Sorcerer's Moon (74 page)

Vra-Erol said, 'I have a good idea who may be able to help us, Lord Constable.'

'Excellent!' said the Sovereign. His enthusiasm was clearly forced. 'All of you must now be on your way. Later, when my mind is clearer, I'll think about how best to use the sigils. I may even be able to discuss the matter with you all as we return to Direwold, using Sir Deveron as my windspeech communicator.'

The king's gaze lingered briefly on each person in the group, and even through his face was clouded by fatigue and pain, the others knew that he would brook no opposition. As he had told them at an earlier meeting,
he
was the Sovereign of Blenholme.

It was full dark by the time the leaders, the adepts, and their mounts left the frontier post and joined the torchlit proces sion of warriors heading back into Didion. When the Royal

Intelligencer closed the iron door on the last of them and barred it, Vra-Bramlow said to the king, 'Sire, will you have Coro and me make up a bed for you now?'

'No,' was the surprising reply. Conrig straightened from the drooping posture he had previously assumed and rose to his feet. 'I have no intention of sleeping. Nor am I quite so decrepit as I led you to believe. That was only a ruse to get rid of the others, whilst I do what I have now decided to do, without interference.'

He took the pouch of moonstones from its hiding place beneath his heavy clothing, opened it, and let the things pour slowly out onto one of the granite benches, chuckling at the astounded reaction of Corodon, Vra-Bramlow, and Deveron.

For the stones had changed.

The glow of the sigils, the empowering disk, and the two fragments of the Demon Seat Moon Crag no longer pulsated steadily or in unison. The throbbing of their magical heart beats now fluctuated wildly, as did their brilliance. The raw pieces of mineral seemed moribund, while the Great Stones shone stronger than ever; but brightest of all was the simple flat rondel framed in gold. The disk had become a veritable beacon, whose flashing beams lit up the farthest corners of the bleak chamber, seeming to magnify the intense cold with their awful promise.

Conrig said to Deveron, 'Does our new Royal Intelligencer know the history of the two uncarved pieces of moonstone?'

'Your sons told me where they came from, sire, as well as your plan to use Ice-Master to obtain more of the mineral. I understand that you intend to fashion numbers of new sigils and activate them with the disk.' He did not confess his appalled reaction to the scheme.

Conrig's expression was satisfied. 'That's all
right, then. If it
becomes necessary, you must assist my boys in the project.

Your own sigils will help defeat the efforts of the Zeth Brethren to put a stop to it. As they are certain to do.'

Deveron's mouth tightened, but he merely lowered his eyes, hoping the king would take it as a gesture of assent.

'Father -' Corodon began in an uneasy tone.

'Any questions must wait. Now listen to me, my sons. Since the deed I now contemplate may have a fatal outcome - as was the case with the unfortunate Salka commander -we must make provision for the future. For passing on ownership of these special sigils and the disk in case of my death.'

'Oh, no!' both of the princes exclaimed. But their faces showed differing emotions.

'Corodon, you are my rightful successor. Will you now swear to me that you will take up and use these stones in the defense of the Sovereignty if I'm unable to do so?'

The Prince Heritor took a step backward. His skin took on a sickly pallor and his eyes were wells of fear. 'Father, I - I -'

'Don't agree,' Bramlow said in a voice of steel. 'Don't do it, Coro. The vile things can bring nothing but disaster on our people, turning us from free human beings into minions of the Beaconfolk. The evil Lights tempted Father with sigil power and he gave in to them. You must not - whatever the cost.'

Conrig turned his attention to the novice Brother of Zeth. There was no anger in him, only a sort of offhanded surprise. 'So
you're
the one! The faceless traitor prince. Who would have thought it?'

Corodon's lips trembled and it seemed he might be wavering as he said to his older brother, 'But Bram, if the sigils are the only way to defeat the Salka . . .'

Vra-Bramlow addressed the Royal Intelligencer, who stood aside with his head bowed. 'Help me convince him, sir! You know I speak the truth.'

'He must decide for himself,' was the reply. Nevertheless, Deveron Austrey lifted the golden sigil-case from around his own neck and placed it beside the king's stones. 'But here and now I renounce use of my own moonstones and the high sorcery of the Beaconfolk.'

Conrig's jaw dropped and his face darkened with shock and fury. He took hold of Destroyer and pointed it at the impassive intelligencer. 'So you'd also forswear me, Snudge?'

