Ironcrown Moon

Fring said quietly, “There. Half a dozen ells in front of the boat. They look something like smooth rocks just breaking the surface of the water. But they’re not rocks.”

  “Nothing!” Prince Somarus raged. “Nothing at all happened to Honigalus and his barge! Where are the damned Salka hiding? What are they waiting for?… Tesk! Tesk? Curse that sneaky wee magicker—where’s he got to, now that I really need him to scry out what’s going on?”

  Baron Cuva cast a swift glance around the shore near the Boar Creek bridge where the prince’s party stood watching the river, but the little black-robed adept was nowhere to be seen. “Not a sign of him, Highness. And the Green Woman’s gone missing as well. I wonder—”

  “Shite!” whispered Somarus. His sturdy form went rigid as he stared out onto the river, aghast. “Father Sun and Mother Moon—will you look at that?”

  The barge’s skipper set the helm over, steering towards the left bank, and signaled for a last great pull of the sweeps to bring the barge out of the mainstream current and into the backwaters above the landing stage at Boarsden Castle.

  The dark heads of the Salka rose from the water.

  Carbuncle-red eyes blazing, spiky crests uplifted, maws agape, and crystal teeth flashing in the low sun, the monsters came rocketing downstream toward the barge in a broad inverted-V formation before a single person aboard could give warning. The creatures on the flanks closed in on the sweeps. Their powerful tentacles ripped the oars from their housings with sharp cracks, rending the stout timbers of the hull. Some of the Salka began to pluck howling rowers from their benches, flinging them overboard to other monsters who waited with open jaws. The barge slewed violently as its motive power was lost and began to drift downstream towards the eddy. Some of the shore observers gave cries of horror as they discerned huge shapes massed at the sides and stern of the vessel, beginning to clamber aboard. An explosive noise signaled that the rudder had been ripped away by main force. A few valiant souls on the boat, having armed themselves with swords and pikes, tried to beat off the inhuman attackers, but the Salka on deck hurled screaming boatmen and courtiers aside as though they were dolls. Black tentacles tipped with clawed digits lashed the air like flexible tree-trunks, making a shambles of the standing rigging and toppling the mast with its square sail.

  Then the broken barge reached the rim of the eddy and slowly began its death spin. Terrified men jumped from the fast-settling stern, which the Salka had abandoned in favor of a concerted attack on the glass windows of the saloon cabin. The openings were too small to admit the enormous bodies of the amphibians, so they groped inside with their tentacles in search of prey. Those onshore gasped at the sight of King Honigalus, menaced by three bellowing monsters on the foredeck, taking a small son under each arm and leaping off the bow pulpit into the whirling water. The barge circled faster and faster until it was sucked beneath the surface of the water and disappeared from view.

  “Futter me!” Somarus exclaimed. His ruddy features had turned the color of chalk. “That was grim. At the end, the great brutes were going after the women. I could hear them screaming.”

  Baron Cuva only shook his head, speechless. The knights stood in small groups, cursing or dazedly silent, staring upstream at the place where the great boat had vanished.

  Then one man pointed to the rapids below the eddy. “I see floating wreckage coming down towards us. The whirlpool has spat it out! Could it be that some have survived the disaster?”

  “You think so?” another said somberly. “Look—the cursed fiends are cavorting out there among the rocks, tossing things to one another in some hideous game! Those who drown will be the fortunate ones.”

  The others uttered cries of abhorrence and pity.

  “It happened as Beynor promised,” Somarus whispered, his eyes glittering. “As the renegade Royal Akhymist Kilian planned it, so that no man could lay the deed at my doorstep.”

  “No, Highness.” Baron Cuva’s voice was steady. “The tragedy cannot be ascribed to you. But the former Conjure-King and Kilian Blackhorse are perhaps not so easily exonerated. It would be wise to keep that fact in mind.”

  Somarus was silent.

  “What will you have us do now?” the baron asked, after some minutes had passed.

