Practical adept book 17.., p.32
Practical Adept: Book 17 of the Spellmonger Series, page 32
I used to be them, I realized. I had been that object of resentment to these people, a foreigner more concerned with my own skin and the arrival of payday than what the regime I represented had done to the town. I was told I had come here to help, but that mostly meant killing people when it was necessary.
From a civilian perspective, the Alshari occupiers were an unpleasant reminder that they were not in charge of their own destiny, that parasitical forces from beyond the shoals were leaching off of the people to ensure their continued power over them. The same might have been true if the old Doge had remained in charge, but he hadn’t. The guards were pale-skinned, talked funny, and poked fun at the natives in a rude and condescending way.
It was hard not to dislike them as a matter of course.
Just as I had convinced myself that my part in the war was over, and I had nothing to fear from a bunch of smelly, sweaty Alshari mercenaries, a commotion began. I couldn’t tell where it originated, but within moments there were raised voices, then shouts, then a scream.
The Alshari officers moved to investigate, swearing effusively that their peace had been broken and their break interrupted. The senior of the two began shouting orders and several of his men began to respond. But no one was left to guard the horses, I noted, as I watched in fascination. Idiots.
As if I had summoned misfortune, I saw someone stroll over to the saddle of one of the horses – a woman, hiding her face behind a parasol. While I watched she quickly ransacked the saddlebag until she found something she wanted. Then she quickly withdrew.
This was a trap, I realized. The commotion was a distraction, designed to get the officers away from the horses to facilitate the robbery. And while the officers sorted out the conflict fairly quickly, by the time they returned whatever it was that had been of value had been stolen.
The senior knight was clearly not happy about the situation, and he complained bitterly as he finally returned to his mount. The moment he turned to his subordinate and was about to give the order to leave, a crossbow bolt sprouted from his breastbone. While his stunned lieutenant stared at it, a second one took him through the forehead.
It really was an ambush. And I was caught in the middle of it.
Chapter Eighteen
Ambush!
It’s remarkable how friendly and warm the people of Farise are to visitors to their exotic land. Famed for their hospitality and generous nature, the Farisians welcome strangers with the same sense of graciousness they have for their countrymen.
Explorations of Farise, Enshalada, and the Shattered Isles
Author Unknown
I didn’t freeze. I was grateful for that.
The attack was swift and seemed to come from all directions. The crossbowmen were on the roofs nearby, and took cover the moment their shots landed. By the time the infantrymen noticed, the archers had reloaded and were able to make another two shots. I didn’t take any chances. I found a cart of porsago, ironically enough, and concealed myself.
It took a major effort of will not to whip out Twilight and Avalanche and lay waste to everything. I credit Mirkandar for that – my devotion to my alias paid off, and I reasoned that there was no reason to do that sort of thing unless my life was truly endangered. Oh, I had enough battle enchantments and weapons concealed about myself to ensure my safety, but the moment I did it would be obvious that the Spellmonger was in Farise. That was not what I needed.
Instead, I watched from the relative safety of the cart. I had been the target of plenty of ambushes during the occupation, and this one seemed to be going off beautifully. I had some professional respect for that. The insurgents had taken them by surprise and attacked them from two different directions.
Three, I amended, as I witnessed two unassuming fellows appear from the crowd, calmly slit the throats of two gawking Alshari mercenaries, and then disappear. That put half the squad down and had eliminated the leadership. The remaining soldiers were angry, scared, and unable to react.
They tried, of course. One valiant Alshari soldier pulled one of his wounded fellows behind a sack of rice and stood over him with his sword drawn. That attracted a third salvo from the rooftops, but both shots missed as the man boldly rolled to the side, shielding his comrade. One of the other Alshari lobbed his spear against the snipers, but it fell short.
And then it all stopped. The snipers withdrew, the cutthroats in the crowd fled, and whatever the objective of the ambush was, it was accomplished. Six occupiers down, one item stolen, and no civilian casualties. Whoever had carried out the attack knew their business.
