Conqueror’s Moon (23 page)

Snudge gawped at him, unable to speak.

“Imagine my surprise when I was instructed not only to save your foolhardy young life, but also to help you to empower the sigil called Concealer.”

“What!”

“Do you remember Beynor’s instructions?”

Snudge nodded fearfully, casting an oblique glance at the moonstone beside him.

“And do you recall the words for ‘thank you’ in the Salkan tongue?”

“MO TENGALAH SHERUV.”

“Well said. Now take out the book you have concealed beneath your shirt and hang Concealer around your neck. Perform the Light Summoning as you did before, using the proper words—but with one difference only: When asked for your name, reply ‘Snudge.’ It is, and is not, your true name, and the ambiguity will protect you from the more deadly jests of the Beaconfolk.”

Snudge said, “Ansel, I’m afraid.”

“Of course you are, and rightly so. You will suffer pain in the sigil’s empowering. But your royal master, Conrig, will have great need of this stone’s magic one day soon, and it is your duty to provide it. You can refuse, of course, and I’ll take charge of the thing myself and safely dispose of it. But think, lad! Will you let timidity and fear deprive your master of a great boon?”

“I—I am no coward. But I fear that Beynor will tell Kilian that I have his book and a sigil. Even if that doesn’t happen, the Royal Alchymist may deduce that I’m talented because I can’t be windwatched. He’ll betray me to the Brethren—if he doesn’t kill me out of hand. Either way, I’ll no longer be able serve my prince.”

“Beynor can’t be sure you have his sigil. As for the book, you’ll have no need of it after the Light Summoning. I’ll take care of it.”

The boy hesitated as he considered what to do, then remembered something else the Conjure-King had said. “Do you know that Vra-Kilian has two baskets of sigils hidden within a strongbox in his sanctum? There must be scores of the things! Beynor suggested that I steal them.”

The shaman rose from his seat in the stern and was silhouetted against the twilit sky. The dinghy remained rock-solid in the water. “I suggest you do no such thing,” Ansel said softly, “not if you value your soul. Come now, Deveron Austrey! Make your choice. Either give me sigil and book, or else dare the Lights.”

Snudge took a great breath. “I’ll do it.”

==========

When the Summoning was successfully accomplished and Concealer hung harmlessly around his neck, faintly aglow with life, Snudge sank back onto the thwart trembling in every limb like a beaten dog. Tears coursed down his cheeks. “I’m still alive,” he whispered in wonder.

“Of course you are,” Ansel said.

“The sigil doesn’t hurt now.” He wiped his face with his sleeve.

“There is pain only when you use it, and then nothing like so much as when the stone was first empowered. Concealer is a lesser stone. Nevertheless, I strongly advise you not to conjure it except under the most grave circumstances. Even though the Lights don’t know your true name, there’s still a certain danger of their interfering.“ He handed the boy a small wash-leather sack. ”Cover the stone with this as you wear it. Your comrades would be disconcerted by its pale glow, and if one of them touched it he might be badly hurt—especially if he tried to take it from you. Keep the stone out of sight always.“

Snudge complied, then tucked the bagged moonstone under his shirt. “Am I to tell Prince Conrig that now I can command Iscannon’s sigil?”

“Better not. Let him know you still have it, if you must. Say you’re keeping it just in case you discover how to make it work someday. It wouldn’t do if he were to think the sigil could be used with impunity for commonplace spying. When circumstances dictate, you’ll have to reveal its empowerment to him. But better later than sooner.”

“I understand.” I think…

“Give me the book now. It’s time we were out of here.”

Snudge handed the small volume over and the shaman held it high.

“SHALKYE, GRAYD KALEET!” he intoned.

The moonstone disk on the book’s cover blazed a blinding green. A dozen ells away, three monstrous shapes vaulted out of the water, booming louder than harpooned bull sea lions. One of them had a coruscating emerald star at its neck. They fell back with splashes that tossed the boat and vanished again.

“Codders!” said Snudge. “Are they gone for good?”

“I don’t recommend you take any sea voyages soon,” said Red Ansel of Tarn, with a short laugh.

He hoisted the sail, and a smart breeze sprang up obediently, carrying them back to the shore as the eastern sky warmed in the dawn.

fourteen

Vra-stergos came to bring Conrig the morning wind tidings and found him being ministered to by the Royal Barber, Hindel, who made finicky darts at the princely beard with flickering shears, snipping off a few golden hairs at each pass and muttering, “Not quite! Not quite right.” Telifar Bankstead, the prince’s most trusted lord-in-waiting, was supervising the setup of the breakfast table, while the secretary, Lord Mullan Overgard, stood at the desk unpacking a portfolio of documents. There was no sign of Princess Maudrayne.

