The titanic laughter of Orogastus sounded among the constant thud of explosions. The outside air coming through Tolo’s port was icy cold and he hugged himself to keep from shivering too badly. But he never for a moment considered going back to bed, or even leaving his post long enough to get a blanket to wrap himself in.
For a time that seemed endless to the little Prince, the sea-battle continued. In the east, the sky began to brighten. And then, beyond a doubt prompted by some magical command of Orogastus, the pirates abruptly changed their tactics. The galleys disengaged from their limping opponents and their oars began to churn. Tolo’s sharp ears picked up the increasing rhythm of the flagship’s oar-drums. Lashed by their overseers, the Raktumian galley slaves now put forth a great effort that sent the seventy-four ships of the armada racing away at top speed from the battle scene in the coastal waters, heading for the entrance to Derorguila harbor.
The heavy triremes leading the way used their armored bows to smash through the inadequate blockade of enchained small boats that had been strung across the harbor entrance. Magical weapons made short work of any counteraction from the outer harbor defenses. Tolo saw no sign of any opposing magic from the Archimage Haramis. With oars splashing and banners flying, the invasion force advanced upon the capital of Laboruwenda without a single enemy ship to stop it.
The sun was beginning to rise. The fortified palace, with bulky Zotopanion Keep at its heart and tiny dots of fire on its battlements, was silhouetted against a sky colored purple and crimson. The docks, the streets leading down to them, and the city buildings were mantled in snow tinged pink by the dawn. Thin filaments of smoke rose vertically in the morning calm from some of the wharf structures. In the inner basin, surrounded on three sides by land, the frigid air’s meeting with the warmer sea had enshrouded the surface of the water in a thick blanket of mist. It looked as though the Raktumian fleet plowed through cloud as it moved landward. When the triremes got within range of the catapults set up along the shore, they shot off a torrential bombardment of yellow, blue, and scarlet ball-lightning from the weapons of the Vanished Ones.
But this time the deadly meteors never reached their targets. As the watching Prince cried out in wonderment, hovering mist gathered itself together to form a huge hand. Glowing faintly from the reflection of the blazing missiles, it swept away the fireballs like a weary person dispersing a pesky cloud of insects. More balls of colored light flew, and the protective hand lashed out again, flinging them high into the air, where they eventually winked out.
Now the mist around the advancing Raktumian fleet surged and billowed as though other ghostly hands would arise from it at any moment. The voice of the Archimage boomed out:
Go back, Raktumians! Leave the harbor before it is too late!
Orogastus’s reply was condescending: What kind of a silly spectacle is this, Archimage? Do you think to repel us with child’s play? We know you have just subjected us to an illusion! Our missiles landed on shore and did great damage. Your gigantic hand is only a phantom. You cannot harm us at all! And he laughed.
The voice of Haramis now seemed tinged with desperation. If you do not turn back, sorcerer, you and all your followers will meet an unspeakable doom!
Really? Orogastus inquired with arch skepticism. Tell me this, Archimage: If you are so powerful, why do you not turn our own missiles back upon us? Why do you not burn our ships with astral fire, or raise up rocks to tear holes in our hulls, or conjure a tidal wave to drown us all?… I know why! It is because you are unable deliberately to inflict death or even injury upon a living person! A little red book told me this, together with many other secrets.
Again his laughter rolled over the water. Then he said in harsher tones:
We will waste no more time chaffing with you! Our valiant troops are impatient to come ashore—
Tolo gasped. Suddenly, the entire league-long expanse of the city waterfront seemed to burst into a wall of flame taller than the tallest building.
Orogastus spoke in a chiding tone:
Poor Archimage! Do you think the men of Tuzamen and Raktum are frightened by this pathetic trick? Are we Oddlings who cringe before will-o’-the-wisps? No! We know full well that your pretty display cannot harm us. Nor will we falter should you conjure up slavering Skritek hordes, or barriers of thorn-fern, or imaginary avalanches. We will forge ahead to the palace, killing all who stand in our way … but you dare not kill us! You dare not! Admit it!
