Sorcerer's Moon (39 page)

'I'm ready now!' she wailed.

'It won't do, Granddaughter,' the duke said. 'If you think the citadel is too remote, then let me arrange for you to stay in another of my forts on Firedrake Water. There are several where you'd be quite safe from the henchmen of Somarus.'

'Firedrake,' she grumbled rebelliously. 'What a silly name. What does it mean - "Burning Duck?'"

Vandragora laughed. 'Far from it. It's a very old word for a mythical fire-breathing dragon. I suppose our ancestors named it after the Morass Worms, who once must have lived thereabouts until driven further north by humanity. Even our citadel's ancient name hints at that.'

'Oh.' Casya looked thoughtful and silence fell amongst the three.

Baron Ising Bedotha helped himself to more of the powerful honey-liquor, then cleared his throat in a meaningful fashion. 'If the Salka decide not to attack Tarn, as Conrig Ironcrown thinks they will, and come at Didion from a new direction instead, we could be deep in the shite. Ain't that right, Keffy?'

The duke gave his long-time friendly enemy a morose nod. ‘I fear so. Too many of our troops are brave as tundra-lions but lacking in discipline. King Conrig claimed the bulk of the Cathran army's professional ranks for his northern force. And while Sealord Yons Stormchild's lads have an unlimited supply of sophisticated tarnblaze munitions and battle engines at their disposal, we're only equipped with hand grenades, crossbows, and blades - plus whatever materiel Parlian Beorbrook can pry loose from the Sovereign's tightfisted battalions.'

'Fighting in the bogs and thickets of the Great Wold could be a nightmare for our men,' the baron observed. 'Nearly as bad as the Green Morass.'

'If it falls to me to defend Didion from the Salka, I'll do it no matter where the monsters threaten.' Kefalus paused. 'I'm not at all sure that I'd do the same for Tarn, however. Somarus may be a fratricidal loony, but he's right on the mark when he refuses to send our warriors into that arctic wilderness with winter only just around the corner.'

Casya regarded him with a neutral expression. 'Then you are no friend of the Sovereignty, Eldpapa?'

'No, my liege lady,' he replied formally. 'Nor should you be, once the Salka monsters are defeated.'

Her eyes slid away from him and stared into the coals of the brazier. 'It's a subject I've not thought much about. Perhaps I should do so. It may help pass the dull hours I'll spend at Firedrake Water.'

'Ah!' Kefalus cried in relief. 'Then you'll go?'

She nodded in agreement. 'If my old friend Ising will be so kind as to escort me there. With one or two trusted men of yours,
Oldpapa, to see us to our proper destination.'

The baron bestowed a long, searching look on her. 'Isn't this a rather sudden change of heart, lass?'

She shrugged. 'A prerogative of queens, my lord.'

CHAPTER
TWELVE

'I hear something,’ Induna whispered. 'Very faint. It might be an owl or some animal crying out at a far distance. The mist is so dense now that I can't scry anything beyond a stone's throw away. Are you able to see farther?'

The invisible skiff with its two invisible passengers slowed to a halt. At this time of year, before the autumnal storms began in earnest and the great river rose, the marsh below Boarsden Castle was an expanse of partially dried-out flats on which grew head-high stands of rushes, sedge, and coarse grass, along with scattered copses of scrubby trees. Many of its countless ponds had turned into mudholes, and only the deepest creeks still held water. Deveron and Induna were following one of these twisted streams in an old skiff they had commandeered after dropping off Casabarela and Baron Ising at the encampment docks.

Recalling his unsettling experience with the Subtle Gateway sigil, Deveron had at first been wary about conjuring Concealer. Would the Lights once again show their disapproval of his intentions by pulling another near-lethal prank? Warning Induna to keep her distance, he had silently invoked the minor stone's sorcery - and vanished. Nothing
untoward had happened. He expanded the sphere of invisibility to enclose his wife and their bags, and bade Induna cling to his jerkin as he prowled the docks looking for a suitable boat. Deveron selected one that was shabby but sound, with no leaks, a shallow draft, and a very low freeboard. He left a silver mark tucked behind the cleat where it had been tied up - a grossly inflated price, considering the quality of the craft. Then he spoke the words that rendered it as invisible as its passengers, and they set off unseen to the place where Rusgann was held captive.