“Leave be, Hindel,” Conrig said, taking note of his brother’s agitated expression. Something noteworthy must have happened.

“But, Your Grace!” the barber protested. “A bit more trimming, and you’ll be perfect!”

Conrig pulled the cloth away from his neck and rose from his chair with a grimace. “I doubt that. At any rate, I’ll not require your services any more today.”

“I have a marvelous new musk-scented pomade—”

“Go!” the prince commanded, and the barber gathered up his equipment and fairly ran out of the room. To Telifar: “You and Mullan may also withdraw until I send for you.”

The secretary said, “We must present these signed letters of appeal to the grain merchants and shipowners as soon as possible. The King’s Grace has already endorsed them.”

“Oh, very well. Give me a pen.” He scrawled his name and thrust the pages back into Overgard’s hands. “Close the door after you and see that I’m not disturbed.”

The two men bowed and left the room, leaving the brothers alone.

“Well, what is it, Gossy?” Conrig inquired. “You look a bit white about the gills. Was there bad news flying on the wind? Out with it—unless you think we might be overseen.”

“No one watches us,” Stergos assured him. “Even the Royal Alchymist is sequestered in his sanctum, so completely shielded in a spell of couverture that he can no more see out than any other adept can see in.”

“Then tell me what’s happened.”

Stergos stated it baldly. “Linndal of Moss is dead, and he named young Beynor his successor.”

“Bazekoy’s Ballocks!” the prince exclaimed in dismay. “That’ll put a cold breeze up Ullanoth’s skirts. Was anything said of her?”

“Only that she’s permanently removed from succession to the Mossland throne. Some cousins are next in line now. I tried to bespeak the Conjure-Princess immediately, but she gave no reply. I hope—” He trailed off, seeing the look on Conrig’s face.

“If Beynor’s killed her,” the prince said quietly, “or managed to imprison her inside some enchantment so she can’t talk to us, our invasion of Didion may be flittered to a fare-thee-well.”

The Doctor Arcanorum nodded unhappily. “The windcrier gave only a few more details. Linndal perished of a broken neck after falling down a flight of stairs. The new young king has been acclaimed by the Glaumerie Guild. His coronation is set for next week, and King Achardus of Didion will attend and offer his personal felicitations.”

The prince uttered a more eloquent curse. “We’ve got to find out what’s happened to Ulla. I know you can’t windsearch for her at such a long distance, but perhaps Snudge can manage it.”

“Perhaps.” The alchymist sighed. “I’ll find him and ask him.”

“Have you had breakfast?” Conrig asked. When Stergos shook his head, the two of them went to the table that had been prepared near the windows of the sitting room. “I don’t think Maudrayne will be joining me. Sovanna told Telifar that my lady intended to sleep in to recover from the long journey. You can have her share.”

Covered dishes held smoking grilled trout with pepper and verjuice, cold roast quail and their hard-boiled eggs in mustard sauce, golden toast with gooseberry jam, and sweet cheese pastries. The beverages were clover wine, honeysuckle tea kept hot by a tiny brazier, and a crystal pitcher of unhopped wheat beer, especially favored by Conrig as an eye-opener.

The two of them fell to, Stergos concentrating on the succulent fish, the pastries, and the tea. Conrig was preoccupied. He recalled his last tryst with Ullanoth, and her warning that Beynor might attempt to kill him.

“The Conjure-Princess bespoke me yesterday,” said the prince, popping two of the little eggs into his mouth and speaking while he chewed. “She said that Beynor might send an assassin after me. I know you’ve got remedies against poison, but can you give me something magical to fend off physical attack?”

“Alas—there’s no general shield of invulnerability contained in the Zeth Codex. Some authorities say that the Glaumerie Guild of Moss owns an amulet of the Beaconfolk that subtly armors one’s body, but such high sorcery is beyond our Order. Perhaps I can devise a warning charm of some sort. I could consult Vra-Kilian—”

Conrig gave a negative grunt, nibbling quail meat. “Don’t. It’s likely he’d be the designated murderer.”

“Oh, no!” Stergos nearly dropped his cup of tea.

“I dismissed him from the Privy Council last night. From now on, he has nothing to do with affairs of state—only arcana.”

