She had still been beautiful when she last Sent herself to Conrig; she was beautiful no longer.
The Lights had not done this to her. She had done it to herself, freely, in exchange for the sorcery of her Great Stones—Sender and Weathermaker and above all Subtle Loophole. A lesser proportion of her debt had accumulated through helping her own people: she had used Weathermaker to generate storms to beat back the clumsy incursions of the Salka, and studied her evil younger brother through Loophole to make certain that Beynor remained securely exiled during the uneasy first years of her reign. But by far the greater component of her devastation was due to her inability to deny Conrig Win-cantor when he sought her assistance.
I’m a fool, she told herself, gesturing for the mirror to be taken away. How often has he given himself to me or my Sending since assuming his throne? Less than two dozen times in four years! And each time we bedded, my desire for him strengthened, while he remained the same—professing love, taking me with a fierce passion, yet never opening his soul to warmth, never cherishing my self but only the hurtful magical power that comes through me.
And my people: do they love me? Moon Mother have mercy, but I think not…
Servants had been bustling about the royal apartment while she was being dressed, but when she dismissed the tirewomen and forced herself to leave her bedchamber she found no food set out for her in the adjacent sitting room, as was usual.
A little old man wearing a green-satin tabard emblazoned with the golden swan of the royal arms bowed and smiled.
“Majesty, your breakfast table is laid on the balcony, since the rain has gone away and the day is gloriously clear and mild. But if this is not to your pleasure—”
His name was Wix, and he had been her personal slave from the time of her girlhood. When she became queen she freed him and created him her Lord of Chamber. He was elderly but strong of body, and he had dedicated his life to her service. No woman had ever been Ullanoth’s confidante, but she trusted Wix without reservation, and on occasion shared with him her innermost thoughts.
“I’d enjoy eating outdoors,” she said, returning his smile. “Thank you for thinking of it. And please have a second chair brought to the table, for I wish to speak with you.”
The other servitors saw them seated, and poured mead before withdrawing and closing the balcony doors.
Ullanoth was silent for some time, sipping her drink, gazing over the broad estuary of the Darkling River, and thinking on the notable achievements of her reign. Wix sat comfortably and nibbled on a bread roll. Across the river, the expansive flats of the Little Fen were brilliantly green with summer growth, their ponds sparkling like mirrors amidst silvery skeins of the narrow waterways. The peat-brown Darkling itself was alive with boats heading to and from the settlements surrounding Moss Lake, west of Fen-guard. The docks below the castle bristled with the masts of merchant ships and fishing vessels.
No longer was Moss the poorest nation of High Blenholme, as it had been in her father’s day and during the abortive reign of Beynor the Patricide, as she had officially styled her deposed brother. She had made her country prosperous, using Conrig’s generous annual guerdon to finance the revival of the amber mines and the seal-fur industry, rebuild neglected by-roads, and promote commerce on the great river and along the seacoast. Through cajolery and magical coercion, she had compelled Moss’s self-centered conjure-lords to stop squandering lives and treasure on ancient feuds and let their peasantry live in peace, growing crops and livestock to the advantage of the entire realm. She had founded a brand-new industry by encouraging the marshfolk to gather herbs and simples that were prized by physicians and cooks of the south. She brought in military consultants from Cathra to create a small standing army that now patrolled the Rainy Highroad, Moss’s only land link to the other island nations, and put down the gangs of human bandits that had long infested it and rendered it useless to traders and travelers. From Didion she acquired six fighting frigates and contracted for ten more, so that in future Moss need never again suffer the depredations of the Dawntide Salka. The monsters dwelling in the Great Fen were still unremittingly hostile; but that part of the country had few human inhabitants and little in the way of resources.
“It’s hard to believe that only four years have passed,” she said to Wix at last, “so greatly has our kingdom been transformed. I’ve worked without stint to improve the lot of our people. And yet I fear that their hearts are not fully with me. Do you agree?”
He nodded slowly but refrained from speech. The sad acknowledgment was sufficient.
