Conqueror’s Moon (56 page)

And more cheaply, was the unspoken thought.

Duke Nettos Intrepid agreed it would be insanity to pit slow-sailing merchant ships against men o‘ war. “But can sloops and gunboats make a tactical difference fighting Didion’s three-tier battleships and heavy frigates—to say nothing of a vicious pack of Continental corsairs? Perhaps we should consider suing for peace. Offer to send food trains to Great Pass if Honigalus agrees to withdraw.”

Why should he do so, the Lord Admiral interposed bleakly, if victory at sea and the corn stores of Cala are within his grasp? No, my lords! We must fight—and pray the Tarnians arrive in time.

“Even with fair winds, the Wave-Harriers face a full day’s sail to Cala Bay,” said gloomy old Duke Farindon Eagleroost. His fortress, together with that of Shiantil Blackhorse, defended the approach to Blenholme Roads and Cala City beyond. “Honigalus and the Continentals will probably fall on the Lord Admiral’s fleet in half that time. Need I remind you that Cathra’s next encounter with the foe will pit more than sixty enemy men o‘ war against our paltry twenty-nine? Even with the twenty Tarnian frigates, we’re still outnumbered.”

“Sue for peace,” Cranmere said. “It’s the only solution.”

“Nay!” cried the king. Beads of sweat glistened on his face and his voice faltered. “You’re wrong! We must call out every vessel capable of hurling tarnfire or other missiles at the foe… Even light fighting craft can perform a useful delaying action! I… I have a daring plan. Only… let me explain it…”

But his strength was fast failing. He slumped back into the litter that had borne him to the council chamber, and the physicians gave him water to drink and applied cool cloths to his brow.

Count Haydon Defiant spoke firmly. “We have yet to hear from Prince Heritor Conrig on this matter. Vra-Sulkorig, be so good as to invite His Grace’s comments.”

Conrig addressed them through the windvoice of Stergos: My lords, I beg you not to give in to pessimism. All is not lost. The strong winds now filling the sails of our Tarnian allies—and speeding my own fast ship toward the waters of home—are being generated by the magic of Cathra’s good friend, the gracious Princess Ullanoth of Moss. Thanks to her, the winds in Cala Bay will soon shift to the north. They will be unfavorable to Didion’s huge first-rate ships and frigates, and give a powerful advantage to our defenders. The idea of the King’s Grace to use small fighting craft to harry the enemy force is an excellent one. Listen to him and have courage! Emulate the example of our fearless warriors who captured Holt Mallburn.

The lords murmured uncertainly. Before Conrig could say more, Duke Shiantil Blackhorse spoke up in a manner that was both offhand and calculated.

“It is well-known that Beaconfolk sorcery invoked by Conjure-Princess Ullanoth enabled the Prince Heritor to overcome King Achardus of Didion. Vra-Sulkorig, I urge you to ask the prince if more of the witch’s black magic is poised to shield our Lord Admiral’s fleet from the wrath of Achardus’s son.“

“For shame, Blackhorse!” cried Haydon Defiant.

“Slander!” Eagleroost roared. “What has this to do with the danger facing us now?”

At least one person in the chamber knew. Lord Chamberlain Flintworth, who had been a crony of the deposed Royal Alchymist, hid a tiny smile of secret satisfaction. His intensive coaching of frivolous Duke Shi-Shi in recent weeks seemed not to have been in vain after all.

Blackhorse said, “My beloved uncle Vra-Kilian tried to warn our king that the Prince Heritor was in thrall to the Conjure-Princess. For his pains, he nearly lost his head and has been banished! I feel it is my duty to inform this assembly of the truth. Before you agree to follow any recommendation of Prince Conrig, consider what manner of man he is. And what future Cathra may face if he becomes its king—and Ullanoth its queen.”

“This is lunacy!” King Olmigon gasped. “What in God’s name are you playing at, Shiantil? Making such accusations now, with our nation in imminent peril!”

“I think I know,” Eagleroost said.

“And I,” muttered Defiant.

But Blackhorse persisted. “Does the Prince Heritor deny that Ullanoth gave him his northern victory and that he intends to share the throne with her?”

“Lies, foul lies,” King Olmigon croaked. “Tell them so, my son! Tell them— ah!—tell them.” He fell groaning back into the litter.

Vra-Sulkorig raised both arms. “My lords! Listen to Prince Conrig’s own words, spoken to me on the wind.”

