Shadowmage: Book Nine Of The Spellmonger Series Read online

  Shadowmage

  Book Nine Of The Spellmonger Series

  By Terry Mancour

  First Kindle Edition

  Copyright © September, 2016

  Dedication:

  To Lance, Jeff, Chris, Daniel, and Stephen

  Special Thanks To Sire Aaron of Schwartz,

  without whose assistance this caper

  would have gone tragically awry.

  MAPS

  Rescuers. Avengers. Thieves. Spies.

  The life of a knight mage is never easy, but sometimes the gods smile on you and grant you an errand of incredible complexity . . . without regards to casualties. When Tyndal and Rondal, journeymen wizards and knights errant, travel to southern Alshar to rescue a helpless boy and his mother, it sets in motion a series of events that will shake the foundations of the Five Duchies! While they are beginning their quest against the vast criminal gang known as the Brotherhood of the Rat, the two knights encounter the Cats of Enultramar, a family of shadowmagi (masters of shadow, illusion, and obfuscation) and high-class thieves who help them discover a plot to attack the rich lands and prosperous people of Alshar, from the Wilderlands to the Great Bay . . . and only Rondal and Tyndal can stop them! From thugs and thieves to irate Censors of Magic to dragons and undead, the intrepid pair face the challenges of a new land and an old enemy! For when a new, powerful threat in the form of the Necromancer of Olum Seheri looms against them, the brave young knights magi can only hope to defeat it with the help of a . . . SHADOWMAGE!

  Contents

  Part I.

  The Rescue Of Ruderal

  Chapter One

  Solashaven

  Chapter Two

  Ruderal’s Hovel

  Chapter Three

  An Enchanting Piss

  Chapter Four

  The Arrunatus House

  Chapter Five

  The Cat Of Shadows

  Chapter Six

  The Shrine Of Eight Bells

  Chapter Seven

  Escape Upriver

  Chapter Eight

  The Rats Of Atarapus

  Chapter Nine

  Palomar Abbey

  Chapter Ten

  The Lord Of Oirghort

  Part II.

  The Vengeance of Estasia

  Chapter Eleven

  The Rat Trap

  Chapter Twelve

  Return To Enultramar

  Chapter Thirteen

  A Raid On Rats

  Chapter Fourteen

  Solsaritsa Abbey

  Chapter Fifteen

  The Orison Of The Foam

  Chapter Sixteen

  Pratt And The Rats

  Chapter Seventeen

  The Tower Arcane

  Chapter Eighteen

  The Three Censors

  Chapter Nineteen

  Lorcus’ Plan

  Chapter Twenty

  Lord Whiskers

  Part III.

  Thieves

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The Orphan Duke

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  A Kitten in a Cottage

  Chapter Twenty Three

  Ruminations

  Chapter Twenty Four

  A Conspiracy Of Cats

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The Council Of The Brotherhood

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Pulling the Rats’ Tail

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  The Stones Of Brisomar

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  A Battle In Brisomar

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  The Grand Heist

  Chapter Thirty

  Loiko Venaren

  Part IV.

  Spies

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Dragonfire

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  The Battle Of Vorone

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  A Moment With The King

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  The Recovery Of Vorone

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Future Plans

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  A Conversation In The Garden

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  A New Mission

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Ambush At Pantacas

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  An Unexpected Rescue

  Chapter Forty

  Olum Seheri

  APPENDIX

  Part I.

  The Rescue Of Ruderal

  Rondal

  Chapter One

  Solashaven

  “When the Magocracy’s nascent merchant fleet departed Farise, bound for Unstara, the Far Isles, and points beyond on a great commercial expedition, their escort of Cormeeran warships sailed first far to the west to screen them from the threat of pirates along the Scorched Coast.

  “Unbeknownst to the Magi, the Sea Lords of Enultramar were well-prepared to pillage their grand fleet. The proud ships of the Sea Lords descended from the Shoals of Sinbar, like the grandsons of the Storm Lord himself, each sail bearing the Sea Axe token of their secret harbor. Quickly and savagely each ship took a prize and escaped with it through the Channel. When they brought their prizes back to their havens there were more than there were berths prepared.

  “Great fleets were forged out of their piracy, and the havens of Enultramar prospered as ships of war and trade departed from the fair bay on their missions. Many of the most ancient harbors and settlements saw their rise from this time: Pearslhaven, Drakeshaven, Solashaven, Deitus’ Landing, Fairhaven, Shellhaven, and many other small ports of the Sea Lords along the rocky Bay of Enultramar rose to economic power during their first grand attempt at organized piracy.”

