Sorcerer's Moon (16 page)

Conrig Wincantor was only six-and-forty years old, in robust health despite the spiritual corrosion occasioned by fending off his many enemies. Once the Salka were soundly thrashed and sequestered in the unimportant corner of the island they'd earlier overrun, he intended to turn his eyes to the Continent. The nation of Andradh, lacking a strong central government, was in his opinion ripe for the taking.

But only if the Sovereignty of Blenholme remained firm under his leadership.

Only if
all
of Conrig's domestic enemies, real and potential, were neutralized.

The opportunity to solve the irksome problem of Dyfrig had come unexpectedly to the king a sennight earlier, following a particularly acrimonious meeting of the Council of War. The Cathran and Tarnian battle-leaders, whose idle forces were chafing for action, wanted to launch immediate attacks against the entrenched Salka horde from both land and sea; while the Didionites, who better understood the perils of fighting pitched battles in the awful Green Morass, insisted on holding back so long as the inhuman foe advanced no farther this year.

Conrig was being pressed for a final decision but knew he lacked important facts about the monsters' situation.
Why
had they stalled? Were they waiting for some new magical weaponry before advancing? Had numbers of them fallen ill? Were they expecting reinforcements from Moss? There were too many unanswered questions.

At this point Prince Dyfrig had approached the Sovereign in private and proposed leading a hazardous but well-thought-out scouting expedition into Salka-held territory. Since ships of the Sovereignty's Joint Fleet, sailing along the north coast of the island, were too far from the concentration of monsters to obtain useful intelligence through scrying, Conrig's strategists had been forced to rely on vague reports from overly cautious Didionite scouts and the weak-talented oversight of that country's wizards. Earlier attempts by sizable Cathran reconnaissance teams to penetrate the morass had been total disasters. The men had fallen victim to wild animals and hostile terrain, and the few survivors had no useful findings to report.

But now Dyfrig volunteered to try something different. He wanted to lead a small, elite group that would travel very quickly and secretly to a vantage point in the Gulo Highlands
overlooking the Beacon Valley, a rugged region that the clumsy, water-loving amphibians were unlikely to have occupied. Once the little band gained the heights, its powerful windsearcher would be able to oversee the enemy position in relative safety; intelligence could then be windspoken directly to Lord Stergos without relaying it through the biased Didionites.

Instead of scoffing at the bold idea, Conrig seized on it. If the mission succeeded, the Army of the Sovereignty would obtain invaluable firsthand news about the enemy. If it failed, Dyfrig would either be viewed as an overreaching young fool - or a dead hero.

Conrig had authorized Dyfrig's scheme without consulting the earl marshal. Only the king and his trusted brother Stergos, the Royal Alchymist, knew the true goal of the mission was direct windtalent oversight of the Salka invaders. Everyone else, including Dyfrig's adoptive father, believed the prince was traveling only to Timberton Fortress, near Black Hare Lake, where he would personally question local informants about the movements of the enemy.

'Sire, there are riders coming from Boarsden Castle to meet us. Two of them, at a rather brisk clip.' Parlian Beorbrook still had the eyesight of an eagle, and a moment later he added, 'One of them is a local knight and the other is your royal brother.'

'I hope nothing's happened to delay those boys of mine.' Conrig's tone was sour. 'If we have to postpone this damned betrothal ceremony and magnify Somarus's resentment further, I'll wring their necks!'

The king put the spur to his mount and Beorbrook galloped after. But when the four riders met in a cloud of dust, Conrig was relieved to see the Royal Alchymist's beardless face alight with happiness.

'My liege,' Stergos cried, 'I've received important tidings on the wind! From Prince Dyfrig!'

'Then let's you and I and the earl marshal speak of it privily,' the king said in a pointed manner. The disappointed Didionite warrior backed his horse away.

'Is my dear son well?' the earl marshal inquired.

'Oh, yes!' Stergos was fairly hopping out of the saddle with excitement. 'He and his men have learned that the Salka are withdrawing - streaming northward in vast numbers.'

'God's Blood!' the Sovereign cried. He managed to supress his inappropriate consternation just in time. Not only had the young wretch survived his feckless adventure, but it seemed as though he had improbably covered himself with glory as well.

Stergos rushed on. 'Vra-Erol Wintersett, the army's Chief Windsearcher, was able to scry the huge host of monsters at Beacon Lake. His oversight was not crystal clear, but the direction of the Salka troop movement was unmistakable. They're retreating toward the sea.'

