“It takes power from the Beaconfolk! You don’t dare use it. You must get rid of it!”
“But think of the opportunity that may then be lost to us.” The young voice was cool and persuasive, for all that Snudge’s eyes were dark-rimmed and his face sallow and oddly blotched, as though with some illness. “The Lady Ullanoth doesn’t hesitate to command the Coldlight Army, knowing the danger. I swear to you that I’ll only study the thing, not attempt to use it. But if you insist that I throw it away, of course I’ll obey.”
“Well…”
“One day we may need the sigil. Trust me.”
“Trust! That’s what she always says!”
“But I have only our best interests at heart, Your Grace, while the Lady of Moss…” He trailed off.
“Out of the lips of babes,” the prince muttered. “Very well. Keep the cursed thing. But you’ll have to risk pilfering Vra-Kilian’s magic books yourself. No way dare I command my basilisk uncle to lend them out, even to me.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“And keep your mouth shut when we’re in Vanguard’s chambers, unless I invite you to speak.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
They continued on to the ducal apartments. Two guards were posted outside, who saluted as the prince and the boy approached.
Conrig said, “Tell my lord duke I would speak with him.”
“At once, Your Grace.” One of the guards went inside and returned almost immediately. “Please enter.”
Tanaby Vanguard wasn’t alone in the sitting room. Earl Marshal Parlian Beorbrook sat drinking with his old friend at the fire. An unrolled parchment map of the Dextral Mountains lay on a low table between them, held open by a decanter of ardent spirits, a silver bootjack, a heavy jeweled dagger, and a candlestick.
“Welcome, Your Grace,” Beorbrook said, with a certain ironic attitude. “We were just about to invite you to join us.”
“To query me about Lady Ullanoth,” the prince said equably.
Beorbrook glanced at Snudge. “Perhaps the lad should wait outside.”
“Deveron is my man, and he stays.” ,
The earl marshal hoisted his black brows. “Does he indeed!”
Snudge bowed and retreated to a bench in the shadows. Only the small fire and the candle on the table lit the room.
The duke lifted the decanter. “Will you join us in a wee noggin, Godson?”
“Gladly.” Conrig drew out his cup, sipped the fiery liquor, and said, “Much better than Stippenese wine! Did both of you eat your wafers?”
They nodded. Beorbrook’s smile was now openly wicked. “Clever trick, with the poison. But I think Skellhaven was the only dubious one in the pack.”
“You guessed?” the prince asked.
“I’m the futterin‘ earl marshal. I’m supposed to be sharp. Made certain that all of them munched up the antidote goodie, too. Your blockhead godfather, here, was going to save his and give it to the duchess. Dear Monda has a sweet tooth.”
The prince paled. “Saint Zeth! I never thought—”
Vanguard waved a hand. “Let it be. We’re all playing a dangerous game… And speaking of games, I think you’d better tell us how you made the acquaintance of Lady Ullanoth.”
“In a moment, Godfather. But first, I immediately require three strong men, well armed, whose loyalty and discretion you trust absolutely.”
“Any of my household knights will serve,” Vanguard said. “What’s going on?”
“There’s a dead man in the stables, lying in a far corner of the dormitorium where Viscount Skellhaven’s lackeys are bedded down. The body must be taken away at once and brought to a prison cell or some other secure place, where Skellhaven will be asked to identify him and explain his presence here. The man was both a magicker and a spy, scried out by my brother Vra-Stergos as we held our council of war.”
“God’s Breath!” exclaimed the duke. “This intruder oversaw us and read our lips?”
“Apparently. As an ordained Brother avowed to peace, Stergos did the only thing he could think of, sending young Deveron to confront the villain. There was a struggle, and the spy was killed.”
“By your serving boy?” The earl marshal shot an incredulous look at Snudge, who sat expressionless.
“He is more than that, my lord. As I said, Deveron is my trusted man.” To the duke: “Godfather, the matter is urgent.”
Vanguard went to the door and told the guards, “Summon Sir Myndon, Sir Tiralos, and Sir Naberig. Be quick.”
When he returned, he asked permission of the prince to question Snudge, and so did the earl marshal. But the boy only confirmed what Conrig had said, adding that he had made his way to the stables through the secret passages, which the Doctor Arcanorum had sketched out for him from childhood memories.
“But—weren’t you afraid to confront a sorcerer?” Beorbrook asked.
