Authors: Julian May
But by then Beynor had lip-read the apprentice's greeting: Oh, husband, thank God you returned safely, using that treacherous thing.
Not a lad, but another woman in disguise!
And one, by God's Teeth, who was married to an unscryable man. Beynor had encountered only one such person in all his life - the wild talent, that cursed spoiler of well-laid schemes, who owned two active moonstone sigils.
King Conrig's renegade Royal Intelligencer, Deveron Austrey.
* * *
'Coro, you must take this draught of herbs. It'll calm you far better than ardent spirits and allow you restful sleep.'
Vra-Bramlow held out the cup of potion he had prepared after returning to the room he shared with the Prince Heritor and finding him maudlin drunk and still guzzling Didionite brandy.
'I see it still,' his younger brother moaned. 'Every time I close my eyes, I see and feel it: the awful spray of blood and brains, the sound of his skullbones shattering, that sound. God help me, Bram, I thought I had a warrior's heart. I have prizes for my swordsmanship! I've slain boar and bear and bull-elk with the lance. I wielded the star and mace and war-flail with skill when we rode at quintain, smiting the twirling mannequin. Why, oh why, should I then have disgraced myself by spewing my supper after killing the assassin? I'll never live this down. They'll dub me a mollymawk!'
Bram shook his head in reassurance. He pried the goblet half-filled with devilish plum lifewater from Coro's fingers and substituted the potion. 'Very few people will ever know what you did this night. For good reason, Father has commanded that the incident be kept strictly secret. Those whose opinion matters - and that includes His Sovereign Grace - will deem you a hero and attribute your distress to youthful sensitivity. Don't be surprised if certain important personages approach you in days upcoming, offering to share similar experiences suffered during their first battle-kill. And you were in a battle, Coro. A fight for our father's life.'
The Prince Heritor looked confused. 'Truly?'
"Truly. Now drink the herbal infusion. It tastes good and will do you good. There! What did I tell you? Finish it all.'
Corodon drained the cup and sighed. 'So you don't think Father and the noble Tarnians will laugh at me?'
'Did Prince Dyfrig laugh at you when he cleaned you up?'
'Nay. He was kind. He said I'd done a terrible but necessary thing, a deed of valor. He tried to put me to bed and
take the flask of brandy away after I'd had a single dram. But I made him leave it -'
'And then you began to brood and conjure horrors.'
Corodon hung his head. 'There were horrors. They got the better of me. What if... in the war to come ..."
'You'll be brave, Coro. It's your true nature, the thing that enabled you to do what you did tonight. Who cares what came after? Brother, trust me. All will be well.' He led the younger man to his bed. 'Sleep. In the morning you may have a whacking hangover, but you'll look at this affair with new eyes.'
He turned and headed for his own cot, shrugged out of his stained woolen houserobe, then cast it on the floor. 'Ruined. The blood has set and won't be washed out - and it was our sister Wylgana's birthday gift to me.' He blew out the candle and burrowed into bed naked.
After a while, Coro's voice came softly in the dark. 'Bram?'
'What?'
'If you could have saved Father with sorcery, would you have done it? It would have been so much easier. . .'
'What do you mean? Put up a protective magical shield? Struck the attacker unconscious? If I were a Doctor Arcanorum, I'd have certainly done one or the other. But I'm just a novice. I don't have such power.'
'No. I meant would you have slain the assassin outright - blasted him with lightning or stopped his heart.'
There was a long silence. Then Vra-Bramlow said, 'We Brethren are forbidden by the Zeth Codex to use sorcery to kill an untalented sentient being - human or nonhuman. There are no exceptions. Not even self-defense or defense of another would justify it. A powerful adept person has arcane spells at his disposal that spare the life of the normal-minded assailant and give him time to repent his wickedness and atone for it. A dead man cannot be sorry.'
'But the assassin was threatening our father. The Sovereign!'
'Coro, I know it may be hard for you to understand, and your wits are not at their sharpest right now. But I stand by my statement.'
'How about in wartime, Bram? What then?'
'The Brethren aren't warriors. We obey the Codex because lethal magic has such a huge potential for misuse. Ordinary warfare is terrible enough.'
