Sorcerer's Moon (12 page)

'What are you saying?'

'Do you know that the Salka leaders have activated the Great Stone known as the Potency? The Source told me that it's a crucial tool of the New Conflict. Among other things, it can abolish the pain associated with sigil sorcery. Thus far, the monsters have made little use of it, perhaps for fear of offending the Beaconfolk and losing their magical weapons altogether. The minor sigils they now possess cause bearable pain, which they willingly endure. But lately the Salka have begun trying to fashion new sigils: not minor ones, but rather Great Stones like those once owned by their ancestors and by the rulers of Moss. If the monsters succeed in making
these things, and then defy the Lights by abolishing the pain that limits the stones' use, they'll be unstoppable.'

'Unstoppable,' he repeated. 'Yet Conrig Ironcrown is supposed to stop them. With
my
insignificant help. I'm only a healer, Induna!'

'One who cannot be scried from afar by any sorcerer.'

'The Lights can see me. I'm only beyond their reach here. That's why they had to send you.'

'You have other wild talents that exceed those of most professional magickers. And you have the two sigils that the Source compelled you to keep in spite of yourself, the ones you used to escape Conrig's men. Are the stones now enclosed in that golden case hanging round your neck?'

He gripped the pendant in one fist without answering.

'Subtle Gateway will transport you to Castle Morass in the blink of an eye,' she said, 'just as it enabled you to travel from Tarn to this place. And with Concealer you'll be able to move about with complete invisibility at your destination. No other person has these advantages.'

When he replied, his voice trembled with an anger not directed at her. 'In the sixteen years I've dwelt here, I've never used these accurst moonstones. They imperil one's soul, as you already know. They seduce the user with the promise of more and more power and make him believe that the price is worth paying . . . Duna, I've
wanted
that power.'

'The Source knows that, love. He also knows your strength. You can turn the sigil magic against the Pain-Eaters if you choose to. You can help end their ability to enslave and harm persons living in the Ground Realm.'

'Let others fight this New Conflict! Why must I do it?'

'You know why. Accept the mission, Deveron, if you've ever loved me. If I could relieve you of the burden, I'd take it on myself in an instant. But I can't do this thing. Only you can.'

He gave a great sigh. 'It means so much to you?'

'On my life - it does.'

'Then how can it mean less to me?'

Her face lit up. 'You'll go?'

He nodded. When he spoke, his voice was sad. 'But only for your sake ... as the Source knew well enough when he sent you.'

It took him the rest of the night to prepare for the journey.

Besides questioning Induna at length, he consulted maps and reference tomes before deciding on the supplies he would need. The Source's choice of Castle Morass as his destination was puzzling. The place was a primitive, ill-situated little fortress above the Wold Road, owned by old Ising Bedotha, one of Didion's most intransigent robber-barons. It was the last spot likely to be chosen by Conrig as a staging area for a strike against Salka pushing south along the Beacon River corridor toward human settlements surrounding Black Hare Lake.

Induna explained to him that, for unknown reasons, the shockingly swift Thunder Moon invasion by the monsters had come to an abrupt halt just three weeks after it began. Now, at the start of Harvest Moon, the Salka were still massed some fifty or sixty leagues north of Black Hare, in the heart of the Green Morass. If their advance remained stalled in that desolate wetland forest much longer, the onslaught of the bitter northern winter would force them either to hibernate or to retreat into the Icebear Channel. But there were disquieting rumors that the Salka were considering a new plan of action. Not even the Source knew what it might be.

Deveron decided he must be prepared for both rainy and cold weather. Leaving Induna to collect and dispose safely of the potentially harmful chymicals and herbal substances he would have to leave behind in the apotheck, he embarked
for the city center in his dinghy. He had no furs or heavy leather garb of his own, but such things would be readily available from ship-chandlers he could roust out of bed at Mikk-Town quay . . . along with other merchants selling more unusual wares he had long since eschewed.

Dawn was breaking by the time he returned home. The dinghy was laden almost to the gunwales. Induna was surprised to see him unload it, then haul a second, lighter craft ashore and begin restowing almost everything inside it.

