by Julian May
She gave him a haughty glare. ‘I’m more than that, damn your eyes, and you know it!…So do the Green Men. And the Morass Worms.’
‘Hmph. That was then,’ he said obscurely. ‘This is now.’
Inside the stable, The old ostler was tightening the knot on the final bundle of oats and torchwood. He knuckled his grimy forehead in salute. ‘All ready, mistress. Quick enough for ye?’
She handed over the coins. ‘Well done. Go lie down and I’ll bind and muffle you.’ She said to Ising, ‘You strap on our bags and check the saddle girths.’
The baron was grumbling blasphemies under his breath when she returned. She said, ‘The old fellow has promised to tell our guards that we went south. But I’m going west instead, to the track that follows the Upper Malle. Then I’ll head north to Black Hare Lake. Where you go, old friend, is your decision. If you choose, you can even unsaddle your horse and crawl back to bed.’
Ising Bedotha hoisted his tangled brows. ‘Black Hare Lake, you say? But you can’t – not the Green Morass!’
‘I did it before. With Cray’s help, to be sure, and by a different route. But I’ll find other Green Men to help me re-establish contact with the worms, or else hunt them down myself.’
‘Oh, lass, lass!’ the baron moaned. ‘What can you possibly accomplish, even if the horrible things agree to confer with you? The focus of the Salka war is completely different now. The crucial battles will be fought in Tarn or on the far side of Didion where the pirates dwell. Nowhere near the Green Morass.’
‘You don’t understand how the worms fight.’
‘And you do?’ he jeered.
‘I showed them how to use their uncanny powers to best advantage. How to feint and bluff and hippity-hop about and lure the foe into pincer-traps after the Salka sigil-bearers had wasted their magical energies. Human military tactics allowed the Morass Worms to halt the first Salka invasion, even though they were greatly outnumbered. I promised the creatures a territory of their own as a reward, and I intend to see that they get it. Once I explain this new situation, they’ll listen and do as I say, just as they did before.’
‘What if they don’t? What then, eh?’ Ising’s face had gone crimson with frustration.
She mounted her spirited sorrel horse and looked down at him with a smile of supreme confidence. ‘They will listen…I dare not tarry here any longer arguing. Will you come with me, or not?’
He uttered a great groan. ‘Great Starry Wain – what else can I do?’
‘Good. I’m very grateful, dear Ising.’
With difficulty, he hoicked his left foot into the stirrup, then pulled himself up with painful slowness by gripping the mane of the patient grey. When he finally settled into the saddle, gasping and cursing, he bestowed a baleful glower on her. ‘It’s the joint evil, Your Majesty. A bugger in the cold and damp when you’re a creaky old fart like me and there’s no mounting-block.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Casya said, lowering her head. ‘I didn’t know.’
‘Queens shouldn’t apologize,’ said Ising Bedotha. ‘Chin up, lass! Now, let’s ride out of here at a dead-slow walk until we’re well away from the inn. Then we can light the first torch.’
At breakfast in Rockyford Way Station’s common room, Maudrayne had learned from a fellow guest at their crowded table that the Army of the Sovereignty was redeploying in two wings. It was already on the march and would reach the station that very afternoon. By the time she and the two young armigers rode out of the place, heading north, she had worked out a tentative plan for meeting Dyfrig.
‘Tormo, Durin, now is the time for us to part company,’ she told the Kyle brothers. Their horses were wading the wide boulder-strewn stream that gave the nearby hostel its name.
‘Oh, no!’ both boys protested.
Tormo added, ‘We promised Countess Morilye we’d protect you. We can’t leave you alone. It would sully the name of the House of Kyle.’
‘Follow me and I’ll explain,’ she said, turning off the highroad as they gained the other side of the brook. A narrow path alongside the bank led to a dense thicket of alder and sallow that gave shelter from the drizzle and hid them completely from the eyes of passers-by. Maude dismounted, but held up a hand to stop the squires when they would have joined her.
