Shadowmage: Book Nine Of The Spellmonger Series (72 page)

“His Majesty has cultivated religious devotion, since news of the Princess’ kidnapping arrived,” the other man in the guard’s tabard admitted.  “He suffers over the loss.  He meets with the clergy of each of the gods, morning and night, to discover some means of recovering her.”

“Then we will abide until the conclusion of their prayers,” Anguin said.  “I would not begrudge a man with so much on his shoulders the time he spends in reflection and contemplation of his soul,” he conceded quietly.

“I’m certain His Majesty would appreciate the courtesy,” agreed the first knight, who did not look as if he was much willing to extend any himself.

“Sir Ladromal,” Tyndal began, after he finally remembered the man’s name, “I’ve heard that His Majesty has offered
two
baronies in Gilmora to the man who brings his daughter home to him.  Is that true?”

“It is, Sir Tyndal,” the man nodded.  “Among many other treasures.  But he despairs of ever seeing her again.”

“As it happens, I have word of the pirate responsible for her capture,” he said.  “As well as some idea of her present location.”  The news made both knights look at each other, worriedly.

“Perhaps I can see if His Majesty is nearly done,” Sir Ladromal said, warily, as he opened the door.

“
Do
you?” whispered Anguin.

“We do, Your Grace,” assured Rondal.  “If that is the key that gains us admission, then let us turn it.”

Sir Ladromal was back a moment later, his expression grave.  “His Majesty will see you in another moment.  He is dismissing his chaplain now.”

Good idea.  I still have that manifest.
Rondal said to Tyndal. 

I figured it would come in handy,
agreed Tyndal. 
Considerate of Pratt, to leave it there for us.

A moment later an elderly priestess left the royal chamber, a grim expression on her face.  She wore the distinctive habit and wooden sigil of Afona, a goddess of rivers and forests popular in the rural Wilderlands.  If Rard was seeking advice from rustic nuns, he
must
be getting desperate.

“Your Grace,” Rard called, from the doorway.  “Welcome to my hall.  I did not receive word that you were visiting,” he said, curiously, as Anguin strode boldly in

King Rard looked older and more haggard than the last time Tyndal had seen him.  His long blonde locks were streaked with gray, and his face was wider, and crossed with lines. 

“I imposed on my arcane retainers and came by magic,” Anguin said, as if he’d hired a rouncey at a livery stable.  “The situation was
that
urgent.”

“My daughter?” Rard asked, sharply.  “You have news of Rardine?”

“Yes,” Anguin said, taking a deep breath.  “But that is not the nature of my visit.  My palace was razed this morning,” he announced, a trace of emotion seeping into his voice.  “By a
dragon
.  Hundreds dead.  Thousands wounded.”

“Dragon?” Rard asked, his attention instantly focused. 

“Yes, Your Majesty, a dragon.  More, a dragon sent by Shereul to punish me for the temerity of
protecting my own lands.
  I razed two of the gurvani’s captured castles in the disputed territories this summer, after they raided us at the Solstice, and this is how they repay me.”

“Vorone was destroyed?” he asked, a cascade of different emotions falling over his face.

“No, Sire, merely the palace.  My brave gentlemen countered the threat and slew the beast before it could go beyond the walls, but not before it destroyed the seat of my government. 

“You?” the king asked, confused.  “Killed a
dragon?”

“Technically,
I
did, Your Majesty,” Tyndal said, raising his hand.  “Sir Rondal helped,” he added, swiftly.

“It matters not how it was done,” Anguin said, patiently, “for all the valor inherent in the act.  What matters is that your realm has been
attacked
, Your Majesty, more than once.  As your loyal subject, I look to you for guidance, my liege, and beg you for your protection as I must, under the terms of my vassalage.  When the enemy holds your own daughter, what steps will you take to defend not just your kingdom and your subjects, but your own kin, Sire?”