“Ishi’s tits!” I swore, as I rose from a crouch. There were other oaths being spoken in a number of languages as the rest of the market came out of hiding. The remaining Alshari soldiers were shouting angrily, brandishing their swords and spears, ready to attack anyone who came near to them. I recognized the panicked look in their eyes. It wouldn’t take much to send them over the edge, I realized, and the likelihood of innocent people getting hurt was great.
“Who did it?” I asked no one in particular, as I surveyed the chaotic scene. I wasn’t expecting an answer, but a Farisian merchant nearby snorted derisively.
“Contramara,” he muttered, shaking his head. “And I was having a good day, too. Now they’ll close the market for the day.”
It was hard to sympathize with the man while there were men dead and dying nearby, but then this sort of thing was happening with enough frequency to produce complacency, not alarm, at the violence.
“Markorus, take the Captain’s horse and go summon reinforcements!” the young corporal barked to his fellows in Narasi. “”Pull the wounded over here,” he added, as his eyes scanned the rooftops for further threats. “No one comes within twenty feet of them until we get help! Those bastards will be back!”
“It’s over,” I called to him, in Narasi. “They’ve left, already. Get your men removed quickly, or you’ll invite more opportunistic attention,” I advised.
“You’re Narasi?” he asked, surprised. I suppose I was blending into the population after so many weeks here, which was gratifying.
“Get your wounded out of here,” I repeated, calmly but firmly. “Commandeer a cart, pull back to your headquarters. There’s nothing you can do further, here, and the longer you linger the more you’ll be a target for others.”
Then I walked away at a brisk pace. This wasn’t my responsibility, Mirkandar reminded Minalan. Those weren’t my men, this wasn’t my fight. I was a civilian, not a warrior. A bystander, not a participant. I didn’t need to get involved.
By the time I made it to the main thoroughfare I was shaking like a leaf in a storm. It had only been a minor skirmish, I reminded myself. I had commanded battles with tens of thousands, against the most fearsome foes man had ever faced. But a sixty second ambush in a crappy marketplace had turned me into a wreck.
Don’t ask me to explain the logic of it. Even my ancient memories weren’t helpful. Most of them had suffered trauma of one sort or another, and they had dealt with the consequences in their own ways. I tried to concentrate on that to overcome my reaction to the scene and was somewhat successful. By the time I made it back to the Bluestem district, I had largely recovered.
Of course I reported the incident to Mavone, as soon as I returned to the practice. He was collecting every scrap of information he could find on the situation in the city, and an ambush by the Contramara was significant.
“They really haven’t been active in the streets much, from what I can tell,” he admitted, when I was done with my report. “At least, not until recently. That poisoning you witnessed? That was likely them, but they were doing it as if it was someone else, in order to sow discontent in the council, I believe. But my sources say it was them.”
“Sources?” I blinked. “You have sources, already? You’ve only been here for a few weeks! I’m still trying to get the accent right!”
“I did a little intelligence work here, back during the invasion,” he admitted. “Nothing impressive, but I have a few old contacts I renewed once I was back. They’re the ones who told me about the Contramara. Apparently they are involved with the leadership crisis up at the Citadel.”
“Of course they are,” I sighed. “What is their angle?”
“Unknown, yet,” he conceded, apologetically. “But this report helps. It agrees with one that Iyugi made about them. They’re upset with some cult for supporting the exiles’ bid for leadership. They crossed some line or something, and Iyugi believes that they are planning something. But it’s all a bit vague at the moment.”
“From what I understand, if the Contramara is involved then things are getting serious.”
“They don’t usually intervene unless they are,” he agreed. “As shadowy, underground organizations go, they’re pretty consistent. They don’t tend to get involved in petty vendettas or bickering between great houses. They only appear when there is a true danger to Farise. That follows the original doctrine of their charter.”
“They have a charter?” I asked, surprised.
