Sorcerer's Moon (43 page)

Stergos gave a sudden start, but said nothing.

'Never mind,' the Sovereign said. 'The Royal Alchymist will make sense of it if anyone can. You've done well, young prince. Very well.'

'Thank you, sire.' Dyfrig lowered his head. 'There is little more I can tell you.'

'I've heard enough. No doubt you've been informed that the Salka monsters didn't turn tail for home as we'd initially hoped. They may invade Blenholme's western coast. Tomorrow the army will begin its march to new positions in order to counter the new threat. I want you to serve under your father, Earl Marshal Parlian, in this redeployment. Can you be ready?'

'Of course, Your Grace,' Dyfrig said eagerly.

Conrig rose from his seat at the table. 'Leave us then, and prepare for the march. This evening you and your companions will be officially commended at supper. I'll see you there.'

'Yes, sire. Thank you, sire.' Beaming with happiness and quite unaware of the mental disquiet concealed by the Sovereign's cordial manner, Dyfrig withdrew.

Conrig turned a cold eye on his brother. 'You know more about this Mosslander witch Thalassa than you've told me, Gossy. Out with it!'

'There's nothing sinister about our relationship,' the alchymist insisted. 'She's a friend of the Tarnians who has lived in that nation for decades after quarreling with her late royal brother of Moss. Thalassa said she had no notion at all who might have advised the Morass Worms - and yes, she may have lied to me. But what difference does it make? Whoever contacted the creatures and advised them did us a tremendous favor.'

'I suppose so,' the king conceded with ill grace. He stared
at his own hands, which were partially clenched, the thumbs rubbing nervously together. 'Still, it disturbs me to learn that our island harbors yet another race of inhuman beings possessing uncanny talent.'

'Thalassa told me that her shaman friends are doing their utmost to scry the Salka out.' Stergos hastened to steer his brother's thoughts away from that uncomfortable subject. 'She herself has promised all the help within her power. As the amphibian host rounds Cape Wolf and enters the Western Ocean, it'll come within the scope of many more land-based Tarnian windsearchers than before. Others are taking to sea in fast small boats, patrolling offshore and scrying underwater. They'll find the monsters in time for you to organize our defenses, I'm certain of it.'

Conrig uttered a noncommital grunt. 'Another thing: I was watching you when that boy mentioned something called the New Conflict. You know what it is, don't you.'

'Yes.' Stergos's eyes slid away. That boy. Not once during this morning's meeting had Conrig called his first-born son by name.

'Then tell me what the conflict is about, damn you!'

'Con, it's a - a mythical battle, not yet joined, that will supposedly pit the Beaconfolk and their malignant sigil sorcery against other Sky beings. Good ones. It's only a legend told by Tarnian shamans with no relevance to us.'

'No relevance? I don't believe you! Somebody - was it Ulla or Snudge? - said it was . . . Ah, God, I can't remember!' The king groaned and put his hand over his eyes. 'My head's throbbing again, Gossy. Do something.'

'I'll fetch another potion immediately. But listen to me, Con. I've been thinking about your disturbing nightmares. It's possible that they're not natural. You could be -
someone might be meddling with your dreams through sorcery.'

'What!' Conrig looked up, his features a mixture of wrath and pain. 'Is such a thing possible?'

'Unfortunately, yes. Be calm. Now that our suspicions are aroused, we can take steps to prevent it.'

'Who's responsible? The damned Salka? Or is it some minion of that fat troublemaker Somarus?'

'I believe it's Conjure-King Beynor.'

'Beynor?' The king was incredulous. 'Nonsense.'

'You've got to send him away. The redeployment of your army provides a perfect diplomatic excuse. Ship him off to Incayo on the east coast, where his exiled countrymen have settled. Give him enough money to set himself up in reasonable style -'

'He only arrived a few days ago and the nightmares have afflicted me for months!'

'Your former Royal Intelligencer told me long ago that Beynor invaded his dreams and tried to exert insidious coercion upon him. This happened while Snudge was in Cala City and Beynor was voyaging on the high seas somewhere between Blenholme and the Continent. The Conjure-King has the ability to perform his sorcery over a considerable distance. He might have been working on you for a long time. We know he must have some self-aggrandizing plan up his sleeve, and attacking your sanity might be part of it. For all we know, he could be invading the dreams of other leaders as well. Somarus -'

Conrig gave a hoot of derisive laughter. 'That royal zany doesn't need a sorcerer mucking up his dreams to make him crazy. He's pickled his brain in ardent spirits all by himself.'

