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nineteen
Red Ansel knew well enough that
Princess Maudrayne's sudden indisposition was no true illness. The fact that
he was forbidden by the Cathran royal family to attend and treat her was in
itself suspicious. Instead, King Olmigon had thanked the shaman for his medical
services, given him a large sum of gold ("for the relief of your suffering
people"), and commanded him to be on board a ship of the grain convoy that
was finally setting sail for Tarn on the morrow.
Deeply troubled, Ansel
retired to his room in
"Once again I am at a
loss," he confessed, "unable to decide the best
course of action, and so I beseech your advice."
Tell me your problem. Is
it the wild-talented boy again?
"No,
it's Princess Maudrayne. She's desperately unhappy and has discovered that her
husband Conrig betrayed her with another woman—Ullanoth of Moss. She believes
that Conrig intends to set her aside and marry the Conjure-Princess, and her
pride is so wounded that she is determined to divorce him without attempting a
reconciliation. Maude besought my help to escape from Cathra, but before I
could counsel her she fell mysteriously ill and was sequestered from all
visitors. I eluded Maude's guardians, came into her rooms, and found her
looking healthy, but mentally stuporous. She would not respond to my questions.
I believe Conrig's brother, who is an alchymist, gave her a potion to dull her
wits. It was also impossible to bespeak her in her dreams, because she was
transported by unnatural euphoria, unable to connect thoughts rationally. I
think her husband wishes to ensure that she doesn't betray his plans to invade
Didion—as well as preventing her from running away to
Do you think her life is
in danger?
"I'm certain it is not.
She's finally pregnant with Conrig's child after years of barrenness. If Maude
would only tell the prince of the babe, I think he would forget about Ullanoth
in a trice. But she's too stubborn to follow such a course, wanting to be loved
for herself—not for the wee creature she carries in her womb."
Very understandable!
Nevertheless, she is no common woman, and her duty must supersede her vanity.
It would be evil for her to betray Conrig's military plans out of sheer pique.
And even more wicked for her to leave her straying royal husband, taking the
fruit of his loins with her. She has been wronged, but she must not attempt
such drastic redress—nor may you, in good conscience, assist her.
"So I am to abandon my
poor young friend to her state of dazed oblivion?"
Don't think to pluck at
my heartstrings, Ansel Pikan! Maudrayne's captors won't keep her drugged
forever. When they leave off feeding her the potion, you must be there to talk
sense into her. Prevent her from doing something so outrageously foolish that
there'll be no turning back from it.
"Yes, you're right. I
bow to your wisdom, Source. I'll pretend to obey Conrig's order to leave Cathra
on one of the grain ships. It'll be easy enough to slip back ashore and find
some place to hole up until I'm needed. Meanwhile, I'll quietly
search
No! You must never think
of meddling with those fatal sigils, not even for motives of safe keeping. They
are forbidden to your touch. And the book that you took from the boy Deveron
must remain unopened until you can hand it over to me.
"Ah! . . . How are you
able to read my mind?"
No one can descry the
thoughts of humankind save the gods, and I doubt whether even they would have
the stomach for such a boring task, day after day. What I do read is the warp and woof of destiny's threads
as it weaves the future fate of
"So I'm to do nothing
at all for Maudrayne?"
The
day will soon come when you'll be called upon to aid both the princess and your
native
* * *
Early on the morning that he
and his Heart Companions were to depart for the north country, Conrig went to
say farewell to his parents. As the lord-in-waiting opened the royal bedchamber
door to admit him, another nobleman stormed out, so consumed with fury that he
neglected even to acknowledge the Prince Heritor's presence.
Conrig shut the door behind
him with a quizzical smile. "Lord Admiral Dundry seems to be in a fine
state, sire."
Olmigon was in bed, propped
up on pillows, scrawling with pained slowness on vellum, while Queen Cataldise
and Odon Falmire, the Lord Chancellor, hovered over him.
"I've sacked the
bastard," the king said with wry satisfaction, as he continued to write.
"I gave him the chance to step down quietly from his post and retire with
the gratitude of the Crown and a nice addition to his family estates. And what
did he do? He had the bollocks to present me with a petition from twenty of our
fighting captains, urging me to keep him on!"
