Twilight of Kerberos - [Shadowmage 01-03] - The Shadowmage Trilogy (Shadowmage; Night's Haunting; Legacy's Price) (78 page)

What might be the result if he sent a Shadowmage into the problem?

I
F THE
A
NOINTED
Lord, bless all ten of her little toes, had created this mission solely to test his faith, she had done a very good job, Alhmanic decided as he stood at the open tent flap, looking out into the continual rain.

The small hours had brought about the defeat of the Pontaine forces, and the dawn had revealed the scale of the carnage. The encampment was now a wreck, with tents and the belongings of the men scattered across the shallow valley. A quagmire of mud, blood and bodies lay at its heart, where the last stand of the Pontaine soldiers had taken place, and where Alhmanic, aided by both his staff’s divine power and the speed of his cavalry, had finally overwhelmed the defence.

He had lost nearly half of his men in the attack, but Alhmanic had first thought it a cheap price to pay in order to gain a lead on Pontaine. Now, after his first descent into the ruins, he was not so sure. He also now realised that it had been a mistake to simply blast the wizard he had encountered that night, and perhaps twice as foolish not to ensure the man was dead.

Alhmanic had assumed the wizard had been an advisor, a qualified expert brought along by a Pontaine noble to aid their expedition, but now it became apparent that the man had been the mind behind the excavations, and that his knowledge might have proved useful. As morning broke, they had discovered the wizard’s notes, stacks of them, every detail copied down in exhaustive depth – but they had been written in some shorthand or code that Alhmanic was at a loss to understand. When Alhmanic had then searched for the man’s body, it had vanished and the wizard was now presumably on his way back to his lord to report what had happened. A handful of scouts had been dispatched to search for him in the wilderness of the Anclas Territories, but Alhmanic held little hope in their abilities and chances of success.

The fact that the wizard had managed to flee did not unduly worry him; after all, it would be some time before Pontaine could mount any sort of response, if they even fancied a larger clash with a Vos army. However, the wizard could have filled in many details of these ruins which would have made Alhmanic’s job a great deal easier.

Sighing heavily, Alhmanic turned back into the tent to face the seven Pontaine soldiers kneeling before him, his men holding naked blades at their backs. More had surrendered after their last stand crumbled away but it had taken the Vos horsemen a little while to move beyond their blood lust. At the time, Alhmanic had not overly blamed them for the rampage but now he began to suspect a wiser course of action could have been taken.

“Gentlemen,” Alhmanic said. “It has been a long night, and my patience is rapidly disappearing. I want to know what has been happening here and how far you managed to get in your excavations.”

A couple of the soldiers glanced sidelong at one another, but the rest kept their stares fixed firmly on the ground in front of them. Again, Alhmanic sighed, then nodded at one of his own men.

The man’s sword was thrust sharply down into the shoulder of one of the prisoners, driving past the collarbone and into the heart. The prisoner gasped and died, a fountain of blood erupting from the wound as the soldier withdrew his blade. The others kept their heads down but Alhmanic saw a couple were beginning to shake.

“I can honestly say I do not care what happens to any of you,” he continued. “You can all die, right here, right now and I would give it no more thought. Or you can be released and thrown out of this camp to make your own way back to your homes. What
does
matter to me is the completion of my mission, and to accomplish that, I need some information. So, which of you is going to start?”

He saw two of the Pontaine men exchange glances again, and one of them gave the tiniest of nods. In a flash, Alhmanic had stalked over to them and placed the tip of his staff under one of the men’s chin to raise his head.

“You have something to say, yes?”

The prisoner, a young man likely not yet in his twenties, cleared his throat then swallowed.

“Sir, I might be able to help you,” he said.

“I would hope so. Pray continue.”

With his chin still supported by Alhmanic’s staff, the prisoner strained his eyes left and right to see what his comrades were doing and, seeing neither support nor condemnation, nodded again and began to speak.

Alhmanic listened intently as he told him of their mission for the Baron de Sousse and his wizard, Tellmore. Though they were not even remotely familiar with arcane terminology, Alhmanic began to put the pieces together and he began to curse allowing the wizard to escape.

It became readily apparent that the Pontaine force had been here for some time, having been stalled in its attempts to descend into the unearthed Older Race outpost. This wizard, this Tellmore, seemed to have worked diligently but that work had cost the lives of many of his men, either through accidents in the excavation or magical defences that had been layered on this place like icing on a Pontaine gateau.

As the prisoners continued to speak, Alhmanic started thinking hard as he picked out the salient points from their confessions. He had inadvertently given the prisoners the impression their information was of little use to him, and they became increasingly agitated, their words more and more jumbled, as they strained to come up with something of value. When he finally turned back to face them and saw what was going on, Alhmanic signalled one of his men again.

“Take them,” he said.

The soldier cocked his head. “Release them, sir?”

Alhmanic waved his hand in dismissal. “Yes, yes, they are of no more use to us. Take their weapons and armour, then eject them from the camp. If they survive their crossing of the Territories, they may yet prove of worth to someone. The rest of you are dismissed. Leave me. I need to think.”

It was difficult to judge a wizard’s abilities in a fight, Alhmanic knew. Some only ever practised battle spells and were useless at everything else. Others could be fine practitioners and yet go completely to pieces when a dagger was drawn. However, he had received the sense that this Tellmore was a mage of some note. While he had not heard of the Baron de Sousse, the lord obviously had enough resources to put together this mission, and such men did not employ fools for wizards. Having faced him personally, Alhmanic had begun to form the impression that while victory had belonged to Vos that night, different circumstances might well see the Pontaine wizard triumphant.