There was no reply. The flames winked out. For the time being, at least, it appeared that the Archimage had withdrawn in defeat.
Now the Raktumian flagship moved majestically toward the main anchorage, escorted by the other triremes. Tolo was trying vainly to see whether any soldiers were waiting onshore when the door to his cabin was flung open.
The burly Yellow Voice stood there. His eyes shone like stars and he spoke in the commanding tones of Orogastus himself: “Prince Tolivar! I have need of you. Dress in the royal attire that my Yellow Voice brings you, and then join me at once on the flagship quarterdeck.”
“Y-yes, Master.” Almost fainting with shock, the boy came down from the stool. He had not seen this particular manifestation of the sorcerer’s power since that day long ago (or was it so long ago?) in the Windlorn Isles when he had chosen to go with the Black Voice rather than with Mother. What a stupid blockhead he had been! Mother … Father … they were going to be killed. And this time it would not be a dream.
The magical light in the Voice’s eyes winked out. When Tolo made no move to doff his nightshirt, the minion spoke in his customary peevish accents: “Well, don’t stand there like a besotted night-caroler getting ready to serenade the Three Moons! Come here. Must I clothe you like an infant?”
“No,” Tolo said. But aside from his shivering he was as inert as a doll, lifting one arm and then the other, one leg and then the other, while the sorcerer’s grumbling assistant put a golden suit upon him and then a rich sky-blue velvet robe. A jeweled baldric went over one shoulder, and from it hung an equally gem-studded scabbard in which was a small royal sword having a ruby hilt. How Tolo had once coveted such a sword! But now that he had it, he would have traded it in a trice to be free, back with his parents and his brother and sister.
Around the Prince’s neck the Yellow Voice placed a miniature replica of the King’s Chain of Labornok, links of gold having what seemed to be great diamonds inset within, and hanging from it a pendant of black-enameled gold in the shape of a trillium. Finally the Voice opened a wash-leather bag and took from it a crown. It was a duplicate, except for being smaller in size, of his mother’s magnificent Queen’s Crown of Ruwenda. Seeing it closely, Tolo noticed that the drop of amber forming the finial had no fossil Black Trillium within, and the sparkle of the gems was dull. Were they false?
“Put it on, boy!” the Voice snapped. “The Master awaits us.”
“But I cannot masquerade as a king!”
“You shall,” the Voice growled, “for as long as it pleases the Master. You are to be the King of Laboruwenda as well as the future Master of Tuzamen!”
“I don’t know how—”
The boy’s protests were cut off rudely by the Voice. “Put on the crown or face the anger of Orogastus, you impudent whelp! Are you so silly as to think you will actually rule, or be called upon to exercise the powers of a sovereign? You are a showpiece—a puppet, and nothing more.”
The Voice clapped the crown onto Tolo’s head. It was heavy and uncomfortable. A white fur cape lined in gold tissue was fastened about the Prince’s neck and its hood pulled up to cover the crown. At last the boy was ready, and the Yellow Voice hustled him out of the cabin. They almost ran up the companionway steps.
As the little Prince stepped out onto the trireme’s deck, a command went out to let go the anchors. A tremendous rumble and two great splashes followed. Seamen swarmed about the shrouds overhead and manned the winches, lowering the ornate sails of the flagship. The beat of the oars ceased. They drifted,
snubbed up to the anchors, then finally came to rest in the middle of the harbor basin while the other warships of the armada continued ominously on toward the docks. A few of them had splintered masts, broken woodwork, or other signs of damage; but most seemed unscathed after their bout with the defenders.
Tolo and the Voice ascended to the quarterdeck. King Ledavardis, Prime Minister Jorot, and General Zokumonus of Tuzamen were there, clad in splendid armor and heavy furs. The Purple Voice stood diffidently behind Orogastus, who wore his awesome silver-and-black vestments with the star-mask. Poor Tolo was struck dumb at the sight of him.