  “It’ll be a while before those at Castle Boarsden dare to send search parties out on the water,” the prince decided, “although land patrols may begin combing the banks for survivors rather soon. It won’t do for anyone to discover us loitering here. We’ll have to return to the highway as quickly as we can, then ride back the way we came to the road leading to Boarsden Town. It should be safe to wait there in some handy alehouse until word of the disaster is cried about the city streets.”

  “You might be recognized,” Cuva warned.

  “What does it matter? This is my tale: I came out of the Elderwold intending to present my respects to King Honigalus as he held court at Boarsden Castle. If I had actually conceived such a saucy notion, dear Cousin Ranwing would not have turned me away, loving a good row as he does… So I’m properly appalled at the awful news, and I vow vengeance against the devils responsible, and wait with the duke and his people to see whether any of the royal family has survived.”

  “What if one or more of them did?” Cuva asked softly.

  “Then Beynor and Kilian Blackhorse will have their work cut out for them. But I don’t think we need worry overmuch. I’ll deplore this lamentable tragedy, while at the same time you will make a great show of thanking Providence that the Crown of Didion passes not to a weakling child, as it would have done if Honigalus alone had perished, but rather to a mature warrior ready and able to lead our nation in these difficult times.”

  Cuva inclined his head. “Highness.” His smile was sardonic. “You must forgive me if I postpone styling you ‘Majesty’ until the time is ripe. I’m not as audacious as the Green Woman Cray in such matters.”

  Somarus scowled and began looking about again, muttering low-voiced oaths. “Where is she? And that rascal Tesk?”

  One of the younger knights smirked. “Earlier, I saw the wizard making sheep’s eyes at the Green Woman. Unlikely as it might seem for two such creatures to be smitten by love’s thunderbolt here in a muddy morass, we can’t discount the notion.”

  “Then let them swive amongst the frogs and midges and be damned,” Somarus said, “for I won’t wait another minute for them.” He turned about, squelched up the creekside path to where they had left the horses, and swung into the saddle.

  The nursemaid Dala got up from her chair, holding drowsy little Princess Casabarela tightly against her breast, and watched in frozen disbelief from one of the saloon windows as the nightmarish dark creatures rose from the river. What were they? Not seals, not giant squid or octopods, not any kind of animal she had ever seen before. They roared with demonic jubilation as they attacked, and she knew that the frightful things were worse than dumb beasts: they were thinking beings bent on slaughter. The royal barge was their target, and the people aboard were their intended prey.

  She was… and the baby girl entrusted to her.

  Sleek and greenish-black, red saucer-eyes glowing and enormous mouths wide-open, the monsters snatched the sweeps away from the oarsmen and began pulling the helpless men overboard to their doom. The barge lost momentum and began to swing broadside to the current. Dala saw King Honigalus and his sons clinging to the rails of the bow pulpit. She felt the vessel shudder, then lurch. A terrible rending sound filled the air, as though the stout wooden frame of the great barge were being torn apart.

  She lost her balance and crumpled to the carpeted deck with the baby still in her arms. Unhurt but frightened by the fall and the jolt, the year-old girl began to cry. Without thinking, Dala snatched up a long knitted shawl that had earlier served to cover the baby and swathed the small body completely, head and all, in soft wool. Then she crammed herself and her precious burden into the small space between the heavy padded chair and the bulkhead and began to pray.

&
nbsp; At the other end of the long cabin, the court ladies were screaming at the top of their lungs. Someone shouted, “We’re sinking! God have mercy, we’re sinking!”

  Because of the drawn draperies at the windows round about them, few of those in the stern of the saloon had any real idea of what was happening outside, nor did the queen seem to understand the atrocious nature of the peril that threatened them. She shouted vainly for all to remain calm, while the boat wallowed and heaved and furniture tumbled and women ensnared in long skirts fell about weeping and moaning.

  “Dala!” Bryse shouted desperately. “Is my little Casya safe?”

  “I have her with me, Majesty,” the maid called out from her hiding place, which was nearly ten ells away from the queen and out of her eyeshot. “I can swim. I’ll do my best to save her.”

  “Bless you—” Bryse began to say.

