“I don’t think Ollie has a hoot in hell of pulling it off. I might be able to track Kilian myself if I go into the mountains. But that could take weeks, and he has an excellent guide—a young Brother from the abbey who knows the country. Tell His Grace in the strongest terms that I would prefer to carry on with my mission to Tarn. Leave the search for Kilian in the hands of Lord Olvan.”
… After consideration, King Conrig agrees. He commands you to proceed to Beorbrook Hold early on the morrow. There you will be joined by two highly experienced Mountain Swordsmen, members of Earl Marshal Parlian’s elite force, who will assist your incursion into Tarn. You will not spend the night at Beorbrook, but instead go on directly to the principal fort at Great Pass. After resting there, continue along the Wold Road with all speed. Enter Tarn by whatever route you think best.
“I understand. Is there further news of Princess Maudrayne? It’s very important that I know which area of Tarn to concentrate my search upon.”
A renegade local shaman claims to know where the princess is being hidden. He may be lying. We’re looking into the situation. If his information is plausible, we’ll inform you without delay. Do you have more to say to His Grace?
“Not at this time. Apologize for my tardy report. So much was happening, and I wished to convey as complete a picture of events here as possible.”
The king graciously forgives you, and bids you rest well.
“Tell him the same from me, Sulkorig. But for God’s sake let me know immediately when Lord Stergos is able to speak on the wind.”
I will. Good luck to you, Sir Deveron.
“Thanks,” Snudge replied tersely. He cut the windthread and sat back in his chair to recuperate. “Rest well,” he muttered. “Not bloody likely.”
Then he bespoke the head windvoice at Beorbrook Hold, and told him to collect the men who had been assigned to help him. They would have to confer on the wind at some length, organizing the mission to Tarn.
Conrig took his wife Risalla to his bed that night, and after they had enjoyed the consolation of their bodies, he did not sleep but instead rose up, put on a light robe, and invited her to join him on the balcony.
“It would be my pleasure, husband,” she said.
Barefoot and wearing only a shift of delicate lawn, she took two goblets and a ewer of mead, then came out and sat with him at the wicker table where they sometimes ate breakfast in high summer. The night was clear and warm, with a great silver moon. Mercifully, a breeze from the west spared them the lingering odor of the burned cloister wing.
Conrig sipped mead for a few minutes before speaking. “I had communication with my intelligencer, Sir Deveron, earlier this evening. The pursuit of the fire-raisers has ended with their deaths. He was able to question neither man, but we’ve learned that they’re connected to a conspiracy headed by my former Royal Alchymist, Kilian Blackhorse. He was confined to Zeth Abbey but has recently escaped. He’s presumed to be fleeing into Didion.”
“Ah.” The queen waited for him to continue.
“I’ve not spoken to you about this man before, Risalla, but I suppose you’ve learned something of Kilian’s unsavory history from the court ladies. He and the former Conjure-King of Moss, Beynor, were closely linked in a plot to kill me.”
“I had heard,” she said evenly, “that they also tried without success to thwart your invasion of Didion. And Beynor, at least, attempted to assist the fleet of Honigalus when he fought against your Cathran navy.”
“True,” he admitted, not meeting her gaze. He drank deeply from the cup and poured more mead. “You have been a loyal and dutiful wife and a loving mother to our children. But you’re not a woman made of stone. I know that deep sorrow and resentment must remain in your heart because of my own role in the death of your mother and father, as well as Didion’s submission to the Sovereignty.”
“I pray for King Achardus and Queen Siry each night. But nothing can bring my parents back to life. I take what consolation I can from the knowledge that they died with honor, fighting for our country. My older brother Honigalus surrendered to the Sovereignty and accepted you as his liege lord. So did I, because he asked it of me. I have pledged you not only my bodily fidelity but also my political allegiance. Never would I do anything to harm you or the union of nations you have forged. And may God strike me dead if I lie.”
She put down her goblet and extended both her hands to him. He clasped them, and she could see his dark eyes glint in the moonlight.
