Practical adept book 17.., p.76
Practical Adept: Book 17 of the Spellmonger Series, page 76
For a High Warmage and an experienced mercenary? Hardly. If they need help, they can call for it. The rest of us can come running. But I doubt that will be necessary.
Thanks. Are you going to see Azar and Noutha? I asked.
Wouldn’t miss it! he said with a mental chuckle. You’re going? So soon after your abduction?
I recover quickly, I dismissed. Besides, things are moving fast, right now. I’ll catch up on my regrets later. I ended the contact, and then reached out to Ruderal.
Rudy! Where are you? I asked.
Just crossing the bridge – did you know that there are a bunch of half-naked, crazy-eyed people on Temple Street doing . . . things? With snakes?
I heard. Best you avoid the area, I counselled. But don’t cross the river just yet. I have a job for you over in the nice part of town. I want you to go pay a visit to a professional colleague.
Who? he asked, confused. And why?
His name is Jamanus, and he’s the one who froze the rats in our ice, I explained. But he’s decided to raise the stakes and try to take me out and kill our business. I told him about me witnessing his presence in the catacombs during the rescue, and what it likely meant.
That sorry, poxy old bastard! Rudy swore. Why did he do something like that?
Competition does strange things to people, sometimes. But consider this one of those special lessons about how to run a proper magical practice: when someone comes after you, you go after them immediately and harder than they imagine.
You do? That doesn’t seem very sportsmanlike, he pointed out.
That’s why it’s called business, and not sport, I countered. You can’t let a competitor get away with something like that. Ever. If he wanted to come out and sell ice for half what we do, that would be one thing. But to try to enforce a functional monopoly? With dirty tricks? And attempted assassination? That might be how they do things in Farise, but I want to show this idiot how we do things in Sevendor.
Right. So, how do we do things in Sevendor? he asked.
I want you and Parru to go over to his house – I’ll get you the address – and I want you to handle it. Make a statement. Send a message. Hells, invite Atopol to participate, I think he’s free for the moment, and he likes doing this sort of thing. And you have my permission to use irionite, if you can do it discretely. Just make damn sure that there’s no mistake who sent you.
So what sort of thing did you have in mind? he asked, curiously.
I leave it to your imagination, I advised. Don’t kill him. Or his family. Or his pets. But beyond that, I leave it to your discretion. You and Parru have invested more into this ice business than anyone. This was as much a strike against you as it was me. I trust your judgment.
“It’s been taken care of,” I said to Jannik, a moment later. I think he was just starting to get a little bored at staring at my blank face. “Thanks for the information. Adept Jamanus will be regretting his poor decisions shortly, I’d wager. So, are you up for going to watch Azar and Noutha?” I asked, sitting back in my chair. “As soon as Cat and Jordi get back, I’m going to walk over to the old listfield and have luncheon while he calls on the guilty to face the Duke’s justice.”
Jannik’s eyebrows went up. “You really think that’s going to work?”
“It’s Azar,” I reasoned. “It’s not like he’s going to take no for an answer. And Noutha grew up here in Farise,” I reminded him. “She was causing trouble here for years before she sold out to Sheruel. If anyone can round up a bunch of traitorous miscreants, it’s the Viscount and Viscountess of Megelin.”
Chapter Forty-Six
The Ducal Executioner of Alshar
By order of DUKE ANGUIN, Baron AZAR of MEGELIN is hereby appointed DUCAL EXECUTIONER of ALSHAR, commissioned to carry out, to the best of his abilities, the terminal warrants of this court and HIS GRACE, ANGUIN OF ALSHAR, lawful DUKE of ALSHAR, his designated ministers, justices, and magistrates. Let him faithfully pursue and punish all enemies of our realm, under Luin’s Common Law and the sovereign judgment of HIS GRACE.
Ducal Commission of Azar the Executioner
It was an appropriately overcast day as Jannik and I walked through town towards the river. There were dark clouds looming over the Sound, and while the sky in the east was fairly clear it was rapidly losing out to the gloomy darkness that encroached from the west, the direction of Alshar. It seemed fittingly foreboding, somehow, as if the gods wanted to emphasize the reckoning coming for those traitorous exiles who had looted Alshar and escaped to tyrannize Farise. Or perhaps Dugan Jole was playing with his new Rod of Storms, and we were just seeing the result.
