“You never told me that.” Conrig looked at Snudge narrowly,
For good reason, Snudge thought. There was more to the brief activation process as well, which he would never divulge to the king. “It slipped my mind, sire. And of course I was forced to give the little book to Ansel Pikan shortly after I took it.”
“God only knows what he might have done with it! You and Stergos were both fools not to have kept it safe.”
Snudge said nothing. The Royal Alchymist would have destroyed both the book and the Concealer if he had been able to. He believed their magic to be inherently evil and corrupting to the user. Belatedly, Snudge had come to the same conclusion. For this reason he had hidden Concealer away after the Battle of Mallmouth Bridge, telling the king it was lost in the fray. He had not attempted to use it since.
Conrig’s brief flash of anger vanished and he smiled. “Ignore my ill temper. I fret about my poor brother. Although the leeches say he’ll recover, he will carry terrible scars.“
“Then his sight was spared? I was afraid—”
“God be thanked, his vision is normal in spite of the burns about his eyes.” Conrig poured amber malt liquor into his favorite cup, which was silver with a gold-lined bowl and a great amethyst set into the stem as a talisman against poison. “Will you drink with me?”
“I thank you, sire.” Snudge took a crystal goblet from a sideboard and accepted a small amount of the spirits.
“Please be seated,” Conrig said. Both of them tasted the malt, which was smooth and fiery. “I have a mission for you, one that will take you far from Cathra.” He held up his hand as Snudge attempted to speak. “No, it has nothing to do with the pursuit of the thieves, although it may be possible for you to join the hunt for them as you journey north on this other matter. I already have three thousand men searching for the fugitives, and pictures of them provided by Vra-Edzal were transmitted by wind hours ago to every corner of Cathra. By tomorrow, the local adepts will have drawn up numbers of posters with images of the two rogue Brothers and nailed them up in every city and town.”
Snudge nodded and waited.
Conrig said, “As for this special assignment: there is no other person I can entrust it to, for it involves a challenge to my own perilous secret.”
“Your talent.”
“Aye, my accursed talent, that would deny me my Crown of Sovereignty—”
“And perhaps give it to Duke Feribor,” Snudge blurted, “unless the Queen’s Grace should be delivered of a normal-minded son.”
Conrig sighed. “She carries a normal child, but it is a girl. Queen Ullanoth was kind enough to confirm this fact for me.”
Snudge lowered his eyes at the disappointing news.
“At yesterday’s feast,” the king went on, “the earl marshal told me of a very disturbing rumor that apparently circulates in northwestern Tarn among the local fishermen. It popped up only recently, and its gist is that my first wife may still be alive.”
“Sire, that can’t be!” Snudge exclaimed. “I windsearched for Princess Maudrayne myself when she flung herself from the parapet at Eagleroost—and for months thereafter. The Brothers of Zeth also combined their talents to sweep the entire island for traces of her. So did the Conjure-Queen, using her Great Stone Subtle Loophole.”
“Ansel’s sorcery probably could have concealed Maude from all of you with ease. Tarnian shamans are the most powerful natural talents in the world. Consider also the disturbing fact that her personal maid Rusgann Moorcock unaccountably vanished without a trace. The woman was devoted to Maude, as if she were her own sister… And there’s worse, which I’ve never confided to you.” He took a deep pull of the malt liquor and hesitated.
“Your Grace?”
“Ah, shite,” muttered the king. “You must know. Stergos and I found Maude’s diary. In it, she wrote that she knew of my talent and would not hesitate to expose it if I persisted in my amorous attachment to the Conjure-Queen. She also wrote that she had told Ansel my secret. And the diary held still another surprise: Maude was pregnant with my child.”
