Sorcerer's Moon

by Julian May

  ‘But if I possess talent,’ he said, ‘why didn’t the Brothers of Zeth find out – and bar me from Cathra’s throne?’

  The countess looked up at him, her fear and revulsion giving way to another emotion. ‘It would seem that your talent is undetectable but nonetheless real. And since it may save our lives, I bless you for possessing it, dear boy.’

  ‘I knew nothing,’ he whispered. ‘I never suspected a thing.’ But then he recalled what the demons had said as he begged a miracle on top of the mountain.

  AT LEAST YOU ARE WORTHY, AS ARE THE OTHER TWO WHO COWER NEXT TO OUR CRAG.

  Nyla pulled up a sizable broken spar and positioned it so it might be pushed into the flames as it was consumed. Then she piled more sticks on and stepped back to revel in the warmth.

  ‘Oh, wonderful! Now we can dry ourselves. Orry, take off your boots and stockings. I’m going to strip to my smalls and hang my gown and petticoat on a tripod of sticks.’

  ‘Daughter!’ the countess huffed.

  ‘Orrion and I are to be married,’ Nyla said with a toss of her head. ‘My things will dry much faster this way.’

  ‘Oh, very well.’

  ‘And we must keep Orry’s talent secret, Mother, so the Zeth Brethren don’t claim him. What difference does it make if my darling can do magic? He can never be king.’

  Orvada had drawn away as the fire grew. Now she gave a little wry smile and extended her feet toward the blaze. ‘I will say nothing of your talent, Sir Orrion, unless you grant me permission. A loyal mother-in-law elect can do no less.’

  Orrion scrambled over to her and kissed her cheek. ‘Thank you. Now let’s concentrate on drying off, then make this fire as large as we can.’

  Hours passed. They all fell asleep, waking as the fire sank to embers and cool air chilled them. After donning their dry things they set out to gather more driftwood.

  It was then that Orrion saw the light on the water. It was yellow, like an oil lantern, and bobbed gently as it came closer. The fat crescent moon was about to set behind the Cuva Hills far inland, but there were millions of stars in the clear sky and it was possible for him to make out a small dinghy being rowed toward their island. The light hung from a stanchion at the bow.

  ‘Hello!’ he called. ‘Hello, the boat! We’re three shipwrecked souls begging your help.’

  ‘We be coming,’ a pair of high-pitched voices said in unison.

  Orrion had dropped his burden of wood. The two women came running. ‘I think they’re children,’ he said quietly. ‘What in the world are they doing out on the water at this late hour?’

  ‘Fishing, I don’t doubt,’ the countess said. ‘Poor folk aren’t as sentimental about younglings as you royals. Our peasants at Craketop Manor put the little ones to work gleaning and caring for fowl and gathering potherbs and such when they were five years old.’

  ‘They come of pirate stock,’ Orrion warned. ‘We must be cautious dealing with them. If they turn us over to Rork Karum, he’d discover our identity by despicable means and hold us for ransom. Ladies, I beg you to say nothing. Let me cope with these young rescuers.’

  Countess Orvada grumbled under her breath, but fell silent as the dinghy scraped the sand. It had a mast, but the sail was furled in the calm air. Orrion waded out, took the painter, and hauled the craft up as the two small rowers shipped their oars and leapt out to help. They were a boy and a girl, large-eyed with astonishment, scrawny and no more than ten or eleven years old. They had lank flaxen hair and wore tunics of woven wool with cord belts, hooded capelets of tattered thin leather, and stout open sandals with no stockings.

  ‘Starry Dragon!’ the boy exclaimed, eying the scruffy adults warily. ‘Did ye come off t’ship got blasted by lightning, then?’

  ‘That’s right,’ Orrion said with a friendly smile. ‘What are your names?’

  ‘Turrible thing that was,’ the girl said with gruesome relish. She seemed the older of the pair. ‘A course, it were only a Tarnian ship.’ She gave a nervous laugh. ‘We’uns ain’t too friendly with Tarn. I’s Ree and he be m’little brother Klagus.’

  Orrion hunkered down, sensing their apprehension. ‘We’re not Tarnians. We’re people of Didion, just like you. We’re cold and hungry and we want to go home to our people in Dennech Town. Do you know where that is?’

  The boy shrugged. ‘Somewhere inland. We’uns don’t know inland.’

  ‘Were you out fishing by yourselves?’

