Shadowmage: Book Nine Of The Spellmonger Series (65 page)

“Of course, of course.  No, what I wanted to discuss was one of the
other
prisoners held there at the moment.  Well, guest, I suppose.  I would like to propose an addition to your Order, of sorts.  I know you don’t have anyone in particular looking after Taragwen, while you’re out on errantry, and Sire Cei has enough to keep him busy running the barony, not to mention his own lands. 

“So I propose you take on . . . Sir Ganulan as steward for the Order at Taragwen,” he said, hesitantly.

“
Ganulan?
” scoffed Tyndal.  “
That
wart?”

“Master, he’s hardly friendly to us,” Rondal began.  “He’s tried to kill you, me, everyone, and—”

“And he was instrumental in discovering the link between Lady Mask and Baroness Isily,” he said, flatly.  “He has given me his parole, and I accepted it.  He dwells now in Brestal Tower, no longer in a cell, but his wounds are almost healed.  I have no official standing in the Order of Estasia, myself, but I invite you to consider him as a tenant lord for Taragwen Keep.  Steward of the place.  Someone to keep an eye on the snowstone outcropping, watch over your peasants, that sort of thing.”

“That might be helpful,” admitted Tyndal.  “But . . .
Ganulan?
”

“He does know the place pretty well,” reminded Rondal, considering the merits of the plan more quickly than Tyndal.  “He’s a competent enough knight, for a Riverlord.  But it’s his loyalty that concerns me.”

“Well, his last partner left him for dead in the forest, his memory wiped,” Tyndal conceded.  “I doubt he owes her much loyalty, now.”

“As she is
also
a prisoner of mine, and her patron dead, I can’t imagine to whom he has left to betray you,” Minalan said, taking his pipe out of his pouch.  “Just consider it, boys. He hates you less than he hates me, and I’ve convinced him it would be honorable work.”

“We shall, Master,” agreed Tyndal, reluctantly.  “But we have a boon to ask in return: the two witchstones we borrowed for this caper . . . we ask you to grant them to the shadowmagi of House Salaines.  They have proven themselves to be loyal to Duke Anguin and trustworthy.  For a bunch of thieves.”

“It really would assist our cause,” Rondal added.  “We worked with them for weeks, and we find them worthy of the honor.”

“You do, do you?” Minalan asked, a strange tone in his voice.  “Very well: take on Ganulan as your steward and I will grant these stones to your friends.  On one condition: you yourselves will take their oaths, and if I recall the stones it will be you who will take responsibility to retrieve them.”

Sounds like a fair deal, Striker,
Tyndal offered, mind-to-mind.

“We accept,” Rondal said with a sigh.  “If nothing else, he can act as a hostage for Ruderal’s mother’s safety.  She’s on his father’s estates in Alshar.”

Minalan looked at him and laughed.  “You placed Ruderal’s mother . . . with the Warbird of West Fleria?”

“It was actually a pretty good idea,” Rondal defended.  “He’s beholden to us, and we made it clear what might happen to him if he failed to protect her.  But he was quite curious about how his estranged son was doing.  So this could work out well, for now.”

“It will at least put someone in charge of Taragwen,” Tyndal agreed.  “The last time we were there, it was a mess.  Oh, the village was fine – the peasants have enough sense to keep their affairs in order – but the castle . . .”

“You have a duty and a responsibility to the people of that tiny domain you took,” Minalan reminded them.

“I know, I know,” Rondal said, annoyed.  “Yes, he’s a trained Riverlord knight, and he knows how to fight.  If he’s agreeable – and he’s willing to put aside his enmity toward us – then we’re willing to do likewise.” 
Especially if it secures witchstones for the Salainesi,
he thought to himself.

“Excellent,” Minalan said, with a rare smile.  “Now, on a final matter, I’d like for you to have dinner with me tonight at the castle.  I’m entertaining a guest and I would like you two to attend – formal attire,” he emphasized. 

“Baron Arathanial?” guessed Rondal.

“No, His Excellency is far too busy ordering his new conquests in Sashtalia.  My guest is my old commander, Loiko Venaren.”

“
Master Loiko
is in Sevendor
?
” asked Tyndal with a gasp.  “I thought he was still in Farise?”

“His Majesty has replaced him at his post,” Minalan said, quietly.  “And he had compelling reason to come here.  I have his daughter as my prisoner: Lady Mask.  Her real name is Nothoua, Nothoua Venaren.  Her father came to Sevendor when I informed him about her.  He arrived this morning.”

Rondal’s mind whirled at the thought: that the daughter of the most legendary warmage of the age was a renegade wizard working in concert with the Necromancer and the gurvani.  It was a delicious scandal . . . and a hard blow.  Venaren was universally respected amongst the warmagi who’d served with him during the brutal Farisi campaign, a reputation for power, devotion to duty, and war wisdom that was unmatched by even Terleman or Minalan.  The shame must be bitter to the man, he thought.

“We’d be honored, Master,” Rondal said with a bow.

“I’d love to meet him!” Tyndal agreed, enthusiastically.  “The stories he must know . . .”

“I think he would like to hear about your recent adventures in Enultramar, as well,” Minalan said, as he stood.  “He has some interests, there, and perhaps some intelligence about the rebels gleaned from his time in Farise.  Perhaps bring your new friends as your guests,” he suggested.  “But dinner will be in my hall at dusk.  Don’t be late.  And don’t use the Ways to get there,” he added.  “I’ve set special wards on the Waystones at the castle.  Until I teach you the spells, you can ride to the castle like gentlemen.”

When Minalan left, Tyndal stared at Rondal until he had to ask.

