Ironcrown Moon (43 page)

The king and his friend stood side by side for a few minutes more, watching the moonrise, then
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decided to go to bed early. The royal party was scheduled to embark before dawn because the voyage between Mallthorpe and Boarsden was a long one. The rapids in that section of the river and the eddy off Boar Creek would test the mettle of the oarsmen and the nerves of the barge’s more timid passengers.

“It’ll be a lively ride tomorrow,” the king observed. “Gorgeous scenery, and the thrill of breasting the Whitewater. Queen Bryse and the older children always enjoy the excitement. And knowing what I might have to face later on in Boarsden, I’m looking forward to a little fun myself.”

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May, Julian - Boreal Moon 2 - Ironcrown Moon sixteen

Royal Fenguard castle was thrown into an uproar when Ullanoth vanished from her bed of pain, for her counselors knew she was too weak to walk, and no servant would admit to having assisted her in leaving her private apartment.

Wix, the queen’s elderly Lord of Chamber, the only one she had entrusted with keys to every room in her tower, was the one who finally found her. Reluctantly, he dared to enter her inner sanctum, where she had been accustomed to perform her most delicate magical operations. He burst into tears when he saw her, cold and unbreathing and without a heartbeat, lying on the peculiar tilting couch that she sometimes used while Sending. Still weeping, he summoned Grand Master Ridcanndal, the High Thaumaturge Zimroth, and Akossanor the Royal Physician. They were the ones whose official duty it was to confirm that the Conjure-Queen was dead.

The doctor studied her ruined young face, all bony angles and transparent, tight-stretched skin.

He lifted one of her eyelids. The pupil was wide and black, indicative of lifelessness. A mirror held to her nostrils remained unclouded. She had no pulse, and her lips were tinged with blue.

Rigor seemed to have passed already from her body, but it was cold as ice and nearly as unyielding to the touch.

“Our poor queen is gone from this world,” Akossanor announced in a somber voice. “Summon her tirewomen. Let her corpse be washed and dressed in full royal regalia, so that she may sit upon her throne according to our custom and receive the homage of the people one final time.”

“Wait,” Lady Zimroth said. “Stand aside, physician.” The elderly Thaumaturge, dressed all in grey samite, lifted Ullanoth’s right hand, which had been partially covered by her gown. The moonstone ring on the queen’s index finger glowed faintly green. “Look there. That stone is alive!” Cautiously, Zimroth pulled up two thin chains that hung about the queen’s neck and drew from the bosom of her night-shift two more Great Stones. Subtle Loophole and Sender also retained their inner luminosity.

“Her lesser sigils! Fetch the container, Wix!”

The loyal old man’s grief had vanished in an instant. Eagerly, he took a key from the ring at his belt and unlocked the cabinet where the sigils were kept when not in use. He removed a small platinum casket and lifted its lid. “They’re glowing!” he cried. “Beastbidder, Concealer, and Interpenetrator are alive!”

“And therefore Queen Ullanoth also lives,” Zimroth declared, “but not, I think, within this poor physical shell.”

“Where is she then?” Wix implored her.

Zimroth and the Grand Master of the Glaumerie Guild exchanged glances. He shook his head and said, “Only the sorcery of the Great

Lights could have done this to her. I know not how it was done, or to what purpose. The matter will have to be studied.”

“But is she still suffering?” Wix asked anxiously. “Oh, tell me that her soul is safe somewhere and not in pain!”

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“I have no answers,” Ridcanndal said. “Never have I heard of such a thing as this happening before. She certainly has not been cast into the Hell of Ice as her mother was, since her flesh is unfrozen and her features tranquil for all their ravaged appearance.”

“I believe Ullanoth may be in a kind of limbo state,” Zimroth said. “Neither alive nor dead. We must take special care of these remains.

There must be no evisceration, no packing with spices, no enshrouding, no interment in an airless crypt. Her body must be kept ready to receive her soul if it should suddenly return from its uncanny exile.” She looked away, thinking. “We require a room, totally secure, where no enemy may intrude. Let her be dressed well, and her hair arranged. Lay her out on a couch as a woman sleeping. Every day, someone must look upon her in case there is a change… for better or worse.”

