Authors: Julian May
Tags: #Kings and rulers, #Epic, #Fantasy fiction, #General, #Knights and knighthood, #Fantasy, #Fiction
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May, Julian - Boreal Moon 2 - Ironcrown Moon
Sulkorig inclined his head. “And so I will.” But his voice was unsteady.
Conrig smiled. “Don’t be troubled. All will go well. Come—let’s rejoin the others. You must tell them of the new boar.”
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Catclaw, who had proved his courage during the Battle of Holt Mallburn. Conrig lavished praise on the youngest member of his Privy
Council, then took him aside for a quiet word while the other nobles shared wine, and the retainers prepared the dead boar for conveyance to the palace.
Tinnis Catclaw had been a minor baron of the Dextral Mountain country when he first served as an officer in Conrig’s victorious small army. He was famed for his fighting prowess, however, and for his unfashionably long golden hair, in which he took a naive pride. When other nobles teased him for keeping it shining clean and dressed with perfumed unguents, he shrugged and pointed out that, when braided, the stuff made perfect helmet padding. After Didion’s surrender, Tinnis became one of several redoubtable warriors invited to Gala Palace to help reform Cathra’s standing army, which had fallen into a sad state during the reign of Conrig’s late father, Olmigon.
There the baron showed such outstanding organizational ability that the king eventually named him Lord Constable, in spite of the fact that he was not yet forty years of age. Together with Earl Marshal Parlian Beorbrook, he supervised the land forces of the Sovereignty.
But Lord Catclaw’s prowess as a general was not what Conrig needed at the present time.
“Tinnis,” the king said, “do you love me enough to follow any command of mine without question?”
“Sire, you know I do,” the Lord Constable replied. “There is no man in the Sovereignty more loyal. I would lay down my life for you.”
“I require that you take life.”
“Even so, I’d fight for your cause to the last drop of my blood.”
Conrig turned his head away, looking at the torn and gory forest undergrowth where the constable had slain the boar. “There are two persons who pose mortal threats to my life and crown. One is very far from here, in the Tarnian stronghold of Cold Harbor, on its arctic coast.
Earlier, I hoped that another agent of mine would be able to deal with this enemy, but now that’s become impossible. So I’d send you—alone, save for a troop of trusted retainers of your choice—if you would consent to it. A fast ship will carry you north this very day, and every
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resource will be placed at your disposal.”
“Sire, I’ll rid you of this Tarnian foe gladly. Only give me particulars on where he’s to be found, and I’ll be off—”
Conrig lifted a gloved hand. “Wait. There’s a second villain, whose perfidy only came to light recently. He’s here in Cathra… in this very woodland clearing not six ells away from us. He must be killed so artfully that it appears an accident. I care not how you arrange it, so long as the deed is done by yourself alone, before you leave the kingdom.”
Tinnis Catclaw’s pale blue eyes glittered. “Name the whoreson!”
“Vra-Sulkorig Casswell.”
“Putter me blind!” the constable whispered. “A Zeth Brother?”
“And the one you must kill in Tarn is my former wife, Maudrayne North-keep, who is alive and conspiring with her countrymen to ruin me and break up the Sovereignty. Tell me plain, Tinnis, whether you’re prepared to ease both of these persons from this life, only because I ask it.”
The Lord Constable of the Realm pressed his right fist against his heart. “My liege, I will.”
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May, Julian - Boreal Moon 2 - Ironcrown Moon
No, Ansel. You may not return to the peel and Maudrayne, nor may you bespeak your cousin Ontel and warn him of the danger from
Duke Feribor. My foresight counsels against it, although I don’t understand why.
“Feribor will take them, Source! He’ll use Maude and Dyfrig against Con-rig! What will become of our plan to have the king defend
High Blenholme against the Salka hordes?”
We can only hope that our plan will succeed, as Feribor fails in his evil purpose.
“Why can’t we make sure that he fails? Let me return to the peel and carry Maudie and Dyfrig to a safer place! Or at least let me defend them with my sorcery.”
No. She is shortly to have an important meeting there. With someone else. You would interfere.
