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one
Conrig
wincantor, prince Heritor of Cathra, Earl of Brent, and Lord Constable of the
Realm, ate without much of an appetite, picking at the cold roast beef, eel
pie, and fine white wastelbread. He had no stomach at all or the cress salad
with scallions or the dessert of pears seethed in cranberry cordial. The
prince's only dining companion was his older brother Vra-Stergos, newly
ordained Doctor Arcanorum in the Mystic Order of the Brothers of Zeth. No pages
Served them. They had come to Castle Vanguard on a secret mission, and their
presence was unknown to the ordinary inhabitants of the northern fortress.
Their meal had been set out
in a small chamber lit only by a glazed loophole, adjacent to the castle solar
where the council of war was to take place. Neither of :hem said much, but the
prince could not help but notice how Stergos's eyes lost :heir focus from time
to time, and how he would sometimes hold his head motioness as though
listening, even though this arras-hung cubby where they supped as as quiet as
winter midnight on Raven Moor.
Finally
Conrig said, "Gossy, is there something amiss?"
The alchymist had been sitting
like a man frozen, his wine cup poised halfway to his lips. Now he gave a
sudden start and set the drink down with a shaky hand. I don't know." His
voice was fretful, but then Stergos had always been a worry-wart. "I think
I sense a presence somewhere close by, someone possessed of the talent. I said
nothing earlier so as not to spoil our dinner."
"Perhaps Snudge is
watching us, trying to read our lips:' Conrig flashed an exasperated smile.
"Damn his impudence! But he means no harm. I'll admonish him and box his
ears later."
"I
wish you'd left that boy behind at Brent Lodge," Stergos complained.
"It was unwise to bring him along on this crucial mission. Wild talents
aren't to be trusted! He can't be windwatched so I never know exactly what he's
up to. Deveron's been badly spoiled by your overindulgence, Con. He needs
discipline. At sixteen, he's quite old enough to enter the novitiate at the
abbey—"
"No," said the
prince with a firmness that brooked no argument. "Deveron Austrey is mine,
not Saint Zeth's, and I alone will command his loyalty, erratic though it
sometimes may be. You must never tell your mystical brethren or anyone else
that the lad is not a common man. Is that understood?"
"Yes,
but—"
"I need my personal
spy, my snudge. He sees things other talents do not—not even you, reverend
brother. Folk are wary in the presence of a professed alchymist and windvoice,
but who pays any attention to the youngest of the prince's footmen?"
"He still thinks of his
aptitudes as playthings! One of these days he'll make a slip and reveal what he
is to the wrong person. I'm only trying to protect you, Con."
"I know, Gossy. Search
the wind one last time for intruders, then you must leave me while I gather my
wits for the council." The prince spoke evenly, hiding the concern that
suddenly touched him. There was someone watching. He felt it, too.
Drinking down the last of his watered wine in a single pull, he arose from the
table. "This cramped room is depressing. Come. Let's go into the solar.
I'll look at the scenery while you exert your magic."
They
left the inner chamber and stood near the solar's huge leaded-crystal window, a
marvelous thing made of hundreds of polished small panes, each one perfectly
transparent. It was Duke Tanaby Vanguard's particular pride, facing
westward so as to give an expansive view of Demon Seat and the lesser peaks in
the Dextral Range, silhouetted now against a glaring sunset sky that struck
jewel‑bright reflections from the collection of silver wine ewers, gilt
flasks of ardent spirits, and glass cordial bottles set out by the window for
the council attendees.
Stergos
cupped both hands over his eyes and stood still, ranging outward. He had been
shaved bald for his ordination a moon ago on his thirtieth birthday,and now his
head had sprouted fine golden fuzz that gave him a childlike air, even in his
imposing crimson robes. Slight of body and round-faced, he had always seemed
younger than Conrig, although five years separated them. The two brothers were
devoted to one another, in spite of the differences in their temperament.
