Conqueror's Moon

by Julian May

  I feel I’m turning into a phantom, she thought in bemusement, returning gratefully to the warmth of the lamplit office after a brief night excursion. I’ve become nothing but an observer, watching events from afar in a haze of pain and torpor, participating in nothing except information-gathering.

  And there were the dreams, their details all but forgotten when she woke. Dreams of the Great Lights…

  Reluctantly, she finally had to accept that the powerful magic was changing her mentally as well as weakening her. She could not go on like this much longer, or she would be unable to assist Conrig as she had planned. She lacked the strength to Send herself to him now, and was shocked when she realized how strongly she missed the prince.

  Surely, she thought, I can’t really be falling in love with the man! But Conrig persistently intruded into her thoughts, and she could not resist windwatching him, even though she now only communicated with him through Stergos or Duke Tanaby’s alchymist.

  Finally, on the day Conrig’s army left Castle Vanguard for the pass, something happened that jolted her back to her senses. She had bespoken Stergos in the middle of the night, telling him that conditions were fair for the invaders to proceed, then gone back to bed. Now, some time in mid-morn, she woke to discover that the fire in the office’s iron stove had gone out. The room was bitterly cold, and she rekindled the blaze swathed in blankets, drowsy and grumbling. It occurred to her to heat up some pea soup with sausage she had made the day before, but when she groped for the pot in the shadowy room it felt strange.

  Peering into the container, she cried out, “Moon Mother, save us!”

  The soup was frozen solid.

  A rush of dread energized her, and she threw off her blanket cloak and began to scramble into her clothes. It could be a fluke, a brief spasm of cold provoked, perhaps, by Beynor’s futile attempt to blow away the fog with a northerly gale. But what if it wasn’t?

  Be calm! she told herself. Even if the worst had happened, there was yet a remedy.

  But first she had to discover the truth. She would not act in haste, much less surrender to panic. After donning warm clothing she heated the soup and spooned some up while the room warmed around her. Then she took Subtle Loophole, arranged herself comfortably in a chair in front of the stove, and began to study the four great volcanos of Tarn. Their names were Donor, Mornash, Goldeye, and Thunderstone. They were thickly beclouded, but Loophole penetrated the vapors with ease, as her windsight had never been able to do.

  And thus she discovered that the ash-vents of each mountain were almost sintered shut, with only plumes of harmless steam rising from them, and the crater rims were already dusted with snow. The Wolf’s Breath had apparently come to an end. The abnormally mild autumns and winters that had attended it would no longer occur.

  Had Beynor known this would happen? Is that why he’d dared to tell the Didionites he could stop the eruptions?

  The warm weather she had depended upon to support the magical fog of the spunkies was probably over as well. Hard frosts would either turn the mist into flesh-freezing billows of tiny ice crystals, or else change the moisture into hoar, clearing the air and precipitating slippery white rime on the ground and everything resting upon the ground. Either outcome would be fatal to Conrig’s invasion.

  She let Loophole go inactive and opened the leather wallet where she kept the sigils when not wearing them. One by one she took them out and lay them in a row on one of the wine-clerks’ desks. The empowered lesser stones glowed softly: Concealer, Interpenetrator, Beastbidder. Sender shone more brightly as she took it from her neck and placed it beside Subtle Loophole. Only the one remaining Great Stone had not yet been brought to life: her own Weathermaker.

  I can fend off the cold and save Conrig’s enterprise with this stone, she told herself. But in my present frail condition—dreaming of the Lights!—what will the empowering do to me?

  Do I need him badly enough to risk my life for him?

  Do I love him enough?

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The army set out from Castle Vanguard at the third hour past midnight, covering the easiest part of the journey with every other pair of warriors bearing lanterns on poles cupped in their lance-rests. They were useless for lighting the way in the fog, but at least the riders were able to keep their places in the column through following the hazy glow ahead. The lanterns were quenched at full daylight, and not long afterward the army was forced to climb single-file, strung out over a distance of over two leagues. Periodically they would stop to rest, and there was a longer halt in late forenoon—perforce with the column remaining in place along the narrow trail—when the men ate a cold meal and watered the horses from skin bottles.

