"Boreal Moon - 02 - Ironcrown Moon" - читать интересную книгу автора (May Julian)

УHe helps me,Ф Kilian said, Уbecause he expects a reward. ThatТs all you need to know.Ф
УPart of the Gala treasure?Ф Raldo suggested archly. None of them knew the nature of the Trove of Darasilo, but they all were aware that Kilian had sent agents to the capital months earlier to steal something of consummate value.
УBe silent, fool!Ф Niavar said. УHave you forgotten that the master ordered us never to speak of that?Ф
Ignoring RaldoТs mumbled apology, Kilian continued. УI must try to sleep now, in case there is another dream-message from Beynor of Moss. If you find yourselves unable to close your eyes, I suggest that you spend the time praying for bad weather. While clear skies persist, we cannot escape. We need clouds and rain to conceal our getaway from ordinary human eyesight, since we have no true darkness at this time of year.Ф
УItТs Blossom Moon,Ф Cleaton pointed out. УThe weather may remain clement for weeks.Ф
УI think not,Ф Kilian said. УI was allowed to work in the herb garden yesterday, and I noted a ring around the sun. That often presages a change. There could be a storm on the way.Ф He paused, then added softly, УA very great storm indeed.Ф
He went to the cot, arranged the ample bedding, and lay atop it fully clothed. But his brain was a beehive of swirling thoughts that he could not repress, no matter how hard he tried, and he remained wakeful until the tolling of a far distant bell marked the hour of rising in the abbey above.
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To his surprise, Beynor knew about the attack on Gala Palace as soon as it happened.
Kilian had told him that the assault and theft were scheduled for the quiet hours around seven or eight in the morning on Solstice Day, but he never anticipated any personal perception of the event. Cocooned in a sleeping sack, he lay in apathetic misery beneath the small boatТs canvas dodger, a kind of half awning which only gave scant protection from the flying spray, enduring the slam-bang progress of the craft over the rough Boreal Sea. The team of monsters towing him insisted on swimming at top speed, and he would have been flung overboard by the constant severe jouncing if he hadnТt taken special care to wedge himself between a padded thwart and the oilskin supply bags crammed in the bow.
Beynor was ordinarily an intrepid sailor; but on this appalling voyage, withdrawing into the windworld was the only way heТd been able to avoid mortal seasickness. It was quiet and tranquil on the black bosom of the wind, except for the inconsequential mental yammering of the Salka, which was easy enough to ignore if he didnТt try to translate it. HeТd almost managed to drift into uneasy slumber when a mental shriek pierced his cranium like a red-hot needle.
He gasped, sat up, and made a muzzy attempt to track the chaotic tangle of voice threads. It emanated out of the south. He knew after a few minutes what it must signify.
The silent clamor was perceptible to him, but evidently not to the dull-witted Salka, who swam on unconcerned. Wild with curiosity, Beynor tried to scry Gala Palace. But the distance was too extreme, nor was he able to make any sense of the wind-shout itself. Nevertheless, he had no doubt that it was a reaction to the attack by KilianТs agents.
Had they successfully made off with DarasiloТs Trove? There was no way for him to find out without bespeaking them, and no way to do that without knowing their individual signatures and the password that Kilian had refused to entrust to him.
Curse the bloody secretive alchymist! Beynor decided to reinvade his dreams and demand the information yet again. Both of them needed to know what was happening.
He concentrated in the usual way, calling KilianТs name over and over, but there was no answer. The bastard was probably awake.
Beynor attempted to envision Zeth Abbey with his windsight and was rewarded with a ghostly mental picture of the fortresslike structure. Built of pure white limestone, it was perched high among the crags of the southern Sinistral Mountains. There were certainly loud strands of windspeech being exchanged between its inhabitants and persons in Gala Palace. Beynor could not understand the messages, but it seemed likely that the Brothers in Gala were bespeaking tidings of the disaster to their fellows at the abbey.
Someone was bound to tell Kilian what had happened. But he, Beynor, would be kept in suspense for hours, until the next time the alchymist went to sleep! He ground his teeth in frustration.
Just then, a disquieting thought sprang into his mind, and with great care he sent another probe winging in a new direction, towards the kingdom of Moss, Fenguard Castle, and the chambers of his sister Ullanoth. Was it possible that sheТd also perceived the wind-scream from Gala? Might she be observing the scene with her Subtle Loophole?
The refurbished old stronghold was much closer than Zeth Abbey and clearly visible to his scrying, but UllaТs private rooms were not. Even though she no longer owned a Fortress sigil, a heavy spell of couverture shielded her quarters from his mindТs eye. The good news was that no betraying trace of the Great StoneТs sorcery shone out through the concealing opacity. Ulla was not using Loophole to oversee Gala Palace or anything else. It was quite likely that she had failed to hear the outcry.
He maintained his watch on Fenguard for another hour or so without detecting any unusual arcane activity. The wind-senses of the Glaumerie Guild members were not as keen as his own, and they remained oblivious. None of them seemed interested in observing Gala, and none of ConrigТs windvoices attempted to communicate with the Conjure-Queen. Thus far, the thieves fleeing with the trove would seem to be safe from LoopholeТs invincible oversight. And if Kilian was right about ConrigТs distrust of Ulla, theyТd stay that way.
At this minute, the precious books and the sigils were probably being spirited out of the ruins of the palaceТs cloister wing by the agents. Before long, the trove would be on its way north. By dayТs end, the well-disguised thieves might be almost halfway to the designated rendezvous in the north country, taking advantage of the initial confusion as Kilian had planned. Beynor himself would be within easy windsearching range of the fleeing agents before another day went byЧnot that such a search was practical. Without knowledge of their signatures, or at least their names and physical appearance, he had little chance of scrying them out.
