Snudge scowled. “Very well. You’ve persuaded me. But take care. You must all be with me and the princess inside the turret before the ship comes within cannon range of the peel. Feribor will surely threaten to bombard it as a ploy to obtain the prisoners. He may even lob a shell or two for emphasis—and only heaven knows how Ontel will respond. He’s probably thinking of using one of those catapults from the armory. I scried some guardsmen tinkering with them. It’ll be devil catch the hindmost if Ontel tosses a bombshell at the ship, and it fires back. The peel will have the worst of it. I doubt a backwoods Tarnian castellan like Ontel has any notion of the power and range of a modern frigate’s guns.”
“We’re ready, Deveron ” Gavlok said. He and the others who had put on the guards’ helmets, mail shirts, and surcoats formed up and smote their breasts in mock salute. Valdos hung behind them, smirking. He’d been forced to give up his sword but had hidden two daggers under his servant’s smock.
Induna said, “I’m going with you soldier boys. But don’t give me a second thought. I can take care of myself—and I may even be able to make myself useful in a pinch.” She vanished.
“God go with you all,” Snudge said, and took up Concealer.
There was a single workman in the annex, making some repair to the water-pump machinery at the base of the turret. The rest of the stone building comprised a stable, a byre for two milch cows, a fowl coop, and a warren of miscellaneous storerooms.
Snudge crept up on the kneeling engineer while invisible and hit him a tap just above the ear with the sock he’d filled with beach sand. The man fell over, moaning, and was quickly trussed and put out of the way. Then Snudge mounted the turret’s spiral iron stairway, moving slowly. The initial pangs resulting from his use of Concealer had sapped some of his strength, but the worst of it would come the next time he slept, and would no doubt be submerged in the greater pain-price he anticipated paying later…
When he reached the top of the tower, making no sound, the princess was looking through the spyglass again, standing with her back to him. He cleared his throat and spoke low.
“Lady Maudrayne, please refrain from turning around.”
She could not help flinching at the unexpected voice, but displayed no fear. “Why should I not?” she asked sharply, and lowered the spyglass and began to turn anyway. “Who are you? How dare you accost me here? Lord Ontel gave me this place for a private sanctum. Where are you hiding, you impudent knave?”
“Lady, the shamans may be scrying you as you speak. I beseech you to compose yourself! You must not rouse their suspicions. Go back to the window and resume your study of the sea or else sit quietly on the bench. Please show no excitement, and cover your mouth with your hand if you must speak. I’ll explain myself. I’ve come to free you and your son.”
She plopped down on the circular seat surrounding the shaft housing, eyes wide and lips parted in astonishment as she realized she was being addressed by one who was invisible. An instant later she lowered her head and allowed her thick auburn tresses to veil her face. “Are you a wizard, then? Perhaps come here from yon ship?”
Snudge intoned, “BI FYSINEK.” He appeared, sitting beside her.
Her blue eyes blazed behind the gleaming curtain of hair. “You,” she whispered. “Deveron Austrey, my husband’s strangely talented spy! I think you’ve come not to liberate us, but to put an end to us.”
“Not so, my lady. These days, I serve not only the High King, but also another master—whose commands supersede those of Conrig, and who wishes no harm to befall you.”
“So you say,” she jeered. “Aren’t you afraid the shamans will scry you talking to me?”
“You called me talented, and so I am, and very strangely. No one can scry me. But we must not bandy words, for there’s little time. The ship you observed approaching the peel carries Duke Feribor Blackhorse. He intends to steal away you and your son and force you to serve his own purposes before disposing of you both.”
“No!” she cried.
“It’s true. Whereas I hope to transport you to the safe custody of your uncle, High Sealord Sernin, after making to you a proposal that may ensure your future safety—and give to your son some of his birthright.”
“What are you saying?” she breathed, leaning closer to him. “What sort of a proposal? Who is your master, if not the man who is my greatest foe?”
