by Julian May
And that’s why you never sent word to me, Induna said to herself. Deveron had not wanted to risk her life, should Ironcrown’s assassins hunt him down.
She stood irresolute for a few more minutes, quite certain that he knew she was there, not wanting to disturb the gentle jungle sounds with the brass bell’s clangor. Finally, with the folded cloak tucked under one arm and her fardel under the other, she walked down the dock and along the stone-bordered path to the porch. Then she knocked on the door.
It opened almost immediately. He had been waiting.
He wore an unadorned tunic and trews of dark green camlet, well worn and not especially clean; but his belt was finely tooled and had a golden buckle. Around his neck a flat gold case engraved with an owl hung from a handsome chain. There were new lines at the corners of his vibrant blue eyes, and his mouth had grown thinner and tighter. He had a short beard and a neat moustache. His nut-brown hair was touched with grey and cut shorter than she remembered, combed over his forehead and ears like a close-fitting helmet.
‘Welcome, love,’ he said quietly. ‘Come in and be at home.’
In the dragon’s devouring abyss, darker than night and shot through with giddy red sparks, Deveron Austrey waited angrily for death. Meanwhile, he dreamed of the time Induna finally found him.
She came with tentative steps into the house’s sitting room, which was separated from the apotheck workbenches and shelves at the rear by a long counter with a half-door set into it. The fireplace against the lefthand wall held a small nest of glowing coals in its grate. A steaming teakettle hung from an iron crane and a covered stoneware crock stood on the warming-hob.
She seemed at a loss for words, still carrying the folded cloak and the leather case. Her smile was almost fearful and her eyes remained fixed on his face, as if comparing it with another long remembered.
‘Give me your things,’ he said gently. ‘Be seated in the cushioned chair by the table. Is this all you have with you, or did you leave more baggage in town? I can have it sent for.’
‘There’s nothing else. The fardel holds everything I needed for the voyage. I only just arrived this evening on a clipper ship. I – I came directly to your house from the harbor.’
‘I see.’ He hung her cloak on a wallhook and placed the carrying case beneath it. ‘Have you eaten?’ When she shook her head, he fetched a bowl and a spoon and ladled out a generous portion of lamb pottage from the crock on the hob.
‘I have herbal tea steeping in the pot – chamomile, lemon, and valerian to soothe the mind. Shall I pour you some, and perhaps add a splash of good Stippenese brandy? I was going to have some myself before retiring.’
‘I’d like that,’ she said. ‘The stew is delicious. I was near starving. The ship’s mess was served early in the afternoon, and I was too nervous to eat much, knowing we were approaching your home.’
‘Help yourself to as much as you want. I usually break my morning fast with supper’s leftovers, but I’ll make us something much better tomorrow morning: buttered eggs with cocodrill sausage.’
He filled two plain pottery mugs, placing hers on the table and taking his own to an armchair that he pulled out from the wall.
‘Cocodrill? What manner of meat would that be?’ she asked.
‘The tail portion of a huge lizard that dwells in our jungle waterways. I make the sausage myself. Smoked and well-peppered, with onions and herbs, it’s fit for a king’s banquet.’
‘A king…’ She lowered her eyes to her food, then continued to eat in silence.
‘Is there still a price on my head?’ he inquired lightly.
‘The notices were taken down years ago.’
‘Ah. But I daresay the reward still stands, doesn’t it?’
‘I hope not,’ she murmured.
He paused in sipping his tea and leaned toward her. ‘Why? What do you mean?’
She shook her head and would not meet his gaze, so he left off asking questions, content to wait for her to explain herself in her own good time.
When she finished her meal he refilled their mugs and led her outside to the covered porch facing the canal. Several sturdy sling-stools with leather seats were set about a low stand, which held three little clay pots. Using his talent, he struck a finger-flame and touched it to the pots’ contents; fragrant smoke arose.
‘The resin’s smell keeps biting midges at bay most effectively. I wish we’d had it at our Deep Creek manorhouse.’
