Sorcerer's Moon (44 page)

'Coro, are you telling me that your twin brother lost his arm as a result of Beaconfolk sorcery?'

'Nay, sire.' The prince was patient. 'Lord Stergos said it had to have been other Great Lights - antagonists of the ones we call Beaconfolk - who smote off Orry's arm. He asked them for a miracle, you see. That he might not have to give up Lady Nyla Brackenfield and marry Princess Hyndry. Bram had read some dusty old manuscript that said Demon Seat Mountain harbored supernatural beings who granted miracles to worthy persons.'

'Demon Seat - near Castle Vanguard?’

‘Yes, sire. We three climbed the mountain - this year the deep snow has melted - and found the top was made of moonstone. Orry spoke his prayer. Not in any special way: he just asked politely. And the demons - the Lights, I mean - answered. A stroke of lightning took off Orry's arm and healed it instantly. Later, when we told Uncle Stergos about it, he said the mountain demons couldn't have been the evil Beaconfolk. They were too wishy-washy and confused, almost as though no one had besought a miracle from them for a long time.'

Conrig shook his head. His gaze had turned inward and when he spoke, he seemed to be talking to himself.

'A mountain of moonstone? Raw sigil material? . . . But of course it had to come from somewhere. We know the ancient Salka made the sigils themselves. All kinds, major and minor. But they have no
Great Stones now, and not all that many minor ones, either - therefore they don't know
about the mineral deposit atop Demon Seat. But Gossy knew and said nothing to me about it. Two factions of Lights, antagonistic to each other! Could that be the meaning of the New Conflict? Yet my brother thinks the Conflict is irrelevant to human affairs. Either he's a consummate fool, or -'

'Sire?' Corodon ventured. 'What do you think of my idea? Of letting me use Beynor's sigils in the service of the Sovereignty?'

The High King picked up the chunk of pale mineral. 'If you had not showed this to me, and told me the truth about Orrion's mutilation, I would have thought you had been duped by Beynor. Now I'm not so sure.'

'I'm certain -' Corodon began.

'Silence!' thundered the king. 'The notion that a callow youth such as you should be entrusted with overwhelming magical power is ludicrous. Did Beynor suggest that to you?'

'No, sire.' The prince was sullen, pierced to the heart by the Sovereign's ridicule. 'He only implied that I might inherit the Stones from you some day.'

'And sent you to present his magnanimous offer - prematurely, as you admitted to me! Well, never mind that. It was well that you told me everything. And you mustn't take too seriously my harsh words to you. As I said, I'm feeling seedy and my temper's on edge. Your feelings have been hurt, but they'll mend soon enough. If that love philtre works, you'll have your work cut out for you, wooing Princess Hyndry in the short time before you march with my Northern Wing of the army to the Tarnian border.'

'March with you, sire?' Corodon brightened. Had his father really changed his mind?

But the king brushed the rhetorical question aside. 'I must consider at length what to do about Beynor's sigils. He's a wily shitepoke, make no mistake, and his schemes have only one principal objective: to further his own ambition.

Remember that. And he's mad, Coro. Plausible, charming, but mad. His sister Ullanoth knew him better than anyone, and she convinced me of the fact.'

'If you say so,' the prince murmured. 'But he did not seem so to me.'

Conrig picked up the piece of moonstone and put it into his own belt-pouch. The prince tried to hide his dismay. 'We can hope that the potion he gave you will work. Go and administer it and romance the surly princess as though she were a battle objective and you a conquering general. If you can win her over, you'll do heroic service to the Sovereignty.'

'I'll do my best, sire. And what if Beynor questions me about our meeting? Shall I admit I told you of his sigils and the events that took place on Demon Seat?'

'Say nothing,' the king commanded. 'And see that you tell no one else what transpired here - most especially your Uncle Stergos, who would strongly oppose any use of sigil sorcery, even to save our people from the Salka.'

'I understand, Father. King Beynor also warned me not to tell Lord Stergos about the sigils. He threatened to take them to the Continent and offer them to another ruler if I did.'

