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twenty-six
Mero Elwick, armiger and
cousin to Count Feribor Blackhorse, had celebrated the taking of Castle Redfern
with as much enthusiasm as the rest of the Cathran army. All throughout the
previous day of rest, while the army and its animals recovered from crossing
the mountains, he'd drunk and caroused with the best of them. But unlike many
of his less fortunate fellow-squires, Mero was one of those hardheaded souls
who rarely suffer a thick head after overindulgence. Instead he slept well,
until he was jolted into alert wakefulness by the small sounds made by Snudge
and his three companions as they rose before dawn.
"Hoy!" The big
redheaded youth hauled himself onto his elbows. "What're you up and about
for? We're not due to leave here until noon."
A fitfully burning
candlestub lit the scene. Four shadowy figures were tying up their bedrolls and
gathering gear, while seven other man-sized lumps lay on the floor with Mero,
snoring in their blankets.
"Be
still!" Belamil whispered. "Go back to sleep."
The privileged squires
serving the royal brothers and the Heart Companions had been quartered in the
small but relatively dry and flea-free chamber that had once housed Redfern's
castellan, while that worthy had spent the past two nights shackled in the remnants
of the stable, along with the other prisoners of middle rank.
One of the prowlers cursed
under his breath. "My damned gauntlets have gone missing."
"Better find them,
Saundar," Snudge advised, "or you'll have a devilish time with the
cables and heavy chains."
"What
chains?" Mero demanded. He was wide awake now, shrugging into his
tunic,
pulling boots on over bare feet, and rising from his pallet. "Where do you
think you're going?"
"On Prince Conrig's
business," Snudge said, "and none of yours."
"Ooh! I'll bet you're
off on the mystery mission, right? The one you nattered on about that night in
Melora. Come on, stable boy, you can tell me!" Fast as a stoat, Mero
hopped over a sleeping body, took hold of Snudge's right wrist and elbow, spun
him around, and hauled the pinioned arm up tight behind the boy's back in a
painful hammerlock.
Mero laughed at Snudge's
stifled groan. "Tell me all about it."
"Stop that!"
Belamil grabbed Mero by the hair and jerked his head back sharply before the
taller armiger broke free, still with a tight grip on Snudge. Saundar came
running with a fist cocked, but stopped short at Mero's warning whisper.
"I could break the
knave's arm before either of you land a punch. Tell me what's up!"
Gavlok's mild, clear voice
said, "We four are going to
"Oh, why not?" The
bully chortled. "I mustn't deprive you of your gallant leader." He
flung Snudge away from him with such violence that the boy fell to the floor.
Some of the slumbering squires had begun to stir and mutter.
Belamil said, "That was
ill done, Mero. Your master will hear of it."
The redhead sketched a
mocking bow to Snudge. "I humbly beg your lord-ship's pardon for damaging
you a wee bit in our friendly tussle. All in good fun, of course! I'll leave
you to get on with packing while I go take a piss."
He left the chamber with
surprising speed.
Belamil said to Snudge,
"Are you all right?"
"Yes. Let's hurry and
get out of here before the whoreson comes back. I think he may have more on his
tiny mind than satisfying his curiosity."
"My lord. Wake up. It's
Mero."
Feribor
and the other Heart Companions were sleeping in the castle's cramped solar,
next to the baron's single private chamber, which had been taken over by Conrig
and Stergos. The count roused himself with difficulty, blinking at the youth
who knelt beside his pallet. "What the hell? Is something wrong?"
Mero spoke very quietly so
as not to wake the other nobles, but he could not keep the excitement from his
voice. "Not wrong. But four armigers, including the wretch Deveron
Austrey, are about to leave the castle on what they say is an important secret
mission for Prince Conrig. It's to do with aiding our assault on
Feribor cursed luridly.
"For this you interrupted my rest? I ought to—" He broke off, seized
by some arresting thought, then whispered, "You say Deveron is leading
this foray?"