“So you think she may yet die?” Akossanor asked quietly.

“If the body falls into corruption, it cannot be reanimated and we shall have to consign it to the usual funeral pyre. But I believe it will not decay so long as she remains in this peculiar state, and the possibility remains that she may return.”

Wix drew himself up with pride. “I take it upon myself to prepare a suitable place of repose for my beloved mistress. With your

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May, Julian - Boreal Moon 2 - Ironcrown Moon permission, I’ll put her in the uppermost chamber of this tower, where tall crystal windows give a broad view of our land of Moss. There I will guard her until she wakes—or until my own death supervenes.” He looked uncertainly at Zimroth and Ridcanndal. “Will she keep her sigils with her?”

“I think not. Even though they are still active and bonded to her, there are certain complex spells written down in the Book of

Rothbannon able to annul the bonding and transfer ownership of the stones to someone else.

We must not let this happen.”

Zimroth went to a nearby workbench and took up a pair of golden tongs. Using these, she teased the Weathermaker ring from Ullanoth’s skeletal finger. Cutting pliers severed the delicate neckchains and let the two pendants fall free. With the tongs, the Thaumaturge placed the three Great Stones in their velvet nests within the platinum box. This she handed to the Grand Master.

“The stones must be secured in the traditional place for ownerless sigils— Rothbannon’s tomb, where his ashes lie. See to it, Ridcanndal.” She turned to Wix and the physician. “You two must take care of her body. And I…” She grimaced. “I shall announce to our people that Conjure-Queen Ullanoth lies enchanted, and until she is restored, the government of the kingdom devolves upon the Glaumerie Guild’s officers. After that, I intend to bespeak Conrig Wincantor’s windvoice with this melancholy news. I will ask the Sovereign how he intends to fulfill the solemn promise he made to our queen, before she agreed to perform what was to be her final service for him.”

==========

The generalized hail on the wind contained but two words. It was launched from the crest of the Sinistral Mountains, as Kilian and his weary party paused to rest at the top of the secret pass before beginning their descent from the divide. The alchymist hoped to minimize the possibility of being overheard—although he knew there was scant hope of shutting out Beynor if he was minded to eavesdrop—so he projected the call northward, in the direction of the Lady Lakes, where he believed the intended recipient of his message to be. In that he was mistaken; and he received no reply. His next attempt was even more powerful, directed more to the east.

This time, Tesk the wizard and the Green Woman Cray, riding along the Boar Highroad behind
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Prince Somarus, heard Kilian’s hail clearly. So did another adept, who was surprised to recognize a once-familiar signature unheard on the wind for many years. This listener found the subsequent exchange both revealing and worrisome.

PRINCE, RESPOND!

Tesk was red-eyed and runny-nosed from summer rheum, so shocked by the vehemence of the mental shout that he reacted with a great sneeze that nearly flung him from the saddle of his stocky cob. Cray, who sat astride a dapple-grey pony next to the wizard, merely cocked her head and said quietly, “Did you hear it, too?”

“Aye. But which prince is its intended recipient?”

“Foolish man! A very powerful adept uttered that hail. Do you really imagine he wants to speak to King Honigalus’s infant sons?”

Somarus looked over his shoulder, frowning. “What’s all this, wizard?” The prince, like the others of his cavalcade save Tesk, was disguised as a simple household knight of Duke Ranwing Boarsden.

“I believe I heard windspeech intended for you, Highness. It would be best if we drew aside and stopped for a few minutes.” He shot a glance at Cray. “The Green Woman heard it, too.”

Somarus spoke a word to Baron Cuva, riding beside him, who in turn commanded the ten knights of the prince’s escort to pull up. They had spent the previous night under the friendly roof of Castlemont Fortress and set out very early so as to reach Boarsden and the River Malle by afternoon. It was now about the third hour and the air was hot and muggy, with a faint scent of smoke. This section of the Boar

Highroad crossed a treeless marshland, and the company was sweaty, midge-bitten, and short-tempered, the knights not hesitating to express their unhappiness at being made to pause where there was no shade.

