corner.  “If you aren’t affiliated with the Brotherhood, get the hells out of here.  If you are affiliated with the Brotherhood, we need to speak to you.”

It took a few moments, but the whores belonging to the house were eager to point out the disreputable-looking manager and his remaining cronies.  After a couple of friendly punches and more rat whisker-like mage marks on their faces, they left the brothel after delivering their message without burning it down.

“See, I’m still keyed-up,” Rondal sighed, guiltily.  “Think we should do one more?”

“The night is still young,” Tyndal agreed, philosophically.  “What choices of targets do we have?”

“Well, Gat says that there’s a fence in Laudry, or we can go after a full crew in Magatal.”

“I’m thinking we round out the night in Magatal.  We should be able to get some dinner afterwards.  And not have to worry so much about innocents.”

The magesigns in Magatal, a hundred and fifty miles south of the Narrows, pointed them to a large, run-down house in what was once likely a good section of town.  Now it was covered with moss and vines, the roof was clearly leaky, and the whole place was in dire need of a coat of paint.

There were two guards lounging around outside, smoking pipes and gossiping.  Tyndal hit them hard, so hard that one of them was thrown through the door into the house.  A moment later the street was filled with angry Rats, and Tyndal and Rondal had their hands full.

Rondal felt his heart race and his palms start to sweat as he faced off the thugs pouring out of the house.  He peered at them over his shield, his mageblade already in hand.  He could feel Tyndal next to him, sword and wand ready to strike.

“
We want Iyugi and Gareth!
” Tyndal howled at them. 

“We want
our witchstones!
” Rondal shouted, just as loud.

“Take them, lads!  They’re mad!” called someone’s voice, and the Rats attacked. 

For the third time that night Rondal found himself in action.  This time it was more of a proper battle.  The man who rushed him first had a short, heavy-bladed knife he slashed at his face with.  Rondal flicked his left elbow and crashed the steel rim of the shield into the man’s wrist, crushing it, while he stabbed the air over his shoulder with his mageblade and whispered a mnemonic.  A bolt of force erupted from the tip and engulfed the man he was aiming at.

Tyndal was once again acting the wild man, slashing his big blade around and using his opponents to block each other as he fought.  His sword stabbed through the abdomen of a burly Rat with a chain in one hand, and while the victim struggled to remove the blade with both hands Tyndal pivoted . . . which tripped one man and opened up the first man’s stomach. 

The wizard danced nimbly around the shower of viscera and finished by impaling the man he tripped.  As an afterthought he used his wand to blow the next attacker clean in twain, with his shoulders slumping left while his knees fell to the right.

Rondal was content to dispatch his opponents one at a time, if they gave him that boon.  When the third fell to his sword and the fourth wavered, he realized he was tired, for the first time that night.  Too tired to pursue the man as he took to his heels.  He used a warwand to crush the bones of his legs from a distance, instead.

The entire action took less than fortyty breaths, but the results were just as decisive as the other two assaults that night.  Bodies, dead and wounded, lay strewn in front of the old house, and the senior Rat in charge of the crew cowered as they repeated their insistent message.  He was planning on being stubborn, at first, but Tyndal started smashing his fingers to pulp, magically, and soon the man would have boiled his firstborn if asked.

“That was oddly satisfying,” Rondal murmured, as they walked away from the ruin they’d set ablaze as a courtesy to the local architectural aesthetic.  “Of course, now I’m hungry.  Eat here, or back in Sevendor?”

“It seems a shame to come all this way and not enjoy it,” Tyndal shrugged.  “There’s an inn over there, and it smells like lamb.”

“I like lamb,” nodded Rondal, suddenly hungry.  “Think we can do three tomorrow night, too?”

“Let’s look at the schedule,” Tyndal suggested.  “We don’t want to over-commit.  And we need time to assess how effective we’ve been, before we proceed.  But we should be able to hit at least two.  Hey, that
is
lamb!”

Chapter Twenty-Five

The Council Of The Brotherhood

No one knows how the Brotherhood of the Rat came to dominate the politics of the Great Bay, but by the time of the Third Count of Falas during the Magocracy, the Brotherhood had spread up the coast from their lairs in the swamps and broadened their membership to include hundreds.  Not only did they actively recruit able-bodied mariners to their cause, but also extended invitations to those too wounded or maimed to continue a profession at sea. 

Taking advantage of the desperate nature of their membership, over the first thirty years the organization began to expand and even contend with the Iris over some enterprises.  Yet while often compared to that other great criminal organization, the Brotherhood had a reputation for brutality that matched the Iris’ reputation for cunning and subtlety.  Soon the problems in Merwyn forced the Iris to abandon many of its enterprises in Alshar, leaving their completion and profit to the Brotherhood of the Rat by default.  Without adequate completion, the sway of the Brotherhood was felt from one side of the Great Bay to the other, and far up the Mandros, until they controlled nearly every dock and wharf in the country.

As they made their way to Falas, Gareth would report nightly to Rondal on their progress. The two supposedly-fugitive wizards attracted an increasing measure of attention once they made it to the cities and towns along the Great Bay.  They’d already raised significant interest amongst those with the desire for irionite and the cash to get it, and their own stones demonstrated that they were not just protected from petty thievery, but that their wares were authentic.

By the time they saw the sea at the mouth of the Mandros, they were being invited to some of the finest great houses in the Coastlands as the guests of one enterprising lord or another.  Iyugi deferred, preferring to pay to stay at inns that increased in luxury as they went south.  He doubled the number of hired guards, as well.

Gareth was growing increasingly nervous as the number of people who seemed to know all about their business was growing.  Nor were they the better sort of people, he insisted to Rondal, later.  In fact, they seemed to grow more exotic, wealthy, dangerous and desperate as they went downriver and across the coast.

