Sorcerer's Moon (54 page)

Conrig groaned, 'No!'

'However, I was told where the principal Salka host is located at this precise moment, and I know their approximate swimming speed. They've rounded Cape Wolf and are moving southward very rapidly. They should arrive off the mouth of the Firth of Gayle within three days - perhaps sooner. The Lights were able to discern this information by studying aberrations in the currents of the Western Ocean itself, as well as movements of schools of fish preyed upon by the passing host. Now, as to the second Salka force -'

'A second force?' Corodon cried out in dismay.

Bramlow went on unperturbed. 'It's now entering the Dolphin Channel after skirting the Vigilant Isles, swimming westward. This army is slower than the first group and might approach Flaming Head within four days.'

'I already knew that the Salka were being reinforced,' Conrig said. 'This information is still very useful, even if it fails to answer my original question. Tell me, Bram: did you ask the Lights if they would continue to help us by following the monsters' progress?'

‘I did. And they will - as best as they are able.'

'Oh, well done, Brother!' Corodon exclaimed, clapping his arms about the novice and pounding his back.

Conrig bestowed a curt nod of approbation, then took the stones and replaced them in his pouch. 'Inside of a few days,
we should at least know whether the Salka intend to attack Donorvale . . . Bramlow, I'm promoting you to the position of adviser to my General Staff. From now on, you ride with me and the Prince Heritor.’

‘Thank you, sire.'

Despite his show of gratification at Bram's success, Corodon was still feeling miffed. He thought: I could have besought the favor of the good Lights as readily as Bram did, if he only hadn't turned Father against the notion. Futter me for a fool! I should have insisted.

But he hadn't, and he was uncomfortably aware that his original offer to invoke the demons had been half-hearted. Even worse, he suspected that his father knew it as well.

CHAPTER
SIXTEEN

The station compound's main gate was barred and heavily guarded by the time Deveron and Maudrayne reached it, but he explained that the postern would stay open for some time yet, so that the kitchen lackeys could carry rubbish to the midden-heap after the evening meal was finished.

'We'll enter easily by the back gate,' he whispered, as they paused momentarily on the road. 'If you and Dyfrig decide to come away together after your meeting, we may be able to get out that way also.'

'And if we cannot?'

‘I have another plan in mind. But come, my lady. We should move along as quickly as possible from here on, and without speaking or making other noise. Do you think you can manage?'

'Don't worry.’
she assured him. 'My earlier qualms have melted away. I've been following you with open eyes, clinging to the strap, for some time. Thinking about my son has helped focus my mind. I've dreamed of this reunion for so long, but never did I suspect it would happen so strangely.'

They began circling to the rear of the high stone wall topped with iron spikes, threading their way amongst clusters of small
tents. Full night had now fallen. The myriad campfires surrounding the place were subsiding into embers as the exhausted warriors settled down to sleep. At the postern gate, two bored sentinels sat on empty kegs, sharpening their swords and gossiping. Deveron and Maudrayne passed through unnoticed, even though they threw faint shadows.

Rockyford Station had been built over two hundred years earlier, when lucrative land trade along the Wold Road between Cathra and Tarn was constantly under threat from Didionite brigands, and even the local castellans might succumb to temptation when particularly well-heeled foreign travelers sought hospitality. Under a longstanding treaty, this fortified hostel had always been staffed by Cathrans. Once it had housed a garrison that might, when times were especially dicey along the Wold Road, provide armed escorts to important persons and wagon trains carrying valuable cargo.

Since the advent of the Sovereign's Peace, Rockyford's clientele had greatly diminished. Most of the resident warriors were now gone, and two large timberbuilt annex wings of the structure had been closed off, leaving open only the original stone stronghouse with its kitchen, common room, private dining hall, and austere dormitorium chambers.

Deveron led the princess through the stableyard, where the station ostlers were still caring for the mounts of the privileged, and into one of the disused wings, accessed through a little storm-vestibule. He had already oiled the lock and door hinges and now used his talent to gain admittance. Inside, once the door closed, the place was as black as pitch because all the windows were shuttered. It smelt strongly of mildew and less savory things.

