Ironcrown Moon (17 page)

“No! No! Please, I’ll do it. Anythin‘ you say.”

I’ll have to spell every task out for him three times over, Ansel thought in resignation. But first, I’d better bespeak Liscanor’s windvoice—

and any others near to Northkeep.

“Stay here and beg God’s forgiveness. I’ll be back in a moment to tell you what to do.” The shaman stepped outside the door and closed it behind him.

Back in the kitchen. Vorgo wiped his eyes and nose with his sleeve. Only now did he truly understand his great good luck. He wasn’t going to die! Instead, he’d feed ducks and herd goats and sheep and hoe the sea-hag’s cabbages. It would be lots easier than gutting fish or mending nets. This house was much larger than the squalid cottage on the waterfront he’d shared with his evil-tempered father.

Probably fewer rats, too. And the larder was crammed with food and barrels of home-brewed ale and jugs of malt. Not bad at all!

He’d worry about the sea-hag coming back to life later.

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Meanwhile, there was still her treasure to hunt for…

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The rain began late the next day when they were still a league out of port, and Maudrayne was glad of it. With no darkness to hide them, she had been concerned about being recognized.

Lukort Waterfall’s lugger

Scoter would be familiar to every sailor and fishmonger in Northkeep, and she had wondered if it might be safer to moor it in some secluded spot, go ashore in the coracle, and push on to the castle by some roundabout route afoot.

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The misty rain and the false dusk brought on by the low-hanging clouds made that unnecessary.

Boldly, she steered straight for the castle’s deepwater landing stage. A few other returning skippers hailed her, but she deflected their interest in the time-honored fashion of the trade by growling, “No luck,” and adding a salty curse on fickle fish.

Torches burned on the castle landing. Two large schooners and a single tall fighting frigate, Liscanor’s beloved

Gayora

, were tied up there, along with a score of smaller craft. For some reason, the slip where she’d always berthed her own sloop-rigged yacht in days gone by was empty, so she guided Scoter in with easy competence while Rusgann tossed the bowline to a boy who had been sitting on the dock, fishing, indifferent to the gentle rain. No one else was in sight. They were probably all celebrating the Solstice Day.

“Can’t tie that old tub up here,” the urchin said with a grimace of contempt. He was about ten years old, dressed in rags, with bare feet.

He had already caught a pair of fat speckled rockfish. “Sealord’s guards be along to send you packin‘ afore I get ’er snubbed to a cleat.”

“Make that line fast!” Maudrayne commanded in a no-nonsense voice. She rummaged in Lukort’s confiscated wallet and held up a silver penny. It was probably more money than he’d seen in a year. “Then fetch the watch commander quick as you can, and this will be yours.”

“Aye, cap’n!” He obeyed, then ran away.

“Get Dyfrig,” she told the maid, and hopped onto the dock with the stern line to secure it. Her son had gone below to the boat’s tiny cabin when the rain started, and now he emerged rubbing sleep from his eyes, staring up at the immense curtain wall and looming towers of Northkeep with something akin to fear.

“Where are we, Mama?” he said.

“This is the castle where I was born. Now it belongs to my dear brother, who is your uncle Liscanor.” She released her bound-up skirts and stripped off the concealing headcloth. Her long auburn hair gleamed in the torchflame, spangled instantly with tiny drops of rain. For a final touch, she pulled the spectacular opal wedding necklace out of her dress and arranged it on her bosom. Then she jumped back into the boat.

“Now listen to me carefully, Dyfrig.” She crouched to meet his eyes. “We must once again play the game where you pretend to be

Rusgann’s son. We do this because, for the time being, I don’t want anyone in the castle to know who you are.”

“Not even Uncle Liscanor?”

“Not even him. I’ll reveal our secret to him later, but probably not tonight.”

“All right, Mama.” Dyfrig looked at her askance. “Are there wicked men inside the castle, like Lukort and Vorgo?”

“None so evil as those two villains,” she reassured him, hoping that she told the truth. “Only men and women who talk too much—who might carry tales about you if they knew you were a crown prince. Without meaning to, they might betray our great secret and put us in danger. So while we’re in the castle, you must call Rusgann ‘Mama’ and stay close to her always. Try not to talk to me at all. The child of a servant wouldn’t do that. But if you must, call me ‘my lady.’ Can you remember that?”

