Ironcrown Moon (31 page)

“I’ll go next,” Raldo declared, striving to keep a tremor out of his voice. “I can’t bear the suspense of waiting.”

The fat man’s huge bay gelding lost its footing after going only a few ells and gave a heart-stopping lurch; but it recovered its equilibrium and went on successfully to the other side, whereupon Raldo burst into tears of relief.

Cleaton set out with lips clamped tight and his eyes narrowed to slits. In the middle of the shelf, his rather nervous red roan suddenly stopped dead and refused to move. He thumped its sides with his heels, uttered lurid curses, and exerted all of his talent. The animal resumed its hesitant pace and joined the other three on the opposite side. The men there had dismounted, leaving blindfolds on the horses, and stood in the partial shelter of the overhanging cliff.

“Last but not least! I’ll be right along, boys!” Niavar called, urging his mount into the shank-deep water. The small black cob squealed at the unexpected sharp cold and tossed its head violently. The knot of the blindfold slipped and an instant later the cloth fell away. Stricken with terror at the sight of the dropoff and the pressure of the flowing stream against its short legs, the beast shied. One of its forefeet came down atop a precariously balanced rock and it collapsed, legs flailing. There was a sickening crack as a bone snapped. The cob screamed, rolled to the lip of the shelf, and fell to its death in the misty depths of the gorge.

Kneeling in rushing water up to his crotch, wiry little Niavar clung to the sagging rope with both hands. He was unable to stand, so he used his arms to haul himself the remaining three ells across. The others grabbed hold of him and pulled him safely up.

“Am I going to have to walk to the bloody cave, then?” he grumbled.

“You can ride pillion with me,” Garon said. “My chestnut is strong and neither of us is heavy.”

The Brothers took Niavar close to the cliff and began to strip off his soaked clothes. Kilian opened one of his saddlebags and took out a long shirt, wool stockings, and spare boots; Garon contributed homespun trews that fit well enough when rolled up seven inches and cinched with a piece of rope; Cleaton found a short waxed-leather cape with a hood.

As he dressed, Niavar thanked them all.

Raldo said sheepishly, “I’m sorry I didn’t have anything that would fit.”

“Just be thankful it wasn’t your horse that fell,” Kilian said to him.

They resumed their journey, with the fat man bringing up the rear and mumbling prayers under his breath, trying vainly to forget the frightful image that Kilian’s words had evoked, and the pitiless tone of the voice that had spoken them.

==========

Beynor’s voyage up the Malle was not as carefree as he’d hoped, but at least the Salka swimming around him remained unnoticed, and no one in authority challenged him as they passed the teeming wharves and docks of Holt Mallburn. The strong sea breeze that blew during the hours
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of hot sunlight kept his dinghy’s sail well filled throughout the first day on the river. Assisted by his unseen Eminent hauler, he forged nimbly upstream past less fortunate boats and reached Twicken by the time the sun dipped low and the breeze slackened off.

“There are food stalls and small shops on the waterfront of this town,” he bespoke Ugusawnn.

“I’m going to put in, tie up, and buy something to eat. Don’t worry, I won’t try to leave the boat. Just see that you stay out of sight.”

The only response was a surly growl on the wind.

He lowered the sail and rowed to the public landing-stage, where he tied up, paid the toll, and began restowing the various bundles in the boat. After a few minutes a stout, pink-cheeked matron in a clean gown came along, carrying a wide basket covered with a cloth. She stopped at each vessel having people aboard, offering cold meat pies, but sold only a few.

“A fine evening, goodwife,” Beynor said, when his turn came. He proffered a silver quarter-mark coin. “I’ll gladly take two of your pies.”

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“I don’t have the change for this,” she admitted. “Business has been slow this evening. The big crowd came to the riverside this morn to see off the royal barge—but I couldn’t get my baking done in time for selling to them. My old dad came over poorly, and I’ve had to nurse him most of the day. If you care to trust me, I’ll step over to yonder inn and get the change there.”

