Sorcerer's Moon

by Julian May

  The sorcerer’s black eyes seemed to enlarge. Corodon attempted to look away from that compelling gaze but found it to be impossible. ‘What do you want from me?’ he whispered desperately.

  ‘Only the truth, and a little bit more. First: tell me if it was really an accident that cost your twin brother his sword-arm.’

  To his horror, the prince found himself babbling everything about the Demon Seat incident. As he finished, he opened his own belt-purse and displayed the piece of raw moonstone he’d taken from the mountain, adding that he’d given a second chunk of mineral to Lord Stergos.

  Staring at the Heritor in stunned silence, Beynor only barely managed to conceal his utter consternation. It was a cosmic joke! Three royal idiots had inadvertently discovered the second Moon Crag -and drawn uncanny power from it. But the sorcery had obviously not come from the Beaconfolk, but from their ancient antagonists in the Sky Realm.

  I must find a way to use this knowledge, Beynor thought. But how? For the moment, his great intellect failed him. He’d have to take time considering the ramifications of what the prince had revealed. It seemed obvious that Corodon and his brothers had no notion who the ‘demons’ really were. But Lord Stergos might! As for the two pieces of raw moonstone –

  Beynor blinked. Instantly the spell coercing the prince dissolved and the young man stepped back, furious with himself. ‘What have I done?’ he cried. ‘What have you made me do?’

  ‘Be at ease, Your Grace.’ Beynor let soothing emanations flood the agitated mind of Corodon, forcing him to be calm, convincing him in spite of himself that all was well and no harm done. ‘It was very clever of you to take bits of moonstone from the mountaintop. You’re quite right to believe that they are objects of wondrous power. But even more marvelous are the sigils the Salka carved from them.’ He reached again into his wallet. ‘Have you ever seen one?’

  ‘No,’ Corodon said in a trembling voice. He seemed ready to flee, and Beynor had to use a gentle restraining spell.

  ‘Look here.’ The Conjure-King pulled open a second little leather bag and drew out the individually wrapped amulets. He held up the translucent finger-ring. ‘These are not ordinary sigils such as the Salka use. They are Great Stones, capable of exerting enormous power. This is a Weathermaker. Its use is obvious.’ He replaced it and showed Corodon a second sigil. ‘Here is Ice-Master, a tool to freeze water. Perhaps you think that a small thing: but remember that the human body is naught but a container of vital juices!…And here is the most awesome sigil of all, a simple little wand named Destroyer. Can you guess what it’s capable of?’

  Corodon shook his head mutely.

  ‘Imagine the mightiest lightning bolt, the most appalling quake or avalanche, the strongest whirlwind, the stormiest sea. None of them compare with the overwhelming power of Destroyer.’ He wrapped the rod again and tucked away the pouch of sigils. ‘I own these miraculous magical tools, but you need not fear that I’ll use them against the Sovereignty. Even though I am a great sorcerer – perhaps the greatest on earth – these sigils are forbidden to me. I know how to activate them, but I can never wield such things myself.’

  ‘But, why not?’

  ‘I’m under a curse, Prince Corodon. Once I used a Great Stone in a manner that displeased the Beaconfolk. They were merciful and spared my life, but I am now forbidden to use sigils ever again under pain of damnation to the Hell of Ice. And so I have chosen to bestow them upon someone else who can make best use of them, safeguarding the island that we love from its many enemies and restoring my lost kingdom of Moss to me and my human subjects.’

  ‘Who will you give the sigils to?’

  ‘The ruler of High Blenholme, of course.’

  ‘My father?’ Corodon was so astounded that his response was a strangled croak. ‘You’d give them to him?’

  ‘They are to be the property of the Sovereign,’ Beynor said with sinister emphasis. ‘Whoever he may be.’

  The prince’s eyes widened in comprehension and he gasped. ‘Do you mean I could inherit such things when I take up the Iron Crown?’

