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fourteen

Vra-stergos came to bring Conrig the morning wind tidings and found him being ministered to by the Royal Barber, Hindel, who made finicky darts at the princely beard with flickering shears, snipping off a few golden hairs at each pass and muttering, "Not quite! Not quite right." Telifar Bankstead, the prince's most trusted lord-in-waiting, was supervising the setup of the breakfast table, while the secretary, Lord Mullan Overgard, stood at the desk unpacking a portfolio of documents. There was no sign of Princess Maudrayne.

"Leave be, Hindel," Conrig said, taking note of his brother's agitated expression. Something noteworthy must have happened.

"But, Your Grace!" the barber protested. "A bit more trimming, and you'll be perfect!"

Conrig pulled the cloth away from his neck and rose from his chair with a grimace. "I doubt that. At any rate, I'll not require your services any more today." "I have a marvelous new musk-scented pomade—"

"Go!" the prince commanded, and the barber gathered up his equipment and fairly ran out of the room. To Telifar: "You and Mullan may also withdraw until I send for you."

The secretary said, "We must present these signed letters of appeal to the grain merchants and shipowners as soon as possible. The King's Grace has already endorsed them."

"Oh, very well. Give me a pen." He scrawled his name and thrust the pages back into Overgard's hands. "Close the door after you and see that I'm not disturbed."

The two men bowed and left the room, leaving the brothers alone.

"Well, what is it, Gossy?" Conrig inquired. "You look a bit white about the gills. Was there bad news flying on the wind? Out with it unless you think we might be overseen."

"No one watches us," Stergos assured him. "Even the Royal Alchymist is sequestered in his sanctum, so completely shielded in a spell of couverture that he can no more see out than any other adept can see in."

"Then tell me what's happened."

Stergos stated it baldly. "Linndal of Moss is dead, and he named young Beynor his successor."

"Bazekoy's Ballocks!" the prince exclaimed in dismay. "That'll put a cold breeze up Ullanoth's skirts. Was anything said of her?"

"Only that she's permanently removed from succession to the Mossland throne. Some cousins are next in line now. I tried to bespeak the Conjure-Princess immediately, but she gave no reply. I hope—" He trailed off, seeing the look on Conrig's face.

"If Beynor's killed her," the prince said quietly, "or managed to imprison her inside some enchantment so she can't talk to us, our invasion of Didion may be futtered to a fare-thee-well."

The Doctor Arcanorum nodded unhappily. "The windcrier gave only a few more details. Linndal perished of a broken neck after falling down a flight of stairs. The new young king has been acclaimed by the Glaumerie Guild. His coronation is set for next week, and King Achardus of Didion will attend and offer his personal felicitations."

The prince uttered a more eloquent curse. "We've got to find out what's hap­pened to Ulla. I know you can't windsearch for her at such a long distance, but perhaps Snudge can manage it."

"Perhaps." The alchymist sighed. "I'll find him and ask him."

"Have you had breakfast?" Conrig asked. When Stergos shook his head, the two of them went to the table that had been prepared near the windows of the sitting room. "I don't think Maudrayne will be joining me. Sovanna told Telifar that my lady intended to sleep in to recover from the long journey. You can have her share."

Covered dishes held smoking grilled trout with pepper and verjuice, cold roast quail and their hard-boiled eggs in mustard sauce, golden toast with goose-berry jam, and sweet cheese pastries. The beverages were clover wine, honeysuckle tea kept hot by a tiny brazier, and a crystal pitcher of unhopped wheat beer, espe­cially favored by Conrig as an eye-opener.

The two of them fell to, Stergos concentrating on the succulent fish, the pastries, and the tea. Conrig preoccupied. He recalled his last tryst with Ullanoth, and her warning that Beynor might attempt to kill him.

"The Conjure-Princess bespoke me yesterday," said the prince, popping two of the little eggs into his mouth and speaking while he chewed. "She said that Beynor might send an assassin after me. I know you've got remedies against poison, but can you give me something magical to fend off physical attack?"

