Court Wizard (Spellmonger Series: Book 8) (134 page)

“But that’s beside the point,” continued Tyndal.  “The real point is that the insidious mind behind this alliance
isn’t human
.  It isn’t even
alive
, technically.  

“Thanks to the unchecked greed and ambition of the Brotherhood of the Rat, Sheruel’s servants have been hatching plots like giddy schoolgirls for years, now.  They don’t seem to have immediate designs to attack or conquer the region, but they are using the hells out of it.  For what, ultimately, we aren’t sure . . . but when the undead started to appear, we quit worrying about the finer points of the plot,” he said with a shudder.

“The climax of their plan - or at least part of their plan - was the capture of Princess Rardine,” Rondal continued.  “It seems like a pretty sad ploy, on the surface - who wants a princess that no one wants to marry?  But those of you who know the dear lady like
we
do,” he said, glancing at Tyndal, “understand her
true
value.”

“Her head is full of Royal secrets,” guessed Carmella.

“Close enough,” agreed Tyndal.  “If they squeezed her, the juice would be worth the effort just in the damage it could do the Kingdom.  And while I bear no especial liking for Her Highness,” he said, with open contempt, “her capture imperils us all.”

“Particularly since it was orchestrated by the Censors, for their own gain and enrichment.  Partially to punish Rard for his ruling against their order, and partially to support the rebellion, they arranged to have her transferred to certain agencies inland . . . for a substantial sum.”

“Why not trade her themselves?” asked Astyral.  “If the south truly wants to be independent and forever separate from the Kingdom of Castalshar, then this seems like their golden opportunity to negotiate for that.”

“Perhaps . . . if that was their aim,” agreed Rondal, apologetically.  “But the rebels have been infiltrated to the point where their original aims have been subverted to those of their new puppet masters.  Thanks to the Brotherhood, Her Highness has apparently been moved far,
far
into the interior where she will be safe from rescue.”

“How safe?” Azar asked.

“Funny you should ask,” Tyndal answered.  “We’ve been there before.  Beautiful place, once.  Anthatiel.  The City of Rainbows?  It has another name now, though. Olum Seheri.  City of the Dead.”

Carmella looked appalled.  “You mean that poor girl is locked up in that
hell hole
?  Surrounded by goblins and worse?”

“These days, it’s mostly ‘worse’,” Tyndal agreed.  “For those who are unaware, the place has been given in fief to Korbal.  He has been re-embodied, or whatever you call it, and has been stuffing the enneagram’s of his fanatical followers into a variety of former criminals from human lands.  They’re called--”

“Nemovorti,” Alurra and Pentandra said in tired unison.  “We’ve known about them for awhile, remember?”

“I’m just making sure we are all reading from the same scroll,” Rondal soothed.  “In any case, Korbal and Company are taking over the planning of Sheruel’s enterprises, using his lieutenants to direct the legions, and his necromancers to supply them with new horrors with which to torment us.  The Censors sold Rardine to the Brotherhood, who in turn sold her to Korbal’s agents.  We know for a fact she is being held at Olum Seheri, presumably to drain her of her precious knowledge like a glass of ale.”  

“And that, my friends and colleagues, is a really,
really
unfortunate development,” Tyndal continued.  “For if they can discover all of Rardine’s many, many secrets, they will have the means to shatter our society long before their legions roll across the frontier.”

“That’s what you called us here to tell us?” Terleman demanded.  “This could have been said in a dispatch!”

“Not . . .
entirely
,” conceded Rondal.  “There is more.  More we did not want to commit to writing. Information that is especially pertinent to the good folk of the Alshari Wilderlands.  We have every reason to believe, based on our explorations, that if the evil bastards in Olum Seheri get their way,
we
are going to become their new workshop.”

“What do you mean?” Master Cormoran asked, cautiously.

“We Alshari get to bear the brunt of their experiments in exterminating humanity,” Tyndal explained.  “And from what we learned, some of their ideas are fiendish.  Truly fiendish.  Particularly if they discover the whereabouts of a certain ancient Alka Alon arsenal full of nasty magic, which is high on their list of goals.  They want to unleash those on us, first, and then the Alka Alon.  And then the rest of the world.”

“We knew that, too,” Pentandra said.  “Arborn and Ithalia have been scouring the Wilderlands for months, searching for the Aronin’s daughter, Ameras.  Who I suppose is now the Aronin.  She’s also the last one who knows the whereabouts to the arsenal.  And she’s lost.”

“Lost and hunted by undead and very living Enshadowed,” agreed Minalan, speaking for the first time.  His voice was low and hoarse, and filled with pain.  

“Who are having just as much difficulty as everyone else in locating her, from what we can tell,” Astyral agreed.  “They have searched all over, too.  Wherever the little minx has scampered off to, it’s really well hidden.  So that’s good.”

“Just where are you getting your information?” Terleman asked.

“Funny you should ask,” Tyndal said, actually laughing.  “You see, while we were down there anyway, we decided it would be fun to see just how much we could screw with the Brotherhood and their allies.  I mean, two handsome, powerful young knights magi on a secret mission of mercy and vengeance . . . well, how could we resist?”

“We arranged some skullduggery,” Rondal agreed.  “We gave the Rats a bit of cheese they just could not resist.  And while they were chasing our bait, we were tracking them.”

