Sorcerer's Moon

by Julian May

  ‘He knows you’ll want to talk about the disaster when you return, and King Somarus won’t like that. The topic is an uncomfortable one to the king and his family – most especially now that the young Pretender has declared herself.’

  ‘Ah, yes, Casya the Wold Wraith! We’ll have to send someone capable to check her out. Or at least try to. Somarus’s intelligencers haven’t had any luck locating the wench’s boltholes. I’ve heard that some searchers who went into the Great Wold after her never came out again.’

  ‘It’s wild country,’ Beorbrook admitted. ‘Parts of it are said to be even worse than the morass, with impenetrable scrub in areas once burnt over by wildfire, as well as treacherous sucking bogs.’

  ‘Do you think there could be any validity to the girl’s claim to Didion’s throne, Parli?’

  The earl marshal shrugged. He was a stocky, still powerful man of nine-and-sixty years, with hair and beard gone snow-white while his brows remained black, giving startling emphasis to eyes that glittered like blue glacier ice. ‘The body of the infant princess was never found. Of course, neither were those of over half the victims of the attack on the river, including King Honigalus and Queen Bryse. The Salka monsters devoured them flesh and bone. The two little princes drowned, poor lads, but their bodies came down the rapids almost unscathed. There have been whispers about Princess Casabarela’s survival for years. The Vandragora clan – the late Queen Bryse’s people – would unite in a heartbeat with the great timberlords and certain discontented barons to pull down Somarus if this Casya Pretender looked at all legitimate.’

  They rode in thoughtful silence for a few minutes. Then the Boarsden household knight ahead of them reined in, turned his horse to face the river, and removed his plumed hat.

  Conrig urged his own mount forward and came up beside the man, who only pointed wordlessly to the broad expanse of water. In a moment, they were joined by the earl marshal and the knight who had been riding in the rear of the party.

  ‘Where did the Salka ambush the royal barge, Sir Vargus?’ the Sovereign asked.

  The first knight lifted his head, which had been bowed in prayer. He was balding and jug-eared, with rugged features, at least two decades older than his companion. ‘Just upstream of the great eddy, Your Grace. The action was very cleverly planned. The oarsmen of the royal barge were weary after having come upstream through the rapids, but they easily avoided the vortex by keeping to the far shore. When the boat returned to midstream and the approach to the castle, the monsters rose up out of the water, smashed the oars and rudder, and began swarming aboard. The royal barge drifted helplessly in the current and was sucked down into the whorl and smashed to bits. Nearly a hundred souls perished besides the royal family of Didion, including an aunt of my own who was a lady-in-waiting to the queen.’

  ‘What a hideous tragedy,’ Conrig said. ‘And there were no survivors?’

  Sir Vargus hesitated, whereupon the other knight, a thin, hard-faced young man whose name was Gansing, exclaimed, ‘No one at all! And those who say otherwise are liars.’

  Parlian Beorbrook interposed smoothly, ‘It’s been long rumored in Cathra that the Salka were incited to commit this heinous crime. A human sorcerer, Beynor of Moss, who was once Conjure-King, is said to have sought revenge against the royal family of Didion for some alleged insult.’

  ‘I’ve heard the rumor,’ Sir Gansing said. ‘The best-informed persons at our court think it ridiculous. It’s well known that the Salka despise all human beings. Why should they have done the bidding of Beynor? The notion is laughable.’

  Sir Vargus stared out at the river and spoke in a voice full of suppressed tension. ‘Those of us from the Firedrake country think otherwise. When Archwizard Fring Bulegosset was on his deathbed in Thornmont Town, he confessed that Beynor had admitted responsibility for the atrocity in a windspoken conversation with him. Fring also said that certain other persons of high rank knew that the attack would occur and did nothing to warn the king and queen.’

  ‘Codswallop!’ Gansing scoffed. ‘Treasonous drivel! You should know better than to talk of such rubbish to the Sovereign.’

  ‘Did this dying wizard name the other conspirators?’ Conrig asked Vargus.

  The knight’s reply was reluctant. ‘If he did, no one in Firedrake country will admit to knowing. I myself have no idea who they might have been.’

  ‘Perhaps I can ask King Somarus when we dine tonight,’ Conrig said, eyeing the earl marshal obliquely.

