Ironcrown Moon (21 page)

If he’s suffered a great setback as a result of this disaster, I’ll rejoice. What damage was done? Is it known who was responsible?”

Rejoice then. My sister’s boy, who is an adept in service to Queen Risalla, told me that the library and the entire cloister wing of the palace were destroyed. The kings brother Stergos and some two dozen Zeth Brethren were injured. Six people were killed

—

including one man who may have helped start the fire

.

“Who was he? Did he act alone?”

He was a Brother of Zeth, one Vitubio Bentland. It seems he and two other alchymical scholars came to the palace together, from Zeth

Abbey, some months earlier. No one seems to know much about them yet. The two survivors have disappeared. There’s a royal warrant for their arrest and a great hue and cry throughout Cathra and Didion, with a sizable reward for their capture. And here’s a fascinating detail: the three used tarnblaze to blast open a secret crypt in the Royal Alchymist’s bedroom. By now, half the palace has seen the hole with their own eyes. It’s said that some treasure was stolen from there. No one in authority will admit that, but it would explain why the attack occurred in the first place. If someone merely wanted to kill Stergos, they could have found an easier way.

“And no one knows which way the surviving thieves went?”

If they were wise, they hopped on a fast boat and sailed away. Pictures of the pair are being circulated in all parts of Cathra. The roads leading from the capital are blocked, and every traveler is being questioned.

“I don’t suppose your informant transmitted images of the fugitives?”

Hah! Now we come to it. He did indeed, and I etched them on vellum with my talent

… or reasons of my own. If you wish to oversee the portraits, produce the valuable information you said you would share with me

.

“Very well: under no circumstances should you accompany Honigalus and his family on the royal barge upriver. Become diplomatically ill. Say you will travel overland to catch them up when you feel better. See that you don’t feel better until they approach Boarsden Castle, in six days.”

…

What’s going to happen

?

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“Nothing you would enjoy participating in.”

But but I should give warning! The royal children

—

—

“The one you should alert is Prince Somarus. Roust him out of his lair in the Elderwold wilderness. Tell him to trim his beard, pare his fingernails, and clean up himself and his drabble-tailed band of followers, so he appears approximately regal when he’s unexpectedly
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summoned by Duke Boarsden and the other high lords of Didion to take up the crown.”

Almighty God! How can you know

—

“I do know. Now show me the picture of the two thieves, and give me their names.”

==========

The dim lantern-shine in the corridor outside his cell brightened. Rising, he waited at the iron door of his cell until a key grated in the lock and it swung wide open. Standing there was the tall figure of Vra-Waringlow, wearing the usual red robes of the Order. But the gammadion pendant hanging at his neck was not gold inlaid with onyx, as befitted the abbey’s second-ranking official.

It was finely wrought platinum.

“So all went as we hoped!” Kilian said by way of greeting.

Waringlow’s impassive face showed the barest flicker of a smile. “Noachil was a tenacious old man, in spite of his many painful ailments. He entered into eternal peace shortly after a noon collation of shirred eggs with anchovies, one of his favorite dishes. It was an easy death. God grant such to all afflicted souls.”

Kilian nodded piously. “May I offer my felicitations upon your elevation, Father Abbas?”

“Thank you, my son. And I, in turn, must express my profound gratitude for your having taught me the subtle coercive spell that swayed the vote of the governing council in my favor. I thought it best to use the magic before your departure—not that I doubted the spell’s efficacy for a moment.”

“Vra-Garon has returned with the horses?”

“He awaits you in the ravine just outside the postern gate.” The new leader of the Mystic Order of Zeth lifted a tiny key. “Please turn around.”

Hands manipulated the lowered hood of Kilian’s robe. He heard a sharp click and his onerous neckchain, together with the iron gammadion it held, fell to the floor. He felt his heart leap with a sudden influx of arcane power. Now he was no longer dependent upon the chancy goodwill of Beynor, who had claimed—perhaps falsely—to know a spell that would free him of the iron.

“It may take a few days for you to regain the fullness of your natural abilities” the abbas said,

“especially the ability to windspeak and scry over distance. I’ll do my utmost to confuse any pursuers until you are once again able to weave a spell of couverture.”

“You’ve been a staunch and loyal friend, Waringlow. In time, when the tyrant Conrig is overthrown and my own power is consolidated, be assured that I’ll reward you further.”

“No further recompense is necessary. Thanks to you, I have what I’ve always wanted.” He picked up the iron gammadion and handed it to Kilian. “You’d better dispose of this. It’s a pity that the totality of your magical endowment as an ordained Brother of Zeth cannot be restored to you. But as you know, new golden gammadions for you and your companions would render you perceptible to ordained windsearchers. Still, I have no doubt that you’ll find other ways to augment your sorcery.”

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If you only knew! Kilian thought. But he only inclined his head.

Waringlow continued. “You should know that our Brother, Vitubio Bent-land, perished in the Gala disaster. Felmar and Scarth are suspected of starting the fire. Interestingly enough, they are reported to have stolen certain items belonging to the Royal Alchymist, but no description of
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the things has been circulated. As yet, the authorities seem to have no notion as to the whereabouts of the fugitives.

They are presumed to have discarded their own golden gammadions early on.”

After Waringlow opened the other three cells, Kilian roused his associates with sharp commands, then stood by while their iron pendants were also removed. He ordered them to sink the things in the deepest part of Elk Lake when they embarked the next day.

“Vra-Garon will be blamed for engineering your escape,” Waringlow observed. “If I were you, I wouldn’t trust that young fellow overmuch in a tight situation. Loyalty is hardly his strongest virtue.”

Kilian nodded. “I know the strengths and weaknesses of all my men well enough.”