“Great God! And yet she said naught to you!” Snudge was both baffled and horrified. “She signed the bill of divorcement. And was willing to take her own life and that of the unborn babe…”
“A woman of fierce Tarnian passions. How we once loved one another, Snudge! But for six years it seemed she could not conceive, and the shame of it made her anxious and short-tempered. Meanwhile, I was absorbed in the struggle with my late father and the Privy Council, and had small time for the loving attentions that such a high-spirited woman demands of her mate.”
Snudge had only taken a few sips from his goblet, but he now downed a generous swig. A sense of foreboding had begun to grip his heart. He knew Conrig’s terrible dilemma concerning Maude and the child—and feared what his own role might be in its resolution.
The king said, “The Princess Dowager is capable of a hatred as deep as her love once was. If she lives, and if her child lives and is a son, he is my legitimate successor. He was conceived in wedlock. The divorce is irrelevant. Add to this Maude’s knowledge of my talent—” He shook his head, tossed down the last of his drink, and refilled the cup.
Snudge said, “You wish me to go to Tarn and find out the truth. But that may be impossible, if she’s protected by Ansel’s sorcery. Even though my wind-searching talent is considerable, it has limitations that I’m only beginning to understand. I met Red Ansel Pikan and he’s more powerful than I can ever hope to be. Furthermore, he’s in league with some supernatural entity he calls his Source, who guides him like a puppet. We know so little of the shamans of Tarn, sire! They’re said to be directly descended from the Green Men, who shared this island with other inhuman monsters before Bazekoy’s conquest—”
“Anent that point, let me tell you something else you may not know!” the king hissed. “Green blood also taints thee and me, Deveron Austrey—and every human being possessed of talent, for this is how our magical abilities were instilled in us!”
“Oh, sire—”
“But that matters naught. The only important thing is that you find Maude and her babe—if they do live—before their existence is revealed to the world. And when you find them, do what must be done to protect me and my Sovereignty from the danger they pose.”
Snudge held the king’s gaze. “You wish me to slay them.”
“I did not say that. If you’re able to eliminate their threat in another way, then do so. You are my sworn man, Deveron Austrey. Do you accept this charge?”
Snudge set his unfinished drink on the polished wood of the royal desk and rose to his feet. “I will carry it out as best I can, Your Grace.”
“That’s no answer.” Conrig’s voice was low and harsh.
“It’s mine, sire.”
Their eyes remained locked, but the Sovereign of Blenholme was the one who finally blinked and looked away. “I fear her more than Kilian and Beynor,” he whispered, “more than Ullanoth, more than all the scheming rebels of Did-ion and Tarn and the Southern Shore combined.”
“I know. Let me see what I can do.”
Conrig sat still, staring at nothing. Then he gave a small start and seemed to pull himself together. When he spoke it was with his usual forcefulness. Tomorrow, seek out Parlian Beorbrook and tell him your mission. I trust the earl marshal absolutely—as must you, since he also knows of your talent. Ask his advice. He understands the barbarians of the north country better than any man in Cathra, since he and his family have defended our border against them for nearly three hundred years. He may be able to lend you guides from his troop of Mountain Swordsmen to assist your penetration of Tarn. Whatever else you need, you shall have.“
“I desire that my friend Sir Gavlok Whitfell may accompany me on this mission, along with our armigers and Vra-Mattis, my apprentice windvoice. Gavlok and Mattis, at least, must know at the outset that we seek Maude and her child. The squires can be kept in ignorance until we reach Tarn. Since Lord Stergos i
s too ill to receive windspeech from me or Mat, I recommend that Vra-Sulkorig, the Keeper of Arcana, relay messages in his place. He will also have to be taken into your confidence—at least partially.”
“Very well, but none of these people must ever know of my talent, even though we have to tell them about yours. The danger posed by a son of Maude to the Cathran succession is sufficient justification for your search.”
“I’ll be prudent when reporting, sire.”
“As you make your way north, I also desire you to windsearch for the two thieves. Your natural ability along that line is probably greater than that of anyone else in Cathra.”