“Lady, there’s no time to speak of this now. He is a person of great power, that is all I can tell you about him. He knows how you were taken away and safeguarded by Ansel Pikan, but also knows that Ansel is no longer able to protect you from those who would deny your destiny. He’s the one who permitted me to come to you, when Ansel would have tried to prevent it. Most important… he is one who knows that only Conrig Wincantor can save our world from the terrible catastrophe that threatens it. Only the Sovereign will be able to defend our beloved island from an impending invasion by Salka monsters.
“Salka?” She was skeptical. “But they hide in Moss’s fens.”
“No more! These inhuman fiends have already murdered the entire royal family of Didion. They are poised to take over the kingdom of Moss, now that Queen Ullanoth is gone. After that, they’ll attack Cathra and Tarn, using the same moonstone sorcery of the Beaconfolk that confronted Emperor Bazekoy when he conquered Blenholme on behalf of humanity. No other ruler living has the military prowess of Conrig. He is a flawed man: in many ways, a wicked man. But he is the only one who can save our island. And for this reason you will not be permitted to destroy him.”
“I… will not be permitted…” Outrage robbed her of speech.
“Lady, you have been cruelly wronged. You thought yourself justified in avenging yourself and your son by revealing Conrig’s two great secrets to your brother and to the other sealords. Perhaps you believe that the king’s fate is already sealed. It’s not. He won’t be deposed because of what you’ve done. He will not lose his Iron Crown. But he will be distracted, and his energies will be diverted from more important matters as he defends himself against you. His human enemies will also assail him if he seems vulnerable. Thus he maybe prevented from defeating the monsters… if you do not recant your accusation.”
“Never!” She was ashen with reined-in fury. “Never never never will I take back my words, because I have spoken only the truth!”
“Let me tell you what you would receive in exchange,” Snudge said. “First of all, your son Dyfrig would be given special status by the king. Since you cannot prove absolutely who his father might be—”
She drew breath to scream an imprecation, but Snudge covered her mouth with a firm hand and said urgently, “Listen! Listen, for the love of God. We have no time for your temper!”
She slumped forward as though he’d struck her. He felt hot tears on his hand and she shuddered, shaking her head.
He released her. “There is no proof that Dyfrig is Conrig’s firstborn, but neither is there proof that he is not. And so by royal decree he can be placed third in the line of succession, behind the king’s young twin sons by Queen Risalla, Orrion and Corodon. Dyfrig will be adopted by the Earl Marshal of the Realm, Parlian Beorbrook, a nobleman of impeccable character. He will be styled ‘Prince’. If Dyfrig shows competence, he will eventually inherit Lord Parlian’s familial office and the great Duchy of Beorbrook. The marshal’s only surviving son, Count Elktor, cannot in justice fill his father’s boots, and he already has lands of his own. Should Parlian die untimely, the office of earl marshal will remain vacant and its perquisites held in abeyance until Dyfrig is of a suitable age to take them up. If for some reason he cannot do this, he will still be provided for as a prince royal.”
“Third in the succession?” Maudrayne said tremulously. “Adopted by dear old Parli?”
“This is my proposal. As for yourself, you will live in Tarn under the protection of your uncle, who will be responsible for your good conduct. You’ll have no physical contact with your son until he has reached his majority. He will k
now you are his mother, however, and you will be permitted to write to him—although not secretly.”
“And to attain all this, I must say I lied when I revealed Conrig’s secret talent.”
“You must convince the sealords of it,” Snudge corrected her gently. “There can be no halfheartedness, no sly winks, no mental reservations or future denials or treasonous schemings. Or else Dyfrig will suffer the ultimate penalty, while you will live on.”
She wiped away her tears. “This is hard. Harder than you know. Conrig betrayed me with Ullanoth—”
“He never will again. She is as good as dead.” Snudge waited, but Maudrayne only raised her head and stared out to sea. The ship was perceptibly closer. “Well, my lady?”
She sighed. “I agree to all of it… But how will we now escape from here? You said you would carry us safely to Donorvale, but that seems hardly possible.”
“It is possible, and it will be done. But first I must put the proposal to the High King and obtain his agreement.”
“What! He doesn’t know?”