‘I’ve learned that the Army of the Sovereignty is going to split into two parts because no one knows where the Salka invaders will land. King Conrig and High Sealord Sernin will lead the largest contingent to the vicinity of Castle Direwold, near the Tarnian border, where it will wait until there’s news of the Salka. If it seems that the monsters intend to invade Tarn, then this wing of the army will hasten over Frost Pass to defend whatever Tarnian cities are threatened. I want you to join this force. You’ll certainly find some of your Kyle kinfolk amongst the warriors.’
‘But what will become of you, my lady?’ Tormo’s freckled face was pinched with worry.
She spoke in a low tone, so the younger armiger could not hear. ‘A second wing of the Sovereign Army will be poised to defend the west coast of Didion. It will camp at Lake of Shadows. My son will surely be part of this group, since it is being led by his adoptive father, Earl Marshal Parlian Beorbrook. Meeting with Dyfrig is the reason for this journey of mine to Didion. It’s vitally important for me to speak to my son before he rides into battle. We have not seen one another since he was four years old.’ She began to unstrap the saddlebags, bedroll, armor, and weapons from her saddle. ‘Now, I want you to return to the highroad. Take my horse with you. It might betray my hiding place.’
Understanding dawned on Tormo’s stunned face. ‘If you are indeed the mother of Prince Dyfrig Beorbrook, then –’
‘Be quiet and listen to me,’ she said. ‘Ride north to Elderwold, which is sure to be the army’s next stop tomorrow night. Wait there for the outriders to arrive and present yourselves to them as noble volunteers. You’ll be welcomed, I’m certain of it. Tarn needs every swordsman it can muster. I’ll remain here in hiding all day. Tonight, when the entourage of King Conrig and Lord Sernin sleeps at Rockyford, my son will be part of the group. I’ll seek him out. He’ll take care of me from then on.’
The older boy said, ‘Are you sure you don’t want us to stay?’
‘It’s more important for you to defend your homeland. I’m in no danger now.’ She handed the reins of her horse to Durin. ‘Go along, my dear young friends. And if you should ever be presented to the High Sealord, pass on to him affectionate greetings from his long-lost niece – but do it secretly, for I have enemies in high places.’
‘I understand, Your Grace,’ Tormo said. ‘And I shall make certain that my little brother does, too. Your secret is safe with us. It has been a great honor to serve you. Farewell.’
He turned his mount about and beckoned for Durin to follow, leading the other horse.
The royal herald dashed across the open ward of Boarsden Castle, heedless of the raindrops wilting his splendid tabard, and handed the Sovereign’s message to the earl marshal even as he and the members of his general staff guided their mounts toward the gatehouse and prepared to take to the road.
Parlian Beorbrook turned aside and reined in beneath the overhang of the bakehouse, unrolled the parchment and scanned it, then called for the others to gather close. His face had gone wan with shock.
‘My friends, here’s melancholy news from the High King. I’ll read it. To the Earl Marshal of the Realm: Let it be known that my beloved brother, the Royal Alchymist Vra-Stergos Wincantor, on this morning suddenly and tragically departed this earthly life. The cause of death has been determined by my physicians to be failure of the heart. In his last words, as he expired in my arms, Lord Stergos asked that the departure of the Sovereign Army from Boarsden not be delayed for his obsequies. We will honor his request. Three days hence, when the road has cleared, a cortege of his fellow Brethren will carry my brother’s body to Zeth Abbey for interment. I ask that you join me in praying a peaceful repose for this great and nobl
e benefactor of our realm. From Conrig Wincantor, Sovereign of High Blenholme. Given on this Eighteenth Day of the Harvest Moon, in the Chronicle Year One Thousand One Hundred Forty-Nine.’
The stunned group of noble officers and aides murmured and shook their heads. After a moment, the old general said, ‘We will obey His Grace’s command. All of you – ride on ahead. Dyfrig, attend me closely. You too, Master Haydon, and your apprentice.’
Parlian let the group of two dozen or so riders precede him through the barbican and across the moat. Prince Dyfrig remained at his side along with Deveron and Induna, who were disguised as Tarnians.
The earl marshal said, ‘This is a sorry day for the Sovereignty.’
The prince, who had hardly known Stergos, was more bewildered than saddened by his unexpected demise. ‘The Royal Alchymist was only two-score-and-ten years old and seemed in excellent health. Who would have thought he had a weak heart?’