"Alas—there's no general shield of invulnerability contained in the Zeth Codex. Some authorities say that the Glaumerie Guild of Moss owns an amulet of the Beaconfolk that subtly armors one's body, but such high sorcery is beyond our Order. Perhaps I can devise a warning charm of some sort. I could consult Vra-Kilian—"

Conrig gave a negative grunt, nibbling quail meat. "Don't. It's likely he'd be the designated murderer."

"Oh, no!" Stergos nearly dropped his cup of tea.

"I dismissed him from the Privy Council last night. From now on, he has nothing to do with affairs of state—only arcana."

"Dear God. He'll be in a terrible rage!"

"Not if he knows what's good for him." Conrig smiled with grim satisfaction. "However, I certainly don't intend to be alone with him—and that goes for those three muckmates of his, as well. You know the ones I mean—Brothers Butterball, Squinty, and Vinegar-Face. I think you better watch your back around them, too, Gossy."

"I can't believe they'd try to harm either of us." But Stergos's eyes shifted nervously.

The trio, whose actual names were Raldo, Niavar, and Cleaton, had a dubi­ous reputation among the Brethren resident in the palace. Even though their magical talents were only modest, they were Vra-Kilian's closest associates, hold­ing the positions of Novice Master, Keeper of Arcana, and Hebdomader, or chief disciplinarian of the Brothers.

"We already know why Kilian's loyalty to me is suspect," Conrig continued. "One of the oldest motives of all: familial ambition. What I still can't understand is what threat or bribe Beynor might have used to turn his coat. And trusting a boy-wizard to kill me off isn't particularly efficient. Kilian could do a better job of it using his own people—if he dared. But we know he wouldn't dare—at least, not until the king is dead. Father could appoint another heir, cutting off Duke Shi-Shi or Feribor, if he chose to."

"Beynor could never bribe Vra-Kilian with money," Stergos observed. "Moss has none to spare, and the Blackhorse family's wallowing in it. Beynor might be holding some threat over Kilian, but I can't imagine what it might be. Perhaps we're misjudging the Royal Alchymist after all, letting our personal dislike of him cloud our reasoning."

They ate in silence for a time, and then there was a scratching at the door. Lord Telifar's apologetic face appeared. "Your Grace, the armiger Deveron Austrey prays leave to speak with you. He says it's most urgent."

"Send him in." Conrig wiped his greasy lips on a napkin and took a pull of the sparkling pale beer. He greeted Snudge warmly. "So you've learned something important?"

The boy's gaze went momentarily to the Doctor Arcanorum. "Very impor­tant, Your Grace."

"You may speak before Brother Stergos."

The tale poured forth in a rush. "Last night I went secretly to the inner sanc­tum of the Royal Alchymist, as I've been doing for more than a week. In a locked cabinet secured against windwatching I found two sizable baskets full of moon-stone sigils and a book explaining their use. I dared not take the sigils, but I did make off with the book, which had a disk of moonstone fastened to it. As I was going back to my room, the disk on the book cover accidentally touched the sigil hanging around my neck—"

"What sigil?" Stergos cried in horror.

"Tell him," Conrig commanded Snudge.

"The one I took from the sorcerer Iscannon when I killed him in Castle Vanguard. It rendered him invisible—both to the naked eye and to windsight. When I took the thing, it was as dead as its master, but I kept it with Prince Con-rig's permission and searched for information about it in the libraries of the Royal Alchymist."

Stergos groaned. "Oh, Blessed Zeth. You don't understand the horrible peril—"

Conrig said, "Continue, lad."

"When the two pieces of moonstone touched," Snudge said, "they glowed. And right there in the south-wing corridor of the palace, I was bespoken by one of the Beaconfolk."

"God save us!" said Stergos. "What did it look like?"

"The creature wasn't visible, but it seemed very angry and inflicted great pain on me, so that I bent forward and caused the moonstone to fall away from my flesh. The pain vanished and the monstrous voice was stilled. I snatched the sigil off my neck and put it into my wallet so it couldn't touch the book again, then went to my room. I was alone, so I studied the contents of the book for a time. Parts were in a foreign language. I concluded that there was no way I could safely make use of the invisibility sigil—"

"I should hope not!" Stergos exclaimed.