Snudge’s expression was rueful. “I could say nothing to him until I successfully reached your side and heard from your own lips that you would agree. I am a wild-talented windvoice. With your permission, I’ll now bespeak Lord Stergos in Gala Palace, and he’ll put the matter to His Grace.”
She was trembling with shock and anger, and for a moment it seemed her fierce pride would overturn everything. But then she threw back her head and laughed. “Go ahead. But oh—how I wish I could see Con’s face when he’s told!”
“I’ve sent for him,” Stergos told Snudge on the wind. “He’s at a meeting of the Privy Council and the Lords of the Southern Shore, attempting to quash the rumors that already filter out of Tarn. But I’ve informed him that the message is crucial—and that you’re alive.”
But not that I’m with Princess Maudrayne, I hope.
The recuperating Royal Alchymist lay in a long chair on a shaded balcony of the palace. He had dismissed the Brother Secretary who was assisting him with his papers as soon as Snudge bespoke him, and now carried on their wind-conversation with one hand shading his eyes. “No, no, I’ve said nothing to the king about Maude—but I couldn’t contain my happiness and my relief at your survival. How in Zeth’s name did you ever get to Tarn?”
Through sigil magic. I was given a Great Stone called Subtle Gateway by the Source, who also told me where Maudrayne and the boy were being held. Gateway is able to carry me and my companions anywhere, at a price. We’re in a small place on the eastern coast of Tarn, near Fort Ramis.
“But the shaman Bozuk told Duke Feribor she was imprisoned at Cold Harbor, far to the north! The Lord Constable was sent in search of her when it seemed you might be dead.”
Bozuk lied, my lord. And Duke Feribor has played our king false. He bribed Bozuk to take him to Maude, thinking to use her in support of his own claim to Cathra’s throne. At this minute, Feribor’s ship is only a few leagues distant from us. The situation is tricky, but I believe we’ll surely be able to escape before he arrives.
Stergos groaned. “My royal brother would never believe ill of the duke, no matter how we two sought to persuade him. Perhaps now he’ll listen.”
Your windvoice falters, my lord. Are you strong enough to continue? Perhaps Vra-Sulkorig should relay my message to the king while you stand by.
“Oh, Deveron! Of course you don’t know. Poor Sulkorig is dead by misadventure, his head broken by the hoof of the Lord Constable’s horse. The beast took fright for some reason while the two men were examining it in its stall.”
I regret to hear it. Sulkorig was an able man, and an honest one.
“Although he did give me much cause for concern,” Stergos admitted in all innocence. “His conscience was troubled by his inadvertent discovery of the king’s talent, but I convinced him that he had no moral obligation to report it to the Royal Tribunal.”
And His Grace knew of this?
“Well… yes. But you can’t think that—”
“Gossy! What is it?” Conrig strode out onto the balcony, his face shining with excitement. “Is it really Snudge bespeaking you?”
The Royal Alchymist’s hand flew away from his eyes and he stared at his brother with a mixture of consternation and fear. “Con! Oh, how you startled me!”
“Are you well?” the king asked in concern. He lowered himself to a padded stool.
“Yes, yes.” Stergos forced a smile. “I’m well, and Deveron is very well. Con, he’s found Maudrayne and the boy! And he says he’s managed to convince her to recant her accusation concerning your talent. There are some concessions required, but I do believe we’ve found the solution to your terrible dilemma.”
“Great God,” Conrig murmured. “Snudge talked Maude around?” He scowled. “What concessions?”
“Just a moment, while I let Deveron know you’re here. Then he can tell you everything himself.” He spoke on the wind, then pulled himself to a sitting position. At length, he presented to the king a verbatim account of Snudge’s proposal and Maudrayne’s acceptance.
Conrig listened, thunderstruck. When Stergos finished, the king said, “But how will Snudge get Maude and the boy to Donorvale? For that matter, how in hell did Snudge get to Tarn?”
“He has a new sigil named Gateway,” Stergos admitted with reluctance. “Acquired from some… some wizard he met along the way. I still have to get the straight of it myself. The thing is able to transport a number of persons from one place to another through sorcery.”
