Conqueror’s Moon (54 page)
“Shall I scry the city and learn the truth of what she’s done?” he asked himself aloud. “No. Better use Weathermaker against her without delay.”
He re-entered his chamber, shut the balcony doors, closed his eyes to shut out the brilliant sun, and forced himself to breathe slowly and deeply, all the while trying to suppress the uneasiness that burgeoned within his breast.
“But what if I’m asking the Lights for the impossible? What might they do to me then? Father confessed that an arrogant demand made by Mother, using Destroyer, brought about her appalling death…”
Beynor heard a laugh. It was light, feminine, familiar.
Falling to his knees, he was almost paralyzed by a premonition of what was about to happen. Haltingly, he began to speak the spell reactivating the Fortresses.
Then he’d retreat behind Subtle Armor so that even her Sending would be powerless to harm him—
Beynor! I have something important to say to you.
As her voice came to him on the wind he uttered a mewling cry, like a fretful infant, and clapped his hands over his ears. “No, damn you! I won’t listen!”
But his sister bespoke his reeling mind, and he was helpless to ignore her.
Our own conflict is nearly over, Brother, and you are defeated. Think on it! There is now no place in the world where I may not reach you. Your Fortresses are no barrier to me. Even if you remain inside their spell of couverture, you still solidify my Sending, which you cannot harm because of Interpenetrator. Furthermore, I have empowered a new Great Stone named Subtle Loophole that now enables me to watch you, wherever you may hide, and also listen to every word you speak… True, you may shield yourself temporarily from my wrath by activating the Armor sigil— but its spell is no more than a prison. Enveloped within it, you are deprived of food and drink as well as all physical contact with the world around you. You cannot wear Subtle Armor for a single day, much less for the rest of your life.
“Go away,” he moaned. “Sky Father! Moon Mother! Have mercy!”
Her windvoice was kind. It is I who will have mercy on you, Little Brother, although you murdered our father and deserve none. If you hope to live, you must make public confession of your crime, atone for it, and relinquish the crown of Moss and all of your sigils to me.
“Never!” he screamed. “I’d rather die!”
I’ll give you a single day to consider the matter. No more. Farewell.
He lay in a heap, almost senseless, until a warm hand touched his brow and caused him to start up in a panic. But it was not Ullanoth’s terrible Sending standing beside him, only the grey-robed form of Lady Zimroth, the High Thaumaturge, who had his permission to penetrate the Fortresses. Her lined face was suffused with tender concern.
“Your Majesty! Oh, my poor dear boy, how can I help you? Did I not warn you against overuse of the Weathermaker stone? Is it the Lights who have stricken you?”
“Just… help me to a chair. I’ll be all right soon. The Lights haven’t harmed me.” He managed a feeble chuckle. “No more than they ever do. I was only overcome for a moment.”
She assisted him to his feet and led him to a seat by the dead fire. “Your chambers are freezing cold. I’ll call the slaves to stoke up a blaze—”
“No!” he said. “Not yet. But do give me a sip of your invigorating elixir, and then go and bid the kitchen hasten with some hot food.”
She poured the medicine and held it to his lips. When he had drunk it, she patted his shoulder. “Just sit quietly, dear. I’ll be back immediately.”
When she was gone, Beynor rose on unsteady legs and stepped into the ashes of the cavernous fireplace. He pushed the damper wide open and thrust his hand up into the filthy opening, scrabbling blindly.
A shelf, piled deep in soot!
He searched the mess, feeling from one side to the other and finding nothing. But then, almost out of reach back in the far left corner, his fingers touched a single small thing, smooth and hard and oddly shaped. Not the wand-shaped Destroyer, but…
He drew forth the Unknown Potency with a blackened hand and stared at it. Exerting his talent, he banished the soot to the ashbed, then stepped out of the fireplace and dropped into a nearby chair.
The twisted ribbon of moonstone gleamed clean in his upturned palm: the sure answer to all his prayers, if only he had the courage to make use of it.
==========
“Snudge! Wake up!”
The boy groaned. Someone was shaking his shoulder, and none too gently. It was the prince, with the somber-faced Doctor Arcanorum at his side.
“Forgive me, Your Grace. I worked for some time on the task you assigned me, but with no success. I’m afraid that I fell asleep.” He hauled himself into a sitting position, noting that the day was now far advanced. “All the same, I’m certain that she is somewhere close by.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “We’d be well advised to keep that in mind.”
“Con, I told you so!” Stergos said.