“I believe you,” he said. “And I trust you. So you must know what else I learned from Sir Deveron tonight. An informant he believes to be truthful claims that your brother Somarus has conspired with Kilian and Beynor to assassinate Honigalus, with a view to putting Somarus on the throne.”
She cried out, drawing away from him. “I don’t believe it! I know Somarus is bitter about our brother’s surrender, for if Hon had died in battle, our nation would still be free. Or thus Somarus believes, as do many others who sympathize with him. He foments rebellion against your overlordship and attacks Cathran caravans traveling to Tarn, but he’s not a fool. If he was known to have engineered the death of Honigalus, all Didion would turn against him in revulsion. Our people are fierce and contentious, but they’re also unshakably devoted to tradition. A regicide can never occupy our throne. The great dukes and barons will not allow it.”
“But if murder could not be proved?”
“Didion and Cathra are no longer at war. In wartime, the succession devolves to the claimant most likely to lead the nation to victory. But in peacetime, the dead king’s progeny succeed him—male and female without discrimination. If Honigalus were to die, his oldest son Onestus would inherit the crown and Queen Bryse would be named regent until his majority. Next in line are Prince Bartus and his sister Casabarela. Furthermore, if it were approved by the great lords, Queen Bryse herself might be named queen regnant. She would then have the option of marrying and declaring her husband co-monarch. This is the ancient law of our country.”
“What if not only Honigalus, but also his wife and three children were to be slain? And Somarus was left the only surviving heir?”
“Impossible!” Risalla exclaimed. “My brother would never sanction such an infamous crime.”
“Are you certain? I think no crime is too heinous for Kilian and Beynor to perpetrate if it would serve their own ends. And I wonder if Somarus might not give tacit consent to the deeds of villains, if those deeds opened to him a clear path to Didion’s throne.”
“I know Somarus,” she insisted. “He would never stoop to such dishonor.”
Conrig sighed and rose to his feet, the moonlight giving luster to his fair hair and beard. “Wife, your sisterly loyalty does you credit. Nevertheless, I beg you to have your wizards bespeak Honigalus as soon as possible, warning him of the potential danger to him and his family. And if you have any influence over Somarus, beseech him to abandon this horrendous scheme forthwith and sever any alliance he might have made with Kilian and Beynor.”
She looked away. “I—I had intimations that Somarus would soon rebel against the Sovereignty and Honigalus in some manner. He sounded me out, sent a message asking if I would side with him secretly. I refused. I told him I’d always love him, but said I would never go back on my pledge of fealty to you. I also ordered him not to tell me anything more of his plans. So—so that my conscience would not compel me to reveal them to you.”
“I wish you had told me of his message,” Conrig said evenly. “But I understand why you did not, and I can’t hold it against you. Love will not be gainsaid.”
“If I’d known he was contemplating murder…” She trailed off, her voice full of woe. “But perhaps he isn’t, after all. Kilian and Beynor may have kept him in the dark, and I pray this is so. Still, I don’t doubt he’d take advantage of the death of the royal family without a second thought. Somarus is a firebrand, Conrig—once set burning, he must flame on until his consummation. Whatever that may be.”
r /> “Will you at least warn him that Kilian and Beynor don’t have Didion’s best interests at heart? Somarus means nothing to them, except as a potential weapon to use against me. Both of them are sorcerers who wouldn’t hesitate to ally themselves with the Beaconfolk. Beynor is half-mad, like his father before him. He seeks revenge against his sister Ullanoth and is convinced that she cost him his throne. The truth is, he affronted the Beaconfolk and they laid a curse on him.”
Risalla’s face went blank, as though her flesh suddenly shuttered her soul. She whispered, “There are those who say that you are in league with the Great Lights.”
“I know about the rumors. But they lie. I formed a pact with Ullanoth, that’s true enough. She promised to use her magic to assist the cause of the Sovereignty. But never was any unholy bargain made with the Beaconfolk to assure my success.”
