My dearest Uncle Sernin: Without my beloved son, life is no longer worth living. The potion I have taken will lead me to the peace I can find in no other way. Forgive me for causing you sorrow. Tell Dyfrig I will always watch over him.
Snudge felt his heart turn over in his breast, then a tidal wave of fury and grief smote him with such force that he almost cried out aloud.
Conrig was responsible for this. What Snudge had balked at, Tinnis Cat-claw was all too willing to do. The High King, believing his intelligencer dead, had beyond doubt dispatched the Lord Constable to Tarn to apprehend Maudrayne and Dyfrig and slay them. Later, with the circumstances altered, the death sentence of the little boy was rescinded—but Maude’s was not. Conrig was not ready to risk that she might someday withdraw her recanting.
With shaking hands, Snudge replaced the parchment sheets as he’d found them and slipped out of the room. His first thought was to track down Lord Tinnis on the Donorvale docks and slip a dagger between his ribs—but Conrig would only send another assassin. His second thought was to warn Maudrayne and Sealord Sernin that she was about to be poisoned—but doing so might provoke the very calamity the Source had been trying to prevent. The princess could not be allowed to testify to the High King’s talent. Conrig Wincantor must keep his Iron Crown.
Distraught to the point of incoherence, Snudge stumbled to his own small guest room and locked himself inside. Then he cried out on the wind for the Source.
“Why did you forbid Deveron to do anything at all?” Red Ansel asked.
He was in the eerie place of icy imprisonment on other business, consulting with the One Denied the Sky about the fall of Moss, and the near certainty that Master Shaman Kalawnn would soon find in Rothbannon’s library the book containing the incantation that would activate the Known Potency.
Because Maudrayne must make her own choice in the matter.
“I see no choice! There’s only death awaiting poor Maudie!”
The Source was calm. You don’t foresee far enough, dear soul. She will still choose freely, and so will Deveron. As for Kalawnn, his discovery was inevitable. Rothbannon always possessed the means to activate the Potency. He was only afraid to do it—as his successors were—because he knew not the purpose of the enigmatic stone.
Ansel sighed. “So this, too, is part of the Last Conflict: an empowered Potency in the possession of the Salka.”
Yes.
“The monsters will go after the two Moon Crags, you know. They’ll hunt them down one way or another and manufacture new moonstone sigils.”
Perhaps. I can’t tell. The Potency can either activate such stones or abolish them—remember that! We must ask ourselves how the Lights will react to the presence of sigils that draw power from them, while vouchsafing no satisfaction of their hunger. The Likeminded and I are still mulling over the matter, and its possible effect upon the New Conflict.
Ansel Pikan gave a tired little laugh, “Mull away! I must leave you to it and go to Thalassa Dru. But be sure that I’ll be windwatching my dear princess all the while. And doing some mulling of my own—over my personal role in your great game.”
Farewell, dear soul. Visit me again when you can.
When he failed to come to the farewell feast held for the departing voyagers, Induna went looking for him, thinking he might have suffered a delayed reaction to his healing, which had been unexpectedly rapid. She found him in the palace stables, strapping saddlebags onto a powerful blue-roan stallion. He was dressed in traveling garb.
“Sir Deveron! What are you doing here?”
“Do you like my new steed?” he inquired archly. “His name is Stormy, and he’s supposed to be a holy terror. But we’ll get along. I’ve a talent for dealing with horses.”
Induna glanced swiftly around the stableyard. None of the grooms were near. She spoke softly. “Aren’t you leaving for Gala tomorrow with the others, sir knight?”
Snudge fastened a buckle, then began to lash on a bedroll wrapped in waterproofed leather. “No. I intend to stay and seek my fortune in Tarn… and I’m no longer a knight, although my royal master hasn’t heard the bad news yet. I’ve given up being the Royal Intelligencer of Conrig Wincantor. My heart tells me that I can never again serve him in good conscience, since he has ordered a shameful act to be committed. The king will probably be livid when he finds out I’m gone for good, and he may put out a death warrant on me. But I’m unscryable, and Tarn is a large and lonely place.”
Induna watched him work. “There is a long, somewhat perilous track I know, that leads to Northkeep and then to a tiny place called Barking Sands.”
He froze, catching her gaze. “What are you saying?”
“Only that I admire and respect you, sir,” she said in a low voice, “and even more so now, after you’ve confided your crisis of conscience to me. I’d welcome your enduring friendship. I would also welcome you to my home”—she smiled slyly at him—“which, as you know, will soon be much more commodious than before. My mother is a superior healer shaman, and she’d welcome you, too. The lot of Tarnian magickers is an interesting one, with many challenges. Do your talents include healing?”
“I don’t know. I’m self-taught. There may be things within me that I never suspected.”
“Yes, as one matures, they sometimes manifest—not always as one might wish. Perhaps Mother and I together can work with you. To help you control and enhance your talent, if you should wish it.”
He cocked his head to one side and lifted one eyebrow. “And will you also show me how sands can bark, if we ride up there together?”
“Oh, yes!” Her face shone with eagerness.