‘I’m
taking the skiff with me to Didion,' he explained. 'It'll be useful for getting around in the Green Morass. I don't dare transport myself directly to the near vicinity of the castle. Who knows what's waiting there besides my alleged twice-great-grandma? I'll ask the sigil to set me down in a safe place a few leagues away, then scry out the situation before presenting myself.'

'That's wise,' she agreed. 'It's such a long journey, though. You'll probably suffer severe pain-debt on your arrival.'

'Another excellent reason for not going straight to the castle. If my uncanny trip from Tarn to here was any indication, it'll be at least three days before I recover enough to function - even marginally. But I won't be struck down helpless the moment I arrive. There'll be a very brief interval during which I'll be able to move about and find shelter.'

'When you used Gateway to transport you and your companions on the search for Princess Maude, you were smitten nigh unto death.'

‘I
overreached myself. Asked the sigil to carry me too far with too many companions and too much baggage. And I did it again, having no choice, when I carried all of us to safety from Skullbone Peel to Donorvale. This time the power I demand will be much less.'

'Still. . . Perhaps you should take me with you. I weigh very little and I could make myself useful. I've hardly had
time to tell you anything of events in Blenholme while you were away.'

'I'll learn soon enough,' he muttered. 'You are
not
going with me into the middle of a sorcerer's war. It's bad enough that you had to make this long sea voyage alone.'

'But you might have great need of my healing arts or magic'

'You're staying here.'

'What if you should arrive badly disabled?' she cried in growing desperation. 'If I were there, I could once again share my soul's substance with you. It would cure you at once -'

'At the cost of your own wellbeing!' He took hold of her upper arms, drew her close, and kissed her hard on the lips. When he finally broke away, she saw there were tears in his eyes. 'Twice you made that terrible sacrifice for me, shortening your own life God only knows how much in the process. You won't do it again. I won't allow it! We must both face the fact that this journey is likely to be one that I won't return from alive.'

'No!' She clung to him. 'The Source wouldn't be so cruel. And he never forbade me from accompanying you to Didion. How do you know what kind of place the capricious Lights will set you down in? It could be next to a tundra-lion's lair!'

'And you'd rescue me from the ravening beast?'

'Yes! Why not?' She broke free and suddenly held a small ball of crackling flame in her hand. She flung it with a powerful overhand lob into the dark waters of the canal, where it was quenched with a loud hiss.

He showed her a small smile. 'You've learned new tricks, I see.'

'Deveron, take me!' she pleaded.
‘I
love you so much. We've only just found one another again.'

'Do you think I want to leave you? It's for your sake that I go! For
you,
Duna. Don't ask more of me.'

Replying not another word to her continuing entreaties, he finished loading the skiff, lashing down both a sheathed broadsword and a crossbow to the packs wrapped in oilskin. When he finally spoke again, his face was haggard and grim.

'Do you have gold enough for your voyage home?'

She touched the purse at her belt. 'More than enough.'

'Later in the day, a victualer's scow will make its weekly stop at my dock. You can get a ride back to town from him. Stay at the inn called the Golden Cocodrill. Mention my assumed name, Haydon, to the landlord. He'll see you safely aboard a ship sailing north. And now I must go into the house and change my clothes.'

'Deveron.' She held out an imploring hand. 'Is there any hope, before you leave me forever ... if you could but find it in your heart ..." She looked away. 'It's not for a Tarnian woman to ask such a thing.'

'What is it? If there's anything I can do to ease our parting, then tell me.' He took her hand and drew her close, but as the heavy golden case holding the moonstones pressed against the flesh of her bosom she pulled away with a small cry.

'If we could only ... But no, it would be an unfair request with you facing such a dreadful ordeal. Go, put on your traveling clothes. I'll wait here and pray for us both.'

'I
could prepare breakfast -'

He didn't understand and she could not tell him. She hung her head and the tears began again. 'I have no appetite for food.'

'Nor have I.'