They sat side by side, drinking tea and listening to the night creatures. He had put out the lamp within the house and aside from the stars, the small lantern down on the dock gave the only light. She took a deep breath and reached for his hand. It was cool and rough with calluses.
‘I came to you for a reason, Deveron. I was sent by the Source.’
He said nothing, but his fingers tightened on hers.
‘He bespoke me some three weeks ago at the manor, giving me an urgent message for you. I left immediately. Tiglok’s sons carried me south to Mesta in their sloop, and there I took passage on an Andradhian clipper.’
‘This is the only reason you came, then.’ His voice was toneless. ‘You were compelled by that black manipulator. The One Denied the Sky has pulled you into his inhuman game. And now I suppose he seeks to re-enlist me as well.’
‘The choice to come here was my own, Deveron. I can’t deny how my heart leapt with joy at the prospect of seeing you once again, after so many years of not knowing whether you were dead or alive. The message…it’s vitally important. But once the Source told me where you were, neither the powers of heaven nor hell could have kept me from coming. Since you left me, there’s been no other. There could never be. But if – if it’s what you want, I’ll leave after saying what I must.’ Her eyes overflowed.
He took her in his arms. ‘Duna, Duna, don’t cry. I had to go away. It was the only way to keep you and Maris safe from Ironcrown’s evil minions.’
‘I know.’ She wiped her face on her sleeve and sat up straighter.’ ‘And here is the Source’s message. Make of it what you will. He asks that you return to High Blenholme with the utmost speed and stealth, using the Subtle Gateway sigil. You must go to Castle Morass in Didion and there take counsel of your – your twice-great-grandmother, after which you are to present yourself to the Sovereign of Blenholme and offer to serve and guide him as Royal Intelligencer once again.’
For a moment Deveron was rendered speechless. Then: ‘It’s a cosmic joke! One of those tricks the cursèd Beaconfolk are so fond of. What is the Source, save one of them? A renegade Light who now thinks to send me to my doom to serve some dark purpose –’
She touched his mouth with her free hand, cutting off the tirade. ‘Nay! Not so, love. He told me you would be welcomed. That your special services are sorely needed. That the New Conflict now enters its final critical stages, and its outcome depends upon the defeat of the Salka as well as the evil Lights who empower them. You can help bring that about.’
He drew away from her with a violent motion and rose to his feet. ‘I know almost nothing of the political situation on the island nowadays, save for the fragments of news that reach Mikk-Town and are gossiped about by my clients. Throughout this exile, I’ve deliberately avoided any attempt at scrying Conrig’s court – not that it would have been easy, from this great distance. I didn’t want to know what was happening in Blenholme. I still don’t want to know!’
‘Would you allow the island of your birth and all the human folk living there to fall prey to the Salka?’
He said nothing, turning his back to her and staring at the canal. His loud outburst had silenced the calls of the birds and frogs.
‘If you wish,’ she said with shy eagerness, ‘I can tell you much of what’s happened there. And once you’ve arrived in Didion, your great-great-grandmother –’
‘There’s no such person. My aged grandsire, who raised me after the death of my parents, never spoke of her. Even if she were alive, she’d be over a hundred ye
ars old. What use could such a feeble crone possibly be in a war against the Salka monsters?’
She rose and went to him, laying a hand on his shoulder. ‘That’s what you must discover, Deveron. You must return to Blenholme. Not for Conrig’s sake – he’s a tyrant unworthy of your love – but for the sake of the people he rules. For all his faults, he’s a strong Sovereign. He’s held the Salka in check this long, but only because the creatures have never taken full advantage of their sigil weaponry.’
‘What are you saying?’