'The Brother scried this from Timberton Fortress?' The earl marshal was incredulous.

'Nay, my lord.' The Royal Alchymist's exuberance faltered. 'Prince Dyfrig led his party into the morass as far as the Raging River, deep in the wilderness. They were only about thirty leagues from the Salka position when they made their reconnaissance.'

Parlian Beorbrook groaned. 'Zeth save us - the young fool!'

'The Brother windsearcher is absolutely certain of this retreat?' Conrig demanded.

'He is. And there's more.' Stergos hesitated. 'It seems almost unbelievable, now that I think further about it. But - well -'

'Speak up, Gossy!' the king said harshly. 'Stop your damned dithering!'

The Royal Alchymist blinked. His brother's temper had grown increasingly short since the start of the massive Salka invasion. Unlike the earlier forays by amphibian forces against human coastal towns, it had caught the Sovereignty completely by surprise and shaken Conrig's heretofore invincible confidence. Stergos had tried not to take the king's emotional explosions personally, and he now spoke as calmly as he could.

'Dyfrig claims that he knows why the monsters halted at Beacon Lake. It seems there are other inhuman inhabitants of the Green Morass that the Salka were unaware of. That were unknown to the Didionites as well - save as half-forgotten legends. The mysterious creatures are said to be huge and very ferocious. Dyfrig believes that they attacked the Salka host, wreaked havoc on them, and stopped their advance.'

'Bloody hell,' Conrig murmured. 'And the prince and his men actually saw these things with their own eyes?'

'Not exactly,' Stergos admitted. 'They encountered strange tracks supposedly made by one of the creatures, and claw marks high in the trees. They also found a huge bear that had been torn to pieces and devoured by an unknown predator - and in its skull was one of the attacker's broken teeth. It's nearly the length of a man's hand and almost resembles a Salka tusk - save that it's golden-yellow in color, like a sharpened topaz gem, rather than glassy clear.'

The earl marshal said, 'But can they be sure that the bear wasn't brought down by others of its kind, or by some human hunter? This so-called tooth might be naught but a primitive weapon of some sort, made of something like obsidian.'

'The expedition guide is a Didionite fur-trapper,' Stergos said, 'the most experienced man Prince Dyfrig could hire in Timberton, where men of that stripe congregate. This fellow is adamant that the bear was killed by something called a

Morass Worm, a sort of dragon without wings that was thought to have gone extinct centuries ago. The worms are intelligent - and they possess talent, just as the Salka do.'

Conrig let loose a sharp obscenity. 'Giant worms? Dragons? Have they all lost their minds? Are we supposed to believe a tale spun by an ignorant Diddly stump-jumper?'

'Sire,' said the earl marshal,
'something
caused the Salka army's lighting advance to slam to a halt over a moon ago. It wasn't the terrain. They had a clear corridor through the morass: wetlands and rivers and lakes, perfect for such creatures. They could have reached the valley of the Upper Malle if they'd kept moving, and would have caught Didion's forces flatfooted before troops from Cathra or Tarn could reinforce them. Luckily for us, the brutes stopped dead in their tracks. We've speculated about some unknown disease decimating their ranks. But they didn't withdraw at the end of Thunder Moon, when they first stalled, so that explanation doesn't hold up. Dyfrig's does.'

The king's jaw muscles worked. He said, 'And you, Gossy? What do you think?'

'What Prince Dyfrig says is logical,' said the Royal Alchymist. He added with enthusiasm, 'And what a wonderful stroke of fate it is! The Salka are all but defeated. We won't have to fight them in that hellish bog country. You can announce the great news to Somarus and the generals and the Tarnian Sealords at supper tonight. Our warriors -all of the Sovereignty's warriors - can go home for the winter/

Conrig thought: And I shall not lead Blenholme's army against the inhuman foe after all! The momentous battle that might have solidified our uneasy political unity is once again postponed . . .

Aloud, he said, 'The Salka withdrawal must be verified before we allow the troops to disperse. This apparent retreat
might be only a feint. I'll announce that the findings of Dyfrig's party are only preliminary - but very hopeful.'

Beorbrook sighed. 'I suppose that's wise, sire.'