The prince pretended not to understand. “No doubt she’s engaged in important business of her own. But we must hope that the lady reveals herself soon— for I’m heading back to Cathra immediately, sailing on a Stippenese vessel commandeered by Lord Skellhaven, and I’m counting upon the princess to supply us with the necessary fair winds.”
“Are you indeed!”
Both Snudge and Stergos uttered cries of alarm as Ullanoth—or was it her Sending?—abruptly became visible before them. Conrig took her hand and brushed the back of it with his lips, while giving every evidence of happy surprise.
“Welcome, my dear! And thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for all you have vouchsafed to me and my people. I had hoped to express my gratitude privately before this. Are you well?”
She nodded rather distantly. Snudge and the doctor she totally ignored, as though they were nothing but faithful dogs keeping the prince company. “I’m rested and almost recovered from the stress of empowering the Loophole and Weathermaker. There’s a bit of bother involving my brother Beynor, but it needn’t concern you at present. Tell me more about your plan to return to Cathra. I presume you intend to take personal charge of the defense of Cala City.”
“I must. Lord Admiral Copperstrand is dead. His deputy, Zednor Woodvale, concurred in the disastrous decision to split our fleet and shares responsibility for a disastrous defeat off the Vigilant Isles. God knows what Woodvale will do when Honigalus is reinforced by corsairs from the Continent. A windspoken message from King Olmigon has informed us that my father’s admonitions to the fleet officers are still being ignored.” He smiled grimly. “But they won’t ignore me.”
“The Continentals gathered in Nis-Gata have not yet left port,” she said. “Rumors have reached them from Andradh that a force of twenty strongly armed Tarnian frigates is coming to the aid of Cathra. Unfortunately, I know for a fact that the Tarnian ships are still delayed in the Western Ocean by bad weather generated by Beynor.”
“Can you do anything about it?”
“Perhaps,” she said, shrugging, “if my recovering strength is not exhausted by other difficult magical endeavors. You say you wish me to propel your ship southward at speed. This is no trivial request.”
“But a vitally important one, my lady! And I must leave at once. This evening. I hope you will accompany me and lend your good offices as I confront Honigalus—”
“This is not possible. My brother must be dealt with. Beynor poses a grave threat to all of us, and not only because of his continuing assistance to Didion. At the moment, I have him off balance and vulnerable, and I must press my advantage.”
An emotion that might have been relief touched the prince’s features. “But I need you at my side, lady!” he protested.
She made a quelling gesture. “I dare not take myself far away from Moss at this time. Not when the regaining of my stolen throne is within my grasp.” She came close to him and placed one hand on his heart. “Conrig, I’ve vowed to assist your cause. I’ve already risked my life for you. Trust me.”
“Of course,” he said, embracing her. “As you must trust me.”
She lifted her face to be kissed, and after the chaste salute, whispered, “I love you, Con, and it breaks my heart that we must part, even for a brief time. But both of us have kingdoms to secure. My homeland must seem a poor place to you, compared to the grandeur of Cathra. But I will have it. I must have it! So I leave you now, but I shall grant you the magical winds you need—and return to you as soon as possible to guarantee your victory.”
“I understand,” he said, letting his arms fall and stepping away from her. He still smiled, but there was only emptiness in his eyes.
He does not love me, she realized.
Had she ever truly believed it? But neither did he love his barren wife. Perhaps he was one of those who are incapable of surrendering to another, as she once believed herself to be before her traitor heart betrayed her.
She asked herself: Does it matter?
That remained to be seen.
She turned, seeming to take notice of Vra-Stergos for the first time. “Doctor, perhaps you will be so kind as to bespeak me in two days or thereabouts, with news of Cathra’s struggle against Honigalus.”
“I will do my best to contact you, lady,” the alchymist replied anxiously, “but our ship will have traveled far to the south by then, and my talent may be insufficient to bridge the leagues.”
Her glance flickered toward Snudge. “Then perhaps you will have to seek help from others with more strength.”
She smiled at the startled look on the faces of the brothers, then vanished.
thirty-one
The volcanos of Tarn belonged to the planetary realm, outside the dominion of the Beaconfolk and beyond their power to coerce.
For this reason the fire-mountains had been able to besmirch the northern sky with impunity, diminishing the Lights’ glory in the sight of lesser entities as well as affronting the dignity of the great beings themselves and making them peevish. Only in lowly Moss, where the talented human boy had deflected the clouds of ash with his sigil, had the aurora borealis shone on unimpeded.