“What?” he snapped.

“We’re going to meet the most famous warmage,
ever!”

“Yeah.  Except you two are rapidly gaining on him,” Gareth said, sleepily.  “When word gets out about what you did in Alshar, he’s going to have to find a whole new country to invade, just to keep up.”

“That’s great,” Rondal conceded, unenthusiastically.  “But do you realize we just got permission to give House Salaines irionite?”

“Well, yeah!” Tyndal said, rolling his eyes.  “But look what we had to promise to get it!”

“Ganulan isn’t that bad,” Gareth said, shaking his head.  “I mean, he’s a discredited knight who turned to banditry after he was driven out of his holding, but . . . well, Sire Cei thinks there is a man to be made of him,” he pointed out.

“He does?” Tyndal asked, surprised.

“Perhaps serving a chivalric order will help restore his honor,” Rondal decided.  “But even if it turns into a disaster, it was a small price to pay to get Gat and Atopol their stones.”

“You know, we still have those stones that we took from the Censors at Brisomar, and the milky stones from the Tower Arcane,” Tyndal reminded him.  “We could likely supply Master Hance with one, as well.”

“That . . . is not a bad idea,” agreed Rondal, scratching his chin.  The master Shadowmage and thief was the head of a small but powerful house who wanted to see Anguin back in charge of the south.  Raising him to High Magi status would certainly assist their cause.  “That would let him oversee our proposed rebellion to the rebellion a lot more easily.”

“Shall we go tell them, then?” Tyndal grinned. 

Rondal grinned back.  Gatina would be so happy!  “Why wait?  I think they’re in Falas.  While we’re there we can see about getting some appropriate garb for tonight.  We have the coin to dress like true Alshari gentlemen!”  Falas was famed for its tailors and weavers, thanks to the presence of the court and the cotton trade. 

Tyndal stopped.  A worried expression came over his face.

“Uh, are we sure we want to go through with this?” he asked, suddenly doubtful.

“Why wouldn’t we?” Rondal asked, puzzled. 

“Have you considered that once you raise Gatina to her stone . . . your secret girlfriend will be able to invade your thoughts at will?” he asked, horrified.

To Rondal’s own surprise, that didn’t bother him at all.  “I’ll contend with that,” he decided.  “After all, I’ve had you in my head for years, now.  If that hasn’t driven me mad, then I doubt
she’ll
have much luck.”

The Spellmonger’s private hall was relatively new, compared to the rest of the castle, having been built only a year ago during the Great March, before Baroness Alya “took ill”, as it was being described to the Sevendori.  Though he still used the tower in the castle as his private laboratory and office, he lived in the domestic hall with his children and servants.

Tonight it was guarded by two knights in formal surcoats as the boys arrived with their guests.  Atopol and Gatina had been thrilled to be invited, almost as thrilled as being suddenly presented with witchstones.  Both had been eager to take their oaths and begin the process of learning how to use them to great effect, and word was sent to Master Hance that a third stone was available for his use.

But when Rondal formally asked Gatina to dinner with the Spellmonger and his guests, he thought her pretty purple eyes would explode, they got so wide.  She couldn’t even speak for a moment.

Atopol was more gracious, but no less excited.  Minalan the Spellmonger was a legendary figure, now, and a man of great power.  Just meeting him was an honor to the two young wizards.  They hurriedly agreed, and then scrambled to the best tailors in Falas to secure new clothes for the occasion.  The four spent the afternoon shopping, lavishly spending on the finest wardrobe and shoes they could without thought to the price.  By late afternoon the tailors had done their business and all four were sharply dressed.

Rondal had chosen a rust-colored doublet with pointed shoulders, new tights in dark green, and added a formal gilded leather sword belt he didn’t even bother haggling for.  Tyndal went with a much lighter green velvet doublet, adding a broad-brimmed hat with a firebird feather in the band.  Both bought mantles in matching Sevendor green, and pinned them with their snowstone snowflake clasps.

The Salainesi siblings were no less dashing: Atopol found a new sable-colored cloak trimmed in actual sable, under which he wore a doublet of subtle gray, embroidered with black.  His sister was fitted for a dark gray gown that clung to her lithe curves delightfully, by Rondal’s estimation, with a modest bodice and a beautiful black cloak.

“The family colors,” Atopol explained.

“They look kind of morbid,” Tyndal said, sneering good-naturedly.  “Like a funeral.”

“They’re the colors of night and twilight,” Gatina explained, annoyed.  “They’re not supposed to attract a lot of attention.”

“Maybe this will,” Rondal said, drawing a silver necklace of finely-wrought chain out of the sleeve of his new finery.  He’d found it amongst the Rats’ trove, and found it striking.  The charm was of two silver cats playing with a large diamond.  “I saw it and thought you should have it.”

“That comes out of
your
share,” Tyndal said, warningly.

“I know,” Rondal said, rolling his eyes.  Gatina squealed and let him put it on her.

You know, now that you gave her expensive jewelry, you have to keep her,
Tyndal said, mind-to-mind.

I already gave her jewelry,
he reminded her. 
That ring?

Oh, right,
Tyndal conceded. 
But that was business.  They were magic.  That thing is pure glitzy prettiness, and she’s playing with it like a kitten does a string.  So it counts.  You’re really screwed, now.  Do you
want
this girl to drag you in front of a priestess? h
e accused.

Would that be so bad?
Rondal responded, defensively.

For your career, yes,
Tyndal snapped. 
Look, I like the girl . . . I really do.  She’s a lot better than . . . well, you could do worse.  But that’s not a reason to get married.

We’re just having dinner,
reminded Rondal. 
That’s all.