She said, “So many of our leaders and learned ones continue to mistrust my motives. It saddens me that they still believe me to be a tool of Conrig Win-cantor rather than a loving monarch who puts the needs of her own folk above all other considerations. The people loved my ancestor Rothbannon, for all his sternness, but I sense that they do not love me. Why is this, my friend? You must speak honestly, even if the truth be hard for me to accept.”
Wix said, “I’ll tell you, Majesty, if you promise to eat. Your body will not recover its strength without food, and if the body is weak, the spirit lacks that resolve necessary to bring about change.”
She sighed, but lifted the silver dish covers and took portions of coddled duck eggs, poached cod, and rush-pollen fritters.
“First,” Wix said, after a hearty pull of mead, “let’s compare the first years of your reign with those of Rothbannon. He was a hard man but highly revered, as you say, even though the foundation of his kingdom came through Coldlight sorcery. He obtained his Seven Stones a century ago by outwitting the Salka of the Dawntide Isles, and in time managed to turn the monsters’ own ancient magic against them, to the benefit of his people. He was able to do this because he took the time to study the sigils, and because he only used the Great Stones rarely and for the furtherance of his new realm. Indeed, he never used the Unknown Potency at all, believing it would undermine the magic of the other sigils.”
“I know this.” She spoke petulantly, through a mouthful of fish. “It’s always been my intention to study Rothbannon’s writings about the stones when I have sufficient time.”
“But you haven’t found the time,” Wix pointed out. “Neither have you used your stones as the first Conjure-King did—with careful circumspection and only for the good of your nation.”
She did not look up from her plate. “You’re right. Far too often, I used the magic of the sigils for Conrig, whom I love.”
“And who is hated by our proud people, for daring to make Moss his vassal.”
“Most of our progress in the past four years came about because of Con-rig’s gold! Don’t the people understand that? Would they rather live independently and be destitute?”
“They would rather you had not helped Conrig to establish his Sovereignty in the first place. They would rather you had not spent your physical strength so profligately through use of Sender and Loophole—only because this foreign overlord asked it of you, and you were too spineless to refuse him. Majesty, they believe that you love Conrig more than you love them.”
She started up from her seat, letting her napkin slide to the balcony floor.
“They’re wrong! They don’t understand modern politics. Being a part of the Sovereignty has made Moss stronger and safer—and God knows we’re richer than we’ve ever been before.”
“You have done your queenly duty well, Majesty. The people know that and are thankful. But you asked me for the truth—why they don’t love you. And the only answer to that is your determination to love another—to serve another—ahead of them. And this person is clearly unworthy of your devotion. Conrig Wincantor is ruthlessly ambitious and arrogant. True, he’s been generous to Moss—but his treatment of Tarn and Didion has been very harsh. Furthermore, he cast aside his first wife for expediency’s sake and entered into a loveless match with the Princess of Didion. He has no true devotion to you, either, my lady, and in your heart I think you know it.”
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sp; She slid slowly back into her seat, her face drawn with anguish. “I once thought to use him as a stepping-stone to domination of this island. But I’ve ended up being used by him. I never intended to love him, either! Yet I can’t help it, even though I know what manner of man he is. He may not love me… but he needs me.”
“We need you more.”
They sat together quietly. He finished his cup of mead and his bread and sat with folded hands, waiting to be dismissed. It was plain that he had no more to say.
“Thank you for your candor, Wix,” she said finally. “I’ll think about all of this. You may go now. Please tell Grand Master Ridcanndal that I’ll attend today’s meeting of the Glaumerie Guild. I require the guild’s advice on a thaumaturgical matter.”
“Very good, Majesty.” He bowed and withdrew from the balcony.
She could not stomach the greasy fritters, but she forced herself to eat most of the eggs, some fish, and a single roll with butter, thinking furiously all the while.
There was one sure way to escape Conrig’s thrall. It had come to her as the good old man spoke: a solution both drastic and permanent, but one that could only come about if she no longer owned that which the Sovereign needed…
Do I dare give them up? Can Moss survive if I render them lifeless and destroy them? Can Conrig?
