by Julian May
The brothers sat without speaking for some minutes. The squire finished singing his bawdy ballad and began a more plaintive air, this time accompanied by another youth playing the flageolet.
“Vra-Kilian bespoke me not half an hour ago with unsettling news about the invasion,” Stergos finally said. “I’ll tell you about that in a moment. But first I must assure you with all my heart that I will never betray your secret. Never! Poor Tancoron and our sisters are barred from the throne by Cathran law. The sons of Father’s older sister Jalmaire stand next in the succession, so if you were ineligible, the next king would be our wastrel cousin, Duke Shiantil Blackhorse.”
Conrig’s laugh was bleak. “Shi-Shi—and what a calamity for Cathra he’d be! At least his younger brother Feribor is a stout-hearted warrior and a loyal Heart Companion. But that lummox Shi-Shi cares for nothing but swiving and drinking and gambling. He probably can’t even spell Sovereignty… The fool would end up as Vra-Kilian’s puppet. The Royal Alchymist is not happy at the prospect of losing political power when Father dies.”
“No,” Stergos agreed.
Conrig said softly, “Gossy, what would you do if Uncle Vra-Kilian or another Brother of Zeth in authority over you should ask you the dread question about me under oath?”
“I would die rather than admit your talent,” Stergos said without hesitation. “As a matter of fact, since Deveron confirmed my worst fears about you, I’ve been trying to decide which poison to carry with me on a contingency basis. Something quickly lethal but not too agonizing.” He shrugged. “I do hate pain.”
Conrig threw his arms around the doctor. “Forget poison, dear brother! Just tell me if Kilian dares ask about me, and I’ll whack off his perfidious, self-righteous head.”
“Oh, no!” Stergos was genuinely horrified. “That would be sacrilege!”
“Let me worry about impudent wizards, Gossy. In the new Sovereignty, I’ll decree that talent will not be a bar to kingship, and we’ll have nothing to fear from the likes of Vra-Kilian. Now! You said that he bespoke you earlier.”
“Yes. The king has learned about your scheme to invade Didion with the aid of the northland lords. The Lord Chancellor revealed it to him.”
Conrig stifled a curse. “Falmire—that faithless old weasel! Why did I ever trust him?”
“Father ordered Vra-Kilian to demand of you how the council went, which lords have agreed to support your venture, if any, and all details of your strategy. Con… Vra-Kilian also told me that our father remains gravely ill. The Tarnian shaman summoned by your wife greatly eased his pain, but could do naught to heal the underlying disability.”
“But the king is not approaching the brink of death?”
“Vra-Kilian believes he is not, but the barbarian healer thinks otherwise.”
“I dare not tell Father of our plans via your windvoice. God knows what he would do with the intelligence. He might very well forbid the invasion outright, misunderstanding the role Ullanoth would play. I must be there in person to persuade him that she is a true friend to Cathra… Gossy, I want you to bespeak Kilian immediately and say that matters are not firmly settled here. That’s the truth, for we intend to work out details of organization and logistics at another meeting tomorrow. Say that I’ll set out for Cala within a day and inform our father with my own lips how the council went.”
“But if the Royal Alchymist presses me—I can’t lie. I do know what was decided at the council.”
Conrig took hold of his brother’s shoulders and fixed him with a gaze of steel. “Tell Kilian I forbade you to talk about the matter to any soul save our father the king. Tell him you swore a solemn oath to me. And now do it!”
Stergos’s round face had gone greasy with perspiration in the candlelight, and he clutched his gammadion amulet of Saint Zeth with a frantic hand. “I swear it! I swear to tell no one about the council of war.”
“Gossy, be strong,” The prince eased his grip, and his voice became both earnest and compelling. “I know how Vra-Kilian has overawed both of us since childhood—you, especially, because of your mystical vocation. But we are no longer boys to be cowed by the threats and blusterings of our mother’s brother. One day soon, I’ll be king and you’ll be my Royal Alchymist, while Kilian will be banished to Zeth Abbey and spend his days conjuring worms off its rose bushes.”