  ‘Please don’t, Your Grace!’ Vargus’s face had gone ashen. ‘The rumors are very vague, and the tragedy took place many years ago. Our king would be distressed if he were reminded of it on a night when the mood should be one of joyful anticipation.’

  ‘Oh, very well,’ the Sovereign said. ‘I suppose it would be bad form to speak of such sad things just before a betrothal. And as you said, Sir Vargus – it happened a long time ago. Let’s go back to the castle. I’ve seen enough here. You and Sir Gansing ride well behind us. I wish to speak privily with the earl marshal. We are well aware of the track’s hazards now.’

  Both of them trotted off ahead of the Didionites. After a while, Conrig slowed and let Beorbrook draw up beside him. ‘What did you think of the byplay between the knights, Parli?’

  ‘It only confirms what we already know, sire. Didion is split into rival factions that would be at each other’s throats – and ours as well – if the Salka threat didn’t keep them united.’

  ‘No, there’s more,’ the king said thoughtfully. ‘The ambush on the River Malle was never satisfactorily explained. The Salka monsters hadn’t ventured so far inland in centuries, and there was no easy way for them to have known about the annual progress of the royal barge upstream – unless a human confederate told them. Beynor certainly had a hand in the affair. He was exiled to the Dawntide Isles and had the opportunity to arouse the Salka. But revenge on his part seems a weak motive for slaughtering the entire royal family of Didion. There had to be a link with Somarus. He was the one who benefited, and I find it significant that he declared Beynor to be an outlaw after the fall of Moss. But what did Beynor hope to gain by killing Honigalus and his wife and children?’

  The old general shook his head. ‘Power of some kind. We may never know the truth of it unless he resurfaces. If Beynor had hopes of using the Salka to take back Moss from his sister Queen Ullanoth, he miscalculated badly.’

  ‘I never heard the tale of the dying arch wizard before,’ the king remarked. ‘Fascinating – Fring and Beynor and Somarus conspiring together, using the Salka to pull off a stupendous coup.’

  ‘The Archwizard Fring was once a crony of our old nemesis Kilian Blackhorse, you know. And he restored his lost fortunes very handsomely when Somarus took Didion’s throne.’

  ‘Kilian, that silver-tongued whoreson!’ Conrig growled. ‘It’s a good thing he’s kept out of my way during these strategy meetings at Boarsden. I realize he’s kept Somarus from flirting with rebellion. Still, I don’t think I could control myself if we two were in the same room.’

  ‘As Didion’s Lord Chancellor, Kilian Blackhorse may well show up for the betrothal feast,’ Beorbrook said. ‘If so, you’ll have to swallow your bile and put a cool face on it, sire.’

  ‘Don’t tell me how to behave, damn your eyes!’

  But Conrig knew that his friend was right, and the knowledge made him sulky. Mulling over Kilian’s spectacular treason, he was distracted from thinking further about Beynor and the Salka ambush; and so the Sovereign of Blenholme and Earl Marshal Parlian Beorbrook rode on together without speaking further of that matter.

  For over three hundred years, the distinguished Beorbrook family of warriors had held Cathra’s most critical frontier castle, which guarded the only reliable route between Cathra and its northern neighbors. The marshal’s two elder sons, both able warriors, had lost their lives in the Edict of Sovereignty massacre, leaving only the third son, Count Olvan Elktor, in line to inherit Beorbrook Hold and the vit
al duties that went with it. Though goodhearted and stalwart, Olvan was acknowledged to be too slow of wit to assume the important office held by his father. The earl marshal had been resigned to having the honor pass out of his family upon his death, when the shocking reappearance of Maudrayne Northkeep, along with her son Dyfrig, changed everything.

  To the surprise of many, Conrig declared that he would be magnanimous to his divorced Tarnian wife, even though she had accused him of possessing windtalent. The king refused to acknowledge Dyfrig as his son (there was no proof his mother had cohabited with another, but neither was there proof that she had not); but in a great compromise intended to placate the Tarnians while preserving the dynastic status quo, Conrig decreed that whatever Dyfrig’s heritage, he would be accepted into the ranks of Cathran royalty, placed third in the line of succession, and styled prince. The boy was to be adopted by Parlian Beorbrook and would inherit the office of Earl Marshal of the Realm if he proved competent.

