“Unbelievable…”
“The New Conflict is upon us, Grand Master, and you’d better think long and hard about which side you choose to support. Beynor is too self-centered to serve the evil Lights of his own free will, but I believe that they have nevertheless made him their puppet. As you are well aware, it’s difficult for them to interact directly with our material world, except through the subtle fluxes of power and pain. They need groundling agents—just as my benevolent Source does—and Beynor is their perfect choice. Have you forgotten that he carried away the Unknown Potency when he sought refuge in the Dawntide Isles? All of his other sigils were taken from him—save that one, which the Lights unaccountably permitted him to keep.”
“Thalassa Dru, what are you saying?” Ridcanndal looked at her askance. “Has Beynor activated the Potency to use against us?”
“It’s quite possible that he has—perhaps with the connivance of the Lights themselves, if they see him as a useful adjunct to their capricious schemes. Now take me to the tomb!”
It was impossible to deny her. The right of access was hers by law. But what did she intend to do? Ridcanndal sighed, took up a tall oil lamp, and ignited a flame within its crystal chimney. “Has the Source also sent you to stave off the incursion of Salka into our lands? Will you take up the Crown of Moss yourself?”
“Alas, I have no such mandate. Conrig Wincantor is the only one who can defend you from invading monsters.”
“I was finishing the draft of an appeal to him when you came to my door. The Conjure-Queen assured us that the Sovereign of Blenholme would come to our aid if we were attacked. But what if his help comes too late? In the Salka’s last assault upon us, it was only the queen’s use of her Great Stone Weather-maker that beat the brutes away from our shores. The warships sent by Conrig served only to harry and punish them once they had already withdrawn.”
“Thanks to Ullanoth, Moss now has its own small navy and a force of trained fighting warriors. Use them. But make plans also against the blackest contingency. This is the only advice I can give you. Now take me to the tomb with no further ado.”
He could only obey, knowing that no magic of his could stop her. He led her from his tower into the main keep of the castle, and from there down seemingly endless winding staircases of black, dripping rock into a labyrinth of tunnels and disused chambers, where walled-off sections masked ancient secrets or led to places long forgotten.
The tomb of the first Conjure-King was less than a century old, although Fenguard Castle itself predated Rothbannon by nearly five hundred years, having long been the home of renegade Didionite wizards. Some legends hinted that the deepest shafts and burrows were the work of the Salka, and humankind had raised the castle on foundations built in primordial times by the amphibian monsters.
“My brother Linndal, when he was a reckless young boy, explored these ancient subterranean portions of Fenguard,” Thalassa Dru remarked, as they traveled the maze of dark corridors. “I’d not be surprised if Beynor did also. Have you considered that some of these passages might lead outside the castle walls, below the Darkling River and into the waters of the Little Fen itself? They might provide a way for Salka to penetrate the defenses of Fenguard Castle—provided they had a guide.”
“I never thought of such a thing,” Ridcanndal admitted. “We’ll take what precautions we can against such an intrusion.” He was becoming increasingly rattled—not only by the way this woman had compelled him to obey her, but also by the confident portentousness of her remarks. How in the world was he going to explain all this to Zimroth and the Glaumerie Guild? At the very least, he should have found a way to alert them to the arrival of the late king’s mysterious sister. But bewilderment and chagrin (or was it her sorcery?) had distracted him, and now it was too late.
They had come at last to the sealed entrance to Rothbannon’s tomb, which lay at the end of a dry tunnel that looked almost freshly hewn. “Unbind the defensive spells blocking the door,” Thalassa Dru told him.
Meekly, Ridcanndal pronounced the lengthy incantation that protected the tomb against ordinary intruders. Then the sorceress laid her own hand upon the solid stone door-panel. It was incised with the swan insignia and an inscription:
ROTHBANNON ASH BAJOR
C.Y. 911- 1052
FIRST CONJURE-KING OF MOSS
AND LIBERATOR OF THE SEVEN STONES
“PUISSANCE AND PRUDENCE”
“What a pity,” she murmured, “that he was the only one of his blood to follow that wise motto!… Recite the rest of the spell, Grand Master.”
