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Three
Snudge
had sensed the mysterious overseeing presence, too, while carving the joint of
roast beef that had been sent to the repository tower for the evening meal of
the Heart Companions. Unlike his royal master and the Doctor Arcanorum, he knew
he'd probably be able to trace and perhaps even identify the watcher if he
could just get to the tower roof and do his search under the open sky.
The
apartment where the prince's party had been secreted took up the third and
fourth floors of the tower. The third floor, holding the castle's extensive
library, was the most attractive, having tall windows and a wide hearth with
wood blazing cheerfully, and numbers of cushioned chairs and benches in an open
area surrounded by rows of stacks. Conrig and his three closest friends among
the Heart Companions—Feribor Blackhorse, Tayman Owlstane, and Sividian
Langford—had turned it into their common room during the two days preceding the
council of war, while they kept their presence secret from most of the other
castle inhabitants. The prince had the chief scribe's office for a bed-chamber,
and the three young counts slept on cots laid out between the shelves. They
used the big central table for eating and drinking and playing at board-games
and dice.
The
fourth storey of the tower, just beneath the now-untenanted guardroom that had
a door opening onto the roof, was normally used by the duke's con-troller of
accounts, and for document storage. It was low-ceilinged and crowded with
coffers of parchment and racks of tax-rolls. Vra-Stergos elected to spend most
of his time in a partitioned nook up there, where he had privacy for his arcane
studies.
Snudge
and the four young armigers serving the prince's Companions and the alchymist
also slept in the accounts room, but they were obliged to remain below for most
of their waking hours, waiting on the nobles or the prince.
This
evening, Snudge and the other boys finished clearing the table after the
Companions' supper, gobbled their own, and put the soiled platters and
leftovers outside the door for the castle staff to dispose of. Count Tayman, a
genial Westleyman of two-and-twenty, challenged the other Companions to a
session of picture-dice and called upon two of the armigers to serve them that
evening while they gamed.
"Saundar
and Belamil will play lute and flageolet," he said, "and keep us
well-supplied with refreshments. Mero, Gavlok and Deveron may take their ease
after turning down the beds and laying out fresh garb for tomorrow?'
"Yes,
my lord," the boys chorused. The lucky ones darted off among the
bookshelves to open up the beds of the noblemen, which had mattresses of
doubled bearskin, silken sheets, and pillows stuffed with eiderdown.
"I'll
fix the alchymist's bed while you take your ease at the fire, Gavlok,"
Snudge volunteered after they had finished, looking for an excuse to go
upstairs. "Maybe I'll take a nap before His Grace returns and has need of
me?'
Stergos's
quiet, studious squire gave him a grateful smile. "I thank you,
Deveron:"
"You're
such a kind fellow, stable boy," sneered Mero,,. who served Count Feribor
Blackhorse. "Be damned sure we'll tell Prince Conrig you're lazing away in
the sack if you're not down here on the spot when he returns:'
The
armiger was a burly redheaded youth who had just turned nineteen, nearly as
tall as his formidable master. But where Blackhorse was so slyly sadistic that
you might pass off his cruelties as unintentioned, Mero was a flagrant bully
who used his position to terrorize the pages and servitors back at Brent Lodge,
the prince's hunting residence, where they had lived for the past month. Mero
was usually more circumspect with the armigers of the other Heart Companions
and with Gavlok, the bookish lad who served the Doctor Arcanorum, confining
himself to verbal assaults. When Conrig had unaccountably chosen Deveron
Austrey, his young footman, rather than a nobly born youth as bodyservant on
the secret mission to Castle Vanguard, Mero was incensed, as though the presence
of a commoner—even one who could read, write, and reckon—in the royal party
were a personal affront. He had been imprudent enough to complain to
Count
Feribor. The blackened eye he received for his pains was now a muddy
yellowish-green. With fine illogic, Mero had sworn to revenge himself on the
upstart footman, but a suitable opportunity had not yet presented itself.
Snudge
hurried up the iron staircase to the accounts room. He'd have to act quickly on
the roof; the alchymist would not be attending the council of war and might
return to the tower at any moment. Rummaging in his pack, he found a small roll
of cloth containing short lengths of wire of varying thicknesses, cunningly
bent, tools he well knew the use of.