At
length the doctor lowered his hands. "It can't be that knave Deveron
riding the wind. It's another—a mind far more adept—but God knows who it is. It
seems that all of the noble guests down in the great hall have done just as
Duke Tanaby bade them. None of their retinues include alchymists, windvoices,
or other folk of talent, and Vra-Doman Carmorton and the rest of the duke's own
magickers are temporarily exiled to the town. Their scrying powers are meager,
and they're much too far away to see into the castle. As far as I can tell, the
only practioners in all of Vanguard are the young intelligencer Deveron and
myself. And yet
I'm positive that someone oversees
us!" Stergos smote his brow in vexation. "Ah, if only I were not
newly frocked, I might serve you more competently, Conrig but overseeing is so much more difficult than
windspeech—"
"Never
mind, Brother. All will be well:' The prince paused, turning away to stare at
the spectacular vista outside the window. "It may be that I know who
.could be watching. If I'm right, she has no evil intent."
The
doctor's face stiffened in dismay. "Of course! I didn't think of her. God's
Breath! If only there were another way for us to—"
"You must not even hint at such a thing, Gossy,"
Conrig chided him. "If we gain at last what we have sought for
so long, it will be because of her help."
Vra-Stergos
only shook his head, not daring to say more for fear of offending his brother by casting aspersions upon the co-author of
the great new scheme. The accursed woman might even be listening from a
far distance as well as watching! Such a feat was alleged to be impossible, but
who could tell with Mosslanders? The devilspawn were said to be part Salka, and
might very well share the monsters' inhumanly strong talent.
"Everything
is ready for the meeting," Conrig said. "I have the wafers secure in
my purse, and no one has meddled with the wine."
Stergos's
eyes flickered. "Is there no way I can dissuade you from using
them?"
"I respect your misgivings, but you know there was no
alternative. Go now and wait with our Heart Companions in the tower. I'll join
you as soon as the council is over and tell you everything. Take the hidden
stairs."
"May
Saint Zeth guide you." Stergos touched the golden gammadion amulet of his
order hanging at his breast and returned to the inner chamber.
Conrig
waited for several minutes and then followed. The latch that opened the
concealed passageway was in the curtain wall next to the necessarium, beneath a
stone shelf holding a lavabo, a crock of scented softsoap, and fine
linen handtowels. He pressed a knob and a low doorway swung open. After
listening for footfalls and hearing none, the prince ducked inside and closed
the door behind him. Much of the castle and its six great towers could be
stealthily accessed via these 'tween-wall passages and cramped spiral
stairways. The things were full of cobwebs and dead insects and rat turds,
poorly lit by the occasional inward-looking peephole or narrow slits or oillets
in the exterior masonry. Only the duke's family and their most trusted
retainers knew of the secret warren's existence. Conrig and Stergos and their
poor simple brother Tancoron and their sisters Therise and Milyna had used the
passages as a playground when they were children visiting their godfather's
castle.
The prince went quickly to
the musicians' gallery above the great hall, thinking to watch the diners at
the high table without notice and perhaps discover something of their mood. The
small balcony was empty and deeply shadowed at the rear, with only a few
discarded pages of music lying on the floor among the benches. There would be
no entertainment for the duke's guests this evening and no dawdling over the
meal. Conrig crouched behind a balustrade with upright members carved
fancifully into Green Men and other rustic demons and studied the scene below.
Cresset-lamps and candles
had been lit, but the lowering sun still shone through tall narrow windows,
casting bars of red-gold light across the sixteen people sitting on the dais.
The conversation was low-pitched, even along the sideboards where the knights
and retainers ate, with only an occasional burst of nervous laughter from the
younger ones.
Following the prince's
instructions, Duke Tanaby had summoned the council attendees to table early,
saying there would be only simple fare, and cautioning them against heavy
drinking that might cloud their brains when such would be sorely needed later.
Most of the high lords and great barons, Conrig noted with approval, were
following Tanaby's example of sobriety and drinking water from the
castle's renowned mineral spring—although Parlian Beorbrook, who was Earl
Marshal of the Realm, and his lone surviving son Count Olvan loudly demanded
refills of their bumpers of mead. Not even Vanguard dared deny them.
