Shadowmage: Book Nine Of The Spellmonger Series (61 page)

“Get more men up here!” he called, desperately, as he took a breath and drew his Rat’s Tail from behind his back with his left hand.

“How about a girl?” came a voice Rondal was really not expecting. 

Gatina suddenly appeared from where she’d been lurking, Rondal saw, her blade naked in her hand.  She was without disguise, her white hair and lavender eyes in stark contrast to the dark-haired folk in the room.

Jenerard’s eyes narrowed as he turned to his flank to face the new threat.  He made a tentative slash which she parried with precision.  “
Salaines!
  I should have guessed you shadow-loving roaches would be involved in this!”

“This is your last chance, Lord Jenerard,” demanded Rondal, heaving for breath after his fight.  “Drop your sword and surrender to the Duke, and he may spare your life.”

“
We didn’t kill the damn duchess!”
he declared, angrily.  “I was going to
use
her position, not eliminate her!”

“I’m certain His Grace will be
eager
to hear your entire tale,” he said, as Tyndal and Pratt continued to duel behind them.  “But for now you have lost.”

“There is no way I would lose to mere children!” he spat, and rushed Rondal again.

While he was ready for the sudden advance, he wasn’t nearly as quick as Gatina, the Kitten of Night.  The girl spun into position with acrobatic precision, knocking her oversized opponent’s heavy blade effortlessly out of the way as she stepped under it, her slender sword unerringly thrust into Jenerard’s left shoulder.  He emitted a painful groan as the Rat’s Tail went slack in his hand. 

As fast as lightning, the daring little thief reached out a dainty hand, bearing the ring Rondal gave her . . . and Jenerard’s scimitar disappeared as well.

That didn’t stop the leader of the Brotherhood.  With an angry snarl the big man kicked at the girl who was confounding his attempts to stop her with his one good arm.  Instead Gatina used his extended leg as a ladder, stepping on his knee for a split-second . . . but long enough for her to be able to deliver a slashing cut across the man’s face with her blade. 

Rondal realized that she could have taken Jenerard’s head, if she’d wished, but she’d wisely shown restraint.  There was still much that he could tell them, Rondal knew.  Having him alive and in captivity would be preferable to having him dead. 

Gatina finished her daring move by kicking the Rat in the face, sending him sprawling and screaming.  She landed with the grace of the feline she was named for.

As much as Rondal wanted to admire her artistry, there were more pressing issues at hand.  While the whirling magical constructs held the top of the stairs, preventing additional reinforcements, there were still a fair number of Rats running around the tower.  True, they were wary of approaching him – and his new ally – but neither did they look as if they were ready to allow them to escape.

There was one spectator who neither fled in terror nor seemed angry at the fighting.  The tall gaunt man stood alone amongst the chaos, observing with interest.

“My lord?” Rondal asked, his blade half-raised.  “Are you attempting to surrender?”

“Prikiven told me that this would be amusing and instructive,” the gaunt man said in a deep, unearthly voice.  “I see the little fool was not mistaken, for once.”

“As pleased as I am to have entertained you, my lord, I am perplexed at your demeanor.  You neither run nor fight, but merely observe.”

“Why would I do either, when I can watch animals fight over trinkets?” the gaunt man snorted.  Rondal noted that some spell that concealed his face was falling away, revealing a malefic glow from his eyes.  “

There were others watching, too, he saw . . . including Lord Whiskers, who had drawn his thin blade but had not attacked.  The angry-looking lizard on his shoulder hissed defiantly enough so that none approached him. But the gaunt man in the long dark robe seemed apart from it all. 

“Your perspective intrigues me,” Rondal said, sending a guard to sleep with a flick of his mageblade.  “May I ask who you represent, my lord?”

“I am Ocajon, Herald of Korbal,” he revealed, a sneer in his voice.  “More than a thousand years ago I walked this vale before it was blemished with the vermin of your race.  I look forward to the day where it is again unsullied.”

“You are the lackey of Korbal the Demon God?” asked Rondal, as the hair on his arms stood on end.