In their toplofty way, the Lights had been appreciative of Beynor’s effort. They granted his increasingly impudent requests and withheld their anger, even though he misused his Great Stone for petty purposes.
But now the forbearance of the Beaconfolk was wearing thin.
The noxious eruptions were over, the heavens had cleared, and the Great Lights once again blazed supreme in the Northland, paling the stars of winter as they basked in the awe and admiration of monsters and men alike.
Yet here came that tedious boy again, with more inappropriate demands!
==========
Secure in his royal apartment, certain that Ulla would not violate the grace period she’d given him, Beynor held high the finger wearing the moonstone ring. He uttered the two incantations and awaited the green flares of fulfillment and the necessary pain.
Nothing happened. Instead, windspoken words roared unexpectedly in his mind.
CADAY AN RUDAY?
He was taken aback. Not since his activation of Weathermaker over three years ago had the Coldlight Army asked him the ominous ritual question. He replied as confidently as he was able, using the language of the Salka to praise the Lights and abase himself before getting down to business.
“Great Skylords! I ask two favors of your Weathermaker stone. The first is fair southerly winds in Cala Bay, to assist my allies in their attack upon Cathra. The second—”
WHAT YOU ASK IS INCONVENIENT AND UNTIMELY, CONTRARY TO THE NORMAL COURSE OF EARLY WINTER AIRS IN THOSE WATERS. WE HAVE ALREADY CONDESCENDED TO GRANT THIS DIFFICULT REQUEST ONCE. FOR YOU TO DEMAND IT AGAIN IS INSOLENT.
“But necessary! I beseech you! I conjure you!… Please?”
PLAY YOUR SILLY HUMAN WARGAMES WITH LESSER SIGILS. YOU ARE TESTING OUR PATIENCE SEVERELY. REMEMBER THAT WE KNOW YOUR NAME, BEYNOR SON OFLINNDAL!
“Then—then fulfill my second conjuration, at least. The most important one. It should be an easy thing for you. An insignificant drain on your mighty powers.”
Silence.
Heartened, he lifted the moonstone ring once again and spoke the spell: “Let a black thundercloud form above my sister Ullanoth, wherever she may be. Let its whirling winds create an imbalance between the humors of the earth and air, so that a colossal stroke of lightning reduces her body to its elements and scatters them, never to be reassembled!”
WHY?
Why?… The terror and sense of impending disaster he had thus far been able to repress welled up and threatened to unman him. He took a long moment to formulate his reply. He had to make them understand!
“Because Ullanoth dares to use your magical gifts against me. I am the Conjure-King of Moss, the true heir to Rothbannon. My sister threatens my life and my reign. I can only be safe if she is dead.”
Again there was the long, portentous silence. When the response came, it was unexpectedly reasonable in tone.
YOU TOOK THE CROWN OF MOSS BY REGICIDE AND PATRICIDE, DID YOU NOT?
What should he say? The Lights weren’t human! They themselves never scrupled to kill persons who offended them. Why should they feel bound by the moral constraints of mankind? Would the simple truth suffice to justify him?
“Great Lords of Light—my poor father the Conjure-King was afflicted by madness, subject to drastic swings of emotion. His will swayed like a willow in a gale. He affirmed me as his heir to the throne, but he might well have changed his mind the next day—”
SO YOU SLEW HIM. AND NOW YOU ASK US TO COLLUDE IN YOUR CRIME, KILLING YOUR LEGITIMATE RIVAL—SHE WHO SHARED YOUR MOTHER’S WOMB, WHO HAS NEVER YET USED OUR SIGILS IGNOBLY, WHO HAS EVEN VOWED NEVER TO TAKE YOUR LIFE.
“Has she indeed?” Beynor cried out. “The more fool she! But what does my life matter if I lose my crown to that perfidious whore and stand despised before my people and the world?”
Even as this furious and despairing outburst of his rang on the wind, he knew he’d finally gone too far.
The Lights laughed.
WHAT DOES IT MATTER, BEYNOR OF MOSS? YOU ARE ABOUT TO FIND OUT! BUT BECAUSE IT AMUSES US TO SOW UNCERTAINTY AMONG HUMANITY, AND BECAUSE AN ACTION OF YOURS, ALTHOUGH ALL UNWITTING, ONCE REDOUNDED TO OUR SPLENDOR, WE WILL LEAVE YOU WITH A SINGLE TOKEN OF OUR MERCY—WHICH YOU ARE FORBIDDEN TO USE!—AFTER REQUITING YOU LESS PUNISHMENT THAN YOU DESERVE.