  At last the Cathran invasion force reached a high plateau called Eaglefell, the first spot on the Breakneck Track where the entire cavalcade was able to gather all together on reasonably level ground. According to the scouts, the summit was not quite two leagues away. Unsaid but well understood was the fact that much of that distance was nearly vertical.

  “From here on,” Tanaby Vanguard told the war leaders, who had gathered apart from the other men, “the way becomes very precarious. We must now remove our chain mail and other armor and lash it behind our saddles, for our horses will have to be blindfolded and led by men afoot, and we will all climb better if we’re unburdened. Now is also the time to intersperse pack mules and ponies with the coursers. As we travel we must keep at least a length apart, so that if an animal stumbles on the loose wet rocks and falls to its death, others will be less likely to panic and share its fate.”

  Thus far, the Cathrans had been lucky. Loosened horseshoes had been nailed back on by farrier-thanes. Three mounts had been lamed by stones, another broke its leg while attempting to move through a boulder-choked ravine, and a fifth lost its footing on a switchback and tumbled down a short slope while its rider leapt free unharmed. The injured animals had been mercifully dispatched and the men furnished with remounts.

  The duke continued. “However, I have to tell you that there is reason for grave concern. With the fog hiding the sky and other timekeeping methods unreliable during our travels, we can judge the hour only roughly. My alchymist, Vra-Doman Carmorton, believes it may be as late as the third hour past noontide. If this is true, it will be impossible for us to reach the top of the pass before nightfall, two hours from now. We have not been able to travel as rapidly as hoped, and it seems that we may require as much as four more hours to attain the summit. Furthermore, as you have no doubt observed, the air has become significantly colder the higher we have climbed. Vra-Doman estimates it now to be only slightly above the frost-point. If the trail should become icy, many lives will certainly be lost. So I put it to you all: Shall we go on?”

  Ramscrest spoke up in a crotchety rumble. “Wasn’t the damned Mossland witch supposed to guarantee warm weather?”

  “And so she did, my lord count,” Conrig replied. “Vra-Stergos windspoke her this morn before we set out, and she assured him that all was well.”

  “And now it ain’t!” Viscount Skellhaven declared flatly.

  “Vra-Doman’s time estimate may be overly conservative,” the duke said. “It may be entirely possible to top the pass before dark.”

  “Booger the time,” said the buccaneering nobleman. “What bothers me is this cold air. If we climb up into a hard frost, we’re dead men. Slippin‘ and slidin’ is only half of it. My lads’ve not got the right clothes to stave off chilblains and suchlike overnight. We believed His Grace when he promised it’d stay warm!”

  “My friends,” the prince broke in, “we can solve this dilemma easily enough. Vra-Stergos will windspeak Princess Ullanoth immediately and discover what manner of weather lies above us. Her scrying talent is far superior to that of our own alchymists, who cannot see through the fog.”

  “Can we be sure she’ll tell us the truth?” asked Earl Marshal Beorbrook. “She wants this invasion as badly as you do, Your Grace, but she might have no qu
alms risking our lives on this hazardous track if she thought some of us might make it through. Such a risk is not acceptable to me!”

  “Nor to me,” Tanaby Vanguard said. Many of the other nobles concurred.

  Conrig said, “Let’s deal with one problem at a time, Godfather. If the upper trail is not frost-covered, would our army be able to traverse it safely in full dark, using lanterns?”

  “Let me summon my chief scouts,” said Vanguard. “I’m almost certain that it would be possible.” He went off into a nearby group of his men, who had dismounted and were resting, and returned almost at once with two leather-faced thanes—one short, potbellied, and smiling, the other tall and slit-eyed, with a straggling ginger moustache.

  “Here are Jass Easterdale and Ord Sedgewick,” the duke said. “They know Breakneck Pass better than any of us.” He put the prince’s question to the pair, who knit their brows and whispered together.

