Sorcerer's Moon (27 page)

Finally the door opened. The hulking form and pinched, swarthy countenance of his longtime colleague Cleaton Papworth glared down at him in outrage. 'Bloody hell, Squinty! What do you think you're playing at?'

'Let me in, Clete! I've unbelievable news! Beynor of Moss is here in the castle!' He pushed past the other wizard, who had been the Hebdomader or Prefect of Discipline for the Zeth Brethren of Cala Palace during Kilian's tenure as Royal Alchymist of Cathra, while Niavar himself had held the even more exalted post of Keeper of Arcana. Both men had shared their master's downfall and endured years of imprisonment with him. They now served as the Lord Chancellor's closest confidants.

'He's in a deep windsearching trance,' Cleaton said, motioning for Niavar to follow him into the inner rooms of the large apartment, 'trying to learn whether the Salka army is actually retreating to Moss. He's got to come off the wind soon or risk shriveling his brain. This is the third long-range scan he's done this afternoon. He also overlooked Prince Dyfrig and his scouting party and made an unsuccessful attempt to scry out the Wold Wraith.'

'You mean Casya Pretender? The girl who claims to be Didion's lost queen?'

'The same.' Cleaton's incongruously small mouth assumed a sour smile. 'King Somarus has commanded the master to find her and kill her. High time, if you ask me! But the bitch is under the protection of the Green Men, so tracking her down won't be easy . . . Now what's all this about Beynor?'

'I must inform the master first,' Niavar said primly.

Cleaton hissed in exasperation. 'Well, come along then.'

The two wizards entered a dimly lit chamber that seemed part thaumaturgical laboratory and part library. In the far corner was the tufted leather longchair used by Kilian during his more strenuous conjuring activities. He reclined on it,
wrapped from head to toe in a black hooded cloak that concealed his face. The Lord Chancellor was a vain man, and an adept riding the wind was sometimes not a pretty sight.

Seated on a wooden chair at Kilian's side was a very good-looking blackrobe who appeared at least two decades younger than his associates. His name was Garon Curtling, and like the others he was a defrocked Brother of Zeth who had thrown in his lot with Kilian. Unlike Niavar and Cleaton, Garon had not served his master in Cala Palace or abetted his treason. Instead, he was the person who had enabled Kilian and his confederates to escape from Zeth Abbey. A member of a highland clan, Garon had guided the others over the rugged Sinistral Mountains to an eventual safe haven in Didion.

Garon Curtling had broken his vows and joined the fugitives because he could no longer abide the closely regulated, celibate life required of Cathrans possessing talent. In Didion (Kilian had informed him) magickers could enjoy feminine company without shame. They could even practise their craft independently and for profit if they chose, without being forced to join some repressive Order. Should Garon choose to remain with Kilian and the two other loyal associates while they wormed their way into King Somarus's confidence, there would be ample opportunities for all of them to make a lot of money.

Kilian had prospered mightily in the service of Didion, and so, in a more modest way, had Niavar and Cleaton. But Garon, who had gone directly from his family's isolated croft in the uplands to the novitiate at Zeth Abbey, was much less adept at soliciting bribes and kickbacks from supplicants at the court of Somarus in Holt Mallburn. Garon also spent more on women, strong drink, and gambling than his older colleagues, with the result that he accumulated no savings
and finally had to be placed on an allowance by Kilian like an improvident son . . .

'I think he's waking up.' Cleaton bent over his recumbent master. 'Garon, prepare a tray with small beer and some honeycakes. He'll be weak and thirsty and require something sweet to restore his strength.'

The younger wizard nodded amiably and went off into an adjacent room. Cleaton fetched a basin of cool water and a cloth, lifted Kilian's hood, and began to bathe his livid, emaciated face. The elderly chancellor uttered a broken moan and his eyelids fluttered.

'What did the master learn about Prince Dyfrig and his men?' Niavar asked his colleague in a whisper. 'Was there any hint of that other mysterious discovery they supposedly made - the one only Conrig and Somarus and High Sealord Sernin were told of?'

Cleaton shook his head. 'Lord Kilian oversaw the reconnaissance party approaching the southern boundary of the morass above Black Hare Lake. They must have pressed on at an extraordinary pace in order to have covered ground so rapidly. Whatever the other discovery is, Prince Dyfrig is in a rare hurry to pass it along. But neither he nor any member of his party discussed It in a way that the master could discover through lip-reading.'