It was now about an hour after nightfall, and their progress had been reduced to a crawl due to the sudden rise of the mist. Both of them could see in the dark - a talent so trifling that it did not restrict the use of a second uncanny power -but the nearly opaque vapors limited their scrying ability to a distance of only five ells or so. This was just slightly beyond the radius of Concealer's invisibility spell. Deveron exerted his windsight to the utmost in an attempt to pierce the murk, but he was only minimally successful.

'I can see the stars overhead but little else.' He spoke low, realizing how sounds carried under these conditions. 'The fog is much thinner above us. We're traveling in the right direction and I'm certain this creek will take us to the area where Rusgann is. I oversaw the way earlier, when we were on the River Malle. But we dare not move too fast in this maze of waterways, lest we miss a turning and become lost or stuck in a quagmire. I'm also concerned about the Lord Constable possibly getting there ahead of us. There are other routes than this one from the castle to the fowler's blind.'

'Listen!' Induna whispered. 'There it goes again.' The second quavering shriek had a ventriloqual quality: it could have come from any direction and it was much louder than the first.

'Dear God, husband! That's no swamp creature. It's a woman in agony.'

He crouched in the stern of the rickety skiff, steering with the scull-oar while giving additional impetus with his talent. With all the other handicaps, invisibility made the task even more difficult; he himself could see neither the boat nor even his own body. Only his instincts and the faintly glimmering bow-wave enabled him to determine the position of the craft relative to the walls of vegetation encroaching on either side of the creek. In spite of his best efforts, they scraped against stems and spindly trunks again and again, making a considerable noise and flushing out sleeping geese and other waterfowl, which flew off squawking and splashing.

It made little difference, Deveron thought grimly. The pathetic moans and screams were becoming almost continuous, making it nigh on impossible for the torturers to notice their approach.

Induna was seated in the bow, hunched low, wincing at each new outcry. Forgetting that her husband could not see her, she began to wave her arms frantically just as they emerged from a thick reed-bed into the open black water of a sizable pond. The mist above it was torn by a breeze and floated like ragged swatches of gauze.

'Stop!' she called silently on the wind. 'This is the place. We've found them.'

Deveron halted the skiff. Faint golden ripples spread out from the indentation in the water's surface marking the position of the invisible craft. The scene was dimly illuminated by a lantern shining within a small structure resembling a crude hut that stood on the pond's opposite shore. Behind it rose an area of higher ground where four horses and a mule were tethered amidst a thicket of saplings. The fowler's blind was erected on pilings sunk in the water and connected
to the land by a short dock of log puncheons. The flimsy walls of wattled twigs and withes facing the water had arrow-slits in them rather than windows. A silhouetted form, moving with ominous purpose, could be seen through gaps between the woven sticks.

The sickening sounds of a lash meeting flesh mingled with heart-rending cries. Then, suddenly, the tormented woman fell silent.

A harsh male voice let out a furious curse. 'She only pretends to have fainted! Prick the sole of her foot with your dirk, Larus. That'll rouse the stubborn slut. You must make her talk!'

'Sir, there's no response. She's senseless again.'

'Damn it!' another voice exclaimed. 'Use that old bucket to throw water on her. Sir Asgar, get the smelling salts we brought with us. Trozo, untie her hands and lift her head. See if you can get some brandy down her gullet without choking her.'

'What are we to do?' Induna spoke soundlessly. 'I scry four men gathered about the poor soul, who lies on her back with her wrists and ankles tied to the slatted floor. Those -those arrant fiends have torn open her dress and beaten her breasts and upper body bloody. We know that yesterday they scourged her back. We've got to stop them before they start in again!'

'We will,' Deveron responded on the wind. 'Calm yourself and look closely at the place. Do you think its floor is high enough above the water so that our skiff will slip beneath with you inside?'

She hesitated. 'If I lie flat I can just make it. But I fear you will be too bulky to fit.'

'It matters not. Now this is what I want you to do . . .'

Moments later, the low-riding invisible boat's bow was nosed against one of the blind's outer pilings. The men inside
were arguing about whether it would be best to postpone the inquisition until the morrow. The voice Deveron now recognized as belonging to Lord Tinnis Catclaw resisted the suggestion.

'I must know tonight what message she carries. It's imperative! A certain person is due to arrive at the castle soon, and I must have the woman's information beforehand.'

