Sorcerer's Moon (59 page)

'What kind of sigils are they?' The question came from Duke Munlow Ramscrest, one of the most astute veteran battle-leaders of Cathra.

Conrig nodded affably at his old friend. 'There is a Weathermaker - which might do marvelous good service fending off heavy rain and snow, if these should threaten
our success. Weathermaker can also conjure favorable winds for our warships. The second sigil, called Ice-Master, is able to freeze water - even the liquid humors within living bodies.'

'Can it freeze seawater?' asked Yons Stormchild.

'I presume so,' Conrig said with a shrug, 'but I have no notion of how broadly or deeply its scope might extend. In the past, neither Beynor nor Ullanoth owned such a sigil. I suspect the Conjure-King might not know just how it works - only that it will.'

'And the third sigil?' The new Lord Constable, Wanstantil Cloudfell, posed the query with deceptive insouciance.

'It's called Destroyer,' Conrig said, 'alleged to be the most powerful weapon ever fashioned by the ancient Salka. The human rulers of Moss had a Destroyer in their magical arsenal, but all of them except the first Conjure-King, Rothbannon, were afraid to activate it because the stone had such a terrible reputation. Finally the mother of Ullanoth and Beynor dared to bring the sigil to life. But Queen Taspiroth's command to it somehow enraged the touchy Beaconfolk. They killed her in an unspeakable fashion and damned her soul to the deepest of the Ten Hells.'

Sernin said, 'Our Grand Shaman Zolanfel has told me that sigil sorcery exacts an awful price upon the one who uses it.'

'Yes.' Conrig spoke in a matter-of-fact manner. 'Each time any sigil is used, the wielder suffers pain. The more powerful the stone, the greater the suffering. I'm willing to undertake whatever penalty the Beaconfolk demand in order to defeat the Salka. And if I should perish before victory is won, Prince Heritor Corodon will take up the sigils in my place.'

The prince's eyes widened for an instant as he realized the full import of his father's words. The pain-price was news to him! But he lowered his gaze at once and nodded in solemn agreement.

'This transfer of the sigils to another person is possible?' said Sealord Hobrino Kyle.

'If Beynor is present, and able to pronounce the new bonding spell.' Conrig let the meaning of that sink in. Then he swept his glance across the assembly. 'Well, my lords, now you know the truth. Certain home-grown opponents of mine' - he stared at Duke Feribor Blackhorse and his cronies -'have castigated me in the past for daring to make use of sorcery in military tactics. Other warriors, more pragmatic, have seen the magic for what it is: a weapon no more reprehensible than tarnblaze. The Salka possess quantities of minor sigils and will certainly use them against us. Their moonstones are more numerous than those Beynor offers us, but infinitely weaker in potential. Shall we refrain from fighting the foe with their own kind of weapons because of some traditionalist superstition?'

No one spoke.

Conrig's dark eyes narrowed and his mouth went hard. After a pause, he said in a low voice, 'I'll be straightforward with you. I am not requesting your consensus in this matter. There is only one Sovereign of Blenholme! I have already decided to accept the sigils that Beynor offers. I also intend to have my alchymists and the most powerful Tarnian shamans guard the Conjure-King like hawks - even restraining him with Bazekoy's blue pearl if he threatens mischief. But I don't believe Beynor is a danger to us. He has too much to lose by betraying the Sovereignty. He's a human being, for all his talent, and he wants to live in a human world, not one ruled by Salka monsters. So do I. So should you.'

The leaders were whispering amongst themselves, and Conrig left them to it for some minutes, taking needed rest on his field-stool and quaffing more ale. But finally he stood up again and lifted his hand to gain their attention.

'And so, my lords, I'll know your minds right now, before you leave this tent. Those who oppose my use of sigil sorcery must depart the encampment at once, taking their followers with them. Their action will be judged not by me but by the people of High Blenholme, when the war is over ... So indicate how you are disposed. Let those who support me rise to their feet.'

At first, nothing happened. Then Prince Heritor Corodon stood without saying a word. He was followed a moment later by Sernin Donorvale, his mature sons the Sealords Simok and Orfons, and the rest of the Tarnian commanders.

Munlow Ramscrest jumped up and shouted, 'By God, I'll follow Ironcrown to hell and back! Cathrans - are you with me?'

'Yes!' roared most of his compatriots, surging to their feet with upraised fists. Duke Feribor and the other recalcitrant Lords of the South who were present glanced sidelong at one another, then slowly rose.