“You look like an honest woman,” Beynor said. Her easy friendliness might have its uses. He gave a winning smile and opened his purse.

“I’m very sorry for your hard luck. I’ve had a bit of that myself today, out on the water. Gave my ankle a bad knock, and now I can barely walk. I don’t want to go tramping about ashore if I can help it, but I’ve not much food left in the boat, and no drink at all. If I gave you more money, could you also fetch me some loaves of good wheat bread from the inn, and maybe some butter and jam, and some boiled eggs in their shells if the kitchen has such things? And ask the pot-boy to roll over a firkin of ale for me. I’ll gladly pay you for your trouble.”

“Oh, you poor lad! Of course I will. Just guard my pies whilst I’m gone. Is there anything else you’re needing?”

“Fresh strawberries?” Beynor ventured, “I live on an island far up the coast, and earn a good living from sealing. But I haven’t such luscious things for four years, since last I came to visit my people up in Mallthorpe Greenwater.”

“If anyone on the Twicken waterfront has any, I’ll bring them to you,” the woman said.

“Imagine! Four whole years without strawberries!”

“I’d also be most grateful if you could send my way any old-clothes vendor who might be out and about this evening. As you can see, my garb is unsuitable for the warm weather you enjoy here, although it served me well in the chill at sea. I’d buy more comfortable things if I could.”

The woman was thinking. “You’re a tall, thin one, just like my old father. And he, poor soul, spends much of his time abed these days and has small need of street clothes. After I see to your provisions, I’ll slip away home and look in his coffer. There might be something you can use.”

“I’ll pay whatever you think is fair,” Beynor said. He gave her another quarter-mark and she bustled off.

After a minute or two, Ugusawnn spoke truculently on the wind.

What did you say to her, groundling?

“I only asked her to fetch more food and some clothes for me. She had some interesting news to report. The royal barge left here this morning. It’ll be upriver at Tallhedge by now, and tomorrow it goes to Mallthorpe Castle and stays for two days before going on to
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Boarsden. We’ll have to get ahead of it to set up the ambush. The distance from here to the Big Bend is nearly ninety leagues. You may have to do some night hauling to get us there in time.”

I will do what is necessary.

“Good. You and your warriors can give the barge a good look-see while it’s tied up at Mallthorpe, so you’ll be clear about what I expect you to do later.”

Ugusawnn gave an ill-tempered grumble.

“The matter has to be handled just right. You must follow my orders exactly, or—”

Or WHAT, you insolent heap of whale puke?!

“Eminence, I’m not trying to insult your intelligence, or that of your warriors. I’m only anxious that we succeed. Be easy in your mind!

When the present King of Didion and his family are dead, we’ll have taken the first step in destroying Conrig Wincantor’s Sovereignty—

and giving the Salka back their ancestral home.”

So you’ve said

…

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“Believe it,” Beynor assured him, with all the coercive power his great talent could summon.

“Believe it!”

==========

Snudge and his men reached the south gate of Elktor at about the tenth hour after noon. It had been locked for the night an hour earlier;

but Vra-Mattis had previously bespoken the Brothers resident at the castle, warning of their coming, so they were admitted with alacrity.

They paused in the shelter of the guardhouse, and Snudge showed the royal writ to the sergeant of the guard. By then the rain was coming down steadily, but the intelligencer had managed to sleep in the saddle in spite of it and felt much refreshed.

“Sir Deveron,” said the sergeant, handing back the parchment with a salute, “one of my men will lead you to the castle if this is your wish. Count Olvan is in residence. He’ll be eager to tell you of the search for the fire-raisers being conducted in this region, as well as offering his hospitality.”

Snudge thanked him. “We’ll tarry here a moment while my windvoice announces our arrival, then welcome an escort.”

While the novice attended to this, Snudge beckoned the other riders to come close to him. “If it’s true, as I believe, that the fugitives have gone into the mountains at some point above this city, then they must necessarily travel much slower than heretofore. Mat and I will confer with the Brethren at the castle and make contact with Zeth Abbey as well. We’ll ask that all windsearching now be concentrated in the area of Roaring Gorge.”