He hesitated only for a moment, then spoke the words, concluding in a loud voice, “Open to a true descendant of Rothbannon!”
With a harsh grating rumble, the stone door rolled away. She admonished Ridcanndal to wait outside and entered. The sepulchre itself was a polished black-marble cube that measured less than an ell on each side, containing the cremated remains of the great sorcerer. Resting on its lid in a depression that fitted it perfectly was the small platinum casket that had been made to hold the original Seven Stones Rothbannon had taken from the Salka.
Thalassa Dru lifted the lid, saw the gleam of the six living sigils and the empty place where the Conjure-Queen’s lost Fortress stone had once rested. Reverently, she closed the container and carried it out of the tomb.
Ridcanndal stared at her apprehensively, still having no idea what she intended to do. “And now, my lady?”
“Lead me to the room where my niece’s body lies. And then I pray you to secure for me a small drum.”
Dear soul, you’ve been successful!
The subtle form of Thalassa Dru opened the box and emptied the sigils onto the frost-encrusted floor of the Source’s prison. Her aura was a triumphant blaze of rainbow colors. “As you see, my master. The cursed things are still alive and bonded to her, but that should make their abolition all the more precious to our cause.”
The dead black shape shackled in sapphire uttered a deep sigh of satisfaction. One of the gemlike manacles confining him now glowed so faintly that it was nearly as transparent as the ice-flows streaking the cavern walls. Shield your eyes, then, while I unite with the Likeminded to deal with these abominations. I think—I hope—But let’s see what happens this time, now that the obliteration of Darasilo’s Trove has already brought me so much closer to atonement.
The flash of dissolution was more intense than she had ever experienced before. When Thalassa Dru opened her eyes, long moments passed before she could focus her vision. Then she saw what had happened, and tears of joy sprang to her dazzled eyes.
“One of your arms is free!” she breathed. The pale manacle and its chain lay on the cavern floor, shattered like glass.
I am still held fast by the other limb. But we progress, Thalassa Dru. We progress.
He reached out with the unshackled tentacle and gently pressed one talon into the wall of ice, extracting a small object which he held out to the sorceress. It was a sphere no larger than a pea that shone like an emerald star.
Here is her essence, liberated from their evil thrall and from all pain. You and
Dobnelu know how to reunite it to her body. But she must remain with you in your mountain sanctuary until the last remnants of power-hunger are cleansed from her soul. You two will be her guides and teachers. Ansel Pikan, unfortunately, can no longer he trusted to act without prejudice.
She tucked the green gem into her bodice. “What are we to do about him, master? It seems plain that his sentimental attachment to Maudrayne North-keep has clouded his judgment and perhaps even diminished his commitment to the Conflict. Without consulting us, he’s hidden the woman and her son in a place where Conrig Wincantor’s men are unlikely to find them. I think he still hopes to solve the problem of the princess and her son peacefully.”
As I would also hope to do! I’ve put into play certain factors that may yet bring about such a fortunate resolution. But ultimately, Maudrayne’s fate rests in her own hands. The dolef
ul truth is that Conrig’s Sovereignty cannot be allowed to fall because of her thirst for revenge. Ansel must be made to understand this. If he balks, then we must remedy the situation as best we can. I’ll bespeak you if the necessity for action arises. And now farewell, dear soul.
Thalassa Dru awoke in the castle chamber where Ullanoth’s body had lain in state. Two candles burned low on either side of the Conjure-Queen’s bier. The samite-draped platform was empty. She uttered a deep sigh.
“My lady?” A tentative voice came from behind the cushioned chair where the sorceress had sat while performing the drum ritual. Wix, the little old man who was Ullanoth’s most devoted friend, came to stand in front of her with both hands clasped humbly over his heart. “Did it go well? Oh, please tell me that my dear queen will live again!”
“What did you see when the drumming stopped?” she asked him.