  ‘We gotta,’ the girl said. ‘There’s only us and Ma and t’brat at home.’ She screwed up her face. ‘And no food t’spare, either, less’n ye wanna buy summa our fish at fair price. They’s grimmels. Good and juicy if ye grill ‘em.’

  ‘What’s a fair price to feed us, and your mother to cook up the fish?’ Orrion inquired briskly.

  The fishergirl scowled, pursed her lips, and finally said. ‘A silver penny. No less!’

  ‘Done,’ said Orrion, and held out his left hand.

  She put her cold, grimy one into it, noticing his missing limb for the first time. ‘It’s good luck, meeting a one-handed or one-legged man. Wotcha gonna do t’morrow? We’uns can’t keep ye in t’hut. No room.’

  ‘Can your boat sail to Karum Port? We want to go there as soon as possible. I’ll pay you three pennies and buy you both a nice meal at the tavern there. From Karum, we can find our way home to Dennech.’

  Ree looked at her brother. ‘Wotya think, Klagus?’

  ‘Yar,’ he said with a laconic nod to the adults. ‘Sea wind’ll rise agin after midnight. We’uns can take our catch in early t’market. Ye, too, if ye don’ mind sittin’ nigh baskets o’ fish.’

  ‘We don’t mind at all,’ Nyla said sweetly. ‘We just love fish. Let me help you to board, Mother.’

  ‘Say nothing,’ Orrion reminded the women in a tense whisper.

  When they were seated in the bow and the girl took her place on the midthwart, Orrion and the boy pushed the dinghy off and hopped in. In a minute both children were rowing strongly. Orrion had more sense than to offer his help. The fishers were proud of their skill, smirking sidelong at each other at the thought of the windfall of real money that was soon to be theirs.

  He thought: Perhaps the children’s mother would part with some old clothing if I offered another penny. And when we leave for Karum, I’ll hide a gold half-mark coin in the hut where someone will be sure to find it later.

  But it would never do for the fishers to find out that his wallet was full of gold. Young as they were, Klagus and Ree would sell the three of them to the pirates in the blink of an eye…

  Nyla and the countess were silent, heads together. After a time, they seemed to have fallen asleep.

  Orrion spoke low to the children. ‘Were other folk from the wrecked ship found?’

  ‘None we’uns know,’ the boy said. ‘Not many out fishin’ t’night. This be a lonesome part o’ t’bay. All shoalwater and reefs. All we’uns seen was Old Tig’s boat early on…and later mobs o’ great big seals cavortin’ in t’moonlight. A sight, that was! They was jumpin’ clear outa t’ water – like it was one uvum’s birthday or some such happy thing.’

  ‘Seals?’ Orrion felt a tingle of trepidation. ‘How large were they?

  The girl said, ‘Monstrous! Biggest we’uns ever saw. Red eyes they had, shinin’ in t’ dark like hot coals. So scary wee Klagus there like t’browned his britchclout, but they didn’t do us no harm. Too busy with dancin’ or whatever.’

  ‘How – how very curious.’ Orrion could not keep the tremor out of his voice.

  The mystery of Gannet’s demise was solved. And he, Orrion Wincantor, was perhaps the only one who knew the place where the Salka horde intended to invade High Blenholme.

  What am I going to do? he asked himself. Do I dare wait until morning to carry this terrible news to the authorities at Dennech Citadel? And if I do inform Duchess Margaleva and her people, will she believe me and take action before it’s too late?

  Numb with horror, he sat in th
e stern of the dingy. The two wiry children plied their oars, sending the dinghy racing toward the shore. The crescent moon was down, but peeping over the northern highlands were a few faint beams of green and crimson radiance, like ghostly beacons among the stars.

  The Lights.

  The demons.

  YOU ARE WORTHY…

  I have talent, he thought. Is it possible for me to speak on the wind, as the other adepts do? I’ve never tried. I never imagined such a thing was possible. But I must attempt it now. God help me, I must!

  Who to call? Bramlow was certainly talented and to be trusted. But perhaps he’d have better luck bespeaking the person who had been closest to him from the day of their birth eighteen years ago: his twin brother, Corodon –

  The two children giggled shrilly. The girl said, ‘Man, ye look like ye swallered a spoilt clam! Feelin’ poorly, then?’

  ‘A little,’ he said. ‘I’m going to try to sleep. Wake me when we reach the shore.’

  He closed his eyes and set out to find the wind.

  The bell of Castle Direwold struck the hour before midnight and Conrig muttered an imprecation. ‘Where is that damned sorcerer? I told him to come at ten! Coro, put more wood on the fire. Bram, see if you can scry the rascal out.’

