Sorcerer's Moon (65 page)

'Wonderful!' the countess said in disgust. 'I suppose this is the only hostelry in this benighted hole?'

'It is,’ Orrion replied, 'and keep your voice down, my lady. If they turn us away, we'll walk fasting the twenty-six leagues to Dennech. Now remain outside in the courtyard until I tell you it's safe to enter.'

Two rawboned nags and a mule hitched to an empty cart were tied up in front of the tavern. The place had guests. Orrion pushed the door open and entered a
deeply shadowed and malodorous common room, which yet had the attraction of being both warm and dry. Three poorly clad men were seated together at a table spooning up some sort of seafood pottage and drinking beer. They stared at him in astonishment, as did the leather-aproned host who was tending a cauldron at the smoky fire. Orrion announced himself in ringing tones before any of them could speak.

'I'm a shipwreck victim off the Tarnian brig that sailed from here yesterday morn. She foundered and sank on a reef at the baymouth and I was picked up by a fishing boat. Who can help me reach my cousin, the good Duchess Margaleva Cuva at Dennech? Besides myself, outside are two high-born ladies who were also cast away. The duchess will pay a generous reward to the person who brings us to her citadel.'

'Shipwreck?' the host exclaimed. The three patrons began to babble all at once until he yelled, 'Pipe down, ye loud mouth pizzlers!' And to Orrion: 'Who might ye be, then? No man o' these parts, by t'sound of ye.'

'I'm Sir Nocarus, from Mallburn in the east. Will you help me and my women or not?'

The landlord scowled. 'We got no horses t'hire. Best I can do is send one o' my lads afoot up Dennech Town with word that yer bidin' here. Then duchess can send people to fetch ye ... if she pleases.'

'But that could take all day!' Orrion exclaimed in dismay.

'That's as may be. Bring yer ladies in outa t'mornin' chill
if ye can afford breakfast. Ha'penny each for a bowl and cannikin.'

Orrion said, 'We can pay. Let me -'

Outside, there were shrill screams and the sound of a loud male voice issuing an order. The prince whirled about, tore the door open, and murmured, 'Oh, shite.'

Three hulking ruffians, much better dressed than the ragtag clientele of the tavern and armed with daggers and short-swords, stood there grinning. Two had hold of Nyla and Countess Orvada, who struggled to escape without success. The third, who sported a vivid red beard, stepped forward into the tavern, seized Orrion's left wrist, and twisted his arm up behind his back in an expert and painful restraint.

'Welcome t'Karum,' Redbeard said in a jovial tone. 'Lord Rork'll be real happy t'meet ye. Come along nicely now. We don't wanna upset t'ladies, do we?'

'Swive a swine, you stinking cullion!' the countess spat.

'Don't hurt them!' Orrion pleaded. 'We'll do whatever you say.'

'Mother, it's no use,' Nyla said, letting her body relax. 'Let be.'

'That's a sensible lass.' Redbeard eased up on Orrion's armlock and called out to one of the tavern patrons. 'Ye there, Maff Deepwell! His lordship has need of yer cart. Get yer tarse outside and haul these fine folk up t'castle fer us right now.'

Grumbling bitterly, a little old man tossed down the last of his beer and followed Redbeard and Orrion outside. After a bit of fussing, the prisoners were bedded down in straw and the driver flicked the mule with his whip. With swords drawn, the three bruisers followed the rumbling cart on foot up the steep track to the pirate-lord's castle.

'What will become of us?' Nyla asked
Orrion in a tremulous voice.

'I think that will depend upon the Salka,' he said softly.

The last thing they saw as they left the village behind were the diminutive forms of Ree and Klagus skipping up to the tavern door and going inside to enjoy their delayed breakfast.

* * *

'But you've already admitted that the Tarnians oversaw nothing in Terminal Bay,' the Sovereign said to Vra-Bramlow.

‘I also asked them to windsearch for the brig carrying Orrion and the ladies, sire. They were unable to find it. Surely -'

'That's not proof that the ship came to grief. It could be hidden in a fogbank.' Conrig pulled on a linen undershirt, concealing the small pouch containing the sigils that he now wore on a chain around his neck. He was dressing without assistance, and none too pleased about it, because Bramlow had pleaded for a private word.

'At least consider postponing the army's march into Tarn until the Brethren and the shamans do a more thorough windsearch of Terminal Bay,' Bram pleaded.