"Yes, my lord. He's
chosen Belamil Langsands and Saundar Kersey to accompany him—both
great-hearted lads, you will agree. But his third choice is that wispy beanpole
Gavlok Whitfell, who serves Vra-Stergos. The dreamy oaf can barely swing a
sword! He's not fit for combat. He'll endanger the mission, what-ever it may
be. I beg you to speak to Prince Conrig. Let me go in Gavlok's place! You know
I'm the tilting champion amongst the armigers."
Feribor gave an evil
chuckle. "Scheming young glory-hog! Aren't you afraid to get mixed up in
magic?"
"Nay, my lord. Why
should the Princess Ullanoth wreak harm upon her helpers?"
"Not
Ullanoth, you young dunce. Deveron Austrey, Conrig's secret wild talent!"
The armiger was aghast. "Deveron—a magicker? My lord, are you
jesting?" "I wish I were," Feribor said viciously. He sat up and
began donning his clothes.
"The young mutt did
lead the spunkies to our army when we were struggling to reach the top of the
pass," Mero recalled. "Everyone was talking about it. But we
thought—"
"Do
you know that Deveron single-handedly managed to open Castle Redfern to us as
well?" Feribor hissed. "Oh, there was some tale spun about Princess
Ullanoth already being inside the castle and the boy merely plying the garrison
with liquor. But I chanced to hear two of Catclaw's knights talking in their
cups. They said they found six fully armed guards knocked colder than cod-fish,
lying within the gatehouse after the castle fell to us. This was supposedly
done by Ullanoth's magic—yet not a single prisoner I spoke to saw hide nor hair
of the witch, nor any sign that Mossland sorcery was at work. The six guards
were bludgeoned about the head, not sent sweetly to sleep by magical means. I
don't believe Ullanoth was ever here! But if she was not, then how did an
ordinary youth overcome six armed men? There's only one answer: he's not
ordinary. He has a wild talent that enables him to approach persons with
uncanny stealth."
"But
can you be sure, my lord? Perhaps—"
"There's
no doubt. I was told of the brat's talent by a close and trusted friend, one
who had suffered greatly because of him." The tall count rose to his feet,
drawing his cloak about his shoulders. "Your boyish lust for adventure is
very stupid, Mero. Any sensible warrior will tell you never to volunteer for a
mission in which you will very likely perish. Nevertheless, I'm going to do my
best to grant your foolish request."
The
armiger came closer. His eyes were alight with slyness. "You wish
me to observe Deveron's tricky ways and advise you what he gets up to in
"I
want more than that from you, my lad. Much more." Feribor laid his hand on
the brawny squire's arm. His voice was barely audible. "Deveron's
dangerous. The prince has no notion how perfidious his little pet can be, but I
know! And as Conrig's loving friend and Heart Companion, I must do what I can
to alleviate the danger—even if it means acting without the prince's knowledge,
to save him from his unwisely given trust. Can you be my agent in this grave matter,
Cousin?"
"With
the greatest pleasure, my lord."
"Of
course, nothing must happen to our talented stable boy until his mission has
been accomplished. And the other armigers with you must never know his fate—nor
Princess Ullanoth, either, if she should present herself to you lads during the
fight for the city."
"The
low-born wight may be her secret minion!"
"Find
that out if you can, before you move against him. Now go gather your things
with all speed and meet me down in the bailey. I suspect Prince Conrig is
already there."