“You went into a trance. The casket in your lap melted away like smoke, then so did her poor lifeless husk—only before it vanished utterly it seemed transformed, so that she was once again as young and beautiful as she had been before the terrible stones consumed her with pain…”
“Ah.” Thalassa Dru smiled, then took the spherical emerald from the bodice of her gown and showed it to him. “Her body has been transported through subtle means to my own dwelling place far away in the mountains of Tarn. But her living essence resides here. The unnatural link between her and the Coldlight Army has been severed. I shall carry this soul receptacle safely home with me now, and after a time Ullanoth sha Linndal will indeed live again.“
Wix bent closer to look at the shining gem, his face suffused with wonder. “I’ve served the dear lass for all her natural life. Will you allow me to continue? Will you take me with you?”
“The journey will be long and we’ll sometimes travel in strange ways, but if you wish, you may come along.”
“I’m ready now,” he said simply.
Thalassa Dru restored the emerald to its hiding place, went to the chamber door, and opened it. In the corridor outside were Ridcanndal, Lady Zimroth, and a group of other Glaumerie Guild members, looking both fearful and angry. She swung the door wide, and with a wordless gesture invited them to enter.
“Gone!” Ridcanndal exclaimed. “The sigils are gone—and you’ve taken our queen away as well!”
“She was already far from here.” The sorceress’s gentle face grew stern. “And while she reigned, you withheld your love and trust from her. So now prepare to receive a different sort of ruler.”
“Who?” Lady Zimroth demanded. “Who will take Ullanoth’s place? Will it be Beynor?”
But Thalassa Dru walked past her without another word, followed by Wix. The Guild members would have come after them and remonstrated further, but they were overcome by a strange lethargy that slowed their steps, and by the time they recovered, both the sorceress and the old man had vanished.
Snudge bespoke news of the royal assassinations to Vra-Sulkorig at Gala Palace, making it plain to the Keeper of Arcana that he, not Snudge himself, was the appropriate one to gather further information from official Didionite sources before informing the High King.
“And if His Grace shows signs of wanting to send me to Boarsden Castle,” Snudge added, “you must do your utmost to dissuade him. The place is in a wild state of uproar, Brother Keeper. I read a few lips as I briefly scried it and learned that Prince Somarus has sprung up out of nowhere. He’s expected to arrive at the castle within the hour, to supervise the search for survivors of the disaster—not that there are any!—and give notice to the world that he’s the new King of Didion. You know what Somarus thinks of the Sovereignty. He’ll declare war on it as soon as he thinks he has a chance of winning. And he’d probably throw the lot of us into a dungeon if he caught us snooping around. The lads and I intend to hotfoot it out of Didion as soon as we can. Our job is to find Princess Maudrayne, and I’m confident that we can do it. Tell Lord Stergos I might have important news for him soon.”
Bespeak me each day without fail, Sir Deveron. The High King insists that you keep him informed of your whereabouts.
“I’ll do my best. Farewell, Brother Keeper.”
Snudge cut the windthread and sat quietly on the floor of the parapet for a few minutes to recover his strength. Overcome by shock, Vra-Mattis hadn’t budged from the place where Snudge had left him, while spending some two hours overseeing the River Malle and Boarsden Castle. The young Brother’s tears had dried, but his eyes were flat and staring and he seemed only half-conscious.
Snudge gently shook his shoulder. “Mat. Time to go back to the others. Up you get.”
“They were eaten,” he said in a listless voice. “Eaten.”
Snudge pulled the unresisting novice to his feet. “It was a terrible thing, I agree. Perhaps you can say prayers for the victims later, when you’re feeling better.”
The two of them negotiated the curtain wall stairway with some difficulty, then returned to the trestle table outside the castle kitchen. The other guests had retired to their rooms, leaving only Snudge’s men dawdling over mugs of ale in the thickening twilight. The sky had become overcast. Torches flickered in a rising wind and a sound of clanking pots, sloshing water, and vulgar banter came from the adjacent scullery.
“We thought you’d fallen asleep somewhere, Deveron,” Sir Gavlok joked. Then he noticed his friend’s grim face. “What is it, man? You look like death.”