His downfall was not the only thing she had to fear. Shortly after she assumed her throne, a flash of unwelcome insight had come to her. Was it possible that her own collection of moonstones, which she had found hidden in the fens, was not the gift of her dead mother after all? What if the dream of Queen Taspiroth had been a cruel deception of the Coldlight Army, and the gift of sigils intended to further some scheme of theirs?
Why the Lights might do such a thing was incomprehensible to her. But someone had led her to the moonstone cache, presumably for a good reason. She was no longer so naive as to believe in benevolent ghosts—especially the ghost of poor Taspiroth, who had suffered an atrocious death after misusing one of Rothbannon’s Great Stones. No mother would risk exposing her daughter to a like fate—a fate that now seemed all too probable if she continued using the sigils…
Conjure-Queen Ullanoth. Do you hear? Vra-Sulkorig Casswell bespeaks you on behalf of High King Conrig.
Moon Mother mine! Could that be the answer to the why of it? But if she were actually destined to advise and safeguard Conrig, then who besides the Lights could have led her to the gift?
Do you hear me, Conjure-Queen?
“I hear you,” she replied. The matter would have to be thought through later. “Why is it that you bespeak me, Sulkorig, rather than the king’s brother Stergos?”
So the news hasn’t reached you, Majesty? Alas! There’s been a terrible fire at Cola Palace, and Lord Stergos was gravely injured.
“I am grieved to hear it. What is the outlook for his recovery?”
The alchymists have high hopes, but he may be much scarred by burns.
“Perhaps my Royal Physician can provide valuable consultation. There is a certain rare plant growing in our fens that Moss’s healers have long used to prevent disfigurement by burning. I will have Master Akossanor bespeak you about it immediately. The medicine can be put aboard one of our fastest schooners and will reach Gala in a few days.”
Gracious queen, I’ll tell King Conrig of this welcome offer. There is another matter, also concerning the Royal Alchymist, that the High King commands me to put to you. The two malefactors responsible for the attempted murder of Lord Stergos are called Scarth Saltbeck and Felmar Nightcott. They are renegade
Brothers of Zeth, who may be expected to use powerful magic to foil those who pursue them. Here are images of their faces… His Grace beseeches your help in tracking them down.
“My help?” She felt a mortal chill stab her vitals.
“The High King requests that you use your Subtle Loophole to find the pair, so that they may be brought swiftly to justice. He realizes all too well that using the Great Stone will wreak a lamentable toll of pain upon you in your already weakened state, but he begs that you will agree to the search for the sake of the great love he bears you.
There was silence on the wind.
Your Majesty? What answer shall I give King Conrig? He is here at my side, praying you will help him and his suffering brother.
“Tell—tell the king that I will try. As the compassionate Moon Mother knows, I can only try. But since the effort will endanger my life, I request of my liege lord a twofold promise.”
The High King asks what it might be.
“If my land of Moss should ever be threatened by an enemy either natural or supernatural, he must promise to come to its aid with all the forces at his command. And if I am disabled or expire through performing this service for my liege, he must continue paying Moss its annual guerdon so long as the Sovereignty endures.”
Conrig Wincantor, Sovereign of Blenholme, swears on his Iron Crown that he will fulfill both promises without reservation.
“Thank him for me, Vra-Sulkorig. If I find the fire-raisers, information about them will be spoken to you on the wind by one of my people. I myself will probably be indisposed. Farewell.”
Ridcanndal, Grand Master of the Glaumerie Guild, hovered over her couch, his face grey with apprehension. The Royal Physician and the High Thaumaturge, Lady Zimroth, stood by him.
“For the last time, Majesty, I implore you to reconsider this rash action,” Ridcanndal said. “Your physical condition is too delicate to endure further pain-debt. And finding those who set the fire in Gala Palace is hardly crucial to the recovery of Lord Stergos.”
Akossanor, the physician, added, “I’ve consulted with the doctors who care for him and sent them the proper physick. His life is not in danger—but yours may well be if you undertake this search.”