“Will we go after the villains at once if they’re overseen, sir?” asked the armiger Valdos.

“All of you are in need of sleep,” Snudge said. “We’ll likely wait until morning. Vra-Mattis and I will confer with the resident wind adepts to see if there are new developments. But it’s likely the fugitives have also stopped to rest— especially if they’re mounted. We’ll ride out with a force of Lord Olvan’s rangers tomorrow.”

Vra-Mattis pushed the hood of his cloak back from his face and announced, “They’re awaiting us at the castle.”

One of the guards joined them, having fetched a horse. “Mortal steep road up the castle knoll,”

he said with a grin. “Those poor beasts of yours look about done in, so I’ll take it nice and easy.”

He set off. Snudge motioned for Mat and the armigers to follow, while he and Gavlok brought
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up the rear.

“Do you really think someone will be able to scry out our quarry?” the lanky knight murmured doubtfully. “Surely these local magickers have already combed the area to the best of their ability.”

“My hope is that I myself might catch an oversight of the thieves from the high vantage point of the castle, now that I’ve recovered my strength somewhat. We can always pretend that Mattis found them, and he can direct the searchers with my prompting.”

“Ah.” Gavlok smiled. “The lad nearly popped the eyeballs from his skull when I revealed your wild talents to him earlier. He was very impressed with my tales of your prowess—defeating Iscannon, taking Redfern Castle, and opening the Mallmouth Bridge. I had to caution him not to make his hero-worship of you too obvious.”

Snudge gave a brief bark of mirthless laughter. “Me, a hero? I think Vra-Mattis—and the High King—will find another name to call me if

I have no luck finding those two wretches and the stolen trove!”

twelve

Riding on muleback, Felmar and Scarth traveled eastward for about nine leagues along the Beorbrook track from Elktor. They were still without a firm plan of action, and tonight their only wish was to get as far away from Kilian as possible. The rain increased to a near-blinding downpour. Soon it became obvious that they could go no further. Even the surefooted mules were starting to balk as they sank into deepening mud.

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Dropping the cover spell briefly, both Brothers cast about with their talent for a likely place to take shelter. They had purchased a piece of stout canvas that could be used as a tent in a pinch; but the deserted croft, when they scried it, was a much more attractive option, even though it looked more like an animal lair than human habitation. The hut was situated in a sheltered moorland hollow where stunted junipers grew, backed and hemmed about by outcrop-pings of bedrock. It was well out of sight of the track and looked reasonably secure from windwatchers as well. A rill of clear water ran nearby and there was even a patch of rain-flattened grass for the mules.

The entrance was an inverted V formed by two slabs of rotting wood. There were no windows and the interior was dark. Felmar struck a flame at the tip of his finger with his talent and peered inside, alert for wildlife, but the place was empty except for some ancient sheep droppings. The fieldstone walls and the turf roof were still sound and the dirt floor almost dry, except in the corner where a smokehole above a simple hearth let rain drip in.

“This is as good as we’ll find tonight,” Felmar decided. “Let’s hobble the mules and get our things inside.”

A little later, after Scarth had chopped up dead branches from the small trees with his woodsman’s axe and got a fire going, they were reasonably comfortable. The canvas covered most of the dirt floor, and saddles and pads made acceptable beds. Felmar was finally able to remove his hated female disguise. The two of them shared some of the harsh brandywine that Bo Hern’s good-wife had sold them at exorbitant cost, and ate some of her excellent honey-raisin oatcakes.

Then they decided it was time to examine the Trove of Darasilo.

For the next two hours, they pored over the books and the two bags of moonstones they had taken from the crypt in Gala Palace. The fragile volumes contained pictures of countless sigils, along with blocks of indecipherable text. The trove included one hundred and twelve milky translucent carvings of varying shapes, most rather small and some duplicates. Many stones were
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strung on golden chains or decaying leather cords, and all of them were minutely incised with arcane symbols or exquisite tiny pictures that gave tantalizing hints of their function.