  Beynor smiled. ‘Now do you understand why I came to you tonight? You are in a position to believe what I say. You stood on Demon Seat and saw the power of the Sky Beings channeled to our Ground Realm. By myself, I’d never be able to convince the High King that I wish to become a great benefactor of Blenholme. He sees me only as the foolish younger brother of the woman who was once his mistress, a Conjure-King deposed and banished by his own sister, an obscure wizard come creeping back to beg of him a useless boon: the throne of conquered Moss. By myself, I can never drive the Salka monsters out of my vanquished kingdom. They wield sigil sorcery, which I can’t withstand. But if your father Conrig used these three moonstone weapons against the Salka –’ Beynor paused in a meaningful manner ‘– or, failing that, if another Sovereign did so, then my homeland would be released from a terrible bondage.’

  ‘What do you want me to do?’ Corodon’s voice had steadied and strengthened.

  ‘Show the High King the love philtre. Tell him who gave it to you and ask his permission to use it. After he has seen it work, tell him of my offer to be his benefactor, to give him the three sigils and show him how to use them. All I ask in return is that he help me rebuild Moss once the Salka invaders are gone.’

  ‘But how can I convince him you told me the truth?’ The prince was dubious. ‘He – he’s never really thought very much of me. My brother Orrion was always the favored one, even though he’s a stodgy sort and nothing much to look at.’

  Beynor’s features took on a judicious air. ‘I think, Your Grace, that you’ll have to tell King Conrig what really happened during your adventure on Demon Seat. Let him know just how far the worthy Orrion was willing to go to thwart the Didionite betrothal. Show him your piece of moonstone as proof. He’ll know what it is.’

  ‘Futter me,’ Corodon murmured. ‘Do I dare?’

  Once again, the sorcerer’s stare was implacably compelling. ‘If you decide to tell him all this, you must make certain that your father informs no one else – most especially Lord Stergos – about the three Great Stones in my possession. If I discover that others have found out about them, I’ll quietly disappear. There are rulers on the Continent who would be eager to consider my proposal…Now think, Corodon Wincantor, and then decide! Are you worthy to be Prince Heritor, someday the Sovereign, or are you too cowardly to take upon yourself a great challenge?’

  He wants to use me, Corodon said to himself. I know it! He thinks me a credulous fool, too stupid to realize that he has some hidden scheme that has nothing to do with restoring the lost land of Moss. But how can I turn my back on his offer? It’s an open secret that Father used Ullanoth’s sigil sorcery to establish the Sovereignty. There’s no doubt in my mind that these three Great Stones can defeat the Salka monsters, whereas ordinary weaponry might fail. Beynor is surely a villain, but kings have worked successfully with villains all throughout history –

  ‘Corodon. You must decide.’

  The prince gave a great start as the soft voice broke into his frenetic thoughts. He turned away deliberately from Beynor and pretended to study the bobbing lights of the many small boats out on the River Malle.

  ‘I’ll show the love philtre to Father,’ he declared at last, ‘and tell him it’s a gift from you, and that you wish to assist the Sovereignty with your magic. Doubtless he’ll want to confer with you and decide for himself whether you’re worthy of trust. This is as far as I am willing to go.’

  Beynor chuckled. ‘It’ll do for now. Farewell, Your Grace. May you have joy of your lovely bride-to-be! But don’t wait too long to administer the potion. The royal tart is already thinking about running away to join her banished lover, Count Egonus.’

  Corodon whirled about to question the sorcerer further, but he had already vanished.

  As the Tarnian shaman had predicted, the auroral Lights soon appeared in the northern sky, flickering beacons of red and gold and emerald tha
t seemed to slash at the polar constellations like fierce, luminous swords. The night watch in the camps of the Army of the Sovereignty looked up at the magnificent sight – the Cathrans uneasy without knowing why and the warriors of Tarn and Didion apprehensive at what they knew was a dire portent indeed. A few of the latter claimed they heard a mysterious whispering sound when the eerie flashes of color were at their brightest.

  The men did not realize that Great Lights were laughing. Beynor of Moss, the great manipulator, had been successfully manipulated by them in spite of himself. Perhaps very soon, his usefulness to them would end and the New Conflict could proceed with no risk of his skewing the outcome.

  In the small private pavilion of Duke Kefalus Vandragora, Casabarela Mallburn sat at a glowing brazier with her grandfather and Baron Ising. A tear trickled unheeded from her eye, sparkling in the ruddy light, as the two elderly noblemen sipped from cups of metheglin and waited for her to speak.

