Sorcerer's Moon (46 page)

'Very well, Your Grace,' Deveron said.

'I intend to show this letter to my beloved adoptive father, Earl Marshal Parlian. He must advise me what is to be done about it.'

'You don't intend to share the letter's contents with me?' Stergos said.

'I think you must already know what it says, my lord.' The alchymist sighed. ‘I can guess.'

The prince turned an apologetic smile toward Induna. 'Leaving only you unenlightened, my lady.'

'It is none of my business, Your Grace,' she said equably, blowing out the flame at her fingertip. 'However, your offer of lodging in the castle is a boon from heaven that my husband and I accept eagerly. We've lived rough for the past few days. Shall we be on our way? I just felt a drop of rain.'

CHAPTER
FOURTEEN

Induna remained sound asleep when the gentle scratching at their chamber door awakened Deveron. Scrying Prince Dyfrig standing outside in the corridor, he climbed out of bed, pulled a borrowed houserobe about his nakedness, padded barefoot to the door, unlocked it and cracked it open.

'What is it, Your Grace?'

Dyfrig held a single candle. In the dancing shadows, his face was a mask of conflicting emotions and his speech tinged with a strange excitement. 'I know it's late. Forgive me. But my father the earl marshal would like to speak to you. I would deem it a great favor if you would read the locket letter and affirm to him that it contains the whole truth. After that. . . there is a request we would put to you.'

Deveron felt his stomach sink with premonition. 'Shall I wake Induna? We work together in all things, but she was very weary.'

'Let the Sealady sleep, by all means. You can tell her everything tomorrow. Will you come with me now?' His eyes were pleading.

'Let me find a pair of houseshoes,' Deveron said with a sigh. 'These floorboards are like ice.'

* * *

As he admitted them to his apartment. Earl Marshal Parlian Beorbrook said, 'Maturity suits you, Sir Deveron Austrey. Somehow I could never take seriously a Royal Intelligencer named Snudge - no matter how lavishly your virtues were praised by His Sovereign Grace.'

'He has long since changed his favorable opinion of me, my lord,' Deveron said wryly. He followed Dyfrig inside.

'Which has only raised you in my estimation,' the earl marshal said. 'I'm a loyal servant of the Sovereignty still, but my heart was sorely grieved at the manner in which Princess Maude was first cast aside, then deemed to be a menace to the security of the Crown. Your efforts on her behalf - and on behalf of my dear son Dyfrig - were well and nobly done. I deplore the fact that you were dealt with so unjustly as a consequence . . . Come, let us be seated.'

The old general led them to a table crowded with dispatch cases and writing materials. A branched candlestick with three tapers gave the only illumination aside from the guttering logs in the fireplace across the room. Clearing a space, Parlian said to Dyfrig, 'Let Deveron read your mother's letter.'

The prince produced the tiny folded square from the locket that now hung on a golden chain about his neck and placed it on the table without comment.

After Deveron had read it twice over, he returned the parchment to Dyfrig. 'It is much as I expected. What the Princess Dowager says concerning the secret talent of the king is absolutely true. I myself detected his weak magical powers when I was a mere stableboy at Cala Palace. Rather than have me executed as a threat to his position, Prince Heritor Conrig made me his trusted man. And so I remained, until I saw my own trust betrayed.'

Parlian's piercing eyes searched Deveron's face. 'And you were able to recognize this feeble talent in the king even though none of the Zeth Brethren - not even Conrig's own brother Stergos - had any inkling of it?'

'I won't boast to you, my lord, but I'm different from other magickers. I can detect talent even in those who are clever at hiding it, and I can do certain other things that exceed the abilities of Zeth's alchymists.'

'And do you still possess your two moonstone sigils - the Concealer and the Subtle Gateway?'

'Yes. But I rarely use them because of their inherent dangers. My natural talents sufficed throughout most of my career as Royal Intelligencer for King Conrig. When he condemned me to death, I used the sigils to escape the Lord Constable's noose. Since then, I have used each of them only once.'

'Remind me of some of your inborn uncanny abilities,' the earl marshal requested.

