Ironcrown Moon: Part Two of the Boreal Moon Tale. Julian May
bring on a catastrophe far worse than the one we already face. You do understand that, don’t you, Snudge?’
‘Yes, sire. I was not sure you did.’
‘Impudence…’
‘However, you face something of a dilemma here, sire. I think Queen Ullanoth is bound to learn something about the theft before long. News of the palace fire will spread from one end of the island to the other. Fortunately for us, there’s no easy way for her to get her hands on the trove, even if she scries its location. Her Sending is unable to take back anything to its point of origin. She’d have to come after the trove using her natural body. That would be quite difficult for her, given the situation in Moss and her present state of physical frailty.’
‘What are you driving at? What’s the dilemma?’
‘If the thieves aren’t captured in short order, you may be forced to ask for her help. To prevent the trove from falling into the hands of Kilian or Beynor.’
‘God’s Eyes! Of course. One of them certainly planned the theft.’
‘Or both,’ Snudge said. ‘This is what Lord Stergos believes. He asked me to inspect the scene of the conflagration. Perhaps I might find some useful indications.’
‘The burned-out wing can hardly be cool yet, but the oncoming rainstorm will take care of that.’ Outside the corridor windows it had grown very dark, and the lightning and peals of thunder were now almost continuous. ‘When you finish, come to my study. We still must talk of the reason why I called you back to the city.’
Snudge let his chagrin show. ‘How remiss of me! This terrible disaster wiped all thought of the other matter from my mind.’
‘We’ll talk of it later.’ Conrig turned abruptly and strode away.
Snudge started off in the opposite direction, intending to go to the knights’ lodging in the Square Tower where he had left Gavlok and the others. He was going to need help searching the ruins, and he already felt deathly weary. The anguish emanating from the mind of Lord Stergos had deeply affected his own humor. It was a troubling aspect of his wild talent that he was only beginning to come to terms with. There were other considerations as well, but they didn’t bear thinking of now.
And neither did his motive for not telling King Conrig all that he had promised Lord Stergos.
Snudge, Gavlok, and the three squires armed themselves with iron-shafted pikes, donned waterproof military cloaks and heavy boots, then set off to begin the miserable task of poking through steaming rubble. A torrential deluge now beat down upon the palace. Since the damaged wing had largely lost its roof and was open to the elements, the rain had quenched the last of the flames. Most of the firefighters had withdrawn.
When Snudge’s party arrived at the ruined library they found Vra-Sulkorig Casswell himself. He had put off his robes in favor of waxed-leather hunting garb, and was supervising the removal of an incinerated human body from among the fallen stacks.
Stergos’s principal assistant bore the symbolic title Keeper of Arcana, but his actual duties were administrative. He was an austere, balding man in early middle age, more pragmatic than mystical. The king’s brother was over twenty years his junior, and had relied on Sulkorig’s greater experience to govern the scores of Zeth Brethren assigned to various palace duties.
As Gavlok and the armigers began a cautious tour of the gutted library, Snudge explained to the Keeper why he and his men had come.
Sulkorig nodded brusquely. ‘Looking for clues, are you, Sir Deveron? Then you’ll find this interesting.’ He held out something in his gloved hand. ‘We found it with these sad remains.’
Snudge took the muck-encrusted, faintly gleaming object, bent down, and rinsed it in one of the myriad pools of rainwater. It was a solid gold gammadion pendant on a matching chain, one of those worn by every professed Brother of Zeth. On one side, the pendant was engraved with the voided cross emblem of the order. On the other side was a name. Snudge had to strain to read it in the gloom:
VRA-VITUBIO BENTLAND – C.Y. 1108
‘The name of the owner and the date of his ordination,’ Sulkorig explained. ‘He was one of those heroes who attempted to rescue the Royal Alchymist after the tarnblaze explosions took place.’
Snudge pocketed the pendant. ‘I’ll give this to His Grace. He’ll surely wish to commemorate the bravery of this man, who gave up his own life for Lord Stergos. Can you tell me anything about him?’
Sulkorig watched stoically as two white-faced young novices finished loading the nearly fleshless, contorted corpse onto a litter and covered it with a sheet. ‘Take him to the old laboratory and lay him out with the others, lads. You need do no more work today.’
‘Yes, Brother Keeper.’ The pair shuffled off with their grisly burden.
‘Vra-Vitubio was a visitor to Cala,’ Sulkorig said to Snudge, ‘one of three historians come down from Zeth Abbey to do research in our library. I myself know little about him, but doubtless his companions can tell us all that the High King requires for the commemoration.’
‘Doubtless,’ Snudge said through clenched teeth. ‘Do you know the names of the others?’
“Vra-Felmar Nightcott and Vra-Scarth Saltbeck. It appears that they were also among those who tried to rescue Lord Stergos, but were unable to find him in the smoke. Neither one was seriously hurt.’
‘Would you do me the great favor of windspeaking the two right now, and ask them to present themselves to Lord Telifar, His Grace’s secretary?’
Sulkorig’s brows rose in surprise, but he pulled off a glove and covered his eyes with his hand. After a couple of minutes had passed, he regarded Snudge with a puzzled expression. ‘Neither man responds. I consulted our infirmarian, and they are not among those recuperating from injuries.’
‘I didn’t think they would be! Vra-Sulkorig, you know that I am the king’s man, and that I undertake to perform certain privy services for him. I must tell you something now in strictest confidence. His Grace suspects that those two Brothers and their dead comrade were responsible for this terrible conflagration.’
‘My God! Why should they do such a thing?’ ‘In order to steal certain valuable arcane objects belonging to Lord Stergos. I was not in the city at the time of the disaster. Please tell me what you know of the sequence of events here.’
The first explosion had occurred at about eight in the morning, at a time when most residents of the palace were still sleeping off the night’s festivities, so as to be well rested for the events scheduled later on Midsummer Day. The Brothers were free to do as they chose, but many of them – including the Royal Alchymist – attended the usual communal breakfast in the refectory at the sixth hour.
Stergos would ordinarily have gone to his office at the far end of the cloister wing after eating and dealt with his correspondence. But on this holiday, with the scribes and secretaries excused from duty, he told his assistant Sulkorig that he would return to his own quarters for a time, since he had much to meditate upon. When the first tarnblaze explosion blew open the outer door of the Alchymical Library, Stergos was among the stacks, searching for a book dealing with the thaumaturgical history of the Salka race.
The concussion toppled many of the free-standing bookshelves. One of them caught Stergos by the lower leg, trapping him. He began to cry for help and became aware of agitated shouts in the exterior corridor. Then, as he later told Vra-Sulkorig, red-robed figures moved into the smoke-filled chamber. As yet there was no widespread fire. A reassuring voice called out from not far away, apparently trying to locate him among the jumble of fallen stacks. Stergos answered, but heard nothing further for some minutes save the tolling of the alarm bell mounted outside the library door and a single youthful voice – perhaps the bellringer – screaming