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Five
Prince
Conrig and Vra-Stergos sat together in a dark part of the ducal library
sectioned off by tall stacks. The Companions' drunken picture-ice game was
still proceeding noisily out in the middle of the great round room. The armiger
named Saundar Kersey played the lute while Belamil Langsands sang
"Brown-Eyed Wenches of Garveytown" in a sweet young tenor. A
clock-candle burning atop a nearby reader's carrel indicated that the ninth
hour after noon was three-quarters past. Conrig had only just returned to the
tower from the solar after the council of war ended. He described to his
brother what had transpired at the meeting.
Stergos listened without
comment, his brow furrowed and his hands clasped tightly in his lap. When the
prince finished, the alchymist continued to sit without speaking.
"Don't you have
anything to say, Gossy?" Conrig was puzzled. "The great enterprise is
on! What's wrong?"
Stergos
made his decision. "Con . . . you know that I would never do any-thing to
harm you, or to endanger your great dream of Sovereignty." The prince
stiffened. "Go on.
"Young Deveron
perceived someone windwatching us. Without my permission, he followed the
trace to its source and discovered Princess Ullanoth over-seeing Castle
Vanguard. He identified her positively. She was not protected by any shielding
spell."
"We knew she had to be
the one," Conrig said impatiently. "What does it matter, since she
knows our plans already?"
Stergos
was staring miserably at his hands. "Deveron saw the princess fashion a
Sending. He saw it travel here and meet you in the musicians' gallery, and he
read your lips as you conversed with it. The boy told me of this, unaware that
a Sending can appear only to the talented?'
"So."
Conrig met his brother's tear-filled eyes. "Now you know?'
"What I have suspected
but tried to ignore, not being willing to accept the truth. You have the
talent, but not in its full power, or Vra-Kilian would have identified it in
you as he did in me. How Ullanoth discovered your secret, I have no idea.
"She might have spied
on me and caught me doing something . . . imprudent?' Conrig gave a great sigh
of resignation. "When Snudge innocently found me out four years
ago, I considered killing him, but decided he was too valuable to waste—a wild
talent unknown to .the Brethren: to Vra-Kilian, damn his prying!
From time to time, when we were alone, the boy would attempt to teach me
magical tricks. I mastered a few: moving small objects a few inches, kindling a
flame without a tarn-stick. Ulla might have seen me do such a thing. Or perhaps
the magic of the Beacon-folk guided her. She Sent herself to me many times and
helped me formulate the scheme of Sovereignty." He shook his head. "I
never thought to ask her how she knew of my talent. I was bedazzled by her cleverness,
by the prospect of being able to invade Didion with her assistance." And
by her beauty ...
The brothers sat without
speaking for some minutes. The squire finished singing his bawdy ballad and
began a more plaintive air, this time accompanied by another youth playing the
flageolet.
"Vra-Kilian bespoke me
not half an hour ago with unsettling news about the invasion," Stergos
finally said. "I'll tell you about that in a moment. But first I must
assure you with all my heart that I will never betray your secret. Never! Poor
Tancoron and our sisters are barred from the throne by Cathran law. The sons of
Father's older sister Jalmaire stand next in the succession, so if you were
ineligible, the next king would be our wastrel cousin, Duke Shiantil
Blackhorse:"
Conrig's laugh was bleak.
"Shi-Shi—and what a calamity for Cathra he'd be! At least his younger
brother Feribor is a stout-hearted warrior and a loyal Heart Companion. But
that lummox Shi-Shi cares for nothing but swiving and drinking and gambling.
He probably can't even spell Sovereignty . . . The fool would end up as
Vra-Kilian's puppet. The Royal Alchymist is not happy at the prospect of losing
political power when Father dies."
"No,"
Stergos agreed.
Conrig
said softly, "Gossy, what would you do if Uncle Vra-Kilian or another
Brother of Zeth in authority over you should ask you the dread question about
me under oath?"
"I would die rather
than admit your talent," Stergos said without hesitation. "As a
matter of fact, since Deveron confirmed my worst fears about you, I've been
trying to decide which poison to carry with me on a contingency basis.
Some-thing quickly lethal but not too agonizing." He shrugged. "I do
hate pain."
Conrig threw his arms around
the doctor. "Forget poison, dear brother! Just tell me if Kilian dares ask
about me, and I'll whack off his perfidious, self-righteous head."
"Oh,
no!" Stergos was genuinely horrified. "That would be sacrilege!"
"Let me worry about
impudent wizards, Gossy. In the new Sovereignty,-I'll decree that
talent will not be a bar to kingship, and we'll have nothing to fear from the
likes of Vra-Kilian. Now! You said that he bespoke you earlier?'
"Yes. The king has
learned about your scheme to invade Didion with the aid of the northland lords.
The Lord Chancellor revealed it to him."
Conrig stifled a curse.
"Falmire—that faithless old weasel! Why did I ever trust him?"
"Father ordered
Vra-Kilian to demand of you how the council went, which lords have agreed to
support your venture, if any, and all details of your strategy. Con . . .
Vra-Kilian also told me that our father remains gravely ill. The Tarnian shaman
summoned by your wife greatly eased his pain, but could do naught to heal the
underlying disability?'
"But
the king is not approaching the brink of death?"
"Vra-Kilian
believes he is not, but the barbarian healer thinks otherwise?'
"I dare not tell Father
of our plans via your windvoice. God knows what he would do with the
intelligence. He might very well forbid the invasion outright, misunderstanding
the role Ullanoth would play. I must be there in person to persuade him that
she is a true friend to Cathra . . . Gossy, I want you to bespeak Kilian
immediately and say that matters are not firmly settled here. That's the truth,
for we intend to work out details of organization and logistics at another
meeting tomorrow. Say that I'll set out for Cala within a day and inform our
father with my own lips how the council went?'
