by Julian May
No, the idea was utterly ridiculous.
There came a distinctive double knock at the door. Conrig said, ‘Come!’
The Lord of Chamber entered, bearing a crystal goblet containing a pale golden liquid. ‘The potion for your headache, Your Grace, from Lord Stergos.’
‘Put it on the sideboard, Telifar,’ the king said. ‘I may not need it after all.’
‘There. That’ll have to do.’
Deveron placed the last rock atop the cairn and stood back to survey the melancholy task he and Induna had finally completed. It was around the second hour after noontide and they were in a ravine north of the Boar Road, which connected Castlemont with Boarsden Castle and its adjacent town. The declivity was steep, with numerous rockfalls along its sides. They had found a suitable wide ledge beyond the view of travelers passing beneath, and there they had interred the body of Rusgann Moorcock.
They stood together with bowed heads, then Induna picked a small bouquet of wild asters and laid it amongst the heaped stones. ‘Perhaps some day Prince Dyfrig will make her a more fitting memorial. She was a faithful and courageous friend to his mother.’
‘Maudrayne,’ Deveron mused. ‘I must windsearch later and find out what happened to her. But not now, with the bulk of the great dividing range screening her from my mind’s weary eye.’
They started down the slope to the dense stand of trees where they had left the horses, following an exiguous gametrack that paralleled the ravine’s meager stream.
‘If your talent is still fatigued,’ she said, ‘perhaps I can windspeak Lord Stergos with news of the letter for Dyfrig.’
‘Nay, wife. I must do it. Like many powerful adepts, the Royal Alchymist does not usually leave his mind open to casual windhails. I’ll bespeak him using his personal signature, and thus ensure that no one eavesdrops upon us.’
‘You’re thinking of Beynor.’
‘Of course. His talent is formidable and we must not underestimate him. Nevertheless, he knows nothing of you and so has no motive to scry you out. As for me –’
‘No one can scry you, my beloved wild-talented one!’ she laughed.
‘Beynor is still capable of invading my dreams if I don’t throw up a mental wall to prevent it.’ Deveron refused to be distracted. ‘Once he discovers I’m still skulking about, I have no doubt that I’ll hear from him. I’m rather interested to know what he’ll say.’
Their mounts were undisturbed, peacefully cropping grass. He dismantled the drag-litter, removed the harnesses, and turned them loose. It would be too dangerous to ride into Boarsden Town on beasts bearing the Lord Constable’s brand. Weary as they were, Deveron and Induna would have to walk.
While she set out a midday meal of hardbread, cheese, and the last of their ale, he sat on a fallen trunk and bespoke Lord Stergos. The reply was soon in coming.
Snudge! My dear boy, Thalassa Dru bespoke me that you were coming. Where are you now?
‘On the Boar Road a few leagues west of the castle, near the junction with the town road. My wife and I have just emerged from the marshes after an unfortunate encounter with Lord Constable Tinnis Catclaw and his men.’ As briefly as possible, he described how Maudrayne and Rusgann came to be held captive by the besotted royal official, how Rusgann escaped with a letter for Dyfrig, and how he himself was commanded to rescue the woman from Catclaw and make certain the vital message was delivered. ‘The constable tortured poor Rusgann by scourging, trying to retrieve Maude’s letter. I killed him and his evil minions but was too late to save her life. Before she died she passed on the letter. I have it safe.’
What does it say?
‘It’s contained in a sealed golden locket. I have not opened it and don’t intend to if I can put the locket into Prince Dyfrig’s hands without delay. I need your help to contact him and arrange a meeting place in town.’
Oh, Saint Zeth preserve us! Maude must have written to Dyfrig telling him the truth about his birth. He recently came of age…Snudge, you mustn’t hand over the letter at this time! Not when the Salka are poised to attack our island again. Just think what an appalling uproar would ensue if Conrig’s talent were revealed now and Dyfrig claimed the crown. Feribor Blackhorse would surely renew his own claim to the Sovereignty! And King Somarus of Didion –
‘My lord, the Source himself ordered me to give that letter to Prince Dyfrig. I was also told that the young man is destined to play a pivotal rôle in the New Conflict.’