‘Do you know that the Salka leaders have activated the Great Stone known as the Potency? The Source told me that it’s a crucial tool of the New Conflict. Among other things, it can abolish the pain associated with sigil sorcery. Thus far, the monsters have made little use of it, perhaps for fear of offending the Beaconfolk and losing their magical weapons altogether. The minor sigils they now possess cause bearable pain, which they willingly endure. But lately the Salka have begun trying to fashion new sigils: not minor ones, but rather Great Stones like those once owned by their ancestors and by the rulers of Moss. If the monsters succeed in making these things, and then defy the Lights by abolishing the pain that limits the stones’ use, they’ll be unstoppable.’
‘Unstoppable,’ he repeated. ‘Yet Conrig Ironcrown is supposed to stop them. With my insignificant help. I’m only a healer, Induna!’
‘One who cannot be scried from afar by any sorcerer.’
‘The Lights can see me. I’m only beyond their reach here. That’s why they had to send you.’
‘You have other wild talents that exceed those of most professional magickers. And you have the two sigils that the Source compelled you to keep in spite of yourself, the ones you used to escape Conrig’s men. Are the stones now enclosed in that golden case hanging round your neck?’
He gripped the pendant in one fist without answering.
‘Subtle Gateway will transport you to Castle Morass in the blink of an eye,’ she said, ‘just as it enabled you to travel from Tarn to this place. And with Concealer you’ll be able to move about with complete invisibility at your destination. No other person has these advantages.’
When he replied, his voice trembled with an anger not directed at her. ‘In the sixteen years I’ve dwelt here, I’ve never used these accurst moonstones. They imperil one’s soul, as you already know. They seduce the user with the promise of more and more power and make him believe that the price is worth paying…Duna, I’ve wanted that power.’
‘The Source knows that, love. He also knows your strength. You can turn the sigil magic against the Pain-Eaters if you choose to. You can help end their ability to enslave and harm persons living in the Ground Realm.’
‘Let others fight this New Conflict! Why must I do it?’
‘You know why. Accept the mission, Deveron, if you’ve ever loved me. If I could relieve you of the burden, I’d take it on myself in an instant. But I can’t do this thing. Only you can.’
He gave a great sigh. ‘It means so much to you?’
‘On my life – it does.’
‘Then how can it mean less to me?’
Her face lit up. ‘You’ll go?’
He nodded. When he spoke, his voice was sad. ‘But only for your sake…as the Source knew well enough when he sent you.’
It took him the rest of the night to prepare for the journey.
Besides questioning Induna at length, he consulted maps and reference tomes before deciding on the supplies he would need. The Source’s choice of Castle Morass as his destination was puzzling. The place was a primitive, ill-situated little fortress above the Wold Road, owned by old Ising Bedotha, one of Didion’s most intransigent robber-barons. It was the last spot likely to be chosen by Conrig as a staging area for a strike against Salka pushing south along the Beacon River corridor toward human settlements surrounding Black Hare Lake.
Induna explained to him that, for unknown reasons, the shockingly swift Thunder Moon invasion by the monsters had come to an abrupt halt just three weeks after it began. Now, at the start of Harvest Moon, the Salka were still massed some fifty or sixty leagues north of Black Hare, in the heart of the Green Morass. If their advance remained stalled in that desolate wetland forest much longer, the onslaught of the bitter northern winter would force them either to hibernate or to retreat into the Icebear Channel. But there were disquieting rumors that the Salka were considering a new plan of action. Not even the Source knew what it might be.
Deveron decided he must be prepared for both rainy and cold weather. Leaving Induna to collect and dispose safely of the potentially harmful chymicals and herbal substances he would have to leave behind in the apotheck, he embarked for the city center in his dinghy. He had no furs or heavy leather garb of his own, but such things would be readily available from ship-chandlers he could roust out of bed at Mikk-Town quay…along with other merchants selling more unusual wares he had long since eschewed.
Dawn was breaking by the time he returned home. The dinghy was laden almost to the gunwales. Induna was surprised to see him unload it, then haul a second, lighter craft ashore and begin restowing almost everything inside it.
