Ironcrown Moon (50 page)

“Five-and-twenty years since my late brother Linndal banished me for opposing his marriage to Taspiroth sha Elial. But the Conjure-King and I were reconciled in his final year of life, as you doubtless know, and so I come here to my birthplace a member in good standing of the Royal Family of Moss, for the purpose of averting a terrible catastrophe.”

Ridcanndal felt the muscles of his upper body stiffen with dread at the formality of her pronouncement. Surely she would not dare—

“Take me to Rothbannon’s tomb,” she continued. “Immediately.”

“Lady, what do you intend to do?” He had to force the words from his lips. “You are a royal princess of Moss and have the right to enter the tomb, but I cannot believe that you would meddle with the sigils that are the bonded possessions of our stricken queen. Not while our nation stands in such peril, and may have need of them!”

Thalassa Dru came close to him, lifting her plump warm hands to his jowly cheeks as though she were comforting a terrified child. “Why are you so worried about what I might do with the sigils? Ullanoth is incapable of using them, or even giving permission for their abolition and rebonding. Such permission can only be granted by another member of the royal family. Since you did not welcome me and urge me to perform this important service for Moss, I must assume you are expecting another to do so. Are you waiting for Beynor? Tell me the truth.”

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He gave a guilty start and withdrew from her touch, knowing that his colleague Zimroth, the Royal Thaumaturge, who loved the deposed young king as a son, entertained just such an intention and had already proposed it to the Guild and the Grand Council.

“I pray with all my heart and soul that Queen Ullanoth will recover and reclaim her sigils,” he said. “Yet it seemed prudent to some senior royal advisers to consider what might happen if she should never awaken. Prince Beynor is her only suitable successor. In these dire times, the crown of Moss cannot possibly be offered to the boy Habenor, who was placed in the line of succession by our late monarch

Linndal. Even though Beynor is debarred from using the stones himself, he can legally give permission for a surrogate to pronounce the spells separating them from our helpless queen and binding them to another person who nevertheless remains subject to the crown’s authority. Thus we would retain the magical defensive properties of the sigils, while having a suitable ruler for our country.”

“The scheme might have worked,” Thalassa Dru said, “if Beynor had not already made a pact with the Salka, agreeing to assist them in an invasion and takeover of Moss.”

“No! He would never do such a thing—any more than he would have slain his royal father.”

“Ullanoth named him patricide and regicide.”

“In this belief, the Conjure-Queen was mistaken!”

“She spoke the simple truth, Ridcanndal—and so do I. Beynor’s heart is so warped by bitterness and hatred that he has vowed to admit the monsters to this very castle. While Salka destroy the body of his sister, he intends seize her sigils for his own perverted uses. I have been commanded to prevent the last two calamities.”

“Who commanded you?”

“The Source of the Old Conflict gave the order—he who is called the One Denied the Sky.”

“He’s… only a myth.” But a spark of doubt flickered in the old sorcerer’s eyes.

“No more so than the Great Lights themselves, as the oldest of our histories affirm. The Source is alive and determined to repair the damage he inadvertently caused. I am only one of his servants. Queen Ullanoth, in her last minutes of conscious volition, became another.”

“Unbelievable…”

“The New Conflict is upon us, Grand Master, and you’d better think long and hard about which side you choose to support. Beynor is too self-centered to serve the evil Lights of his own free will, but I believe that they have nevertheless made him their puppet. As you are well aware, it’s difficult for them to interact directly with our material world, except through the subtle fluxes of power and pain. They need groundling agents—just as my benevolent Source does—and Beynor is their perfect choice. Have you forgotten that he carried away the Unknown Potency when he sought refuge in the Dawntide Isles? All of his other sigils were taken from him—save that one, which the

Lights unaccountably permitted him to keep.”

“Thalassa Dru, what are you saying?” Ridcanndal looked at her askance. “Has Beynor activated the Potency to use against us?”

“It’s quite possible that he has—perhaps with the connivance of the Lights themselves, if they see him as a useful adjunct to their capricious schemes. Now take me to the tomb!”

It was impossible to deny her. The right of access was hers by law. But what did she intend to do? Ridcanndal sighed, took up a tall oil lamp, and ignited a flame within its crystal chimney.

“Has the Source also sent you to stave off the incursion of Salka into our lands? Will you take up the Crown of Moss yourself?”

“Alas, I have no such mandate. Conrig Wincantor is the only one who can defend you from invading monsters.”

“I was finishing the draft of an appeal to him when you came to my door. The Conjure-Queen assured us that the Sovereign of Blenholme

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May, Julian - Boreal Moon 2 - Ironcrown Moon would come to our aid if we were attacked. But what if his help comes too late? In the Salka’s last assault upon us, it was only the queen’s use of her Great Stone Weather-maker that beat the brutes away from our shores. The warships sent by Conrig served only to harry and punish them once they had already withdrawn.”

“Thanks to Ullanoth, Moss now has its own small navy and a force of trained fighting warriors.

Use them. But make plans also against the blackest contingency. This is the only advice I can give you. Now take me to the tomb with no further ado.”

He could only obey, knowing that no magic of his could stop her. He led her from his tower into the main keep of the castle, and from there down seemingly endless winding staircases of black, dripping rock into a labyrinth of tunnels and disused chambers, where walled-off sections masked ancient secrets or led to places long forgotten.

The tomb of the first Conjure-King was less than a century old, although Fenguard Castle itself predated Rothbannon by nearly five hundred years, having long been the home of renegade Didionite wizards. Some legends hinted that the deepest shafts and burrows were the work of the Salka, and humankind had raised the castle on foundations built in primordial times by the amphibian monsters.

“My brother Linndal, when he was a reckless young boy, explored these ancient subterranean portions of Fenguard,” Thalassa Dru remarked, as they traveled the maze of dark corridors.

