Conrig inclined his head. ‘As I’ve said, we will have guides. From the summit of Breakneck Pass to the raised portcullises and open barbican gates of Holt Mallburn itself.’
Ramscrest persisted. ‘What manner of guides? Creeping Mosslander wizards bearing magic lanterns?’
‘Nay,’ said the prince. ‘I may not speak of the guides to you yet, but I’m assured of their assistance. They are to meet us at the top of Breakneck Pass, and if their aspect provokes mistrust among you, then I pledge to abandon this enterprise forthwith.’
‘It’s magic, true enough,’ said Lady Zeandrise, her mouth quirked by a roguish smile, ‘but not so outlandish as to put off our knights and thanes, eh, brothers? Fog, eldritch pathfinders and gate-openers, cold steel, and hot tarnblaze! A lightning thrust into Didion, and Holt Mallburn waiting like a sleeping babe … Can we be sure King Achardus will be in residence?’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Conrig dryly. ‘He’s there now and he has little incentive to leave his stronghold. At least it’s well-stocked with food and drink.’ There was scattered laughter among the council, for the gigantic Didionite king was an infamous trencherman. ‘As we prepare to sally forth from Castle Redfern, I’ll be kept informed by windspeech of the king’s precise whereabouts, as well as that of the merchant-lords and our other special targets. My brother Vra-Stergos will accompany the expedition, as will Duke Tanaby’s trusted alchymist, Vra-Doman Carmorton.’ He said nothing of Snudge.
‘And will these good Brethren also use windspeech to transmit reports of our daily progress to the Conjure-King?’ Skellhaven inquired archly.
Conrig paused, then spoke with reluctance. ‘King Linndal of Moss has nothing to do with this plan. Most of the time he is raving mad and confined to his rooms. He spends his lucid days voicing Salka sorcerers in the Dawntide Isles, trading arcane secrets. Our Mossland collaborator is another.’
‘Who?’ Beorbrook demanded.
‘His daughter, Princess Ullanoth.’ The prince took up his cup and sipped from it, but his eyes did not waver from the skeptical face of the earl marshal.
‘And what does this benevolent lady ask in exchange for her good offices?’
‘That Moss receive First Vassal status in the Sovereignty, with a reasonable guerdon paid annually, and that we support her claim to the throne of Moss above that of her younger brother, Beynor.’
‘It seems a modest enough boon,’ Lady Zeandrise remarked. She frowned, then added, ‘Perhaps too modest.’
Beorbrook addressed Vanguard. ‘Did you know of this, Tanaby? Your royal godson consorting with a Mosslander witch?’
‘I knew,’ the duke replied stolidly. ‘An unlikely ally, perhaps, but the Lady Ullanoth is a powerful sorceress and there seems no good reason for her to contemplate using us treacherously.’
Munlow Ramscrest exploded in a coarse guffaw. ‘Why should we give a mule’s fart who rules that godforsaken corner of our island? Fens and frogs and peddlers of hocus pocus and gimcrack amulets! Let the Conjure-Princess have the poxy place and welcome. As for her bribe, we can wring it out of vanquished Didion.’
Baron Sorril Conistone, a middle-aged peer who was famed for his scholarly bent, had remained quiet as the prince set forth his plan and the others made comments, seated on a stool at the far left of the blazing hearth where he was almost lost in shadow. Now his deep voice rode over the laughter that had greeted Count Ramscrest’s remarks.
‘Your Grace, are you certain that this Ullanoth will require nothing more of us?’
‘She has asked for no other thing, Lord Conistone,’ Conrig said. ‘I swear it on my honor as Prince Heritor of Cathra.’
Zeandrise Marley remarked, ‘Without the lady’s help, we’re flat skinned, my lords, having not a hope in hell. Do any of you know a better plan?’
‘If we’re to venture an invasion at all,’ said Baron Tinnis Catclaw, ‘then it must be in the manner described by His Grace. The scheme is a goodly one, to my mind, although I would wish it not so dependent upon the whims of an alien sorceress.’
Someone sighed.
‘And how are we to pay for this grand enterprise?’ Viscount Skellhaven asked, not bothering to hide his ill will. ‘Certain lords and their knights will loot Mallburn Palace of its treasures, while my fighting sailormen and I merely torch the Diddly waterfront. Are we supposed to be content with the spoils of empty warehouses, worm-eaten scows, and burnt-out hulks?’
‘Our mission is not to pillage the city,’ Conrig declared. ‘It is to seize it and to force the capitulation of Achardus, his state officials, and the powerful Guild of Merchants. This I vow to do. This I will do with the aid of you stalwart northerners, who are familiar with mountain terrain and the battle tactics needed for a swift and stealthy assault against an unsuspecting foe. As for your material reward, it will be more than generous. I’ll not forget those whose bravery helped cement the Sovereignty of High Blenholme. This I also vow, on the head of Emperor Bazekoy the Great.’
Skellhaven’s thin lips stretched in a disagreeable smile. ‘A very impressive oath, Your Grace. Please don’t take me wrong. I’m a poor man, only concerned for the welfare of my followers. All too often the Crown has made fine promises to us, and then …’ He shrugged.
‘I am not King Olmigon,’ Conrig said. A few of them drew breath at his lack of respect, but he turned away from Hartrig Skellhaven and let his gaze sweep them all. ‘The time has come, my friends, for you to decide. Please say — beginning with you, dear Godfather-whether you will join me in an invasion of Didion.’
‘I will come,’ said Tanaby Vanguard, ‘along with one hundred of my knights and thanes.’
‘And I with forty,’ said Norval Swanwick. ‘Plus farriers, cooks, and leeches well able to fight.’
‘Ramscrest pledges sixty mounted warriors, and twenty sumpter-mules well provisioned.’
‘The Virago of Marley will follow you with a force of eighty mounted men,’ Zeandrise declared, ‘plus thirty stout pack-ponies and their armed drivers.’
‘My festering leg precludes my personal participation,’ said Conistone, ‘but I will send my four sons, ten knights of my household, twenty fighting thanes, and five farriers.’
The others chimed in their assent one by one, some charged with eagerness and others, like Skellhaven and Holmrangel, with an air of having been coerced, until the number of warriors pledged reached well over four hundred, with a wholly adequate supply train and remounts. The last to speak was Earl Marshal Parlian Beorbrook.
‘Your Grace,’ said he, ‘I am a cautious man, but not an ignorant one. I’ve read the Chronicle from beginning to end, the histories of more than a hundred Cathran rulers. But none of them, I think, will be the match of you if you can pull off this mad stunt. I pledge thirty knights, the same number of fighters mounted on sturdy coursers, and fifty mules loaded with goodly fodder for man and beast … and I pray I’ll live to hail you Sovereign of High Blenholme.’
The council of war surged up from their seats and cheered.
Conrig nodded in ironic acknowledgement of the backhanded compliment. ‘Your agreement to my proposal gladdens my heart, Earl Marshal.’ He opened the ornate black velvet purse that hung from his belt. ‘I have here wafers of the most exquisitely flavored pyligosh, which I will share with you all as a token of our new fellowship.’
Almost solemnly, he handed out the rare small sweetmeats, each of which was wrapped in a green cloth square and tied with golden cord. ‘Please eat them now to symbolize our unified resolve — and then let’s see what manner of liquid cheer Duke Tanaby has set out for us. I, for one, am now in need of refreshment stronger than wine.’
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