'Did he estimate how long it would take the group to reach Boarsden?'

'They won't reach a village with horses available until tomorrow. After that - with many changes of mount, and if the weather stays good and their stamina holds up - they could well arrive here in a couple of days.'

Both of the older wizards fell silent as their younger colleague returned with food and drink for the recovering Kilian. Cleaton lifted the chancellor to a sitting position while Niavar held a cup of beer to his blue-tinged lips.

'I'd - I'd rather have white wine,' the alchymist said in a cracked voice. 'Will you please fetch some, Garon?'

'But I'll have to go all the way to the buttery, my lord -'

'Then do so at once,' Cleaton snapped. 'And see that you re-secure the spell of couverture as you go out the door!'

Garon gave a negligent bow and sauntered away.

'You should not be so harsh with him,' Kilian murmured.

The former disciplinarian's brow was thunderous. 'He shouldn't question your orders, master. Nor mine and Niavar's, for that matter. But he does. Also, he's getting slipshod and lazy in the performance of his regular duties and discontented with his allowance. The town doxies have upped the price for their favors.'

Kilian pinched the bridge of his aristocratic nose and screwed his face up briefly in pain. The strain of windspeaking had left him looking even older than his six-and-seventy years. 'Enough! Don't vex me with your petty squabbles. I'll take the beer after all, Niavar. I need something right now to moisten my throat after that last futile bout of scrying.'

The little wizard presented the cup again. 'So your survey of the Salka was disappointing, master?'

'There was little I could ascertain of their army's movement once the creatures entered the sea. Whilst swimming they are almost beyond my ken. I did scry feeding activity along the coast just east of the Beacon River, but it seemed to involve relatively small numbers of the monsters. One wonders if the tricksy wretches are really heading for home.'

'You believe they seek to mislead windwatchers?' Cleaton said.

'It's quite possible ... I did spot two disguised Tarnian sloops approaching the area, keeping well out to sea. No doubt they've been sent by High Sealord Sernin to reconnoiter. If the vessels carry competent scriers my own oversight of the area may be redundant.'

'How so, master?' Cleaton wondered.

The chancellor sighed. 'I'd hoped to confirm the Salka retreat and announce my findings at the feast. I'm rather badly in need of a boost to my prestige, lads! When I talked to King Somarus last night, he was in an ugly mood. Not inclined to accept my good counsel at all. It seems His Majesty has had presaging dreams - of a free Didion, no less, shed of the yoke of Sovereignty! I didn't know what to make of it.'

Niavar gave a great start. 'My lord, I - I may have an explanation. Something unexpected has occurred, which may bode no good for our own secret objectives. Beynor of Moss has turned up. He's here in Boarsden Castle: an honored guest!'

'What?'
Kilian sat bolt upright. 'Tell me everything!'

Niavar said, ‘I heard rumors of a newly arrived nobleman from the servants, and also learned that Lord Stergos and his clique of senior magickers had been urgently summoned to wait upon the High King whilst this visitor was given a hearing. The audience chamber was secured by couverture and it was impossible for me to oversee the meeting itself; but afterwards I sought some of the Zeth Brethren out, keeping myself concealed, and listened to their gossip.'

He narrated a second-hand account of Beynor's meeting with Conrig and his ultimate affirmation as the legitimate Conjure-King of Moss, then concluded: 'So the scoundrel will sit at the high table at tonight's feast along with the heads of Blenholme's other vassal states.'

'And there is no doubt of this upstart's identity?' Kilian asked.

'King Somarus recognized Beynor, my lord. And the fellow carried Moss's Sword of State. The Zeth Brethren I eavesdropped upon are fully convinced that this man is the deposed Conjure-King. They said his aura was one of a
powerful sorcerer, although his demeanor was mild and conciliatory. He claims he's been in exile on the Continent for the past two decades, after losing his throne to his sister Ullanoth. We know this to be false - he was with the Salka for some of that time - and one might suspect that High King Conrig also has his doubts. Yet he gave Beynor the royal accolade. Dubbed the whoreson with Moss's own Sword of State!'

‘Ironcrown is up to something,' Kilian said. 'He would not have welcomed this landless knave to the inner circle of the Sovereignty lightly.'