“Other rumors say she is your lover, who can deny you nothing—not even at the cost of her own life! Oh—don’t look on me that way. I’m not jealous. You said it yourself: love will not be gainsaid! But I do pity her, poor soul, since it seems that her great sacrifice on your behalf was all in vain. Is it not true that she’s dying after exerting her sorcery overmuch hunting for the fire-raisers?”
He turned away from her, arms crossed, and stared over the balcony rail at the moonlit palace gardens. “So her close advisers say. If it gives you satisfaction, know that I never had a heartfelt love for her. I was infatuated for a time, but that passed away, leaving only—only respect and appreciation for all she had vouchsafed to me. You’re right to pity her, Risalla… And any other woman who loves without being loved in return.”
Risalla rose on tiptoe and kissed his unyielding lips. “I’ll go back to my own chambers now. Good night, my lord husband. It may give you satisfaction to know that some women are content with other things besides love.”
He said nothing, but only stood looking down at the silvered trees and flower beds until a deep-throated double hoot rang over the palace grounds. The huge winged form of an eagle-owl glided above the curtain wall like a wraith and disappeared behind a clump of weeping willows in the garden. Something screamed. The giant bird lofted up again, carrying its prey, and flew off towards the parklands along the River Blen.
Snudge! the king thought. His self-chosen heraldic device was an owl, the stealthy hunter.
“Hunt her down, lad,” he whispered. “For Maude will never be content as needy Ullanoth and wise Risalla are. Lacking my love, her only satisfaction will be in my destruction.”
Chapter Fifteen
“Induna!” the old man cried testily. ”Are you wasting time picking wild strawberries again, you idle chit? Attend me at once!“
When there was no response he repeated his demand on the wind, and this time the saucy young minx condescended to reply. It won’t do you any good to yell and call me names. I’m coming as fast as I can. And if you don’t treat me with the respect I deserve, I’ll just go back to Barking Sands—see if I don’t!—and you can bully someone else into doing your longspeaking and scut work.
He ground his few remaining teeth in fury, but held back the stinging rebuke she deserved. She was only seventeen, and the young boys and girls out berry-picking along the river were better company than a cranky old blind man on a fine sunny day. She’d make a good shaman in time, once she got the girlish giddiness out of her system. He should have thought of her before, rather than using that greedy old witch, Yavenis, to relay his overtures to the Cathran king. And now his need for a trustworthy confederate had become even more crucial.
He picked up his staff and moved painfully to the door of his cottage. His oversight picked her out, coming up the path with a basket in one hand, a wee slip of a thing in a blue kirtle, with hair as brightly golden-red as rowan fruit. When she came to the stout gate in the fieldstone wall surrounding his steading she flicked open the latch with her talent and walked through the herb gardens without haste, humming a tune.
“Hurry!” he growled. “I need you to bespeak Gala Palace for me immediately.”
“Then I suppose you’ve no time to share my strawberries,” she said with a sly smile. “I picked enough for two, Eldpapa, but if you’re going to be grumpy and hateful… well, never mind.”
The notion that she’d do him that small kindness shamed him out of his ill humor. “I’m sorry, Induna. I’m impatient. And I’m worried that King Conrig thinks I’m only a charlatan trying to dupe him out of a bucket of gold. He should have replied to my proposal by now, even if the answer was No.”
“You asked for too much,” the girl said. “If he wants to bargain, don’t slam the door in his face.” She took two bowls from the cupboard of the neat, well-appointed kitchen, then sat down at the table and began to hull the tiny sweet berries.
“It’s what I need to retire to Andradh in style,” he mumbled resentfully. “Young people don’t understand these things. If you settle in a foreign land, they only respect you if you’ve got money.”
“You already have a nice cottage, with Tigluk and Wollu to take care of you. I don’t know why you want to go to Andradh. They’re all wicked pirates.”
He started for his sanctum. “It’s none of your business why I want to go there. Come along with me. Let those berries be till after we bespeak the Cathran king, and I’ll have Wollu bring clotted cream from the ice-house for us to eat with them.”
The girl sighed. “Oh, very well, Eldpapa.” She wiped her reddened fingers on her apron and followed.
