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‘He is. And there’s more.’ Stergos hesitated. ‘It seems almost unbelievable, now that I think further about it. But – well –’
‘Speak up, Gossy!’ the king said harshly. ‘Stop your damned dithering!’
The Royal Alchymist blinked. His brother’s temper had grown increasingly short since the start of the massive Salka invasion. Unlike the earlier forays by amphibian forces against human coastal towns, it had caught the Sovereignty completely by surprise and shaken Conrig’s heretofore invincible confidence. Stergos had tried not to take the king’s emotional explosions personally, and he now spoke as calmly as he could.
‘Dyfrig claims that he knows why the monsters halted at Beacon Lake. It seems there are other inhuman inhabitants of the Green Morass that the Salka were unaware of. That were unknown to the Didionites as well – save as half-forgotten legends. The mysterious creatures are said to be huge and very ferocious. Dyfrig believes that they attacked the Salka host, wreaked havoc on them, and stopped their advance.’
‘Bloody hell,’ Conrig murmured. ‘And the prince and his men actually saw these things with their own eyes?’
‘Not exactly,’ Stergos admitted. ‘They encountered strange tracks supposedly made by one of the creatures, and claw marks high in the trees. They also found a huge bear that had been torn to pieces and devoured by an unknown predator – and in its skull was one of the attacker’s broken teeth. It’s nearly the length of a man’s hand and almost resembles a Salka tusk – save that it’s golden-yellow in color, like a sharpened topaz gem, rather than glassy clear.’
The earl marshal said, ‘But can they be sure that the bear wasn’t brought down by others of its kind, or by some human hunter? This so-called tooth might be naught but a primitive weapon of some sort, made of something like obsidian.’
‘The expedition guide is a Didionite fur-trapper,’ Stergos said, ‘the most experienced man Prince Dyfrig could hire in Timberton, where men of that stripe congregate. This fellow is adamant that the bear was killed by something called a Morass Worm, a sort of dragon without wings that was thought to have gone extinct centuries ago. The worms are intelligent – and they possess talent, just as the Salka do.’
Conrig let loose a sharp obscenity. ‘Giant worms? Dragons? Have they all lost their minds? Are we supposed to believe a tale spun by an ignorant Diddly stump-jumper?’
‘Sire,’ said the earl marshal, ‘something caused the Salka army’s lighting advance to slam to a halt over a moon ago. It wasn’t the terrain. They had a clear corridor through the morass: wetlands and rivers and lakes, perfect for such creatures. They could have reached the valley of the Upper Malle if they’d kept moving, and would have caught Didion’s forces flatfooted before troops from Cathra or Tarn could reinforce them. Luckily for us, the brutes stopped dead in their tracks. We’ve speculated about some unknown disease decimating their ranks. But they didn’t withdraw at the end of Thunder Moon, when they first stalled, so that explanation doesn’t hold up. Dyfrig’s does.’
The king’s jaw muscles worked. He said, ‘And you, Gossy? What do you think?’
‘What Prince Dyfrig says is logical,’ said the Royal Alchymist. He added with enthusiasm, ‘And what a wonderful stroke of fate it is! The Salka are all but defeated. We won’t have to fight them in that hellish bog country. You can announce the great news to Somarus and the generals and the Tarnian Sealords at supper tonight. Our warriors – all of the Sovereignty’s warriors – can go home for the winter.’
Conrig thought: And I shall not lead Blenholme’s army against the inhuman foe after all! The momentous battle that might have solidified our uneasy political unity is once again postponed…
Aloud, he said, ‘The Salka withdrawal must be verified before we allow the troops to disperse. This apparent retreat might be only a feint. I’ll announce that the findings of Dyfrig’s party are only preliminary – but very hopeful.’
Beorbrook sighed. ‘I suppose that’s wise, sire.’
‘If numbers of Salka are retreating into the sea, the fact can perhaps be confirmed by a Tarnian sloop or two carrying windsearchers along the north coast. The High Sealord must order boats out from Ice Haven at once.’ Conrig addressed the Royal Alchymist. ‘Gossy, I want you to contact the windspeaking Brother who accompanies Dyfrig. Order the expedition to return to Boarsden immediately.’
‘They’re already on their way. But even coming at breakneck speed with little sleep and many changes of horse, it might take them four or five days to get here.’
‘They are to bring with them both the Didionite guide and the alleged tooth, along with whatever other evidence they may have collected concerning these Morass Worms.’
‘My talent isn’t strong enough to bespeak Vra-Odos directly right away,’ Stergos said to his brother. ‘Even though I am a Doctor Arcanorum with a fair windspeaking facility, Prince Dyfrig’s party is too far distant to hear my unfocused windhail. I must wait until they are closer – or until Vra-Odos calls out to me on a narrowly aimed thread of mental speech.’
‘Then see that you keep your mental ears well pricked!’ the king said curtly. ‘Let me know just as soon as you’re able to pass on my orders. And add another, which is even more important: Dyfrig is to make certain that the Didionite is closely guarded and tells no one about the presence of the Morass Worms. This charge I lay upon the prince with the full weight of my authority. It goes without saying that the Cathrans in the party will also be sworn to absolute secrecy.’
Beorbrook was puzzled. ‘But, sire! Why?’
‘Fighting Salka monsters in raids along the shores of our island in recent years has tested the courage of our warriors to the utmost,’ Conrig replied. ‘Think, Parli! The Didionites, especially, are terrified of the moonstone sorcery wielded by the great trolls and their habit of devouring their foes slowly, while yet alive.’ A cynical smile twisted his mouth. ‘Who can tell what our worthy allies might do if they learned they might now also have to battle dragons to save our beleaguered homeland?’
‘Who can tell,’ the earl marshal said somberly, ‘what any of us would do?’
‘TO YOU, GIVER OF OUR MOST VALUED GIFT, FROM THOSE WHO REVERED YOUR LATE FATHER, WE SEND GREETINGS ON THE WIND AND ASK IN ALL FRIENDSHIP THAT YOU RESPOND.’
There was no reply to the combined bespoken hail of the Salka Eminences. Their previous fifty-odd windshouts, sent out at regular intervals throughout a very long day, had been equally futile. The Four were gathered on the highest turret of Fenguard Castle in Moss. The sun was sinking into a billow of fiery clouds on the horizon above the Little Fen.
‘I think the depraved sea-squirt must be dead or gone away to the Continent,’ the Supreme Warrior said. ‘There’s been no news of him for years. We’ve blanketed the entire island with generalized windcalls and the accumulated pain-debt is giving me a hellish headache. I’m ready to pack it up.’ He twiddled the minor sigil that hung about his neck on a golden chain. The moonstone was a Longspeaker, and Ugusawnn and his colleagues had been using it jointly to channel their cautiously phrased salutation toward the human sorcerer Beynor, wherever he might be.
‘The Great Light was specific,’ the First Judge reminded the others. ‘Beynor is our best hope for gaining access to the Demon Seat Moon Crag. Would the Light have said this if the groundling sorcerer were dead?’
‘Who knows?’ The ancient Conservator of Wisdom had slumped into a heap on the parapet, spent by unaccustomed pain. ‘Colleagues, if you intend to continue, you must do it without me.’
‘Beynor may be alive and well,’ Master Shaman Kalawnn said, ‘but unwilling to speak