He went into the house, emerging later clad in stout hunting gear, with a dagger at his waist and gauntlets tucked into his belt. The Great Stone called Subtle Gateway, which was actually a very small and delicate carving of a door, now hung naked on its chain in the open neck of his wool shirt
where he could grasp it easily and pronounce the incantation.

'But where's the Concealer?' she asked. 'Won't you make yourself invisible before departing? Wouldn't it be safer?'

'No doubt - but using both sigils together would also prolong the period of agony and helplessness.'

'I see.' She was still kneeling beside the boat. Sunrise lit the sparkling canal and tropical flowers were blooming on every hand. To a native of subarctic Tarn, the scene might have been one of paradise; but Induna's eyes were too full to see anything but his blurred features looking down on her with a doleful smile.

He embraced her as a brother might, kissing her on the forehead. Then he climbed into the beached skiff and knelt on the bottom, bracing himself. He had organized the packs so there was plenty of room in the elongated craft, and three paddles were well secured beneath the thwarts so they would not be lost.

'Farewell, Duna,' he said. 'We'll meet again.'

'I'm sure of it,' she replied in a strange soft voice.

Taking hold of the moonstone, he pronounced the incantation and gave instructions on where he desired to go. But as he uttered the last words and the stone flared green she flung herself into the boat on top of him, clutching his neck, and they disappeared together in a soundless annihilation.

She dreamed of that crashing downpour of rain, the deeper roar of the boreal river in flood, the gale-lashed willow saplings like stinging whips flailing her face. The skiff lay at an extreme angle, trapped among rocks and tilted nearly on its side, atop a gravel bar in the midst of a foaming brown torrent. She had been thrown clear onto muddy stones among the dwarf trees; but Deveron was still in the boat, caught between the thwarts and the oilskin-covered bundles
of cargo, with his eyes closed and uttering piteous groans. The Gateway sigil on its chain blazed like an emerald star against his throat.

Bruised over half her body, hampered by sodden skirts and the spiky willow thicket, she crept toward him on her hands and knees. When she was clear of the wretched little trees at last, she pulled herself to her feet and stood swaying, buffeted by wind and rain. She was already beginning to shiver, even though the air was not very cold.

What had happened to them? How had the magical transport gone wrong? It almost seemed as though the skiff had been flung onto the gravel bar from a considerable height. Had the Lights only reluctantly provided the sorcery, because it was somehow against their best interests?

The heavily wooded banks of the river were nine or ten ells distant on each side of the islet. The water was opaque and swirling. There was no way to tell how deep it was, but the current flowed with ominous swiftness, carrying all manner of broken vegetation and floating branches. The gravel bar itself was spindle-shaped with pointed ends, perhaps four ells wide where they had landed. Most of the willows that had taken root on it were already partially submerged. She'd fallen into the last patch that stood above water.

'Deveron!' she cried, taking hold of the front of his jerkin and shaking him. 'Can you hear me?'

He only moaned. A trickle of blood seeped from beneath his woolen cap. She pulled it off and found a large lump and an oozing scalp cut. Cautious probing of the skull on either side of it reassured her that the bone was yet solid and the wound superficial, for all the bloody mess. The pupils of his eyes were of the same size and he was not feverish. She hoped that he had only been stunned.

But should he remain partially conscious for much longer,
the sigil's pain-debt would overwhelm him. He would be helpless for three days or even longer . . .

If anything was to be done, she'd have to do it. It seemed obvious that they'd have to get off the gravel bar. It was too small and barren to be a satisfactory camping place. The predatory animals of the Green Morass would smell Deveron's blood and not hesitate to swim out and attack. Her magic and his weapons might fend the beasts off during the daytime, but what would happen when she fell asleep? The small willow trees wouldn't last long as firewood, even if she managed to ignite them.

No, there was no helping it. She would have to drag the skiff into the river and paddle to a safer place.

She pulled her wet skirts forward through her legs and tucked the cloth into the front of her belt, making it possible for her to move about more easily, then set about trying to tug and push the long narrow craft toward the water's edge. But it was much too heavy, besides being securely wedged in place by several large rocks. With a sinking heart, she realized that it would have to be unloaded.