Blind Bozuk’s sanctum was in the loft of the cottage. There were dormer windows of real glass in gablets on all four sides so he could scry in any direction without material hindrance. The walls were lined with shelves full of jars, crocks, and boxes containing the magical ingredients that he used to concoct his wonderful spells and potions. None of the containers had labels; he knew where every item was. Cobwebs dripped from the rafters, and all the surfaces were filthy with dust because he never allowed the housekeeper upstairs to clean. Induna planned to do something about that before too much longer. She had good eyes, even if her grandfather didn’t, and she wasn’t going to work and study in a pigsty. If he wanted to be her teacher, he’d have to change his slovenly ways. Otherwise she’d go back to her own home at Barking Sands and carry on as Mum’s apprentice.
“Sit down, girl,” Bozuk growled. He plumped himself into a heavy old armchair with tattered cushions.
She wiped off a stool with her apron. “I’m ready, Eldpapa. Shall I bespeak the Cathran wizard Vra-Sulkorig, as before?”
“Yes. Tell him I have important new information for King Conrig, which I’ll pass on to him gratis. It concerns a rendezvous between Tarnian ships that took place early today off Kolm Head. The High Sealord, Sernin Donorvale, met and conferred with Liscanor Northkeep, the brother of Princess Maudrayne I read their lips. They talked about a boy who should by rights be sitting on the throne of Cathra. They said that the boy’s father is ineligible to reign, because he secretly possesses arcane talent. Ask if King Conrig would like to have the conversation between Sernin and Liscanor repeated to him, word for word. At no charge, of course.”
Induna sat with her head bowed for some minutes. Then she opened her eyes and grinned.
The blind old man snapped, “Well? Well? What does the Cathran king say?”
“He’s very eager to hear what the two sealords said, Eldpapa. And he says it gives him great pleasure to agree to your fee of five thousand gold marks for information on the whereabouts of Princess Maudrayne and her son.”
The old man let out a gusty sigh of relief. He recited the conversation between Liscanor and Sernin, and prompted Induna as she relayed it to Con-rig. When the girl finally cut the thread of windspeech and would have left the sanctum, he held up a hand and said to her, “Wait. There’s more.”
“Another message to be sent?”
He shook his head, “No, Granddaughter, a more difficult thing by far. Please be seated again while I tell you.”
Rolling her eyes impatiently, she resumed her place on the stool.
“Ansel Pikan has taken Princess Maudrayne and her son into the far east, beyond the volcanos. At such a distance, with such massive rock bastions hindering even my mind’s eye, it becomes increasingly difficult to track him and his captives. Thus far, Ansel has used a cover spell that has proved no hindrance to my oversight. I am fairly certain of his ultimate destination, and when the Cathran king’s messenger arrives with the gold I shall know where to direct his men in their preliminary search.”
Her shrewd little face had tightened with premonition. “Eldpapa, what has all this to do with me?”
“Be patient! When the Cathran manhunters set out after Maudrayne,
Ansel will know it. He’ll shift her to another hiding place. And this time, he’ll erect a more formidable magical cover—one that I’ll be hard put to pierce because of the great distance that now separates us from the fugitive princess and her son. And so, my dear, I desire that you should leave here at once, and travel to the region where the precious pair are secreted, and be my agent on the spot to direct Conrig’s hunters. I’m not so foolish as to believe you to be too frail and vulnerable to undertake such a mission. You’re tough as a seal-hide boot—and a formidable magicker already, in spite of your tender years. There will be perils on the journey, Induna, but none, I think, that would overwhelm you. You need not endanger yourself by approaching the princess’s hiding place. You need only oversee her from a safe distance and report to me if Ansel Pikan attempts to spirit her away elsewhere.“
“Where am I to go, then,” she asked in a level voice, “if I accept this charge? And what will be my payment?”
He burst into delighted laughter. “A wench after my own heart! Your fee, little love, will be one-third of what I wring from Conrig. And the place you must go is the uttermost eastern coast of Tarn, north of that Fort Ramis which is held by a kinsman of Ansel. Of course I shall find stout companions to accompany you—”