Sorcerer's Moon

by Julian May

  But Kalawnn was nowhere to be found within Fenguard – nor was the irascible Supreme Warrior, Ugusawnn. The only Eminences in the half-deserted castle were the First Judge and the Conservator of Wisdom. There was no helping it: he’d have to bespeak one of them, abase himself, and try to work his way back into their good graces.

  ‘Here is Beynor of Moss, beseeching one of the Eminent Two to graciously respond.’

  Beynor? The Judge seemed astonished to hear from him. What do you want with us? Aren’t you Ironcrown’s vassal now, claiming a kingdom that no longer exists, in a part of the island that we have liberated and made our own? And haven’t you treacherously turned a Destroyer and two other Great Stones over to our enemy so he can use them against us?

  Uh-oh…

  ‘I don’t know who told you those foul lies, Eminence, but I assure you I’ve done nothing of the sort. Conrig and his alchymists stole those stones from me –’

  The Great Lights say differently. They say you freely gave the sigils to Conrig, thinking to withhold certain knowledge of their functions from the king and maintain a controlling hold over him. The Lights say that it ‘pleased’ them to grant this human ruler use of the stones! They say they are disappointed in the Salka. Their capricious new game is to pit our two races against each other, with sigils used on both sides. For this atrocious abrogation of our ancient privilege we blame YOU, Beynor of Moss, and we declare you abominable in our eyes forever. And be sure that humankind will not prevail on High Blenholme. Soon this island will belong to the Salka again, while you and all others of your ilk perish. Think about this and despair!

  Beynor opened his eyes and began to cough as a gust of smoke blew into his face. ‘God of the Depths, Garon – are you trying to suffocate me?’ The bay gelding he rode tossed its head and stamped its hooves, backing away from the crackling blaze in front of it.

  ‘Not at all, master. Let me lead your horse to a more comfortable position.’ The wizard reached up and took hold of the reins. ‘Would you like to dismount? The weather was deteriorating and I thought it best that we pause here in this little wood. I kindled the fire a bit overzealously, wanting it to be burning well by the time you recovered from your trance.’

  ‘Hold this brute still while I climb down,’ the sorcerer said, swinging his leg over the bay’s broad back and dropping to the ground. ‘You can tie him over there with yours.’ He groaned. ‘By the Ten Hells – I ache all over!’

  Garon gave him a cheerful smile. ‘I’m going to make us a hot drink. I trust you received the wind-message you were expecting.’

  The sorcerer laughed harshly. ‘I got the message, all right.’ He went off to relieve himself among the junipers.

  As the fire settled down, Garon filled the small pot from their waterskin, added a good pinch of dried bearberries, and put it on to boil. He set out the flagon of honey from their mess bag and two tin cups. ‘Would you care for an oatcake, master?’

  Beynor opened one of his own saddlebags and groped inside. ‘Let’s have some of these apple-nut turnovers instead.’ After some fumbling he extracted two of the small pastries he had saved from breakfast and gave one to Garon, who was crouching as he poured honey into the cups. ‘Don’t make my drink too sweet.’

  The Conjure-King stood staring silently into the flames for some time, fingering the handle of Moss’s Sword of State. Finally he said, ‘I’m afraid I have some bad news.’

  Garon looked up with an expression of concern. ‘What is it?’

  Beynor lowered himself to the ground and began to eat his pastry, fixing a melancholy gaze on the wizard. ‘My friend, I’ve discovered that King Conrig has betrayed my trust. I have just bespoken a certain person in the Didionite camp at Lake of Shadows, whither we were bound. As you probably know, Crown Prince Valardus declined to join the Cathran contingent of the Southern Wing as they marched out this morning on the way to Tarn. He and his army have vowed to remain at the lake until King Somarus gives them express permission to leave Didion.’

  ‘I was aware of that, master.’ Garon poured tea into the two cups and handed one of them to Beynor. ‘Let it cool a bit, but not too much. There’s more when you want it.’ He sat down opposite the sorcerer and began to eat his own pastry and blow on his cup.

