Sorcerer's Moon (42 page)

It also needs Prince Dyfrig. The Source has assured me of that. You must find a way to disarm Conrig's hostility towards the young man.

'I'll try, but it won't be easy. I made a bad mistake, urging the king to take Dyfrig as one of his field commanders. The lad's proper place is at the side of his adoptive father, Earl Marshal Parlian. I'll propose that to Con tomorrow. It should calm him down. If you can give me any other advice on dealing with his irrational moods, I'd appreciate it, It would be disastrous to army morale if the High King showed mental instability.'

Take heart, my son. The Source has promised help to the Sovereign of Blenholme in battling the Salka monsters. As for Conrig's night terrors, I believe everything will be forgotten by morning. But his true cure can only come about when the dream invasions cease.

'Lady,' Stergos gasped, 'are you telling me I must kill Beynor?'

I doubt that you are able, my dear son. But there are others who may have sufficient power. What you can do is urge your brother the king to send my evil nephew away. Far away. The closer Beynor is to the Sovereign, the greater his nefarious influence will be.

'I'll do my utmost. Con is rightfully leery of Beynor. It shouldn't be difficult to make certain that the Conjure-King doesn't accompany the army when it marches to its new staging areas . . . But tell me more of how the Source intends to aid our fight against the Salka horde.'

How that help will be expressed is unknown to me. There are two things I can tell you, however. First, Prince Dyfrig will play a decisive part in the war; Conrig must not be allowed to harm him. Second, Deveron Austrey, the former Royal Intelligencer, has been sent to you as the Source's agent. He will appear shortly. Trust his advice.

'Snudge! Great Zeth, I haven't thought about him in years.' Stergos paused for a moment. ‘I don't-know how the king will react to his resurfacing. There's still a price on Deveron's head.'

Then keep his presence a secret from your brother until a propitious moment presents itself. With the commotion of the army's march
that should not be difficult. And now, my son, it's time that both of us were in our beds. Farewell. 'Farewell, Conjure-Princess.'

The windthread snapped and Stergos rose from his chair by the fire and padded slowly toward his own bed. The effort of bespeaking at a far distance compounded the deep weariness already oppressing him, but his mind still roiled with disturbing thoughts.

Thalassa Dru's opinion that Conrig's irrational fear of Dyfrig would be forgotten with the dawn struck Stergos as wishful and facile. The alchymist had not missed his royal brother's ominous reaction to the prospect of Dyfrig being acclaimed as a hero. The king was plainly furious that the so-called 'bastard' would be lionized by the military and the court, while Prince Heritor Corodon was still regarded as a subject of derision after being rejected by Hyndry.

A sudden thought struck him and he groaned aloud. Why hadn't he remembered to tell Thalassa about the two chunks of moonstone mineral brought from Demon Seat by Coro?

'What a fool I am,' he said. 'I'll have to bespeak her again tomorrow.'

He climbed under the covers, blew out the candles on the bedside stand, and settled in. He'd also have to tell the sorceress about Dyfrig's dragon-sighting, another matter that had slipped his mind.

What a curious thing that was! And the creature speaking of some mysterious woman who'd urged the Morass Worms to band together and fight the invading Salka . . . who in the world could it have been? Cray the Green Woman? Or perhaps Thalassa herself?

He'd have to ask her.

* * *

Eminent Warrior Ugusawnn! Please respond to Commander Tasatawnn.

'I'm here. What do you have to report?'

Our force lies at rest for the night, well out to sea from the bay holding the human settlement of Warm Harbor. We've made exceptional time, and the human fleet that pursues us is nearly becalmed in the waters above the Lavalands.

'Excellent news, Tasatawnn. My commendation to you and your warriors. Do you wish to revise your time of arrival at Terminal Bay?'

There is a storm approaching Cape Wolf, but it will have little effect on our progress. We might arrive at our destination in as little as seven days. This is four days ahead of our original fourteen-day schedule.

'Remarkable!'

May I enquire, Eminent One, how the reinforcement group of young fighters is coming along? The spell shielding their movements from oversight is so efficient that we're unable to scry them.

'They're moving a bit slower than you, having to keep well away from the island's shipping lanes. Regrettably, some of the immatures have had to turn back because of failing stamina. We must probably expect the rest to take the full two weeks getting there. But it shouldn't be a serious problem. We never expected the trainees to join in the initial battles.'