“We don’t know that he was one, Earl Marshal,” Snudge dissembled. “More likely he was just a wind practitioner particularly adept at scrying. A skinny little fellow, but he came at me like a wildcat. I clouted him with a bucket, and then we fought, and he ended up stabbed.”
Beorbrook grunted. “Too bad. It would have been useful to question him. As it is, we’ll make do with Skellhaven, as His Grace suggested. Go back to your seat, lad.” He turned to the prince with hooded eyes. “This is a serious development, and we can only hope that the invasion hasn’t been betrayed. Could this fellow have been an agent of the Conjure-Princess?”
“Hardly,” said Conrig. “Why should she bother, when she herself helped draw up the plan of action? In my opinion, he came from Ullanoth’s younger brother Beynor, who knows she covets the throne of Moss. According to their laws, the reigning monarch may appoint his or her successor. Thus far, King Linndal favors the son, whose arcane powers are supposedly stronger than those of his sister. This is why Ullanoth decided to make her bargain with me.” He paused, then plunged into the lie. “As to how she and I first met, it happened in Thunder Moon, a few weeks after the murder of the delegation to Didion. Stergos and I were taking our ease in a stone pavilion at Brent Lodge after a boar hunt, looking out at a great storm approaching from across the lake. Suddenly the Lady Ullanoth appeared before us in the form of a Sending.”
“That’s a kind of living ghost, is it?” the earl marshal asked.
“Not really. The apparition is quite solid. To Send requires extraordinary talent and strength, such as none of our own alchymists possess.” He lifted his shoulders and smiled. “My brother explained the process, but I have forgotten the details. The lady proposed an alliance, and we discussed the matter at great length while the storm raged around us.”
“This was your only meeting?” Vanguard asked.
“Nay. She came again, and we refined the scheme and discussed every aspect of the invasion, and agreed on the terms of her benefice and guerdon should the venture succeed. She even helped to select the nobles I would invite to participate in the enterprise, including Skellhaven.”
There was a loud knocking at the door. The prince said, “May I take the liberty of instructing your knights, Godfather? I’ve worked out a way the body might be removed without raising suspicion among the others in the dormitorium.”
“Go ahead,” said the duke. When the prince went to the door and was out of hearing, Vanguard spoke to Beorbrook in a low voice. “What do you think, Parli?”
“Disturbing, this Beynor knowing about the council of war. Makes you wonder if Ullanoth has other fish to fry. We’ll have to talk to the doctor, but I reckon he’ll back up his brother’s judgment.”
Both of them had completely forgotten Snudge, sitting motionless in the darkened room.
“The two princes were close as lads,” the duke recalled. “Young Con always the cleverest, knowing what he wanted and often not scrupling at how he got it.”
“I’ll say! That damned wine…”
“Aye. But that ploy might have been my own fault. I refused to detain any nobles who opposed the invasion.”
“And now it’s on, for better or worse, and maybe compromised already. Bloody hell.”
“Well, we still have the option of turning back at Breakneck Pass,” the duke said. “I daresay the witch Ullanoth will keep a close magical eye on events in Didion over the next five weeks. She’ll know if we’re expected by the foe, and give us warning.”
“If it suits her,” the earl marshal said cynically. He fell silent as the prince returned.
“I told them to bring the covered body to the gatehouse armory,” Conrig said. “Let’s fetch Lord Skellhaven and have a look at it.”
==========
I’ve never clapped eyes on the wanker in my life,“ said the seagoing viscount.
Look at him. Just another underdeck swabbie.“ He bent forward suddenly and spread open the body’s blood-stiffened shirt, where a yellow gleam had shone momentarily in the torchlight. ”Booger me! What kind of lackey wears a heavy golden neckchain like this?“
Vanguard and Beorbrook exchanged glances. If Skellhaven did know the identity of the spy, would he have called attention to the betraying chain?
The viscount unfastened the gold from around the corpse’s neck and held it closer to the armory’s sputtering wall torch. “I’ll tell you something about this bauble, Your Grace. It’s Mossbelly-made. Nobody else uses twisted-wire links like these, and the thing’s worth a pretty penny.”
Conrig said, “My lord, did anything unusual take place before you set out to Castle Vanguard, or on the journey?”
“Hmm. We had a problem at one inn a day’s journey from here. A dozen or so of the lads got royal gut-aches after eating rabbit pies that’d turned. They moped and moaned and browned the hedgerows all the next day riding into Castle Vanguard. Some of ‘em still feel a mite seedy.”