Sire, my lords—I swear on my royal heritage and on the Halidom of Saint Zeth that my victory over Achardus Mallburn was achieved through honorable means and not through dark sorcery as certain false reports have put forth. It is true that Ullanoth of Moss has been Cathra’s ally, assisting us through her benevolent magic, and for this the Sovereignty intends to reward her well. But I never promised to marry her or set her on Cathra’s throne. And as God witnesses, it was the strength and valor of our warriors that vanquished Achardus Mallburn and gave Holt Mallburn into my hands—not uncanny powers. He who claims otherwise is a liar and a traitor!

Farindon Eagleroost began to applaud. He was immediately joined by Defiant, Vigilant, and Count Woodvale. The others, with the exception of Shiantil Blackhorse, who only smiled and shrugged, eventually joined in.

King Olmigon’s voice now had renewed vigor. “My lords, thank you for your expressions of goodwill. Will you now put aside your differences so that we may work together defending the realm?”

“Aye!” came the nearly unanimous response.

Eagleroost said, “I’ll have my windvoice transmit orders at once. Following the good example of Count Defiant, I’ll send every suitable gunboat at my disposal to join the Lord Admiral’s fleet.”

“So will I,” said Lullian Vigilant.

“And I,” Count Woodvale added.

The others, even glowering Shiantil, added their affirmations. The small fighting craft would set out as soon as their crews could be assembled. Those based in Cala Bay could be expected to reach Woodvale by dawn.

None of the Lords of the Southern Shore had volunteered to risk any valuable merchantmen, however. Whispering among themselves as Olmigon lay back in evident relief and commanded Vra-Sulkorig to bespeak the good tidings to the Prince Heritor and the Lord Admiral, the lords quietly concluded that even if Honigalus and the Continentals licked Woodvale and wreaked havoc on Cala, they could gain no lasting foothold in Cathra nor do much damage to the lords ensconced in their strong castles. Winter storms would soon force the enemy armada to retreat. And in spring, the situation might be very different…

The king said, “My lords, I thank you and beg that you keep in mind a fact that every naval strategist knows: numbers are not everything in sea warfare. Bravery, the cunning use of resources, and luck can conquer even the most overwhelming odds.”

Murmurs. They would have liked to believe it.

“This conference is now adjourned,” the king went on. “But before I leave you, I wish to share the great secret which I have thus far kept to myself—the response of Emperor Bazekoy’s oracle to my one Question.”

Suddenly, every man in the room was silent and motionless, with all eyes fixed upon the dying king.

“I asked Bazekoy if my son Conrig could succeed in uniting High Blenholme in a great Sovereignty. The oracle said it could be done, provided that I myself fulfilled a certain very strange condition. Last night I dreamed of the emperor. The time has finally come for me to obey his dictate. My friends, believe that Cathra will win this war and the Sovereignty will come to pass. And now I bid you farewell, for it’s unlikely we’ll ever meet again.”

He gestured to the litter-bearers, and they began to carry him from the council chamber.

“But, sire!” Count Brinmar Woodvale cried out uncertainly. “What is this condition of the emperor that you intend to fulfill?”

“Muster your small craft to defend Blenholme Roads,” the fading voice said from the corridor, “and you’ll find out.”

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“Oh, no!” The sweet face of Queen Cataldise stiffened in disbelieving horror as Olmigon explained what he was going to do.

“I beg you to be reasonable, Your Grace,” Vra-Sulkorig implored, speaking for the cadre of physicians and alchymists who stood aghast at the king’s bedside. “Your heart-pains are nearly constant now. Any exertion will surely be the death of you. Why, I feared you would never survive this afternoon’s conference! For you to leave the palace is unthinkable.”

“Emperor Bazekoy told me that Conrig would unite our island only if I rose from my deathbed to assist him.” Olmigon’s lips had gone bluish again, his face was mottled, and his burning eyes were sunk deep into his skull. “I’m ready. Order my carriage and have my gentlemen prepare suitable garments. I’ll need heavy wool underthings, for starters.”

“Husband, stay!” The queen had begun to weep. “Stay if you have ever loved me.”

“I love you,” came the implacable response, “and I’ll do as I was told. Bring me a waterproof leather jerkin and trews… high boots, fur-lined… a long sealskin cloak with a hood edged in wolverine… fur mittens on a long string.”

Sulkorig hesitated, then inclined his head in agreement. “I’ll summon the lords-in-waiting at once, sire. They’ll bring everything you need.”

The queen rounded on him in a fit of anguish. “You can’t let His Grace do this!”