“It’s time to go. Link arms and come up behind me very closely, two by two.”

They did as he bade them. The abbas lifted his hand and pronounced an incantation, and the former prisoners vanished from sight.

“Now follow me as silently as you can, and you’ll soon be free. The night’s a rather nasty one, I fear, with both wind and heavy rain.”

“Good,” said one of the invisible men.

The new Father Abbas lifted his lantern and headed for the flight of stairs, chuckling.

eight

Ullanoth, conjure-Queen of Moss, slept for nearly thirty-six hours, paying her enormous pain-debt during slumber, as it had to be paid.

When she could endure it no more she broke away and awoke on the morning of the day after Solstice. It was only with difficulty that she forced herself to leave her bed. The latest act of Sending had left her with almost no physical energy.

I should have told Conrig to wait, she thought. There was no good reason why he needed to know the truth about Queen Risalla’s unborn babe immediately. He was driven only by impatience and his desire to remain in control of every situation that concerned his Sovereignty.

But he had begged so urgently for her help…

She summoned servants to help her dress. An attendant held a mirror up after her pale hair had been combed, and she sighed as she saw her face. She was only twenty-three years of age, but the reflection now seemed to be that of a woman almost ten years older, gaunt and ravaged, with circles like bruises about her abnormally sunken eyes and deep lines furrowing her brow.

She had still been beautiful when she last Sent herself to Conrig; she was beautiful no longer.

The Lights had not done this to her. She had done it to herself, freely, in exchange for the sorcery of her Great Stones—Sender and

Weathermaker and above all Subtle Loophole. A lesser proportion of her debt had accumulated through helping her own people: she had used Weathermaker to generate storms to beat back the clumsy incursions of the Salka, and studied her evil younger brother through Loophole to make certain that Beynor remained securely exiled during the uneasy first years of her reign. But by far the greater component of her devastation was due to her inability to deny Conrig Win-cantor when he sought her assistance.

I’m a fool, she told herself, gesturing for the mirror to be taken away. How often has he given himself to me or my Sending since assuming his throne? Less than two dozen times in four years!

And each time we bedded, my desire for him strengthened, while he remained the same—professing love, taking me with a fierce passion, yet never opening his soul to warmth, never cherishing my self but only the hurtful magical power that comes through me.

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And my people: do they love me? Moon Mother have mercy, but I think not…

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Servants had been bustling about the royal apartment while she was being dressed, but when she dismissed the tirewomen and forced herself to leave her bedchamber she found no food set out for her in the adjacent sitting room, as was usual.

A little old man wearing a green-satin tabard emblazoned with the golden swan of the royal arms bowed and smiled.

“Majesty, your breakfast table is laid on the balcony, since the rain has gone away and the day is gloriously clear and mild. But if this is not to your pleasure—”

His name was Wix, and he had been her personal slave from the time of her girlhood. When she became queen she freed him and created him her Lord of Chamber. He was elderly but strong of body, and he had dedicated his life to her service. No woman had ever been Ullanoth’s confidante, but she trusted Wix without reservation, and on occasion shared with him her innermost thoughts.

“I’d enjoy eating outdoors,” she said, returning his smile. “Thank you for thinking of it. And please have a second chair brought to the table, for I wish to speak with you.”

The other servitors saw them seated, and poured mead before withdrawing and closing the balcony doors.

Ullanoth was silent for some time, sipping her drink, gazing over the broad estuary of the Darkling River, and thinking on the notable achievements of her reign. Wix sat comfortably and nibbled on a bread roll. Across the river, the expansive flats of the Little Fen were brilliantly green with summer growth, their ponds sparkling like mirrors amidst silvery skeins of the narrow waterways. The peat-brown

Darkling itself was alive with boats heading to and from the settlements surrounding Moss Lake, west of Fen-guard. The docks below the castle bristled with the masts of merchant ships and fishing vessels.

No longer was Moss the poorest nation of High Blenholme, as it had been in her father’s day and during the abortive reign of Beynor the

Patricide, as she had officially styled her deposed brother. She had made her country prosperous, using Conrig’s generous annual guerdon to finance the revival of the amber mines and the seal-fur industry, rebuild neglected by-roads, and promote commerce on the great river and along the seacoast. Through cajolery and magical coercion, she had compelled Moss’s self-centered conjure-lords to stop squandering lives and treasure on ancient feuds and let their peasantry live in peace, growing crops and livestock to the advantage of the entire realm. She had founded a brand-new industry by encouraging the marshfolk to gather herbs and simples that were prized by physicians and cooks of the south. She brought in military consultants from Cathra to create a small standing army that now patrolled the Rainy Highroad, Moss’s only land link to the other island nations, and put down the gangs of human bandits that had long infested it and rendered it useless to traders and travelers. From Didion she acquired six fighting frigates and contracted for ten more, so that in future Moss need never again suffer the depredations of the Dawntide Salka. The monsters dwelling in the Great Fen were still unremittingly hostile; but that part of the country had few human inhabitants and little in the way of resources.

“It’s hard to believe that only four years have passed,” she said to Wix at last, “so greatly has our kingdom been transformed. I’ve worked without stint to improve the lot of our people. And yet I fear that their hearts are not fully with me. Do you agree?”

He nodded slowly but refrained from speech. The sad acknowledgment was sufficient.

She said, “So many of our leaders and learned ones continue to mistrust my motives. It saddens me that they still believe me to be a tool of Conrig Win-cantor rather than a loving monarch who puts the needs of her own folk above all other considerations. The people loved my ancestor Rothbannon, for all his sternness, but I sense that they do not love me. Why is this, my friend? You must speak honestly, even if the truth be hard for me to accept.”