The young doctor’s eyes widened. “I? The Royal Alchymist? Brother, do you mean it truly?” Plainly, the amazing notion had never occurred to him.
“Of course I mean it,” said Conrig, chuckling softly. “Who else could serve me better in arcane matters? And now you must go to your sanctum upstairs and windspeak our former nemesis with no more ado, while I have a word with our godfather about tomorrow’s activities.”
The prince would have risen from his seat, but Stergos said, “Wait! I have other important news to impart.” Then, haltingly, he told of Snudge’s further magical researches and the boy’s deadly encounter with the spy in the stables. “Deveron returned over an hour ago. He’s up in the accounts room now, keeping windwatch on the corpse as I bade him.”
“So the body has not yet been found?” Conrig asked grimly.
“Nay, unless it happened after I left Deveron. Numbers of Skellhaven’s carls have taken to their beds since the deed was done, but none seemed to have noticed that anything was wrong with their comrade. The lad was careful to arrange the dead sorcerer in an attitude of sleep. Fortunately, the man did not soil himself as he expired, and there was little blood.”
“Hmm. We’ll have to find a way to get the body out of there before dawn. Our godfather could manage it. Some of his trusted men could pretend the fellow was wanted for some transgression and haul him away. If it was done cleverly, I think few of the aroused sleepers would be aware that the prisoner was no longer alive… Would the corpse have passed already into rigor mortis?”
‘Probably not completely. He could be dragged easily, as if drunk.“
The prince nodded, his face troubled. “It’s going to be sticky, dealing with Skellhaven. He could be entirely innocent in this matter, and I need him for the invasion. But his castle lies near the border, and he has longstanding grievances against the Crown. If he’s sold out to Didion… Curse it! It’s quite possible that the dead sorcerer was one of those Glaumerie Guild members Ullanoth told me of, who accompanied the two Didionite princes and Prince Beynor of Moss on a voyage south from Holt Mallburn.” He gave Stergos a hurried account of the presumed reason for that trip, adding, “The ship could have put in stealthily near Skellhaven, dropping the spy off, and he might have contrived to join the viscount’s party as it rode to Castle Vanguard.”
The alchymist said, “You realize this presupposes Prince Beynor knew in advance of your council of war.”
“Another ugly little mystery! Damn all magic! Who would have thought that a Mosslander wizard would ally himself with Didion?”
The doctor permitted himself a rueful smile. “Who would have thought that a Mosslander witch would ally herself with Cathra?”
The prince flung out his hands, conceding the point. “Yes, you’re right, of course. But it’s done, and without her help the invasion can’t proceed… What we must determine, if it’s possible, is whether or not the man Snudge killed was able to pass on crucial details of our council of war to his master before he died.”
“Perhaps not. According to Deveron, the spy was still windwatching when the lad entered the sleeping chamber. You know that a magical practitioner may perform only one operation at a time. Deveron insists that he perceived only those windspoken words that I related to you—the name Beynor, and the question ”How did the boy do that?“ I believe the man was astonished that a mere lad, apparently untalented, could have known he was spying with arcane powers. Then he died, saying no more. Deveron detected no other watcher, and he—he is superior to anyone I know in that particular talent.”
“Yes. But perhaps the sorcerer windspoke Beynor earlier, before Snudge arrived.”
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br /> “I think it unlikely. The man would not have wanted to miss anything transpiring in the council of war, and lip-reading requires great concentration. I believe he would wait until the council ended before sending news of the outcome to his master. Also, I don’t think Beynor would attempt to scry us himself, knowing his agent was on the spot and able to do it with so much more efficiency.
Watching from a great distance is very taxing, if done for more than a few minutes at a time. Most persons of talent, including myself, cannot manage it at all.“
“Well, we must pray our secret is safe, Gossy.” The prince rose. “I must go to Duke Tanaby now. I’ll take Snudge with me. You retire to your place above and bespeak Kilian. If you are able, also do a search from time to time to determine whether Beynor or any other magicker save Ullanoth is overseeing us.”
Stergos sighed. “I’ll do my very best, but you’d better have the boy search, too. He’s so much better at it than I.” He went out into the central room of the library, where the gaming was noiser than ever, nearly drowning out the two armigers singing “Strawberry Lips.”