"But
if the Royal Alchymist presses me—I can't lie. I do know what was decided at
the council."
Conrig
took hold of his brother's shoulders and fixed him with a gaze of steel.
"Tell Kilian I forbade you to talk about the matter to any soul save our
father the king. Tell him you swore a solemn oath to me. And now do it!"
Stergos's round
face had gone greasy with perspiration in the candlelight, and he clutched his
gammadion amulet of Saint Zeth with a frantic hand. "I swear it! I swear
to tell no one about the council of war."
"Gossy, be
strong," The prince eased his grip, and his voice became both earnest and
compelling. "I know how Vra-Kilian has overawed both of us since
childhood—you, especially, because of your mystical vocation. But we are no
longer boys to be cowed by the threats and blusterings of our mother's
brother. One day soon, I'll be king and you'll be my Royal Alchymist, while
Kilian will be banished to Zeth Abbey and spend his days conjuring worms off
its rose bushes."
The young doctor's eyes
widened. "I? The Royal Alchymist? Brother, do you mean it truly?"
Plainly, the amazing notion had never occurred to him.
"Of course I mean
it," said Conrig, chuckling softly. "Who else could serve me better
in arcane matters? And now you must go to your sanctum upstairs and windspeak
our former nemesis with no more ado, while I have a word with our godfather
about tomorrow's activities."
The prince would have risen
from his seat, but Stergos said, "Wait! I have other important news to
impart?' Then, haltingly, he told of Snudge's further magical researches and
the boy's deadly encounter with the spy in the stables.
"Deveron returned over an hour ago. He's up in the accounts
room now, keeping windwatch on the corpse as I bade him?'
"So
the body has not yet been found?" Conrig asked grimly.
"Nay, unless it
happened after I left Deveron. Numbers of Skellhaven's carls have taken to
their beds since the deed was done, but none seemed to have noticed that
anything was wrong with their comrade. The lad was careful to arrange the dead
sorcerer in an attitude of sleep. Fortunately, the man did not soil himself as
he expired, and there was little blood."
"Hmm. We'll have to
find a way to get the body out of there before dawn. Our godfather could manage
it. Some of his trusted, men could pretend the fellow was wanted for some
transgression and haul him away. If it was done cleverly, I think few of the
aroused sleepers would be aware that the prisoner was no longer alive . . .
Would the corpse have passed already into rigor mortis?"
"Probably
not completely. He could be dragged easily, as if drunk."
The
prince nodded, his face troubled. "It's going to be sticky, dealing with
Skellhaven. He could be entirely innocent in this matter, and I need him for
the invasion. But his castle lies near the border, and he has longstanding
grievances against the Crown. If he's sold out to Didion . . . Curse it! It's
quite possible that the dead sorcerer was one of those Glaumerie Guild members
Ullanoth told me of, who accompanied the two Didionite princes and Prince
Beynor of Moss on a voyage south from Holt Mallburn." He gave Stergos a
hurried account of the presumed reason for that trip, adding, "The ship
could have put in stealthily near Skellhaven, dropping the spy off, and he
might have contrived to join the viscount's party as it rode to Castle
Vanguard."
The alchymist said, "You
realize this presupposes Prince Beynor knew in advance of your council of
war."
"Another ugly little
mystery! Damn all magic! Who would have thought that a Mosslander wizard would
ally himself with Didion?"
The doctor permitted himself
a rueful smile. "Who would have thought that a Mosslander witch would ally
herself with Cathra?"
The prince flung out his
hands, conceding the point. "Yes, you're right, of course. But it's done,
and without her help the invasion can't proceed . . . What we must determine,
if it's possible, is whether or not the man Snudge killed was able to pass on
crucial details of our council of war to his master before he died."
"Perhaps not. According
to Deveron, the spy was still windwatching when the lad entered the sleeping
chamber. You know that a magical practitioner may perform only one operation at
a time. Deveron insists that he perceived only those windspoken words that I
related to you—the name Beynor, and the question "How did the boy do
that?" I believe the man was astonished that a mere lad, apparently
untalented, could have known he was spying with arcane powers. Then he died,
saying no more. Deveron detected no other watcher, and he—he is
superior to anyone I know in that particular talent."
"Yes. But perhaps the
sorcerer windspoke Beynor earlier, before Snudge arrived."
"I
think it unlikely. The man would not have wanted to miss anything transpiring
in the council of war, and lip-reading requires great concentration. I believe
he would wait until the council ended before sending news of the outcome to his
master. Also, I don't think Beynor would attempt to scry us himself, knowing
his agent was on the spot and able to do it with so much more efficiency. Watching from a great distance is very
taxing, if done for more than a few minutes at a time. Most persons of talent,
including myself, cannot manage it at all."
"Well, we must pray our
secret is safe, Gossy." The prince rose. "I must go to Duke Tanaby
now. I'll take Snudge with me. You retire to your place above and bespeak
Kilian. If you are able, also do a search from time to time to determine
whether Beynor or any other magicker save Ullanoth is overseeing us."
Stergos sighed. "I'll
do my very best, but you'd better have the boy search, too. He's so much better
at it than I." He went out into the central room of the library, where the
gaming was noiser than ever, nearly drowning out the two armigers singing
"Strawberry Lips."
So now there are three who
know I have the talent, Conrig thought, staring at the flame of the clock-candle.
I suppose I'm safe enough for now. All of them have strong reasons to keep the
secret. But the possibility of eventual betrayal remains.
Which
one, I wonder, is most likely to give me away—my beloved brother, the conniving
Mosslander princess, or the stable boy who owes his life to me?
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