“But Cathra is a large nation,” Snudge protested, “and we can’t be sure which route the two outlaws have taken. If they head directly to Zeth Abbey and Kilian, I might have a chance of scrying them out. But perhaps they went in some other direction entirely, or even escaped in a ship. They might be under orders to hide the trove in some remote spot where Kilian will retrieve it later.”
“Let’s hope not,” the king said, looking glumly into his cup.
“Your Grace, you must think about the wisdom of asking Queen Ullanoth for help. There’s danger—but if she finds the two men with her Loophole, you can send pursuers straight to them. You don’t have to tell her what the villains stole—only that they attempted to kill Lord Stergos. As soon as the trove is located, it must be destroyed. This is the only safe course. Lord Stergos knows it, and so do you. Inactive moonstones can be crushed without danger and rendered useless. We may presume that the book medallions can be destroyed in a similar manner, and the pages burned.”
Conrig groaned at the prospect, and Snudge knew that his niggling suspicions about the king were correct. He still toyed with the notion of using the things himself.
“I must think about what to do,” Conrig said. “If Ulla somehow seizes the trove…”
“That’s why the stones must be smashed and the books burned, sire,” Snudge emphasized. “To keep them from her, from Kilian, and from Beynor.”
“Yet I must be sure in my mind that I’ve made the right decision. I’ll take one more day to think on it further, for I’m so weary now that my wits fail me. Leave here tomorrow at an early hour, but only after conferring with Earl Marshal Parlian. Travel to Tarn via the Great North Road and the Wold Road through Frost Pass. Break your first day’s journey at Teme, and I will then tell you my decision about consulting Ullanoth. You may go now.”
Snudge bowed. “Very well, sire.” He turned and started for the door.
“One final thing,” the king said. “I know you told me that your Concealer sigil was lost. I’m also aware of your deep misgivings about moonstone magic. But if it should happen that your sigil were found… I’d be most grateful if you’d use it once again in my service.”
Snudge stiffened, but he refrained from turning back to meet the king’s eyes. “I doubt it will ever be found, Your Grace. But be assured I’ll do everything in my power to carry out my duties faithfully.”
Chapter Six
The darkness was not absolute. The outcroppings of frost mottling the cave walls had a faint glow, and the auras of the three visitors outlined their subtle bodies in dim colors that changed with the fluctuation of their emotions.
He himself was visible only by reflected light, a shapeless, eyeless hulk chained to the rocks with gemlike fetters of bright blue-glowing ice. His enemies had forced him to retain the Salka form he had assumed during the Old Conflict, since it was capable of physical suffering. And so he had suffered in both body and spirit for over a thousand years, while denied the sky.
But the foe could not take away his great oversight or his voice, which kept hope alive as one helper after another failed in strength or was struck down. These latest three souls were among the best he’d ever found. He’d cherished them specially and sustained their human fragility while they implemented his instructions. Because now, after what had seemed an interminable series of failures and setbacks, it seemed that there was a real chance he might finally succeed in severing the unnatural link between the Sky Realm and the groundlings.
Did you bring the small book?
“It’s here.” Ansel drew the ancient volume from his belt-wallet and set it down on the rime-encrusted cavern floor. The disk of moonstone fastened to its crumbling leather cover was lifeless, but still capable of drawing down the power of the foe. “There remain the two books hidden in Gala Palace, Rothbannon’s transcription from the Salka archives, and the archival tablets themselves, sequestered in the vaults of the Dawntide Citadel.”
Thalassa Dru, have you brought contributions from the Green Men and the Worms of the Morass?
“I have only a few this time, unfortunately, and all of the lesser sort.” She emptied a pouch containing a dozen dead moonstone carvings onto the floor next to the book.
Still, this is a worthy effort. Every stone that is obliterated weakens the link… And you, my dear Dobnelu. What do you have?