"I'm
amazed they'd be so bold," Conrig said.
"Easy to tell you've
never had much to do with sailors." Olmigon sighed. "A naval captain
is so accustomed to being a tyrant aboard his own ship, he gets to thinking
that landside authorities are knaves or fools—or so sick and feeble that they
can't tell good advice from bad."
"You mean, the naval
officers think I've pressured you to dismiss Dundry unfairly?"
"Yes." the king
scratched a few more words, signed his signature with a flourish, and passed
the parchment to Falmire. "Seal that up good and proper, Odon, and deliver
it yourself to Elo Copperstrand. He's appointed Lord Admiral as of now, and I
want him to pick his own staff of First Captains and bring them to me for a
strategy conference tomorrow afternoon."
The Chancellor took the
brief, bowed, and left the room. At a nod from his father, Conrig removed the
lap desk and writing materials from in front of the king and set them aside.
"I
want you to attend the meeting, Con," Olmigon said.
The
prince gently shook his head. "Today I leave for the north. I came to bid
you farewell, sire. The naval defense of Cathra must rest in your capable hands
and those of Lord Copperstrand."
The
king's face fell. "Today? You can't leave now! I still need your advice on
handling this cranky gang of sea-dogs. And what about the grain ships for
"You did?" A
momentary trace of bewilderment crossed the old man's face. His memory, like
his other faculties, was failing; only his willpower seemed miraculously
rejuvenated.
The prince said, "Sire,
you know far more about naval matters than I, and Copperstrand is intelligent
and trustworthy. He'll know how to deploy the ships to best advantage without
any help from me. But you must buttress his authority if any of Tothor Dundry's
old messmates begin playing mutinous power games."
"I'll
have their cods for penny-purses if they try it," growled the king.
"The grain convoy
sailed on the morning tide," Conrig continued. His mouth tightened.
"And I made certain that the shaman Red Ansel was aboard . . . Each
skipper knows that the kingdom's fate may depend on his getting the cargo quickly
to
Olmigon
groaned. "I suppose it was necessary."
"It was," said the
prince. "The Tarnian mercenaries have agreed to weigh anchor as soon as
the arriving grain ships pass inspection. They could be here in a week or less
if the winds are fair."
"If," muttered the
king. "It's Boreal Moon, you know. The
Conrig forged on, ignoring
the king's pessimism. "Meanwhile, I've rein-forced the
coastguarding windvoices. The Acting Royal Alchymist, Vra-Sulkorig Casswell,
has sent two dozen keen novices to beef up the strength at Castles Intrepid,
Defiant, and Blackhorse. Besides that, he organized a squad of inspectors to
vet every shipboard windvoice in the fleet, making sure they're competent. The
man's turned out to be a fine replacement for Kilian. We have Gossy to thank
for recommending him."
"I wish you weren't
taking Stergos with you, Con," the queen said. "He has none too
robust a constitution, and that mooncalf squire of his isn't the kind of
bodyguard I'd choose."
Conrig
took her hand and spoke reassuringly. "Gossy will never go into harm's
way, Mother. I swear it on my honor. If there's fighting, I'll defend his life
with my own. Better yet I'll make certain that he stays well back out of any
fray, as is proper for a man of peace. But I need him with me in this
adventure, just as I will need him at my side when I become king."
"Stop worrying,
Catty," the king admonished, forgetting that he had been expressing his
own doubts minutes before. "Con, you must have Stergos wind-speak
Vra-Sulkorig regular reports of your progress, which he'll pass on to me alone.
I in turn will keep you informed of matters here in the south."
"I agree; Conrig said.
"If at all possible, I'll have Gossy bespeak the news each day at sunset
and he'll inform you at once if we encounter the foe. But always remember that
our plan of attack through
"I understand."
She was slightly miffed that he had admonished her, yet felt a pang of guilt,
realizing that she might have been tempted to confide in her old friend. She
changed the subject "When shall we leave off giving Maudrayne the
mind-dulling potion? It can't be healthy to keep dosing her with the vile
stuff, no matter what Stergos and Sulkorig say."
"Stop
only after I have joined battle in Holt Mallburn. After that, only keep her
confined so that she doesn't run away. She must be here when I
return." "I'll see to it," Cataldise said.