He smiled in a somber manner that was anything but childlike. “Yes, my lady.”

She kissed his forehead. “Well done.”

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“Here come the guards,” Rusgann muttered.

They heard the tramp of studded boots, along with the excited cries of the dockboy.

Maudrayne leapt back onto the dock. Rusgann handed up Dyfrig to her and followed more decorously.

“There they be, just like I said!” The dockboy came dancing impatiently ahead of a squad of four guardsmen, then skidded to a halt with his eyes like saucers. “Mollyfock! They be wimmen—and a wee brat!”

The sergeant, grey-bearded veteran, strode up to Maudrayne with his hand on the hilt of his sword. “Now then, what’s all this? Who do a you think you—” His mouth snapped shut like a trap. He stood silent, his gaze sweeping her from head to toe, before whispering, “My lady Maude?”

Maudrayne nodded regally and smiled. “So you remember me, Banjok. It’s been many years since last we met, and so much has happened.”

The younger guards obviously had no notion who she was and stood well back, their expressions uncertain. That suited Maudrayne. She said to the sergeant, “Please say no more at this time—especially not my name.” She pulled her oilskin jacket closed to conceal the necklace.

“Only take us to the sealord at once. I presume he is here?”

Banjok looked dazed. “Yes. He’s within, with Lady Fredalayne, presiding over the Solstice Day feast for the Line Captains and their families. It was moved to the great hall because of the rain.

Please follow me.” He turned and marched off.

The urchin thrust himself forward, blocking Maudrayne’s way. “Hold on! My penny!”

She had to smile at his determination. “What is your name?” “Eselin. Someday I‘ll be a Line Captain and eat with the sealord!” She handed the coin to him. “It will happen, Eselin, if you make it happen.” Then she walked away into the rainy evening, trailed by Rusgann, Dyfrig, and the three silent guards.

==========

Once they were inside the walls, Banjok dismissed his men, warning them to say nothing about the odd visitors if they valued their sword-hands. After the three retired to the guardroom inside the gatehouse, the sergeant led the women and the little prince into an antechamber called the Peace Room, just off the great hall.

The dinner guests who came armed left their weapons and shields there, hung on wall pegs, according to the Tarnian custom. The place had a few padded benches but no other furniture.

Banjok locked the outer door that gave onto the corridor along the wall of the central keep.

“Wait here. It may be a short time before the sealord is able to leave the high table.” Banjok opened the heavy inner door and slipped quickly into the hall, from which loud sounds of music and conviviality emanated.

Rusgann sat Dyfrig on a bench, told him to stay there, and led her mistress to the opposite side of the chamber. “Now let’s be sure I

understand what’s going on here,” she hissed. “Do you intend to tell your brother what’s happened since your supposed death?”

“I’ll say Red Ansel saved me from drowning and brought me and my beloved maid to the sea-hag’s steading to keep us safe from Conrig

Wincantor, who wanted to put me under permanent house arrest in Gala so I wouldn’t make trouble. I’ll tell Liscanor that I know a terrible secret about Conrig that could cost him his Sovereignty, but I won’t reveal what it is. Not yet.”

“Any more than you’d tell me,” Rusgann grumped. “I suppose I was the pregnant one who delivered a boy-child.”

“Of course. Your hair is fair, like Dyfrig’s. It’ll work if you can keep people from questioning him. Pretend he’s sick, or numbed by the ordeal of our escape.” Maudrayne shrugged out of the damp oilskin jacket and dropped it onto the stone floor. She took a comb from her belt-purse and began to work on her snarled hair.

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“What do I say about the escape?” Rusgann asked. She retrieved the discarded oilskin and hung it on a peg, then took off her own.

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“More or less the exact truth. I couldn’t bear to live with the hag any longer. I planned to signal to a fisherman and bribe him to take us away. But Lukort Waterfall had already spotted me through his spyglass and come to kidnap me and hold me for ransom.”

“So we killed him, and left his son Vorgo to the sea-hag’s mercies, and we sailed away, and here we are—bashed and bloodied, but safe!”

