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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
"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
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
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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