“Peace,” the creature said, revealing its tattooed flesh as it removed its cowl.  “I am not here to fight – there are others better suited than that.  I come merely to observe, and prepare the way.”

“And for what are you preparing, Ocajon, Herald of Korbal?” Rondal asked, warily. 

“The extinction of your race, after its enslavement,” Ocajon informed him, as the battle whirled around them.  Gatina was dueling three guards at once now, while Tyndal was lobbing bolts at Rellin as he chased the pirate lord around the tower.  None of it seemed to affect Ocajon.  “You have provided a delightful laboratory in this once-pristine valley with which to experiment,” he said, as if he was complimenting Rondal on his gardens.  “Soon Korbal will rule it all, once again, from Olum Seheri.”

“Alshar has a ruler,” Rondal said, raising his blade.  “His name is Anguin, Duke by right over all Alshar, from the Bay to the Wilderlands!”

“Fools!” sneered Ocajon contemptuously.  “You can no more claim the land you’ve infested than the insects in the bark of a tree could claim its ownership!  You are a weak and pathetic race, whose best value lies in your servitude and your conquest.  Let the gurvani have their hills . . . the Enshadowed will restore this valley to its glory over the bones of all its
humani!
”

“Then you have yet to learn about the strength of my race, Ocajon,” Rondal said, boldly, though he could feel his knees weaken in the face of the creature’s obvious power.

“I live in a cloak of your disgusting flesh,” the creature retorted, opening his cloak and displaying flesh that was clearly dead underneath, animated by some dark arcane force.  “I devoured my host’s one disgusting bite at a time.  I know things about your loathsome species you cannot begin to imagine!”

“Then you understand that we aren’t inclined to face extinction without a fight!” Rondal shot back, narrowly dodging a blow meant for his girlfriend.  Gatina ducked under it and drove Kitten’s Paws up through the man’s chin and into his brain, before whirling and using her twitching foe to block another attack.

“Whether you fight or not is meaningless,” dismissed Ocajon.  “You could even slay this body, and I would be returned to consciousness on the morrow in one better suited.  Fight, or not, as you wish.  The outcome will be the same.”

“Then why in six hells did you come here tonight?” Rondal demanded.

“To see if what Prikiven said about your inane squabblings are true, and it is.  You brawl over toys like drunken Tal Alon over roots.  You will present little challenge to conquest.  That is what I shall report to my Master at Olum Seheri.”

“Best you be on your way, then,” Rondal said, thrusting the air meaningfully in his direction.  “I would hate to tarry such an important errand.”

“Fool,” spat Ocajon . . . who faded out of existence.  He’d taken the Alkan Ways, Rondal realized.  The Enshadowed were Alka Alon, after all – even in their human bodies they would have knowledge of how to use their ancient method of magical transport. 

Rondal was just as glad that he was gone.  Gatina was taking out the tower’s guards as quickly as they struggled past Gareth’s angry coat racks, while Tyndal fought his protracted duel with Pratt.  A few stragglers remained to see the result of the contest, but almost all of the bidders had fled.

Except for Iyugi, Rondal saw.  The swarthy footwizard had taken the opportunity to speak a few words to the man, and after a brief exchange Whiskers nodded, and whatever business they’d had was concluded.

We’re ready, now,
Iyugi reported to Rondal, mind-to-mind. 

What was all that about?
Rondal replied, as he readied another spell.  Gatina was watching his back like a ferocious predator, keeping the Rats out of reach as Jenerard screamed in pain on the floor in front of her.

We had a sale, here,
Iyugi reminded him. 
That sale was completed, and the details were set before the fight broke out.  I was merely ensuring that the terms of the deal were set with a responsible party before we left.

What do you mean?
Rondal asked, confused.

We are owed a hundred and sixty thousand ounces of gold, minus their commission, for the completed sale of the witchstones,
he pointed out, as Rondal selected the targets for a spell with Bulwark’s eager assistance. 
I wanted to make certain we were paid, as agreed
. 
As Lord Whiskers backed the guarantee of funds with the Brotherhood, I felt it best to secure the deal before we departed.  I told him where to send it.  A friend of mine in Vaxel will accept it, for now, until we are ready to collect it.