We took a circuitous route, thanks to the number of demonstrations, Alshari troops, and general mayhem that seemed to be infecting the streets. The mercenaries were out in force, worried expressions on their faces as they marched through the town in their heavy armor. But then so were the masses that had risen in support of the revolutionary Farisian People’s Army.
The poverty-stricken residents of the Cesshaven and Porsago districts may not have supported the radical movement for its ideology, but they resented the heavy-handed way that the Alshari had attacked their neighborhoods and disrupted their lives. People had lost their homes, seen their loved ones and friends arrested or beaten, they had been deprived of being able to travel freely for what little work was available in other districts. They didn’t give four damns about the Farisian People’s Army. They were angry.
We had to alter our route several times to avoid confrontations between the two sides. Mostly they were not violent. The Farisians would approach the patrols, angrily shouting at the Narasi to go home, and the Alshari would respond threateningly. Then the Farisians would retreat at a good pace. No one likes to run in armor, and the lightly-clad Farisians could easily outpace an armored infantryman. Occasionally someone would throw a rock, or a rotten porsago, or fling the contents of a chamberpot in the direction of the patrols, but they were quick to respond with crossbows.
Surprisingly, Jannik walked through all the chaos with confidence, as if we were attending a fair. Indeed, he seemed to know the city better than I did, finding shortcuts and alternate routes that kept us away from the worst of it.
“Things are going splendidly,” he remarked, as we emerged from an alleyway behind a teashop in the Mercer’s district. “People are screaming and angry, senseless and random violence, no one knows who’s in charge, and everyone’s suddenly grabbing everything they can in the chaos. This has real potential,” he approved.
“Potential for a massacre,” I countered, as we stepped over a largish puddle of fresh blood before we came to the street. There was no sign of who had left it, but there was enough that I suspected they were either dead or in the care of a physicker by now. “I was really trying to avoid this sort of thing. These people are unarmed, untrained, and undisciplined. And the FPA is using them to hide behind. That puts everyone in danger.”
“If you want political change, this is how it happens,” the bard reasoned as we continued south. “The only way to gain the support of the people is if they are unhappy with how things are and don’t see a better alternative.”
“This was not what I was seeking,” I protested, weakly.
“But it was. The old way wasn’t working, so you and a lot of other people decided to cut the knot instead of untangling it and supported revolution. It’s ugly – it is always ugly – and it disrupts lives. But that is how humanity is built,” he argued, philosophically. “Without order imposed from above, we are left with what order we can collectively conjure, to use a wizardly metaphor. That’s fine, for a game of dice or a simple barter exchange, but woefully insufficient to run an actual society, no matter what the idealists tell you.”
“Well, Farise is about to see a reminder of what order looks like,” I chuckled, humorlessly, as we made it to the southern avenue that would take us all the way to the Great Market and the Doge’s Bridge. “The College of Electors is about to put forth Rellin Pratt as Doge. I’m looking forward to seeing how he contends with all of this mess.”
By the time we had crossed the bridge – after suffering through our third checkpoint – and turned north on the east bank, the clouds from the Sound had completely covered the sky. They were dark and foreboding, and contributed to the oppressive feeling of dread and expectation, I noted. But as we approached the old listfield from the Clerk’s Market, where three fresh Alshari corpses dangling next to the four older Farisian victims. I could see that Viscount Azar had announced his presence with authority.
“Now, that’s impressive,” Jannik admitted, as we got closer. “I wonder if he’s charging admission?”
Indeed, the crowd that surrounded the decrepit tournament field was thick but was keeping a respectful distance from the score of gleaming figures who guarded the perimeter. But no one asked for money as we made our way toward the dais. But if the guards had asked, I’d have given them every penny in my purse.