The Acting Royal Alchymist took her arm and pulled her insistently to the door, whispering, “Let be, let be! We must humor him in this sad obsession. In a short time he’ll tire and accept the sip of poppy he refused earlier, and it will make no difference how he’s attired. He’ll sleep—and when he wakes tomorrow he’ll realize that it’s too late for rash action. If God wills, he may not even remember that we thwarted him.”

“Yes, I see.” The queen dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. “How sensible of you.”

“Catty!”

She spun around as Olmigon called out and returned quickly to his bedside. “What is it, husband?”

“I want to say farewell to dear Maude. I won’t be coming back from this jaunt of mine, you know.”

Cataldise swallowed her fresh distress and forced a smile. “Shall I fetch our daughter-in-law? I’m sure she can be here by the time you’re dressed. I’ll go myself, and there’ll be no need to summon the Master-at-Arms.”

The king lifted a trembling hand and touched her cheek. “Don’t grieve for me, dear heart. I’m a happy man, going to battle again after sitting helpless on the sidelines for thirty years.”

She steeled herself to leave him. “Lie easy then, and don’t quarrel with the alchymists while I’m gone. They only wish to help.”

“Let them help me take one last piss like a man!” the king said, glaring at the doctors. “Do you hear? Then swaddle me well and wrap my loins in oilskin, so my damned leaking bladder doesn’t wet me down and bring on a fatal chill. I will not die before my time! Bazekoy would be furious.”

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As the guards announced the queen, Princess Maudrayne’s dour maidservant was trimming wicks and getting ready to light the lamps and candles against the setting of the sun.

“Take me to your mistress,” Cataldise demanded, before Rusgann could even rise from her curtsey.

“She’s working in her little study-room, Your Grace. Please to follow me.”

There were no other attendants in the apartment. The place was cluttered with stacks of books, baskets containing parchment rolls, stoppered glass containers with peculiar things floating in them, and pieces of scientific apparatus. Some of the brass objects reminded the queen of the disused navigation instruments that were now only ornaments on the shelves of the king’s sitting room.

What a mess! Cataldise thought. The girl has let her quarters become positively squalid since Sovanna was dismissed. Whether Maude likes it or not,

I’ll have the place tidied up, starting tomorrow. What would Conrig think if he returned and found things in such a state?

“The Queen’s Grace to see you,” Rusgann announced to Maudrayne.

“Leave us,” Cataldise told the maid, who shot her a saucy look before withdrawing.

The queen and princess exchanged cool nods, then sat down opposite one another at a large table piled with tomes and notebooks. Maudrayne had been watercoloring an ink sketch of a flower on a sheet of vellum. She wore a splattered apron over her gown, and her fingers were stained.

“I have some good news, Daughter. Conrig is sailing south and may arrive in Cala Bay tomorrow or the next day if he’s not delayed by bad weather. Of course he probably won’t come immediately to the palace. I believe he intends to visit Admiral Woodvale on his flagship first and instruct him how to dispose of Honigalus and his nasty band of raiders.”

“I look forward to seeing my husband,” Maudrayne said. “Thank you for coming to tell me of him.”

“There’s something else.” Cataldise bit her lip to forestall tears. “The king has taken a turn for the worse. He wishes to see you.”

“Oh!” Genuine concern furrowed the brow of the princess. “Of course I’ll come at once.” She rose and untied her apron.

“Listen to me first, Daughter. His Grace is not himself. He’s been seized with a crazed notion and refuses to abide by the advice of his doctors. He won’t even heed me. You’ll have to help us calm him or—or the consequences could be mortal.”

“What is this notion?”

“His Grace is determined to leave the palace this very night and take personal command of our war-fleet. He has no confidence in Lord Admiral Woodvale’s ability to engage the Didionites in battle. He truly believes that Emperor Bazekoy wants him to rise from his deathbed and direct the defense of our kingdom.”

“Great God!” Maudrayne could not help smiling. “But who can say if the king’s desire is madness or sanity? If Copperstrand and Woodvale had not ignored him when he attempted to windspeak them, perhaps we would not have suffered such a terrible drubbing at the Vigilant Isles. What other way can His Grace guarantee that his orders are carried out, than by taking command?

I’ve read accounts of his youthful naval exploits against the pirates of Andradh—“

Cataldise was on her feet, livid with anger. “Don’t talk like an idiot! Sulkorig told me that the least exertion will stop my dear husband’s faltering heart. He cannot leave his bed! I came here hoping for your help, madam, knowing that you love Olmigon. If you intend to encourage him in his pathetic fantasy, then damn you for a heartless fool—and be sure I’ll tell Conrig how you failed his father in his last hours.”