"Then
it's time for me to go; Conrig said. "My men are waiting and we must reach
Melora by nightfall. Father, may God sustain your life until we meet
again."
Conrig kissed his mother,
then bent over the king's bed to press his lips to the old man's brow.
The king pulled himself into
a sitting position. In the days since his return from the pilgrimage, he had
lost so much weight that his skin now hung on his bones like an oversized
garment. His hands trembled now when they had nothing to grasp, but his
eyes had come alive again and burned with hope and determination. "We'll
all be waiting for news of your triumph over Didion. And if Emperor Bazekoy
should call on me to rise from this bed and assist you, I'll be ready"
In the
late evening, as the Casabarela Regnant finally came clear of the
perilous Darkling Sands and hoisted all sails for her homeward run, Ullanoth
prowled the Didionite flagship, unseen by dint of Concealer. She had found a
secure place to stow away on the orlop deck, the lowest part of the huge
four-tiered barque. The locked and deserted sick bay had two comfortable
bunks, and food and water were easily available to her in the galley. After
cleaning the stains from her face and hands and washing the grease from her
hair, she went to eavesdrop invisibly on the royal family of Didion, who had
fled to the ship immediately following the aborted coronation ceremony.
All of them had been well
slathered with an ointment of chamomile, lavender, and pine, which gave some
relief from their myriad midge bites. Queen Siry and the princesses had retired
early to their beds, all save one of them nearly swooning with outrage.
Risalla, the exception, was overcome by feelings of joyous deliverance, after
her father informed her she would not be marrying the luckless Beynor after
all.
Ullanoth found King Achardus
and his sons gathered in the sumptuous cabin in the vessel's sterncastle, where
they were restoring themselves by means of the traditional Didionite remedy
after a bad day: getting drunk.
"More; the king
commanded, holding out his cup to Somarus. "I can still feel the damned
itching and see that river of red-eyed rats pouring into Beynor's throne
room."
The prince obeyed with
alacrity. They were drinking plum life-water, Didion's favorite spirit, prized
in spite of the horrendous hangovers it caused.
"Archwizard Ilingus
informed me that my wife's rat-bite was a trivial thing," Honigalus said,
taking a pull from his own goblet. "It should heal quickly and leave only
a tiny scar on her heel. But from Bryse's complaints, you'd think she'd taken a
hit from a broad arrow. I'm never going to hear the end of this."
"You were the one who
urged us all to attend that nightmare bash," his brother said waspishly.
"I hope you're satisfied. At least your precious Treaty of Alliance is
still in force—for whatever good it'll do us." He rose from the table and
went to the great window at the stern. It was full dark now, and the ship left
a phosphorescent wake as it ran across
"Beynor promises to
keep a constant magical eye out for Cathran land incursions, Honigalus said.
"That should give us a clear field at sea and do us plenty of good. If we
sail well to the east, the Cathran magickers won't see us coming until we round
the Vigilant Isles—even if they combine their windwatching talents."
"But
Beynor admitted he doesn't have a moonstone amulet for scrying," Somarus
said, "only the usual Mosslander sorcery."
"Which
is far stronger than anything Lingo and his lot can muster. Everything will go
well."
"So you lads are still
determined to go ahead with your ploy?" Achardus's face was flushed and
full of doubt.
Honigalus said. "Our
spies in
The king wagged his gigantic
head as if trying to clear his fuddled wits. "But to risk all our fighting
fleet—"
The Crown Prince, who was in
charge of Didion's Royal Navy, said, "The crews are sullen and
insubordinate from being idle and on short rations, sire. If they have to spend
the winter starving ashore, we'll lose most of them to desertion. Taking the
fleet into action now, with the prospect of rich plunder in Cala, will lift
their spirits sky-high. We'll never have such propitious conditions for a
sea-strike again. Cathra's all in a lather because King Olmigon is dying.
Vra-Kilian assured young Beynor of that. I daresay Conrig won't want to leave
his father's bedside."
"Must keep our eyes
peeled for trouble at
"No Didionite,"
Prince Somarus averred. "Only a degenerate Cathran. But we'll be ready for
any trickery in the high country. I plan to collect and lead reinforcements to
Castlemont immediately. We won't be caught napping if Conrig attacks. And don't
underestimate Beynor. He's a loathsome little pustule, but he's eager to earn
our gold."