  Finally the amiable Easterdale spoke. “Your Grace, Earl Marshal, my lord Duke, there’s a downslope breeze started not long ago, stirring the fog. This is a very bad sign. It could likely mean that it’ll get much colder very soon, even though there’s no frost above us as yet. If we stop here or on top, we could find ourselves trapped by morning with hoarfrost all over the rocks, unable to move, with nowhere for man nor beast to take shelter if a real gale should rise, bringing the deadly ice-mist… The safest thing to do is to turn back.”

  “No!” Conrig said.

  The scout lifted his shoulders and rolled his eyes.

  The others looked at the prince without speaking, and he felt as though a fist had been driven into his belly. Striving to maintain a calm demeanor, he spoke in even tones. “I will not endanger lives needlessly, but I refuse to abandon this enterprise until all the facts are known. Look here, Easterdale—”

  “Call me Jass, Your Grace,” the little man said cheerfully.

  “Jass. If I could assure you that there’s no frost above us, can you and your mates guide us to the summit of the pass, even in the dark?”

  “It’d be hard doin‘, Your Grace, but we could. Going dead slow. But what about frost appearing later on? Can you predict the weather?”

  None of the thanes or knights bachelor were aware that Ullanoth of Moss played a role in the strategy of the invasion, although Conrig’s Heart Companions and the banner knights had been told. Everyone did know about the uncanny guides who were expected, and there had been much colorful speculation as to their nature.

  Conrig said, “We can predict the weather, Jass—with arcane talent! One of the Brothers of Zeth will try to do so at once. Meanwhile, you and Ord Sedgewick decide how best we may proceed if all is well.”

  “We should send an advance party ahead of the main host, Your Grace,” the scout said, “to lay out the campground in the best possible place and try to gather fuel. Even without frost, we’ll freeze our patoots tonight unless we find some kind of sheltered spot and have hot food. I think there’s small chance of fires being spotted from the Didion side of the frontier. Breakneck Heath is a kind of bowl, out of the wind and scattered with crags. I could remain in the van of the army as usual while Ord, here, goes on ahead with a few other lads to get things ready. They might even be able to ride part way to the top if they saddled up mules— though I wouldn’t risk it with war horses.”

  The prince said, “Go ahead and get the mules ready, Jass.” He turned to the nobles and spoke quietly. “I’ll find Stergos and have him bespeak Ullanoth, and let’s hope for the best.”

  The royal brothers went to a place apart and crouched together on inhospitable bare rock. Nothing grew on the plateau but yellow and black scabby lichen, reindeer moss, and a few alpine herbs. Fog eddied closely around Conrig and Stergos, and except for the reassuring sounds of the invisible men and their animals, the two of them might have been alone in a formless wasteland of grey.

  The Doctor Arcanorum closed his eyes and let his head drop into his hands. After time had passed, with the prince waiting impatiently, he looked up, lids still shut. “She gives you greetings. She was asleep when I called.”

  “Ask her why in hell it’s so cold up here,” Conrig demanded baldly. “Tell her the air is nearly freezing and we face the prospect of having to turn back and abandon the invasion.”

  Stergos nodded. His lips tightened, and in spite of the chill his brow glistened with sweat. After remaining quiet for some minutes he opened his eyes. They were dark with concern.

  “Con! Princess Ullanoth believes that the Wolf’s Breath has ceased abruptly, with the result that the warm dry air of the past three autumns is being displaced by the arctic winds normal to this time of year in the north.”

  The prince started to his feet, cursing, but Stergos quieted him with an uplifted hand. “Don’t despair. She says she possesses a Great Stone, a sigil called Weathermaker, capable of temporarily holding back the cold until we have taken Holt Mallburn. The stone is not yet alive. If we decide to go forward, she will begin the empowerment procedure at once, and then immediately conjure the return of clement airs. The process will require about an hour, she says, although the warmth will take longer to reach us—perhaps three to four hours.“

  “Thank God we can proceed,” Conrig cried, sinking back onto his haunches.

  “There will be a price,” Stergos went on. “Bringing a Great Stone to life causes atrocious suffering to the magical practitioner. She has only recently recovered from activating still another important sigil, one which enhances windsight, and she is debilitated from scrying our enemies with it. Empowering and then immediately using Weathermaker will probably leave her incapacitated for days. She’ll be unable to Send herself to Redfern Castle’s windwatchers and kill them while invisible, as she had originally planned. We’ll have to manage it somehow ourselves.”

