Sorcerer’s Moon: Part Three of the Boreal Moon Tale

‘Our Heart Companions will think we’ve lost our minds,’ Orrion protested, nodding toward the long table where the young noblemen were chattering noisily. ‘And what if they gossip, and Father finds out how I tried to flout his command by calling upon demons?’

‘We could let the men accompany us for part of the way, to the base of the mountain,’ Bramlow said. ‘Then the three of us can try for the summit together. We say nothing of our true intent. Instead we tell them we intend to plant the flag of the Sovereignty up there on a tall staff, where anyone with a good spyglass may see it and be astounded. It’s a silly stunt, but we could say it was Coro’s idea.’

‘Yes, blame me!’ the daredevil prince crowed. ‘Why the hell not?’

‘Because we might suffer injury,’ Orrion said, ‘or even fall to our deaths.’

‘My friend Vra-Hundig at Castle Vanguard told me that the trail up the mountain is not especially difficult,’ Bramlow said. ‘What usually makes the summit inacessible is the heavy snow – which has melted this year.’

Orrion could feel his opposition weakening. ‘Bram, tell me true: do you seriously believe these so-called demons might exist and be willing to help me?’

Vra-Bramlow took hold of the silver novice’s gammadion, emblem of the Zeth Order, that hung on a chain around his neck. ‘By my halidom, I do. Dearest brother, we all know other improbable myths of this island that have a basis in truth. I admit that this one strains credulity to the bursting point – but recall our dying grandsire and the oracle of Bazekoy’s Head. It seemed ludicrous that the oracle should have spoken the truth: yet it did. So what say you? Shall we dare the demons? Decide now, for it will take us at least a day to reach the mountain’s foot, and another to make the climb. We have not a moment to waste.’

And here I am, Prince Heritor Orrion thought sadly. Grasping at the most puny of straws, putting my two brothers at risk, ready to commit a horrendous sin. But I would do anything, even forfeit my life, if I might thereby wed my darling Nyla, rather than the barbarian princess chosen for me by my heartless sire –

‘Orry! We’re waiting for you. Stop gawking at the scenery and get moving!’

He felt resentment at the sound of his twin brother’s strident voice echoing among the crags. It was not Coro’s place to give orders to the Heritor. Nevertheless Orrion rose to his feet, adjusted the baldric that supported his leather fardel of food and drink, picked up his iron-shod staff, and resumed his ascent of the steep, zigzag trail.

A couple of hundred ells above him, Corodon and Vra-Bramlow stood side by side, watching the toiling figure.

‘He’s finally coming,’ the younger prince said in exasperation. ‘Too bad Orry’s legs aren’t as long as ours. The climb’s been hard on him. If nothing else, this day’s work might pare a few pounds from his belly and let him cut a better figure in his court raiment. Then we won’t have wasted our time scaling this rockpile, even if the poor wight fails to conjure his impossible miracle.’

‘Don’t tell me you’re skeptical about magic!’ Bramlow lifted a teasing eyebrow. ‘You, of all people? Orry would be disappointed to hear it.’

Corodon turned about and seized his older brother’s shoulders. ‘Bram, you promised! Never even hint of what you know about me to Orry or to any other person. If you do, I swear I’ll cut your tripes out, even though it be sacrilege to harm a Brother of Zeth!’

Chuckling, Bramlow pried the clutching fingers away easily and took tight hold of Corodon’s wrists, rendering him helpless. The brawny young alchymist used no talent in the subduing, only main strength. His features were pleasant and bland, as usual.

‘I said I’d never betray you, Coro, and I won’t. Not unless you do deliberate harm to Orrion. But your mean-spirited insults are becoming tedious.’

Corodon relaxed and gave a nervous laugh. ‘You know I was only joking. I love my twin with all my heart! But if he found me out, his bloody great sense of honor would make him spill the beans to Father. I’d have to join you as a celibate in the Order – and living such a life would kill me.’

‘It’s not so bad. We have spells to calm the urgings of the flesh.’

‘Oh, wonderful.’ Corodon rolled his eyes. ‘And many simple joys of wizardhood to take their place, no doubt! But I’d never become a mighty Doctor Arcanorum as you will. My talent is so piss-poor that the alchymists can’t even detect it. I curse the day I let slip my stupid jumping coin trick and betrayed myself to you. If you turn me in to the Order, I’d be lucky to be nominated to the Brother Caretakers! Do you want me to spend my life mopping abbey floors or raking chickenshite?’

‘Then learn to control your spiteful tongue and stop teasing Orry. You resent that he’s Prince Heritor, rather than you, and that’s only natural. But you must give him the respect he deserves. God help you if you make mock of him when we reach the summit and he conjures the demons. This is a deadly serious business to him.’

