by Julian May
‘I think Catclaw and the others are slain,’ the king said, frowning as he toyed with the leaves of cress and dandelion. ‘But Zeth only knows by whom and for what reason. I’ve decided to appoint Baron Wanstantil Cloudfell as the new Lord Constable once the army reaches its new staging point at Direwold.’
‘But he’s such a fop!’ Corodon grimaced in distaste. ‘He adorns himself like a peacock, flaunting his wealth…and he’s never taken a wife or leman. We know what that must mean.’
‘Cloudfell is a brave and clever leader, esteemed by his knights and warriors,’ Conrig said in a tone full of authority. ‘He fought valiantly at my side during the Battle of Holt Mallburn, and his overlord, Duke Munlow Ramscrest, holds him to be unflinchingly loyal to the Sovereignty. If you are to be king, Coro, you must become a wiser judge of men.’
‘Yes, sire,’ the prince mumbled. ‘I realize that I have much to learn.’
‘If you know that,’ the king said more easily, ‘then your education is well begun.’
‘I could help you, Coro.’ Bramlow made the tentative offer, seeing an opportunity to remain closer to the Heritor and thus fulfill the plea of his mother. ‘I tutored our brother Orrion in such things. An alchymist is schooled in the judging of character as an aspect of the healing arts. One cannot fully understand the working of the human body without also knowing that of the mind.’
‘I’d welcome your counsel,’ Corodon said with a sigh. ‘And please begin by giving me insight into the quirks and crochets of women! After treating me in a most winsome and amatory fashion last night, Princess Hyndry looked down her nose and refused me a goodbye kiss and a token to carry into battle as I rode out of the castle this morning.’
The king laughed in spite of himself.
Bramlow said, ‘Dear brother, I’m the last one to instruct you in such mysteries. But perhaps the lady was vexed with herself for having behaved in a manner she never would have thought possible earlier. Don’t be concerned. Her mood will likely pass. My teachers at Zeth Abbey have told me that mutability is part of the feminine temperament.’
‘I gave Hyndry a love philtre I got from Beynor,’ Coro confessed to his brother. ‘After first getting permission from Father, of course. It worked a treat – but how will I know whether its effects be more than passing, if the princess and I are long separated by this war?’
‘You can only wait and hope,’ the novice said, hiding his astonishment at the revelation. ‘I should think, however, that the Conjure-King would want to impress His Sovereign Grace, and thus would provide you with the most powerful potion in his grimoire.’ His expression grew more thoughtful. ‘It’s rather a pity we can’t question Beynor about its efficacy. All the same, after hearing what the older Brethren said about him, I confess I’m glad he was banished.’
‘He is not banished,’ the king said. ‘I decided that his services might be required in the upcoming campaign. He travels with us in disguise. I expect both of you to keep your mouths shut about this. If certain of my lords were to learn of it, there’d be trouble. Are we understood?’
‘Yes, sire,’ the princes said.
Bramlow saw a flicker of guilt cross Corodon’s face and thought: He knows something about this! I’ll pry the truth from him somehow.
They all began to nibble the flaky curd-cheese pastries. The king poured small noggins of malt spirits for each of them.
‘My boys, I know you’re weary, but I have a serious matter to discuss with you before you retire tonight.’ Conrig opened his belt-pouch, took out the two pieces of raw moonstone, and held them up so that they glinted in the candlelight.
Bramlow gave a sharp inhalation.
‘You both know what these are,’ the king continued. ‘One I took from you, Coro, after you finally told me the truth about what happened to Orrion on the summit of Demon Seat. The other I found upon the body of the late Royal Alchymist as I tried in vain to revive him.’ He paused for some minutes, rolling the stones on the table in front of him while staring at them intently. ‘Today, while I rode through the rain and contemplated the tribulations facing our army, my mind kept returning to these chunks of mineral. It was almost as though my dead brother were trying to tell me something about them. Finally, I realized what it was. If the Sky demons – who seem not to be the malignant Beaconfolk who empower sigils for the Salka – were willing to grant a favor to Orrion, channelling their magic through the outcropping on the mountaintop, then they might be induced to repeat their generous gesture to one who invoked them through these smaller stones. What do you think?’