'I remain loyal to the Sovereignty, sire, as I avowed when I returned to your service.'

A cruel smile lifted the corners of the king's mouth. 'I won't waste Destroyer's pain-debt on you. The Great Lights will crush you like a maggot. I'll see to it.'

'Perhaps not, for the Beaconfolk don't know my real name. I never told it to them, thanks to Red Ansel's warning. But I dare say they know who
you
are.'

'Bah!' growled the Sovereign. 'To hell with you . . . Coro! Are you my true son or not? Are you worthy to wear my Iron Crown, or are you craven like these others?'

Corodon's glance flickered. His breathing was audible and a single tear on his cheek sparkled in the uncanny beams of the disk. After a moment of anguished hesitation, he declared, 'Father, I'll activate and use your sigils if I must, when I am Sovereign.'

The novice turned away with a grunt of disgust but Conrig nodded in benign approbation. 'Watch what I do, Corodon. In the future, don't be afraid to emulate me if the need arises. Your Sovereignty will face many enemies, as mine has. Never give in.'

The Prince Heritor's stricken gaze was locked on the pulsating glow of the small wand. He stood mute.

The king lifted Destroyer high. 'It seems evident to me that we must surely go down to defeat in this conflict if we rely upon the tactics of conventional warfare. We know now
that the Salka possess a Destroyer. God only knows what other Great Stones they may also have in their arsenal - but that weapon alone is capable of ensuring their victory. I will not allow this to happen! Therefore, I now command this sigil to instantly annihilate every single Salka who threatens the Sovereignty of High Blenholme.’

‘Sire!' Deveron cried.

But the wand had already exploded into blinding Light, as did the tall figure of the king. The two princes and the Royal Intelligencer were thrown to the stone floor, covering their faces and crying out from the sudden agony in their seared eyes.

They clearly heard the voices speak the Sovereign's name.

CONRIG WINCANTOR! YOU ARE A CONSUMMATE FOOL. WE REPUDIATE YOU AND DECLARE YOU DAMNED, AS WE DID CONJURE-QUEEN TASPIROTH OF MOSS, WHO MADE THE SAME IMPIOUS REQUEST
OF HER OWN DESTROYER. HOW DARE YOU COMMAND THE DESTRUCTION OF OUR CREATURES - THOSE WHO ARE ESSENTIAL TO THE GAME? THE SALKA ARE IMPERFECT
BUT
THEY STILL BOW TO OUR RULE AND FREELY OFFER THEIR PAIN. THEY ARE MANY AND YOU ARE BUT
ONE. NOW ENDURE THE PUNISHMENT
YOU DESERVE. SUFFER LONG IN YOUR WRETCHED GROUNDLING BODY UNTIL YOUR SOUL BREAKS FORTH AND PLUMMETS INTO THE HELL OF ICE.

Deveron opened his eyes. He was still bedazzled and his vision was excruciatingly painful, for the chamber was alight as if with a million candles.

The Sovereign of Blenholme burned.

His tortured body writhed in uncanny fire that seemed to devour him from the inside. The bones that framed him and gave him human form dissolved slowly while his flesh endured and fed the flames. His skull was incandescent and becoming shapeless, surely incapable of any utterance; but
Deveron could see the mouth wide open and hear the king screaming in the wind. Screaming without ceasing.

The intelligencer recalled that Queen Taspiroth had lingered in such a state for two weeks. He saw the two stalwart young princes huddled together like terrified babes, their arms about each other, moaning and with their eyes tightly shut. But both of them possessed talent and both would hear their father's unbearable cries with the mind's ear. . .

'Source!' Deveron called out. 'There must be an end to this. Help us.'

Take the pieces of moonstone mineral, press them together, and declare your human race's peril and need.

He crept closer to the blazing king. No heat emanated from his melting form, only a cold as profound as that in the abyss between the stars. The sigils on the stone bench held no uncanny radiance; they were already dead. But when Deveron took hold of the pale rocks from Demon Seat and clutched them tightly in one hand, they were instantly suffused with warmth and shone with a steady luminosity.

He saw the tentative, kindly faces floating in darkness and sent his wind-borne plea: Mercy, for all of them.

The Likeminded Lights seemed surprised.
WE CANNOT
PREVENT
THIS KING'S DESCENT
INTO THE NIGHT
OF ICE, BUT
IT
IS POSSIBLE TO END HIS SOJOURN IN YOUR GROUND REALM.