Conrig placed his hands on his son's broad shoulders and looked him in the eye. 'The Iron Crown is a heavy burden, Corodon. The man who wears it must make terrible choices. Beynor and his sigils may indeed be the ultimate answer to the Salka menace, but I am the one who must decide what to do about them. Only I, The Sovereign of Blenholme. Now go and give the note to Princess Hyndry's lady-in-waiting, and ready yourself for the hawking party. Later, you and I will discuss your assignment in my army - but rest assured, you will ride at my side into battle.'

'Yes, sire!' Corodon rushed from the chamber in a transport of joy, forgetting to bow, and slammed the door behind him.

When the youth was gone, Conrig went to the window of the tower room and looked out on the vast inner ward of Boarsden Castle. The generals who lived in the encampments and their senior battle-commanders were riding in through the main gatehouse, gathering for the final council of war before the great march up the Wold Road. Less than an hour ago, the king had dreaded that meeting even more than the upcoming conference with his Privy Council, his self-confidence in tatters because of the dire dreams and the possibly disastrous necessity of splitting his military force in two.

Now, fingering the lump of mineral inside his wallet, he felt differently. Of course he could say nothing to the war leaders about Beynor's extraordinary proposal and Coro's other amazing revelations. But simply knowing of them bolstered his spirits and hinted at hopeful and exciting options. There existed more gracious Sky entities than the sadistic and fickle Beaconfolk, who might grant further miracles to a worthy petitioner. And raw moonstone lay on top of Demon Seat, beyond reach of the clumsy Salka, but apparently within easy grasp of ordinary humans.

Yet his beloved brother Stergos had kept that information from him - along with the second piece of raw moonstone.

Oh, yes, the king said to himself, I have much to think about.

He turned about to summon his Lord of Chamber and prepare to meet the council. But as he took hold of the bell-cord, the fine Didionite tapestry hanging behind it caught his eye. It was a hunting scene, with many small figures, richly dressed, in a woodland setting. One of the male riders he'd never noticed before had been imperfectly embroidered and was unfinished. The man lacked a face.

A notion struck Conrig like a sudden splash of cold water.

What if Dyfrig was not the faceless son of his dreams? What if the one he feared was another - the least likely he might suspect?

No, the idea was utterly ridiculous. There came a distinctive double knock at the door. Conrig said, 'Come!'

The Lord of Chamber entered, bearing a crystal goblet containing a pale golden liquid. 'The potion for your headache, Your Grace, from Lord Stergos.'

'Put it on the sideboard, Telifar,' the king said. 'I may not need it after all.'

* * *

'There. That'll have to do.'

Deveron placed the last rock atop the cairn and stood back to survey the melancholy task he and Induna had finally completed. It was around the second hour after noontide and they were in a ravine north of the Boar Road, which connected Castlemont with Boarsden Castle and its adjacent town. The declivity was steep, with numerous rockfalls along its sides. They had found a suitable wide ledge beyond the view of travelers passing beneath, and there they had interred the body of Rusgann Moorcock.

They stood together with bowed heads, then Induna picked a small bouquet of wild asters and laid it amongst the heaped stones. 'Perhaps some day Prince Dyfrig will make her a more fitting memorial. She was a faithful and courageous friend to his mother.'

'Maudrayne,' Deveron mused. 'I must windsearch later and find out what happened to her. But not now, with the bulk of the great dividing range screening her from my mind's weary eye.'

They started down the slope to the dense stand of trees where they had left the horses, following an exiguous game-track that paralleled the ravine's meager stream.

'If your talent is still fatigued,' she said, 'perhaps I can windspeak Lord Stergos with news of the letter for Dyfrig.'

'Nay, wife. I must do it. Like many powerful adepts, the

Royal Alchymist does not usually leave his mind open to casual windhails. I'll bespeak him using his personal signature, and thus ensure that no one eavesdrops upon us.’

‘You're thinking of Beynor.'

'Of course. His talent is formidable and we must not underestimate him. Nevertheless, he knows nothing of you and so has no motive to scry you out. As for me -'

'No one can scry you, my beloved wild-talented one!' she laughed.

'Beynor is still capable of invading my dreams if I don't throw up a mental wall to prevent it.' Deveron refused to be distracted. 'Once he discovers I'm still skulking about, I have no doubt that I'll hear from him. I'm rather interested to know what he'll say.'