And that put him in a quandary. He might be the Preacher Divine, but what was he going to accomplish in this place that this learned wizard had failed to do in a much longer span of time?

He had little wish to see the magical defences of the ancients in action first hand. If the Pontaine soldiery had taken such heavy losses in their explorations, there was no reason to think his little army would fare differently. And what if the forces of Pontaine returned; he would look extraordinarily foolish if he had expended the lives of his own soldiers in the ruins when they were later needed to defend the camp.

There were some advantages he could possibly exploit, but still he could not fancy his chances with any honesty. The one tool he had in abundance which the wizard had lacked, of course, was faith. The Anointed Lord had told him that faith alone could move mountains, though he suspected it might have a little trouble with Older Race magics.

He also had his staff which, with its inscribed spellshield, was supposed to be proof against any magic he was alert to. Then again, he did not like the idea of testing its defence against magic that had stopped being used millennia before his staff had been forged and enchanted.

Men could be dispatched to return to Vos and collect the kind of explosives that had recently came into use in the wealthiest mines. He had witnessed their power and had been impressed. However, he suspected even the greatest of the Vos alchemists had little idea of how such destructive force would react to the magical wards and guards laid down for eternity by elves and dwarfs.

Alhmanic fumed. The artefact was here, probably just a few dozen yards from where he stood now. The presence of the Pontaine wizard practically confirmed that. And yet, right at that moment, it might as well have been a thousand miles away, across the World’s Ridge Mountains or maybe in the depths of the trackless seas.

On the other hand, there was no way he could return to the Anointed Lord empty-handed. If it cost him every man present and endangered his own life, he
had
to recover the artefact.

CHAPTER EIGHT

T
HE MAIN HALL
of the Citadel lacked the raucous activity present when Lucius had last been there. Gone were the revelling nobles, the musicians, the copious food from around the peninsula and newly introduced couples disappearing into the shadows.

Still, it was anything but peaceful. Servants moved from one doorway to another, some hurrying to errands or carrying messages, others with far weightier burdens, straining to take barrels of wine to the kitchens or bundles of freshly washed tunics to the barracks. A few other townsmen were, like him, seated at one of the long tables that still filled the floor space of the hall, having been left there since the last banquet. They all had appointments for one Pontaine official or another, and they all ignored one another.

Lucius had already seen one change of guard while he had been sat there, and looked up in expectation as he sensed a servant approaching him. However, once again, the servant carried nothing but a flagon of wine that he used to top up Lucius’ cup. That was the fourth or fifth time the man had done so, and Lucius decided to set his cup firmly down on the table this time. He could not shake the feeling that the baron was delaying their meeting, one the Pontaine lord had arranged himself, so Lucius could quietly work himself into a drunken stupor and be easier to deal with.

His head already starting to spin slightly, Lucius left his cup alone and instead sat up straight. If someone were watching him from the balcony that ran the length of the hall, or maybe from a spyhole – he would certainly not put that idea past the baron – then maybe they would sense he was done playing games and would get his meeting over with.

It took another visit from the wine-bearing servant, which Lucius pointedly refused, and then, perhaps, someone had taken the hint. Or maybe the baron had simply concluded whatever business he had been engaged in earlier. A girl, perhaps in her late teenage years, dressed in a tight gown of blue silk, approached Lucius and curtseyed gracefully before him.

“The baron is ready to see you now, my Lord.”

Lucius hid a smirk at being called “lord” and studied the girl briefly. She did not dress or speak like a servant, and he sniffed a hint of Pontaine nobility about her. Quite why such a girl would be sent to fetch someone from the hall puzzled him, and he realised he still had a great deal to learn about Pontaine customs.

She did not speak as she led him from the hall on a long journey through passageways and up spiralling stairs that were becoming familiar to him. Through it all, he saw passing servants act in a diffident nature to both of them, confirming his thought that she was not one of them.

Eventually, they arrived at a door Lucius recognised as being that of the baron’s own study. The girl reached out with a delicate hand and gently rapped on the door. She barely made a sound to Lucius, but the door opened after a few seconds to reveal the smiling face of the Baron de Sousse.

“Excellent, my dear girl,” he said. “You found him. Leave us be, and attend to your embroidery.”

The girl curtseyed deeply and turned from them to walk back down the corridor. The baron waved Lucius inside the study.

“Baron,” Lucius acknowledged, dipping his head briefly.

“Lovely young girl that one. Blood of my blood, mostly. Her mother died from a chill that settled on her chest, and few other members of our family were prepared to take on her daughter.”

“I’m surprised,” Lucius said as he walked into the study and took the chair the baron gestured him toward. “I thought Pontaine families relied on marriages to create alliances. An attractive young girl of marriageable age would be something of a prize.”

“You are beginning to learn our ways, Lucius,” de Sousse said as he walked behind the Sardenne oak desk dominating the room to take his own seat. “I commend you.”

Lucius shrugged. “It is obvious Pontaine is not going to be leaving our city anytime soon. It seems prudent to learn the customs.”

“Profitable too. Can I get you food or drink? We have some beautiful delicacies recently arrived from Volonne in our kitchens. Shouldn’t be missed.”

“Thank you, Lord Baron, no.”

“To business then. The Lady Adrianna obviously does not accompany you.”

“She received an invitation too?”

The baron nodded. “I had hoped to gain the benefits of her expertise as well as your own, but it is of little consequence, I am sure. Do you know what consumes her attention instead of me?”