“I have gleaned three minor stones from the sea. And this, which one of my friendly wolves discovered deep in the wilderness of the Stormlands and brought to me.” The hag tossed the lesser sigils onto the heap, but the fourth she held up before the featureless dark face of the One Denied the Sky. It was a small wand carved from pale stone, covered with minute lunar symbols. “I’ve never seen one of these, Source, but I believe it to be a Destroyer, perhaps a relic of the Barren Lands phase of the Old Conflict.”
Ah! So it is! Blessings be upon you, Dobnelu, for ridding the world of one of the most evil of the Great Stones, and thus confounding the Pain-Eaters. My souls, you have all done very well. Now shield your eyes, while I unite with the Likeminded and dispose of these abominations.
The humans pressed their hands to their faces. A dazzling burst of light illuminated the enchained hulk of the One Denied the Sky for an instant. Then the cave was restored to its former state of tenebrous gloom. The book and the sigils were gone, as usually happened. But something else had occurred that caused the auras of the three humans to flare amber and sea-green with surprise.
“Your chains,” Ansel exclaimed.
The two women echoed him in a wondering chorus. “Your chains!”
The blazing sapphire color of the transparent ice manacles pulsed and then slowly faded, as though the links were being filmed over with grime. After a moment the internal luminescence once again increased, but it was significantly duller than before.
“Their radiance diminishes,” Ansel breathed, hardly daring to believe it. “Can it be that their strength also grows less?”
“Are you still tightly shackled?” Thalassa Dru asked.
The huge form shifted, straining at the links, but to no avail.
Alas, my souls. I’m held fast, as always.
“But this must mean something,” Ansel said.
True. I think it’s necessary that I consult immediately with the Likeminded about this strange occurrence. Forgive me, but we must forgo our usual hours of meditation and discussion. Perhaps when you come to me the next time, I’ll know more… Dear souls, I thank you for once again enduring the ordeal of crossing. Now return to your own world.
“Farewell,” said Thalassa Dru, and vanished.
“Farewell,” said Dobnelu the sea-hag. But instead of disappearing, her fragile form staggered as if from a blow, and her aura flared violet and flame-red, betraying sudden fear. “I cannot go back! The way is closed to me. Why? Source, what has happened?”
Ansel opened his arms to her and embraced her, while gazing at the Source with stunned disbelief. His own corona had dimmed and reddened.
The thing manacled by ice stirred, and its utterance was full of sorrow. I did not see it happening! I was distracted. Oh, my poor dear Dobnelu! Your entranced body has died.
The violet of her aura deepened and she spoke in a tremulous wail. “While my subtle body remains alive… trapped here in this netherworld beneath the ice cap? Oh, heaven help me! I didn’t thi
nk such a thing was possible.”
“It isn’t,” Ansel said. His face was now a raging furnace. “Unless the death wasn’t natural. Source! Have the Pain-Eaters done this?”
No. Now I perceive the truth. Share my envisioning, souls.
“Good God—and the miserable maggot laughs about it!” The High Shaman of Tarn held the old woman tighter, clenching his teeth to forestall a volley of curses at their bad luck. His fury burned, drowning the crone’s emanation of stark terror. “One of Blind Bozuk’s damnable charms allowed this to happen, Dobnelu. I saw the thing clearly, hanging about the stripling’s neck. Both Bozuk and the murderer will pay for this.”
“What will happen to me?” The hag moaned.
Don’t despair, dear soul. There is a remedy, although it will not be easy to employ. Ansel, you must go to the steading as quickly as possible—in your physical body, of course. This is not an occasion for subtlety.
“I left my boat anchored in the lee of Cape Wolf. It won’t take long for me to get to the fjord. But are Maude and the child in danger as well?”
Not from him … Go now. Bring the body-husk back to me, and be very cautious during the crossing so that it is not lost.
He nodded, released Dobnelu from his embrace, and vanished.
She stood there forlornly. What remained of her aura was so dull a purple as to be nearly brown. “It seems colder. And I suddenly feel very tired. May I be seated, Source?