It was
the hour of dawn, but the everpresent fog enveloping the small castle, and the
deep gorge wherein it was situated, caused darkness to linger within Redfern's
ramparts. Working as quietly as they could, Snudge, Belamil, Saundar, and
Gavlok saddled their horses and strapped on their equipment—which included a
tarnblaze bombshell for each, hidden inside sacks. They had been given surcoats
and shield-covers with the armorial bearings of Lord Maddick's household
knights, along with a lance bearing Redfern's pennon. A case full of
important-looking documents—scrawled up by Vra-Doman on the previous day and
sealed with the baron's own ring—was addressed to court officials at Holt
Mallburn. It was hoped that the dispatches and the armigers' disguises would
prove sufficient to deflect unwanted attention from them once they reached the
Didionite capital. Unlike Conrig's army, which would invade the city after
midnight on muffled hooves, the boys had to move about the approaches to
"I still don't
understand how we're going to get close enough to the bridge works to bollocks
them up," Saunder grumbled. "There'll be plenty of light around such
an important structure. The guards are bound to be suspicious of young fellows
poking where they have no business."
Count Tayman's squire was
perhaps the brightest of the wellborn cohort, handsome, dark-haired, and
deliberate in temperament. He was eighteen years of age and second only to
Belamil in the respect of the other armigers.
"I have a way to get us
close without notice, and in safety," Snudge reassured him. "I can
only beg you to trust me. My plan's bound to work if you all do exactly as I
say."
"We
will," Belamil said firmly.
Gavlok uttered a gasp of
dismay. "Bazekoy's Beard! Here comes Prince Conrig—and look who's with
him!"
To avoid the most crowded
part of the ward, where watchfires tended by squads of thanes still burned
among the ranks of picketed horses and mules, the four had been making
preparations near the closed inner portcullis of the gate-house. Conrig and his
companion moved purposefully through the throng of men and animals.
"It's Mero."
Saundar's voice was full of disbelief. "And he's armed and carrying his
gear!"
They waited in stunned
silence. Finally Snudge stepped forward to greet the prince, hoping desperately
that he was not about to hear the thing he feared. "Your Grace, we're
ready to depart. Do you have any final orders for us?"
"A
slight change of plan." Conrig flashed an easy smile. "It's been
pointed out to me that Gavlok might be better employed in his usual task of
guarding Vra-Stergos. Now that we're about to ride into combat, the Doctor
Arcanorum must be shielded from any possible peril, since he's our principal
windvoice link to
"On
my honor, Your Grace!" Mero avoided catching Snudge's eye.
"Splendid! Gavlok,
strip off your surcoat disguise and shield cover. Help Mero transfer his things
onto your mount . . . Deveron, step over here. I have instructions for
you."
"Yes,
Your Grace." He couldn't hide his dismal expression.
When they were beyond the
others' hearing, Conrig said, "This is for the best. I know Gavlok's your
good friend, but I had doubts about his suitability even before Count Feribor
spoke to me."
"Prowess in martial
arts isn't the skill most important to this mission. To make a success of it, I
need people with brains . . . and loyalty."
"Feribor is one of my
staunchest Companions," the prince said stiffly. "Mero is his cousin,
for whom he has extremely high hopes. The boy swore to me he would follow your
orders as he would my own. And he's not stupid, even though he's over-fond of
brawling and a bit too ready with the rough edge of his tongue."
"I understand, Your
Grace. We'll take Mero with us." And leave him trussed in a
ditch if he makes trouble .. .
Conrig clapped Snudge on the shoulder. "I knew you'd accept the change in good spirit. Here is the map you requested, and a diagram of the bridge machinery."
Snudge took the folded
parchment and tucked it into his belt wallet. "Is there anything
else?"
"The Princess Ullanoth
bespoke Vra-Stergos late last night. Her windspeech was still weak, but she
says she's recovering and will surely be able to open the palace stronghold to
us. I've told her I'm sending infiltrators to deal with the bridge gate, but
she doesn't know you're the one leading them. Don't go any-where near
her during the fighting! Even though our own alchymists are unable to recognize
your talent, we can't be certain about her."
"Beynor
knows all about me," Snudge reminded the prince glumly. "But I doubt
he'd tell his sister. Still, Red Ansel the shaman had no trouble at all
spotting me as an adept. A Mossland sorceress might do the same thing if I came
close to her."