“A couple of dozen bodies later,” Tyndal picked up, “we figured out who was
actually
calling the shots, locally.  And we put him in a situation where he felt unappreciated by his employers.”

“And marked for death,” Rondal added.  “When we gave him the opportunity to come with us, thus preserving his life, he became quite agreeable to the idea of a change of allegiances.”

“You . . .
kidnapped
. . . a Rat?”

“Actually,” Rondal said, smugly, “We rescued a Spider.  Lords and ladies, may I present Master Merimange the Spider.  The man who sold the Princess.”  

While Tyndal was speaking, Rondal uncovered a wrapped up bundle in the corner.  Underneath the cloak that obscured him proved to be a small, spindly-looking man who bore a striking resemblance, somehow, to an arachnid. He was frozen in place.

“Master Spider is under a spell at the moment - he is paralyzed, and in a magical coma, to protect us from his inevitable betrayal.  But behind those beady eyes of his are every plot and plan the Brotherhood has been involved with for years.  Every agent, every contact, every shipment, every enterprise - he knows it all.”

“How do you know that he’s willing to help?” Astyral asked, amused at the sight of the frozen little man.

“Oh, if he doesn’t, all we have to do is
let him go
,” Tyndal pointed out.  “And within days of them finding him - and they are looking
diligently
- he will die a painful death.  Believe me, the Brotherhood has special methods of execution for men who steal from them.”

“He . . .
stole
from them?” Pentandra asked.  “What did he steal?”

“Everything,” Rondal answered.  “He’s
accused
of stealing the entire central treasury of the Brotherhood of the Rat.  Centuries’ worth of illicit profits stashed to fund their far-flung enterprises.  And, thanks to a little creative misdirection, we also arranged for the Brotherhood to borrow a significant sum of gold at the time of the theft.  He’s accused of stealing that, as well.”

“Which is really unfortunate for him,” Tyndal added.  “Because we’re the ones who
actually
stole it.”

“You . . .
what?
” Minalan asked, the first person who could bring themselves to speak.  Alurra stifled a giggle at the tense situation.

“We stole the entire Brotherhood treasury,” Rondal said, simply.

“Every last ounce.  Every penny.  Every pearl,” Tyndal added, for effect.  “And we got
this
guy blamed for it.  Their master of spies.”

It took a little while for that to sink in.  Finally Astyral managed to speak.  “So just how much are we talking about, lads?” he asked, quietly eager.

“A couple of fortunes, as near as we can tell,” Tyndal said, clearly enjoying the attention.

“We had Marbles -- Sir Festaran --  take a look,” Rondal said, cutting off his friend before those assembled could do him harm.  “Fes told us that,
just in gold
, there was about a million and a half ounces.  Silver, maybe five million.  That doesn’t count various jewels, gems, ornate daggers, and assorted gilded crap.  A bunch of scrolls.  Even some tekka.  To be honest, we weren’t paying attention while we were looting.  We were just stuffing everything in that room into a supply wand until we hit the bare walls.  We didn’t leave a
copper
,” he added, proudly.

“Which puts the ordinarily-wealthy-and-powerful Brotherhood in a difficult position,” Tyndal added.  “As they borrowed about a third of that from various creditors.  Including a substantial loan at a high rate of interest from the Iris.  That’s the criminal organization that runs everything east of Remere, as far as we can tell.  And a good deal in southern Castal and Farise.  So . . . there’s
that,”
he said.

“The money, we figure, is the result of enterprises made illegal by the Duchy of Alshar,” reasoned Rondal.  “As such, it seems only proper that the, uh, evidence of their crimes be forfeit to the coronet.”

“Minus a reasonable finder’s fee, say ten percent,” suggested Tyndal.  “After our split with the Shadowmagi.  But we’re ready to deposit the rest with the Ducal treasury here in Vorone.  Hells, we don’t really know where to
put
our ten percent, if you want to know the truth.”

“You lads just handed Anguin . . . over
two million ounces of gold?
” Astyral asked, his eyes bright with mirth.  “Stole the lynchpin of the Brotherhood of the Rat, and probably wrecked their operations with their allies?”

“We . . . destroyed a couple of buildings, too,” Rondal added, apologetically.  “And a ship.”

“They were in the way,” Tyndal explained.

The banter wasn’t distracting Pentandra from the miraculous truth.  
Tyndal and Rondal had saved the duchy.  

With that infusion of capital, Anguin would be able to rebuild the town wall, build the palace keep, and pay the Commandos and as many other warriors as he needed to.  He could raise an army and retake the corrupt south . . . whatever parts Tyndal and Rondal had left standing.  He could restore Alshar to glory, and stand up to the hegemony of Castal.  He could defend his lands against the goblins.

He could afford to build Vanador, the City of Magi.  Just as Antimei prophesied. In one stroke, those two wild boys had changed the course of history
.  For fun.

Her head spinning, she realized she was missing an address from Terleman, who was just as astonished as everyone else.  But the first to appreciate the advantages that had suddenly and unexpectedly accrued.  

“--to seize this opportunity with both hands!” the big warmage was grinning.  “With this, we can afford to attack the foe and drive them to the edge of the Umbra!  The armies we can raise, the resources we can employ . . . and the secrets we can exploit in our enemy’s camp!”

“No,” Minalan said, suddenly, his hoarse voice cutting through the murmuring in the room.  “That is
not
what we need to do.”