'What if your enemy used deadly sorcery against you? Or against your country? Would you retaliate if you were able to?'
'Some men would,' Vra-Bramlow said. 'As for me ... I don't know what I'd do. Now shut up and go to sleep.'
CHAPTER
SEVENTEEN
Wrapped in cloaks against the moderate breeze, Lady Nyla Brackenfield and Sir Orrion Wincantor, Knight Bachelor, stood together at the stern rail of the Tarnian merchant brig Gannet, watching the tiny Didionite port recede astern. On a precipice high above the harbor and its settlement, the fortress of Karum stood shining and impregnable against a slate-grey morning sky.
'What a lovely-looking castle,' Nyla said in admiration. 'Much more attractive than the ducal citadel in Dennech-Cuva where we stayed. With those white limestone walls and turrets, it almost resembles a banquet subtlety fashioned from snowy marzipan.'
'A shame it's nothing but a lair of filthy pirates,' Orrion observed.
'Perhaps some very rich pirates! I wonder what the castle is like inside?'
'Pray you never find out. It's said that Rork Karum is the most vicious buccaneer and kidnapper-for-ransom on Terminal Bay. Only a handful of Tarnian ship captains seem able to do business with him. He and four others of his ilk control the bay waters like a private fiefdom. They give only
nominal allegiance to their overlord, Duke Azarick, and prey on shipping in the open waters almost with impunity. Our captain admitted to me that the Sovereignty had to pay an exorbitant port fee of forty gold marks to Rork so he could enter Terminal Bay and pick us up. Getting the funds transferred from the Exchequer to a bank in Donorvale where Gannet is based is what delayed the ship.'
‘I wonder why King Somarus allows such extortion?' Nyla said.
Orrion shrugged. 'My love, probably for the simplest of reasons: the pirates give His Majesty of Didion a kickback.'
'And your royal father winks at it?'
'Say rather that he concentrates on fights he thinks he can win. The Sovereign has troubles enough with the Salka without being concerned about this backward nook of Didion - except, perhaps, as it provides a convenient port of embarkation for an unwanted son.'
Nyla winced at his caustic tone. 'I'm so very glad we're on our way back to Cathra at last. The Dowager Duchess Margaleva was very cold to Mother and me during our stay at her palace. As if if were our fault that her grandson Egonus was punished for wooing Princess Hyndry!'
Orrion, the Brackenfield family, and the fifteen lower-ranking members of their party had cooled their heels in Dennech Palace for a sennight, awaiting the tardy arrival of their ship. During that time, windspoken tidings concerning the campaign against the Salka were only stingily relayed to them by Dennech's resident wizard. Even now, they knew little more than that the two wings of the army had been encamped at Lake of Shadows and the foothills above Direwold for a number of days, while the whereabouts of the Salka horde was still unknown. According to the palace magicker, the best windsearchers of Cathra and Tarn had done everything in their power to locate the monsters, but had failed . ..
As their ship sailed westward, Nyla and Orrion took what pleasure they could in each other's company and the unexpected beauty of the passing scene. Although the shifting breezes bore the brig along at a fair clip, the air was not very cold, for the waters of the nearly landlocked bay still conserved the summer's heat. Flocks of birds were everywhere, feeding avidly on fish or sharing rocks and barren islets with basking seals. Larger islands, some having dramatic cliffs striated with black and white, were crowned with dark conifers and shrubs beginning to show flashes of autumnal gold or red. The mouth of the bay was as yet out of sight, a good seventy leagues distant. There the ship would have to thread its way cautiously through the shoals and reefs guarding the entrance to the pirate sanctuary. Gannet would not reach the open sea until sunset.
As had become their habit when alone together (the helmsman had his back to them and none of the other crew members were near), Nyla stood at her lover's left side, so that he might use his single hand to hold hers. 'How deeply I regret that my dear father could not accompany us,' she said. 'Mother is below in our little cabin, poor soul, overcome by sorrow. Both of us put up a brave front when we learned that he would have to return to the Northern Wing of the Sovereign Army and join the general staff, but in truth she and I were desolated - and for good reason.'
