Read Online Shadowmage: Book Nine Of The Spellmonger Series by Terry Mancour - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Terry Mancour
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. . . and then quickly walked away, giggling. “I’ve got this well in hand. But we need sleep more than we need . . . company,” he added, looking fondly at the shapely girl who he was certain could be his for a shell.
“Why aren’t any of these ladies approaching me?” Tyndal asked, confused. “I’m young, I’m handsome, I’m drunk . . . how can they resist me?” he asked, as he watched the giggling girl pass by.
“I have no idea, my friend,” Rondal said, apologetically, steering Tyndal toward the modest inn at the far end of the street they’d taken a room in. “But if I had to guess, I’d say it was the bird shit on your doublet.”
At dawn the next morning, both lads had the opportunity to prove they were right.
Rondal ventured forth before the sun rose, and using magesight tracked the traces of Tyndal’s enchanted, slightly-used ale from the previous night . . . deposited as close to the warehouse as possible. He found it clearly pouring forth in frothy abundance in the scummy wash near the old stone bridge. A closer inspection underneath revealed an opening concealed in the northern bank, just large enough for a decent-sized punt to come through.
Tyndal was vindicated in his belief that mixing ale with brandy, wine, and seawater was a fundamentally poor idea. He heaved miserably into the chamberpot until the innkeeper threatened to call a physician. Rondal returned just in time to cast a calming charm on his friend and help him recover.
“You did that on purpose,” Tyndal accused, as Rondal brought him some clear broth and porridge. His blue eyes looked crazy under his unkempt hair, crimson spider webs screaming his discomfort. Tyndal drank a cup of water and was packing his pipe while Rondal set up his breakfast.
“I did,” Rondal agreed. “I figured the easiest way to avoid suspicion was to look like two out-of-town errants on a drunken lark. I think we were convincing.”
“And the mission was to take a piss in front of the place?”
“And you performed spectacularly,” Rondal assured. “I shall make note of this in the Order’s chronicles.”
“I cannot wait to regale my chivalric brothers with my heroic tale of urination,” he agreed, charming his pipe into life.
“The tunnel I found clearly leads to under the warehouse,” reasoned Rondal. If we make our way upstream, we would be right under Ruderal and his mom.”
“So we would,” Tyndal said, exhaling a huge cloud of fragrant smoke.
“Of course, we’re still separated from our quarry by a thick wooden floor,” reminded Rondal.
Tyndal snorted derisively, sending forth another cloud of smoke. “Wood? Are we not magi?” Tyndal could enchant wood into all sorts of interesting shapes, as Rondal knew well. Getting through the door would take a few moments and a spell.
“We can, indeed,” Rondal agreed, pushing the porridge toward him. “In fact, if we time this properly, I think we can have a lot of fun with this.”
Chapter Four
The Arrunatus House
The reputation associating the Great Bay of Enultramar with thieves and scoundrals is doubtless tied to its piritical past; a storied history of bloodshed and plunder.
One can scarce look at the proud cities of the Great Bay today and imagine the squalid conditions of the earliest folk on this rocky shore, but it is well-known – nay, even boasted by Sea Lords, that their ancestors were the storm of the Shallow Sea in the great days of their fleets.
Yet the Sea Lords of Enultramar were not thieves, themselves, once they were back under the protection of the Maiden of the Havens and safely away from the dangers of the Shipwrecker. While ashore, the Lords of Enultramar treated each other with honor and respect, settling their differences by council or by duel.
Indeed, the Sea Lords blame the original tribes of
“Why aren’t any of these ladies approaching me?” Tyndal asked, confused. “I’m young, I’m handsome, I’m drunk . . . how can they resist me?” he asked, as he watched the giggling girl pass by.
“I have no idea, my friend,” Rondal said, apologetically, steering Tyndal toward the modest inn at the far end of the street they’d taken a room in. “But if I had to guess, I’d say it was the bird shit on your doublet.”
At dawn the next morning, both lads had the opportunity to prove they were right.
Rondal ventured forth before the sun rose, and using magesight tracked the traces of Tyndal’s enchanted, slightly-used ale from the previous night . . . deposited as close to the warehouse as possible. He found it clearly pouring forth in frothy abundance in the scummy wash near the old stone bridge. A closer inspection underneath revealed an opening concealed in the northern bank, just large enough for a decent-sized punt to come through.
Tyndal was vindicated in his belief that mixing ale with brandy, wine, and seawater was a fundamentally poor idea. He heaved miserably into the chamberpot until the innkeeper threatened to call a physician. Rondal returned just in time to cast a calming charm on his friend and help him recover.
“You did that on purpose,” Tyndal accused, as Rondal brought him some clear broth and porridge. His blue eyes looked crazy under his unkempt hair, crimson spider webs screaming his discomfort. Tyndal drank a cup of water and was packing his pipe while Rondal set up his breakfast.
“I did,” Rondal agreed. “I figured the easiest way to avoid suspicion was to look like two out-of-town errants on a drunken lark. I think we were convincing.”
“And the mission was to take a piss in front of the place?”
“And you performed spectacularly,” Rondal assured. “I shall make note of this in the Order’s chronicles.”
“I cannot wait to regale my chivalric brothers with my heroic tale of urination,” he agreed, charming his pipe into life.
“The tunnel I found clearly leads to under the warehouse,” reasoned Rondal. If we make our way upstream, we would be right under Ruderal and his mom.”
“So we would,” Tyndal said, exhaling a huge cloud of fragrant smoke.
“Of course, we’re still separated from our quarry by a thick wooden floor,” reminded Rondal.
Tyndal snorted derisively, sending forth another cloud of smoke. “Wood? Are we not magi?” Tyndal could enchant wood into all sorts of interesting shapes, as Rondal knew well. Getting through the door would take a few moments and a spell.
“We can, indeed,” Rondal agreed, pushing the porridge toward him. “In fact, if we time this properly, I think we can have a lot of fun with this.”
Chapter Four
The Arrunatus House
The reputation associating the Great Bay of Enultramar with thieves and scoundrals is doubtless tied to its piritical past; a storied history of bloodshed and plunder.
One can scarce look at the proud cities of the Great Bay today and imagine the squalid conditions of the earliest folk on this rocky shore, but it is well-known – nay, even boasted by Sea Lords, that their ancestors were the storm of the Shallow Sea in the great days of their fleets.
Yet the Sea Lords of Enultramar were not thieves, themselves, once they were back under the protection of the Maiden of the Havens and safely away from the dangers of the Shipwrecker. While ashore, the Lords of Enultramar treated each other with honor and respect, settling their differences by council or by duel.
Indeed, the Sea Lords blame the original tribes of
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