‘I’m taking the skiff with me to Didion,’ he explained. ‘It’ll be useful for getting around in the Green Morass. I don’t dare transport myself directly to the near vicinity of the castle. Who knows what’s waiting there besides my alleged twice-great-grandma? I’ll ask the sigil to set me down in a safe place a few leagues away, then scry out the situation before presenting myself.’
‘That’s wise,’ she agreed. ‘It’s such a long journey, though. You’ll probably suffer severe pain-debt on your arrival.’
‘Another excellent reason for not going straight to the castle. If my uncanny trip from Tarn to here was any indication, it’ll be at least three days before I recover enough to function – even marginally. But I won’t be struck down helpless the moment I arrive. There’ll be a very brief interval during which I’ll be able to move about and find shelter.’
‘When you used Gateway to transport you and your companions on the search for Princess Maude, you were smitten nigh unto death.’
‘I overreached myself. Asked the sigil to carry me too far with too many companions and too much baggage. And I did it again, having no choice, when I carried all of us to safety from Skullbone Peel to Donorvale. This time the power I demand will be much less.’
‘Still…Perhaps you should take me with you. I weigh very little and I could make myself useful. I’ve hardly had time to tell you anything of events in Blenholme while you were away.’
‘I’ll learn soon enough,’ he muttered. ‘You are not going with me into the middle of a sorcerer’s war. It’s bad enough that you had to make this long sea voyage alone.’
‘But you might have great need of my healing arts or magic.’
‘You’re staying here.’
‘What if you should arrive badly disabled?’ she cried in growing desperation. ‘If I were there, I could once again share my soul’s substance with you. It would cure you at once –’
‘At the cost of your own wellbeing!’ He took hold of her upper arms, drew her close, and kissed her hard on the lips. When he finally broke away, she saw there were tears in his eyes. ‘Twice you made that terrible sacrifice for me, shortening your own life God only knows how much in the process. You won’t do it again. I won’t allow it! We must both face the fact that this journey is likely to be one that I won’t return from alive.’
‘No!’ She clung to him. ‘The Source wouldn’t be so cruel. And he never forbade me from accompanying you to Didion. How do you know what kind of place the capricious Lights will set you down in? It could be next to a tundra-lion’s lair!’
‘And you’d rescue me from the ravening beast?’
‘Yes! Why not?’ She broke free and suddenly held a small ball of crackling flame in her hand. She flung it with a powerful overhand lob into the dark waters of the canal, where it was quenched with a loud hi
ss.
He showed her a small smile. ‘You’ve learned new tricks, I see.’
‘Deveron, take me!’ she pleaded. ‘I love you so much. We’ve only just found one another again.’
‘Do you think I want to leave you? It’s for your sake that I go! For you, Duna. Don’t ask more of me.’
Replying not another word to her continuing entreaties, he finished loading the skiff, lashing down both a sheathed broadsword and a crossbow to the packs wrapped in oilskin. When he finally spoke again, his face was haggard and grim.
‘Do you have gold enough for your voyage home?’
She touched the purse at her belt. ‘More than enough.’
‘Later in the day, a victualer’s scow will make its weekly stop at my dock. You can get a ride back to town from him. Stay at the inn called the Golden Cocodrill. Mention my assumed name, Haydon, to the landlord. He’ll see you safely aboard a ship sailing north. And now I must go into the house and change my clothes.’
‘Deveron.’ She held out an imploring hand. ‘Is there any hope, before you leave me forever…if you could but find it in your heart…’ She looked away. ‘It’s not for a Tarnian woman to ask such a thing.’
‘What is it? If there’s anything I can do to ease our parting, then tell me.’ He took her hand and drew her close, but as the heavy golden case holding the moonstones pressed against the flesh of her bosom she pulled away with a small cry.
‘If we could only…But no, it would be an unfair request with you facing such a dreadful ordeal. Go, put on your traveling clothes. I’ll wait here and pray for us both.’
‘I could prepare breakfast –’
He didn’t understand and she could not tell him. She hung her head and the tears began again. ‘I have no appetite for food.’