"—so I decided that, in the morning, I'd throw both sigil and book into the sea. I went to sleep, and dreamed of Prince Beynor." The boy paused, and looked with longing at the pitcher of beer. Without a word, Conrig filled a crystal cup and handed it over. "Thank you, Your Grace ... The dream was more than a dream. I'm convinced Beynor actually bespoke me. He wanted me to become his follower, because he said he'd fallen out with an accomplice already living in the palace: Vra-Kilian, the Royal Alchymist."

"I knew it!" Conrig cried. "Oh, the poxy shite-weasel! I'll slice out his guts and flog him to death with them!"

Stergos's normally ruddy face had gone the color of chalk. He managed to say, "Is there more, Deveron?"

"Yes, my lord. Beynor told me that his father Linndal had died, and that he was now Conjure-King of Moss. He claimed to know all about the plan to invade Didion—but I think he believes we intend to strike through Great Pass. He offered to show me freely, without obligation, how to conjure Iscannon's sigil into usabil­ity. This was to be proof of his goodwill. Then he gave me the necessary spells."

"Good God!" Conrig whispered. "So now you can make the thing work? You can go about invisible?"

Snudge shook his head. "Hear me out, Your Grace. Even though Beynor had told me the magical words, I still declined to serve him. I had already sworn to be your liege man and told him so. He professed to be very disappointed in me and called me a fool. Then he left my dream and I woke. It was still night, a couple of hours before dawn. I was consumed with dread. Only a simpleton would have believed that Beynor had given me the correct spell to activate the sigil. I was cer­tain that if I tried to use it, some terrible calamity would occur. So I dressed, made my way from the palace to the waterfront, hired a small boat, and threw both sigil and book into Cala Bay."

He gulped beer, keeping his eyes downcast. When neither Conrig nor Stergos spoke, he added, "The sentry at the Dung Gate can confirm my, coming and going. Perhaps we can find the boatman, too."

"We don't doubt your story," Conrig said. "Even your dream of Beynor is plausible. My brother was informed on the wind this morning that the young scoundrel is now Conjure-King, and Princess Ullanoth has been removed from the line of succession. We don't know what has become of her, Snudge. Can you do a windsearch?"

The boy looked up, troubled. "I can try, Your Grace. May I withdraw to your bedchamber? It'd be best if I was alone."

"Go."

When the door closed behind Snudge, Conrig said, "I'll tell the king about Kilian at once. We must lock this traitor in the deepest dungeon, uhder the strongest magical constraints possible. It's clear enough now how young Beynor won his loyalty. The knave told our dear uncle he'd give him the spells to activate those baskets of sigils he has hidden away. Or perhaps the two of them intended to share out the magical moonstones and use them to rule the world!"

"Con, we must get hold of those cursed things and destroy them. Deveron did right throwing his into Cala Bay."

The prince frowned, picked up a piece of golden toast, and took a bite. "Perhaps, Gossy. But what a pity the explanatory book is gone. You might have deciphered the spells where the boy Snudge could not."

"Don't even think such a thing, Brother." Stergos was beyond indignation.
His mild face was as adamant as Conrig had ever seen it. "I would never assist you
in such an abomination, nor would any other faithful member of my Mystic
Order. That Vra-Kilian dared to keep sighs of the Beaconfolk hidden in his sanctum shows the depth of his depravity. He deserves to be executed—for committing treason and for betraying his solemn vows as a Doctor Arcanorum of Zeth?"
"Hmmm. Would that I could dispose of him so easily! But he is our
mother's brother. Even if we could prove treason—and I doubt that would be
easy—she'd prevail on the king, and he'd never sign Kilian's death warrant.  Besides, the Blackhorse family is too powerful to antagonize, especially now that Sovereignty is within our grasp. No, we'll give Kilian a quick trial on trumped-up charges and find him guilty, then lock him up in a cell reinforced by the strongest alchymical magic. As for his moonstones . . . we'll see."