'I've a better idea. Fetch those magical rocks from my armor coffer and ask your good Lights to look the place over.' Not noticing Bram's stricken expression, the king muttered, ‘I wonder if I should wear an extra pair of woolen socks?'

The novice moved to the coffer on the opposite side of the room, opened it, and knelt down as if to rummage for the small leaden casket. He extracted the two pieces of mineral from their hiding place inside his riding habit and pretended to take them from the box.

They shone with a pulsating greenish glow.

Bram gave an astonished cry and the Sovereign said, 'What's the matter?'

'The stones - I've never seen them do this before.' He held up the slowly throbbing moonstones.

'Bazekoy's Biceps - just get on with it, boy!'

'Yes, sire. Of course.' And he tried to
bespeak the benevolent demons, but there was no response. Instead, the pale chunks only blinked more rapidly, and the novice threw a bewildered glance at his royal father. 'The Lights don't answer. I don't know what's wrong.'

'Put the rocks back in the casket,' Conrig commanded, exasperated. 'No, wait - don't return them to the coffer. Put them on the table there. I'll want to keep the rocks with me. Now leave.'

Bram's face was desperate. 'But -'

'Once and for all,' the king bellowed, ‘I have no intention of postponing our march into Tarn because of your silly dream! I gave you my reasons. Now get out of here and send Lord Telifar to help me with my boots!'

'Sire, there's one other matter.'

'What, dammit? . . . Hand me that woolen waistcoat.'

Bram proffered the requested garment. "Very early this morning, I was bespoken an urgent warning about King Beynor. The message came from Deveron Austrey, your former Royal Intelligencer.'

Conrig froze in the act of buttoning up the vest. 'Good God! That miserable traitor has returned to Blenholme?'

'Sire, he told me that Beynor attempted to draw him into a conspiracy to kill you and take back the three sigils. Austrey refused to have any part of it. He told me he respects the way you've defended the Sovereignty from the Salka over the years and - and he offers to serve you again if you'll have him.'

The king's face flushed with rage. 'If I'll
have
him! That - that faithless whoreson -' And then he fell abruptly silent, the anger draining from him .as he recalled what the Stone-Keeper had said to him:

WE HOPE TO HAVE AN EXCELLENT
NEW HUMAN ALLY FOR YOU.

'Futter me!' Conrig murmured. 'Could he be Snudge? If he still has the Concealer and the Gateway -'

'Beg pardon, sire?' The novice was mystified.

But the king only made a dismissive gesture. 'Son, you've done well to bring me this message from Austrey. I'm sure he's telling the truth about Beynor's murderous proposal. It's just the sort of ploy that smarmy viper would concoct.' He strode to the table, where writing materials were set out, and began to scribble. 'Here's a message for the Captain of the Royal Guard. Give it to him immediately. I want a squad of warriors to keep a close eye on Beynor. They're to make certain that he leaves the castle.'

'I understand, sire.' Bramlow took the folded note.

'And you yourself are to bespeak Deveron Austrey on my behalf. Give him my heartfelt thanks for the warning. And tell him he has my leave to come and speak to me in two days when the Southern Wing of the army rejoins my main force on the other side of Frost Pass. Keep this information about Austrey to yourself, Bram.'

He bowed. 'Of course, sire. I'll send Lord Telifar in to serve you at once.'

When the door closed Conrig corked the inkpot with a thoughtful little smile. 'Snudge my "excellent new ally"? Well, stranger things have happened

* * *

Welcome, welcome, our long-exiled friends!

We rejoice at the unification. Do They show signs of having taken note of our surreptitious return? We think not - although They are concerned because the pain-power channels between Sky and Ground showed momentary interruption. Was this your doing?

We exerted tentative disruptive action as an experiment when we became aware that two groundling persons used Destroyers. The action was not very successful. We were discoordinated. To be truly
effective, we require the talent of the One Denied the Sky to direct us. He did not respond to our query. What is his situation? He is still enchained beneath the Ice with a single fetter. Loosing it and freeing the One will require the abolition of significant sigils. The groundling helpers do not have access to such as yet. The One is doing his utmost to assist the helpers. Meanwhile, They scrutinize. It cannot be long before They know you have arrived -
WE KNOW. AND THE NEW CONFLICT
IS JOINED.

* * *

Shrewd little Ree had heard Nyla address Orrion by name. When this was whispered to Rork Karum by Redbeard, after he and his men brought the captives into the sumptuous castle hall, the pirate-lord realized he had been gifted with a goldmine in the shape of the son of the Sovereign of Blenholme.