Those were some of the best of Azar’s Megelini Knights, the veteran warmagi who had aided him in warding the frontiers against the gurvani for most of a decade, from Gilmora to the Wilderlands to Olum Seheri, seasoned warriors to a man. They were each High Magi and were wearing the special Yltedene steel plate armor they favored, polished like a looking glass and then enchanted to sustain its shine.
They each wore a powerful mageblade on their backs, and they bore battlestaves of great destructive power. These weren’t the Sentry Rods that many of my security forces used in Sevendor and Vanador. These were potent weapons of war that could lay waste to most of the city, in the hands of men who knew how to wield them.
Perhaps, more importantly, they wore the death’s head-and-axe badge under the Anchor and Antlers on a black baldric across their shoulders, indicating that they had been deputized by the Ducal Executioner of Alshar. Of course the locals didn’t recognize that heraldry, but the intent of the men was unmistakable.
As dour as they were, they seemed almost friendly compared to the monstrosity Azar had conjured in the listfield, next to Cingaran’s hastily-built gallows. It was a platform of dark wood, a stage twenty feet wide, eight sided and elevated five feet above the ground. A set of sturdy stairs led up to it, flanked by two more warmagi. The edge was decorated with carved grinning skulls that had been painted a ghastly white.
Instead of mere gallows atop the platform, however, there was an antique double-bitted axe on a stand, in front of two throne-like chairs. That’s where Azar and Noutha, Viscounts of the Magelaw, were seated in full armor.
That, alone, was impressive. They were wearing their pretty court panoply, customized armor blackened and chased with silver. Their elaborate helms were hung on the backs of their chairs, revealing Viscount Azar in his broody glory, and allowing Lady Noutha to cooly survey the crowd bareheaded.
They looked like the King and Queen of Death.
They weren’t alone on the portable dais. Several black-robed functionaries milled around respectfully, awaiting orders, but one stood out.
Next to Azar stood Bendonal the Outlaw, in black finery but wearing his harness and mageblade, a death’s head baldric on his chest and bearing a thick sheaf of parchment in his hands. He affected a grim scowl, as if he’d been impressed into the duty but was secretly enjoying it.
Between the two thrones was a huge, sinister-looking chest opened to reveal a treasury worth of silver and gold. Overhead, a wispy black canopy shielded the stage from the rapidly-disappearing sun. The stage was set.
As Jannik said, it was impressive. And sudden. I could tell the crowds were still in shock, as they gathered around the novel scene. I had to give Azar credit – he’s not only a masterful warmage, but he also understood presentation and showmanship.
Just a glance with magesight told me the entire affair was strung up with wards, glyphs, and defensive spells that a battlefield command center would envy. That was, after all, what this was: a temporary field command for the purpose of executing the Duke of Alshar’s summons.
We shuffled wordlessly toward the front of the crowd, Jannik managing to charm his way with heavily accented Perwynese and pure determination. Bendonal was speaking to the gathering, acting as a herald, and using magic to amplify his words so that they could be heard clearly for hundreds of yards in every direction.
“Oh, good, they’re just getting started,” Jannik said, eagerly, as we got as close as we could. “This should be good!”
“People of Farise!” Bendonal announced, in passable if heavily accented Perwynese. “I announce the presence of the Ducal Executioner of Alshar, Viscount Azar of Megelin, sent to render judgment and collect the bounties on those wanted for High Treason, Rebellion, Grand Larceny, Insurrection, and a host of other crimes in the occupied territory of Farise.
“Proper warrants have been issued by His Grace, Duke Anguin of Alshar, and the proper reward shall be paid upon the fulfilment of his ducal commission,” he emphasized, dipping his gauntlet into the chest and allowing the coins to fall back into it for effect, “for the capture of every man named in these warrants. No questions will be asked, no further testimony shall be required. Bring us these men and we will pay you on the spot!”
That certainly produced an explosion of murmurs in the crowd, most of whom were Farisians. Displays of coin have a way of doing that, I’ve noticed. Bendonal waited a moment for the noise to die down before continuing.
“If any legitimate authority of Farise should object to this proceeding, then come forth and make your objections known. In the absence of any such claim, this court is now in session!