  ‘Your promise to stand by me secretly in spite of the renewed Salka threat fills my heart with great joy, Eldpapa. I thought I would have to argue my case to you long and hard. There was even doubt in my mind that you would believe that I had actually made friends with the inhuman ones and secured their promise to aid our struggle against the Salka…All I can say is, thank you for accepting me so unquestioningly. I never thought it would happen this way.’

  ‘Great Starry Bear!’ Kefalus said, wagging a set of long white moustaches. ‘How could I not accept you? You’re the image of your poor dead mother – my beloved Bryse reborn! But you’ve got a flame in your guts that my sweet daughter never had. You’re not quiet and gentle, lass – you’re a fighter like your famous ancestress, the first Casabarela Regnant. And I intend to see you on Didion’s throne before I die.’

  She rose up, youthful but regal in spite of the tawdry finery of her whore’s disguise, and held out both arms to the duke in loving invitation. But Vandragora did not embrace her. Instead he dropped to one knee and kissed her hand, then looked up with a broad grin on his rugged features. ‘Accept my fealty and homage, Your Majesty of Didion.’

  ‘Willingly, my lord,’ she replied grandly – then spoiled the solemn moment by drawing the tall old man to his feet and kissing him resoundingly on both cheeks. ‘But what in the world shall we do now? I’m not such a fool as to think of proclaiming myself openly to the people and inviting them to rally round. Not with war impending once again. But I can’t stand back while the Salka attack. There are ways I can help.’

  ‘You’ve already helped,’ the duke said, ‘by convincing the Green Woman Cray to guide you to the Morass Worms. The creatures might not have fought the Salka so fiercely and cleverly if she had not told them that the monsters were coming in vast numbers and urged them to accept your tactical suggestions. But if you would now do more, order your outlaw human followers to join my force at Lake of the Shadows. They will be welcomed without condition. None of my officers need know what took place in the past. Your fighters will simply be fresh recruits from deep within the Elderwold.’

  ‘But what of me?’ Casya looked forlorn. ‘I’m their leader!’

  ‘My dear, I must speak frankly. It would be best if you went to my great citadel on Firedrake Water until the situation stabilizes. You know there’s a price on your head.’

  ‘But I want –’ she began.

  Kefalus Vandragora held up a monitory hand. ‘You are a queen uncrowned with two mortal enemies – Somarus and his son Valardus. Your life is precious, perhaps vital to the future of Didion. God only knows what the next few weeks will bring. You must be patient. And when you’re needed, you must be ready.’

  ‘I’m ready now!’ she wailed.

  ‘It won’t do, Granddaughter,’ the duke said. ‘If you think the citadel is too remote, then let me arrange for you to stay in another of my forts on Firedrake Water. There are several where you’d be quite safe from the henchmen of Somarus.’

  ‘Firedrake,’ she grumbled rebelliously. ‘What a silly name. What does it mean – “Burning Duck?”’

  Vandragora laughed. ‘Far from it. It’s a very old word for a mythical fire-breathing dragon. I suppose our ancestors named it after the Morass Worms, who once must have lived thereabouts until driven further north by humanity. Even our citadel’s ancient name hints at that.’

  ‘Oh.’ Casya looked thoughtful and silence fell amongst the three.

  Baron Ising Bedotha helped himself to more of the powerful honey-liquor, then cleared his throat in a meaningful fashion. ‘If the Salka decide not to attack Tarn, as Conrig Ironcrown thinks they will, and come at Didion from a new direction instead, we could be deep in the shite. Ain’t that right, Keffy?’

  The duke gave his longtime friendly enemy a morose nod. ‘I fear so. Too many of our troops are brave as tundra-lions but lacking in discipline. King Conrig claimed the bulk of the Cathran army’s professional ranks for his northern force. And while Sealord Yons Stormchild’s lads have an unlimited supply of sophisticated tarnblaze munitions and battle engines at their disposal, we’re only equipped with hand grenades, crossbows, and blades – plus whatever matériel Parlian Beorbrook can pry loose from the Sovereign’s tightfisted battalions.’

  ‘Fighting in the bogs and thickets of the Great Wold could be a nightmare for our men,’ the baron observed. ‘Nearly as bad as the Green Morass.’