Rusgann’s plain face shone with unholy relish.

“Not really. There’s still Ansel to worry about. I’ll ask Liscanor to protect us from him, demand that we be allowed to stay here in

Northkeep. But if Ansel wants to take me away, there’s nothing my brother can do. He can’t go up against the High Shaman of Tarn.

He’s a brave man, but he’s afraid of Ansel. They all are.”

Rusgann put her finger to her lips. “Keep your voice down. You’ll frighten the boy.”

Dyfrig was leaning tiredly against the wall, looking very small in his oversized rain jacket. But his dark eyes were fixed on the women and he was doing his best to listen in.

“Sorcery!” Maudrayne’s tone was full of loathing. “What a curse it is! But how many people are willing to believe that? Not many, when magic can give you power over other persons, or secret knowledge that’s even more valuable. Even Ansel’s been corrupted by it! I thought he was my true friend, but all along he planned to use Dyfi and me in some bloody cosmic scheme.”

“Now, my lady, you don’t know that for sure. You might be misjudging the man.”

“We’ll find out when he walks straight through the locked gatehouse door of Northkeep.”

Maudrayne gave an ugly little laugh. “And I

doubt we’ll have long to wait. The sea-hag never stays entranced for longer than two days. She’ll bespeak Ansel when she wakes up and finds us gone, and he’ll know we went to Northkeep.

Where else could we go?”

Rusgann frowned.“ ‘Twould be best if your brother put you aboard that fine big warship of his right away, and sent you to the High

Sealord at Donorvale.

Doesn’t Lord Sernin have a passel of strong-minded wizards loyal to him? Would Ansel dare oppose all of them—and the Tarnian council of sealords as well?“

“I don’t know.” Maudrayne was thoughtful. “You’re a wise woman, Rusgann. It’s a plan worth considering. If I told Sernin the truth about Dyfrig…” And the greater truth about Conrig! “I’ll ask Liscanor to bid his windvoice bespeak Sernin at once.”

Maudrayne embraced the maid, then went to sit beside Dyfrig, trying to draw him close to her.

He pushed her away. “You shouldn’t be doing that, my lady. I’m only a servant boy.”

Her face went white and she sprang to her feet. For the first time in months, she burst into tears.

Rusgann gathered her mistress into her arms and held her as she sobbed, and it was thus that Sealord Liscanor discovered them when he arrived a few minutes later.

==========

She sipped from a cup of soothing bearberry tea and huddled near the peat fire Liscanor had kindled in the little south tower sitting room, waiting for him to return with news of the windvoiced conference with Sernin Donorvale. Rain tapped on the small glazed window. The sky was almost black.

After a brief, emotional reunion with his long-lost sister in the Peace Room, Liscanor had
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summoned his wife, sworn her to secrecy, and entrusted Rusgann and Dyfrig to her care. Kind Lady Freda had tried to put Maudrayne to bed as well, but she refused to rest until she had conferred with her brother. The two of them slipped up a back stairway to the secluded little tower chamber where the sealord conducted his private business. There she told him what she wanted him to know. But over an hour had gone by since he left her alone, and she was becoming very worried. What could be taking so long?

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When the door finally opened and she saw his face, she knew it was nothing good.

“Come, sit here and tell me.” She poured him a cup of tea from the steaming pot on the hob.

Liscanor Northkeep had the same bright auburn hair as his sister, but otherwise they were unalike. She was beautiful and regal in demeanor, even in her torn and dirtied peasant garb, while he had a body like a barrel, arms so heavily muscled that they hunched his shoulders, and a pitted, truffle-nosed face that was almost ogrish in its spectacular homeliness. Only his voice belied his unsightly appearance: it was deep, resonant, and cultured.

“Maudie, my dear, there’s magical mischief brewing,” he said, shaking his head. “My windvoice, Kalymor, told me he’d been forbidden by the High Shaman to bespeak any message of mine to anyone. I threatened him with a beating, then with banishment, but he wouldn’t budge. He said Red Ansel would do worse to him if he disobeyed, and no other shaman in the demesne of Northkeep would transmit messages for me, either. They’re to keep silence for a tennight!”