Hale Brackenfield, Lord Lieutenant of the Realm, three of his knights, their four armigers, and six men-at-arms had remained in Karum Port only long enough to see the Gannet and its passengers off safely. Then they rode out along a little-used track that would take them through the wilderness to Castle Direwold and the camp of the Sovereign. Only two knights were left to share the voyage with Orrion, Lady Nyla, and Lord Hale's wife Countess Orvada.
'Father is too elderly and infirm to fight monsters,' Nyla
went on, her face woeful. 'His duties have been mostly administrative in recent years, and he was able to fulfil them with efficiency and distinction. But wounds he suffered while serving as Master-at-Arms to old King Olmigon will bring him misery so long as he sleeps in an unheated tent, and he also has spells of shortness of breath that have worried our house physician.'
Orrion could say nothing to comfort her, only holding her hand tighter as he considered his own humiliating situation.
Many thousands of other men besides Hale Brackenfield would face discomfort and worse during the upcoming war. Yet here he was, fit and strong, forbidden to assist in the defense of the High Blenholme. Each night before sleeping alone he thanked heaven for Nyla, even though their marriage must be postponed indefinitely. But Orrion Wincantor could not escape the harsh truth. He had placed love before duty, and now the knowledge brought him sore pain.
The two of them stood together undisturbed for nearly an hour; then Sir Naberig and Sir Vashor, two good-natured older knights of Duke Norval Vanguard's cohort who had been assigned to guard Orrion, came onto the poop deck and saluted.
'My lady,' Naberig said to the young noblewoman, 'your mother the countess begs you to attend her below. She says the motion of the ship is making her feel unwell.'
Nyla left with an apologetic look over her shoulder, letting Naberig precede her to the aft companionway.
Vashor gave Orrion a sympathetic grin. 'Perhaps we can divert ourselves for a while with swordplay, sir. You'll need a lot of practice if you're to become proficient with a varg in your left hand. Why not begin during this voyage? There's a place on the maindeck, just forward of the two lifeboats, where we might whack at each other without annoying the crew too much.'
'You'd trust me with a blade, Sir Vashor?'
The older man winked. 'Even if you had two hands, you'd have a hard time besting me. And if I school you well, I hope you'll remember me kindly when your exile is ended and your rank restored.'
Orrion was taken aback. 'Do you think such a thing is possible?'
'When one is the twin brother to the Prince Heritor? I've no doubt of it, sir! Now let's find you a varg and get started.'
Thalassa Dru and Cray had guessed what Casya Pretender planned to do, and although they sighed together over the girl's reckless bravado, they decided it would not be appropriate to stop her. At seventeen, she was an adult by the laws of her kingdom and capable of deciding her own fate. If her dubious mission succeeded, it might speed the resolution of the New Conflict; if it failed, and her life seemed imperiled as a result, then a rescue operation might still be mounted. The sorceresses took turns windwatching and hoped for the best.
On this day, Cray was the one overseeing the progress of the uncrowned young queen and her companion through a nasty part of the morass west of Black Hare Lake. It was a trackless mire where horses could not venture and even small watercraft were hampered by the shallowness of the vegetation-clogged ponds and a dearth of streams connecting them. Casya and Ising Bedotha would paddle their skiff across one overgrown body of water, portage it through boggy ground to the next tiny lake, then repeat the process - over and over again. On good days they traveled eight or nine leagues. On bad ones, when the weather was especially bad or they had to fight off bears, the valiant pair did three leagues or less.
One saving blessing was that a single night of hard frost
had killed off the biting midges early on. Another was that old Baron Ising seemed to be getting stronger rather than weaker, the more hardship he endured.
Casya's goal was a small river, unnamed by human beings but called the Worm by Green Men, that flowed in a northeasterly direction. At its confluence with the Raging River was an outpost of the small folk, occupied only in summer, where the great dragons sometimes condescended to meet with Green traders and exchange valuables. The Morass Worms coveted various fragrant herbal unguents that they used in their mating rituals, while the Green Men esteemed the gemlike discarded teeth of the worms, from which they made precious jewelry.
Unfortunately for Casya, the post had been abandoned by its traders shortly after she and Cray used it to rendezvous with the reclusive worms in Thunder Moon, at the time of the first Salka invasion. The Pretender knew this, but she hoped to summon the huge creatures to another meeting there somehow, and present her new proposition . . .