  ‘My so-called mission,’ the Conjure-King went on, ‘was to persuade Valardus to reconsider. But now I’ve learned from my confidant in the Didionite camp that Conrig made a perfidious deal with the Crown Prince. I was to be set upon and killed in ambush by the prince’s men because Conrig fears I’ll interfere with his wielding of the sigils. In return for thus engineering my demise, Conrig promised not to retaliate against Didion for refusing to defend Tarn from the Salka.’

  ‘Oh, master! That’s appalling!’ Garon spoke with his mouth full.

  Beynor took a deep swallow of his bearberry tea. The drink was aromatic and soothing. ‘Giving Ironcrown the sigils was a foolish mistake on my part. I see that now. I believed him when he promised to restore my kingdom. But he lied.’

  ‘I’m – I’m sorry.’ Garon flinched as he took a gulp of tea. ‘Damn. My guts are starting to gripe. Maybe I shouldn’t have eaten so many pickled herring at breakfast.’ He finished the cup and poured more with a shaking hand.

  Beynor felt perspiration start out on his brow and an uneasy feeling in his own stomach. ‘Needless to say, I don’t intend to continue on to – to Lake of Shadows. Instead, I – I –’

  His eyes widened and the cup fell from his hand. ‘No. You didn’t.’

  Garon’s face was bluish-grey and contorted, but he still managed a painful chuckle. ‘I did. And so, evidently, did you!’ He convulsed and fell onto his side, narrowly missing the fire.

  Beynor clutched his belly with both hands and began to gasp out an incantation in a strangled voice. But he was on the point of collapse. As he slumped to the ground his lips continued to move, although no sounds emerged.

  You poisoned the tea, he bespoke his dying minion. With the tincture I gave you for Niavar and Cleaton.

  Saved some, Garon replied. Thought ahead. Like you. For all the good it did us.

  Beynor ash Linndal, Conjure-King of Moss, gripped his Sword of State with all of his strength, vowing that not even death would loosen his fingers, and watched the world dissolve into darkness.

  There was silence on the uncanny wind, while the pines began to moan and sway, the campfire crackled, and the two horses whinnied with fear and jerked at the reins that fastened them to the spindly juniper bushes. After a long time they broke free and galloped southward across the heath, away from the approaching storm.

  Casya Pretender stood looking out of the tiny window of the trading post at the ground leading to the river. The rain was coming down harder now and by morning the new-fallen snow would be gone.

  ‘It’s getting dark, Ising. They must know we’re here – especially after we shot that reindeer this afternoon and butchered it. Why haven’t they come?’

  The old man used a fork to turn the collops of liver and tenderloin broiling on the crusty black gridiron. ‘Maybe the Morass Worms suspect what you’re here for and don’t want to be dragged into another fight.’

  ‘But they won the last time, thanks to me! If I hadn’t showed them what to do – how to flank the Salka battalions before emerging from the subtle corridors – the silly things would have charged head-on and been crushed by the sheer numbers of the monsters.’

  ‘Ah, but the worms did win, didn’t they? Their own territory is secure. Why should they be concerned with what happens on the west coast of the island?’ He drew his hunting knife, sliced off a bit of liver, and popped it into his mouth. ‘Mmm! This is done. Hand over the plates and get the salt and pepper. We’ll give the loin cutlets a little more time.’

  She did as he said, also bringing the mugs and filling them from the pot of mint-and-spruce-needle tea that steamed on the hob. They sat companionably before the fire on stools, eating the tender liver, watching the venison sizzle, an
d sipping their drinks.

  Ising said, ‘Just because the snow that fell last night is melting, it doesn’t mean that we can afford to hang about here for very long. A genuine blizzard will come soon and we could be trapped. Two days I’ll give ‘em. If the worms don’t come by then, lass, they never will. We’ll have to head back to civilization.’

  ‘No!’ she wailed. ‘We only got here yesterday.’

  He took a taste of the tea and pulled a face. ‘Better than hot water, and it’ll fend off scurvy, but I’d sell my soul for a beaker of mulled wine. Too bad there’s naught to sweeten this stuff.’

  ‘You can leave here if you want,’ Casya growled. ‘I’m staying.’

  ‘Now listen to me, Your Majesty! You said it yourself: the worms know we’re here. If they don’t want to talk, we can’t make ‘em. Two days, Casabarela Mallburn! Then we go.’