But –
‘The Source also informed me that my duty was to assist the Sovereign in some vital manner. But Red Ansel, on his deathbed, said that the Sovereign I must aid may not be Conrig. Do you understand what I’m telling you?’
There was silence on the wind. When Stergos bespoke again, his windvoice was tinged with awe. Are you certain of this?
‘I’m certain of nothing, save that I was charged to ensure that Maudrayne’s letter was given to her son. You know how enigmatic the Source can be. Not even Thalassa and the Green Woman Cray can be sure what convoluted schemes that creature has in mind. But I’m not prepared to defy him…at least, not yet.’
And you say that Maude still lives?
‘She does. She somehow escaped the housefire that was intended to kill her. I have no notion where she may be or what she intends to do. If I were she, I’d seek out Dyfrig. Before long, the Lord Constable’s strange disappearance will be public knowledge. Maude’s certain to hear of it and be emboldened.’
Catclaw was missed at a Privy Council meeting that just concluded. No one has seen him since he rode out last night with some of his men on a mysterious errand. He’s being searched for – using mundane and uncanny means.
‘Then what’s left of him will probably be found sooner or later. It makes no difference. The world is rid of a depraved villain and Princess Maudrayne need no longer fear for her life.’
Snudge, that’s not true. If you windsearch her out, you must caution her not to approach Conrig. Remember that he’s the one who originally ordered Catclaw to kill her. For reasons that are as valid today as they were sixteen years ago.
‘All right. That’s understood. But what I need from you now is the name of a place where I can meet Dyfrig some time later tonight. My wife and I will have to walk to town and find a place to stay there. You must assure the prince that he can trust me and convince him to come.’
It will have to be late. Conrig is having a final dinner for the generals and high-ranking officers before the redeployment of the army, and Dyfrig is to be royally commended for a successful reconnaissance mission he performed. So let’s say half before midnight, at the fountain in Chandlers’ Square down by the riverfront docks.
‘Very well.’
There’s a tavern called Watty Peascod’s across the square from the fountain. It’s a notorious dive where even the gentry go to buy contraband goods smuggled in from Cathra, so no one will think it strange for us to loiter about. I’ll bring Dyfrig myself, well disguised. And don’t you worry, Snudge – I’ll spin a spell of couverture to get us out of the castle and into town without being seen. These days, the town gates are never locked.
‘I’ll be there with my wife Induna. Our clothes are shabby and very dirty. I’m tall and nondescript and I wear a beard now. She’s a little thing, lovely as a day in May, with red-gold Tarnian hair…And, by the way: I’m called Deveron now – except by the Beaconfolk.’
I see. Deveron it is. We’ll try not to be late.
‘If you are, don’t worry, my lord. Look first into the tavern, and if you don’t see us, just hang about the fountain and wait for someone not-quite-visible to tap you on the shoulder.’
Corodon and Hyndry rode side by side along the main marshland track, leading the hawking party back to the castle. She still carried her beautiful peregrine on her wrist, and praised the bird lavishly for its prowess in killing six teal. Corodon’s borrowed goshawk had taken an instant dislike to him and behaved badly, and was now consigned to the custody of the ca
stle falconer. But the prince cared naught for that.
The important thing was, Hyndry had drunk the potion.
The group of high-born young people – the Prince Heritor and Princess Royal, two of her equerries, two ladies-in-waiting – together with three hunt servants and the falconer, had eaten their picnic on a pleasant wooded islet in the great marsh. Corodon, playing the devoted suitor to the superciliously indifferent Hyndry, had simply poured the philtre into his own solid gold goblet, filled it and the silver one belonging to the princess with wine, and insisted that she drink from his and keep it because only a golden vessel was worthy of her lovely lips. The sentimental speech (and the obvious value of the goblet) had made the ladies giggle and the equerries roar in approval and insist that Hyndry accept the gift.
‘One does not judge a horse by the faulty skills of its rider,’ she said with a lofty smile, ‘or a meal by the surly temper of the cook. So why should I despise this pretty cup because it belonged to a royal nincompoop?…I’ll keep it.’ She downed a hearty pull of wine while her companions applauded and Corodon pretended to be abashed by the insult.