When the cheers subsided, Conrig inclined his head and spoke a brief word of thanks. His face was noticeably drawn and haggard. 'It would be best if we kept knowledge of the sigil weapons secret from the rank and file for the time being. I leave it to all of you to decide which of your officers should be told. This meeting is now over.'

He beckoned to Prince Corodon and asked for help in mounting his horse. 'I want to ride out before the Brother Healer finds me and gets a notion I ought to return in a litter.'

'But, sire,' the prince said, 'if you're in pain -'

'To horse, damn you! No arguing!' He limped away, cursing.

The battle-leaders began to stream out of the mess tent after the Sovereign, conversing in subdued tones, while the crowd of armigers and Tarnian squires re-entered to begin clearing up.

Sernin Donorvale was one of the last to leave, after giving instructions to Stormchild and a few other high-ranking Sealords. As he lifted the tent-flap he felt a tentative touch on his elbow and turned to find two very young squires clad in tunics bearing the insignia of the House of Kyle.

'Please, my lord,' the older boy said. 'If we might be so bold, we bear greetings to you from a certain high-born lady.'

'Do you indeed!' The head of Tarn's Company of Equals smiled down from his great height. 'And who might you be?'

'My name is Tormo Kyle, and this is my younger brother Durin. We only joined the force of our cousin Sealord Hobrino back at Elderwold. Before that, we served as escort to a Tarnian lady on orders from another cousin of ours, Countess Morilye Kyle of Beorbrook.'

'Our lady's name is Mayda,' Durin piped up eagerly. 'She is a great noblewoman, fleeing from villains who sought to kill her. So she disguised herself as a knight! She's very beautiful, with red hair, but tall enough to pass for a man if the light is bad.'

High Sealord Sernin felt his heart contract, as though a spectral hand were squeezing the life's blood from it. 'Boys . . . did this lady give you any other message for me, besides sending greetings?'

'My lord,' Tormo said, 'she told us to tell you she was your long-lost niece.'

'Oh, God of the Vasty Firmament!' Sernin groaned. 'Grant that it was not she - not Maude!'

'Her name is Mayda,' Durin said again. 'She said her son is Prince Dyfrig, who lived in Beorbrook Hold as we did -although we hardly ever saw him except from a distance, at feasts in the great hall. The lady wanted to find her son. Do you know if she did?'

'Come with me,' the High Sealord said. 'You are excused from your duties here. I have many questions to ask you.' He
beckoned for the squires to follow him and they left the tent.

The other noble youths who were left behind pulled envious faces, then carried on with the tedious scut-work of clearing the dirty dishes from the table.

'That was most interesting,' Beynor said to Garon Curtling. Both of them were imperceptible to the denizens of the camp, concealed beneath a strong spell of couverture. They had eavesdropped on the Sovereign's speech and also on Donorvale's conversation with the squires.

'It seems that King Conrig is well-disposed to trust you, master,' Garon said.

'Don't talk like a blockhead,' Beynor said sharply. 'He'll never trust me. But he realizes that I'm indispensable - which is just as good.'

‘I don't understand,' Garon said. 'And what was all that about a disguised lady and Prince Dyfrig?'

'I'll try to explain as we ride back to the castle,' Beynor said. 'Let's get out of here. I'm anxious to resume wind-searching for the Salka. If I could only find them, it would enhance my prestige tremendously. I might then be able to sit openly on the Sovereign's general staff, rather than lurking hole-and-corner like an outcast.'

Garon was surprised that such a thing would bother the sorcerer, but wisely kept his own counsel as they returned to their horses.

Barl Marshal Parlian Beorbrook was sitting alone on a driftwood log on the shore of the Lake of Shadows, toasting a sausage over a small open fire and thinking troubled thoughts, when the Tarnian apprentice shaman, approached stealthily through the underbrush, avoiding the regular trail between the lake and the encampments of Cathra and Didion.

'My lord, I have important news for you. My husb - Master

Haydon Sympath has just received a windspoken message from Grand Shaman Zolanfel Kobee, who speaks for the High Sealord.'

'Come and sit down, Induna,' Beorbrook said. 'No one will disturb us here. I suppose Sernin and the other Tarnians have finally confronted the Sovereign about Beynor.' He began to eat, alternating bites of meat and rye bread. 'I wondered how long it would take them to act on the information I passed along back at Rockyford. Was there a flaming row?'