Somarus, Tesk, and Cray drew apart from the others but remained mounted.

Cray said, “King-in-Waiting, will you be guided by me in responding to this call? I sense overtones of peril on the wind. Answer this

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May, Julian - Boreal Moon 2 - Ironcrown Moon person only in general terms and with great circumspection.”

“Indeed! Perhaps I shouldn’t answer at all.” Somarus scowled. “But what if it’s Beynor of Moss, wanting to tell us that something’s gone awry with his scheme? We’d better know what’s happening.”

Cray said to Tesk, “Did you determine the direction of the hail?”

“Hard to tell with a blanket shout, but I believe it emanated from the mountains, to the southwest.”

“Not Beynor, then,” Cray said to Somarus.

“My curiosity’s roused,” the prince said. “Give an answer, Tesk. Find out what he wants, but don’t name me to him.” The wizard covered his eyes with his hand, since it was too hot to wear a hooded cloak. “An adept servant of a certain nobleman responds to you,” he spoke on the wind. “My name is Tesk. Identify yourself and state your business.”

Kilian Blackhorse here! My felicitations to His Lordship and to you, Master Tesk. I am the former Royal Alchymist of Cathra and a one-time member of King Olmigon’s Privy Council. I now have the honor to be a mortal enemy of the Sovereign of Blenholme, and recently escaped from the dungeon at Zeth Abbey after instigating a notable conflagration at Cala Palace. It’s my intention to offer my services as sorcerer and political adviser to the new King of Didion. I believe I can be of good use, assisting his nation to throw off Conrig

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Wincantor’s detestable yoke.

Tesk repeated the communication word for word.

“Well, well,” said Somarus, “Not Beynor, but rather his shadowy crony! Ask Kilian why he speaks of a ‘new King of Didion’ when everyone knows that Honigalus sits the throne.”

Tesk transmitted the terse message and gave its reply.

After today, there will be a new king. I’ve been assured of this by one who is not quite a friend, but not yet an enemy

… to both His

Lordship and myself

.

“Mysteriously spoken,” Somarus said with a cynical smile. “Tell Kilian I’d already intended to keep a sharp eye on this not-quite-friend. I

don’t need sly warnings popping out of thin air. I probably don’t need Kilian! Let him prove he can be of value to me—and do it at once.

Otherwise, this exchange of ambiguities is over.”

Poor Tesk was a simple man, but he did his best to translate the message diplomatically.

As a sample of my usefulness, suppose I reveal to His Lordship how the transfer of royal power is to be accomplished without casting suspicion upon the obvious person?

Somarus nodded. “All right. I wondered about that myself.”

Of course you did. Even those who might otherwise welcome a new monarch would reject him if he took the throne through foul and dastardly means. After much thought, I found a sure way to preserve the royal person’s integrity. I myself conceived this plan, not the one who has doubtless taken credit for it! That one

—

that not-quite-friend

—

had neither the wit nor the subtlety to consider all aspects of this pivotal situation. I did

.

“Tell me how it’s going to be done, then,” Somarus demanded. “Prove you’re as clever as you say you are. All I’ve heard of the affair from my own informant is a hint about a calamity on the water. I assumed some hired villains were planning a surprise attack—although I must say the idea doesn’t seem especially practicable. The—er—objects of the action are very well guarded. And how could the attackers be certain of getting clean away? If even one of them were taken and tortured into confessing, the scheme would unravel. To my detriment!”

The ambush on the water will be perpetrated by Salka.

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May, Julian - Boreal Moon 2 - Ironcrown Moon

“The hell you say!” exclaimed the prince. Tesk passed along the essence of the ejaculation.

Unimpeachable eye-witnesses onshore will see the deed done by the monsters. No human guards could possibly capture such enormous creatures, and if any are killed, it matters little. Who would ever believe that the King-in-Waiting could have coerced Salka into acting to his advantage? No, he will be held blameless, accepted as legitimate by Didion… and by Tarn as well.

“How did you talk the slimy brutes into cooperating?”

I didn’t. This, I freely concede, was done by our friend, who has a certain influence over them because of his nationality.