Sorcerer’s Moon: Part Three of the Boreal Moon Tale. Julian May
helping Cathra and Tarn fight the Salka, then all of Blenholme is likely doomed. If my marriage to Princess Hyndry can keep King Somarus loyal to the Sovereignty, then I have no choice but to submit. I thank you for proposing that I seek a miracle, Bram, but the notion is too outlandish to take seriously.’
‘Orry, don’t be such a lily-liver!’ Prince Corodon exclaimed. ‘Is your love for Nyla so tepid and gutless that you’d renounce her without a fight? I’d move heaven and earth if I were in your shoes, even though the odds for success were long. Listen: Bram and I will climb the peak with you. It’ll be a rare adventure!’
‘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