The
door leading to the guardroom stair was locked, but a brief fiddle with one of
the wires caused it to snap open. Snudge bounded up the steps and dashed
through an armory crowded with compact defense engines—mangons and ballistas
and catapults—along with wicker baskets of rocks, vires, and other missiles,
stacked braziers, buckets of charcoal, cauldrons of solidified pitch, and
crates of spherical iron bombshells packed with tarnblaze, having lengths of
tarry cord protruding through their nozzles. The door opening onto the roof was
only latched.
Outside,
he saw the sun descending behind jagged black peaks while the snow-covered
slopes of Demon Seat glowed pink with lavender shadows. The air was dead calm.
Smoke from the castle chimneys and from buildings in the town beyond the outer
ward and the curtain wall rose straight in blue-white columns. The first
spunkies, like infinitesimal earthbound stars, began to sparkle in a patch of
marshy waste ground below the castle's knoll. He heard a dog bark. Someone down
in the inner ward cursed a squealing horse. The shrill laughter of women came
from the covered colonnade around the castle spring.
Snudge
clapped hands over his ears, shut his eyes, and let the wind bear him away.
And
immediately found watchers. Not one, but two!
Then
came the difficult part. He felt himself sinking to his knees, finally flopping
prone as the strength drained from his body and empowered his mind. He followed
the thread of the first watcher, whose windsign he recognized too well, for
hundreds of leagues northward.
The
scene seemed hazy, as though obscured by thin gauze, since he viewed it at such
a great distance; but the details were clear enough. Snudge seemed to soar over
flats of black quicksand exposed at low tide toward a ramshackle castle nestled
between
crags above a misty estuary. The place was Royal Fenguard, seat of the rulers
of Moss. This time there was no blocking cover-spell at the terminus of the
trace, as had invariably been the case when he attempted to spy on her
previously. Invisible as the wind, he seemed to pass through the bubbly glass
of an illuminated window in the tall south tower.
And saw
her: Ullanoth sha Linndal, daughter of the Conjure-King, only eighteen years of
age but having the imposing presence of one much older. She was standing
motionless in the middle of a room crowded with books, alchymical apparatus,
and arcane objects of unknown function. On one side of her stood a tall
candlestick, but the indistinct object it held was not a candle, although it
glowed weakly.
The
sorceress wore a flowing gown of leaf-green satin, the skirt and sleeve drapes
gold-embroidered in an elaborate pattern of bulrushes. Her long unbound hair,
almost luminous in the candlelight, was a strange pale hue—silvery with the
kind of faint rosy undertone found in the lining of certain seashells. The
narrow face had prominent cheekbones, an elegant long nose, and milk-white
skin. Her eyelids were closed to enhance her oversight of Castle Vanguard,
their thick dark lashes resting upon her cheeks.
After a
time her thread of watching snapped and she opened her eyes. They were large as
a doe's and at first appeared to be green, but almost immediately their color
changed as the sea does in late evening, becoming slate-grey, and then turning
to an uncanny black. She smiled and refreshed herself with a drink from a
golden cup, then took down a long cloak of midnight blue that hung from a wall
peg. Donning it, she pulled its hood closely over her bright hair. Finally, she
pulled something from the bosom of her gown—a small pendant on a chain that
shone with the same faint radiance as the object on the candlestick.
At one
wall of the room was a peculiar piece of padded furniture that resembled a
narrow couch raised on end by means of a frame. It was tilted at a sharp angle
and had rails at the side and a footrest to keep one from slipping off.
Ullanoth arranged herself upon this and gripped the neck pendant tightly. Her
mouth moved in soundless speech as she pronounced some elaborate spell, and
even though Snudge could read lips, the words were incomprehensible to him.
He
watched in awe. The small pendant in her hand blazed up like some miniature
greenish lamp. Its nature was impossible to discern. The princess uttered a
deep groan of pain. Her body seemed to shimmer, expand ... and
become
two identical cloaked forms: a true body and a Sending, floating in mid-air
beside the slanted couch. It was a rare magical talent, far beyond the abilities
of the Brothers of Zeth, and Snudge knew of it only through reading occult
books that he regularly borrowed—without permission—from the library of the
Royal Alchymist back at
The
Sending drifted down until it stood upright, looking perfectly natural. The
body on the couch, on the other hand, lay as motionless and pallid as a corpse.
After glancing about the chamber, the Sending frowned as if it had for-gotten
something, then gestured at the tall candlestick with the faintly glowing object
atop it. There was a brilliant emerald flash. The interior of Ullanoth's tower
vanished from Snudge's oversight, as impenetrable to his scrying as it had
always been before this night.