Numbers
of the noble guests seemed to savor their meal as little as the Prince Heritor
himself had done. Old Baron Toborgil Silverside had scarce touched the slices
of meat on his silver trencher-plate, and the hovering pages found few takers
or the steaming tureen of carp in nettle broth and the bowls of garnished
frumenty and platters of apple and cherry tarts that were the final courses.
Neither
Duchess Monda nor any other of Castle Vanguard's ladies were
present. The only woman there—and her seated at the duke's right hand, by
Bazekoy's Blazing Bones!—was the redoubtable Baroness Zeandrise, the
Virago If Marley. She was still clad in her stained green
doeskin riding habit with a divided skirt, and wore no veil and no head
ornament but a glittering jeweled pick nearly the size of a dagger, transfixing
her coil of frowsy grey hair.
Conrig knew that the
baroness had only ridden into Vanguard at the last moment, when he and Tanaby
had nearly despaired of her arrival. Her manner at table was taciturn and
forbidding in spite of the duke's best efforts at hospitality. The
prince had debated long with himself before including the Virago among :hose
invited; but his godfather told him to swallow his southern prejudice against a
belted female, reminding him that warriors of her sex were far from uncommon
among the Didionite barbarians. And besides, Zeandrise Marley commanded fifteen
knights and nearly a hundred mounted thanes .. .
He noted stout Count Munlow
Ramscrest and his allies Bogshaw, Cloudfell, and Catclaw. And there were
Tanaby's sons, Swanwick, Hawkhurst, and Grimstane. The wealthy mountain barons
Kimbolton and Conistone, with estates bordering those of Beorbrook, were
holding close conversation with their powerful overlord. At the far end of the
table on the left sat Viscount Hartrig Skellhaven and his cousin Baron Ingo
Holmrangel. Their seaside castles and fleets of armed cutters defended Cathra's
far northeastern coast, and they were themselves rumored to be little better
than pirates.
"So all of those
invited did come after all," said a soft voice behind Prince Conrig.
He felt the hairs at the
back of his neck prickle as a draft of chill air brought a familiar, green-fen
scent of vetiver.
"It bodes well for the
enterprise," the voice continued, almost purring with satisfaction.
"For you know that not even I could compel their alliance. Of course, they
haven't accepted your proposal yet, but I believe that the odds are strongly in
your favor—and your plan for taking care of any nay-sayers is most ingenious.
Still
crouched low, Conrig dared not turn around. Suppressed fury tightened his
throat. A Sending here? Now, at this critical juncture? Was the woman mad?
"If
you're seen," he hissed, "I'm ruined! My brother Vra-Stergos is
hidden away with my other Companions in the repository tower, and your Sending
could only be attributed to me!"
"No one will see or hear me, my prince?' She
spoke with a hint of mockery. "Your accession to the throne is safe,
untainted by any whiff of magical talent."
He craned about and saw a
cloaked and hooded figure standing in a dark niche. The face was invisible, and
the glowing moonstone sigil that enabled the Sending was out of sight. Slowly
he withdrew from the railing and climbed to his feet, keeping well out of view
of those below, and went to her. "Why are you here?" His
whisper was brusque, to hide the fact that he had been badly startled.
"I come with good news,
as well as some of less happy portent?' Her hand reached out and caressed his
cheek. "Affairs in Didion have fallen into place just as we hoped, and you
may so inform your council of war. King Achardus will remain at the palace in
Holt Mallburn during the crucial time. He has scant motive for traipsing abroad
among the faminelands listening to the wails of hungry peasants or the
mutterings of mutinous vassals. His sons Honigalus and Somarus are another
matter, however. Both have taken ship to the south, probably to seek help from
Stippen or another Continental nation in countering your blockade in the
Dolphin Channel. Beynor and three senior members of the Glaumerie Guild are
accompanying the Didionite princes. My dear brother is playing some game of his
own, and he's probably being well paid for it. He has used a sigil to cast a
strong spell of couverture over their vessel, and I cannot penetrate it."
Conrig muttered a quiet
oath. "But you will be able to find out what they're up to?"