The thing that had been Conrig Wincantor was extinguished abruptly, vanishing as if it had never existed. Destroyer lay on the rock floor, a small wand intricately incised with the phases of the moon, harmless.

'Thank you,' Deveron said.

WE HAVE SUMMONED THE HELPERS. THE DETESTABLE LINKAGE IS WEAKER. THIS IS ENCOURAGING.

The auroral images winked out and Deveron was left blind
for a few minutes. He was unable to summon his night-vision or even a finger-flame.

Then he saw an ordinary brass lamp hovering in mid-air, its burning wick casting a mundane radiance about the chamber. A plump arm in an olive-colored velvet sleeve materialized, holding the lamp, and then the rest of Thalassa Dru's stately form emerged from the subtle corridor, followed closely by the Green Woman.

Cray exclaimed, 'Oh, poor Grandson! Let me heal your wounded eyes.' The small woman knelt beside him and touched his forehead. His damaged vision cleared instantly. She went to give similar solace to Bramlow and Corodon, who sat apart on the bedrock floor in dazed silence, squinting through swollen lids.

Thalassa scooped up all of Conrig's defunct sigils and put them into her belt-wallet. The disk she wrapped in a lace-trimmed handkerchief and tucked into her bosom. Her round face was flushed with happiness. 'We'll take these to the Source at once. They'll set him free at last. I'm sure of it!'

'What about those two Demon Seat rocks?' Cray said. 'And the case with Deveron's sigils in it?'

Open the case, dear soul.

The intelligencer and the women froze. Corodon glanced about the chamber fearfully. 'Did you hear that?'

'It's the Source, Your Grace,' Deveron said. 'A friendly Light - like your demons.'

Cray handed over the owl-embossed little golden container. 'You'd better open this, Grandson.'

He unfastened the tiny latch and cried out in wonder. 'Gateway and Concealer are dead! Just like these five inactive sigils I recently took from Beynor's henchman. See?'

Cray and Thalassa studied the stones. 'Five more minor sigils?' The Green Woman was puzzled. 'Beynor must surely have known about them. Why didn't he keep them himself
and turn them over to King Conrig, along with the others? The disc could have empowered them -'

No, dear souls. Those minor sigils have been abolished by the Potency - the Stone of Stones. They can never channel power and pain again. Bring them to me along with those of the late king. They represent the first true victory for us in the New Conflict.

'We're on our way to release you from the Ice right now,' said Thalassa Dru. She began to close the owl-case, intending to take it with her.

Wait. Deveron, take back your Concealer and Subtle Gateway. Touch them to the Demon Seat rocks.

'But I've renounced sigil sorcery!'

Do it. The One Denied the Sky commands it.

With a small sigh, he obeyed. Subtle Gateway and Concealer rekindled, as did the pieces of raw mineral; but this time their radiance was a soft white. 'God's Blood! Have the
good
Lights empowered my sigils? For what reason?'

Because you have work to do - and so do Cray and Thalassa. Keep the two sigils and the pieces of Demon Seat, dear soul. I will tell you what to do with them shortly. Inform the human military leaders that the Salka no longer possess a Destroyer. When the one who used it rashly died, he dropped the inactive wand and it broke into pieces. It can never be mended.

'Bazekoy's Ballocks! Can it be true?'

But Deveron's question went unanswered. The Source had withdrawn.

Cray had helped the recovering Corodon and Bramlow to their feet. 'Grandson, take the new Sovereign of Blenholme and his Royal Alchymist down the mountain and present them to Earl Marshal Parlian Beorbrook, Prince Dyfrig, and your dear wife.'

'I'm not worthy to be Sovereign,' Corodon protested. His countenance was full of shame. ‘I have secret talent, as my father did. And I was willing to do as he asked: use
Beaconfolk sorcery even though I knew in my heart it was wrong.'

Conjure-Princess Thalassa said, 'And if I placed those inactive sigils and the empowering disk into your hands this minute, would you ask the Coldlight Army to bring them to life?'

'Never,' he whispered in a voice full of loathing. 'I'd rather the demons struck me dead!'

Cray laughed and patted his shoulder. 'There, dear. It will all go well. We know you're a different man from King Conrig.'

'All the same,' Coro said, 'I'm not fit to be Sovereign nor to command the army - even though the monsters no longer have a Destroyer. I'm too young and scatterbrained. I can use a sword well enough, but I'm no leader of men. You know that full well, lady, and so do the generals.'