He
knew, without knowing how, that the Sending was no longer inside the tower. It
was flying on the wind directly toward him like some unseen wraith. But how had
she managed to windwatch him when no one else could? He braced himself, too
astounded even for terror, expecting her to materialize in front of him there
on the roof.
Expecting
quick death from a sorceress furious that he had spied on her .. . But no. She
had not been coming at him after all!
He
smothered an oath as the Sending soared down into the great hall of Castle
Vanguard and disappeared into the heavy shadows at the rear of the musicians'
gallery. An instant later Prince Conrig slipped out of the secret passage and
began his scrutiny of the diners below him, not knowing Princess Ullanoth was
there.
Snudge
had windwatched her with Conrig twice before, when she came to Brent Lodge and
conversed with the prince and Stergos. The boy had not realized then that her
body was a magical simulacrum until she herself spoke casually of the miracle
in her conversation with the brothers. After each visit, the double had returned
to Fenguard, where it disappeared behind a shielding spell infinitely stronger
than the puny sort Snudge himself was capable of spinning. He had never before
been able to oversee the Mosslander princess in her home because of that spell.
With
the subjects of his viewing now close by, Snudge watched with less effort as
the prince was accosted by the cloaked woman. He read his master's lips easily
during the ensuing colloquy and wished he could know what the shrouded witch
said about Vra-Stergos that caused the prince to blanch in dismay. But all
too
soon the Sending withdrew and returned to its gloomy castle above the Darkling
Sands. There the familiar strong spell of couverture shut him out. The second
watching presence remained.
Its aim
was more expertly focused than that of Ullanoth, less obvious to a searcher,
and concentrated upon the solar chamber where the council of war was to take
place. With the greatest caution, Snudge traced the thread of oversight
backwards through the wind, only to discover that its source lay within Castle
Vanguard itself—somewhere in the vicinity of the stables, directly across the
inner ward from the repository tower.
It was
impossible for him to oversee this scryer. To his astonishment, he was blocked
by another sort of covering spell quite different from the shield at Fenguard,
very compact and well-constructed, rendering the watcher invisible. But this
was impossible! The person was windwatching, and no magical practitioner could
perform more than one arcane task at a time
"Deveron!
Where are you?" It was the voice of Vra-Stergos, down in the accounts
room.
Cursing
under his breath, the boy thought for a split second to use his talent to hide.
But his ability to conceal himself from normal folk and minor talents wouldn't
faze an ordained Brother of Zeth. Stergos would scry him out eventually and be
all the more furious. Best to take his medicine.
He
scrambled to his feet, left the roof, passed through the guardroom, and came
down to stand sheepishly before the Doctor Arcanorum. The tall red-headed
armiger Mero was there as well, with folded arms and an expression of malicious
glee.
"There!
I told you, my lord doctor. The knave picked the lock and went up to snoop in
the guardroom, maybe thinking to steal something. He deserves a good whipping!
Shall I—"
"Go
down and join your mates," Stergos told the young man with a grimace of
distaste. "You, Deveron, come into my cubicle."
When
Mero was gone, clearly disappointed at not being able to witness Snudge's
punishment, Stergos said, "Sit there, then tell me truthfully what you
were about." The partially walled recess had a small window, through which
the fading crimson sky was visible. A clerk's desk had been appropriated by the
alchymist for his own books, and he now seated himself at it and gestured for
the boy to take a stool.
Snudge
had no intention of lying. "My lord, I was exercising my talent. Out on
the roof."
"I
knew it! Oh, Deveron, you gave your word you wouldn't spy on the council of
war—"
"Nor
did I. I perceived a windwatcher and felt it was my duty to trace the person. I
was successful. It was Lady Ullanoth, and she fashioned a magical duplicate of
herself and engaged Prince Conrig here in the castle:'
"Blessed
Zeth!" Unlike the inexperienced boy, who knew little of magical
technicalities and would never have willingly betrayed the prince's secret, the
Doctor Arcanorum was well aware that a Sending could come only to one who was
talented. Stergos had harbored suspicions about his brother ever since Conrig
and he were accosted—apparently for the first time—by Ullanoth's double at
Brent Lodge. "Did you . . . do your lip-reading trick?"
"As
well as I could, my lord."
"Tell
me!" When the boy hesitated, Stergos added, "You must. The prince
trusts this witch, but I don't. We may have to protect him from her. Do you
understand what I'm saying?"