  The History of Alshar

  By Seabrother Dexus of Fairhaven Abbey

  The drunk old mariner stumbled with practiced grace down the ancient wooden dock, his battered black boots scraping against the weather-worn wood with a determined but entirely irregular gait. The swirl of the mists accumulating in shadowed pockets of the waterfront was already starting to obscure his footing, but considering the cloud of brandy fumes that clung to his tattered clothes and the squint to his salt-stained eyes, the fog was the least of his impairments.

  The mariner wore a rusty scimitar at his hip, the bronze bell scratched and encrusted with verdigris from long exposure to the elements. His broad hat, olive-colored doublet and thin leather baldric told him out as an officer, or at least a man with aspirations of a commission at some point in his career. His unshaven chin and patched hose indicated that it had been some time since he’d had a commission that paid – or much work of any sort. The purse next to his blade was as flaccid as a becalmed sail.

  “Storm Lord’s blessings on ye, lads!” he said in a loud and enthusiastic voice, filling the air with the aroma of the cheap brandy mixed with seawater known as Maiden’s Blood the mariners of Enultramar preferred as a matter of cultural pride. “Wouldn’t happen to have a spare ha’penny, would you, my lords?”

  Rondal eyed the man suspiciously and continued to sip his plain, country-made un-watered ale. The town of Solashaven was full of desperate people. He’d seen enough of these out-of-work mariners in the last two days to fill a fleet, and the landsmen who came to the docks hoping to sell their produce looked just as desperate as the mariners.

  There were hundreds of ships at anchor across the Great Bay, after the fleets returned from a season of raiding and trading this year. But there were far more than there were ports for them. When the squadrons of the Sea Lords returned before the winter storms, they brought back more than twice their number of smaller Farisi ships.

  When the boys
arrived at the mouth of the great river, they’d learned that the mariners of Farise, in exile at sea for nearly five years, had gathered their fellows from all over the Shallow Sea and made port in Enultramar, under the auspices of the rebel barons and viscounts who ruled there. Now the sails bearing the old Farisian symbol, a stylized sun wheel over a stylized wave, were just as numerous as those bearing the sea axe-and-anchor of the Alshari navy, though the latter clearly enjoyed the advantage in the size of its ships.

  While that made every major harbor crowded, smaller ports like Solashaven seemed to only attract the large number of mariners ashore for the winter who’d blown through their pay in the first few weeks in the major ports and then drifted like seaweed toward less expensive quarters. Even the great ports they’d passed on their way to this silted-up haven seemed crowded with them, milling listlessly between taphouses. All of Enultramar seemed becalmed, as ships bobbed in the harbors and havens, but did not depart.

  Tyndal took a more engaging approach. He saw the vast horizon of squalid fishing villages and ancient docks, sea castles and merchant caravels, vacant warehouses and rotting hulls as an opportunity for adventure, not an insidious trap ever revealing itself. Enultramar was a game to the younger of the two magi. Though their mission was serious, his approach to it was not – something that irritated his companion to no end.

  But it occasionally got results.

  “I might have coin for the right news, Uncle,” he replied, tapping a silver penny – known locally as a “shell” for the scallop design stamped into the obverse – on the table. He watched with expectation as the man’s bleary eyes opened up. You could buy a lot of Maiden’s Blood with a single shell. An entire night’s worth of drunken oblivion.

  “Plain Nymatis always has his ears open, gentlemen,” he assured them, obsequiously. “Nothin’ happens on the docks o’ Enultramar that don’t eventually come to these big ears. Like lateen sails, they are. What news do ye seek?”

  “We want to know where we might find a certain fellow,” continued Tyndal, more quietly. Rondal had to admit, his partner was far more adept at this sort of thing than he was. “We have reason to suspect he’s somewhere here in Solashaven.”

  “Does this fellow have a name?” asked Nymatis. “And does he want to be found?”

  “He does and he doesn’t,” Tyndal offered. “Do you find that morally troubling?” Suddenly there were two shells flipping enticingly through his fingers.

  The mariner scratched his scraggly jaw. He considered briefly before his face dismissed the idea entirely. “Can’t say that I do, m’lord!”

  “The man’s name is Skrup,” Tyndal said, catching the man’s eye intently. “Skrupenal, but he’s known as Skrup. Hard Skrup, to some,” he said, adding the man’s street name.

  “Oh, it’s Skrup,” Nymatis said, his voice falling. That seemed a different matter. His expression changed. “Why would a couple o’ nice lads like yourselves want to get on board a ruffian like him?”

  “We owe him money,” Rondal blurted out, earning him a stern look from Tyndal.

  You do realize that’s the oldest, most blatant lie about why someone is looking for someone else, don’t you? He asked his partner scornfully, mind-to-mind. Why not mention we have a present for his daughter’s name-day? Or that we’re long-lost relatives bringing him a rich legacy?

  Fine, I’ll shut up! Rondal shot back, irritated.