‘I supposed the very same thing, sire,’ Corodon said eagerly. ‘This is why I brought back the souvenir rocks in the first place.’ He prudently kept silent about his earlier suggestion to the king that the benign demons might also channel power scathelessly through Beynor’s sigils if they chose.
Conrig turned to Vra-Bramlow. ‘And what is your opinion? As a Brother of Zeth, you should be more familiar with high sorcery.’
‘Sire, I can only remind you that invoking the Sky beings cost Orry his sword-arm. The person who dares to ask the demons for another favor might also pay an unexpectedly great price.’
‘The favor I would ask,’ Conrig said, ‘is to know whether the principal Salka host plans to come ashore in Tarn or in Didion. This information is crucial to the defense of our island. It would render unnecessary the division of our forces. Yet thus far none of our windsearchers can tell me anything of the brutes’ whereabouts. Their progress is strangely unscryable, even to the most powerful Tarnian shamans. This is why…I’m inclined to take the risk.’
Corodon’s face had gone still. In a halting voice, he said, ‘Father, let me do it.’
The king let a small smile of satisfaction touch his lips. It was what he had expected of the impetuous Heritor. But before Conrig could speak, Bramlow surged to his feet.
‘No! If anyone does this thing, it must be me. Forgive me, sire – but neither you nor Coro should endanger your lives, not even to obtain this vital intelligence. You’re both too important to the Sovereignty. But I’m only a novice magicker, quite inconsequential. I’ll invoke the Sky demons gladly. Right now, if you wish.’
‘Perfect!’ Corodon crowed.
The king said, ‘Try it, then. But first ask them what the favor will cost. You may decide whether or not to pay their price.’
Bramlow nodded, realizing that his choice was no choice at all. He knew exactly how he’d been manipulated, just as Coro had. But for his mother’s sake and that of his brother, he held out his hand. The king gave him the pieces of mineral and he crossed to the other side of the room. ‘I’d rather do this outdoors, with you both at a safe distance, but I suppose that’s not possible.’
‘Nothing happened to you and me during Orry’s miracle.’ Corodon gave uneasy reassurance. ‘Do you remember the words he used?’
‘I’ll never forget them. Now please be silent.’
The novice pulled the hood of his crimson leather chaperon over his head and gave a brief touch to his silver gammadion, even though it was not imbued with the fulness of Saint Zeth’s power. Then he pressed the two chunks of moonstone together and began to speak under his breath.
Every candle in the room was abruptly extinguished. Corodon gave a great start and gulped back a cry of fear.
The Sovereign whispered, ‘God’s Teeth! The things are glowing.’
‘The Demon Seat formation also glowed when Orry touched it,’ the Heritor said. ‘He later told us that it became unbearably hot –’
‘Hush!’ Conrig hissed. ‘Have respect for Bram’s bravery, if nothing else.’
Corodon subsided, eyeing his older brother with resentment. Later, Father would find out which of them was the braver…
The novice was motionless, a statue lit by eerie votive radiance. If he addressed the Lords of the Sky he did not use his normal voice. The only sounds in the room came from the blazing wood in the small fireplace and the creaking of the two chairs
as Conrig and the prince eased their tense bodies.
Finally, after what seemed an endless time, the green glow winked out abruptly, leaving only firelight illuminating the room. Vra-Bramlow uttered a deep sigh, pushed back his hood, and returned to the table.
‘Well?’ the Sovereign demanded brusquely.
‘They answered my questions. They asked no parlous penalty of me.’ Bram placed the chunks of moonstone on the table and slowly sat down. ‘I seemed to float in a vast blackness, and saw numbers of sad, ghostly faces shining dimly among the stars. They were Lights, but not the evil Beacons – just as Lord Stergos opined. They seemed hesitant but kind.’
