Authors: Julian May
Tags: #Kings and rulers, #Epic, #Fantasy fiction, #General, #Knights and knighthood, #Fantasy, #Fiction
“What is it?” Snudge said grimly.
“I saw Wil and Vra-Mattis whispering together before we retired. Wil was speaking with great urgency, as though pleading for some favor. Finally, the windvoice drew his hood over his head for a few brief minutes, then uncovered. Young Wil then seemed relieved in his mind and went off.”
Snudge muttered a curse. “I wish you’d told me earlier. But no harm done. I’ll deal with this later.”
He tucked the glowing sigils back into his shirt, rose from the table, and walked off towards the guesthouse. But he turned aside once he was out of the others’ sight, touched Concealer and murmured the words that made him invisible, then returned to the curtain wall parapet to bespeak the Source.
==========
Deveron didn’t trust him. The Royal Intelligencer had never accused him of disloyalty: he was too clever for that. But all too often he’d found errands for Wil to perform, sending him out of hearing while certain others were taken into his confidence—with the result that Wil had not yet been able to pass on a single bit of really useful information to the duke.
Tonight, the squire vowed, that wouldn’t happen. Something vitally important was about to be discussed, and he didn’t intend to miss out on it.
When Duke Feribor had first insinuated his clever young relative into the service of the Royal Intelligencer, there was no hint of the grave matter that would eventually cause the king to order a clandestine expedition into the north country. The newly dubbed young knight commander required two armigers, so Feribor put forth his cousin as a suitable candidate—simply because he enjoyed the irony of having
file:///K|/eMule/Incoming/May,%20Julian%20-%20[Bo...-%20Boreal%20Moon%202%20-
%20Ironcrown%20Moon.html (178 of 228)2-2-2007 18:46:19
May, Julian - Boreal Moon 2 - Ironcrown Moon a spy of his own to spy on the wretch who’d come so close to disclosing Feribor’s role in the irregular handling of the Royal Treasury funds.
Later, when Deveron was sent off on his supposedly secret mission, having Wil Baysdale available to keep tabs on the search for Princess
Maudrayne was a fortuitous stroke of luck for Feribor. He’d heard the same rumors of her
Page 199
survival that had worried Earl Marshal Parlian, but hadn’t known what to make of them. Why would Conrig be so desperate to track down his former wife? Why should the High King care if Maudrayne Northkeep was alive and hiding in Tarn? At first, the questions seemed unanswerable.
Until Feribor deduced the obvious solution, and an elegant scheme was born in his mind. Then later, the extrordinary demands of the venal wizard Bozuk played perfectly into Feribor’s hands, almost as though fate had decreed it ___
Wil Baysdale led Vra-Mattis to his pallet in the fortress dormitorium. But instead of caring for the ailing novice’s needs, he merely tossed a blanket over him, then crept away through a back passageway to the kitchenhouse. Two silver pennies handed over to the crew of sniggering scullion lads convinced them to let him eavesdrop on Deveron and the others from behind the partly open door of the scullery.
With mounting excitement and apprehension, he overheard information more crucial than he might have hoped for in his wildest dreams.
Wil knew that Feribor had taken ship to Tarn with the shaman’s bribe. Not appreciating the depths of Feribor’s villainy, the squire also believed that the duke meant to go off after Princess Maudrayne himself, after Bozuk revealed her hiding place, simply in order to ingratiate himself with the king.
But if Deveron found the princess first—
The treacherous armiger had nipped off back to the guesthouse and Vra-Mattis the moment Snudge mentioned the necessity of bespeaking someone. Being absent when Gavlok voiced his grave suspicions of him, Wil still had expectations of continuing his spying after they all made their magical leap to Tarn.
He began hauling off the novice’s boots and clothing, services he’d earlier neglected, intending to look innocent when Sir Deveron arrived. Vra-Mattis was already half-asleep and hardly noticed what was being done for him, muttering vague words of thanks as Wil tucked a pillow beneath his head and offered him water.
Nervously, Wil waited for his master to appear; but no one came. After nearly ten minutes had passed, he went outside to see what had happened. The others were still sitting at the trestle table with their heads together, probably planning the new expedition. But there was no sign of Sir Deveron anywhere in the inner ward.