“Of a sort. It’s not generally the sort of thing that is taught or written about in open texts, but at the end of the Later Magocracy, when Vore had fallen to our ancestors, the last Archmage established certain contingencies if, gods forbid, the barbarians actually succeeded in their conquest.”
“That was foresightful of him,” I chuckled.
“Imperial Intelligence established secret regional councils designed to continue the fight underground. There was an Imperial mandate, secret orders, and a template for organization, succession, even funding. That’s one of the reasons the Censorate of Magic was created by Kamaklavan, to fight against that effort. They took different forms and changed over time, but the Contramara claims its legitimacy from those documents.”
“So they’re actually a legacy of the Imperial Magocracy,” I said, shaking my head in disbelief. “Mavone, it’s been over four hundred years since the Conquest. How are they still around?”
“Good doctrine,” he shrugged. “I’ve heard the original instructions were quite specific – elegant, even. I’d love to get my hands on them, one day.
“But the legend says that the Archmage specifically delegated certain authorities under his imperial sovereignty to re-establish the Magocracy. It was a last-ditch effort, of course, but it was designed to preserve the government and civilization of the empire during a time of duress. That’s the legend that fuels the Restorationist faction in the Citadel. They believe that they have the legal and moral authority to re-constitute the Imperial Magocracy, based on those documents.”
“Interesting,” I nodded. “So, when the last Archmage died, the Privy Council escaped to Remere and became the Order of the Secret Tower under the new regime.”
“And cocked things up in the process,” agreed Mavone. “In Merwyn it was called the Third Star Conspiracy, and it was repressed brutally by the Censorate for two hundred years until it was crushed or went completely underground. In Cormeer it became the Surveyors and Cartographer’s Guild, and stayed relatively quiet for centuries. In Alshar the effort became known as the Shadow Council. In Castal it became an academic organization known as the Castali Classical Historical Society—”
“I’ve heard of them!” I snapped. “Back in Inarion Academy, they used to do presentations and lectures on our great Imperial heritage!”
“They were recruiting drives,” corrected Mavone with a smile. “The Historical Society is not terribly active, but that doesn’t mean they don’t have some resources. In any case, in Farise the imperial mandate co-opted the Contramara, the insurgency organization that was already established to fight the Sea Lords when they ruled the place. It was almost an afterthought – Imperial Intelligence didn’t think that the Narasi barbarians would ever make it past Merwyn’s frontiers. But the mandate extended to all Imperial provinces, so Farise got it, too.”
“That’s why those bastards were so committed,” I realized. “They were loyal to the Magocracy, not just pissed off about the invasion!”
“More or less,” conceded Mavone. “I’d love to see their indoctrination procedure. In any case, the Contramara believe that they possess a legal mandate to act in Farise in a way that none of the other factions can claim. Once they decide to act then most of the other clandestine organizations tend to back down. They’re kind of an arbiter between them, at need, and no one wants to piss them off.”
“But the Alshari exiles and the pirates don’t understand that,” I reasoned.
“Not a bit,” nodded Mavone. “They have their own secret organizations and hidden powers and obscure legends that motivate them. I think that the Contramara were waiting to see what evolved after they overthrew the occupation forces, and after three years they’re tired of it. Someone needs to be in charge of Farise, and the Contramara want a say in who it is.”
“So do I,” I reminded him. “But that explains a few things. Have you identified who is running the Contramara?”
“Are you serious?” he asked me, deadpan. “That’s the impossible question. The occupation tried to figure that out for fifteen years with no success. It’s like peeling an onion with infinite layers. As I said, their original doctrine was sophisticated and elegant. No one knows who controls the Contramara – even the Contramara don’t know. That’s its strength. And that is what we have to fight against.
“But I can’t do that without more manpower,” he continued. “As brilliant as Iyugi is, I’m going to need a lot more people to do this properly, Min – especially with a deadline. I’ve got a good start on this but if you want it done, I need more help. Skilled help,” he emphasized.