Conrig addressed the duke and earl marshal. “My brother Stergos has told me that when a man is ill, he is more susceptible to the spells of a magicker. Perhaps this fellow”—he tapped a dead shoulder—“did away with one of your retainers and took on his identity.”
“It’s possible,” said Skellhaven. “Those few who weren’t sick were in a rare kerfuffle for doing all the extra work and might not have noticed a clever stranger. I sure as hell didn’t.”
“We’d like to believe that.” Conrig’s face was carefully neutral.
The nautical lord’s eyes blazed. “Huh! So you think I might be in league with Didion, do you, Your Grace? Well, you’re wrong! I hate the whoresons and their fancy ships that sail rings around our own while the Diddlies raid our coastal settlements and rape our women. And now that the Wolf’s Breath’s laid the scum low, I say let’s drag ‘em kicking and screaming into the Sovereignty! Civilize Didion once and for all. If you don’t trust me to join your invasion, so be it. But you’ll be losing the services of some of the best fighters in the north country.”
The prince said, “Ride with our force, Hartrig Skellhaven, and welcome.”
The viscount gave a curt nod. “Can I keep the gold chain?”
==========
Conrig and Snudge returned to the darkened library just as the nightwatch called the midnight hour. The great room had grown cold and the fire burned low. Moonlight shone through one of the long windows. The three Heart Companions were snoring among the stacks and the armigers had disappeared upstairs. “Go to your own bed now, Snudge,” whispered the prince. “I’ll disrobe by myself. You’ve done well this day and I won’t forget it. You’re looking rather ill. If you think you might suffer bad dreams over the killing, take a good tot of spirits for a nightcap.”
“Thank you, Your Grace. Do you think I should watch Lord Skellhaven to be sure—
“I believe he’s an honest man, by his own lights. Don’t worry about him. And for heaven’s sake, don’t strain yourself with any more windwatching tonight.”
“The body—”
“The duke will see to it. We’ll say the man died of virulent colic brought on by the dicky rabbit pie. Off you go, now.”
The prince entered his improvised sleeping chamber. The great bed with its brocaded tester and coverlet had to have been disassembled and brought in piece by piece, for it nearly filled the entire scribe’s office. There were tarnsticks on a sidetable beside the candle and he struck one. The thing flared, then died. Damp, probably. Conrig cursed and scratched another against the wood of the table. When it also refused to light, he used his talent to ignite the wick, closed the door, and removed a silver flask from his trussing coffer. He tossed back a hearty swig of malt liquor and sat down on a stool to pull off his boots—
Froze as he felt the presence, smelled the warm green scent of vetiver.
The bed hangings parted, and a lovely narrow face peered out. Her eyes shone like green jade, and her long wavy hair was the color of pearls, covering her bare breasts like a silken shift.
“You!” he exclaimed, starting to his feet. “Were—were you watching again?”
Smiling, she put up a warning finger. “Hush. We don’t want to disturb the others, my prince. I saw you with Vanguard and Beorbrook and Skellhaven, but I did not eavesdrop, for I cannot do lip-reading. My lips are fashioned for other purposes.”
“Great God, lady—!”
She had left the bed, naked as a fish, and was unfastening his doublet, easing it off, opening his shirt. “All has gone perfectly, hasn’t it? And now you shall tell me everything and then claim your reward.” She opened her arms and the veil of shining hair fell to each side. “I assure you that my Sending enjoys every attribute of my true self.”
The prince felt the blood rising within him. He had to force the words from his throat. “I—I am a married man, and faithful to my vows.”
A laugh, sweetly scornful. “Your sharp-spoken Tarnian wife has given you no children during your six years of marriage, and for some time you have secretly despised her.”
“That’s not true!”
“You have even considered putting her aside, now that the alliance with Tarn is no longer crucial to Cathran state policy.”
“How did you know—”
“I know so many things about you.” She embraced him. Her mouth was hot and tasted of exotic honey. “Are you afraid of me, Conrig Wincantor?”
“No,” he lied, and crushed her to him, returning the kiss.
==========
Snudge lay on his pallet in the room above. He had drunk a fair amount of ardent spirits and his talent was extinct as a result, useless as a blown-out taper. But his mind’s eye still saw a wrathful face, a wide-open mouth full of rotten teeth, ferocious magic glittering in jet-black eyes. He sensed his own doom approaching, cloaked in paralyzing frost, and his windvoice screamed.