“Death’s what we have to deal with,” Snudge said. He beckoned to his younger armiger, Wil Baysdale. “Vra-Mattis has been overcome by exhaustion after a difficult windspeaking session. See him off to bed and sit with him for an hour or so, to be sure he rests comfortably.”
Wil sprang up, a solicitous expression on his face, and led the faltering novice away.
When the two were gone, and Snudge had been served with ale by Valdos, his other squire, Gavlok said, “What’s this about death?”
“Salka monsters have attacked the barge carrying the Royal Family of Did-ion on its progress along the Malle River. The king and queen and their children have perished, along with all of their retainers and servants. So far, no one has any explanation why the monsters should have done such an incredible thing. They haven’t penetrated into Didion for nine hundred years. Prince Somarus is on his way to Boarsden Castle, which is a stronghold of his mother’s people, to seize the advantage. He’ll proclaim himself king, and I wouldn’t put it past him to do something rash—if not immediately, then perhaps within the next few days. All hell’s broken loose in Tarn as well. Princess Maudrayne has told her brother Liscanor that she’s the mother of King Con-rig’s eldest son and heir. Liscanor has passed the information on to the High Sealord Sernin. Unless I’m much mistaken, it won’t be long before he and Somarus begin exchanging seditious messages on the wind.”
While Gavlok and the squires sat in silence, stupefied by the enormity of the disaster, the Mountain Swordsman Radd Falcontop spoke up. “Sir Deveron, I must make bold to give you some advice. With conditions now so unsettled, and likely to get worse, it will be highly dangerous for a small party such as ours to continue along the Wold Road and into Tarn. The situation was dicey enough before—but the lawless partisans of Somarus will run rampant now that they need not fear retribution from King Honigalus. No travelers from Cathra will be safe. If you are determined to go on, I beg you to bespeak Earl Marshal Parlian and request that a heavily armed company of troops be sent from Great Pass garrison to escort us.”
“I agree with Radd,” Hulo Roundbank said.
“But then we must forgo our disguise as simple young merchant-lords,” Gavlok protested. “Our entire mission was predicated upon going stealthily, but it will be obvious that we’re on the king’s business if we travel with a mob of warriors.”
“We risk being killed from ambush if we continue in our present state,” Hulo said. “At best, we’d be taken prisoner and held for ransom by one of the robber-barons. All of western Didion favors Somarus for havin
g denounced his late brother’s submission to the Sovereignty.”
Gavlok made a helpless gesture. “Perhaps we can adopt a different disguise. Or retrace our steps, go over to the Westley coast, and take ship from one of the ports there—”
Snudge said, “All of you be silent. There is another course of action open to us—one that I had fervently hoped to postpone until we were inside Tarn and close to the hiding place of the princess.”
They stared at him. His face was pale as he opened his shirt and drew out the golden chain with its two glowing moonstones. Gavlok uttered a gasp of astonishment at the sight, for he had no idea that his friend had acquired a second sigil. The others were only puzzled.
“My friends,” Snudge said, “all of you were told when you agreed to accompany me that this adventure had much to do with sorcery. Princess Maude and her son are guarded by the High Shaman of Tarn, one of the great magickers of the northland. Earlier, although you were not told of this, the two fire-raising villains were also involved in a matter of high sorcery. They used the fire to cover their theft of a valuable collection of magical amulets from the Royal Alchymist… amulets such as these.”
He lifted the stones for their inspection. When Radd reached out a curious hand and would have taken hold of them, Snudge exclaimed, “Beware! Anyone who touches these things without first gaining the permission of the owner risks being severely burned or even killed. They are called sigils and are tools of the Beaconfolk, capable of formidable magic. I must also tell you that this magic exacts a price from the one who wields it, according to the difficulty of the action performed. A price of pain.”
“Then you are a sorcerer?” Hulo seemed dumfounded.
“No, only the Royal Intelligencer—King Conrig’s trusted snudge. I use the magic of the Beaconfolk only rarely and with great reluctance, and only in the service of the King’s Grace. How I obtained these stones is a story I may not share with you. I will only say that I wish I had never laid eyes on the damned things, for they put my very soul in peril… Nevertheless, since I do have them, I will use them as I must.”