  “We’d like to discuss a business matter,” Tyndal corrected, smoothly, when Nymantis’ skepticism became apparent. A fourth shell was added to the pile on the table.

  “Ah, business,” the mariner nodded, still rubbing his uneven beard. “Can’t stand in the way of a man’s business, now, can I? Against the Fairdealer, that would be.”

  Invoking one of the less-bloodthirsty daughters of the Storm Lord as an excuse for low-dealing seemed to be a popular rationalization in Enultramar, the boys had learned in their brief stay. The five deities seemed uncannily helpful at providing perfectly reasonable excuses for extremely poor behavior wrapped in the cloak of pious virtue.

  “I know the man – know of him,” he corrected. “Though he’s often drawn out of Solashaven on . . . business,” he said, his drunken grin communicating just what kind of business the mariner imagined the man to pursue.

  “Well, we were told he was the one to speak to about arranging certain things,” Tyndal continued, still playing with the four silver coins. “We would be incredibly grateful if we could be directed to where he’s doing business, these days.”

  “The Arrunatus House,” the man said in a whisper loud enough to hear over the waves lapping against the edge of the pier. “Second floor.” His eyes darted expectantly down to the four silver coins and back up to Tyndal’s face, pleadingly.

  “Well done, Nymantis,” Tyndal nodded, and flipped the four into the air. As drunk as the mariner was, he caught all four in his left fist as if they were four golden sandolars instead. The look of misplaced triumph in his eyes made Rondal ill, but Tyndal just acted pleased as the old man sauntered away.

  “Arrunatus House,” Tyndal repeated, satisfied. “Second floor.”

  “You know, it might have been helpful to ask where we might find the Arrunatus House,” Rondal mentioned, sipping his ale.

  “Do you not remember esteemed Iyugi’s advice on the subject of gathering intelligence?” Tyndal lectured, finishing his own wine. He’d opted for Maiden’s Blood himself, out of a sense of adventure, and was pretending not to be bothered by the taste. “Try not to reveal more in asking your questions than your subject does in answering them.’ I didn’t want to appear like I didn’t know where the place was. That might have tipped him off and given him a reason to mention our inquiry to people we’d rather not know about it,” he said, sagely.

  Rondal watched as Nymantis staggered back down the pier from the way he’d come, his fortune destined for the brandy parlor at the far end. Brandy was cheap, and the drink of choice for the poor and destitute in Enultramar. With so little of the local wines being exported these days, most vintners were selling their surpluses to distillers, the boys had learned. The resulting glut of cheap brandy on the docks made drunkenness the preferred method of enjoying the economic downturn.

  “I don’t think he’s likely to say much to anyone, after he drinks up that silver,” Rondal said, doubtfully.

  The mariner had attracted a tail, a string of local urchins and orphans who seemed to clog the docks and streets of the places they’d seen. The locals of Solashaven and other dingy ports called them “barnacles” for how ubiquitous and unwanted they were. The children of whores and cast-off waifs, the orphans of mariners and barmaids taken in their prime, they seemed to range from age of four to pubescence, but the string who haunted the docks here seemed to be mostly seven or eight years old.

  “He’ll be happy to blab whatever he can if it means another cup of Maid’s Blood,” Tyndal assured him. “For a mariner, I doubt he’s been on a deck in years.”

  “Two strangers in town looking for Skrup for business are one thing; two strangers looking for Skrup who have no idea where he might be hanging his hat? That might be suspicious. We can ask where the house is from anyone else, without revealing why we want to go there.” The barnacles surrounded the wobbling drunk, their hands outstretched and their voices pleading. It was as if they could smell the silver pennies in his pocket.

  Skrup is a Rat, reminded Rondal, mind-to-mind. The magical rapport between the two had grown with time and practice, until they could speak to each other’s minds almost at will. Anyone we ask about him is going to assume we have ‘business’ with his crew.

  That’s why we don’t need to appear like rubes, Tyndal shot back.

  We appear completely as rubes, Rondal complained.

  He knew he wasn’t wrong. Despite the muted color of their clothing and their care to keep from attracting attention, the two were garbed differently enough from the average subject of Enultramar’s far-flung havens to be
noticed.

  Most of the common men who worked the docks – or were desperately searching for work at the docks – wore a simple cotton tunic, laced at the collar, and a sturdy waistcoat; their shoes were wooden-soled leather laced to the knee over their stockings. Noblemen – of which they’d seen a few, some in worse states than the commonfolk – and officers tended to wear doublets with light mantles to keep the misty chill of the sea at bay.

  And hats. All of Enultramar seemed to be mad for hats, for some reason. Probably the near-constant sprinkle of mist from the sea and the persistent rains that showered the bay daily during the winter season. Even the poor folk managed to wear straw hats woven from the sea of reeds that clung to the stony shore.