“Conrig only wants revenge,” said Lady Zimroth. “Either that, or he hasn’t told you the full truth about the conflagration. I’ve heard a rumor on the wind that the arsonists are also thieves, who stole some important magical items from Stergos. Whatever these things may be, they can hardly be worth jeopardizing your life.”
Thieves? Ullanoth felt her breath catch in her throat. There was indeed something the fire-raisers might have stolen that was beyond price. She’d known about Darasilo’s Trove for four years, yet had never tried to find it with Loophole. Whenever the notion occurred to her, it always seemed imperative that she must set it aside until later. And so she had.
Why?
“Please don’t do this, Majesty,” Zimroth said. “Think of the needs of your kingdom. Of your duty!” The aged High Thaumaturge had been one of Beynor’s closest friends. Lady Zimroth had never fully reconciled herself to his dethronement and exile, even though the Beaconfolk, and not Ullanoth herself, had ultimately brought it about. Nevertheless her probity and loyalty to the throne were beyond reproach.
“I do think of my duty to Moss,” Ullanoth said. “But this one last time I must help Conrig.”
“Last time?” Zimroth’s eyes widened. “You’d deny him sigil magic in future?”
“I had meant to discuss the matter, together with a certain course of action I’m considering, with the entire Guild today. As it happens, the discussion is now unnecessary, since I’ve extracted certain promises from Conrig that ensure the survival of our beloved realm, even if this use of Loophole should disable me… Ridcanndal, give me the box. I must do this before I lose my courage.”
The Grand Master picked up a small casket of solid platinum from a table beside the Conjure-Queen’s couch. “But Majesty, what are these promises?”
She shook her head. “Attend me closely. This effort will require all of my remaining stamina. If I do locate the fugitives, I’ll not be able to speak. You will have to extract the result directly from my mind. Later, when you bespeak the Cathran alchymist Vra-Sulkorig with the search results, he will tell you about Conrig’s promises. Now open the box for me.”
The head of the Glaumerie Guild bowed his hea
d and obeyed. The velvet-lined box contained her six remaining sigils: Beastbidder, Interpenetrator, Concealer, Weathermaker, Sender, and Subtle Loophole. The latter was a small open triangle with a handle attached, exquisitely carved from translucent moonstone and glowing with arcane energy. Looking through it, one obtained a vision of anything that was requested. But unlike the silent and often murky oversight vouchsafed by windsight, Loophole showed its objective clearly, with all sounds attending.
Lying in her private sanctum, with the most powerful sorcerers in her realm kneeling at her side, Ullanoth took the sigil and lifted it to her eye.
By noon on the day after Solstice, the Salka had towed Beynor’s boat to the entrance to Didion Bay. He directed them to continue on a course well to the north of the main shipping lanes so that his singular method of propulsion would not be detected, and continually scanned the sea for stray fishing smacks and coasters. All went well and no one noticed them.
Round about the ninth hour he ordered the great creatures to pull into a deserted marshy inlet about twenty leagues northeast of Holt Mallburn. They came to a halt in a salt-pond, well hidden among the tall grasses and shrubs, and Beynor summoned the Supreme Warrior for a conference.
Ugusawnn’s hideous face rose slowly above the gunwale and his great red eyes blinked in the low sunlight. “Well?” he inquired with an ill-natured sneer.
Beynor responded mildly. “We’ll stop here for the night. It’s time for me to step the boat’s mast, rig her, and switch to sail. From here on, we must travel more slowly, and any towing by you Salka will have to be done very cautiously, with only a few knots’ advantage over the local small craft, so I won’t look conspicuous.”
“Knot? What kind of a knot?” The Supreme Warrior’s brow wrinkled in a fierce scowl.
“It’s a unit of velocity. A way humans have of saying how fast a boat moves over the water… Oh, never mind. If your haulers just follow my bespoken instructions, I’ll keep us moving along properly. You Salka will have to swim deep as we enter Mallburn Harbor. The sea there will be cloudy from river mud after the rain, but even so, we don’t want to risk some crow’s nest loafer catching a glimpse of you.”