Ironcrown Moon (49 page)

The intelligencer gave no sign that he’d heard words on the wind, only silently bespoke the novice, Vra-Mattis, who sat on the opposite side of the table. “Give a low cry—then tell me quietly that you have a wind-message for me.”

The apprentice played his role to perfection, so none of the outsiders at the table heard what he said to his master. Gavlok and the armigers exchanged knowing smiles and Radd and Hulo pretended indifference.

Snudge rose. “Sir Gavlok, explain to our new companions why we must suffer arcane interruptions in our mundane activities from time to time.”

He and Mat strode off to the curtain wall, and after receiving permission from the sergeant of the watch, climbed to the southern parapet with the excuse of viewing the mountain panorama, but in actuality wishing to ease Lord Stergos’s bespeaking over distance. None of the fort’s men-at-arms approached or questioned them after Vra-Mattis cast a light spell to discourage curiosity. They settled into a broad embrasure between the merlons of the battlement, then Snudge covered his eyes and responded to Stergos.

“I’m here, my lord, Deveron Austrey in Castlemont Fortress in Didion. I’m in a secure place.

There are no expert windtalents round about here able to eavesdrop upon us, only Vra-Mattis, who cannot overhear unless I permit it— which I won’t. Are you in better health?”

I’m mending, thanks to a potion that came some days ago from the Conjure-Queen, sent before she sank into a profound trance.

“Sulkorig told me of her strange fate. What’s become of her sigils?”

For safekeeping, they’re being stored in the traditional place

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the tomb of the first Conjure-King, Rothbannon

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where they will remain inaccessible to anyone save members of the reigning family of Moss: Ullanoth herself, of course, should she be restored to her body, and Beynor also. When I remonstrated with Lady Zimroth and warned her of the potential danger from him, she remained unmoved.

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Mossland tradition, it seems, may not be flouted! And Beynor is accurst, so even if the stones were inactive, he could not touch them without perishing. At least this is what she and the rest of the Glaumerie Guild believe… And now please tell me why you are so eager to bespeak me, Deveron, rather than relay messages through Vra-Sulkorig. The effort to speak on the wind is very taxing

.

“Lord Stergos, bear with me. Since you were so badly injured, much has happened to me—and some of it may pertain to the situation in

Moss. I have secrets to impart. Some must be withheld from His Grace the High King, while others he must hear only from your own lips. This is why I needed to bespeak you so urgently.”

Tell me.

Haltingly at first, then in a torrent of detailed windspeech, Snudge described his meeting with the Green Man Odall at the croft east of

Castle Elk-tor. He said nothing of the unwelcome gift of the sigil Subtle Gateway, but he did tell of his amazing encounter with the One

Denied the Sky.

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The Source Ansel’s mysterious Source you say HE is this One Denied the Sky? And you believe him to be one of the Beaconfolk

—

—

?

“I do, my lord. He said little but implied much during our strange conversation. We of Cathra have long believed that all of the Great

Lights are evil. But the Source’s talk of a New Conflict betokens that an Old Conflict once took place—and that it must have involved a dispute between good and evil entities of the Sky Realm over the morality of moonstone magic and pain-eating.”

And the evil Lights won this ancient battle?

“Almost certainly, for the sigils still belong to them. As I understand it, the New Conflict has the aim of severing this pernicious linkage between Sky and Ground beings. The Source spoke of how I had been enlisted in this New Conflict. And I wasn’t the only one: the Source spoke of King Conrig, the thieving Brothers, and even Beynor of Moss in this way. Some of the enlistees, like me, were given free choice to join the Conflict or refuse. Others, like His Grace, seem to serve the purposes of this Source all unawares. In my opinion, Queen Ullanoth has also been drawn into the Conflict—or perhaps taken out of it until the Source reinstates her. Even Princess Maudrayne and her little son appear to be part of this supernatural war, since the Source ordered me to continue on to Tarn without delay and fulfill my duty there.”