  Her words were lost in a great crash as several of the casement windows shattered simultaneously. Boneless dark limbs, dripping blood and water, thrust through the billowing drapes and began ripping the thick fabric away with sharp talons. In moments all those within the saloon knew what was outside, trying to get in.

  Dala, at least, had seen them from a distance. Most of the women caught unawares by the sight of the invading Salka fainted dead away from the shock. A few braver souls, including Queen Bryse, tried to escape by opening the doors leading onto the external gallery; but by then the barge was foundering, and a great gout of discolored, debris-laden riverwater flooded into the saloon, washing them back inside.

  A rumbling noise now swelled amidst the human cries and the almost continuous roaring of the triumphant Salka. The barge vibrated like the sounding box of a titanic lute as the eddy currents strummed and whirled it in a narrowing spiral. Then came a crackling fusillade deep within the hull, loud as tarnblaze explosions, as the unbearable pressure of the water began to snap the dying vessel’s beams and planking.

  Dala was too terrified to move, cringing away from the tangle of writhing tentacles flailing about in search of victims. A glistening black arm encircled the waist of Queen Bryse Vandragora and dragged her out through a broken window frame. With dreadful precision, the monstrous questing limbs sought out and found the noblewomen, the pages, the musicians, and the servants, those who lay senseless and those who frantically tried to escape, and hauled them all away.

  The nursemaid no longer heard the human screams or the booming Salka howls. She was conscious only of the rising water now, and the fact that the barge was being engulfed stern first as it sank into the maelstrom. The forward section of the saloon where she and the baby hid still had most of its windows intact. Equally important, the massive chair had become wedged in a clutter of other furniture. It continued to shelter her, but no longer slid towards the submerged area where the Salka and the last of the victims continued their struggles. Even when the rising waters finally forced her to stand, Dala was able to conceal herself and the baby behind the sodden folds of the undrawn draperies near her. The child’s muffled wails could hardly be heard above the tumultuous racket made by the breaking hull.

  Finally, the obscene snarl of probing tentacles withdrew from the saloon. She risked looking out through the window. The landscape spun like a demented carrousel, shore and water combined in a dizzying blur. On the tilted foredeck above her, Dala saw King Honigalus leap from the bow pulpit with his sons in his arms. A pack of Salka dived after him. Only three monsters still clung to the hulk of the barge, and as she watched they rolled easily into the water and were gone.

  Working quickly, Dala unwound the long shawl from around the baby and used it to bind the small body tightly to her chest, making sure that the child’s head was above her shoulder. She studied the latch of the nearest casement. It was a simple thing, and when she turned it the window easily opened inward, letting water pour in. She waited, crooning “The Blossom Moon Song” to the baby. The water rose swiftly, and she climbed onto the chair seat, then onto the back, clutching at the drapes, keeping their heads in the air until the last possible moment.

  Then she took a deep breath, ducked under, and pushed out through the open casement.

  Almost immediately, a powerful current took hold of her. She could see nothing, for the waters of the eddy were not only murky with sediment but also streaked and splotched by bizarre areas of moving light. She kicked and pumped her arms to no effect: swimming was impossible. She would have to let the river take her where it would.

  But it was taking her down, down, tumbling her head over heels. The light was dimming and her lungs burned and dearest God what must be happening to the poor baby?…

  She struck something, felt a sharp pain in her upper leg, another as her elbow smashed into an unyielding surface. Rocks! The whirlpool was floored with rocks. Panic dug its claws into her pounding heart and she folded her arms protectively about Casya’s fragile head.

  Then her own skull was struck a glancing blow. White light flared in her brain. The hoarded air burst from her lungs, and she sucked in water almost with a sense of relief.

  I tried, she thought, drifting into quiet darkness, feeling the motionless tiny body still bound tightly to her. I tried.

  The cry of a whooping swan, far away, and the rustle of wind in the reeds. A magenta sky. Softness beneath her aching head. More pain in legs and arms and a lingering rawness in her throat and chest. She was covered to the chin by a blanket.