He lay a gentle hand upon her shoulder before anyone else could touch her and made sheep’s eyes. ‘Every time you drink from it, sweet lady, please remember your broken-hearted, rejected suitor kindly.’
‘I’ll remember you one way or another,’ Hyndry said, ‘but it won’t spoil my pleasure in using the cup.’ She drank the rest of the wine.
There was much laughter at poor Coro’s expense, and then they resumed the hunt.
At first, the prince saw no change in the older woman’s manner toward him. She made snide remarks when his hawk refused to fly for him, and laughed in malicious delight when the bird tore apart the lone duck it had downed, instead of waiting for the hunt servant to retrieve it. But when the last bird was bagged and the party headed homeward, Hyndry surprised her ladies by commanding Corodon to ride beside her.
For a time she was silent, then she began questioning him about hawking customs in Cathra and other sports afield.
He thought: By God, she’s weakening! The love philtre works! I wonder if I can get her drunk at dinner tonight?
They continued on, chatting more or less amiably, until one of the servants gave a cry. ‘Ho! Look over there beside that creek – a fine horse loose with neither bridle nor saddle.’
‘Oh, he’s a beauty!’ Princess Hyndry exclaimed. ‘Avrax, we must catch him and take him with us.’
‘Then all you royals and gentlefolk stand stock still,’ the man said, quietly dismounting.
He muttered to one of his mates, who handed him an apple from the picnic hamper and a long strap from one of the saddlebags. Looping the leather through its buckle, Avrax crept up on the magnificent animal. It was a dark bay stallion with black points, splattered with mud and rolling its eyes skittishly.
Holding out the fruit and speaking soft and coaxing words, Avrax soon had the strap looped about the horse’s neck. He patted its muzzle while the big yellow teeth crunched up the apple, then led it back to the waiting party, who gave congratulations in low voices so as not to startle the captive.
Avrax tugged his forelock to the princess. ‘He’s well-behaved, Royal Highness, and bears a brand that’s unfamiliar to me. Cathran, I’d say.’
Corodon urged his mount closer. ‘I know it. The wavy catscratches comprise the mark of our Lord Constable.’
The falconer spoke up. ‘There was talk of how he rode out last night with a few of his men and never returned.’
‘Well, it seems his horse might have been heading for the castle stable,’ Corodon said. ‘I don’t like that its harness is missing. The beast didn’t simply slip away from its rider. Are there brigands or other outlaws along this marsh track?’
‘Never, Your Grace!’ said Avrax indignantly. ‘This is civilized country.’ His glance shifted. ‘But the bogs and mudholes can be dangerous to those who don’t know ‘em.’
‘I doubt Lord Tinnis fell into a bog,’ Corodon said somberly. ‘Bring the horse, my man. We must hasten to the castle and report this to my royal father.’
‘To both our fathers,’ Hyndry added. ‘Let’s be off, Coro. A silver mark says I’ll beat you to the postern gatehouse!’
By the end of the afternoon, Maudrayne and the two armigers had come through the steepest part of the downhill grade on the Didion side of Great Pass. Durin Kyle, the youngest boy, who had been riding ahead, abruptly wheeled about and rejoined the two others.
‘I caught sight of Castlemont below us!’ he cried eagerly.
‘It’s still at least ten leagues away,’ his brother Tormo scoffed.
‘I saw it, I tell you. My eyes are much better than yours. Another couple of hours and we’ll be there! I’ve heard it’s a fine place to spend the night. Real beds with feather pillows even in the less expensive rooms. Fine food and drink for those who dine in the hall.’ He addressed Maudrayne. ‘We will eat in the great hall, won’t we, my la – messire? Can we afford it?’
‘We can,’ she replied with a smile. Mealtimes were the most important part of the day for growing boys. ‘And both of you will do so. But it would be safer if I ate in my room –’
The sound of a horn echoed amongst the crags, along with shouts of warning. ‘Make way! Make way!’
Maude swore. ‘Off the track quickly, lads. Here comes another party in a tearing hurry.’