This is incredible! Do you mean to tell me that the entity called the Source uses human beings as agents or weapons in this battle between factions of Lights?

“So it would seem, my lord.”

Deveron, I I am at a loss. I know not what to say to you. What you’ve told me has a terrible plausibility, and yet my soul shrinks from

—

the idea that a merciful God might permit his human creatures to be manipulated in such a cavalier manner by supernatural beings

!

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“I’m no great thinker, my lord. But even I know that the lesser people of our world are routinely used by the greater for their own purposes. Children are ruled by parents; wives are ruled by husbands; men are ruled by overlords… It’s the way things are. At least the Source seems to be motivated solely by good intentions.”

My royal brother would find this notion of being used by the Lights to be insupportable. His pride would never accept it as truth, and so I

will not tell him about it, lest he doubt the rest of your explanation for failing to retrieve the Trove of Darasilo.

“I agree that would be the wisest course, my lord.”

I myself, on the other hand, am inclined to believe in this One Denied the Sky and his laudable goal. If the opportunity arises, tell him I

would cooperate willingly in the New Conflict.

“I’ll gladly tell him, my lord, if I can.”

Now I must pass on other important information to you that’s only recently come to us at the palace. The shaman Blind Bozuk has told us that Maudrayne and her son are no longer sequestered on Tarn’s west coast, but have been carried off by Ansel Pikan to a place far to the northeast, beyond the great volcanos. The region is nearly inaccessible to foreigners, and she’s supposedly guarded now by magic more powerful than before. I fear that this will make your own mission impossible to accomplish.

“Not at all, my lord. There’s still hope.”

Then tell me of it, for I’m very close to despondency. My poor brain is on fire with pain from the effort of bespeaking you and from my own fruitless efforts to unravel this wretched knot of plots and counterplots. And we still don’t know what manner of evil scheme Beynor of Moss and Kilian are cooking up!… But to hell with them and their devilry. If you have any consolation for me, lad, be quick to offer it.

I won’t be able to bespeak you much longer.

“Listen, my lord, and take heart! The Source himself gave me a… clue as to the whereabouts of Princess Maudrayne. And after my talk with him, I conceived an idea that may enable us to neutralize the threat she poses to King Conrig—and do it without any dishonorable actions. As yet, my idea is a seed lacking soil to sprout in or water and sunlight to help it grow. But it could work, and it has the potential to save the Sovereignty. I envision a certain compromise, whereby His Grace and the Princess Maude each gain while yielding in part to file:///K|/eMule/Incoming/May,%20Julian%20-%20[Bo...-%20Boreal%20Moon%202%20-

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May, Julian - Boreal Moon 2 - Ironcrown Moon the other, with the result that the most dangerous of His Grace’s secrets will remain hidden, and the consequences of the other secret will be postponed for many long years. With two such prideful and stubborn royal persons involved, getting them to agree to the compromise will not be easy. But there are other things besides sweet persuasion that might compel their acceptance.”

Tell me more.

“Soon, my lord, when I have it straight in my own mind. The Source would of necessity be a party to it.”

Bazekoy’s Bones! You’d think of pressuring such a being? Deveron, are you mad?

“No, my lord, I’m a snudge: a sneaking, devious, crafty spy. You’d think the Source would have better sense than to enlist me in his unearthly Conflict! Since he didn’t, let’s hope he’s not surprised at the consequences. He said that he needed me. Well, I also need him, and he’ll help whether he wants to or not.”

can’t bear to hear any more. Bespeak Sulkorig when you can tell me your plan in full, and I’ll listen. Farewell, Deveron. May you succeed

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or at least do more good than harm

.

==========

He groaned, rolled over, and pulled himself up on his elbows. And gave a cry of dismay as he saw Vra-Mattis.

The apprentice windvoice was sitting with his back against the battlement, clutching his knees with white-knuckled hands. Tears ran down his face, soaking the front of his robe, and his mouth was an open square of misery, although he uttered not a single sound.

“Good God, Mat! What’s wrong?”