He finished the last of his breakfast, pushed away from the table, and began to don his black-and-silver brocade doublet and a swordbelt ornamented with white gold. "I'd best lead the arresting party myself. We'll take the miscreant in charge before he tries to escape. Gossy, how can we fend off any magical may-hem Kilian might attempt? And you did say he's locked inside his sanctum. We'll need to neutralize whatever protective enchantments he's set up."

"Oh, my, yes. I'll have to consult Abbas Noachil on the wind." Stergos's for­mer air of resolution had evaporated and he was dithering with anxiety. "There are incantations to bind renegade wizards, of course, but we'll probably need all of the loyal Brethren in the palace, working together, to manage Vra-Kilian. He's so very strong! And shut up in his sanctum, he has access to significant magical equipment . . . I'll make preparations immediately. Shall I assemble the other Brethren in the Blue Foyer when we're ready? It's close to the Alchymical Library and will make a good rallying point."

"An excellent idea. Summon my ten Heart Companions also, and bid them come armed in full panoply. Go now. I'll remain here a few minutes more, in case Snudge has found Princess Ullanoth. Then I must share this information with our father the king, and draw up a warrant for Kilian's arrest."

Stergos left the room, and the prince strode back and forth before the fire, chewing his lip, wondering how his press for Sovereignty might be salvaged if he had to abandon the invasion of Didion. But that might be the least of his worries if young Beynor instigated a sea-attack on Cathra from the Continent

Snudge came into the sitting room. "Your Grace?"

The prince spun about. "You've seen her?"

"No. But then, I didn't think I would. However, Princess Ullanoth's tower rooms in Royal Fenguard are enveloped in their usual covering spell. She's very likely inside."

The prince brightened. "Yes! That's sure to be it. Mourning her father, per­haps, or thinking how to take vengeance on her crafty little brother."

"Beynor's hidden himself, too, in his own apartments. King Lindall's body is propped up on the throne, dressed in regal robes. A great crowd of his subjects are parading before it. Some of them kiss his golden slippers for good luck as they pay their last respects."

"Ugh!" said the prince. "Superstitious swamp-stompers!"

"Do you require anything more of me, Your Grace?" The boy looked listless and drained after his arcane effort.

Conrig's eyes narrowed. "Snudge, my own talent is small, but nevertheless it often guides me in sniffing out falsehood. Did you tell me the whole truth about that book you stole from Kilian? I thought I sensed you were withholding some-thing from me."

The boy considered for a moment, then said in a level voice, "I'm your man till my death, Your Grace. I told you what you should know. You must trust me to do what's best in matters concerning my own talent and other sorcery. I'll never do you harm, but sometimes I must protect you from things you might misunderstand, that could put both of us in terrible danger. If you can't accept this, then dismiss me from your service."

The prince drew in his breath sharply in outrage and opened his mouth. But the cutting words of reprimand died in his throat when he saw the look in Snudge's eyes—the same stubborn integrity possessed by Stergos. The boy's loy­alty was not blind, and he, the master, could take it or leave it.

"I won't dismiss you," Conrig said, sighing. "And I will trust you." For now...

"Thank you, Your Grace."

"Do one final thing for me. Oversee Kilian's chambers and see if you detect any specific threats to me and my men. We're going to arrest him with the help of Stergos and the faithful Brothers."

The short-range scry was easy enough. Snudge closed his eyes and let the wind carry him. The outer rooms of the Royal Alchymist were open, guarded by a pair of novices as usual. Three red-robed adepts were seated at carrels in the library, consulting magical volumes, making notes, and whispering to one another; they were the infamous Brothers Raldo, Niavar, and Cleaton. Kilian's door was locked, and his chambers were enveloped in couverture.

Snudge described what he had windwatched. "Is there anything else, Your Grace?"

"No. Go practice your knightly arts as usual, but from time to time during the day, go apart and windsearch for the Princess Ullanoth again. If she's dead, and her mysterious allies unable or unwilling to assist us during the invasion, we may be forced to rethink our attempt to conquer Didion."

"I'll do my utmost to find her. But if she lives, I think it likely that she'll tell you herself, at a time of her own choosing."

He bowed and left the room, leaving Conrig frowning thoughtfully.

Had the boy really cast book and sigil into the sea? The prince knew he'd have to find out the truth.

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