Once they came to the Coastlands they could not avoid the visit of one of the Three Censors, who had heard about their stock and had insisted on halting their journey long enough to inspect their wares.  They’d lost several pieces of irionite to theft, themselves, they declared to Iyugi, and wished merely to ensure that these pieces were not theirs.

The meeting was wary – neither wizard was pleased to be in the presence of the dreaded checkered cloak, nor have their faces known.  But they presented their stolen stones to them and submitted to a truthtelling to verify that they had, in fact, stolen them from Minalan’s workshop.

The Censor made some pretense about confiscating them on the spot, but while Iyugi and Gareth were anxious, they were not helpless.  Brandishing their own stones, and mentioning powers that the Censorate were not yet aware, in their fallen estate, they persuaded the man not to engage in a duel . . . and likely destroy the fine inn they had chosen in the process.

The next day word came down the river that two wild magi were rampaging through the upper Great Vale.  Iyugi’s contacts, Gareth reported, told him that it was exclusively installations of the Brotherhood that were targeted . . . and that the two were clearly in pursuit of them.

It was about that time that the Brotherhood, sensing opportunity from the two, graciously offered to broker the sale of the stones . . . for a fee.  Three members of the senior council approached them, something Iyugi assured Gareth was nearly unheard of.  But after intense negotiations, Iyugi relented.  The Brotherhood would handle the sale, provide security, and ensure payment and delivery for the stones, as well as provide escape for the two thieves on a ship to any port in the Shallow Sea. 

Just as they had planned.

Atopol filled in some of the blanks that evening in Falas, where the three met up for dinner in an elegant salon before the knights continued a third night of destruction.

“The Rats are squirming,” he assured them, smiling broadly.  “I never realized how much I hated those guys until I got to start fighting them.  Everyone in your path is terrified that they are next.  And that you won’t stop until everyone is dead.”

“That is precisely what we want them to believe,” Rondal said, tapping the table with his finger.  “We want them scared enough to give Iyugi a quick way out.  Which means a quick sale, likely at a discount, and safe passage through the Bay.  The Rats either get the stones or they get the coin.  They win either way.”

“How many people are interested in them?” Tyndal asked, his mouth full of pheasant.

“Well, the entry-fee deposit is ten
thousand
ounces of gold,” Atopol pointed out.  “That’s going to keep the bit-players out.  Of those who can afford it, there are probably nine or ten.  Whether or not they will take the bait and show up at the auction is debatable.  But the Brotherhood will be bidding on it, the Censors certainly will, and at least two families of magi are considering it . . . even though they’ll be exposing themselves to the Censors.”

“If they have irionite, they can afford to,” nodded Rondal. 

“That’s what the Censor’s fear . . . but they’re losing influence on the rebel council, what little they had.  They are under pressure to drop their cloaks and become the High Magi of Alshar, but they cling too tightly to their doctrine.  Indeed, they make the pretense that they only take up the stones to defend against . . . well,
you
two, among others.  They are smarting deeply from the theft at the Tower Arcane.”

“I’d like to fight a Censor with glass, mageblade to mageblade,” Tyndal said, recklessly, as his eyes narrowed.  “That would be fun!”

“You may get your chance,” Atopol assured him.  “If you try to interrupt the sale, then you’ll be facing at least one of them.  Of the three stones, only one is a match for a Castalshari High Mage, Master Hance says.  The others are flawed in some way.”

“Don’t worry,” Rondal said, confidently.  “I don’t want to interrupt this sale in the slightest.  I want to see who wants a stone badly enough to pay top price for it.”

“What do you think they’ll go for?”

“It costs fifty thousand ounces of gold to become a sworn High Mage in Castalshar,” Tyndal reasoned.  “It will be at least that much.”

“Each,” agreed Rondal.  “Probably much more.  That’s a lot of gold . . . more than most people have laying around.”

“That’s why the Brotherhood is involved,” explained Atopol.  “They’re one of the few institutions that do, right now.  Whomever wins the auction will have to settle terms with the Rats.  Even the Censorate.  And the Rats will keep possession of the stones until they are satisfied with the bargain,” he added.  “No one breaks an agreement with the Brotherhood.”

“That’s important,” Rondal realized.  “Whomever wins the sale isn’t just going to be a customer with the Rats . . . they’re going to end up partners, unless they can come up with that much gold right away.”

“How many days until the sale?” Tyndal asked.

Atopol smirked.  “Five.  They want to get everything ready at Vaxel, where they have a secure base.  That also gives time for the news to spread and attract more buyers.  They want as many bidders there as possible, for this.”

“All the better,” Rondal nodded.  “Who is overseeing it?”

Atopol looked impressed.  “The Spider, himself.  One of the top three decision makers on the council.”

“I thought the council was larger than that?”

“Oh, it is,” Atopol agreed.  “There are fifteen members, the senior Rats.  Each is in charge of a major territory or specialized sphere of activity.  But the over-all organization is steered by three executive members. 

“Remember, the Brotherhood is descended from shipwrecked pirates, and not the nice sort, either,” Atopol explained.  “Without a ship, it was decided that the Captain – the Rat King - was no longer needed to run the actual business.  The position today is nominal, and within the organization the Rat King is a ceremonial position alone, it is theorized by my father.  His leadership was replaced with the three senior officers: the Navigator, the Pilot, and the Quartermaster.  Those three are responsible for the policy, operations, and material of the Brotherhood, while the Rat King lives in seclusion.  The rest of the council votes and gets a voice, but those three run the day-to-day operations and long-range strategy for the organization.”