"After
you lads hit the bridge, attempt to discover if Ullanoth is also doing her part
at Holt Mallburn. Me may be too occupied to keep in constant wind-contact with
us. She intends to approach the palace while invisible, but in the fog, you may
be able to scry her body's outline, knowing what to look for."
Snudge
nodded. "Inside the lighted palace gatehouse, she'll cast a shadow. It may
take some time for a single person to disable the portcullis machinery, open
the gates, and contrive to keep them open—even using sorcery. I'll know if
she's at work because of the commotion amongst the guards and palace engineers
trying to repair the damage. And I'll also know if she comes to grief ..."
"Bespeak
tidings of your progress and that of Ullanoth to Stergos when you can. He'll
keep you notified of the army's position. We hope to arrive at the river-side
about an hour after midnight. The palace is only a league or so from the river.
Coordinate your effort with that of the princess if you are able."
"Your
Grace, what if she should prove after all to be too frail to accomplish her
mission?"
Conrig
took a deep breath. "Then we'll contrive another way to take the palace.
But above all, you and your mates must open
Together,
they returned to Redfern's gatehouse. Gavlok was gone. Belamil and Saundar
already sat their horses. Mero climbed into his saddle, smiling in triumph,
carrying the lance with Redfern's device.
Snudge
said to the thane in charge of the guard detail, "Open the gates and lower
the drawbridge. We're sallying forth." He mounted his own horse and
wheeled it about to face the prince.
"Young
men," Conrig said, "much is depending upon your bravery and daring.
Follow Deveron's lead and carry out your mission. Tonight, shortly after
midnight, the army of Cathra will be poised to invade
"God
grant success!" the boys chorused. Then Snudge led them through the
gatehouse and over the drawbridge into the fog—where a cluster of several dozen
fuzzy yellow sparks waited.
It was
a cold, clear dawn in Royal Fenguard. There had been a layer of frost on the
balcony outside the closed tall windows of the Conjure-King's suite, and Beynor
decided to perform his windsearch indoors, even though it would decrease the
keenness of his scrying. He deactivated both Fortress sigils, not caring
whether Ullanoth or anyone else watched him, then overviewed
He was no longer surprised.
Yesterday, after doing much research, Lady Zimroth had told him that the Small
Lights were fully capable of performing such magic. The young king had received
the news with a sudden bitter comprehension: Years ago, his sister had
responded to his own childhood cultivation of the Darkling Sands Salka by
becoming friendly with the abhorrent spunkies.
Beynor decided it would be
politically disadvantageous to pass this information on to the Didionites.
Instead, he bespoke Honigalus's wizard and confidently announced that he was
about to generate the promised gale to speed the war fleet more swiftly
southward.
The Crown Prince is
deeply grateful for your efforts, Fring
replied. He also requests that the Conjure-King create a storm to delay the
Tarnian mercenaries .. . unless, of course, such magic is beyond Your Majesty's
powers.
The insolent weevil! But
Beynor could hardly admit that yesterday's sudden favorable wind had been
entirely fortuitous and none of his doing, and that he was nearly paralyzed by
dread at the thought of what the Lights might do to him following today's use
of Weathermaker.
"Of course it's not
beyond my powers to delay the Tarnians. As a matter of fact, I'd already
thought of doing so myself! Tell the Crown Prince to trust me and get on with
his war. And stop bothering me with superfluous requests!"
Beynor cut the windthread
before the imperious bastard could begin arguing. Muttering, he restored the
spells of the two Fortress sigils, went to a velvet couch in his sitting room,
and flung himself onto it.
Curse the Didionites! He was
endangering his life for them and still they treated him like a hireling
hedge-witch, never offering him the deference that was his due. It was all the
fault of the coronation disaster, of course. All the fault of Ulla!
Who had also invaded his
private chambers and stolen his two remaining Great Stones. He had not dared
confess to Arowann the Salka that he'd lost them.
If only
he'd had the courage to empower Destroyer! If only he'd sent the bitch to the
Hell of Ice where she belonged!