"Eventually. It may
become necessary for me to empower another of my own Great Stones in order to
learn his plans, but I hope I can use alternate means. The most powerful sigils
are activated only through atrocious suffering, and their conjuring puts the user
deep in debt to the Lights."
He felt the familiar thrill
of dread at her mention of the awful Beaconfolk. "Lady, must
you invoke those dire creatures? Is there no other manner of sorcery that will
serve our purposes?"
"None
so effective. I call upon the Coldlight Army as rarely as possible, since
they're notorious for twisting petitions and conjurations to unwelcome
outcomes. But we must find our what Honigalus and Somarus intend. They are the
real power behind Achardus's throne, and they have powerful friends on the
Continent. It would do you small good to triumph in the north while disaster
strikes the southern underbelly of your unborn Sovereignty.”
"No," Conrig admitted reluctantly. Most of the Cathran navy
was at sea, enforcing the blockade against Didion, and the capital city of
He was silent, considering
other things that her words had brought to mind. Then: "Advise
me, if you please. None of these council attendees, not even Duke Tanaby or the
earl marshal himself, knows that the Edict of Sovereignty was as much your idea
as mine. Would you have me tell them?"
A patronizing laugh.
"I'm not the one who covets the ancient glory of Emperor Bazekoy, my
prince. Warriors mistrust sorcery, and for good reason. It's best that they
know nothing of our earlier . . . strategic consultations, for that might taint
the sanctity of your great vision and weaken your authority. You must certainly
tell your council of war how I intend to assist the invasion, and my reasons
for doing so. But keep the rest secure in your own heart. The unification of
High Blenholme is your own dream, after all, and none but you can fulfill it."
He felt sweat start out on
his brow, not from doubt of his own abilities to persuade and command the
others, but in a belated flush of apprehension at where this alliance with her
might eventually lead.
"They will ask—my
godfather and the earl marshal, at any rate—how you and I came to this
marvelous friendship. Lady, what am Ito tell them? They know we could never
have met face-to-face. And even though we have made some use of my brother's
arcane talent—"
"He
has always been our go-between! You must convince the others of it. And
see that Vra-Stergos is also convinced?'
"I'm sure my brother has suspected that I possess the talent, that
you and I bespoke each other through magical means long before your Sendings
appeared to Gossy and me together at the hunting lodge. He's a timid soul, and
he no doubt put the notion out of mind for fear of what the consequences would
be. Nevertheless, my brother won't tell an outright lie about my talent, even
to protect me. It would violate his vows to God and Saint Zeth."
"Then
you must ensure that he does not officiously strive to tell the truth;"
she snapped, "while you say what you must to the duke and the earl
marshal, and -large your own conscience. And if the new-hatched Doctor
Arcanorum will not t be, then you must silence
him."
"He's
my older brother!" the prince exclaimed in horror. "I love him!"
"He is a man born with
the talent, whose voice carries on the wind and whose mind solidifies the
Sending. And by that token he is ineligible for your precious throne of
Blencathra. As are you, Conrig Prince Heritor, if your vaunted truth be
told?'
"But I didn't
know!" His whisper was desperate. "Not until—"
"Until I came," she said, unaware of
the real state of things and knowing nothing of Snudge. "And I showed you
how the audacious dream of your youth might be fulfilled. You listened well to
my secret counsel, and your scheme prevailed. The Edict of Sovereignty was
proclaimed. That its fulfillment was cruelly bungled by imbeciles was only a
temporary setback. With my aid you shall set all to rights. And in the end who
will care that you possess a small portion of the talent, or that a few
necessary falsehoods were told in your great endeavor's fulfilling?"
He could think of no way to
counter what she had said. Gossy would understand. He must understand .. .
"Very well. Leave me,
then, lady. Be assured I'll do what is best."
Again she touched his cheek,
smiling, then vanished. The scent of vetiver remained, sweet and woodsy.
Prey to
unspeakable thoughts concerning his beloved brother, he crept back to the
balustrade and looked down blindly on the hall for a few minutes more, until
Tanaby Vanguard announced to the nobles at the high table that it was time to
go to the solar and begin their conclave.
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