You may not go to her.
“So. A meeting, is it? With the Royal Intelligencer, I presume! I know he’s on his way to Tarn, and I also know that Conrig all but commanded the spy to kill Maude and the child if there’s no other way to save his damned crown. Are you still prepared to sacrifice Maude and the boy for the sake of Blenholme’s Sovereign?”
Dyfrig will certainly live. He’s to be enlisted in the Conflict
—
as you knew full well when you rescued his suicidal mother from the sea.
Maudrayne’s fate is up to her. She will choose life or death by her own response to a proposal that will shortly be made to her
.
“What proposal? Do you mean to say that a compromise might still be arranged between her and Conrig?”
Yes.
“When will you put the proposal to her?”
I will not I cannot. Another will do that, provided he survives his incautious use of Subtle Gateway.
“Source! Did you give that Great Stone to Deveron Austrey? Is he already in Tarn, near Maude’s hiding place?”
The Green Man Odall gave him the sigil, at my direction, during an encounter that I engineered
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with marvelous precision. But the young spy was rash in using the stone. I never expected him to carry numbers of his companions with him through the Gateway to Skullbone Peel. He should have gone alone to lighten the pain-debt. Poor fool! Now he lies senseless at his destination, his flagging body enduring an extremity of torture for the past two days. He may survive. You must pray that he does, and so will I, for the proposal he’ll make to Maudrayne may yet solve our problem.
“Prayers? You might have warned Deveron of the danger!”
I
thought I had. He must have misunderstood. I can’t think of everything. I’ve been so long Denied the Sky that both wisdom and resolve begin to crumble. And I also suffer, you know
.
“Great God, and now you whine! I wish I’d never known you.”
Go to Donorvale, dear soul. Force the Company of Equals to wait until Maudrayne’s choice is made before revealing her secrets to the world. Will you do that for me, at least
?
...
Ansel Pikan, will you do that?
...
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The hunt supper was winding down, having been served in the palace rose gardens between two fountains that filled the perfumed air with cooling spray. King Conrig and most of the others at the high table settled back to drink and listen to ballads sung by a remarkable Forailean bard, brought to court especially for the midsummer festivities.
The Lord Constable excused himself to the king, left his seat, and went to speak to Vra-Sulkorig, who sat near the other end of the board.
Tinnis Cat-claw’s handsome features bore an expression of diffident concern. “Brother Keeper, it was made plain to me during today’s sport that you are one wise in the ways of horses, as well as in arcane matters. You may have noticed my own fine stallion, Windhover, a beast of high spirits that I love like a child. Of late he has puzzled me with a strange and annoying mannerism that neither the stablemaster nor the horse-leech can explain. I wonder if you would be so kind as to stroll with me to the royal stables now, while all is quiet there, and perhaps advise me on what might ail him? The odd quirk is not easily described, but I’m sure we can provoke the animal into demonstrating it to us.”
Sulkorig smiled. “Why not? Puzzles amuse me, and one involving a horse might prove more diverting than most.” He addressed the king.
“With Your Grace’s permission, I’ll withdraw with Lord Tinnis.”
“Go, by all means,” Conrig said, catching the eye of the constable for the briefest instant.
As they left the gardens and circled round to the rear of the palace, Tinnis Catclaw questioned the Brother casually about how talented persons made use of the so-called wind to scry and bespeak one another. Sulkorig did his best to simplify the arcane technicalities for this interested layman, making what he thought was a good job of it by the time they reached the stableyard.
Only a few grooms were still about the building where Windhover was stalled, the animals having been settled for the night some time ago.
“That was a most fascinating explanation, Brother!” Tinnis said, as he unlatched the stall door.
The powerful sorrel, who stood at least eighteen hands high, whiffled and snorted as his master caressed his cheek. “Now let’s hope your talent—or perhaps your horse-sense—is able to
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penetrate the brain of this recalcitrant beast and fathom the motive behind his peculiar behavior.
Be pleased to enter the stall with me.”