  ‘If it falls to me to defend Didion from the Salka, I’ll do it no matter where the monsters threaten.’ Kefalus paused. ‘I’m not at all sure that I’d do the same for Tarn, however. Somarus may be a fratricidal loony, but he’s right on the mark when he refuses to send our warriors into that arctic wilderness with winter only just around the corner.’

  Casya regarded him with a neutral expression. ‘Then you are no friend of the Sovereignty, Eldpapa?’

  ‘No, my liege lady,’ he replied formally. ‘Nor should you be, once the Salka monsters are defeated.’

  Her eyes slid away from him and stared into the coals of the brazier. ‘It’s a subject I’ve not thought much about. Perhaps I should do so. It may help pass the dull hours I’ll spend at Firedrake Water.’

  ‘Ah!’ Kefalus cried in relief. ‘Then you’ll go?’

  She nodded in agreement. ‘If my old friend Ising will be so kind as to escort me there. With one or two trusted men of yours, Eldpapa, to see us to our proper destination.’

  The baron bestowed a long, searching look on her. ‘Isn’t this a rather sudden change of heart, lass?’

  She shrugged. ‘A prerogative of queens, my lord.’

  TWELVE

  ‘I hear something,’ Induna whispered. ‘Very faint. It might be an owl or some animal crying out at a far distance. The mist is so dense now that I can’t scry anything beyond a stone’s throw away. Are you able to see farther?’

  The invisible skiff with its two invisible passengers slowed to a halt. At this time of year, before the autumnal storms began in earnest and the great river rose, the marsh below Boarsden Castle was an expanse of partially dried-out flats on which grew head-high stands of rushes, sedge, and coarse grass, along with scattered copses of scrubby trees. Many of its countless ponds had turned into mudholes, and only the deepest creeks still held water. Deveron and Induna were following one of these twisted streams in an old skiff they had commandeered after dropping off Casabarela and Baron Ising at the encampment docks.

  Recalling his unsettling experience with the Subtle Gateway sigil, Deveron had at first been wary about conjuring Concealer. Would the Lights once again show their disapproval of his intentions by pulling another near-lethal prank? Warning Induna to keep her distance, he had silently invoked the minor stone’s sorcery – and vanished. Nothing untoward had happened. He expanded the sphere of invisibility to enclose his wife and their bags, and bade Induna cling to his jerkin as he prowled the docks looking for a suitable boat. Deveron selected one that was shabby but sound, with no leaks, a shallow draft, and a very low freeboard. He left a silver mark tucked behind the clea
t where it had been tied up – a grossly inflated price, considering the quality of the craft. Then he spoke the words that rendered it as invisible as its passengers, and they set off unseen to the place where Rusgann was held captive.

  It was now about an hour after nightfall, and their progress had been reduced to a crawl due to the sudden rise of the mist. Both of them could see in the dark – a talent so trifling that it did not restrict the use of a second uncanny power – but the nearly opaque vapors limited their scrying ability to a distance of only five ells or so. This was just slightly beyond the radius of Concealer’s invisibility spell. Deveron exerted his windsight to the utmost in an attempt to pierce the murk, but he was only minimally successful.

  ‘I can see the stars overhead but little else.’ He spoke low, realizing how sounds carried under these conditions. ‘The fog is much thinner above us. We’re traveling in the right direction and I’m certain this creek will take us to the area where Rusgann is. I oversaw the way earlier, when we were on the River Malle. But we dare not move too fast in this maze of waterways, lest we miss a turning and become lost or stuck in a quagmire. I’m also concerned about the Lord Constable possibly getting there ahead of us. There are other routes than this one from the castle to the fowler’s blind.’

  ‘Listen!’ Induna whispered. ‘There it goes again.’

  The second quavering shriek had a ventriloqual quality: it could have come from any direction and it was much louder than the first.

  ‘Dear God, husband! That’s no swamp creature. It’s a woman in agony.’

  He crouched in the stern of the rickety skiff, steering with the scull-oar while giving additional impetus with his talent. With all the other handicaps, invisibility made the task even more difficult; he himself could see neither the boat nor even his own body. Only his instincts and the faintly glimmering bow-wave enabled him to determine the position of the craft relative to the walls of vegetation encroaching on either side of the creek. In spite of his best efforts, they scraped against stems and spindly trunks again and again, making a considerable noise and flushing out sleeping geese and other waterfowl, which flew off squawking and splashing.