  She scowled and retreated into a sulk, saying not another word as they ate the rest of the meat and emptied their cups, setting aside the remainder of the beverage for tomorrow. After going outside for a few minutes Ising returned, wrapped himself in blankets, and lay down on one of the bare cots. He started to snore within minutes.

  Anger and resentment had made Casya wakeful. She combed and replaited her hair, donned a dry pair of socks and hung the sweaty ones she’d removed in front of the fire, then slipped on her boots and left the cabin to use the ramshackle convenience. The rain had diminished to a light drizzle and the morass was very still except for the murmur of the river. Most of the snow had disappeared.

  Casya stood still, eyes straining to see into the dark forest.

  Where are you? she called without speaking. Why won’t you come and talk to me? Don’t you know that this island belongs to all of us? I’ll never be Queen of Didion if the Salka overrun my country. I won’t be able to fulfil the promise I made to you! We have to help each other. Oh, please come!

  Nothing happened. She waited only a short time until the cold and damp drove her back inside the shelter of the trading post. Taking one last look out the window before going to bed, she gave a gasp as she caught a brief glimpse of something sparkling high among the trees across the water. But it was only there for an instant before it winked out.

  The sky’s clearing, she realized. It was probably only a low-hanging star. She turned away and lay down fully clothed. As she pulled the blankets around her ears, one last question posed itself:

  But are stars green?

  She was too tired to bother thinking of an answer. After a time Casabarela Mallburn slept, and a spectacular display of the aurora borealis raged all across the heavens, scarlet and gold and violet banners and spears of Light like the clashing of radiant armies on a star-spiked battleground.

  TWENTY

  Their mutual fear was as yet unspoken; nevertheless, Deveron and Induna made love that night as though it were to be their last time together. Afterwards they lay in each other’s arms inside the tiny military tent that they shared, listening to the gentle rustle of cold drizzle on the waxed canvas.

  At the Sovereign’s command, the Southern Wing of the Cathran army – all of them mounted, some on commandeered Didionite horses – had left Lake of Shadows and started north to rejoin the main force on its march into Tarn. Earl Marshal Parlian’s force, including Deveron and Induna, was now bivouacked for the night along the highroad some thirty leagues below Castle Direwold, while the cavalry led by Conrig and Sealord Sernin had halted halfway up the steep zigzag track to Frost Pass. The riders of the Northern Wing intended to cross the pass late in the morning, while most of its foot-soldiery and war-engines, now commanded by Lord Lieutenant Hale Brackenfield, would require another day or more to scale the height. If all went well, Parlian’s army would overtake and bypass the slower-moving contingent and reach Conrig’s camp in Tarn late on the morrow.

  But Deveron Austrey could not wait that long.

  ‘It’s time for me to leave you now, Duna. It must be nearly midnight. The camp is finally settled down to sleep.’

  She clung to him. ‘If I could only change your mind, love! Don’t use Subtle Gateway. Ride with us to Tarn instead. Conrig doesn’t expect to meet with you until tomorrow night, at the earliest.’

  ‘The uncanny premonition prompts me to go to him now, without delay, even if it means using my sigil. I have to do this. The distance to be traveled isn’t great, as the crow flies. The pain-penalty should not be too severe.’

  She buried her face in the crook of his arm and he felt her body shudder. ‘It’s not the pain I worry about – it’s the Beaconfolk themselves. When you used Gateway to journey from Andradh to the Green Morass, they sent you where you wanted to go – but they intended that you should die on arrival! It’s obvious now that they didn’t want you to rejoin the New Conflict. Who knows what they might do now if they suspect you plan to dissuade King Conrig from using sigil sorcery?’

  ‘It’s a chance I must take.’

  ‘Could you not consult with the Source first? Perhaps your premonition is false.’

  ‘I tried to bespeak him, sweetheart, but he didn’t reply. For all I know, the feeling of dire urgency comes from him – or from those good Likeminded Lights who are his allies in the Conflict.’

  He disentangled himself from the cocoon of blankets and began to dress. The golden case with the owl blazon that held his moonstones hung from a chain around his neck.