The enclosure was good-sized, as befit such a large animal. Windhover stood placidly enough as Tinnis fed him a carrot from his large belt-wallet.
“Now be so good as to stand at his left shoulder, facing his rear and resting your own left hand on his withers… Excellent. Is he shuddering faintly at your touch?”
“I feel nothing unusual,” Vra-Sulkorig said.
“Soon you will. Tap him a little with your fingers.”
The constable stepped behind the other man, pulled a horseshoe from his wallet, and smote Sulkorig a mighty blow on the right temple with the iron. With a groan, the Brother fell into the straw. Windhover shied away, rolling his eyes. Tinnis knelt, then took from his wallet a harness-maker’s awl, thin-shafted as a quill and sharply pointed. This he drove with great force into Sulkorig’s right ear. The
Brother’s body gave a single convulsive jerk, then went limp, its sphincters relaxing in death.
Windhover let out a shrill scream and retreated stamping to the far side of the stall, frightened by the smell of the fast-pooling blood and effluvia. Tinnis wrapped the tools of murder in a piece of wash-leather and replaced them in his wallet. Then he took hold of Sulkorig’s robe and began hauling him out of the stall, shouting for help at the top of his lungs.
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“Vra-Sulkorig was attempting to advise the Lord Constable on some crochet of his stallion’s behavior when the beast lashed out with his forefeet for no good reason. The Brother died instantly. There was nothing the alchymists and physicians could do. Tinnis is devastated by sorrow, but there’s no question of his remaining in Gala for the funeral. He must take ship for Tarn on the morrow. I need him to talk
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May, Julian - Boreal Moon 2 - Ironcrown Moon some sense into the Sealords in Donorvale before going in search of Maude and the boy.”
“Help me into bed, Con,” Stergos said. “This death on top of the ominous disappearance of Deveron has drained me sorely. Aside from losing a dear friend and colleague in Sulkorig, we are now deprived of our confidential windvoice. I shall have to shoulder that task again myself, I suppose—at least when we deal with the miserable shaman Bozuk. Do you think he told us the truth about Maudrayne’s place of captivity? When Duke Feribor’s windvoice Vra-Colan bespoke Sulkorig with the tidings, there seemed to be a tinge of reservation in his windspeech.
Sulkorig spoke to me about it and was anxious. If only he were still alive, Con! We could have analyzed his memory of the message’s nuances. Perhaps compelled Golan to repeat it—”
The king drew fine net midge-curtains around the bedstead after Stergos was composed for sleep. “We can talk of that later, Gossy. For now, you must rest. The Lord Constable will sort matters out when he reaches Tarn in a few days.”
“Yes. I’m sure he’ll do his best—for one not possessed of talent.” Stergos lay back on his pillows. His next words were weighted with grief. “Sulkorig might have discovered the truth much quicker. He was an extraordinary adept and a good man, steadfast and loyal for all that he was deeply troubled by the secret knowledge that he learned so inadvertently.”
“You think he would have kept silent about my talent, as you advised him?”
“I explained to him at length the dire political ramifications of revealing it, and also the strong
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moral arguments in favor of keeping the secret. He seemed fully convinced.”
The king went to the chamber windows and drew the drapes to shut out the twilit sky. “Well, the question is now moot. The only ones who can still attest to the truth are Maude, Ansel Pikan, Ullanoth… and you, Gossy. My former wife can accuse me, but has no sure proof. Ansel’s testimony may impress the sealords, but it would never sway a Cathran tribunal. Ullanoth, even if she lives, would never betray me—and neither would you.”
His brother said nothing.
“Gossy?” Conrig felt ice stir in his vitals and hastened to return to the bedside. “Would you, Gossy?”
But the Royal Alchymist was already asleep.
twenty-two
The heavy rain returned, and all that the king’s men could do was huddle beneath the rock ledge, share tales of their exploits, sing bawdy songs very softly, and consume endless cups of tea improved by their fast-dwindling supply of spirits. It was early in the morning. Their leader had been unconscious for two days now. Radd Falcontop, who had the most experience with ailments and was the closest they had to a physician, was growing apprehensive.