They pulled aside just in time. A cavalcade of three richly dressed individuals attended by a dozen retainers thundered by in a spray of muddy water.
‘That’s the fifth hell-for-leather bunch to overtake us,’ Tormo remarked. ‘What d’you suppose the great rush is about?’
Maudrayne went stiff in her saddle. ‘God of the Starry Roads – I think I know. Do you remember the conversation we overheard while waiting at the frontier guardpost at the top of the pass? One of the wagon-train captains who’d passed through Boarsden said that the Army of the Sovereignty would begin moving out of there tomorrow, in the hours before dawn.’
Durin was puzzled. ‘Why would that cause people to hurry?’
‘Because the authorities will close the entire road to civilian traffic, you blockhead!’ his older brother exclaimed. ‘Any travelers spending the night at Castlemont will be stuck there for who knows how long – days, maybe! – until the troops and their supply trains pass by.’
Maude said, ‘You’re right. Persons with important affairs in Tarn – or even in the Didionite cities downriver from Boarsden – would want to pass through that section of the road while they’re still able. And so must we, lads.’
They stared at her. Tormo said, ‘Must we bypass Castlemont, then, and proceed directly to Boarsden? Messire, even if we change horses and carry torches we would not arrive until the middle of the night. Can you endure such a long ride?’
‘I can,’ she replied grimly. ‘But we’re not going to Boarsden. Unless I miss my guess, the army will make its first overnight bivouac in the vicinity of Rockyford Way Station. It’s an exceptionally secure Wold-Road establishment operated by Cathra, not Didion, used mainly by diplomatic couriers, Tarnian gold and opal merchants, and others bearing precious cargo. It would be the perfect spot for High King Conrig and the other leaders to spend the night.’
And Dyfrig as well, she thought.
‘Do you intend to press on to Rockyford tonight, then?’ Tormo was confused. When she nodded, he said, ‘May I ask why?’
‘We’ll sleep and eat there, then depart in the morning long before the first advance guard of the army arrives. But we won’t go far. We’ll find a safe place for you two to hide. But I intend to return to Rockyford after dark tomorrow.’ A remote smile touched her lips. ‘I have private business with one of the guests who will be staying there…or perhaps with two.’
Watty Peascod’s tavern furnished Deveron and Induna with a good meal. When there was still no sign of Stergos and Dyfrig as the midnight bell tolled, Deveron gave coins to the potboy and said to
Induna, ‘Let’s wait outside, love. Too many people are giving us the eye, knowing we’ve money on us.’
They slipped out the door, carrying pack and fardel, and immediately Deveron invoked the simple spell of couverture that would cause ordinary passers-by to ignore them as though they were invisible. Most of the square was still alive with people. The imminent departure of the Army of the Sovereignty had prompted the whores and sundry-pedlars to come out in force, seeking last-minute trade as Boarsden Town emptied of its temporary throng of visitors.
Induna sat on the parapet of the fountain’s wide basin, into which six streams of water poured from the mouths of heraldic swine. She felt deathly weary after a hard night and day without sleep. They had arranged to stay at a small inn near the town gate, and she did not look forward to the prospect. The place was mean and miserable, but it had been the only hostelry with room for them in its communal dormitorium.
‘Where can Dyfrig and Stergos be?’ she muttered crossly, after another half hour passed and no one approached save persons filling water-jars or buckets or giving their horses a drink. ‘Did you release the cover-spell so that they might find us?’
‘Be patient, love. I think I scry them now. See? They’re just coming out of that lane next to the tavern.’
The cloaked figures who approached were plainly dressed but beyond a doubt persons of quality. The scruffy crowd parted before them and importunate whores scattered like shooed chickens. One man was of slight stature, with a round, pleasant face that bore an air of deceptive youthfulness – save for the deep-set eyes with their gleam of powerful talent. The other was much younger and very tall. When Deveron magnified the blond-bearded countenance with his scrying ability he uttered a gasp of astonishment, for Dyfrig was the very image of the youthful Prince Heritor Conrig whom he had attended in the stableyard of Cala Palace so many years ago.
‘Is something wrong?’ Induna whispered anxiously.