The apparition flickered and vanished.
“Did you hear?” Conrig shouted at the Admiral. When Woodvale nodded dumbly, he continued. “My father warned me this might happen. He had a final dire premonition.”
“The Hammer and Anvil!” The young alchymist Vra-Bolan repeated the words, stricken with awe. “Not since the advent of the Wolf’s Breath have we suffered their fury.”
As if to confirm Ullanoth’s words, a sudden fusillade of sleet swept over the warship. Then, paradoxically, the wind began to fall off. The Lord Admiral began to issue terse commands to the windvoices and officers.
Conrig said to Stergos, “Bespeak the King of Didion. Confirm Ullanoth’s warning. Tell him I offer honorable terms of surrender if he will accept the Sovereignty and become my vassal. Riptide may precede us into the harbor at Eagleroost, while other vessels of his fleet have my permission to take sanctuary in whatever Cathran port they can safely enter, provided that they strike their colors.”
The reply was slow in coming. But in the end, whether he believed in the Hammer and Anvil or not, Honigalus of Didion could not dismiss the reality of the three enemy warships hard-charging in his wake.
Fring spoke: His Majesty King Honigalus is pleased to accept the Sovereignty, given one final demonstration of goodwill by King Conrig of Cathra.
“Ask what he wants,” Conrig said.
Stergos did, and when the answer came, he was surprised to see a sardonic smile upon his royal brother’s face.
“Tell Honigalus that Cathra graciously condescends to agree,” Conrig said.
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The ships caught in the great tempest were drenched in freezing rain and battered by hurricane blasts. Hopelessly topheavy as their rigging took on a burden of thick ice, they foundered and sank without a single survivor. A pitiful handful of men o‘ war belonging to Cathra and Didion, along with three Tarnian frigates, reached safe havens. All of the Continental corsairs still in Cala Bay were lost.
Hours later, when the sleet storm was over and snow sifted gently down on the battlements of Eagleroost Castle, Cathra accepted the surrender of Didion. Sitting in a simple chair in Duke Farindon’s crowded little presence chamber, Conrig wore the Iron Crown that would afford him his popular nickname, but no other emblem of royalty as Honigalus kissed his hand and signed the Edict of Sovereignty. Fleet Captain Galbus Peel repeated the gesture of fealty and also signed, acting as the proxy of Prince Somarus, who participated in the ceremony through the wind-talent of Fring, not bothering to hide his fury at the craven behavior of Honigalus, who had declined to die for Didion.
To accommodate the custom of the barbarians, a declaration of surrender was signed in the blood of both Conrig and Honigalus, and Duke Farindon Eagleroost and his two adult sons contributed drops of their own blood as witnesses. Then there remained only a single thing left to be done.
“Let the Princess Maudrayne be admitted to the presence chamber,” the duke said with evident reluctance.
His wife, Duchess Sotera, whose hair was almost the same rich auburn shade as that of her distant kinswoman, led Conrig’s wife into the assembly of nobles and high naval officers. Sotera’s face was red and swollen from weeping, but Maudrayne seemed so coolly serene that most of the men believed she knew nothing of what was about to happen.
Without prompting, Maudrayne strode to Conrig, knelt, and kissed his hand. “My liege,” she murmured with eyes cast down. “My husband. I congratulate you on your great victory.”
“Thank you, madam. My late father informed me of the way in which you helped him. For this I will be eternally grateful.”
Maudrayne lifted her head and looked him full in the eye. “And how will your gratitude be shown, Your Grace?”
“First we must speak of another matter.” Conrig’s voice was remote. He held out a hand and Stergos, his lips quivering, gave him a document, which the king passed in turn to the woman kneeling before him. “Please read this. You may rise. If you understand what is written, sign your name to it.”
She stood, and her gaze flicked over the parchment. “A bill of divorcement. They tell me you intend to make a marriage with the sister of Honigalus, Princess Risalla, so that Didion’s place in your new Sovereignty is affirmed.”
“That’s true. Will you sign the bill?”
She said softly, “And what does the other lady think of this alliance?”
Conrig frowned. “If you speak of Princess Risalla—”
“Not she. The other.”