  “Snudge!” said the prince, brightening. “We’ll send him in after the magickers. You know his trick of hiding…”

  “There’s also the matter of opening the gates at Mallmouth Bridge and the palace’s gatehouse to our troops. The princess would have been able to perform both deeds, using other sigils of hers. But if she is disabled and helpless abed—”

  “We’ll find another way. Maybe she can advise us when we’re outside the city. But if she doesn’t use Weathermaker soon, we all could die up here on this thrice-bedamned mountain pass! Tell her that.”

  Stergos nodded, closed his eyes briefly, then opened them to stare at Conrig with an expression that combined anxiety and reproach. “Ullanoth says she will empower the Great Stone immediately. She… sends you all her love.”

  The prince said, “Tell her that I count the minutes until we are together again. Give her my heartfelt thanks for her loyalty and sacrifice. Say I will soothe her hurt with my own hands. Say anything, Brother, that will convince her to use that sigil!”

  The alchymist bowed and resumed windspeaking at length. At last he opened his eyes with a deep sigh. “It’s done.”

  “Good.” Conrig assisted the alchymist to rise. “I’ll inform the others. You find Snudge and tell him he’s to accompany the advance party of scouts to the summit. One of Vanguard’s men named Ord Sedgewick is saddling mules to push on ahead of the main body of the army. Tell the boy I expect him to bespeak you a report on what he finds up on top of Breakneck as soon as he arrives. I want to know just what kind of uncanny guides await us. I’ve had enough of nasty surprises this day.”

  Sedgewick and the four thanes who made up the rest of the advance scouting party were openly contemptuous when Snudge came and told them he would be going with them.

  “Can’t be lumbered with a green lad on a job like this,” Ord said, not even bothering to look at Snudge. The chief scout was laboring to control a balky, powerful-looking mule that had been relieved of its pack. Three other animals, more placid of disposition, were still being unloaded by his men. “You go tell your prince we’ll do fine without the likes of you giving us orders, messire.”

  “His Grace h
as commanded me to go,” Snudge said humbly, “and we may not gainsay him. But I promise I won’t be a burden. I’m not nobly born, you see, and I’m quite willing to follow your commands on the trail. I was a stable lad before Prince Conrig dubbed me his liege man, and I have a certain way with animals.” Without asking leave, he took the bridle of the fractious mule, caught its eye, and stroked its head. Instantly, it left off misbehaving and stood as docile as a sheep, blowing gently.

  “Frizzle me pizzle!” exclaimed Ord Sedgewick. He hastened to slap on a pad and saddle and tighten the girth. “The sod’s not even holding his breath to bloat up and loosen the cinching.”

  “He wouldn’t do that,” Snudge said, scratching the beast’s neck. “What’s his name?”

  “Primmie,” said the scout. “Short for Primrose. Guess it’s because he’s a yellow dun. Picked him out because he looked big and strong, but he might not be fit to ride.”

  “I’ll ride him,” Snudge said. He began adjusting the stirrups, speaking softly to the animal, then swung up into the saddle, wheeled the mule easily about in a small circle, trotted to and fro in the fog, then dismounted and patted Primmie’s flank. “He’ll be fine. Shall I strap on my bags and bedroll and other things?”

  Sedgewick studied the boy for a moment, frowning and tugging at his moustache. Then he said to one of the other scouts, “Rando, leave that mule for me and go tell Jass you’re staying with him and the army. I guess we’ll take this stable boy lordling along with us to the summit after all.”

  Except for distant glimpses when he had traveled with Prince Conrig’s party to Castle Vanguard for the council of war, Snudge had no experience of mountains. His life had been spent in the coastal city of Cala, mostly in the environs of the palace. As the prince’s footman, he’d accompanied Conrig on short trips to southshore castles such as Eagleroost, Defiant, and Intrepid, where there were soaring headlands and sea cliffs, moors and rolling hills. But never had he known the grandeur of real mountains, masses of living rock thrust from the bosom of the soil-covered land and only sparsely covered with trees and other plants, where level footing was hardly to be found.