How many youngsters remain in the secondary force?

'More than twenty thousand all told, many with minor sigils newly acquired from the Great Fen Salka population. There will be ample numbers to secure Terminal Bay after the regulars press inland. I still plan to lead you in the first assault myself, Tasatawnn, traveling to the scene of action by means of our new Subtle Gateway sigil. Work on it is proceeding well, as is the manufacture of the Destroyer, which I'll bring with me.'

Will you wield that awesome weapon yourself, Eminence?

'Perhaps, if I'm not seriously disabled by use of Gateway.

If that should happen, another might be chosen to bond with Destroyer. There are also .. . other considerations that might preclude my own use of the Great Stone.

Ah. You mean the potential peril to the wielder.

'Exactly.'

Well, we should have no dearth of patriotic volunteers amongst my staff officers, Eminence.

'No. Of course not. Sleep well now, commander, and dream of the glorious victory to come.'

Good night, Eminence. Until we share the wind again.

CHAPTER
THIRTEEN

Tormo and Durin Kyle, the young cousins of Countess Morilye, were handsome youths with freckled faces, sandy hair, and a shy demeanor. They were struck dumb when she introduced them to Maudrayne. Even attired in a household knight's riding garb, booted and spurred, with her auburn hair concealed by a capuchon hood, she was a magnificent sight.

It was nearly dawn and a light drizzle was falling. The murky cobblestone ward of Beorbrook Hold was torchlit, and black puddles with golden reflections gleamed everywhere. Maudrayne and the youths stood with the countess in the shelter of the stable porch with baggage at their feet, waiting for their horses to be led out.

'Now, then, lads!' Morilye spoke briskly. 'From now on, you must address this noble lady as Sir Maydal. He is a knight on his way to join his lord, Earl Marshal Parlian. You are his armigers.'

'Yes, my lady!' the boys chorused. Tormo, the elder at sixteen years, stuttered, 'B-but who will believe she's a man? She's too beautiful!'

Maudrayne laughed. 'When my face is filthy from riding
the muddy highroad to Great Pass, no one will look twice at me. But you and your brother must take care not to give me away inadvertently.'

'We'd never do that, my lady,' Durin protested.

'Messire,' Maude corrected him firmly. 'You must call me messire or Sir Maydal. My life is in your hands, boys. Never forget that.'

'No . . . messire,' Tormo said. 'The countess has explained that you are on a mission of great importance, and evil men would kill you if they could. We will defend you to the death, Durin and I.'

'Yes indeed, messire!' Durin exclaimed, his face solemn.

'Thank you.' Maude took the hand of one lad after the other and gave each a quick embrace. They were sturdy young fellows, not quite as tall as her own five foot eleven. 'I wish I could confide more to you, but my true identity must remain a secret for now. As for defending me, let us hope it won't come to that. But if we are forced to fight, be assured that I am not unfamiliar with weapons. I've killed stag, wild boar, and even a brown bear with my own hands. I'm Tarnian, as you are, and no cowering court damosel.'

'Here are the ostlers with your mounts,' the countess said. 'Lads, strap Sir Maydal's armor and saddlebags in place. Then you must be off to Castlemont.' As the armigers complied, she and Maude stepped aside for a final word. 'The news we received this morn, that the Army of the Sovereignty will not demobilize after all, has Beorbrook Hold in a furor.' Morilye spoke in a whisper. 'Every able-bodied warrior and yeoman in the borderlands, even the very young and very old, is likely to be called to arms this day because of the new Salka threat. We're still awaiting the final word from the earl marshal's windspeaker, but it's possible the army might march out of the Boarsden encampment as early as tomorrow. All manner of rough characters will soon be on the road. You
and my cousins should be safely ahead of most of them -but take care, Maude.' She pressed a heavy purse into the other woman's hand. 'Here, take this. No argument! You'll need it, and you'll have no easy way to sell your jewelry for what it's worth in the small towns up north.'

'Dear Morilye. Thank you from the bottom of my heart. We'll take every precaution and move as quickly as we can. Comfort poor little Chelaire. She'll be devastated when she wakes and discovers that I've gone.'

'Don't worry. I'll find a good place in my household for the brave child.'