"What gold?"
Achardus uttered a despairing groan. He was far gone in drink. "We have
none left, 'cept the crown jewels. You'd think Beynor'd know that if he's such
a thumpin' great magicker." He held out his cup. "More plum
water!"
Honigalus poured, and
refilled his own and his brother's cup as well. "Beynor knows there's gold
aplenty in Cathra. And he's showed us how to take it."
"Should
have figured it out by yourselves." The king's voice was slurred and
lugubrious. Maudlin tears leaked from his eyes. "Not waited for a
father-killer to tell you how to wipe your arses. Beynor murdered King
Linndal! He's a monster. And he uses filthy Beaconfolk magic. He'll ruin us!
Oh, gods—he'll bring the wrath of the Lights down on us, just like the old
witch said!"
"We don't know that
Beynor killed his father, sire." Honigalus tried to calm the agitated
king. "Why should we take the word of a crazed woman? She was lying,
making trouble. And now she's dead, destroyed by Beynor's thunderbolt. Here.
Let me top off your cup."
Achardus batted the flagon
aside and it fell to the carpeted deck, spewing colorless liquid. "Woe!"
the king moaned. "Witch Walanoth howled about woe. Warned us.
But we didn't listen. Woe ..."
His huge body began to
crumple. Honigalus and Somarus hastened to take hold of him, staggering under
his enormous weight, and guided him to a large padded couch. Achardus collapsed
on his back, and the younger men loosened his clothing and took off his boots.
"Gonna puke," the King of Did-ion whispered. Somarus held a silver
basin while Honigalus supported Achardus's head. He subsided then, bloodshot
eyes half-closed and breath coming in slow, rasping surges.
"Let's cover him. Go to
sleep ourselves," Honigalus mumbled. The princes finished tending to their
father, then shuffled off unsteadily to their cabins.
Ullanoth watched the
sleeping giant for a few minutes before going to her own secret bed. But not to
sleep.
Beynor only thought to look
inside the platinum case late on that awful night of humiliation, just before
going to bed. He had some confused notion of comforting himself with dreams of
future triumph, when he would finally empower Destroyer and the Unknown and
become a sorcerer greater than Rothbannon. His brain was so addled by wine that
at first he could not understand why the velvet nests were all empty. He
stumbled about his chambers in his nightshirt, pawing through chests and
cabinets, throwing down the contents of shelves, whimpering as the frightful
realization took slow root and grew.
Gone.
Both Great Stones were gone, and only one person could have taken them.
He
screamed and screamed then until his throat was raw, but inside the walls of
Fortress, no one could hear him.
"Will
there be anything more, Your Grace?" Snudge waited at the open door of
Conrig's room after having ushered in all of the Heart Companions for a meeting
with the prince. The travelers were established for the night in the mansion of
the Lord Mayor of Melora, which was a prosperous small city on the River Blen.
It marked the southern terminus of the
Only three of the ten young
noblemen who attended Conrig and Vra-Stergos knew that their party would be
heading in another direction with the dawn, taking the eastern road to Castle
Vanguard. It was to apprise the others of the true nature of the expedition
that Conrig had called the meeting.
Snudge
had been delegated to inform the armigers.
"You may go now; Conrig
told him, "and see that you also make plain to the boys your special
status."
Snudge bowed and withdrew,
closing the door behind him, and hurried down the deserted corridor. Members of
the mayor's household were discreetly absent from this part of the house.
Codders! Snudge thought.
Here comes trouble! By rights Belamil Langsands, the stocky level-headed squire
who attended Count Sividian, and the oldest of them at nineteen, acted as the
leader of the armigers and transmitted royal commands and announcements. But
Conrig had been adamant that Snudge was to do the job tonight.
"It's time the lads
acknowledge your particular place in our picked body of warriors," the
prince had said. "And time for you to show that you have the stones to
occupy your new position. You are not merely a squire, you are my blooded man.
Tell the others about your encounter with Iscannon—but not about his sigil.
They must know nothing of your talent, of course, but you may make up some tale
about being no stranger to magic if you think it will better dispose them
toward eventually accepting you as their leader."