  It was an ingenious bargain that had defused several potentially ugly situations – including the ambitions of Duke Feribor Blackhorse, who was thereby demoted to fourth in the succession. But the bargain was also one that Conrig subsequently came to regret with all his heart and soul.

  Prince Dyfrig Beorbrook was now an adult in Cathran law and the apple of his adoptive father’s eye, while Conrig’s feelings toward the young man were clouded with dark misgivings. He knew well enough that Dyfrig was his own first-born son, conceived while Conrig was still wed to Maudrayne, and the legitimate heir to the throne in spite of the royal divorce. But the king had only found out about the boy’s birth four years after marrying Risalla Mallburn of Didion. The twin sons born to her were already named first and second in the royal succession when Dyfrig’s existence became known. To have placed Risalla’s sons behind the son of Maudrayne, when Dyfrig’s parentage could not be officially verified, would have affronted hotheaded King Somarus beyond all endurance. (He was Risalla’s full brother, while his more rational predecessor Honigalus had only been her half-brother.) The compromise placing Dyfrig third in the succession had been intended to strengthen the allegiance of Didion, while still appeasing Maude’s uncle, Sernin Donorvale, the powerful High Sealord of Tarn.

  In recent years, as Dyfrig matured into a young man of conspicuous intelligence and courage, Conrig became all too aware that certain influential persons in both Cathra and Tarn considered Beorbrook’s adopted son to be a much better candidate for the Iron Crown of Sovereignty than either Orrion or Corodon: the Prince Heritor was thought to be worthy but colorless, while his younger twin was a hare-brained roisterer. The earl marshal’s loyalty to the Sovereign was absolute and he swore that he had inculcated Dyfrig with the selfsame virtue. However, Beorbrook was an old man, with no aspirations other than service to his liege. The king brooded about what would happen when his faithful friend died and young Dyfrig became the principal military leader of Cathra, second only to the Sovereign himself.

  Conrig Wincantor was only six-and-forty years old, in robust health despite the spiritual corrosion occasioned by fending off his many enemies. Once the Salka were soundly thrashed and sequestered in the unimportant corner of the island they’d earlier overrun, he intended to turn his eyes to the Continent. The nation of Andradh, lacking a strong central government, was in his opinion ripe for the taking.

  But only if the Sovereignty of Blenholme remained firm under his leadership.

  Only if all of Conrig’s domestic enemies, real and potential, were neutralized.

  The opportunity to solve the irksome problem of Dyfrig had come unexpectedly to the king a sennight earlier, following a particularly acrimonious meeting of the Council of War. The Cathran and Tarnian battle-leaders, whose idle forces were chafing for action, wanted to launch immediate attacks against the entrenched Salka horde from both land and sea; while the Didionites, who better understood the perils of fighting pitched battles in the awful Green Morass, insisted on holding back so long as the inhuman foe advanced no farther this year.

  Conrig was being pressed for a final decision but knew he lacked important facts about the monsters’ situation. Why had they stalled? Were they waiting for some new magical weaponry before advancing? Had numbers of them fallen ill? Were they expecting reinforcements from Moss? There were too many unanswered questions.

  At this point Prince Dyfrig had approached the Sovereign in private and proposed leading a hazardous but well-thought-out scouting expedition into Salka-held territory. Since ships of the Sovereignty’s Joint Fleet, sailing along the north coast of the island, were too far from the concentration of monsters to obtain useful intelligence through scrying, Conrig’s strategists had been forced to rely on vague reports from overly cautious Didionite scouts and the weak-talented oversight of that country’s wizards. Earlier attempts by sizable Cathran reconnaissance teams to penetrate the morass had been total disasters. The men had fallen victim to wild animals and hostile terrain, and the few survivors had no useful findings to report.

  But now Dyfrig volunteered to try something different. He wanted to lead a small, elite group that would travel very quickly and secretly to a vantage point in the Gulo Highlands overlooking the Beacon Valley, a rugged region that the clumsy, water-loving amphibians were unlikely to have occupied. Once the little band gained the heights, its powerful windsearcher would be able to oversee the enemy position in relative safety; intelligence could then be windspoken directly to Lord Stergos without relaying it through the biased Didionites.