Maudrayne's face within her hood was pale. 'Then farewell, my dear friend. Pray for me. The thing that I must now do is hard ... so very hard. I will see that your young cousins are kept safe - as safe as armigers can be in wartime
-
but my intuition tells me that we two will not meet again.' She turned away and swung into the saddle. Tormo and Durin were already mounted. 'Farewell.'

Morilye lifted a hand as the three urged their horses toward the Hold's massive gatehouse. 'Farewell, my queen,' she said softly. 'God grant you success. And peace at long last.'

* * *

Conrig broke his fast rather late that morning, at the ninth hour, but the Lord of Chamber made no comment about it
-
nor about the unorthodox royal sleeping arrangement -
and served the meal in serene silence. After tossing down the restorative potion which Stergos had discreetly provided for his pounding head, the Sovereign ate coddled eggs on muffins and drank unhopped wheat beer, warmed and with a modicum of ginger.

Touching his lips with a linen square, he finally sat back with a sigh. 'I feel better now, Telifar. Clear the table. I'll receive the morning's visitors right here.'

'Very good, Your Grace. The Royal Alchymist and Prince Dyfrig have been waiting in the anteroom for some time.’

‘Have them shown in.'

Footmen scurried about tidying up, and drew two more chairs to the table near the tower window.

When the visitors entered, the High King spoke greetings in a forced, hearty tone. 'Good morrow! Sit you down, both of you. Now then! First of all, I want to hear about the dragon.'

The prince bobbed his head with a nervous smile, unwrapped a small parcel he had tucked in his jerkin, and handed over the yellowish crystalline tooth. 'My liege, this is the clue that first convinced me that our guide told the truth about our being shadowed by Morass Worms. You may keep it, of course.'

'Bazekoy's Brains! Look at the size of it!' Conrig peered closely at the glittering spike. 'Bit of the root, too, I see.'

'It was found broken off in the carcass of a large brown bear,' Dyfrig said. 'When our party's windspeaker, Vra-Odos, bespoke Lord Stergos news of the Salka retreat, we could only conjecture that the tooth belonged to a great worm, as our guide had insisted. But not long afterward, while we were on our way out of the morass, the fact of the creatures' existence was confirmed in a rather amazing way.'

He described how he had been awoken in the night by Morass Worms invading their campsite. 'It was not a dream, Your Grace. The three terrible beings were real. Their leader stood only a few ells away from me. He was at least twice the height of a man, in appearance very like the dragons of legend, save without the wings and not covered in scales. He spoke to my mind, not my ears. And what he said -' the prince shook his head in bewilderment '- I confess that I hardly understood. It appears that some woman told the
Morass Worms how to band together and attack the Salka most effectively.'

'Did the creature name her?'

'Nay, but when I told Lord Stergos the tale last night, he suggested it might have been a great sorceress called Thalassa Dru -'

The Royal Alchymist interrupted the prince. 'As you know, she is the sister of the late Conjure-King Linndal of Moss, but no friend of his nor of her nephew Beynor. I. . . became acquainted with Thalassa recently through the good offices of the Tarnian shamans, who esteem her as a mentor and friend.'

Conrig frowned in disapproval. 'A Mosslander witch? Why didn't you tell me you consulted her?'

'There was no reason to, Brother. She and I discussed Salka sorcery, but she had no useful new information to share. And she is not the woman who advised the Morass Worms on military tactics. I bespoke her this morning and asked her. She said she knows nothing at all about any such person.'

'Hmph!' snorted the king. 'Probably lied through her teeth.' He turned to Dyfrig. 'Did your dragon say anything further about the female tactician?'

'Only that she promised humanity would allow the Morass Worms to live in peace, in gratitude for their expulsion of the Salka. The creature then ordered us to leave its territory and never return.'

Conrig shrugged. 'Fair enough. When your windspeaker first told, me of the brutes' existence, I was afraid we'd have to battle them as well as the Salka.'

'Oh, no, sire,' Dyfrig said. 'All the worms want is the Green Morass. Their leader also spoke of certain other things I could not understand.' He gave Stergos an apologetic smile. 'I neglected to tell you of this last night, my lord. Forgive me . . . The worm cursed the Great Lights, who use sigil sorcery. He
said something about pain and power. And he also spoke of a New Conflict. But none of this meant anything to me.'