'Send Beynor away,' Stergos urged. 'Whether or not he's responsible for your nightmares, you know we dare not trust him.'

A memory of the latest dream flashed into the king's brain - the tall figure standing aside from the futile melee, telling

Conrig that he was using the wrong weapon. Had its voice been Beynor's . . . ?

'Very well, I'll order him to Incayo, as you suggested. He can leave before dawn tomorrow. There's no good reason to let him tag along after the army, but I'd thought - Never mind. Go and bespeak your Mossy witch friend, Brother. Ask her about remedies for dream invasion.'

Stergos rose from the table. 'Don't forget that Prince Heritor Corodon waits outside in the anteroom. He claims to have something important to show you. Will you see him?'

'Oh, very well,' Conrig growled. 'Send him in, but warn him that I have to confer with my Privy Council at the eleventh hour. He can have only a few minutes. And hurry with that headache potion!'

The Royal Alchymist went to the door and called out. Corodon appeared, dressed in a hunting habit of russet and gold and sporting a winsome smile. 'Good morrow, my liege! Thank you for seeing me.' He stole a glance over his shoulder to be sure that Stergos had closed the door behind him, then hurried to the table with a conspiratorial air. 'The most curious thing has happened. May I be seated, Father?'

Conrig made a fretful gesture. 'Be quick about your business, Coro. I have a long day ahead of me and I feel unwell.'

Corodon opened his belt-wallet and removed a small object, which he set on the table before the High King. 'This vial contains a love philtre. I'd like to slip it to Princess Hyndry - if you'll grant me permission.'

Conrig stared at his son, momentarily at a loss for words. The prince continued hurriedly. 'I was given the philtre by Conjure-King Beynor. He advised me that it would cause the princess to look upon me with more favor if I could get her to drink it, even if she failed to fall instantly in love.’

‘Beynor gave you this potion? In God's name, why?’

‘He said that a new marital liaison between Cathra and
Didion was in the best interests of the Sovereignty. He said he wished my rejected suit to succeed in order to prove his loyalty to you.'

'Oh, he did, did he?' Conrig muttered.

'Father - it's worth a try. The fellow could hardly be scheming for me to poison Hyndry. Everyone would know he was responsible. He called the princess a tough nut to crack, but if the love philtre doesn't work, we're no worse off than before.'

Conrig began to laugh. He threw his head back and bellowed with mirth, smacking the table with one hand so that the tiny bottle tipped over and Corodon made a frantic grab for it, lest it spill. Finally, when the paroxysm diminished, the prince spoke up again.

'Hyndry has been sulking in her chambers, ignoring my friendly messages, but you could command her to go a-hawking with me. I'll put the stuff in her wine as we have our picnic lunch.'

'Do it.' Conrig wiped his eyes. 'A love philtre! Lad, you've made me feel much better. Here, I'll give you a note to send to the wench.' He rose from the table, went to his desk, and scribbled a few words, then melted wax and sealed the folded sheet with his ring. 'She'll not ignore that.'

'Thank you, sire.' Having also risen, the prince tucked the parchment in his wallet. 'And . . . there's something even more interesting that Beynor told me, if you have time to listen.'

'Well?' said the king.

Corodon hesitated, remembering that the sorcerer had warned him not to speak of the sigils until after the philtre had been successful. But the prince had hardly slept last night, mulling over the stupendous potential of the three Great Stones that one day might be passed on to him. The lemptation to tell his father about them now - to show that
he, Corodon, was instrumental in bringing the offer of these powerful weapons to the king's attention - was more than the young man could resist.

'Conjure-King Beynor took me into his confidence, sire. He told me he had been cursed by the Beaconfolk, that he could never again use the sorcery of their moonstone sigils himself without being cast into the Hell of Ice. But he has a few of the things in his possession, what he called Great Stones - not the minor kind of sigils owned by the Salka. These Great Stones are presently inactive, but he knows how to bring them to life. I wasn't supposed to tell you about this yet - but he wants to give them to you!'