The sorcerer handed the Three-Headed Monster coronet to the Yellow Voice. He was wearing the other talisman at his waist. “Take this, my Voice, and accompany the King, Minister Jorot, and Lord Zokumonus as they prepare for the land assault. Be diligent in searching out the enemy and reporting its intentions so that the warriors of Tuzamen and Raktum will speedily take possession of Derorguila. But I caution you not to use the coronet for any other magical chore save scrying, lest its mysteries harm you or our good allies.”
“I will obey, Master.” Bowing, the Voice took the talisman and fitted it to his shaven skull.
“One thing more,” Orogastus said. “You know that you will be unable to descry the Archimage, since she hides behind a screen of magic. But there is a remote chance that you might catch sight of her with your mortal eyes. If this should happen, be calm. Remember that she cannot harm you while you wear my talisman, but under no circumstances should you confront her! Command the coronet to render you invisible and then bespeak me at once, telling me of her location.”
“I understand,” said the Voice. He turned to young Ledavardis. “I am ready, Great King.”
The hunchback eyed Orogastus. “So you will not accompany us on the assault?”
“I have other work to do, Ledo,” the sorcerer replied smoothly. His eyes behind the mask were as silvery and opaque as the fantastic headpiece to his costume. “For now, I think you will find yourself unopposed by magic. I believe that the Archimage is exhausted by her efforts. She knows that her fearsome illusions will not deter you, and she has probably given up on trying to frighten us away. She no longer has Sight of me, and so I cannot view her. Most likely she has gone off to confer with Queen Anigel and King Antar and their snowbound provincial army.”
“She will think of some other way to use magic against us,” the young King said grimly, “and when she does, you had better be there to countermand it!”
“I have scried the area, and naught but the ordinary perils of battle await you on shore now.” The sorcerer was reassuring. “There are only those ranks of mangonels and other catapults about the docks, and two thousand or so defenders holed up in the quay buildings and along the approaches to the palace. You should make short work of them. Take advantage of this time to gain what ground and glory you can. When the final assault upon the palace and Zotopanion Keep commences, I will be at your side.”
“How far away are Antar and his reinforcements now?” Minister Jorot asked.
“They are twelve leagues off and moving with excruciating slowness in the snow. The palace will be ours and Prince Tolo installed on the throne long before they arrive at the city gates … if your skittish buccaneers do their job properly.”
“They will,” the King retorted, “if you also do yours, and make certain that we are not surprised by some deadly trick of the Archimage’s.”
Orogastus exploded in exasperation. “How many times must I tell you that she cannot kill—or even injure you! All she can do is seek to counter your own weapons. If you spread the fighting wide enough, you will so bewilder her that she will not know which way to turn! Now go, for I have weighty matters of magic to contemplate.” And he turned his back on the King.
For a moment the furious Ledavardis seemed ready to voice a rash reply. But Jorot put a hand on his shoulder and the young monarch subsided with a scowl. He pulled his fur cloak about him and led the way to where his gig was waiting.
When the royal party was out of earshot, Orogastus sighed and said to the Purple Voice: “An insubordinate lad, our Goblin Kinglet. What a pity that I need his help so badly.”
“You will not always need it, Master. Once Derorguila falls and the pirates have their fill of plunder …”
Orogastus glanced at the round-eyed little Prince and said hastily: “Let us talk no more of King Ledavardis, my Voice. Another king requires our instruction if he is to play his part properly in the upcoming drama. Ledo’s royal saloon should be empty now. Bring Tolo along and we’ll begin.”
28
Haramis came out of her trance, ashen-faced with discouragement. “The Blue Lady can think of no way that we may actively oppose the invaders without compromising our archimagical principles. Like me, she is enjoined from harming a living soul, and can only use her magic in a benign or defensive manner.”
The army of erstwhile rebels had halted to rest amidst snowy fields. The sun was full up, but it had disappeared behind gray clouds, and a biting wind blew from the west, where the Sempiternal Icecap covered the interior of the world-continent. Antar, Anigel, Kadiya, and their original group were taking what ease they could on the trampled road when Haramis first materialized out of thin air. She told her sisters and the King the melancholy news of her failure to stop the invasion fleet, and spoke of her extreme fatigue.