'Stay very close and hold my hand,' he cautioned her. ‘I can see in the dark and I'll guide you. Keep your voice down and try not to stumble. The log walls of this passageway are
coming unchinked in some sections and you might be overheard by those out in the yard. Further inside, it'll be safe to speak normally.'

'How much time will my son and I have together?' she whispered.

'Dyfrig has told his adoptive father, who shares his room, that he intends to confer with me this evening. The earl marshal knows about your letter but is not aware that you're here. It would be best if your meeting with Dyfrig did not last much longer than an hour, but you may take whatever time you need.'

As they crept along, Deveron explained that she would wait in one of the old guestrooms while he brought her son to her under a pall of invisibility. 'You should decide your mutual future tonight. I've told Prince Dyfrig that I'm willing to summon friends of mine - Green Men - who will shelter one or both of you in a secluded Elderwold village until it's safe for you to go elsewhere. But it's probable that your son won't want to shirk his duty to the army.'

'Nor should he!' she replied with spirit. ‘I want to remain with Dyfrig, keeping to my knight's disguise, if he'll have me. I won't be any bother, and if Parlian Beorbrook is the paragon you say he is, he should not object. After all, he and Conrig will be long leagues apart once the divided forces deploy to their separate positions.'

Deveron's response was cool. 'Such a course might still place both your son and the earl marshal in jeopardy, my lady. However, whatever the prince decides, I'll help to carry out.'

An inner door opened with a small rattle from the lifted latch. Deveron took Maudrayne's hand and guided her to a rough wooden bench, where he bade her sit and then intoned the words, 'BI FYSINEK. KRUF
All!' A moment later she saw him standing before her, a yellow flame like that of a
candle springing from his index finger. Her own body was also visible again.

'I would not have known you, sir,' she remarked. 'With the beard and a certain deepening of your eyes with maturity, you are a different man from the young knight I once knew.'

He only smiled. 'This room looks out on the exterior stone wall, so there's no danger of anyone seeing light through cracks in the shutters or between the logs.'

He took up an oil lantern that stood on a small table and lit it. The chamber was about five ells square. Besides the bench, it held nine rude cots with rotting pallets, four stools, and a rusty brazier. Festoons of cobwebs hung from the ceiling, and pale fungi like obscene tumors bloomed here and there amidst the nameless litter on the floor.

‘I regret the dampness and the musty stench,' Deveron said, 'but this is the best place I could find. Just down the passage is a door connecting this wing with a section of the station's stronghouse where the Sovereign and the highest nobility are quartered. The room occupied by Earl Marshal Parlian and Prince Dyfrig is very close by. Wait here. I'll return very shortly with your son.'

He left her and rendered himself invisible again. Using windsight, he looked through the thick connecting door to be sure no one was out and about on the other side. The stone corridor was deserted, lit by three torches in wall sconces. He knew a squad of the Royal Guard was posted around the corner at the far end, near where the chambers of the Sovereign and High Sealord Sernin were located, but at present the guardsmen were out of sight.

He entered the hostel silent as a ghost, hurried to the room occupied by Dyfrig and Parlian, which was next to that of the Tarnian leader, and scratched three times on the door. It opened immediately and the prince looked out. He wore an
unadorned woolen tunic and trews, an open budge waistcoat against the night chill of the moorland, and soft house shoes.

'Are you here, Sir Deveron?' he hissed, looking about. An unseen presence gripped his hand and he flinched.

'FASH
All!' a soft voice said. Dyfrig froze with shock as his body disappeared and he was pulled through the door, which closed by itself behind him. 'Just relax and hold onto me, Your Grace. We must hurry out of here. Even invisible, we cast a slight shadow in the torchlight.'

The prince let himself be drawn to the exit at the end of the corridor that gave into the disused wing. It had apparently been fastened shut with a large iron hasp and padlock and also barred with a stout oaken plank. But the lock opened without a sound and the wooden bar had been twice severed in an ingenious fashion and fixed back in place, so that the door might swing freely open while it still seemed secured.

'Quickly.' Deveron urged him. 'Someone is about to emerge from the Sovereign's room.'

In an instant they were safe on the other side, hastening through the dark toward a faint thread of golden light glimmering beneath a closed door.

'BI FYSINEK. KRUF
All!' The words dissolved Concealer's spell.