'He hasn't quite done that yet,' Niavar pointed out. 'The Zeth Brethren said that the fellow is being hedged about with magical safety precautions. The Royal Alchymist even performed the "All Harmful Spells Avaunt" ritual over him, using one of Bazekoy's blue pearls. It'll hold good so long as Beynor remains within the ambit of Boarsden Castle.'

'Well, well!' Kilian's eyes gleamed with speculation. 'That's a useful thing to know.'

Niavar went on. 'When you spoke of King Somarus having strange dreams, I thought immediately of Beynor's peculiar talent. He could have been attempting to influence the sleeping king before presenting himself at court.'

'God of the Depths! That would imply that Beynor was situated reasonably close to Didion during part of his term of exile. He would not have been able to perform dream-invasion from a great distance.' The chancellor frowned at his henchmen. 'What about you two? Was there ever any hint that he encroached upon your slumber?'

'Nay, my lord,' Cleaton said. 'If he even made an attempt on me, I would have known.'

'As would I,' Niavar said. 'Each night before retiring, both of us conjure the somnial defensive screen you taught us long years ago. Not, I must confess, because we feared Beynor
- but rather to repel any possible assault by Salka mind-meddlers. Since the monsters activated the Potency sigil, we've been wary of what mischief they might attempt.'

'Beynor invaded the dreams of Somarus years ago,' Kilian recalled, 'to prepare him for the assassination of his brother Honigalus. I wonder who else he might have targeted? Not me, certainly. Not Stergos Wincantor or any other highly talented adept. But there are so many others without talent who are vulnerable, including even the Sovereign himself. ..'

Cleaton said, 'My lord, forgive me if I presume, but I believe this Conjure-King is a serious danger to you personally and to the great goal we've all worked so long and hard for.'

'You may be right,' Kilian said wearily. 'Yet keep in mind that he will be no easy mark. Beynor's natural talent is tremendous, even though he still carries the curse of the Great Lights.'

'Can we be sure of that?' Niavar said.

'No,' Kilian admitted. 'We can take nothing for granted where the capricious Beaconfolk are concerned.' He was silent for a time. 'And if Beynor spent his years of silent exile on High Blenholme Island rather than on the Continent,
what was he doing?
And why has he chosen to resurface here and now in this blatant - even irrational - manner, knowing that I'll deem him a mortal threat?'

'Clete spoke the truth, my lord,' Niavar said. 'We must find a way to kill him. Tonight, if possible.'

The chancellor sighed. 'Pull up some chairs, friends, and let's consider our options.'

The presence of Moss's green banner, in company with those of the other states of the Blenholme Sovereignty above the high-table dais, caused an undertone of shocked amazement during the processional entry and the seating of the guests
at the lower tables. The handful of persons who knew the why of it spread word that Beynor the Conjure-King was back - reinstated by the Sovereign himself in spite of the fact that his kingdom had been overrun by man-eating monsters. Extraordinary!

A flourish of trumpets rang out from the music gallery. The gorgeously attired royal personages and privileged guests began to enter, led by Duke Ranwing Boarsden and Duchess Piery. As befit his latecomer status among the vassals, Beynor followed the host and hostess. Cathra's Royal Alchymist came half a pace behind the Mossland sorcerer, smiling wanly and keeping his folded hands up the sleeves of his formal robes as though he were carrying something secretly. Then came the High Sealord of Tarn and Head of the Company of Equals, Sernin Donorvale, along with his adult sons Simok and Orfons; the new Grand Shaman Zolanfel; and Tarn's Field Commander, Sealord Yons Stormchild. Accompanying King Somarus of Didion was Crown Prince Valardus and his wife Princess Elyse; Duke Azarick Dennech-Cuva, who was Didion's Commander-in-Chief, and his wife Duchess Vyane; and the Royal Chancellor Kilian Blackhorse. Last of all to assume their seats were the Sovereign and his wife High Queen Risalla, accompanied by their oldest son Vra-Bramlow, Earl Marshal Parlian Beorbrook, and Cathra's Lord Lieutenant, Hale Brackenfield, with his wife Countess Orvada and their daughter Lady Nyla.

Two high-table chairs immediately to the left hand of Conrig Ironcrown remained empty.

The Sovereign, garbed in cloth-of-gold and black samite, rose with both hands lifted high. The throng of over two hundred peers, knights, and noble ladies waited in hushed eagerness for his announcement.