‘I know. I’ll do as you say. Only let go of me – he’s coming.’

Corodon tore loose from Bramlow’s grip. He slid a short way downslope to greet his twin heartily and offer him wine. Orrion accepted the flask and drank a little for the sake of politeness. The two of them rejoined Bramlow and stood arm in arm.

Both princes were eighteen, two years younger than the novice, short of their majority and the belt of knighthood, but old enough at last to fight at their royal father’s side, should the Army of the Sovereignty ever snap out of its indecisive funk and attack the Salka invaders. Corodon was the younger by less than an hour’s time, taller even than Conrig’s six feet and with his father’s striking good looks. He had the king’s shining wheaten hair as well, which he wore over-long, and his mother’s sapphire-bright eyes. His public demeanor was both charming and fearless, and he was well regarded by many of the important lords at court. But Prince Corodon conspicuously lacked the level-headedness of the other royal offspring, even including their solemn little sister, Princess Wylgana, at sixteen the youngest child of Conrig and Risalla and presumably the last. Corodon’s brash and often foolhardy behavior had caused certain members of the Privy Council to secretly thank heaven that he had not emerged from his mother’s womb ahead of his nonidentical twin.

No such cloud hung over Orrion, although some suspected that his eventual reign would be competent rather than outstanding. The Prince Heritor was shrewd, well-read, and only slightly pompous, a plain-featured youth of middle stature, solidly muscled rather than overweight. His newly cultivated moustache and his hair were the indeterminate pale color of dry sand, and his eyes were more grey than blue. He had long since outgrown the bodily weaknesses that had blighted his early childhood and now enjoyed good health. His fighting prowess was much less flamboyant than Corodon’s, but he wielded both the two-handed longs word and the lighter varg blade with acceptable skill – as an aspirant to Cathra’s kingship was legally obligated to do.

Vra-Bramlow said to the others, It’s time we were going. We must reach the summit within a couple of hours, or give up hope of returning to the Heart Companions before nightfall. Sleeping rough on the mountainside tonight might be very disagreeable. See those mare’s-tail clouds streaming out of the northwest? They mean that the weather could change for the worse.’

So they resumed climbing, with Bramlow taking the lead and using his windsenses to search out the best route among the confusing masses of rock. None of them had spare breath now for conversation, so each labored alone, occupied by unquiet thoughts.

There really was a Demon Seat.

Orrion had insisted that it was his right to be the first to stand on the mountaintop and Bramlow agreed, so Corodon had no choice but to give in, muttering resentfully. While the others waited below, the Prince Heritor climbed the last few ells on all fours, then pulled himself upright on a kind of broken-walled natural terrace that comprised the summit. What he found caused him to shout in astonishment. ‘Bazekoy’s Bones! I don’t believe this. Come up and see, lads!’

Bramlow and Corodon scrambled to the top and the three of them stood huddled together in the brisk wind. The nearly level area was partially covered with a thin layer of snow. The most abundant variety of rock round about them was grey granite; but there was also a sizable outcropping of nearly translucent mineral, bluish-white in color. Some large chunks of this had broken apart and fallen in a heap that bore a rough resemblance to a chair or throne.

Corodon gave a whoop of delight. Before the others could stop him, he plumped himself down on the unusual formation. ‘Futter me blind – it’s real! A Demon Seat! What say all three of us beg a miracle? I know what I’d ask: Let me be Prince Heritor in place of Orry. I’ll gladly wed Princess Hyndry. They say she’s a fine lusty wench for all that she’s a widow, and older.’

‘Coro, you prattling fool!’ The novice dragged his brother down and flung him into the snow. Corodon uttered a half-hearted curse.

Orrion helped his aggrieved twin back onto his feet. ‘Let him be, Bram. He meant nothing by it. It’s only his bit of fun.’

Vra-Bramlow knew better; but he swallowed his indignation and growing sense of unease and squinted up at the clouds. They had thickened and the sun had dropped halfway to the horizon, resembling a disk of dull white vellum against a murky background. ‘We can’t stay here long. Do you still want to do this, Orry?’

The Prince Heritor drew in a breath. ‘Yes. Tell me how.’

While Corodon crouched in a sheltered niche, munching sausage and drinking from the wine flask, Bramlow explained the simple conjuration procedure.

‘Stand by the seat and place one hand on it. Close your eyes. Try to clear your mind of all distracting thoughts. Assume an attitude of childlike humility and reverence, as a worthy petitioner of the Sky Realm should.’