Where had he gone? Wil was certain he’d heard Deveron say he was going off to bespeak someone about an important matter. But he hadn’t approached Mattis, and surely he wouldn’t seek out some Didionite wizard to send his wind-message—
Then Wil froze, remembering what Cousin Feribor had said during their final hurried conversation in Gala Palace:
“
Be very careful not to underestimate Deveron Austrey. My disgraced uncle, Kilian Blackhorse, once told me that the bastard is a wild talent
—
a secret magicker. And after what he did at Redfern Castle and Mallmouth Bridge, I’m inclined to believe it
.”
What if Sir Deveron was away somewhere doing the bespeaking himself
?
Wil had entertained small hope of getting off his own wind-message until the middle of the night or even tomorrow morning, since Mattis seemed so weak and sick—but perhaps he wasn’t as bad as he seemed.
“Mat! Wake up! I need your help.” Wil slapped the youth’s face and shook him by the shoulders.
Mattis opened his eyes and moaned, “What? What’s wrong?”
Wil knelt next to the pallet, pulled the windvoice upright, and spoke with every evidence of
Page 200
concerned dismay. “Oh, Mat—I don’t know how to tell you. Sir Deveron is so worried about your fragile state of mind that he’s decided to send you back to Beorbrook Hold with one of the Swordsmen. The rest of us are going to continue on to Tarn after picking up another windvoice at Rocky-ford Way Station.”
file:///K|/eMule/Incoming/May,%20Julian%20-%20[Bo...-%20Boreal%20Moon%202%20-
%20Ironcrown%20Moon.html (179 of 228)2-2-2007 18:46:19
May, Julian - Boreal Moon 2 - Ironcrown Moon
Tears sprang into Mat’s eyes. “I’m—I’m not surprised. What a disappointment I must be to the master, falling to pieces like some cringing little wench.”
“It’s not your fault that your talent makes you overly sensitive to terrible events,” Wil averred.
“We’re all made differently. You’re a good friend. I’ll always be grateful that you were willing to bespeak my family’s windvoice back in Blackhorse Duchy, letting me converse with my poor sick mother. I’ve been so worried about her, Mat! And now I’ll have no more word of her at all.
I’d never dare ask this other Brother who’s joining us for such favors as you were kind enough to grant me.”
“I’m sorry, Wil. I wish there was something I could do.”
“Well… there is, only I hesitated to ask. But if you could send Mother one last message—if you feel strong enough—”
Mat ventured a tremulous smile. “I’ll try. Just give me a minute.” Lying back on the pillow, he covered his eyes with his hands. His lips moved without making a sound. Then he spoke aloud.
“Your family windvoice hears me, Wil. What would you like to tell your mother?”
“Say I’m about to ride into great danger, but all will be well because Sir Deveron has just been given two magical amulets to protect us.
One is named Concealer, and it can make all of us invisible. The second is called Subtle Gateway, and it will transport us directly to the place where Princess Maudrayne is hidden. Tell Mother not to worry, even if I can’t have you bespeak my messages anymore. We’ll all be home safe in Gala in less than a tennight. Sir Deveron has promised it.“
Vra-Mattis opened his eyes wide. “Will Is it true?”
The armiger’s gaze shifted to the door. “Yes, of course it is. I wasn’t supposed to tell you about that—but what difference can it make?
Mother will be so glad to hear we’ll all be home soon, with our mission successfully accomplished. Bespeak the message, Mat. Please!”
The novice smiled feebly and closed his eyes once more. “Of course I will. What wonderful news!” He began to windspeak soundlessly at some length. Wil rose to his feet and darted to the doorway. No one was coming. There’d be time to do what had now become necessary.
“Wil?” The young Brother’s voice was very weak. “I—I’ve done it. It took all my strength, but I’ve done it.”
“Thank you!” Wil Baysdale’s gratitude was sincere, overflowing with relief. He crouched beside the exhausted windvoice. “You’ll never know how much this means to me. Now rest well. Let me just fluff up your pillow for you.”
He lifted Vra-Mattis’s head, drew out the cushion, and pressed it with all his strength over the novice’s face. His struggles did not last long. When they ended Wil replaced the pillow, closed the dead eyes, and smoothed the features into a semblance of peaceful sleep.