  Baron Jordus’s little solar was drafty, and two huge smelly wolfhounds who had been ejected earlier by the servants had crept back in somehow and now lay sleeping before the hearth, making weird noises and twitching as they dreamed.

  The High King paced restlessly about the shadowy room while the Prince Heritor and Vra-Bramlow sat at a table lit by tapers in two tarnished candelabra. A matching silver tray held an ornate ewer full of inferior ale, some dented cups, and a plate of dusty sweetmeats. No one had touched the refreshments. Corodon, armed with broadsword and dagger, tossed several billets of wood on the dwindling flames and stirred the coals with a poker. The novice, who had been stroking the golden reliquary that held Bazekoy’s blue pearl, left off rehearsing its incantation and covered his head with his hood to attempt the windsearch.

  Conrig had ordered his sons to attend him during the ceremony that would activate the sigils, but rejected urgent requests from the senior Zeth Brethren and the Tarnian Grand Shaman that they also be present. The king wanted no one save those of his own blood to know the formula that brought the Great Stones to life.

  Bramlow pushed back his hood. ‘Beynor comes, sire. As you commanded, he is alone.’

  ‘Both of you take stools beside the hearth,’ the king said. ‘Be vigilant for treachery! Bram, you are my prime defender.’

  ‘I understand, sire.’ The novice took the reliquary and tucked it into the sleeve of his robe, knowing that Beynor would surely be aware of its presence. But would the pearl’s benign power be sufficient to shield the Sovereign from Beaconfolk perfidy? None among the Brethren or the Tarnian shamans knew whether Bazekoy’s talismans had ever been thus tested.

  I must not fail my father, Bram thought. But another notion gnawed at him: Had he already failed Conrig by acquiescing in his intention to use the terrible sigils?

  ‘Good evening, my liege.’ Beynor stepped into the solar and closed the door behind him.

  Conrig nodded. ‘Your Majesty of Moss.’

  The sorcerer had put aside the spell of disguise as well as the garments of Zeth’s Order and now wore a simple robe of dark green, cinched with the ornate belt of Moss’s Sword of State. ‘As you can see, I have left the royal blade itself and its scabbard behind in my room. Your valiant sons need have no fear for your safety.’

  ‘Good,’ Conrig said. ‘Produce the sigils and tell me how to activate them. We’ll need them at once. We’ve located the Salka horde.’

  Beynor frowned at the king’s peremptory manner. ‘Indeed! Very well, I have the stones ready. It would be more respectful to the Great Lights if you knelt –’

  ‘No. I’m the Sovereign. I’ll stand before the Beaconfolk as I stand before God himself.’ He rose to his feet.

  ‘We can only hope that the Lights will understand royal protocol.’ Beynor opened his belt-wallet, removed a small pouch, and tipped its contents onto the table. He unwrapped each moonstone from its covering and laid them out in a row. ‘Which stone would you empower first?’

  ‘Destroyer, of course.’ Conrig’s dark eyes flashed.

  ‘Of course.’ Beynor smiled thinly. ‘Just remember that using it safely will require a certain technique that only I can teach you. Any attempt on your part to –’

  ‘I’ll never harm you unless you play me foul, Conjure-King. Get on with your instructions. I’ll need to activate all of the sigils.’

  Beynor’s glance flicked to the two watching princes. ‘Are you certain you want these young men to witness the empowerment?’

  ‘No one will witness the empowerment,’ Conrig stated adamantly. ‘Once you’ve taught me how to conjure the spell, I intend to take the moonstones out onto the balcony and say the words under the stars, alone. Whatever will be, will be. But only I will speak to the Great Lights.’

  For a moment, Beynor was taken aback. Then he shrugged. ‘As you wish.’ He began to rehearse the king in the questions the Keeper of Sigils would ask and the proper responses he must give in the Salka language.

  ‘But why must I address these Beaconfolk in an alien tongue? I thought they were infinitely wise. Don’t they understand the language that all of us on the island speak?’

  ‘I can only tell you what was written down by Rothbannon, the first Conjure-King. He emphasized that proper pronunciation of these Salka words was vital. Speak them imperfectly and you may pay with your life. Now – have you everything memorized?’

  ‘Yes,’ Conrig growled.

  ‘Be careful to touch the disk to only one sigil at a time. You may expect to suffer a certain amount of pain during the activation. It’s the Lights’ way of testing your resolve, your willingness to pay the price for their sorcery.’