“God’s Teeth! Our Snudge is a veritable wellspring of surprises. The proposal is ingenious. I quite like the notion of having Parli Beorbrook adopt the lad. But can we trust Maude’s word? I must think hard about this.”
“Deveron says there can be no delay. Your friend Feribor has deceived you and is about to attack the place where Maude is being held. If you accept Snudge’s proposal, he’ll carry the princess and the boy Dyfrig to Donorvale, using the Gateway sigil. The sealords can witness her recanting and her acceptance of the agreement. If you decline or withhold a decision, Deveron says he’ll take Maude and Dyfrig elsewhere and—er—find them a new home.”
“Damn him for a treasonous whoreson!” Conrig bellowed. “He dares to bargain with me?”
Stergos stiffened. “His proposal is a good one, Con. Without Maude’s accusing testimony, there is no cause for any tribunal, here in Cathra or in Tarn, to look into the matter of your talent.”
The king gave him a mutinous glare. “It’s lese-majeste! I’m the Sovereign!”
“For now you are,” his brother said sadly. “Con, agree to it. You gain much and lose nothing but Maude’s bitter enmity and the threat to your throne. I implore you! So much lies in the balance.” More than you know, the Royal Alchymist thought, but I can say nothing to you about the Source and the New Conflict, for you would never believe me!
Conrig said, “Very well.”
“What?” Stergos leapt like a trout, recalled from his abstraction.
“I’ll do it. Our Tarnian ambassador can be one official witness and the Lord Constable the second. I draw the line at facing that hellcat myself. Let it be part of our agreement that I never see Maude again. Tell Snudge to get her and the boy to Donorvale without delay.”
“I will!” Stergos covered his eyes and sent the message on the wind, weeping for joy all the while.
Conrig Wincantor, the Sovereign of Blenholme, turned away from his brother and helped himself to the wine that was on a small refreshment table near the balcony railing. Then he looked out over the expanse of Gala Blenholme Harbor, sipping from his crystal cup and smiling. Tinnis Catclaw’s ship was speeding to Tarn. He was already commanded to stop at Donorvale to confer with the sealords, and now there was no need for him to proceed further. He would witness the agreement.
And then, if Conrig thought it was for the best, he might fulfil his original task.
No one in the peel challenged the squad of fraudulent guard
smen as they marched up the grand staircase from the gate vestibule to the third level, trailed by a youthful servant. Many of the residents had already learned that a strange warship had hove into view, causing the shaman-lord much anxiety. A timid-looking housemaid clutching a feather-duster even ventured to ask the passing king’s men if Skullbone Peel was in danger.
“Nothing to concern you, wench!” Gavlok told her sternly. “Back to work.”
At the armory door, the armiger Valdos whispered to the others, “Can you give me a minute or two to get the child out of the library before you raise a ruckus in there?”
“Only that,” came the voice of unseen Induna. “Take the prince to the turret as fast as you can.”
Valdos trotted to the library at the far end of the corridor and pulled open the door. The four-year-old boy sat at a long table amidst the shelves, reading very slowly from a book while pointing out the words with his finger. A homely, big-boned woman, evidently his nursemaid, sat across from him mending a shirt.
“Prince Dyfrig!” Valdos called out. “Your lady mother has urgent need of you. You must come with me to the turret at once, where she awaits.”
Dyfrig said, “After I finish this sentence. Is there such a word as ee-num-russ?”
“You must come now!” Valdos crossed to the table.
The maid scowled at him. “Is something wrong?”
“No. Yes!” Valdos spluttered. He held out his arms to the boy. “Here, I’ll carry you.”
Dyfrig was patient. “Rusgann can’t read. Can you? Look—what’s this word? Ee-num-rus? I never heard of it.”
Outside, there were shouts and a sudden metallic clash. The maid surged to her feet with a squawk of alarm and dashed to the open door.
“Don’t go out there!” Valdos cried. “Laddie, come to me!”
“The word,” came the implacable demand.