Corodon gave a muffled snort of laughter.

‘Be quiet!’ Bramlow barked. ‘Another sound from you, and I’ll make you wait downslope.’

‘What then?’ Orrion demanded. ‘How shall I summon the demons? Do I simply state my wish: Let me be able to wed Lady Nyla Brackenfield?’

‘Don’t call them demons. They might be insulted. If you must address them, say Lords of the Sky. The ancient writings were unclear as to the wording of the petition. I’d say, first name yourself, then speak out your plea naturally but briefly. Avoid any tinge of fear or disrespect. These beings must decide for themselves whether you’re worthy of their miracle.’ He folded his arms about Orrion in a brief embrace. ‘Good luck, my brother.’

‘And so say I also,’ Corodon called gruffly. ‘May you receive your heart’s desire.’

Vra-Bramlow withdrew a dozen paces, dropped to his knees in the shallow snow, and bowed his head.

Orrion approached the seat as if he were a man half-asleep. A sudden gust of cold wind hit his face like a knife-cut. He removed his gloves, placed his right hand upon the irregular milky slab that formed the back of the natural throne, and closed his eyes.

‘Great Lords of the Sky!’ He spoke firmly. ‘I beseech you to grant me a favor – if it should be your will, and if you find me worthy.’

For a long time nothing happened. Then he felt a slow-growing warmth beneath the hand that rested on the frigid rock surface. One of his brothers gave a soft gasp of mingled fear and amazement. Orrion dared to crack open his eyelids for the merest instant and saw that the entire Demon Seat formation was aglow with an interior luminosity, at first dim as a will o’ the wisp, then increasingly bright. The heat beneath his right hand gradually increased. Before he could think what to do next, he felt a sudden thrust of pain smite his brain. Then there were voices speaking in unison, deep and inhuman, questioning him in an oddly hesitant manner.

Orrion knew instinctively that they spoke to his soul and were inaudible to the others.

WHO…WHAT…WHY?

He tried to keep panic from his response. ‘Great Lords of the Sky, my name is Orrion Wincantor. I’m here to beg a miracle of you, if you please. I – I ask your help because I have nowhere else to turn.’

HOW DO YOU KNOW ABOUT US? HOW DID YOU KNOW TO COME TO THIS PLACE?

‘My older brother read an ancient tract. It told how you had granted miracles to others many years ago.’

YES…SOME OF US FREELY GAVE BOONS TO HUMANS. WE REMEMBER NOW. WE HOPED TO GAIN AN ADVANTAGE OVER THE EVIL ONES. THOSE WERE STRANGE TIMES IN THE SKY REALM AND ON THE GROUND. THE TACTIC WAS NOT VERY SUCCESSFUL.

The demonic ramblings made no sense to Orrion. His hand, resting upon the stone, was beginning to feel uncomfortably warm. ‘Do I have your gracious permission to ask my favor?’

WELL…AT LEAST YOU ARE WORTHY, AS ARE THE OTHER TWO WHO COWER NEXT TO OUR CRAG…WHAT DO YOU WANT, ORRION WINCANTOR?

‘Great Lords of the Sky, if – if you will, grant me a miracle. Let me be able to wed my true love, Nyla Brackenfield, daughter to Count Hale Brackenfield, Lord Lieutenant of the Realm.’

There was silence. His right hand grew ever more painful, but he dared not lift it. Finally the inhuman voices spoke again, seeming puzzled.

WHY DO YOU REQUIRE A MAGICAL INTERVENTION MERELY IN ORDER TO MATE WITH YOUR CHOSEN PERSON?

‘I – Great Lords, I’m the High King’s son, heir to the throne of Cathra and the Iron Crown of Sovereignty. My father Conrig has picked another wife for me, in spite of my wishes. I must obey him for the sake of my princely honor.’

The demons fell into a silence that seemed endless.

Orrion forced himself not to cry out. The burning sensation in his hand continued to grow and was fast becoming unbearable. ‘Great Lords, if my request cannot be granted, then I humbly beg your pardon for having disturbed you. My brothers and I will depart from your mountain forthwith.’

WE THINK THE REQUEST IS NOT IMPOSSIBLE. IT IS HARD FOR THE SKY REALM TO INTERACT WITH THE GROUND BECAUSE IT UPSETS THE GREAT BALANCE OF POWER, BUT WE ARE WILLING TO HELP YOU. YOU WILL PAY A GREAT PRICE FOR THIS FAVOR. ARE YOU ABSOLUTELY CERTAIN THAT YOU WANT IT?

‘Yes. Please.’

THEN LIFT YOUR RIGHT HAND FROM THE MOON CRAG AND HOLD IT ALOFT.