Then Haramis thought to consult the Archimage of the Sea to see if the Blue Lady could lend active assistance. Her conference had lasted nearly a half hour, and it had been fruitless.
Now, with that hope gone, Haramis sat herself wearily upon an icy rock and drank from the flask of spiced wine that Shiki the Dorok brought to her.
“Look again upon the fighting in the capital!” the King entreated. He and his wife had been whispering with Count Gultreyn and Lord Balanikar, who stood by with anxious expressions. “Have the pirates yet threatened the palace?”
Haramis lifted her talisman slowly. For a few silent minutes she passed again into a trance; then she said: “It is still secure. Those weapons of the Vanished Ones that have been brought ashore have so far proved ineffective in breaking down the fortifications.”
“God be thanked!” cried Lord Balanikar.
“I would thank him more,” old Count Gultreyn muttered, “if he would but mitigate this awful cold! The clouds are gathering again, and it threatens more snow. If the drifts become much deeper, neither the men nor the beasts will be able to go farther. We will all perish—and that within what would be, in normal times, a mere hour’s ride from the capital.”
“Can you not do anything to clear the road, Hara?” Kadiya asked her sister.
The Archimage shook her head. “I could melt some of the snow, but probably not enough to do you much good—especially if the snow begins falling again. I am so tired …”
“We are all ready to drop from lack of sleep,” Anigel said. “All except the children, who slept in the saddle.” And she glanced at Crown Prince Nikalon and Princess Janeel, who were racing about under Jagun’s eye, throwing snowballs at each other.
“The foe will bring their heavy weaponry ashore soon,” Haramis said. “I shall have to rest somehow, then do what I can to defend Derorguila. But I fear that the men using the weapons of the Vanished Ones will attack the palace wall at many places all at once, and if this happens, they are certain to break through in spite of all I can do. I wish I could think more clearly, and I wish I could give you more encouraging words. However, my best advice for you now is to retreat.”
“Nay!” said the King, his face flushed. “I will not turn tail!”
Haramis went on insistently. “It is eighty leagues to the foothills of the Ohogan Mountains. Farther from the sea, the snow is not so deep even though the cold is intense. The pirates are unlikely to pursue you when the loot of Derorguila awaits them. You could hide until the weather improves and it is possible to go over the Vispir Pass into Ruwenda. Once there, you might take
refuge in the Citadel and rally the other troops—”
Suddenly Kadiya broke in, her face alight. “Hara! I have just had a wonderful idea. I know that the Archimage of the Sea cannot actively help us with the fighting. But could not you and she work together to banish this horrid snow? Surely that would not violate your sacred duty.”
Haramis had been speaking with her head lowered, consumed by weariness. At her sister’s words she looked up, suddenly alert, and with hope illuminating her face.
“I cannot be certain … the weather is, after all, a sign of the world’s imbalance and perhaps not susceptible to our alteration. But we could try.”
She climbed painfully to her feet, clasped the Three-Winged Circle, and called: “Iriane! Have you been listening? Is it possible?”
Those standing round about now cried out in amazement, for a flash of blue light dazzled them, and a glowing mass of sapphire-bright bubbles appeared, swelling larger and larger until it was taller than a man. Within it shone an azurine form sprinkled with tiny starlike points of brilliance.
The bubbles burst. There stood a plump, smiling woman clothed in flowing blue robes, with her dark blue hair dressed in a strange style and held in place with pearly combs.
“Let us see what we can manage!” said the Archimage of the Sea to Haramis. “Take my hand. Forget that talisman of yours for now. You are an Archimage, with powers of your own!”
“By Zoto!” Antar exclaimed. “She came! She really does exist.”
Iriane turned to the King with a sharp sniff. “Doubt won’t help your cause, young man. I recommend that you pray your heart out while your good sister-in-law and I attempt this piece of work! And you two sisters”—she nodded to Anigel and Kadiya—“take hold of your amber amulets and pray as well, even though you be not truly united as Petals of the Living Trillium. What Haramis and I attempt isn’t going to be easy. We’ll need your help!”