Low mutterings ensued. Someone said, 'We should light the brazier then, my lord. It's plain that flogging hasn't worked.'

'Oh, very well,' Catclaw growled. 'Get on with it.' Deveron bespoke Induna: 'Are you lying well down?’

‘Yes.'

'When I'm four ells away from you, the sigil will be unable to render you invisible. There's little chance of anyone seeing you under the blind, but be very cautious. Remain in hiding until I say it's safe to come out. . . What I must now do will be messy and horrid, love, but you must be brave. For Rusgann's sake I dare not leave any of these men alive.'

'Must it be so?' she asked, her voice heavy with dread.

'In truth, I shrink at the prospect with all my soul. But merely rendering them unconscious before rescuing the woman will not serve. The Lord Constable is now a man whose own life is in grave danger. He's doomed if King Conrig discovers that he lied about killing Princess Maudrayne - and even worse, kept her as his lover. Catclaw's men are equally at risk as accessories. None of them can rest easy until they hunt down and slay Maude and anyone who has had contact with her.'

'And Prince Dyfrig, once he reads his mother's letter -'

'He, too, would know the constable's deadly secret. And there's another thing, Duna: if Dyfrig is the Sovereign I am to assist in the New Conflict, then no price is too great to ensure his safety. We are at war, my love. The men inside
that hut are the foes of the Source and the Likeminded Lights just as surely as the Salka are.'

She knew he had killed before, but always in self-defense. Now he would be forced to go against the Tarnian Healer Oath he had pronounced after being taught shaman arts by her mother Maris, and slay in cold blood as a soldier must.

'Deveron, have courage,' she said. 'Do what you must do.'

All he said was, 'Later, I may have great need of your comfort.'

The boat rocked as he slipped overboard without a sound and waded toward the shore through lingering wisps of fog. She peeped over the gunwale and her heart leapt into her mouth as she realized that in spite of the sigil's sorcery his presence was all too obvious in the lantern's betraying light. Where his legs entered the water were peculiar dark 'holes', and the yellow-glowing mist tendrils swirled unnaturally around the moving mass of his body, giving it a faint human outline. But no one emerged from the hut and saw him. A moment later all traces of Deveron were out of her sight.

Then it happened.

She froze in terror. For a brief instant she and the boat popped clearly into view, no longer invisible, lit by the narrow beams shining through the gaps in the wattle. Then, blessedly, Concealer's spell embraced them again.

With trembling hands she gripped the crudely hewn floor-joists and pulled the skiff beneath the blind with infinite slowness until it was positioned near the pathetic motionless body. Drops of bloody water dripped down from it. Through the cracks in the slatted duckboard floor Induna could see the brutes who had done the evil work. A nobleman dressed in a fine riding habit of midnight blue stood against one wall with folded arms and a scowl disfiguring his comely face. Two men-at-arms in mail shirts and hoods, whose livery bore the blazon of a wildcat's threatening paw, worked with
a
tinderbox at a rusty brazier. A fourth man, unarmored and wearing a knightly belt, stout of body and flushed with frustration, knelt beside the victim and ministered to her clumsily.

'My lord, the brandy runs from her lips,' this villain announced. 'She cannot swallow. If you wish us to continue, we'll have to wait until she comes around. Shall I cover her? It may hasten her revival if she's kept warm.'

'Oh, very well,' snapped the Lord Constable. 'Use her own cloak. And give that brandy flask to me. I need a drink worse than she does.'

'We'll warm her up soon enough!' said one of the warriors at the brazier, which had begun to smolder. His mate gave a coarse guffaw.

Induna's eyes filled with tears at the callous cruelty. How could human beings treat a helpless person so?

The duck blind's ramshackle door creaked slowly open. One of the warriors spun about with an oath. 'Who's there?'

An instant later, he crumpled with a bubbling cry, both hands clutching at his neck in a vain attempt to stanch the torrent of blood gushing from it.

Catclaw howled, 'On guard!' and drew his sword. But no enemy could be seen. The constable stood in helpless horror as the second warrior, who still knelt at the brazier, flung wide his arms and arched his head backward, exposing the bare throat above his mail hood. A gash opened miraculously like an additional gaping mouth, flooding the man's surcoat with scarlet, and he fell dying.