For a moment, Orrion didn’t understand. Then he realized he was being told to let go of that awful piece of hot rock. ‘Yes! Oh, thank you!’ In a paroxysm of gratitude, he thrust his arm heavenward and dared to open his eyes.

He saw blackness around him, and abundant diamond-sharp twinkling stars, as though night had inexplicably fallen and he hung suspended in the heavens high above the earth. A formless drift of multi-hued Light, that slowly took the shape of many mournful faces, shone among the familiar polar constellations. Then a blue flare blinded him as it engulfed most of his uplifted arm like a blast of silent lightning.

He fell from the sky into nothingness, feeling no pain.

‘Orry! Orry, my poor twin, are you alive?’

‘He breathes. I can feel his heart beating. Draw closer to shield him from the elements.’

Slowly, Orrion Wincantor, Prince Heritor of Cathra, opened his eyes. A folded cloak pillowed his head and another covered his body. He was chilled but not otherwise uncomfortable. A cold drizzle was falling. His brothers knelt beside him.

‘Take a sip of this brandy,’ Vra-Bramlow urged, lifting him so he could drink. The fiery spirit burnt his gullet, then settled in a glowing pool in his belly. ‘Can you move?’

‘Yes. Help me to sit up.’

They assisted him. Orrion looked about and realized that they were still at the summit of Demon Seat and it was yet daytime – although the louring grey clouds now hung so close it seemed a man might reach up and touch them. Corodon was strangely excited, while Bramlow’s face was stiff with shock and his eyes red from weeping.

Orrion managed a reassuring smile. ‘Have I been senseless long?’

‘Perhaps half an hour,’ Bramlow said. ‘We – we were very worried about you. The change in weather came very quickly. It might snow. We were wondering how to carry you to a more sheltered place when you finally came to yourself – thanks be to God!’

‘Well, I’m quite all right,’ Orrion said. ‘It seems I’ve survived my encounter with the demons.’

‘What were they like?’ Corodon asked eagerly. ‘We saw nothing of them, only a sudden dazzling light, and then you were lying on the rocks.’

‘After I begged my boon, I found myself afloat in a dark sky. I saw a multitude of ghostly faces glowing among the stars –’

‘Zeth save us!’ Bramlow exclaimed. But he bit off the words he would have said next, not wanting Orrion to know that he’d very likely conjured the evil Beaconfolk, and said only, ‘Were they fearsome things?’

‘Not really. They seemed almost bewildered that a human being would call upon them. But I stated my request boldly, as you advised, and they asked if I was sure I wanted it. I said I did. There was a great flash of blueish light, brighter than the sun, and I remember nothing more.’ He sighed. ‘I suppose there’s naught left to do but wait to see if my miracle will be granted. Just help me to my feet, lads. We should get going.’

‘Are you in pain, my brother?’ Corodon asked.

‘Not at all. I feel healthy as a horse.’

‘Orrion –’ Fresh tears sprang into Bramlow’s dark eyes and he gave a wordless cry before turning his head away, unable to speak further.

‘What’s wrong?’ the Prince Heritor said in alarm.

His twin regarded him with a strange expression. ‘Brother, your miracle has already occurred, but not in the manner that you might have wished.’ Slowly, he pulled open the blanketing cloak so that Orrion’s body was exposed.

The Heritor looked down at himself and felt his heart lurch.

Impossible! There was no pain – indeed, he felt as though nothing at all had happened. The sleeve of his heavy leather jerkin and the woolen shirt beneath had been burnt away to a point just below the right elbow; his lower arm and hand felt as normal as always…but they had apparently been rendered invisible. When his left hand probed the anomaly he felt a smooth stump of healed flesh and bone at the end of his truncated right arm.

‘Gone,’ he murmured, transfixed. ‘Yet it seems as though it’s still there. I’ve heard of men losing a limb in battle expe-riencing a like phenomenon. Odd, isn’t it, lads?’

‘His mind wanders,’ Corodon said. ‘Poor devil.’

‘Don’t you understand what the cursèd demons have done to you?’ Bramlow cried in a voice choked with horror. ‘They have taken your sword-arm, Orry! By the laws of our kingdom – and Didion as well – such a wound makes you ineligible for the throne.’

‘You’re no longer Prince Heritor, twin brother.’ Corodon’s face was suffused with a terrible exultation. ‘I am.’ His gaze flickered and he looked sidelong at Bramlow. ‘Not our royal father, nor King Somarus, nor anyone else can deny me. Isn’t that right, Bram?’

The novice said nothing.