Taken aback, Snudge found
himself gawping with astonishment. "I, Your Grace? But Belamil—"
"He's a brave young man
and trustworthy, but hardly the one to lead a troop guarding Princess Ullanoth
during the battle for Holt Mallburn."
"Your
Grace, wouldn't it be more fitting if you assigned several of your Companions
to this service? The lady might take offense at being offered an escort of mere
armigers."
"It
matters not how she regards you," Conrig retorted. "She's bound to
come to us after we enter
"So . . . you don't
really trust her after all." The boy barely concealed his relief.
"I trust her to do as
she promised," the prince had said, "aiding us to conquer Didion.
What she does subsequently, while I'm too occupied by the fighting or its
aftermath to stay close to her, may be a cause for concern. Or not!" He
shrugged, but his eyes were shadowed. "Perhaps our stratagem will prove
unnecessary—or even impossible to implement. But I want you to be prepared, and
the squires as well. I realize I've given you no clear instructions in this
mat-ter, but there can be none until circumstances dictate."
Snudge
could only say, "I understand, Your Grace. Rely on me."
He squared his shoulders as
he entered the common room of the mayor's house-hold warriors, which had been
cleared of furniture so that the armigers could bed down there.
"Welcome to our humble
abode," redheaded Mero Elwick called out snidely. "We'd despaired of
having you join us, thinking His Grace might want you to sleep on the floor
outside his door like a faithful hound."
A few of the boys laughed.
Snudge said quietly, "If His Grace had requested that, I would have
obeyed. But instead he's sent me here with an important message for all of
you."
There were surprised
comments, and Saundar Kersey, Count Tayman's armiger, asked, "Does it
pertain to our mission?"
"It does indeed,"
Snudge said. "Let's gather round the fire. It's a damp evening, with the
fog coming on so thick."
"May I pour you a warm libation, messire?"
Mero inquired with mock courtesy, reaching for the steaming cider-pot on the
hob.
"That
would be a kindness," said Snudge, giving over his new silver cup, one of
the gifts of his investiture.
"Oops!" Mero let
the goblet slip from his hand and ding on the hearthstone. "Not much harm
done, young Deveron." He chuckled and managed to slop some of the hot
drink on Snudge's wrist as he returned it.
"Thank you," the
boy said, without rancor. Belamil and a few of the others scowled at Mero's
spiteful display, but most of them were only interested in what Snudge would
say next. "Prince Conrig has kept our true destination secret in order to
foil enemy windwatchers. We are not going to reinforce Beorbrook Hold and guard
A
tumult of shouting. Finally, Belamil cried out, "Let Deveron speak."
The others fell silent and
watched him solemnly. Even Mero's usual sour expression had vanished.
"A couple of weeks ago,
five of us lads accompanied Prince Conrig, Lord Stergos, and Counts Sividian,
Feribor, and Tayman to Castle Vanguard. There the prince conferred with Duke
Tanaby, Earl Marshal Beorbrook, and fifteen other nobles of the north country
at a great council of war. It was decided to invade Didion over
There were excited
exclamations. Snudge plowed on. "The army will number only about five
hundred warriors. We'll move with the greatest speed possible, riding
coursers, not heavy destriers. We'll be armored only in mail but carry ample
weapons. Magical allies who have created this thick fog will guide us over the
mountain pass and help us to take the enemy outposts by surprise. Our army will
press on to Holt Mallburn and there, with the help of more magical assistance,
we will set parts of the city afire with tarnblaze as a distraction and enter
the
He paused, seeing round eyes
and open mouths. "Any man among you who is fearful of the supernatural or
less than confident of his ability to stay the course when magic is employed
may feel free to leave the company and return to Cala."
A
chorus of "Nay!" began tentatively, but soon shook the rafters.
Then Mero spoke with cool
insolence. "Who are you to question our courage, and offer to dismiss us
like children if we fall short?"
"I
am Prince Conrig's liege man, sworn to his service. Some of you may know that
my rank of armiger is only symbolic, because of my youth and the
rules
of chivalry. In truth, I became the prince's man by shedding blood on his
behalf—the blood of a Mossland sorcerer spying on the council of war at Castle
Vanguard, who may have had designs upon the prince's very life."