Before Deveron could stop him, Prince Dyfrig tore the door wide open. He saw a fully armed knight wearing a surcoat with the Beorbrook blazon seated on a bench, gingerly using a dagger to pare dirt from beneath his fingernails. Lamplight showed a face beneath the helmet's eyeguard that was pale and beardless.

The prince glanced wildly about the dim room. 'Where is my mother?' he demanded. 'What have you done with her?'

The knight stood up slowly, placing the dagger on the table. He was almost six feet tall, with narrow shoulders and
a
slender build. After lifting off his helm, he stripped away the mail hood and untied the padded leather coif beneath, releasing a coil of shining auburn hair.

‘I am Maudrayne,' the knight said to the dumfounded prince, 'come to you in this guise so my enemies would not know me. But I'd recognize you anywhere, my dearest son, for you are the image of your father when I first laid eyes on him long years ago.'

She held out her arms. With an inarticulate cry, Dyfrig fell to his knees before her and kissed her roughened hands, bathing them with tears.

'I'll leave you,' Deveron said. 'I'll wait outside in the stableyard, invisible, near the storm-vestibule of this wing, guarding your privacy from intruders. When you wish me to return, knock softly three times on the outer door.' He left them together.

Maude drew her son to his feet and hugged him with mailed arms - which made him cry out in surprise, then burst into laughter. She kissed his lips, his damp cheeks, and his brow. 'You received my letter,' she said at length, returning to the bench.

Dyfrig pulled up a stool and seated himself before her. He drew the gold locket on its chain from the neck of his tunic, and held it up so that it gleamed in the lamplight. 'I will always wear it next to my heart. Mother, and pray peaceful repose for the brave soul of Rusgann, who carried it so far. If only she could have given it into my hands! . . . But it was not to be. Sir Deveron brought this to me.'

'Rusgann is dead?' At his nod of acquiescence, her eyelids closed and she uttered a wordless cry of woe. For a time she sat with head bowed, her lips moving silently. Then she looked up, wiping her eyes, and bade Dyfrig tell him of her friend's fate.

Briefly, he related how Rusgann had been captured by
Lord Catclaw, scourged nearly to death, and rescued too late by Sir Deveron and his wife, Sealady Induna. 'Rusgann's body was buried by them among rocks. One day we'll make a proper tomb for her, Mother. Her courage will be celebrated by bards and the tellers of heroic tales.'

'He was the ultimate cause of her suffering and death,' Maudrayne murmured, her eyes gone flat and cold.

Mistaking her meaning, Dyfrig said, 'Her killers - including the Lord Constable - paid the ultimate penalty for their crime. Sir Deveron slew them to a man so none could report to the High King that Rusgann carried a message from you to me.'

'Were you surprised by the letter's contents?' she asked him.

He tucked the locket back into its hiding place. 'I was not surprised to learn that I'm the Sovereign's true first-born. The rumors about my paternity came to me early, and when I understood their portent I asked my father - my
true
father, Lord Parlian - what the truth might be. He would say only that I was declared a royal bastard by the High King's own decree, and this was done for the peace of the realm, and that he and his wife, the late Duchess Falise, loved me with all their hearts and wanted me to inherit the marshalship that was the pride of their family.'

‘I was told this by my captor,' Maudrayne said, 'and took comfort in the fact that you had been adopted by noble and kindly persons. But. . . did you find other things in the letter that moved you?'

'Some of what you wrote was joyous news: that you lived and were in good health and that we might someday meet again. Some words shocked me profoundly: the Sovereign's unconscionable treatment of you, the knowledge that he possesses uncanny talent and by law cannot sit the throne of Cathra.'

Maude's sea-green eyes glittered and her speech became
almost breathless in its urgency. 'And what have you decided to do about that dire knowledge? Will you confront Conrig with it and demand justice, as is your right? I could stay with you, disguised, and we two could plan how best to overthrow the High King in the encampment at Lake of Shadows.'

He caught her slender, grimy hands in his own powerful ones, bowing over them. Again she felt his tears. 'Dearest Mother, I've given deep thought to this weighty matter. I also consulted Deveron Austrey, the witness you commended to me, as well as my father the earl marshal. Amongst us we have concluded that attempting to pull down Conrig Ironcrown at this pivotal point in our island's history would place all of Blenholme's people in grave danger.'