He groaned, knowing in his
heart that recriminations were futile. He must get on with his work, conjure
Weathermaker twice, endure its pain, pray that the Lights wouldn't penalize him
too drastically, then get on with trying to find a way to outwit Ullanoth. Me had
to be hiding in Holt Mallburn. Perhaps he should go there secretly and try to
hunt her down before Conrig of Cathra started his war. Perhaps
I'm dithering because I
don't want to be tortured. Because I'm afraid I might suffer my mother's
unspeakable fate and never even understand what I'd done to offend the damned
touchy Beaconfolk .. .
Craven!
He lifted the ring-sigil and
began to pronounce the spells that would create gale winds on opposite sides of
the island.
But even as he did so,
before the anticipated hammerblow of agony rendered him senseless, the
startling realization came to him: Ullanoth could not have taken his Great
Stones away. A Sending could carry nothing new back to its point of origin.
Either she had destroyed the two sigils while inside his rooms, or else she'd
hidden them, hoping to come back for them some day.
Hidden them?
Crushing pain and blackness
were claiming him. Blackness . . . he remembered it on the soles of his feet
the morning after he'd discovered that the Great Stones were gone. At the time,
he'd been too distraught to understand why there should have been soot on the
floor of royal chambers kept immaculately clean by his slaves.
But now he knew what his
foolish sister must have done, and falling into the abyss, he smiled.
When she woke in
mid-morning, Ullanoth gave grateful thanks to the Moon Mother. Her body was
fast recovering. She suffered no ache in her head or belly and she was very
hungry, an excellent portent. Me made a pottage of barley, bacon, and chopped
hard cheese and put it on the fire to cook. Sipping watered mint-angelica
liqueur from the clerks' cache to soothe her nerves, she dressed and painted
her face, then greased her hair into straggles with the bacon rind. The
reflection of Witch Walanoth grinned back at her from the water bucket.
She
took up the minor sigil named Beastbidder. Its pain would be minimal, and if it
was able to assist her, the journey to Holt Mallburn would be less arduous and
she'd have more strength to devote to her task. Me conjured a spell. then
restored the small animal-shaped stone to her pouch. Time would tell if the
sigil's magic had been successful.
By the
time she had packed everything she intended to take away from the warehouse,
her food was ready. Me ate slowly, feeling better every minute, a glow of hope
and expectancy lifting her soul. Conrig was coming with his army. Hy tomorrow
at this time—please, Mother!—they would be together, victorious.
It was
time to depart. Cautiously, she eased open the side door of the clerks' office,
peered out into the fog .. .
Could
not resist giggling with delight. Beastbidder had done its work.
A
scrawny dapple-grey mare wearing a battered saddle stood there, reins trailing,
lathered with sweat and blowing clouds of vapor. The princess knew that
somewhere in
"I'll
call you Mist," she said, patting the animal. After retrieving her fardel
and lashing it to the saddle, she adjusted the stirrups and mounted. Her cloak
hid details of the mare's tack in case the Town Watch were looking out for her,
so there was no need to go invisible as yet.
She
called out on the wind. "Manakin! Are numbers of you ready to follow me?
I'll require special service of you very soon."
We're
here, lady, as you commanded. More of us arrive in the city with every passing
moment, now that we need no longer create the widespread fog beyond the
mountains. We're very hungry.
She
laughed aloud. "Soon. Tonight! Even the most cautious townsfolk will flee
their homes and fall helpless into your power. But even better will be the
well-fed prey at the palace! It will be the greatest feast you've ever known.
But you must not harm the Cathrans. Never—if you hope to keep my
friendship."
We
understand.
She
rode off into the grey fog at a slow walk, ascending the winding maze of
streets that led from the waterfront to Holt Mallburn. Now and then tiny points
of golden luminosity were perceptible in the darker byways of the city, but
none of them were visible near the old crone who rode along as confidently as a
queen.
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