Their mounts were undisturbed, peacefully cropping grass. He dismantled the drag-litter, removed the harnesses, and turned them loose. It would be too dangerous to ride into Boarsden Town on beasts bearing the Lord Constable's brand. Weary as they were, Deveron and Induna would have to walk.

While she set out a midday meal of hardbread, cheese, and the last of their ale, he sat on a fallen trunk and bespoke Lord Stergos. The reply was soon in coming.

Snudge! My dear boy, Thalassa
Dru
bespoke me that you were coming. Where are you now?

'On the Boar Road a few leagues west of the castle, near the junction with the town road. My wife and I have just emerged from the marshes after an unfortunate encounter with Lord Constable Tinnis Catclaw and his men.' As briefly as possible, he described how Maudrayne and Rusgann came to be held captive by the besotted royal official, how Rusgann escaped with a letter for Dyfrig, and how he himself was commanded to rescue the woman from Catclaw and make certain the vital message was delivered. 'The constable
tortured poor Rusgann by scourging, trying to retrieve Maude's letter. I killed him and his evil minions but was too late to save her life. Before she died she passed on the letter. I have it safe.'

What does it say?

'It's contained in a sealed golden locket. I have not opened it and don't intend to if I can put the locket into Prince Dyfrig's hands without delay. I need your help to contact him and arrange a meeting place in town.'

Oh, Saint Zeth preserve us! Maude must have written to Dyfrig telling him the truth about his birth. He recently came of age... Snudge, you mustn't hand over the letter at this time! Not when the Salka are poised to attack our island again. Just think what an appalling uproar would ensue if Conrig's talent were revealed now and Dyfrig claimed the crown. Feribor Blackhorse would surely renew his own claim to the Sovereignty! And King Somarus of Didion -

'My lord, the Source himself ordered me to give that letter to Prince Dyfrig. I was also told that the young man is destined to play a pivotal role in the New Conflict.'

But-

The Source also informed me that my duty was to assist the Sovereign in some vital manner. But Red Ansel, on his deathbed, said that the Sovereign I must aid may not be Conrig. Do you understand what I'm telling you?'

There was silence on the wind. When Stergos bespoke again, his windvoice was tinged with awe.
Are you certain of this?

'I'm certain of nothing, save that I was charged to ensure that Maudrayne's letter was given to her son. You know how enigmatic the Source can be. Not even Thalassa and the Green Woman Cray can be sure what convoluted schemes that creature has in mind. But I'm not prepared to defy him ... at least, not yet.'

And you say that Maude still lives?

'She does. She somehow escaped the housefire that was intended to kill her. I have no notion where she may be or what she intends to do. If I were she, I'd seek out Dyfrig. Before long, the Lord Constable's strange disappearance will be public knowledge. Maude's certain to hear of it and be emboldened.'

Catclaw was missed at a Privy Council meeting that just concluded. No one has seen him since he rode out last night with some of his men on a mysterious errand. He's being searched for - using mundane and uncanny means.

'Then what's left of him will probably be found sooner or later. It makes no difference. The world is rid of a depraved villain and Princess Maudrayne need no longer fear for her life.'

Snudge, that's not true. If you windsearch her out, you must caution her not to approach Conrig. Remember that he's the one who originally ordered Catclaw to kill her. For reasons that are as valid today as they were sixteen years ago.

'All right. That's understood. But what I need from you now is the name of a place where I can meet Dyfrig some time later tonight. My wife and I will have to walk to town and find a place to stay there. You must assure the prince that he can trust me and convince him to come.'

It will have to be late. Conrig is having a final dinner for the generals and high-ranking officers before the redeployment of the army, and Dyfrig is to be royally commended for a successful reconnaissance mission he performed. So let's say half before midnight, at the fountain
in
Chandlers' Square down by the riverfront docks.

'Very well.'

There's a tavern called Watty Peascod's across the square from the fountain. It's a notorious dive where even the gentry go to buy contraband goods smuggled in from Cathra, so no one will think it strange for us to loiter about. I'll bring Dyfrig myself, well disguised.

And don't you worry, Snudge - I'll spin a spell of couverture to get us out of the castle and into town without being seen. These days, the town gates are never locked.