Conrig felt his heart constrict within his chest. Was it possible? For years he'd dreamed of getting hold of one of the moonstone amulets. He'd even been tempted to do away with Snudge and seize the stones he owned - but activating the things was impossible without knowing the complicated incantation that infused them with power and bonded them to their owner. And Conjure-Queen Ullanoth, his former lover, who had known the activation spell and might have shared it with him, was long dead.

Killed by the accumulated pain-debt of the moonstones she had used in his service . . .

'What sigils does Beynor have?' Conrig asked, striving to keep his voice steady. 'Did you actually see them?'

'Oh, yes, sire! There are three only - a finger-ring called Weathermaker, a carrot-shaped little thing called Ice-Master that freezes water and living bodies containing water, and a small wand that King Beynor said was the most powerful sigil of all. Its name is Destroyer.'

'Destroyer.'

The tall figure in his dream had held such a wand, calling it the proper weapon to defeat all of his enemies . . .

Conrig turned away from the prince, his thoughts in
turmoil. What had Ulla told him of that stone? That a Destroyer was part of Rothbannon's original collection. That the first Conjure-King of Moss had deemed the thing dangerous, and used it only rarely. That Queen Taspiroth, mother of Ulla and Beynor, had dared to activate the Destroyer sigil and had given it an inappropriate command, whereupon the thing had slain her in a particularly horrid fashion and cast her into hell.

'Did Beynor say why he wanted to gift me with these perilous tools of sorcery?'

'Sire, he wants the Kingdom of Moss back. He believes you can defeat the Salka with the Great Stones. He also said he would expect you to assist him in rebuilding his ravaged homeland. It seemed reasonable to me. Again, why would he lie?'

'You are an ignorant child,' Conrig said with deliberate cruelty. 'Persons such as Beynor may have hidden motives you can't conceive of. The simplest might be to bring about my own death and break up the Sovereignty, so that he might gain some great personal advantage.'

'But what could that be?' the prince demanded. 'The Salka are his true enemies - not you! They occupy his country and threaten to overrun other parts of our island. How can you refuse magical weapons that would bring certain victory?'

'I can refuse because the sigils might not work for me!' the king roared. 'The Beaconfolk are evil and capricious. They feed on pain - do you know that? They slew Beynor's mother for God knows what reason. They could do the same to me!'

Corodon took a deep breath and gave voice to the audacious thought that had repeated itself in his mind thoughout the night. ‘I understand why you mistrust the stones, Father. And you are the Sovereign. Blenholme needs you to rule and guide it in these dangerous times. So ask Beynor to bond
the
three sigils to me! Then command me to use them in your service. I'd willingly risk my life.'

'You?!'

'I'm not afraid.'

Conrig swallowed his fury at the prince's implication -
unwitting or not - that he himself was afraid to use the stones.

Not noticing his gaffe, the Heritor dug into his belt-wallet and drew forth the chunk of mineral he had brought from the summit of Demon Seat. 'There's something else I thought of. Look here, Father! I have this piece of uncarved moonstone, which I found on - on a mountain near Swan Lake. I saw magical power come down from the Sky Realm and work through larger raw stones just like this. So did Orrion and Bramlow. And the power came not from the evil Beaconfolk but from other Sky beings who bear no ill will to humankind! Uncle Stergos said so.'

'Others... So my brother already knows where this rock came from?' The question was ominous, but Corodon did not seem to notice.

'Oh, yes. He has a second chunk of moonstone that I gave him as a souvenir.'

'I see. Did these . . . benevolent Sky beings speak to you?’

‘Well, first they said all three of us were worthy to ask favors of them. Bram, Orry, and me.'

'Worthy?' Conrig whispered. 'Can that mean what I think it does?' All three of his sons by Queen Risalla possessed talent, as he knew well enough; but only that of Bramlow was strong enough to be readily identified.

'It was only an unfortunate misunderstanding that led the kindly Sky beings to blast off Orrion's sword-arm,' Coro went on blithely. 'Father, why can't we ask these good Lights to empower Beynor's sigils for us, rather than the Beaconfolk? Perhaps they could do it in a way that didn't endanger the user or even cause pain. I thought this idea over very carefully while I lay abed last night. It could work!'

The Sovereign stood stunned, unable to comprehend at first what the naive young fool had nattered on about. He took hold of the back of one of the sturdy oaken chairs, drew it out, and seated himself again at the table, then gestured for Corodon to do the same. He poured a beaker of beer and sipped it. It was many minutes before he spoke.