“Mind you,” he added more soberly, “I intend to be away within the hour, before a certain Cathran lord notices I’m missing. But if you’re serious, I’ll secure a horse and tack for you while you fetch what you intend to bring.”
“Give me half an hour, sir.”
“You must now call me Deveron, for that is my name.”
“Very well—Deveron. I’m glad we are to be friends.” She turned and ran off lightly, her red-gold hair gleaming in the lowering sun.
He’d acted impulsively, perhaps foolishly. But the feeling of oppression that had earlier haunted him and the later pangs of anger, hatred, and sorrow were no longer so intense.
Induna! His previous experiences with women had been brief and casual and few. Perhaps this would be different.
The evening was still very warm. Feeling a sudden thirst, he strolled to the well that supplied both the stable and the laundry. As he bent over the stone rim to note its depth, he felt the two sigils slip out of his open shirt and dangle at the end of their chain.
The waters below gleamed dark and deep.
He took hold of the glowing things, slipped the chain over his head, and let the moonstones dangle in space. Perhaps it was time, now that he was ready to begin a new life…
Not yet.
The voice was regretful, sad, and utterly compelling.
He sighed, hung the chain around his neck again, and went off to find the stablemaster. He had quite forgotten to take a drink of water.
Maudrayne was gowned in her favorite emerald-green, wearing her opals and a little matching tiara that Sernin had given her as a homecoming gift. When the Lord Constable invited her to walk with him on the shining black-marble esplanade beside the river, she readily agreed. It had been overwarm inside the great hall. Most of the visiting sealords and other high-status palace denizens were still in there with Sernin and his lady, drinking vast quantities of mead and spirits, not quite celebrating and not quite mourning her recantation and her agreement to what they thought was Conrig’s proposal.
“It’s blessedly cool out here, isn’t it?” Tinnis said to her. “And quiet as well, with no one about. Would you like to take a short stroll to the docks and cast an eye over my ship? It would please me to show you the fine accommodation the carpenters have wrought for Prince Dyfrig.”
“I don’t fancy
a tuppence tour given by groveling officers,” she said shortly.
He only laughed. “They’re all ashore, as are most of the rest of the crew. Come, a little air will lift your spirits.”
So she took his arm and they walked to the palace landing stage where the tall ship was berthed. The two guards at the gangplank’s foot saluted them but made no comment as they went aboard. Maudrayne dutifully admired the small luxurious cabin, and was particularly appreciative of the nautical books that had been collected for Dyfrig’s pleasure, and the colored charts pinned to the bulkhead that showed both the sea route to Gala Blenholme and the land route from there to Beorbrook.
“Dyfi will enjoy these greatly.” Maudrayne was sincere. “I thank you for your consideration, my lord. He’s a clever lad, but so very young—and he’ll be afraid.”
Tinnis Catclaw chuckled. “That one? Not for long! He’ll be up in the rigging before we’re out of Gayle Firth and bedevilling the officer on watch wanting a chance to steer.”
“Shall we return to the palace?” she said. “I feel a small headache coming on.”
“Ah! I have the very thing in my own cabin. It’s just next door.”
He ushered her to it, found a crystal decanter and two silver cups, and went to rummage in a hanging locker above the washstand.
“Here it is, my mother’s own remedy for all manner of megrims. I never travel by sea without it.” He lifted a small glass phial that gleamed ruby-red, removed its stopper, and put four drops into a cup. Then he filled both cups with wine and handed her the one with the physick. “Drink up, my lady, and by the time we’re back at the palace, I guarantee that all your suffering will be gone.”
“Truly?” She met his eyes. “And tell me, Lord Tinnis: will it even banish my anguish at losing Dyfrig?”
“It will,” he said very quietly. “In a short hour.”
She looked into the cup, her lips tight. “Has my former husband, the King’s Grace, ever made use of this medicine?”
“No… but I’ve heard him recommend it most highly for distress such as yours.”
She said, “I know he sent you north to search me out, when Deveron Austrey was thought lost.”
“Yes.” He lifted one hand and gently touched the long tress of fiery auburn hair that spilled over her shoulder. “I came eagerly, as was my duty. But I would have come even more swiftly, had I recalled how beautiful you were. I saw you only three times when you dwelt in Gala Palace, for I was then a callow young mountain baron with small reason to visit the capital.”
“Ah.” With delicacy, she turned and stepped back, so that his hand must fall away. “Yet now I must drink.”
She lifted the cup, but before it could touch her lips he took hold of her wrist, staying it. “We—we could talk. I may have another remedy that would better suit you.”
“Even though I’m prepared to take this one? Lord Tinnis, you perplex me. I’m weary and bereft and in need of peace.”
“My dear lady—Princess Maudrayne! It could be done. Not easily—but if you choose, it could be done.”
They stared each one at the other for a long moment. And then she told him her choice.
END OF BOOK II
The Boreal Moon Tale
Is Continued In Sorcerers Moon
Julian May, Ironcrown Moon
Thank you for reading books on BookFrom.Net Share this book with friends