“The
gurvani
have Rardine?” he asked, his face growing flush.  “Dear gods, when I asked you for a sign, this is
not
what I meant!” he said, to the divine, who didn’t seem to answer.  “How do you know this?” he demanded.

“Your Majesty, Sir Tyndal and I chanced to be in Enultramar on some errantry for our Order, when we came across an old foe,” Rondal began.  “We happened to take possession of his manifest, after hearing him brag about the stature of his prisoners taken at sea off of Farise.”  He produced the single page of parchment from his hoxter pocket and handed it to the king with a bow. 

“As you can see, Your Majesty, this fellow has not just your daughter, but three of your ministers as well,” Tyndal observed.  “Any one of them would be a risk to the security of the state.  Now all of them, we have it on good authority, have been sold to representatives of Shereul, the Dead God of the gurvani.”

“Or at least to one of his vassals, the Alkan renegade Korbal, called the Necromancer,” Rondal picked up.  “We suspect that Her Highness and her entourage are being transported to the remote mountain fortress of Olum Seheri, in the Land of Scars.  That is why the rebels in Enultramar have not released any demands. 
They
do not have your daughter,” he guessed.

“To our thinking, Your Majesty,” Tyndal continued, quickly, “the rebels knew you’d try to invade at once if you knew they had her, and so they passed her off to someone who . . . well, who wanted her more.”

“But why would they want poor Rardine?” he demanded. 

Why would anyone want that murderous bitch?
Tyndal asked himself, restraining himself from sharing it with Rondal.  He had no doubt his partner was thinking something similar.  Rardine was a particularly unpleasant woman, vicious, calculating, and willing to do anything to accomplish her aims.  The thought of her in a prison, somewhere, actually soothed a part of Tyndal’s mind.

“For a number of reasons, Your Majesty,” Rondal said, smoothly.  “To use as a lever against your policies, for one; as a hostage she can keep you from prosecuting the war further.  As an intelligence resource alone she is a trove, merely for being Princess of the realm.  If they discover her unique position in Castalshar’s intelligence service . . . well, that could prove dire for the government, and not just for you as a father, my liege.”

“But . . . but the gurvani are just mountain savages!” he said, shaking his head in disbelief.  “They can fight, it is true, but
this
. . .”

“Clearly, Uncle, there is far more going on in the West than you have considered,” Anguin said, quietly.  “Thankfully, the attentive gentlemen of my court have been keeping an eye on the Mindens while you and my dear aunt have been building your palace.  But now that events have overtaken us, I think it may be time for you to reconsider your perspective on this matter.”

Rard’s eyes narrowed, and his brow furrowed while he was deep in thought.  None of them dared to interrupt the king when he was, clearly, doing kingly things.

At last he sighed, and motioned Anguin to sit across from a small desk.  Tyndal took a position on his liege’s left side, as Rondal did to his right.

“My lords,” Rard began, “I am not entirely ignorant of events in the West, as you may assume.  My agents have infiltrated the rebels in Enultramar, and were even quietly observing events in Vorone,” he said, apologetically. 
Admitting that your spies are spying on the man you are addressing must be awkward,
Tyndal considered.

Anguin nodded, unconcerned.  “As I have observers in Castabriel and Wilderhall, among other places.”

Rard halted, ever-so-briefly.  Apparently the idea that the penniless Orphan Duke and his rustic court had the wherewithal to undertake espionage on his own king was startling news to Rard.  But then he continued, as it was of no consequence.

“Then you understand how detached from such events it can make you, Nephew.  Let me give you some advice in governance,” he said, taking a more fatherly tone.  “If you react to every bit of news that your spies dump into your lap, then wisdom dictates that you treat it
very
carefully before you commit to action.  Half of what you will hear will be untrue or incomplete, and the other half will be out-of-date by the time you can take effective action. 

“But I have, indeed, been watching the West, as best I can.  And perhaps this is the bit of news I need to consider a new policy toward the gurvani.  But as to what that policy is . . . gentlemen, entire nations tremble depending upon what I decide.”