'Not at all, my lord. King Conrig replied rather calmly to the question posed by Sealord Sernin. He revealed to the entire group of battle-leaders that Beynor was present on his own sufferance. Furthermore, the Sovereign said that the Conjure-King had offered him three Great Sigils, which he intends to accept and wield as weapons against the Salka.'

Beorbrook almost choked on a bite of sausage. 'Swive me! And how did the generals react to that?'

'After some hesitation, they approved. They had no real choice. The king said he'd send away anyone who opposed his decision . . . But there's further news. Sealord Sernin has confirmed what you already suspected about the would-be assassin. Two young armigers who escorted Princess Maudrayne from Cathra to Rockyford revealed her identity to him.'

The earl marshal groaned and threw the rest of his meal into the fire. 'My appetite is ruined. I suppose Donorvale and the Tarnians are now contemplating secession from the Sovereignty - or worse!'

Induna shook her head. 'The High Sealord is deeply grieved at the death of his beloved niece but intends to keep the knowledge privily in his heart for the sake of the realm's security. He feels that Lady Maude should have come to him directly and requested protection from Conrig, rather than
seeking bloody vengeance. He suspects that Prince Dyfrig warned his mother that he would not seek to depose Conrig at this time - again, for the sake of the realm - and that she acted without her son's knowledge.'

'Chaos,' Parlian muttered, staring into the flames. That's what Conrig's murder would have brought about. Maude didn't see it, poor deluded woman. But Dyfrig did.'

'The young man must be devastated,' Induna could not help but say.

The earl marshal shot her a stern look. 'His own hard decisions - to remain loyal to the Sovereign and repudiate his mother's folly - are worthy of a great prince. His sorrows will make him stronger. The only true comfort we can offer Dyfrig is to keep secret Maude's identity and the motive for her misguided action. Tell that to Deveron.'

'I shall, my lord.'

The earl marshal rose and began to kick apart the fire and push sand over the embers. 'Also, be so good as to inform my adjutant, Viscount Aylesmere, that I will have an immediate conference with all of my battle-leaders at Birch Grove Circle. Then bespeak the staff wizard of Crown Prince Valardus in the Didionite camp, asking His Royal Highness and his generals to also attend the meeting. We must discuss the Sovereign's impending use of the sigils. I want to nip any opposition in the bud.'

'Very well, my lord.'

'Does your husband continue to windsearch the coast, seeking signs of the invaders?'

'At intervals, but so far to no avail.' Her smile was onesided with exasperation. 'It's enough to make one wonder whether the monsters didn't decide to.return home to Moss after all - where they now loll in their caverns, laughing at the futility of our frantic preparations for war.'

* * *

Earlier, Vra-Bramlow had received permission from the Sovereign to consult the demons again, using the lumps of raw moonstone. At breakfast in the gloomy great hall of Castle Direwold, before leaving to inspect the troops, Conrig had given the novice the key to the small leaden casket where he kept the minerals.

'I'll order my chamber guards to admit you,' the king had said. 'The casket is hidden at the bottom of my armor coffer. Take care that no other magicker follows and spies on you while you invoke the good Lights. Most particularly, beware of Beynor! If he knew about the specimens Coro brought from Demon Seat, I doubt not that he'd try to take them from me. I trust you to ensure that this doesn't happen.'

'I'll do my best to safeguard the stones, sire,' Bram said, but his heart plummeted. He was well aware that his uncanny abilities were no match for those of the Mossland sorcerer. Still, he thought, it was not likely that Beynor knew of the stones' existence. A leaden box ought to thwart the windsight of even the best scrier.

'I'll be at the encampment for several hours,' Conrig said. "Try to cajole the demons into searching for the Salka horde with special diligence this time - and for as long as possible.'

'I will, sire.'

After Conrig departed, accompanied by the Prince Heritor, his physician Vra-Garason, and half a dozen Royal Guardsmen, Bramlow went to the tower where the Sovereign had been installed by Direwold's ill-tempered Didionite castellan, one Baron Jordus. The novice cast about with his windsight as he climbed the tower stairs, finding no one in the vicinity save the two guards usually posted there. They admitted him to Conrig's chamber without a word. The place was stark and unadorned with any tapestries or arras - a sorry contrast to the luxury of Boarsden. The single bearskin rug in front of the small hearth was motheaten, and the
sparse furnishings were more suited to a country cottage than the fortress of a Didionite lord. Only the tester bed, made up with the Sovereign's own hangings, linen, and coverlets, looked comfortable.