‘What did they tell you?’ Conrig did not bother to hide his impatience. ‘Where will the monsters land?’
‘It was the first thing I asked. They replied that the Salka have contrived to conceal their movements and squelch the threads of their windspeech through a novel meld of talent. This is why our scriers can’t find them. Also, since the Salka are beings with free will, who have a multitude of choices open to them, not even the Lights can determine what the creatures intend to do.’
Conrig groaned, ‘No!’
‘However, I was told where the principal Salka host is located at this precise moment, and I know their approximate swimming speed. They’ve rounded Cape Wolf and are moving southward very rapidly. They should arrive off the mouth of the Firth of Gayle within three days – perhaps sooner. The Lights were able to discern this information by studying aberrations in the currents of the Western Ocean itself, as well as movements of schools of fish preyed upon by the passing host. Now, as to the second Salka force –’
‘A second force?’ Corodon cried out in dismay.
Bramlow went on unperturbed. ‘It’s now entering the Dolphin Channel after skirting the Vigilant Isles, swimming westward. This army is slower than the first group and might approach Flaming Head within four days.’
‘I already knew that the Salka were being reinforced,’ Conrig said. ‘This information is still very useful, even if it fails to answer my original question. Tell me, Bram: did you ask the Lights if they would continue to help us by following the monsters’ progress?’
‘I did. And they will – as best as they are able.’
‘Oh, well done, Brother!’ Corodon exclaimed, clapping his arms about the novice and pounding his back.
Conrig bestowed a curt nod of approbation, then took the stones and replaced them in his pouch. ‘Inside of a few days, we should at least know whether the Salka intend to attack Donorvale…Bramlow, I’m promoting you to the position of adviser to my General Staff. From now on, you ride with me and the Prince Heritor.’
‘Thank you, sire.’
Despite his show of gratification at Bram’s success, Corodon was still feeling miffed. He thought: I could have besought the favor of the good Lights as readily as Bram did, if he only hadn’t turned Father against the notion. Futter me for a fool! I should have insisted.
But he hadn’t, and he was uncomfortably aware that his original offer to invoke the demons had been half-hearted. Even worse, he suspected that his father knew it as well.
SIXTEEN
The station compound’s main gate was barred and heavily guarded by the time Deveron and Maudrayne reached it, but he explained that the postern would stay open for some time yet, so that the kitchen lackeys could carry rubbish to the midden-heap after the evening meal was finished.
‘We’ll enter easily by the back gate,’ he whispered, as they paused momentarily on the road. ‘If you and Dyfrig decide to come away together after your meeting, we may be able to get out that way also.’
‘And if we cannot?’
‘I have another plan in mind. But come, my lady. We should move along as quickly as possible from here on, and without speaking or making other noise. Do you think you can manage?’
‘Don’t worry,’ she assured him. ‘My earlier qualms have melted away. I’ve been following you with open eyes, clinging to the strap, for some time. Thinking about my son has helped focus my mind. I’ve dreamed of this reunion for so long, but never did I suspect it would happen so strangely.’
They began circling to the rear of the high stone wall topped with iron spikes, threading their way amongst clusters of small tents. Full night had now fallen. The myriad campfires surrounding the place were subsiding into embers as the exhausted warriors settled down to sleep. At the postern gate, two bored sentinels sat on empty kegs, sharpening their swords and gossiping. Deveron and Maudrayne passed through unnoticed, even though they threw faint shadows.
Rockyford Station had been built over two hundred years earlier, when lucrative land trade along the Wold Road between Cathra and Tarn was constantly under threat from Didionite brigands, and even the local castellans might succumb to temptation when particularly well-heeled foreign travelers sought hospitality. Under a longstanding treaty, this fortified hostel had always been staffed by Cathrans. Once it had housed a garrison that might, when times were especially dicey along the Wold Road, provide armed escorts to important persons and wagon trains carrying valuable cargo.
Since the advent of the Sovereign’s Peace, Rockyford’s clientele had greatly diminished. Most of the resident warriors were now gone, and two large timberbuilt annex wings of the structure had been closed off, leaving open only the original stone stronghouse with its kitchen, common room, private dining hall, and austere dormitorium chambers.