“Dear God. He’ll be in a terrible rage!”

“Not if he knows what’s good for him.” Conrig smiled with grim satisfaction. “However, I certainly don’t intend to be alone with him—and that goes for those three muckmates of his, as well. You know the ones I mean—Brothers Butterball, Squinty, and Vinegar-Face. I think you better watch your back around them, too, Gossy.”

“I can’t believe they’d try to harm either of us.” But Stergos’s eyes shifted nervously.

The trio, whose actual names were Raldo, Niavar, and Cleaton, had a dubious reputation among the Brethren resident in the palace. Even though their magical talents were only modest, they were Vra-Kilian’s closest associates, holding the positions of Novice Master, Keeper of Arcana, and Hebdomader, or chief disciplinarian of the Brothers.

“We already know why Kilian’s loyalty to me is suspect,” Conrig continued. “One of the oldest motives of all: familial ambition. What I still can’t understand is what threat or bribe Beynor might have used to turn his coat. And trusting a boy-wizard to kill me off isn’t particularly efficient. Kilian could do a better job of it using his own people—if he dared. But we know he wouldn’t dare—at least, not until the king is dead. Father could appoint another heir, cutting off Duke Shi-Shi or Feribor, if he chose to.”

“Beynor could never bribe Vra-Kilian with money,” Stergos observed. “Moss has none to spare, and the Blackhorse family’s wallowing in it. Beynor might be holding some threat over Kilian, but I can’t imagine what it might be. Perhaps we’re misjudging the Royal Alchymist after all, letting our personal dislike of him cloud our reasoning.”

They ate in silence for a time, and then there was a scratching at the door. Lord Telifar’s apologetic face appeared. “Your Grace, the armiger Deveron Austrey prays leave to speak with you. He says it’s most urgent.”

“Send him in.” Conrig wiped his greasy lips on a napkin and took a pull of the sparkling pale beer. He greeted Snudge warmly. “So you’ve learned something important?”

The boy’s gaze went momentarily to the Doctor Arcanorum. “Very important, Your Grace.”

“You may speak before Brother Stergos.”

The tale poured forth in a rush. “Last night I went secretly to the inner sanctum of the Royal Alchymist, as I’ve been doing for more than a week. In a locked cabinet secured against windwatching I found two sizable baskets full of moonstone sigils and a book explaining their use. I dared not take the sigils, but I did make off with the book, which had a disk of moonstone fastened to it. As I was going back to my room, the disk on the book cover accidentally touched the sigil hanging around my neck—”

“What sigil?” Stergos cried in horror.

“Tell him,” Conrig commanded Snudge.

“The one I took from the sorcerer Iscannon when I killed him in Castle Vanguard. It rendered him invisible—both to the naked eye and to windsight. When I took the thing, it was as dead as its master, but I kept it with Prince Con-rig’s permission and searched for information about it in the libraries of the Royal Alchymist.”

Stergos groaned. “Oh, Blessed Zeth. You don’t understand the horrible peril—”

Conrig said, “Continue, lad.”

“When the two pieces of moonstone touched,” Snudge said, “they glowed. And right there in the southwing corridor of the palace, I was bespoken by one of the Beaconfolk.”

“God save us!” said Stergos. “What did it look like?”

“The creature wasn’t visible, but it seemed very angry and inflicted great pain on me, so that I bent forward and caused the moonstone to fall away from my flesh. The pain vanished and the monstrous voice was stilled. I snatched the sigil off my neck and put it into my wallet so it couldn’t touch the book again, then went to my room. I was alone, so I studied the contents of the book for a time. Parts were in a foreign language. I concluded that there was no way I could safely make use of the invisibility sigil—”

“I should hope not!” Stergos exclaimed.

“—so I decided that, in the morning, I’d throw both sigil and book into the sea. I went to sleep, and dreamed of Prince Beynor.” The boy paused, and looked with longing at the pitcher of beer. Without a word, Conrig filled a crystal cup and handed it over. “Thank you, Your Grace… The dream was more than a dream. I’m convinced Beynor actually bespoke me. He wanted me to become his follower, because he said he’d fallen out with an accomplice already living in the palace: Vra-Kilian, the Royal Alchymist.”

“I knew it!” Conrig cried. “Oh, the poxy shite-weasel! I’ll slice out his guts and flog him to death with them!”

Stergos’s normally ruddy face had gone the color of chalk. He managed to say, “Is there more, Deveron?”