‘No one,’ Parlian said. He repeated himself in a dull voice. ‘No one at all.’
‘I felt his dying,’ Deveron said unexpectedly, ‘although I did not believe that it was my place to speak of it. It happened shortly before you joined our group, my lord. As the soul fled, I hid myself in a corner of the stables and used what talent I could muster to discover what might have happened to the Royal Alchymist. He was always very kind to me and I considered him a friend and a colleague in magic.’
‘You scried the very death scene?’ Dyfrig was astounded.
‘Enough to come to a terrible conclusion, Your Grace,’ Deveron replied. ‘I regret to tell you that Lord Stergos perished not of heart failure, but of poisoning. There was – this is hard to explain to persons without talent – a distinctive aspect to the alchymist’s fading life-aura, one that connotes a mortal affront to the body, an unnatural separation of the soul inhabiting it. The royal brothers had apparently been drinking wine together. Stergos did indeed die in the king’s arms, and his mind windspoke a few final words that were perceptible to me. He said, “It doesn’t hurt, Con. Don’t be concerned.”’
‘Good God,’ the earl marshal murmured. ‘Then what happened?’
‘I scried the king as he carried his brother’s body to a chair. Then my trance was broken by the trumpet-call forming up your retinue outside the stable, and I joined you and my wife and the others.’
‘But who could have committed such a despicable crime?’ the prince cried. ‘And for what motive?’
‘One villain who comes readily to mind,’ Parlian Beorbrook said, ‘is Beynor of Moss. We all know how he must have resented the Royal Alchymist’s conjuration of Bazekoy’s pearl, which limited his powers. On the other hand, in a Privy Council meeting yesterday the High King told me that he intended to banish Beynor to some distant city on the east coast of Didion. Unless the Mossy bastard administered a very slow-acting poison during that damned feast last night, he had no opportunity to get at Stergos. He was kept under heavy guard all night and was to be taken away before dawn this morning.’
‘My suspicions also fell upon Beynor,’ Deveron said. ‘I made a point of scrying his whereabouts, even though my windsearching faculty is not yet fully recovered. I didn’t have to look far. He’s still in Boarsden Castle.’
‘Are you certain of this?’ the earl marshal demanded.
‘He’s disguised his features with magic, but his distinctive talent is unmistakable to…one such as I.’
‘Codders!’ said Prince Dyfrig. ‘We must warn the King’s Grace!’
‘I think he already knows,’ Deveron said.
The earl marshal turned in the saddle. ‘What are you trying to say, man?’
‘My lord, I scried the two of them conversing alone together in the vestibule of the Wizards’ Tower. Beynor wears the riding habit of the Sovereign’s own Corps of Alchymists. I have no doubt that he’ll soon be riding out as a member of the royal entourage.’
‘But –’ Prince Dyfrig was at a loss for words. Finally he blurted, ‘What does it mean?’
‘I don’t know,’ Beorbrook said. ‘But I intend to find out.’
‘My artisans worked all through the night in order to finish this first sigil. Colleagues, our new Subtle Gateway is ready to be empowered!’
The Salka Master Shaman held up the miniature door carving for the admiration of the other three Eminences. Beams of morning sunlight penetrated the audience chamber of Royal Fenguard Castle like bright omens of hope. The heavy squalls that had lashed the Darkling Estuary of Moss for the past two days had passed on to the west.
‘Is it perfect?’ the First Judge asked nervously. ‘No inner flaws?’
‘There are none,’ Kalawnn said, ‘and no imperfections in the crafting of it, either. If Ugusawnn is willing to take the considerable risk of overloading his brain with its pain-debt, the sigil can be used at once.’
‘Ahroo! You dare to impugn my courage?’ The Supreme Warrior bellowed his outrage. ‘I told you that I’m prepared to go to the summit of Demon Seat and carry back as much raw moonstone as my tentacles can lift.’