So now there are three who know I have the talent, Conrig thought, staring at the flame of the clock-candle. I suppose I’m safe enough for now. All of them have strong reasons to keep the secret. But the possibility of eventual betrayal remains.
Which one, I wonder, is most likely to give me away—my beloved brother, the conniving Mosslander princess, or the stable boy who owes his life to me?
Chapter Six
Snudge had anticipated the prince’s command to search for other wind-watchers. Sent down from the accounts room by Stergos, he reassured Conrig that he had detected no magical surveillance of the castle. The dead body was also undisturbed.
“But I didn’t mean to kill him, Your Grace. The fellow gave me no choice. He—”
“Your rash action could have very grave consequences,” the prince said sternly, cutting off the boy’s excuses. “I’m afraid you can no longer serve as my fourth footman.”
“Oh,” said Snudge. His face had gone dull. “Am I to be sent back to the stables, then?”
Conrig’s eyes were twinkling. “On the contrary. You are to be made an armiger. Since you’ve proved yourself my loyal man in armed combat, shedding enemy blood on my behalf, I have no other choice. It’ll mean a great deal of tedious practice with weaponry, and learning music and other gentle arts you might think are a waste of time, but that’s the way it goes if you want your knight’s belt at twenty. You’ll also have to think up a suitable blazon for yourself. Perhaps an howlet or a bat or some other furtive creature. A rat wouldn’t be quite the thing.”
Snudge’s features were transfigured by joy. “Your Grace, how can I thank you—”
“Enough. We’ll talk about it later and think up a plausible reason for you to’ve stopped the Mossy bastard’s heart. But follow me now. There’s still work to do tonight.”
The two of them set out openly for the duke’s private apartments adjacent to the southeast tower, there being no longer any reason to keep the prince’s presence in the castle a secret.
“You look a bit grubby,” Conrig remarked, as they hurried through the echoing corridors. Most of the castle had already retired. “And why aren’t you wearing your livery jerkin?”
Snudge explained about ripping out the coat’s lining and worming through the dusty tunnel. “I didn’t think you’d want me looking like a tatterdemalion when we visited the duke, so I put on my second-best.”
“And how did you know we’d visit the duke?” asked the prince sharply. “Were you eavesdropping on Stergos and me?”
The boy managed an apologetic grin. “Only to be sure the Doctor Arcanorum gave you a complete account of my adventure.”
“Rascal!” But the prince was smiling, too. “And did he leave anything out?”
“Only this,” Snudge said, pulling the sigil out of his belt-wallet. The translucent stone caught the torchlight glow, but there was no sign of the uncanny internal luminescence. “I didn’t tell my lord Stergos that the sorcerer used this amulet to make himself completely invisible—and imperceptible to arcane viewers, including me. I located him by following the thread of his windwatching. This thing enabled him to watch even though he was hidden. With it, he could perform more than one magical action at a time.”
“What the devil is it?” They stopped and the prince examined the moonstone closely.
“A rare kind of magical tool. I read about them in a book that I… borrowed from the Alchymical Library back at Cala Palace.” He replaced the sigil in his wallet.
“Stole, more likely,” the prince growled. “Why didn’t you hand the thing over to Stergos? I should think he’d want to study it.”
“I believe he would have destroyed it, rather than try to find out how it worked. It’s a thing empowered by the Beaconfolk, called a sigil.”
“Bazekoy’s Ballocks! You young lunatic—throw it down a jakes-hole before it does us a mischief!”
“It’s dead, Your Grace,” Snudge reassured him. “At least for the moment. While it functioned, it shone with a weird light, which vanished when the spy who owned it died. When we return to Cala Palace to prepare for the invasion, I’ll search through more of Vra-Kilian’s books. Perhaps I’ll discover the sigil’s secret.”
“It takes power from the Beaconfolk! You don’t dare use it. You must get rid of it!”