“The importance of your decision is appreciated, Uncle,” Lenguin agreed.  “But as your loyal vassal, so is my duty.  I have been attacked, and while I have attempted to handle the matter myself, locally, things seem to have escalated to the point where I must now come to you.”

“A dragon eating your palace is, indeed, an escalation.” admitted the king.  “And this . . .
acquisition
of my daughter . . .” 

“I think it demands a response, Uncle,” Anguin advised, quietly.

“Indeed,” he agreed.  “But what response . . . that is
my
burden.  I must not imperil my daughter’s life, but I cannot let this violation go unanswered.”  He stared out of the small round glass window that looked over the rose garden.  “As for you, Nephew,” he said, before returning his tired eyes to Anguin, “now that you have faithfully discharged your duty and informed your liege of your trials, what do you intend to do?”

“I shall return to what remains of my palace, bury my dead, and see to my wounded,” Anguin quietly declared. 

“And I take it that you desire some compensation from the crown to pay for a new palace?” Rard frowned.

Rondal spoke, before Anguin could.  “And force Castali lords to pay for an Alshari duke’s palace?  Nay, Your Majesty.  Alshar will look to its own.”

That surprised Rard . . . and earned a dirty look from Anguin, who did not yet know about the two million ounces of gold that was going to unexpectedly appear in his treasury.  Tyndal felt obligated to support his partner in his bold assertion.

“Your Majesty, we ask nothing from you but your lawful duty,” he said, smoothly.  “When Duke Anguin returned to restore his realm after being your guest, he committed to do so without undue assistance.  We will, of course, be forced to move some of our forces around,” he said, casually, “perhaps see to a safer location for the capital . . . surely the Crown would take no issue with that, if it involved no expense from the royal treasury.  Perhaps just a more secure stockade, in some defensible region”

“Yes, yes, if you need to relocate your government, say, closer to the Castali frontier, I completely understand.  The Crown takes no issue with a Duke’s right to fortify and defend his lands,” he declared.  “See to the safety of your people, however you see fit, Nephew.

“For my part, at the very least I can strengthen the forces protecting the rest of the Kingdom.  Clearly, the Iron Ring is not sufficient to screen the people, there.  I shall draw up an edict strengthening it.”

“That would be a blessing from Duin, Your Majesty,” Rondal agreed, with a bow.  Of course, Tyndal knew, the Iron Band, the corps of royal mercenaries who patrolled the Iron Ring, the string of fortresses in and around the Penumbralands, were mostly debtors – lousy gamblers and decent troops, if only for garrison duty.  But they were hardly better than the peasants they allegedly protected, so spread out and diffuse were their settlements.  “And while His Grace will have to consult with the Treasury, I believe that Alshar can pledge a thousand ounces of gold to support that.” 

“Yes . . .” Anguin said, looking at Rondal with a strange expression.  “I am certain we shall be able to contribute
something
to such an important effort.  And building a new stronghold would be advisable, if expensive,” he added, wistfully.  “But it must be done, with your blessing.”

“Perhaps if Your Grace was granted his full sovereignty over the Castali Havens,” proposed Tyndal, boldly, “then
those
revenues would assist.”  The five coastal fiefs on the western portion of Castal’s coastline had been ceded to the Dukes of Alshar, in fief to Castal, as part of the Gilmoran settlement after the Second Peace of Barrowbell.  Returning them to Anguin’s control could mollify the Sea Lords in his court, Tyndal knew.  He’d heard all about their aborted uprising, and the subsequent executions, of the Sea Lord loyalists from Pentandra.  Apart from a few large estates in Gilmora itself and the Wilderlands, it was the only bit of Alshari territory within Anguin’s grasp.

“That would provide at least a little more revenue,” agreed Rondal, reasonably.  “Currently they are administered by the Crown, I believe.  The money is not huge, for a treasury the size of the Kingdom,” he pointed out.  “But it could give the non-rebellious parts of Alshar some additional stability, if they were returned, Your Majesty.”