The Iris has that much coin laying around?
Rondal asked, suspiciously.

They do not seem as obsessed with security as the Brotherhood,
Iyugi explained
.  That is one reason they look down upon the Rats.  In my experience, one may depend more on the word of an Irisman than the solemn vow of a lord.

As a lord, I should resent that,
Rondal chuckled, as he fixed the last target in the room.  
But I trust your judgement.  They did get away with the stones,
he admitted. 
You
should
be paid for that.

And the Brotherhood will be indebted to the Iris for those funds,
the footwizard agreed. 
In order to repay them, they will have to dig deeply into their treasury.

All right,
Rondal sent back
.  I’m ready for the big finish.  Prepare yourselves.

When he activated the spell, a wave of energy emitted from the baculus in his hand, and each target he had specified to Bulwark fell to the floor, instantly asleep.

Except for Rellin Pratt.

To Rondal’s surprise, Pratt resisted the effects of the spell entirely, and continued to fight with Tyndal with the same ferocity with which he began.  There were already two wounds on his cheek and arm, to the one smear of blood behind Tyndal’s ear, but both men seemed heavily invested in the contest.  He would leave them to it, for now – he hated to deprive Tyndal of the fun.

Besides, he had his own business to conduct, in the brief moments he had available. 

“Kitten, watch my back,” he instructed Gatina.

“Always, Beloved,” she assured, as she took up a strong but graceful guard position.  Rondal didn’t spare her more than a quick smile before he strode over to the startled-looking Lord Whiskers, keeping warily away from his winged reptile, and gave a short bow.

“My lord, thank you for joining us for this evening’s entertainment,” he said.  “I do hope it has been worth your while.”

Lord Whiskers, when he realized he was not in danger from the wizard, sheathed his rapier. 

“It was nicely done,” he admitted.  “I didn’t make you as who you were until the auction was over.  My oversight. 
Someone
just wasn’t paying close attention because they were distracted by the buffet,” he said, staring at his reptilian pet accusingly.  “I assume you planted the stones to begin with?”

“Iyugi and Gareth are loyal retainers of the Spellmonger,” Rondal admitted.  “They volunteered to help the Order in this mission.  We took your advice.  Posing as thieves with such a prize was the easiest way to get within the inner workings of the Brotherhood, and strike them at the top of their organization.”

“I’d say it was a qualified success,” ventured Whiskers.  “I am obligated to enforce my part in this, and
will
pay out the gold.  Once that happens, then I’m afraid I can’t honor any other claim to those stones,” he said, apologetically.  “These Rats might be clumsy buffoons, but they deal fairly with the Iris.”

“I would expect nothing less, Lord Whiskers,” agreed Rondal.  “And I expect that you will rigorously pursue repayment from the Brotherhood?”

The man’s face split in a wicked smile beneath his mustache.  “You can count on it.  Jenerard pledged some seriously important assets as collateral for this deal.  If they don’t pay within terms, the Iris is going to take a far more active role in the Brotherhood’s business.”

“That is all that we ask, then,” he said, with another bow.  “Duke Anguin’s writ included
only
the Brotherhood in its scope, not the Iris or its agents.  You are free to go, my lord.”

“How gracious,” Whiskers said, raising his eyebrow.  “I will ensure the gold is paid.  And I count our business done.  Farewell, Sir Rondal.”

With that he gingerly stepped between the angry coat racks still defending the staircase and pushed his way through the Rats who were trying to defeat them.  Strangely, neither construct appeared to notice him.

Rellin Pratt, on the other hand, was keenly aware that nearly all of the support he’d begun with in the room was now on the floor, asleep, wounded, or dead.  He could not disengage with Tyndal without ceding a dangerous advantage, and he could not flee without doing so.  His strokes and parries became more desperate, though his limbs showed no sign of slowing.  Rondal admired the way he managed his swordplay, despite himself.