“But think of the opportunity that may then be lost to us.” The young voice was cool and persuasive, for all that Snudge’s eyes were dark-rimmed and his face sallow and oddly blotched, as though with some illness. “The Lady Ullanoth doesn’t hesitate to command the Coldlight Army, knowing the danger. I swear to you that I’ll only study the thing, not attempt to use it. But if you insist that I throw it away, of course I’ll obey.”
“Well…”
“One day we may need the sigil. Trust me.”
“Trust! That’s what she always says!”
“But I have only our best interests at heart, Your Grace, while the Lady of Moss…” He trailed off.
“Out of the lips of babes,” the prince muttered. “Very well. Keep the cursed thing. But you’ll have to risk pilfering Vra-Kilian’s magic books yourself. No way dare I command my basilisk uncle to lend them out, even to me.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“And keep your mouth shut when we’re in Vanguard’s chambers, unless I invite you to speak.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
They continued on to the ducal apartments. Two guards were posted outside, who saluted as the prince and the boy approached.
Conrig said, “Tell my lord duke I would speak with him.”
“At once, Your Grace.” One of the guards went inside and returned almost immediately. “Please enter.”
Tanaby Vanguard wasn’t alone in the sitting room. Earl Marshal Parlian Beorbrook sat drinking with his old friend at the fire. An unrolled parchment map of the Dextral Mountains lay on a low table between them, held open by a decanter of ardent spirits, a silver bootjack, a heavy jeweled dagger, and a candlestick.
“Welcome, Your Grace,” Beorbrook said, with a certain ironic attitude. “We were just about to invite you to join us.”
“To query me about Lady Ullanoth,” the prince said equably.
Beorbrook glanced at Snudge. “Perhaps the lad should wait outside.”
“Deveron is my man, and he stays.” ,
The earl marshal hoisted his black brows. “Does he indeed!”
Snudge bowed and retreated to a bench in the shadows. Only the small fire and the candle on the table lit the room.
The duke lifted the decanter. “Will you join us in a wee noggin, Godson?”
“Gladly.” Conrig drew out his cup, sipped the fiery liquor, and said, “Much better than Stippenese wine! Did both of you eat your wafers?”
They nodded. Beorbrook’s smile was now openly wicked. “Clever trick, with the poison. But I think Skellhaven was the only dubious o
ne in the pack.”
“You guessed?” the prince asked.
“I’m the futterin‘ earl marshal. I’m supposed to be sharp. Made certain that all of them munched up the antidote goodie, too. Your blockhead godfather, here, was going to save his and give it to the duchess. Dear Monda has a sweet tooth.”
The prince paled. “Saint Zeth! I never thought—”
Vanguard waved a hand. “Let it be. We’re all playing a dangerous game… And speaking of games, I think you’d better tell us how you made the acquaintance of Lady Ullanoth.”
“In a moment, Godfather. But first, I immediately require three strong men, well armed, whose loyalty and discretion you trust absolutely.”
“Any of my household knights will serve,” Vanguard said. “What’s going on?”
“There’s a dead man in the stables, lying in a far corner of the dormitorium where Viscount Skellhaven’s lackeys are bedded down. The body must be taken away at once and brought to a prison cell or some other secure place, where Skellhaven will be asked to identify him and explain his presence here. The man was both a magicker and a spy, scried out by my brother Vra-Stergos as we held our council of war.”
“God’s Breath!” exclaimed the duke. “This intruder oversaw us and read our lips?”
“Apparently. As an ordained Brother avowed to peace, Stergos did the only thing he could think of, sending young Deveron to confront the villain. There was a struggle, and the spy was killed.”
“By your serving boy?” The earl marshal shot an incredulous look at Snudge, who sat expressionless.
“He is more than that, my lord. As I said, Deveron is my trusted man.” To the duke: “Godfather, the matter is urgent.”
Vanguard went to the door and told the guards, “Summon Sir Myndon, Sir Tiralos, and Sir Naberig. Be quick.”
When he returned, he asked permission of the prince to question Snudge, and so did the earl marshal. But the boy only confirmed what Conrig had said, adding that he had made his way to the stables through the secret passages, which the Doctor Arcanorum had sketched out for him from childhood memories.