The young man’s voice was scarcely audible. “Listen, master! Listen to the wind. So many souls, dying so horribly! I tried to scry out the cause, but the flood of pain and desolation overwhelmed my talent.” He lifted a trembling hand and pointed eastward. “In that direction, towards Boarsden.”

Snudge overheard it himself now. But it was many minutes before he recovered his strength enough to survey the scene on the River

Malle with his oversight. He saw the Salka sporting in the water, but did not fully understand what had happened until he read the lips of

Duke Ranwing Boarsden, the Archwizard Fring, and the other noble witnesses who stood transfixed at the riverside, watching the monsters feast.

nineteen

Grand Master Ridcanndal, head of Moss’s Glaumerie Guild, finished drafting the appeal to High King Conrig, sanded the ink, and perused what he had written, wondering whether his language had conveyed the urgency of the situation:

…

The terrible tragedy that took place this day in Didion serves to confirm what we have long suspected: that the Salka monsters have for some reason shaken off their age-old torpor and reclusiveness. Emboldened and aggressive, they once again threaten the safety of all human life on High Blenholme. And with Conjure-Queen Ullanoth sunk in a helpless trance, the kingdom of Moss, your loyal vassal, now lies particularly vulnerable to their attacks

.

While it is true that scriers of our Glaumerie Guild have not been able to detect any evidence of overt hostile activity among the monsters of the Dawntide Isles, it seems reasonable to believe that they were responsible for the heinous attack on Didion s Royal Family, which would have required careful planning and a level of leadership lacking in other file:///K|/eMule/Incoming/May,%20Julian%20-%20[Bo...-%20Boreal%20Moon%202%20-

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However, the normally shy Salka resident in the Little Fen have lately been seen in broad daylight, cruising boldly about the environs of Fenguard Castle and the Royal Naval Yards.

Rumors also have it that the Great Fen Salka are migrating southward toward parts of Moss occupied by humanity, an unprecedented event that the Guild and our Grand Council of Lords view with grave concern.

In light of these ominous circumstances, the Guild and Council members, acting with full royal authority while our queen is incapacitated, respectfully request that the Sovereign fulfill his
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solemn commitment to defend Moss from enemies human and inhuman. We ask that a squadron of Sovereignty warships he dispatched at once, to patrol the waters between the Darkling Channel and the Dawntide Isles in a show of strength and solidarity…

Ridcanndal nibbled on the feather tip of his pen, wondering whether he should have written demand instead of request

. Ullanoth, in her mortal illness, had not hesitated to speak bluntly to the Sovereign, forcing him to reiterate his obligation to defend the smallest and least prosperous nation of his Sovereignty before she would agree to help him. But with her voice now silenced, and the Salka menace apparently turned towards the much more important nation of Didion—

Someone knocked sharply at the outer door of the Grand Master’s tower chambers, breaking his thread of thought. He rose from his desk in the sanctum, grumbling, and shuffled out into the sitting room. It was early evening, but the sky outside had gone dark as a storm rolled down from the north. Rain pelted the windows and the fire was burning low. He felt a chill rake the flesh between his shoulder blades.

The knocking came again, louder than before.

“I’m coming!” He flung open the door and cried out in astonishment, “You!”

“None other.”

The tall woman of ample figure was dressed in robes of dark blue silk, with a silver girdle and silver bands about the sleeves and neckline. Her hair was also silver, worn in a coronet of braids, and her face was amiable and serene, except for a certain sadness clouding her jade-green eyes.

On either side of her stood warlock-knights of the Royal Guard, impassive as marble images in their handsome gilt armor and swan-blazoned surcoats. She lifted her hand in a dismissive gesture. “You men may leave us now.”

“Yes, my lady.” They turned on their heels and marched away.

“Will you invite me in, Ridcanndal?” Thalassa Dru inquired in a gentle voice. “Or would you prefer that I state my business here in the corridor?”

He backed away from her, bowing slightly. “Please enter, Conjure-Princess. Forgive my surprise and confusion. It’s been—how long?”