"You killed a
sorcerer?" Saundar, a clever, dark-haired youth two years older than Snudge,
was plainly incredulous.
The boy caught the eye of
Gavlok Whitfell, Stergos's squire, who only shook his head. He had not passed
on Snudge's confidence to the others.
Snudge spoke softly so they
would be obliged to listen rather than gabble. "I stabbed him to the
heart, and I'll tell you the tale anon. But first I must recount the prince's
orders to you. Your duties during this enterprise will be mostly as
usual—attending your masters. But His Grace has advised me that there may come
a time when some members of this company of armigers may be called upon to
perform an exceptional service for him. If this happens, I will be your
leader."
"You!" Besides the
affronted response from Mero, there were surprised protests from the rest.
"There is a reason why
Prince Conrig has called on me, young as I am, rather than Belamil to lead. I
have a certain acquaintance with magic. I can smell it out, if you like, and I
know how to take precautions against its power."
The
room had gone dead quiet except for the crackling of the fire.
Then one of the boys said,
"Is that how you managed to kill the sorcerer? Tell us about it."
"Soon. But first, let
those who can't bring themselves to follow my lead speak up and leave the
room."
"I will follow
you," said Belamil gravely. "The judgment of Prince Conrig making you
his man is reason enough for me."
"And
for me," said Gavlok.
One
after another, the other armigers also concurred. All except Mero.
"I'm sworn to my
master, Count Feribor," he said, not bothering to conceal his scorn.
"Only if he commands it will I be led by a low-born grub like you. D'you
want me to leave?"
"Stay," Snudge
said. The last person he would choose to help guard Princess Ullanoth during a
battle would be Feribor Blackhorse's cross-grained squire, so what did it
matter?
"The
sorcerer! Tell us!" the others demanded eagerly.
So
Snudge began the highly amended tale of what he had done at Castle Vanguard.
Ullanoth windwatched
Conrig's colloquy with the Companions, then Sent herself to him when the men
were well gone.
"My prince," she
breathed, and felt a small rush of satisfaction at his start of alarm. Conrig
had been given the Lord Mayor's own fine bedroom, which was now somewhat of a
mess with rugs kicked awry, chairs and stools dragged together before the fire
and left every which way by the departed Companions, and tables and floor
littered with the prince's possessions, sheets of parchment, and a welter of
maps and equipment lists.
He did not speak
immediately, but took her into his arms and kissed her. Then he said, "You
need a bath. And your clothes are damp."
She gave a rueful laugh.
"I'm traveling on a ship. And I had not been able to wash properly for
nearly a week before embarking, since I was feeling unwell. At least my hair is
clean and most of the dye washed from my face. You should have seen me in my
hag disguise, berating the Didionite royals. I was a sight to brown a strong
man's smallclothes."
He smiled at her crudity.
"There's a tub of water behind that screen that was hot an hour ago. We
could heat up a cauldron on the fire and make a tepid bath for you, at
least."
She considered the matter
with a whimsical smile. "If a dirty Sending washes itself, will the
original body be made dean? I have no idea! Let's experiment. But there's no
need to heat water. I can do that easily with my talent."
She sprawled on the
hearth-rug and began stripping off her rough clothing, telling him the tale of
Beynor's sorry coronation festivities. Soon they were both howling with mirth.
"If only I could have
seen it," Conrig said. He gave her a cup of mead and sat on the floor
beside her, admiring the rosy reflections of the fire on her slender form.
"But with Beynor so humiliated, won't he be driven to empower another of
his Great Stones out of sheer revenge?"
"He
cannot," she said with satisfaction. Then, playing fast and loose with the
truth, she told him she had destroyed her brother's two inactive sigils.
"Great God! So they can be obliterated so easily?"
"The
unempowered stones, yes. I don't know what would happen if a person attempted
to destroy a conjured sigil by main force. It's possible that the stone would
defend itself in some deadly fashion. I do know for certain that if a person
who is not the owner touches an active sigil without permission, he is severely
burnt."
He gestured to Sender, which
hung on its chain around her neck like a faintly glowing teardrop. "Then a
sigil cannot be lent to another to use?"