'Only two of them might be considered extraordinary -but they were very useful when I was a spy. When I'm well rested and in good fettle, I can windspeak and scry over extremely great distances. But no other person of talent can scry me. My talents are called "wild" because they more closely resemble those of the more powerful Mossland sorcerers or Tarnian shamans than the abilities of Cathran or Didionite adepts.' His mouth moved in a suppressed grin. 'Princess Maude's letter speaks of the origins of talent - how humans came to possess it. I've discovered how mine was inherited. My great-great-grandmother, who is still alive and well, is a Green Woman who once seduced a human male. According to the custom of her people, her half-blood babe was given to the relatives of its father to rear.'

Dyfrig had been listening to Deveron's recital open-mouthed, but now he broke in with an apology. 'Forgive
me, but we should stick to the matter at hand and save the tale of Sir Deveron's ancestry for another time. My mother's letter names you, messire, as witness to the truth of its contents. Father, will you accept his affirmation as proof of King Conrig's secret talent?'

'Yes,' Parlian Beorbrook said. 'Whether others would accept it is problematical. Technically, Sir Deveron is an outlaw. As for the bastardy issue raised by Maude - which Deveron cannot prove or disprove - I consider the matter moot. The official declaration that your mother was an adulterous wife is given no credence whatsoever by unbiased persons. One need only to look at you, Dyfrig, and then at Conrig to know that you are his natural son and the true first-born heir to the throne. That said, I remind you that you were named a bastard by royal decree, and placed behind Corodon in the succession only according to the royal pleasure.'

'I'm aware that the Sovereign could remove me from the succession at any time,' Dyfrig said without heat. 'But would he? He seems to think little of Prince Coro as a candidate for the Iron Crown.'

'There's something you should know about both Orrion and Corodon,' Deveron said, 'a fact known also by the High King and by Lord Stergos. Both young men possess the same nearly imperceptible portion of talent as does their father. Only you, Prince Dyfrig, are talent-free and thus eligible to sit the Cathran throne.'

The earl marshal groaned. Dyfrig looked stricken.

'But here is the dilemma, Your Grace: If you were to use your mother's letter - and my own witness to it - in an attempt to depose Conrig now, you would destroy the unity of the Blenholme Sovereignty. Tarn and Didion would withdraw their oaths of fealty at once. Even without the threat of a Salka invasion, such an action might precipitate civil
war in Cathra between your own supporters and those of Prince Heritor Corodon ... or Duke Feribor Blackhorse, who stands next in the succession.'

'There seems only one choice open to me/ Dyfrig said. 'I will not press my claim. I cannot. The consequences would be devastating.'

Parlian said, 'Perhaps a time will come when changing circumstances demand a different course of action, but I think the time is not yet.' He glanced at Deveron. 'What is your opinion, messire?'

‘I agree heartily with you and Prince Dyfrig, my lord. But there's another person who may feel differently.'

'Princess Maudrayne,' said the earl marshal, rolling his eyes. 'Her letter leaves no doubt of her position. If she gains the protection of her Uncle Sernin Donorvale . . .' He shook his head. 'Conrig was able to discredit her allegations against him once, but he may not be able to pull the same trick twice! Sir Deveron, can you use your talent to help us find Maude and convince her to remain silent?'

'My windsearch faculties are greatly diminished by severe fatigue and by . . . the stress of recent events. You may know that my wife Induna and I tried in vain to rescue Rusgann, the woman who was charged by Princess Maude to deliver her letter to you. And after that -'

‘I have told my father how you were forced to slay the Lord Constable and his gang of villains,' Dyfrig said. 'He has agreed to keep silent about it.'

'And do you both understand why such harsh measures were necessary? My strongest motive for taking their lives was not mere vengeance. If the constable had lived, knowing Prince Dyfrig had received the letter and was aware that his mother had been a secret prisoner for years, Catclaw would have killed the prince to save his own skin from the Sovereign's fury.'

'True enough,' said Parlian in a voice gone flat and emotionless. 'And there's another point that needs making. My son, I'm sorry to tell you that Lord Tinnis is not the only one who might believe you better off dead. Only think about it! Why was the High King so willing to send you off on the perilous Green Morass reconnaissance - you, a brave but untested youth? Had I known your intention to penetrate Salka-occupied territory, I would have forbidden it. But Conrig leapt at your rash proposal.'

Dyfrig stared at him in shocked silence.

The earl marshal addressed Deveron. 'How long will it be, messire, before your talent recovers and you're able to scry Maude out?'