  “She’s awake,” a soft voice said. Two faces appeared, smiling down at her: a handsome little blonde woman with brilliant green eyes, and a very ordinary-looking man who sniffled a little and wiped his nose on his sleeve.

  “Baby,” she managed to whisper. “Baby!” Her voice broke and she began to cough.

  “Right here beside you,” the man said, “lying in a nest of dry grass and wrapped in her fine shawl, sleeping soundly.”

  “Drink this,” said the green-eyed woman, lifting her head and holding a cup to her lips. She sipped a few drops of warm herb tea, sweetened with honey, then drank deeply and eagerly until the woman said, “Enough for now,” and let her lie down again.

  “Little Casabarela is quite well,” the woman said, “sleeping off her ordeal as you were. I fed her a bit of mushy bread and cheese-curd. But she’ll wake betimes and need milk, so we’ll have to move along and find a farmstead with a cow or goat. Parties from the castle will be searching the riverbank for survivors, too. And even though they won’t be able to see us, we don’t want to leave too many traces of our presence to arouse suspicion.”

  They were in a dense grove of small trees. Riverwaters gleamed through the leaves and the pungent smell of marshland mingled with woodsmoke in the air. Two small horses grazed nearby. A campfire burned briskly in a ring of stones. Hung up to dry beside it on an improvised frame of sticks was a black robe and a set of raggedy trews, evidently the outer clothing of the man, who was clad only in a long undershirt. A second drying frame held pieces of female clothing: her own! She realized that she was naked beneath the blanket.

  “You saved our lives,” she said to the man, overcome with amazement and gratitude. “You pulled us from the water even though it was alive with ravening monsters!”

  He ducked his head modestly. “You drifted quite a way downstream from the rapids before the countercurrents brought you close to the bank and I was able to swim out and grab hold of you. The monsters are still lurking in the waters near Boarsden Castle. I was never in any danger from them.”

  “All the same, I owe you profound thanks—most especially for saving the dear child I had sworn to protect with my own life. May I know your name, messire?”

  “I’m Tesk, an itinerant wizard by profession, and this is my friend Cray, who is also adept in magic.”

  “I’m Dalaryse Plover, called Dala. I am—I was—the chief nursemaid to the Royal Family of Didion.” She was suddenly stricken at the thought of them. “But you don’t know, do you? Something terrible has happened to the king and queen, and the two little
princes!”

  “We know,” Cray said. “The barge was sunk by the Salka monsters, and all aboard save you and Princess Casabarela have died abominable deaths.”

  “All?” Dala wailed.

  “Everyone. And I admit that I never expected to find that you had survived along with the baby.”

  “You expected—” Dala felt her senses begin to reel. “You’re a magicker? You knew this terrible thing was going to happen and gave no warning?”

  “Yes,” Cray admitted freely. “It was not my duty to issue warnings, nor would anyone have taken me seriously if I’d tried. I was sent here from a faraway place by another who is wiser than I, expressly to rescue Casabarela Mallburn.”

  “If the others of the royal family have perished,” Dala said slowly, “then the poor orphaned babe is the Queen of Didion.”

  “Someday she will be,” Cray said. “But not now. There are dire things happening in your country and in other parts of High Blenholme Island. If it became known that little Casya were alive, scheming men would try to murder her. The monsters did not attack the royal barge by chance. They were incited by sorcerers who intend for Prince Somarus to take up Didion’s crown.”

  Dala’s eyes widened. “But how—”

  “We’ll explain it to you later,” Cray said. “You have a right to know everything, since it seems obvious that you were fated to be saved along with your tiny mistress—although the Source neglected to mention the fact to me. And glad I am that you’re here, Dala! For I know much of magic but very little of child-rearing, and I admit my heart sank to my boots when the Source laid this strange charge upon me. But, there—it’ll work out splendidly now, with you and dear Tesk to share the burden.”

  The man nodded and smiled and went to the fire to feel the cloth of his robe. “Just about dry. I’ll leave you ladies for a few minutes so Dala can get dressed. Then we must be off. We’ve a long way to travel.” He took his garments and disappeared into the bushes.