“I’d not be surprised if Beynor did also. Have you considered that some of these passages might lead outside the castle walls, below the Darkling River and into the waters of the Little Fen itself? They might provide a way for Salka to penetrate the defenses of Fenguard Castle—provided they had a guide.”

“I never thought of such a thing,” Ridcanndal admitted. “We’ll take what precautions we can against such an intrusion.” He was becoming increasingly rattled—not only by the way this woman had compelled him to obey her, but also by the confident portentousness of her remarks. How in the world was he going to explain all this to Zimroth and the Glaumerie Guild?

At the very least, he should have found a way to alert them to the arrival of the late king’s mysterious sister. But bewilderment and chagrin (or was it her sorcery?) had distracted him, and now it was too late.

They had come at last to the sealed entrance to Rothbannon’s tomb, which lay at the end of a dry tunnel that looked almost freshly hewn.

“Unbind the defensive spells blocking the door,” Thalassa Dru told him.

Meekly, Ridcanndal pronounced the lengthy incantation that protected the tomb against ordinary intruders. Then the sorceress laid her own hand upon the solid stone door-panel. It was incised with the swan insignia and an inscription:

ROTHBANNON ASH BAJOR

C.Y. 911- 1052

FIRST CONJURE-KING OF MOSS

AND LIBERATOR OF THE SEVEN STONES

“PUISSANCE AND PRUDENCE”

“What a pity,” she murmured, “that he was the only one of his blood to follow that wise motto!… Recite the rest of the spell, Grand

Master.”

He hesitated only for a moment, then spoke the words, concluding in a loud voice, “Open to a true descendant of Rothbannon!”

With a harsh grating rumble, the stone door rolled away. She admonished Ridcanndal to wait outside and entered. The sepulchre itself was a polished black-marble cube that measured less than an ell on each side, containing the cremated remains of the great sorcerer.

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Resting on its lid in a depression that fitted it perfectly was the small platinum casket that had been made to hold the original Seven

Stones Rothbannon had taken from the Salka.

Thalassa Dru lifted the lid, saw the gleam of the six living sigils and the empty place where the Conjure-Queen’s lost Fortress stone had once rested. Reverently, she closed the container and carried it out of the tomb.

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Ridcanndal stared at her apprehensively, still having no idea what she intended to do. “And now, my lady?”

“Lead me to the room where my niece’s body lies. And then I pray you to secure for me a small drum.”

==========

The subtle form of Thalassa Dru opened the box and emptied the sigils onto the frost-encrusted floor of the Source’s prison. Her aura was a triumphant blaze of rainbow colors. “As you see, my master. The cursed things are still alive and bonded to her, but that should make their abolition all the more precious to our cause.”

The dead black shape shackled in sapphire uttered a deep sigh of satisfaction. One of the gemlike manacles confining him now glowed so faintly that it was nearly as transparent as the ice-flows streaking the cavern walls.

Shield your eyes, then, while I unite with the

Likeminded to deal with these abominations. I think I hope

—

—

But let’s see what happens this time, now that the obliteration of Darasilo’s Trove has already brought me so much closer to atonement

.

The flash of dissolution was more intense than she had ever experienced before. When Thalassa Dru opened her eyes, long moments passed before she could focus her vision. Then she saw what had happened, and tears of joy sprang to her dazzled eyes.

“One of your arms is free!” she breathed. The pale manacle and its chain lay on the cavern floor, shattered like glass.

I am still held fast by the other limb. But we progress, Thalassa Dru. We progress.

He reached out with the unshackled tentacle and gently pressed one talon into the wall of ice, extracting a small object which he held out to the sorceress. It was a sphere no larger than a pea that shone like an emerald star.

Here is her essence, liberated from their evil thrall and from all pain. You and Dobnelu know how to reunite it to her body. But she must remain with you in your mountain sanctuary until the last remnants of power-hunger are cleansed from her soul. You two will be her guides and teachers. Ansel Pikan, unfortunately, can no longer he trusted to act without prejudice.

She tucked the green gem into her bodice. “What are we to do about him, master? It seems plain that his sentimental attachment to

Maudrayne North-keep has clouded his judgment and perhaps even diminished his commitment to the Conflict. Without consulting us, he’s hidden the woman and her son in a place where Conrig Wincantor’s men are unlikely to find them. I think he still hopes to solve the problem of the princess and her son peacefully.”

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As

I would also hope to do! I’ve put into play certain factors that may yet bring about such a fortunate resolution. But ultimately, Maudrayne’s fate rests in her own hands. The doleful truth is that Conrig’s Sovereignty cannot be allowed to fall because of her thirst for revenge. Ansel must be made to understand this. If he balks, then we must remedy the situation as best we can. I’ll bespeak you if the necessity for action arises. And now farewell, dear soul

.

==========

“My lady?” A tentative voice came from behind the cushioned chair where the sorceress had sat while performing the drum ritual. Wix, the little old man who was Ullanoth’s most devoted friend, came to stand in front of her with both hands clasped humbly over his heart.

“Did it go well? Oh, please tell me that my dear queen will live again!”

“What did you see when the drumming stopped?” she asked him.

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“You went into a trance. The casket in your lap melted away like smoke, then so did her poor lifeless husk—only before it vanished utterly it seemed transformed, so that she was once again as young and beautiful as she had been before the terrible stones consumed her with pain…”

“Ah.” Thalassa Dru smiled, then took the spherical emerald from the bodice of her gown and showed it to him. “Her body has been transported through subtle means to my own dwelling place far away in the mountains of Tarn. But her living essence resides here. The unnatural link between her and the Coldlight Army has been severed. I shall carry this soul receptacle safely home with me now, and after a time Ullanoth sha Linndal will indeed live again.“