The wizened Conservator of Wisdom uttered a testy sigh. ‘No one doubts your bravery, Ugusawnn. Only your good sense! Our fighters will have great need of you in the upcoming invasion. But if your stamina is depleted by trips to and from Demon Seat, and then by a third lengthy journey to the Western Ocean before you even assume the leadership –’
‘We agreed that I would do this,’ the Warrior reminded the others. ‘I’m confident that I can endure the necessary suffering and recover quickly. Several days remain before the first of our warriors reach Terminal Bay. I’ll be prudent and only transport the best, most perfect pieces of mineral. Now that the tempest has abated, I can examine the samples on the mountaintop under a clear sky and return quickly, before the full impact of the pain-debt overtakes me.’
‘If only we could scry the moonstone formations on the summit and advise you,’ the Conservator said with regret. ‘Then Kalawnn might be able to indicate in advance which specimens were most suitable.’
‘Well, he can’t do it.’ Ugusawnn spoke with grouchy finality. ‘The mountaintop is just as unscryable as sigils are. Shall we get on with the empowerment ritual, or continue dithering? Every minute wasted is one that can’t be spent making more Great Stones.’
‘He’s right,’ the First Judge conceded. He slithered off the dais, went to a golden cabinet ornamented with amber, and took from it a stack of thin ivory plaques closely inscribed with writing, strung together at one corner with a golden chain. ‘Here’s a copy of the incantation. Let him get started. It’s not a short ceremony and we want him to have as much daylight for the search as possible.’
Out of respect (or perhaps as a precaution) the other three Eminences withdrew from the audience chamber, leaving Ugusawnn perched confidently upon his seaweed-heaped couch. He would bespeak them when the sigil was empowered. Kalawnn led the Conservator and the Judge down to the cavern of the lapidaries to show them how work on the Destroyer was progressing. Although the moonstone wand was not nearly so delicate an object as Gateway, its surface was more ornately engraved.
‘But as you can see,’ The Master Shaman said proudly, ‘the carving is nearly complete.’
‘How long?’ the Judge inquired tersely.
‘Three days at most,’ Kalawnn said. ‘It’ll be ready when it’s needed. Shall we go into my sanctum and have a small libation?’
The others agreed that a drink would be welcome. They sipped quantities of fermented squid-ink before Kalawnn felt emboldened to voice his secret concerns. ‘Colleagues, I would never doubt the Supreme Warrior’s greathearted valor for an instant. But it’s our solemn responsibility to consider what course of action we might follow if he should become disabled through overuse of one or more of the sigils.’
The Judge said, ‘I think it’s obvious that we must appoint a deputy wielder. There is a spell of abolition that deactivates sigils safely, unbonding them from one person so that another may re-empower and use them.
I also have a copy of that spell. If Ugusawnn overreaches himself and becomes incapacitated, the sigils must be taken away from him and bonded to another. I think you, Master Shaman, are the only plausible candidate. Our revered Wise One is too burdened with years to qualify and I’m too damned fat and sluggish to cavort about on a battlefield.’
‘I concur,’ said the Conservator of Wisdom. ‘Kalawnn, you must agree that we cannot entrust the only Great Stones possessed by our race to an individual of inferior stature. The deputy must be an Eminence.’
The Master Shaman bowed his massive head. His crest had fallen in distress. ‘This is a terrible onus you would lay upon me. I’m not a soldier, I’m a scientist and a scholar. I don’t know the first thing about generalship –’
‘You need not concern yourself with military tactics,’ the Conservator said. ‘Our field commanders will do their duty. Your only real responsibility would be putting Destroyer to use. You have the good judgment to wield the terrible Stone properly and to best advantage.’
‘Perhaps more astutely than the Supreme Warrior,’ the Judge said under his breath.
They debated the matter for a long time, but in the end Kalawnn was forced to agree that no other person could do a better job. And he was, after all, the custodian of the Stone of Stones as well. It was fitting that he take on responsibility for Destroyer and Gateway if Ugusawnn were disabled or killed.
‘Very well,’ he said at last. ‘I will agree. This means, however, that the Warrior will be forced to carry me to the scene of action.’
‘Gateway is capable of transporting two Salka,’ the Judge said.
‘Just barely,’ the Conservator added. ‘But we have no –’
I have done it! The Supreme Warrior’s triumphant windvoice rang in their minds. The Great Stone is active and bonded to me. The presiding Light said he was gratified by our ingenuity in creating a new sigil of such delicacy and elegance.