'Welcome to my modest abode, Your Grace!' Rork sprang up from his seat of presence and sketched an extravagant bow. 'And you, too, noble ladies! I never dreamed that the Tarnian brig was picking up such distinguished passengers. They told me you were mere Cathran diplomats fleeing the turmoil around Boarsden.'

'And so we are,' Orrion said.

Rork gave a hearty laugh. 'Oh, I think not! Please accept my deepest sympathy at your terrible misfortune, my dear prince. It's a shame those brave seamen perished, but how lucky you are to have survived the disaster. The Gods of the Heights and Depths have smiled on you - and on me! -bringing you safe to my home. Your stay here will be as comfortable as my simple means allows . . . and as brief as High King Conrig chooses to make it.'

'Baron Rork -' Orrion began.

The pirate winced delicately. 'Your Grace, the lords of Karum have been styled as
duke
from time immemorial. It's sadly true that King Somarus attempted early in his reign to
degrade my dignity and foist an overlord of his choosing upon the free corsairs of Terminal Bay. But happily, he saw the error of his ways. I pay him tribute, and his old friend Azarick Dennech-Cuva is perforce content to control the territory beginning ten leagues inland, leaving me and mine to carry on our customary maritime activities without interference.'

'Piracy,' Countess Orvada snapped. 'Holding prisoners for ransom!'

Rork smiled at the bedraggled noblewoman and resumed his seat. He was a tall thin
man with dark hair and a saturnine mien, handsome in spite of a long lantern jaw, and possessed of brilliant white teeth. He wore a scarlet sarcenet shirt embroidered with gold, trews of fine dove-colored wool, folded black seaboots, and a cloth-of-gold sash. On his left hand was a massive ring inset with a ruby the size of a cherry.

'I ply a trade, my lady, as did my ancestors before me. May I know your name and that of the young damsel? It will facilitate my negotiations with the Sovereign.'

‘I am Countess Orvada Brackenfield and this is my daughter, Lady Nyla, who is affianced to Sir Orrion.'

'You mean, to the Prince Heritor,' Rork corrected her, glancing at Orrion in surprise. 'But I heard that Your Grace was betrothed to Crown Princess Hyndry.'

Orrion lifted his truncated limb. 'That was called off, Having displeased my royal father by losing my sword-arm, I've been reduced to the rank of Knight Bachelor.'

'A pity.' Rork smirked. 'Still, I reckon Ironcrown will still want you and the ladies safely home in Cathra rather than languishing on these lonely shores. He paid handsomely enough to have the Tarnians pick you up. I'll just triple that tariff! When he pays, we'll ship you off to some little port down south, and all's well that ends well.' He cocked his head winningly. 'How's that for a fair deal?'

'My lord.’
Orrion said somberly. 'The deepwater channel connecting your bay to the open sea has been blocked by Salka invaders.'

'Whaaat?' Rork drawled.

The three village bullyboys burst into derisive laughter. After a moment, so did the collection of henchmen and servants gathered about the pirate-lord's dais.

'It's true!' Nyla exclaimed shrilly. 'They sank our ship with their sorcery and blasted the tall rock pinnacle at the channel entrance to pieces.'

'Topple Rogue's Picket?' somebody scoffed. 'Never!'

Nyla persisted. 'The two children who rescued us and brought us here even saw some of the Salka. They mistook them for huge seals -'

'And you saw these invading monsters yourselves?' The pirate-lord lifted a skeptical eyebrow.

'No,' Orrion admitted. 'We saw the sea-stack destroyed. The falling rock caused a gigantic wave that flung us off the deck of the brig. Under the water, we saw an uncanny green flash above, and the ship vanished utterly.'

'You'd better listen to us, you saucy rascal!' the countess said. 'Don't you know that the Sovereign Army expects the Salka to invade the west coast of our island at any day now?'

Rork flipped a languid hand. 'We heard rumors that the Salka might attack Tarn. As a precaution, I called in our fleet so they wouldn't be endangered. But why should the monsters bother with our insignificant little enclave when the rich cities of the Sea-Harriers offer such superior targets?'

'My lord, you're thinking like a human being,' Orrion said.

Redbeard took a furious step toward him with a fist upraised. 'Mind yer sassy gob, Cathraij, or I'll shut it fer ye!'