Snudge
nodded. Ullanoth made him uneasy, too, and not only because of her magic. Her
beauty would inflame a marble statue, and Snudge was not made of stone.
"His
Grace was in the musicians' gallery looking down on the duke and the others.
Ullanoth wore a hooded cloak that concealed her features, so I couldn't tell
what she might be saying. At first, Prince Conrig seemed to be hearing good news
from her. He was pleased. Then his mood changed to concern, and he asked her if
she could break some spell and discover what they were doing."
"They?"
Stergos repeated.
"I
have no idea who he meant. Ullanoth replied in some manner that disturbed the prince
mightily. He said, `Must you invoke those dire creatures? Isn't there any other
kind of sorcery that'll serve our purposes?"
Stergos
drew in a sharp breath. "The Beaconfolk! God help us, I tried to warn him
that she might use them to implement this scheme. But he would hear nothing
against her . . . What else did you hear, lad?"
Snudge
told how Conrig had asked if he should tell the council of war how Ullanoth
helped formulate the Edict of Sovereignty, and how he had also said
that
it would be awkward to explain their friendship to Duke, Tanaby and the earl
marshal, since the two of them had never truly met face-to-face.
"And
then came the most puzzling thing. His Grace and the lady spoke of you, my
lord." Snudge hesitated. "The prince said, `My brother will never
tell a lie, even for me: The lady spoke. Then the prince said, `He is my
brother. I love him: And his words seemed weighted with anger and fear?'
"Damn
her!" the doctor whispered, knowing what Ullanoth must have told Conrig.
His face twisted like one in pain. "Is there more?"
"Only
that His Grace said he would do what was best. Then the Sending left him . . .
and so I went in search of the second watcher."
"A
second—!"
"Aye,
my lord. And one who is apparently far more adept than the lady, for he can
perform two magical actions at once. He's hiding somewhere within the castle
stables, well-covered by some superior spell so that I was unable to locate him
precisely, much less identify him. He watches the council of war:'
Stergos
uttered a moan. "Oh, God. Oh, God. And I perceived nothing. Nothing! What
are we going to do?"
"If
I may suggest—"
"What?"
The doctor's dismay turned to alarm as the boy explained.
"Let
me go down through the 'tween-wall passages and see if I can find this fellow.
Perhaps he's visible to the naked eye, even though windsight can't scry him. He
may be a wild talent . . . just like me! He must be someone in the entourage of
one of the lords, for you know the duke didn't allow any casual travelers or
other strangers to enter the castle during this secret gathering. Since he's in
the stables, he may be disguised as a horse lackey. If he is visible, he could
pretend to be drunk or sleeping and no one would suspect what he was
doing."
"If
he should discover you—" Stergos broke off-fearfully. "He must be a
talent of great power, Deveron, to exert two magical functions at the same
time. Even Ullanoth gave some hint to me of her watching, although I couldn't
be sure of her. But not this unknown—working his sorcery practically on top of
us! If he's spying on the council, he must be a mortal enemy of our prince. He
might not hesitate to kill you."
"He
won't realize I'm a danger to him. Not if I just seek him out and give him a
casual glance. Just another housecarl without an adept bone in my body."
"It
might work," Stergos said grudgingly. It was a sore point to him that
Snudge's wild talent was imperceptible to the anointed of his Mystic Order, to
say nothing of the fact that the boy was capable of identifying even the
smallest modicum of talent in others.
"Shall
I go, then? I won't get lost. I've already explored most of the passages on
this side of the ward. I did it last night, while you were all asleep. I even
made a dark lantern for myself out of an old pewter tankard and a candle."
Stergos
sighed. "I might have known . . . Very well. Do your best to find out who
the villain is, or who he pretends to be. Be quick about it and don't take any
dangerous chances. His Grace and I will decide what to do about him."
"Yes,
my lord."
"If
only I could watch over you ..."
But
that was impossible. Even though Stergos, like most of the Zeth Brethren, had
the ability to scry over short distances, Snudge's wild talent protected him
from any sort of magical surveillance, a fact that particularly delighted
Prince Conrig at the same time that it dismayed his brother.
"I'll
take great care, my lord. Don't worry about me."
"Oh,
all right," the doctor grumped. "But if you get into serious trouble,
bespeak me at once and I'll do my best to help you."
"Of
course, my lord." He bobbed his head and slipped out of the cubicle,
leaving Stergos full of misgivings but at a loss to know what else to do.
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