  ‘Huh! I’ll pay any price to save the Sovereignty.’ He swept up the three sigils and dumped them back into their pouch. The disk he carried in his hand. ‘Stay inside, no matter what happens. My sons will see that you obey.’

  ‘Your excessive caution is quite unnecessary,’ Beynor said with dignity. ‘But suit yourself.’ He sat down in one of the chairs beside the table and helped himself to ale from the silver ewer. One of the wolfhounds gave a gruff snort, then settled back into slumber.

  The door leading to the balcony had only a small glazed window. In truth, Conrig wanted no witness to his first attempt at high sorcery because he was afraid he might botch it and suffer another public humiliation like the one at Rockyford.

  I’d rather perish in a bolt of astral lightning, he thought, than have that snotty bastard and my boys behold me in ignominy!

  The moon was down and the sky was diamond-spangled. Even better, the aurora borealis had appeared right on cue, exceptionally splendid for so early in the autumn. It had to be an omen…

  He removed Destroyer from the pouch and placed the other sigils on the balcony railing to wait their turn. Then he pressed the little wand firmly against the gold-framed moonstone rondel.

  The stones felt icy cold. As they began to glow, a sudden pang of agony lanced his heart and he gasped aloud. The pain swelled and he felt his vision of the castle battlements and the surrounding dark countryside dimming. He hung suspended in the starry void. Only the Sky remained, with a single irascible face painted upon it in crimson Light.

  CADAY AN RUDAY? The being roared in his mind’s ear, asking what he wanted.

  Conrig bellowed the words he’d learned. ‘GO TUGA LUV KRO AN AY COMASH DOM!’ Which meant, ‘May the Cold Light grant me power.’

  A frightful stab of pain smote him and he almost lost hold of the stones. The face seemed to snarl as it asked him, KO AN SO? Wanting to know who he was.

  Using all his strength, he straightened his racked body and cried out the reply. ‘CONRIG WINCANTOR, CALLED IRONCROWN, THE SOVEREIGN OF HIGH BLENH
OLME! AND WHO THE DEVIL ARE YOU?’

  The Light’s face appeared to swell with rage. And then it began to laugh. The sound was shattering, like a gigantic bell tolling, and the stars seemed to cringe and pale before its force. Then the Sky entity fell silent, staring at Conrig, and the stars regained their brightness.

  ‘Well?’ the king said in resignation. ‘Have I insulted you? I didn’t mean to. But go ahead, strike me dead for impudence if you must. The Conjure-King will instruct my son to address you with the proper deference when he tries to empower these sigils.’

  WE WILL NOT STRIKE YOU DEAD. NOT THIS TIME. WE HAVE WAITED LONG FOR A HUMAN OF YOUR POTENTIAL TO APPROACH US. AS A SIGN OF OUR FAVOR, WE WILL ADDRESS YOU IN YOUR OWN LANGUAGE…YOU ASK WHO I AM, BUT WE HAVE NO NAMES AS YOU GROUNDLINGS DO. I AM THE STONE-KEEPER, THE ONE WHO ACCEPTS OR REJECTS THOSE WHO PETITION TO SHARE OUR POWER.

  ‘Well then, Stone-Keeper, do you accept me? Will you let me wield Destroyer and the other two Great Stones against our Salka enemies? You may squeeze what pain you must from me in payment –’

  WE WANT MORE FROM YOU THAN THAT.

  Conrig felt himself go numb; all sensation fled, leaving him with the terrible impression that his soul had been extracted from his body. ‘Am I dead?’ he asked. ‘Have you slain me?’

  CERTAINLY NOT. WE ONLY WISH TO HAVE YOUR COMPLETE ATTENTION. WE ESTEEM YOU AND OTHER STRONG PERSONS OF YOUR GROUND REALM. WE WISH NUMBERS OF YOU TO EMBRACE SIGIL SORCERY WHOLEHEARTEDLY, AS THE SALKA ONCE DID. OF LATE, THE GREAT AMPHIBIANS HAVE DISAPPOINTED US. THEY HAVE BECOME TIMID AND APATHETIC, HESITANT TO MAKE THE NECESSARY SACRIFICE REQUIRED TO OBTAIN THE GREATEST POWER. AND SO WE TURN TO YOU AND YOUR KIND, OFFERING OUR GIFTS.

  Conrig was thunderstruck as the Light’s meaning became apparent. Finally he said, ‘But if you give sigils such as Destroyer to many human beings, we’ll end up fighting each other to the death! We’re not a peaceful race, Stone-Keeper.’