Names and physical appearanceЕ
A half-formed idea crept into his mind, and he drew in his breath sharply, hardly able to acknowledge that such a thing might be possible. It seemed almost too fortuitous, too perfect.
If ConrigТs officials were efficient in organizing pursuit of the agents, they might unwittingly give Beynor his chance to secure the trove for himself before the thieves could hand it over to Kilian. The alchymist had rightly feared that Beynor might try to waylay his men and seize the sigils and books; but the revised plan that now suggested itself to the deposed young king was far more ingenious than a simple ambush.
All I need do, Beynor thought, is find them with my mindТs eye. There was no need to confront the men physically or even have a wind-conversation with them. If they simply listened to a certain irresistible temptation insinuated anonymously into their dreams, and succumbed to it, the trove would be his!
And the temptation would be irresistible.
The site of the allurement would have to be chosen with care. It must be a lonely spot, where no one was likely to stumble upon the abandoned books and sigils before he retrieved them.
Kilian was no problem. Even if his windpowers were somehow restored, heТd be unable to scry out the unscriable. No adept could oversee magical moonstones. They were secure from the windsight of every sorcerer save Ullanoth and her Subtle Loophole, and she had no reason to go looking for them because she didnТt know they existed.
Such a simple planЕ He wondered why it hadnТt occurred to him before. HeТd wait a few hours, until ConrigТs officials recovered from the initial shock of the conflagration and organized the pursuit of the fire-raisers. Images of the suspects with their names would surely be transmitted by palace alchymists to every reliable wind adept and wizard in the southern part of the Sovereignty. The magickers would be commanded to draw up reward notices carrying the pictures and post them in all the principal towns of Cathra and Didion.
What Beynor had to do was scry one of those noticesЧtrickier than it might seemЧor find some person willing to do the job for him. Unfortunately, he had few loyal friends left, and most of them lived in Moss, too far away to be of use.
It came to him.
There was someone he could bespeak, someone who wouldЧby the end of the day, if not beforeЧhave obtained a full description of the awful events that had taken place down in Gala. One who would probably also know whether those responsible for the conflagration had been identified, and how the hunt for them was progressing. The man he was minded to bespeak was by no means completely trustworthy, but neither was he a friend to the Sovereign of Blenholme. HeТd probably tell the truth, as he knew it, especially if Beynor passed on useful information of his own in exchange.
All I need do is wait, he thought, until matters in the south have stabilized a bit, and Queen RisallaТs wizards have transmitted details of the disaster to their colleagues in Holt Mallburn.
The choppy waves had subsided a little, and Beynor finally dozed off in spite of himself. His dream was a familiar oneЧfrightening to begin with, as the small boy found himself trapped on the broad flats of the Darkling River with the oncoming tide racing toward him. The dream turned even more terrifying when the red-eyed monsters appeared, surging up out of a deepwater channel to seize him while he screamed.
Then the dream became amazing and joyous as he realized that the fearsome creatures were rescuing him! The reclusive Salka of the Little Fen had for some reason taken pity on the doomed small human. In time they would befriend him, teach him their language, and open his mind to the world of the wind and the potential of the magical moonstonesЧ
Beynor woke with a cry of pain. The speeding boat crashed and smacked over the waves with stunning violence, hurling him against the gunwale and dousing him with icy seawater. The pleasant dream was extinguished, leaving reality.
He began screaming furious curses at the amphibious brutes in the tow harnesses, not stopping until Ugusawnn, the Supreme Warrior, compelled his companions to slow down.
==========
The two brown-robed Brother Caretakers who brought breakfast to the prisoners could hardly stop talking about the disaster, even though they seemed to know few details aside from the obvious: the entire cloister wing of Gala Palace was burning fiercely, and the Royal Alchymist, Lord Stergos, had been so badly hurt that physicians feared for his life.
УBut how could a fire take hold and spread in a place housing so many wind adepts?Ф Kilian asked. УSurely their combined powers would have stopped the flames in their tracks.Ф
УItТs said the incendiary agent was tarnblaze.Ф The older of the caretakers spoke in a tone freighted with dread. УThat stuff canТt be quenched by talent, and it gives off great heat. I didnТt talk to anyone at the palace myself, of course. My powers are too puny. But the Brother Cellarer was in the kitchen when we fetched your food, and he had windspeech with his opposite number down there, who said there were two great explosions inside the Alchymical Library. It had to be tarnblaze. And not simple firepots, either: steel bombshells!Ф
УHow dreadful,Ф Kilian said. УI shall pray for Lord Stergos, of course, but the loss of all those precious books is also devastating.Ф
УBooks!Ф the second caretaker piped up. УNearly forgot, what with all the excitement.Ф He opened a lidded basket smaller than the ones that had held the food, took out several volumes and some candles, and began passing them through the door hoppers to the prisoners. When he came to KilianТs cell he said, УPrior Waringlow selected this book for you special, my lord. He hopes itТll help you pass the time. Just poke the candlewick through the wire mesh on this peep slot and IТll get it burning for you.Ф Using a bit of straw, he transferred flame from the wall lantern.
УPlease tell Father Prior that IТm grateful for his kindness,Ф Kilian said. His cronies also murmured thanks as the other caretaker lit their candles.
УIs there aught else you need, my lord?Ф The older Brother added sheepishly, УSave liberty, oТcourse.Ф
УWe have no view of the outer world.Ф Kilian gave a sad sigh. УTell meЧis this Solstice Day sunny and bright?Ф
УA bit overcast. What we countryfolk call buttermilk sky. There might be rain before the midnight chime.Ф
УAh. Thank you, Brother.Ф
УWeТll see you again at suppertime. Should be a fine meal. WeТre roasting six pigs and four fatted calves in honor of the holiday.Ф He and his companion gathered up the empty baskets and left the dungeon.