'I'll begin looking for her tomorrow. As I have already told Prince Dyfrig, she will certainly try to find him, even though doing so places her in the gravest danger.'

'What can we do?' the prince cried. 'I'd mortgage my soul to see her again.'

'When I know where she is,' Deveron said, 'and what disguise she wears, I'll attempt to find a safe way to bring you two together. No one save you will be able to convince your mother to keep her peace. I know her temperament all too well . . . Since you'll be riding with the army, a meeting may not be easy to arrange. But I'll manage it. I was once rather good at clandestine activity and I've already thought of a plan.'

Parlian Beorbrook's eyes narrowed. 'Indeed?'

'Making it work will require your cooperation, my lord, and also that of the Tarnian Grand Shaman Zolanfel. Since Princess Maudrayne is his countrywoman and a close relation to the High Sealord, her secret will be safe with the shaman. I propose that I disguise myself as a Tarnian wind-speaker. You, Earl Marshal, can pass me off as a new member of your general staff, the official liaison between your
Southern Wing of the army and the forces of Sernin Donorvale in the Northern Wing.'

'Such a position is hardly necessary.’
Parlian said. 'The Zeth Brethren on my staff can easily handle any necessary communication. '

'In military matters,’
Deveron said, 'the commander can chose what officers he pleases. Who would dare gainsay him?'

'No one,' Parlian Beorbrook admitted.

'You must pretend to take me into your service so I can remain close to you and Prince Dyfrig - at least for the time being. This is necessary if my plan is to succeed.'

'I'll agree to the scheme,' Parlian said.

Deveron rose from the table. 'My wife, Sealady Induna, will assume the role of my apprentice.'

'But surely she'd be safer left behind!' Dyfrig protested.

'She's a talented magicker in her own right and I need her help, Your Grace. Reuniting you with your mother is not the only duty I've taken upon myself. I've also been charged to help in the war against the Salka. Perhaps we can ride together tomorrow and I'll tell you more.'

The prince nodded slowly.

‘I would also like to know more about your. . . other duties,' said the earl marshal, 'and who laid them upon you.'

'Certainly, my lord.' Deveron stifled a yawn. 'I'll visit the Grand Shaman before I retire and get everything organized. The next time you see me, I'll be a plausible Tarnian. Where and when shall we meet tomorrow?'

'Go to Zolanfel's quarters around the eighth hour. I'll send my adjutant, Viscount Aylesmere, to collect you when the rest of my staff is ready to ride out with me and my son. It'll help validate your status if Aylesmere sees you with the Tarnian shaman. The viscount is a shrewd man, so have your cover-story well polished - and your alleged apprentice well disguised.'

Devron acknowledged the point with a tired smile, then turned to Dyfrig. 'Keep the letter safe, Your Grace. You may someday have great need of it.'

The Prince clasped the locket that hung around his neck with one hand and laid the other upon Deveron's shoulder. 'Whether or not my mother and I ever meet again, I intend to carry her letter next to my heart forever. Let me thank you again for bringing it to me. My debt to you can never be repaid - but anything you ask of me shall be granted if it's within my power to do so.'

'Perhaps we'll speak of that tomorrow,' Deveron said. He pulled the nightrobe tighter about his naked body. 'The only favor I need now is a warm bed, but I suspect I won't get one for a while yet.'

* * *

The night-muffled chime of the castle struck the second hour.

Accompanied only by his trusted chamberlain Telifar, Conrig Wincantor stood before the door of the tower room assigned to the Conjure-King of Moss. It was guarded by two fully armed Cathran knights and a senior Brother of Zeth.

'He is within, Vra-Polian?' the Sovereign inquired of the alchymist.

'Beyond doubt, Your Grace. He returned from the feast looking smug and self-satisfied and has not emerged since.'

'I will speak to him. Open the door.'

The Brother bowed his head, then knocked and announced the High King. One of the guards removed the iron bar securing the door and lifted the latch. Conrig waved back Telifar and the men, entered, and found Beynor seated by a crackling fire, toasting cheese on a fork.

The sorcerer lifted his gaunt head and smiled. 'I've been expecting you, my liege. Come in and take a seat. We'll share a little wee-hours snack.' At his gesture, the door to the chamber closed gently. 'No one will overhear what we say
or realize that you've been here. I've spun the appropriate spells.'