  ‘I shall pray unceasingly for your safety,’ Induna said. ‘You must be on guard every moment you’re with King Conrig. If he possesses a Destroyer, as Prince Bramlow said, he could slay you in an eyeblink if he perceives you as a threat.’

  ‘I think he’ll want to ask me a number of questions about sigil sorcery first. In fact, I’m counting on it. With both Lord Stergos and Beynor gone, the king has no one else to consult save the Beaconfolk – and he might be having second thoughts by now about their unexpected generosity. Conrig has coveted moonstones for years. I’m only too aware of that. But he also knows what they did to Ullanoth – and to her mother before her. I must convince him not to use the stones, help him to understand how deadly dangerous they are, not only to him but also to all the people of our island.’

  ‘Ironcrown is not known for sweet reasonableness and a tender conscience,’ she said with asperity. ‘Princess Maude would tell you that if she were still alive! Deveron, I’m afraid of the man. His arrogance and ambition are unbridled and he may not be entirely sane.’

  ‘I hope to gain a better idea of the king’s state of mind by talking to Vra-Bramlow first. When he spoke to me on the wind earlier today, he appeared to be intelligent and genuinely concerned for his royal father’s wellbeing.’

  ‘Do you really believe Bramlow can give you valid insight? Few children can be objective about a parent.’

  ‘With luck, I’ll be able to cajole Conrig himself into revealing his intentions concerning the sigils.’ He smiled and kissed her lips lightly. ‘Remember, in Andradh I was known as Haydon the Sympath. One of the most useful tools a healer can have is the ability to pry the truth out of patients who would rather keep their secrets hidden.’

  ‘I still don’t understand why you’re willing to leave Prince Dyfrig. If he’s destined to become the Sovereign –’

  ‘I don’t know that for certain. I only assumed it because of Red Ansel’s dying words and Cray and Thalassa’s belief that the old shaman may have been right. For some reason, it never occurred to me to put that question directly to the Source himself. Now I wonder why! Perhaps his original message to you was the correct one after all, and Conrig is my true charge.’

  ‘Then heaven help you.’ Her voice broke. ‘For I think he sees himself as Bazekoy reborn! But the emperor didn’t use sorcery to conquer, he hated and shunned it and barred men with talent from the Cathran throne and most positions of great power. Bazekoy ordered that the dead sigils found on the bodies of slain Salka be smashed to bits. Every Tarnian shaman knows this, although modern Cathrans seem to have forgotten.’


  ‘Which is why I must go to King Conrig and enlighten him…and you, my love, must ride with Prince Dyfrig and Earl Marshal Parlian tomorrow and do the same.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘They’ll ask where I’ve gone. Tell them. Explain why Conrig can’t be trusted to wield those Great Stones, and why I’m going to do my utmost to stop him. Tell them all about our work for the Source. Tell them of the New Conflict and how it threatens humanity, how the Beaconfolk want to use us as they used the Salka, as pawns in a depraved supernatural game.’

  ‘But will they believe me?’

  ‘Dyfrig may have trouble grasping it all, but I think old Parlian will understand. Especially about Conrig’s dreams of world conquest using sigils. Inform Dyfrig that the Source said that he himself is to play a vital role in the defense of this island, but don’t suggest that he may become the next Sovereign. We don’t know that for certain, and the very idea of it might distract the prince at a time when he’ll need all his wits about him.’

  ‘Very well.’

  ‘Stay close to Dyfrig and the earl marshal on the march tomorrow. Be ready to relay to them any windspoken message I may send you. Part of my premonition is that strategic matters are coming quickly to a head. We’ll know before long where the Salka are.’

  ‘When…will you return to me?’

  He reached out for her in the dark and drew her close against him. He was fully dressed now in a winter hunting habit, a hooded raincape, and stout boots. He wore no armor and carried only a shortsword and a dagger, but the two sigils were now free of their case and nestling against the bare skin of his chest, ready to be called upon.

  ‘I don’t know how long this mission will take. I’ll bespeak you after I reach Conrig safely, then again as soon as I have something important to report. Now kiss me farewell, my dear. Come into my mind and rest there. Know that I’ll always love you, always be with you. Do you believe me?’