'If numbers of Salka are retreating into the sea, the fact can perhaps be confirmed by a Tarnian sloop or two carrying windsearchers along the north coast. The High Sealord must order boats out from Ice Haven at once.' Conrig addressed the Royal Alchymist. 'Gossy, I want you to contact the wind-speaking Brother who accompanies Dyfrig. Order the expedition to return to Boarsden immediately.'

'They're already on their way. But even coming at breakneck speed with little sleep and many changes of horse, it might take them four or five days to get here.'

'They are to bring with them both the Didionite guide and the alleged tooth, along with whatever other evidence they may have collected concerning these Morass Worms.'

'My talent isn't strong enough to bespeak Vra-Odos directly right away,' Stergos said to his brother. 'Even though I am a Doctor Arcanorum with a fair windspeaking facility. Prince Dyfrig's party is too far distant to hear my unfocused wind-hail. I must wait until they are closer - or until Vra-Odos calls out to
me
on a narrowly aimed thread of mental speech.'

'Then see that you keep your mental ears well pricked!' the king said curtly. 'Let me know just as soon as you're able to pass on my orders. And add another, which is even more important: Dyfrig is to make certain that the Didionite is closely guarded and tells no one about the presence of the Morass Worms. This charge I lay upon the prince with the full weight of my authority. It goes without saying that the Cathrans in the party will also be sworn to absolute secrecy.'

Beorbrook was puzzled. 'But, sire! Why?'

'Fighting Salka monsters in raids along the shores of our island in recent years has tested the courage of our warriors lo the utmost,' Conrig replied. 'Think, Parli! The Didionites,
especially, are terrified of the moonstone sorcery wielded by the great trolls and their habit of devouring their foes slowly, while yet alive.' A cynical smile twisted his mouth. 'Who can tell what our worthy allies might do if they learned they might now also have to battle dragons to save our beleaguered homeland?'

'Who can tell,' the earl marshal said somberly, 'what any of us would do?'

CHAPTER
FIVE

'TO YOU, GIVER OF OUR MOST VALUED GIFT, FROM THOSE WHO REVERED YOUR LATE FATHER, WE SEND GREETINGS ON THE WIND AND ASK IN ALL FRIENDSHIP THAT YOU RESPOND.'

There was no reply to the combined bespoken hail of the Salka Eminences. Their previous fifty-odd windshouts, sent out at regular intervals throughout a very long day, had been equally futile. The Four were gathered on the highest turret of Fenguard Castle in Moss. The sun was sinking into a billow of fiery clouds on the horizon above the Little Fen.

'I think the depraved sea-squirt must be dead or gone away to the Continent,' the Supreme Warrior said. 'There's been no news of him for years. We've blanketed the entire island with generalized windcalls and the accumulated pain-debt is giving me a hellish headache. I'm ready to pack it up.' He twiddled the minor sigil that hung about his neck on a golden chain. The moonstone was a Longspeaker, and Ugusawnn and his colleagues had been using it jointly to channel their cautiously phrased salutation toward the human sorcerer Beynor, wherever he might be.

'The Great Light was specific,' the First Judge reminded
the others. 'Beynor is our best hope for gaining access to the Demon Seat Moon Crag. Would the Light have said this if the groundling sorcerer were dead?'

'Who knows?' The ancient Conservator of Wisdom had slumped into a heap on the parapet, spent by unaccustomed pain. 'Colleagues, if you intend to continue, you must do it without me.'

'Beynor may be alive and well,' Master Shaman Kalawnn said, 'but unwilling to speak to us for reasons of his own. He and Ugusawnn hardly parted in cordial circumstances. And the disappearance of Queen Ullanoth's sigils from Rothbannon's tomb before Beynor could turn them over to us as he'd promised must have been a terrible disappointment to him.'

'As it was to us!' growled the Warrior. Several of the queen's sigils had been Great Stones, which the Salka coveted because they had none of their own - save for the paradoxical Potency.

'Furthermore,' the Master Shaman said, 'if Beynor has been able to windwatch our activities over the years, he might well know that we were able to activate the Stone of Stones without his help - even though he cannot scry the sigil itself. He has thus been deprived of both of his most crucial bargaining assets. No doubt he believes that there can no longer be a fruitful business relationship between himself and the Salka -'

'And now, when we call to him on the wind after ignoring him for so long,' the Conservator interjected, 'he might think we're up to no good. Is this what you're implying, Kalawnn?'