“The newly crowned Conjure-Queen of Moss has already pledged to me her fealty. As First Vassal, she rejoices that Didion and Cathra are to be united in a dynastic family. And when the great benefits of Sovereignty are fully understood by your uncle, the High Sealord of Tarn, I’m confident that he will also pledge. A new era is about to begin on our island of High Blenholme, one bringing prosperity, peace, and security to all four of her sister-nations. I ask you again: will you sign?”
Maudrayne gripped the vellum so tightly that it began to crackle. She turned about, letting her gaze sweep over those present in the room. All of them, excepting Duchess Sotera, who had buried her face in her hands, seemed to be holding their breath.
“How can I not agree to sign the bill, knowing the great good that will come of it?” She went to the side table where pen and ink waited and scrawled her name. Then she took the document to Conrig, dropped it at his feet, and screamed out: “Now pay the price!”
She turned and ran from the room like a deer, leaving the men shouting, Sotera collapsed in the arms of the duke, and Conrig on his feet, flushed with rage.
“Go after her!” he cried.
Four of Eagleroost’s household knights dashed for the door. Stergos hastened with them, desperately calling, “Maude!”
The rest of them waited, some displaying shock and bewilderment, others plainly sharing the king’s anger and muttering of lese majeste and even treason. Count Feribor Blackhorse picked up the bill of divorcement and handed it over to Conrig, smiling enigmatically.
Then Stergos returned. His normally pleasant features had turned into a mask of stone. “She has leapt from the parapet into the waters of the bay,” he told his brother. “May God have mercy on her—and upon you.”
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“Fool,” said Red Ansel the shaman. “What if I had not been anchored nearby in Fulmar? Not even a Tarnian could survive more than a few minutes in these icy waters. You and the unborn babe might have died—and what would I tell my Source?”
“Shut up,” said Maude, drawing the blankets more closely around her nakedness and crouching closer to the sloop’s tiny galley stove. “If your precious Source had wanted me dead, I’d be lobster-food by now. Suppose you do something worthwhile by making me a hot drink. I’ve never been so cold since I fell through the ice of the River Donor when I was twelve years old.”
“They’re coming down to search for your drowned corpse,” Ansel warned her. “Look—you can see torches on the steps leading to the dock.”
“First my drink, then you can up anchor and set sail for home. The snowfall has stopped and the night’s clearing nicely now that the Hammer and Anvil have done their work.”
“What a piece of work!” the shaman muttered. But Maude knew he was not speaking about the storm.
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Conjure-Queen Ullanoth of Moss put aside Subtle Loophole and let the sight of softly falling snow outside her tower window ease the pain of her watching. Conrig had temporarily slipped away from her control. She feared that might happen if she did not accompany him on the journey to Cala, but she had had no choice. Her own kingdom must come first. There would be time for the Sovereign of High Blenholme later.
After she dealt with runaway Beynor… and found a way to obtain the great collection of sigils hidden by his exiled co-conspirator, Kilian Blackhorse. The young fool had babbled the secret to his Salka captors in the Dawntide Isles, and she had heard and seen, nearly overcome by a burst of wild exultation as she realized what those sigils might do, were they in her own hands.
Maudrayne and her unborn son were a delicious paradox. The Tarnian woman had been transformed from an antagonist into a potential ally the moment she had signed the bill of divorcement. According to Cathran law, her son had first claim to Conrig’s throne, having been conceived in wedlock. The proud Sealords of Tarn would find a way to use Maudrayne’s son against the man who hoped to force them into vassalage. And she, Ullanoth, would use the lot of them in turn.
It would be so very interesting to mull over the possibilities during the long winter nights, thinking and watching and listening and planning. When spring came, unlocking the icy fastness of the Boreal Sea, she’d know the best way to act.
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The sloop, its sails filled by the magical airs of Red Ansel, was long gone by the time searchers from Eagleroost Castle reached the shore. They launched rowboats, combed the black waters, and clambered over the snow-slippery rocks, but in the end they found nothing.
Stars came out in the sky above Blenholme Roads, only to be overwhelmed when the Great Lights appeared in the north. Bright shimmering curtains, thrusting lances, and slow explosions of red and green and golden radiance stretched from horizon to horizon, whispering about what they might do next.
END OF BOOK I
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