Then he went off to tell the others the dreadful thing that had happened.
twenty
Late in the evening, Maudrayne climbed the spiral staircase of the tall turret that bore the peel’s windmill and fresh water reservoir. The rain had stopped for the moment, but the wind keened like a lost child and a muffled boom of heavy surf came from the little cove far below. She’d invited Dyfrig to accompany her on her first exploration of the odd structure, but the boy had
Page 201
refused in favor of a game of chess with Rusgann in front of the parlor fire.
The two days of steady downpour that had kept him indoors since their arrival had turned Dyfrig apathetic and withdrawn. He was also disappointed that the sons of Shaman Ontel and Sealady Tallu were taciturn lads of nine and eleven—much too old to be willing playmates to a four-year-old, even one who was bright and mature for his age. After a few initial hours of kindly attention to their young guest, the Tarnian boys had abandoned him to follow their usual pursuits, while Dyfrig was left with only Rusgann and his mother to entertain him. There were no domestic chores for him to perform here, as he’d done so eagerly at Dobnelu’s steading; silent, glum-faced
file:///K|/eMule/Incoming/May,%20Julian%20-%20[Bo...-%20Boreal%20Moon%202%20-
%20Ironcrown%20Moon.html (180 of 228)2-2-2007 18:46:19
May, Julian - Boreal Moon 2 - Ironcrown Moon servants took care of everything. Lessons would not begin until Ontel’s family and the prisoners moved to the winter residence at Fort Ramis, at the start of Harvest Moon. Soon, Maudrayne knew, the boy would grow bored and fretful.
And so would she, for Skullbone Peel was hardly living up to Ansel’s glowing description.
The keep was much larger and more elaborately appointed than the sea-hag’s farmhouse, but it was also charmless—especially on overcast days of summer rain. The floors and walls were of stone, only sparsely softened by rugs and hangings, and the rooms were chill and only dimly lit by narrow windows having panes of yellowish translucent seal bladder. There was a library, as promised, but aside from a small shelf of crudely inscribed storybooks that had probably been copied out by the boys as schoolroom exercises, the volumes were mostly ponderous tomes without pictures that dealt with Tarnian history and shamanistic practices—no doubt fascinating to Master
Ontel, but of no interest to a young child.
Ansel himself was still in residence, although he had informed her at their noontide dinner that he would soon be departing. Maudrayne’s sharp temper had been provoked by disappointment in the new place of confinement, and she had rebuffed all of his attempts at friendly conversation. Eventually he gave up trying to cheer her and went off to confer with his cousin Ontel, probably organizing her secure detention. She was in a foul mood as she reached the top of the turret, and her heart sank even lower as she surveyed the domain where she and her son were to be imprisoned. It was a part of Tarn that she had never visited, proverbial among the livelier folk of the west for its bleak solitude and comparative poverty.
The windows up here were thick glass, probably because the turret also served as a watch-tower—although heaven only knew what kind of sea raiders would be foolish enough to attack the tiny local settlements. Visibility was fairly good after the rain, revealing a vista of savage ruggedness. Skullbone Peel lay at the northern end of Tarn’s Plateau of Desolation, a nearly roadless expanse of tundra and bog that was almost completely uninhabited. The Desolation Coast, pummeled throughout much of the year by arctic winds and ferocious seas, comprised two hundred and sixty leagues of eroded limestone and basalt cliffs, reefs and stacks, and a myriad of rocky islets softened by sparse vegetation where only seals, birds, foxes, and lemmings lived. To the north lay a sterile black-rock peninsula called the Lavalands. Born of extinct volcanos and ridden with shoal water, it was a menacing barrier to coastal shipping even in summer, when the pack-ice receded. South of the peel were whaling stations and fishing hamlets, and a single isolated castle, Fort Ramis, around which huddled the only town of any size in all of northeastern Tarn. The family of Shaman-Lord Ontel and Sealady Tallu dwelt there during the long arctic winter, and so, Maudrayne had been told, would she and Dyfrig and Rusgann.
We’ll never escape from here, she said to herself. They’d capture us easily if we tried to flee
Page 202
inland over that black desert, and to get away by water is virtually impossible. Small wonder Ansel had said she’d be allowed to use a sailboat! There was nowhere to go. After consulting a chart in the library, she’d discovered that the only sizable ports she could hope to reach, where sealords dwelt who might sympathize with her plight and defend her from pursuers, were Ice Haven on Havoc Bay or Cold Harbor up north on the Icebear Channel.
Both places were over three hundred and fifty leagues away, and neither had road access to the rest of the country.