“Let us begin with the most egregious of traitors, for which the rewards are highest,” he said, unfurling a scroll that was perhaps larger and more ornate than the others. “Wanted by the Coronet for High Treason, Rebellion, Fratricide, Massacre, Theft of State Property, Oathbreaking, and other vile crimes, a reward of three thousand ounces of gold shall be paid for the procurement of Cingaran of Caramas, former Count of same,” he pronounced, darkly. “The warrant states that the subject is wanted alive. Half of the reward shall be paid if his body is presented and his identity is confirmed,” he added.
That sparked an even greater uproar in the crowd. Five thousand gold was a staggering sum, but even half of that was wealth beyond the wildest dreams of most.
“Next, for the sum of two thousand gold, Astalain of Segal, former Viscount of Segal, is wanted for High Treason, Rebellion, Murder, Massacre, Oathbreaking, Grand Larceny, Rape, and other vile crimes. Alive, or half for dead. Three thousand for self-styled Commodore Sadikoas of House Venjacar is wanted for High Treason, Rebellion, Mutiny, Piracy, Murder of a Subordinate Officer. Murder of a Superior Officer, Theft of State Property, Misuse of a Letter of Marque, Insubordination, Oathbreaking, and other crimes. Alive or half for dead. Lamar, former baron of Druim, for the reward of two thousand gold, wanted for High Treason, Rebellion, Murder . . .”
Bendonal droned on and on, reading one name after the other as the audience listened in rapt attention. There was a score of barons, a few more viscounts, and more than fifty knights and lords among the nobility, along with two score of commoners who had supported the late Count Vichetral. By the time we got to the end, the rewards were paltry, no more than fifty ounces of gold.
For reference, at the time a man could purchase outright a reasonably profitable estate or manor for fifty ounces of gold. In Farise it could set you up for the rest of your life.
As the names were read, little knots of excitement welled up as the Farisians recognized them from three years of occupation and conducting business with the Alshari rebels. Just to keep everyone’s memory accurate, Azar had made several copies of the list, along with the amounts of the reward. Two he had posted on the side of his stage, the others he had his men hand out to the interested parties in the crowd. By the time Bendonal was done reading their crimes, Azar had worked up a good head of steam.
“Each of these men is wanted for their betrayal of their sovereign duke,” he said, his voice deep, dark, and intent as he stood and addressed the crowd. “For the next twenty-six hours I will be holding court here in vigil until they are delivered. Alive or dead. Surely you may know some of them. Bring them unto me and be rewarded.
“But woe and regret it will be to those who would stand between the Ducal Executioner and these foul traitors, these oathbreakers!” he continued, his voice lowering and his expression turning grim. “For in twelve hours, I will send my valiant men into the city in search of any who remain.
“If you see them coming, get out of the bloody way,” he advised, darkly, “for I have authorized my deputies to use whatever force they need to ensure that my justice will not be denied!” he proclaimed, dramatically. His face was locked in a bleak, terrifying expression, as his augmented voice echoed across the river.
Then, for emphasis, Azar picked up the axe that was his token of office, raised it overhead for a moment of pious reflection, and returned to his throne, laying it across his lap. Noutha looked on him approvingly.
“Oh, well done!” praised Jannik, earnestly, under his breath as the crowd began to disperse when it was clear that there would be no more announcements. The bard looked appraisingly at the Viscount of Megelin. “You know, I coached him, a while back,” he revealed. “Did you see how he sticks his chin up, now? And how his pacing is better? Where he sets his eyes and how he pauses for effect?”
“You coached him?” I asked, surprised. “Azar has always been like that.”
“Oh, I didn’t try to change the fundamentals, but I refined some of his presentation,” Jannik dismissed. “He’s already got the deadly aura, the baleful stare, and the barely-restrained violence he needs to be convincing – he’s a natural. He just needed to work on his showmanship. I’d like to think I was successful,” he said, proudly.
“More importantly, I think Azar was,” I agreed, looking around at the excited crowd. No one was challenging the Duke’s Executioner and his fearsome-looking deputies. That was by design, I knew. But this strategy had always depended on the Farisians taking the offer seriously, and being willing to betray the men who led the occupation – betray them individually, at great benefit to themselves.