“I’ll get it to you,” I promised. I paused a moment. “What do you think our chances are, at this point?”
Mavone heaved a big sigh before he answered. “Honestly? We face a disorganized mob of organized criminals and merchant interests who don’t know what in five hells they are doing. There’s no centralized power, no actual authority, and no legitimacy to the gangs in the Citadel. Ideally, we should be able to figure this out and wrap it up in a couple of days, if the conditions are right.
“But the conditions aren’t right, yet. As of now, it appears that the Alshari exiles hold a slightly dominant position, but are running out of resources and succumbing to internal strife. There’s a faction that wants to declare Count Cingaran as the Duke of Farise, in the Narasi style, and rule the place as an independent monarchy. Another faction wants that as well, but with Merwyni backing to ensure that independence. Both want to harass the Alshari commercial fleets in revenge for Anguin’s return.
“The pirates are even worse in their divisions, because there are several kinds of pirates. The merchant houses are also divided, but want trade to normalize soon and are looking for any expedient solution. The local nobles and magi are still bickering about things that happened during the Magocracy. It’s a mess, Minalan, and we should be able to take advantage of it. So I’d say our chances now are at about forty percent.”
“All that, and we’re only at forty percent?” I asked, concerned.
“Forty percent isn’t nothing,” he argued, putting his hands on his head as he expounded. “That’s based on the obstacles and opposition we face at the moment. If we want to raise that chance, it will rely on the organization we build and the opportunities we are presented – and our willingness to risk action, when the time comes. And that all depends upon what constitutes a successful outcome,” he added. “What do you want to establish as a victory, here?”
“That’s a good question,” I agreed. “Let me think about it and I’ll let you know. But I’ll get you more people,” I promised. “Anything you need. But let’s get this done quickly. I’ve witnessed two assassinations this week. Witnessed, not participated in. Farise is becoming a hazard if I randomly came across two different assassinations in different parts of the town.”
“It’s quite a coincidence,” he agreed. “But then, you’re the Spellmonger. Normal rules of probability don’t apply to a man who chats with gods and kings and alien powers. Even your alias, however convincing, can’t disguise who you truly are,” he reminded me.
He was right, I knew. As much fun as it was to play at being Mirkandar, I was still Minalan the Spellmonger, inside. At this point in my career I should have been used to incredibly unlikely things happening to me for no good reason, because I was starting to understand the larger picture of reality, and that had changed me.
I could run from my memories as Minalan and the chorus of ancient spirits that ran roughshod through my mind, but the universe at large didn’t have to pay any attention to that. I could change my name and shave my beard and pretend to be someone else, but that didn’t matter to the cosmic powers who had taken an interest in me.
I found that was depressing, somehow.
***
I spent the rest of the evening in my study, largely using my witchstone to reach out to fellows I thought would be useful to our efforts, now that we had our cover established. There were three that I thought would be most useful, under the circumstances.
The first was Atopol, the Cat of Enultramar. The young thief was a master in his craft and had proven it over and over. Indeed, any one of House Furtius would have been helpful, but Atopol was young, unattached, and allegedly bored since the Battle of Olum Seheri. His sister had married his best friend and there hadn’t been a mission worthy of his indulgence since the war stopped and the honeymoon started.
I reached him easily enough, explained the situation to him, and secured his cooperation. Indeed, he seemed eager and intrigued to participate. I think he was just looking for a new challenge. I wasn’t precisely certain how I would use his considerable talents, both magical and larcenous, but putting such a powerful piece on the board seemed only natural.
The second was Lorcus. The mad Remeran was a warmage, of course, but he had an uncanny ability to examine complex situations and come up with unorthodox solutions. If anyone could determine just where the current power structure was weakest and how to exploit it, Lorcus could. He was reluctant, having just had his first child, but the temptation of such an audacious commission was just too much for his resolve. It helped that he was my vassal. I don’t like taking advantage of my position as feudal overlord, but I’m not above it.