Corodon turned back to Orrion. ‘You and Nyla are free to wed. I offer my heartfelt felicitations and wish you every happiness.’ He paused with a judicious frown. ‘It would be best, I think, if we explained matters to Father and King Somarus face to face, rather than breaking the news at long distance. What do you think, Bram?’

The reply was curt. ‘I dare not windspeak such incredible tidings. No one would believe me.’

On one level of his mind, Orrion felt an eerie detachment, as though he were watching some fantastic drama enacted by the palace players that had nothing to do with reality. On another level he was coolly rational. The ramifications of the demons’ action were clear and irrefutable, just as Coro had said. There could be no waffling on King Conrig’s part, no talk of Orrion learning lefthanded swordplay to evade the restriction.

Corodon must be named Heritor.

Coro? Impetuous, happy-go-lucky Coro become heir to the throne? The notion had never occurred to Orrion. The miracle he’d hoped for would have simply changed his father’s mind, so that he might marry Nyla and in time make her his queen. But now…

Vra-Bramlow stood close to him. ‘I shall never forgive myself for this, Orry,’ the novice muttered. ‘Never.’ And he thought: What am I to do? If I tell Father the truth about Coro’s talent, the crown will pass out of the Wincantor family – to Beorbrook’s adopted son Dyfrig, or even to our wicked cousin Feribor Blackhorse!

Orrion climbed slowly to his feet. His expression was still strange, even though his voice sounded calm. ‘I was willing to pay any price for my sweet love. I’ve paid, and I shall accept whatever penalty Father metes out to me – even banishment. All the blame is mine, Bram. You have nothing to reproach yourself for.’

Vra-Bramlow shook his head. ‘Not true,’ he whispered, but could say no more.

‘We can never tell Father the exact truth of this affair,’ Orrion said. He was staring into the distance, as if contemplating some faraway event. ‘He’s a hard man, and I’ll not have him revenge himself on either one of you. We three must agree on a suitable fiction to explain my loss, and we must swear never to deviate from it.’

‘Of course,’ Corodon exclaimed warmly. ‘Bram’s the cleverest. He’ll think up a proper yarn for us to spin. And let’s not forget to plant the banner before we leave, as we planned to do.’

‘Oh, for God’s sake, Coro,’ Bramlow groaned.

‘I’ll do it for luck, if for no other reason.’ Corodon opened his pack, shook out the scarlet silk pennon of the Sovereignty with its four interlocked golden crowns (Conrig still claimed the overlordship of Moss, even though the Salka had conquered it), and began tying it to his own climbing staff. Bramlow and Orrion watched as he built a cairn of rocks behind Demon Seat and set about fixing the royal banner atop it.

Orrion spoke quietly to Bramlow. ‘Can you bespeak a message to the Zeth Brethren in Cala Palace for me, or are we too far away?’

‘At this great height, I should be able to do it. No natural barriers impede my windspeech. What do you want me to say?’

‘The message is to be given to Lady Nyla. In my name, beseech her to hasten to Boarsden with all speed and meet me there, for the sake of our love. Ask that she also bring her parents, and that they travel with the greatest possible secrecy.’

The novice frowned. ‘Orry, are you sure about this?’

‘She and I must be near one another as I confess my transgression to Father. If he spares my life, I mean to wed Nyla immediately. This is why she must bring her parents.’

Deeply troubled, Vra-Bramlow said, ‘It might be better if we first meet Nyla and the Lord Lieutenant and his lady elsewhere than Boarsden Castle, so you have an opportunity to…prepare them beforehand.’

‘You’re right. Perhaps near the border, at Beorbrook Hold in Cathra?’

Bramlow shook his head. ‘You’d never be able to conceal your disability from the earl marshal’s alchymists. They’d insist on examining the arm if we try to pass it off as a climbing injury that I’d already treated and bound up. We’ll be able to fend off your Heart Companions that way, but not real physicians…I have it – we’ll meet the Brackenfields at the Castlemont Fortress hostelry just across the pass in Didion. No one there will think it amiss if Cathran travelers keep to themselves. And it’s only a day’s ride from the fort to Boarsden.’

‘Very well. Bespeak the message, Bram, before Coro finishes.’

A few minutes later, Prince Corodon climbed down from the moonstone outcropping, took his twin’s good left arm, and draped it over one of his shoulders. ‘That’s done. If any windsearcher should scry the mountaintop, the banner will confirm that we were here. Now lean on me, Orry, and we’ll start down.’ He offered a reassuring smile. ‘Don’t be downhearted. Everything will work out for the best. This happenstance is strange beyond measure, but we can’t deny that it gives both of us our heart’s desire!’