  Instead of scoffing at the bold idea, Conrig seized on it. If the mission succeeded, the Army of the Sovereignty would obtain invaluable firsthand news about the enemy. If it failed, Dyfrig would either be viewed as an overreaching young fool – or a dead hero.

  Conrig had authorized Dyfrig’s scheme without consulting the earl marshal. Only the king and his trusted brother Stergos, the Royal Alchymist, knew the true goal of the mission was direct windtalent oversight of the Salka invaders. Everyone else, including Dyfrig’s adoptive father, believed the prince was traveling only to Timberton Fortress, near Black Hare Lake, where he would personally question local informants about the movements of the enemy.

  ‘Sire, there are riders coming from Boarsden Castle to meet us. Two of them, at a rather brisk clip.’ Parlian Beorbrook still had the eyesight of an eagle, and a moment later he added, ‘One of them is a local knight and the other is your royal brother.’

  ‘I hope nothing’s happened to delay those boys of mine.’ Conrig’s tone was sour. ‘If we have to postpone this damned betrothal ceremony and magnify Somarus’s resentment further, I’ll wring their necks!’

  The king put the spur to his mount and Beorbrook galloped after. But when the four riders met in a cloud of dust, Conrig was relieved to see the Royal Alchymist’s beardless face alight with happiness.

  ‘My liege,’ Stergos cried, ‘I’ve received important tidings on the wind! From Prince Dyfrig!’

  ‘Then let’s you and I and the earl marshal speak of it privily,’ the king said in a pointed manner. The disappointed Didionite warrior backed his horse away.

  ‘Is my dear son well?’ the earl marshal inquired.

  ‘Oh, yes!’ Stergos was fairly hopping out of the saddle with excitement. ‘He and his men have learned that the Salka are withdrawing – streaming northward in vast numbers.’

  ‘God’s Blood!’ the Sovereign cried. He managed to supress his inappropriate consternation just in time. Not only had the young wretch survived his feckless adventure, but it seemed as though he had improbably covered himself with glory as well.

  Stergos rushed on. ‘Vra-Erol Wintersett, the army’s Chief Windsearcher, was able to scry the huge host of monsters at Beacon Lake. His oversight was not crystal clear, but the direction of the Salka troop movement was unmistakable. They’re retreating toward the sea.’

  ‘The Brother scried this from Timberton Fortress?’ The earl marshal was incredulous.

  ‘Nay, my lord.’ The
Royal Alchymist’s exuberance faltered. ‘Prince Dyfrig led his party into the morass as far as the Raging River, deep in the wilderness. They were only about thirty leagues from the Salka position when they made their reconnaissance.’

  Parlian Beorbrook groaned. ‘Zeth save us – the young fool!’

  ‘The Brother windsearcher is absolutely certain of this retreat?’ Conrig demanded.

  ‘He is. And there’s more.’ Stergos hesitated. ‘It seems almost unbelievable, now that I think further about it. But – well –’

  ‘Speak up, Gossy!’ the king said harshly. ‘Stop your damned dithering!’

  The Royal Alchymist blinked. His brother’s temper had grown increasingly short since the start of the massive Salka invasion. Unlike the earlier forays by amphibian forces against human coastal towns, it had caught the Sovereignty completely by surprise and shaken Conrig’s heretofore invincible confidence. Stergos had tried not to take the king’s emotional explosions personally, and he now spoke as calmly as he could.

  ‘Dyfrig claims that he knows why the monsters halted at Beacon Lake. It seems there are other inhuman inhabitants of the Green Morass that the Salka were unaware of. That were unknown to the Didionites as well – save as half-forgotten legends. The mysterious creatures are said to be huge and very ferocious. Dyfrig believes that they attacked the Salka host, wreaked havoc on them, and stopped their advance.’

  ‘Bloody hell,’ Conrig murmured. ‘And the prince and his men actually saw these things with their own eyes?’

  ‘Not exactly,’ Stergos admitted. ‘They encountered strange tracks supposedly made by one of the creatures, and claw marks high in the trees. They also found a huge bear that had been torn to pieces and devoured by an unknown predator – and in its skull was one of the attacker’s broken teeth. It’s nearly the length of a man’s hand and almost resembles a Salka tusk – save that it’s golden-yellow in color, like a sharpened topaz gem, rather than glassy clear.’