Deveron led the princess through the stableyard, where the station ostlers were still caring for the mounts of the privileged, and into one of the disused wings, accessed through a little storm-vestibule. He had already oiled the lock and door hinges and now used his talent to gain admittance. Inside, once the door closed, the place was as black as pitch because all the windows were shuttered. It smelt strongly of mildew and less savory things.
‘Stay very close and hold my hand,’ he cautioned her. ‘I can see in the dark and I’ll guide you. Keep your voice down and try not to stumble. The log walls of this passageway are coming unchinked in some sections and you might be overheard by those out in the yard. Further inside, it’ll be safe to speak normally.’
‘How much time will my son and I have together?’ she whispered.
‘Dyfrig has told his adoptive father, who shares his room, that he intends to confer with me this evening. The earl marshal knows about your letter but is not aware that you’re here. It would be best if your meeting with Dyfrig did not last much longer than an hour, but you may take whatever time you need.’
As they crept along, Deveron explained that she would wait in one of the old guestrooms while he brought her son to her under a pall of invisibility. ‘You should decide your mutual future tonight. I’ve told Prince Dyfrig that I’m willing to summon friends of mine – Green Men – who will shelter one or both of you in a secluded Elderwold village until it’s safe for you to go elsewhere. But it’s probable that your son won’t want to shirk his duty to the army.’
‘Nor should he!’ she replied with spirit. ‘I want to remain with Dyfrig, keeping to my knight’s disguise, if he’ll have me. I won’t be any bother, and if Parlian Beorbrook is the paragon you say he is, he should not object. After all, he and Conrig will be long leagues apart once the divided forces deploy to their separate positions.’
Deveron’s response was cool. ‘Such a course might still place both your son and the earl marshal in jeopardy, my lady. However, whatever the prince decides, I’ll help to carry out.’
An inner door opened with a small rattle from the lifted latch. Deveron took Maudrayne’s hand and guided her to a rough wooden bench, where he bade her sit and then intoned the words, ‘BI FYSINEK. KRUF AH!’ A moment later she saw him standing before her, a yellow flame like that of a candle springing from his index finger. Her own body was also visible again.
‘I would not have known you, sir,’ she remarked. ‘With the beard and a certain deepening of your eyes with maturity, you are a different man from the y
oung knight I once knew.’
He only smiled. ‘This room looks out on the exterior stone wall, so there’s no danger of anyone seeing light through cracks in the shutters or between the logs.’
He took up an oil lantern that stood on a small table and lit it. The chamber was about five ells square. Besides the bench, it held nine rude cots with rotting pallets, four stools, and a rusty brazier. Festoons of cobwebs hung from the ceiling, and pale fungi like obscene tumors bloomed here and there amidst the nameless litter on the floor.
‘I regret the dampness and the musty stench,’ Deveron said, ‘but this is the best place I could find. Just down the passage is a door connecting this wing with a section of the station’s stronghouse where the Sovereign and the highest nobility are quartered. The room occupied by Earl Marshal Parlian and Prince Dyfrig is very close by. Wait here. I’ll return very shortly with your son.’
He left her and rendered himself invisible again. Using windsight, he looked through the thick connecting door to be sure no one was out and about on the other side. The stone corridor was deserted, lit by three torches in wall sconces. He knew a squad of the Royal Guard was posted around the corner at the far end, near where the chambers of the Sovereign and High Sealord Sernin were located, but at present the guardsmen were out of sight.
He entered the hostel silent as a ghost, hurried to the room occupied by Dyfrig and Parlian, which was next to that of the Tarnian leader, and scratched three times on the door. It opened immediately and the prince looked out. He wore an unadorned woolen tunic and trews, an open budge waistcoat against the night chill of the moorland, and soft house shoes.
‘Are you here, Sir Deveron?’ he hissed, looking about. An unseen presence gripped his hand and he flinched.