"Never. Beynor had to
perform a spell of abolition in order to turn his Concealer over to Iscannon.
He had to relinquish ownership of it so that his minion could conjure it
himself."
"I see." For a
time Conrig remained silent, smiling thoughtfully as he ran one hand lightly
over her pearly hair. Then he asked, "Are you safe from your brother's
evil magic now?"
"I believe so. For all
Beynor's hatred of me, he is still a very intelligent brat. I think he realizes
that his future depends upon regaining the goodwill of Didion—not retaliating
against his big sister. And don't forget . . . he believes I'm dead, blasted to
smuts along with the top of my tower."
"Does
he truly believe that?"
She frowned, then gave a
sigh. "His thunderbolt was a great show of power for the royals of Didion,
and Beynor will probably cling to the belief that I'm dead for a time, just to
comfort his devastated pride and his rage at the loss of the two Great Stones.
He won't doubt that I was responsible. But soon enough he'll begin to wonder
whether I might have escaped on one of the Didionite ships, and then he'll try
to find me."
"But
you can hide from him, can't you?"
"Alas,
the moonstone that would have veiled my presence completely and provided a sure
refuge against all danger was lost in my tower's destruction. However, I still
have my Concealer, which renders me invisible. Its powers are limited while I'm
Sending. I must choose to conceal either the inanimate husk left behind—and
this I have done tonight—or the Sending itself, as I intend to do when I assist
your invasion. Beynor owns no sigil capable of pinpointing a sorceress such as
I, nor can he identify me by windsearching if I'm very cautious in my own use
of the arcane talents. All he can do—all any of the Guild can do—is survey
every nook and cranny of the vast Didionite capital city with windsight and
hope to encounter me while I'm visible, just as though they were hunting me by
ordinary means."
Remembering how Snudge
had followed her windtrace to
"Yes," she
admitted grudgingly. "But I'm surprised to find you so well-versed in
thaumaturgy, my prince."
"Stergos has taught me
much in the past few weeks. And what if Beynor tracks down your visible
Sending?"
"To Send is far more
subtle than to bespeak or descry. If Beynor chanced to discover my visible
vacated body, he might be able to trace me to my Sent destination. Or if he
watched us here, at this moment, he might perhaps trace the thread back on the
wind to the sick bay where my invisible husk lies hidden on the Didionite
flagship. But I believe there is small chance of him doing so."
And I must continue to believe it, since there's nothing I can do to change the
situation.
Conrig climbed to his feet.
"Time for your bath, my lady. The Lord Mayor left me a cake of
lavender-scented soap and at least half a dozen Forailean towels, soft as
swansdown."
"Excellent." She
rose with the sinuous grace of a meadow cat, silhouetted against the fire.
Sender, the Great Stone that was actually very small in size, shone at her
throat. "You shall be my attendant. And while you serve me, I'll tell you
how I intend to help you conquer Didion . . . and how Honigalus plans to attack
Cala by sea."
"Zeth! Have you
overheard the Didionites discussing it? When will they sail? Can my army reach
Holt Mallburn in time to stop them?"
"I haven't discovered
that yet" She beckoned to him and moved to the tub behind the screen.
"But you can be sure that I will find out. I have recently conjured a new
sigil named Subtle Loophole that enables me to both oversee and listen closely
to anyone, anywhere. This is a wonderful new weapon, a Great Stone purchased at
the cost of much pain and suffering."
His face was troubled.
"Will not such a thing put you in greater peril of the Lights?"
"Let
me worry about that," she said, stepping into the now-steaming tub, which
was made of burnished copper with a fine embossed-silver rim. "Forget
about wars and sorcery for a few minutes, and concentrate on helping me to get
clean again. And then let us take comfort in one another. I do love you with
all my heart and soul, Conrig, and I long for the day when we can remain
together for more than a few short hours." She tilted her head, staring at
him in smiling speculation. "Do you realize we have never seen one another
truly, or touched—save through magic? But we'll meet at last in Holt Mallburn,
when you're victorious, and I pray we'll never be apart again."
"It will be a wondrous
day, in so many ways," he said, striving to imbue the words with loving
enthusiasm. Then he turned away to bring her the scented soap and a sponge, and
to hang up her damp garments in front of the fire.
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