‘As it was to us!’ growled the Warrior. Several of the queen’s sigils had been Great Stones, which the Salka coveted because they had none of their own – save for the paradoxical Potency.
‘Furthermore,’ the Master Shaman said, ‘if Beynor has been able to windwatch our activities over the years, he might well know that we were able to activate the Stone of Stones without his help – even though he cannot scry the sigil itself. He has thus been deprived of both of his most crucial bargaining assets. No doubt he believes that there can no longer be a fruitful business relationship between himself and the Salka –’
‘And now, when we call to him on the wind after ignoring him for so long,’ the Conservator interjected, ‘he might think we’re up to no good. Is this what you’re implying, Kalawnn?’
‘Precisely, Wise One. I believe we must modify our hail if we hope to get an answer: make it plain from the start that we have something to offer aside from empty protestations of friendship.’
The Supreme Warrior said nothing, while the First Judge grunted in assent and refreshed himself with a cup of viscous ambergris cordial and a fat, lively crustacean.
The Conservator of Wisdom said, ‘What do you suggest, Master Shaman?’
Kalawnn touched his throat with a tentacle digit. The sigil inside his crop sent out a brief pulse of light. ‘The offer must be very appealing. Irresistible, in fact. Perhaps his own choice of several dozen useful minor sigils, first touched by the Potency to abolish their pain-link.’
‘Ahroo!’ the Supreme Warrior bellowed in outrage. ‘Several dozen stones? Once he learns of the limitation, he’ll demand scores of the things! Even hundreds! We already have too few lesser sigils to ensure a decisive victory over the humans.’
The Judge said, ‘Let’s not tell Beynor about the limitation on abolished sigils. Let him discover the catch when it’s too late, as the other human sorcerer did.’
‘I don’t like that idea at all,’ Kalawnn said. ‘What if he demands a demonstration before agreeing to work with us? No…honesty is the best course. If we can convince him of our good faith.’
‘We return to the thorny issue of trust,’ the Conservator said. ‘Why should he believe that we’ll keep our word this time – after Ugusawnn’s earlier mistakes? Realistically, I don’t see how we can make this plan work.’
‘There is something else we might offer Beynor,’ Kalawnn said. ‘Prior to the destruction of our Dawntide Citadel by the tarnblaze bombshells of the human warships, I studied a certain archival tablet – the one that Beynor was so interested in himself. While my scholarship was interrupted by the battle, I did manage to glean some interesting bits of data before we were forced to evacuate. To make a long story short, I believe that the Greatest Stone might be capable of annulling Beynor’s curse directly, making it possible for him to use sigils once again in the normal way. He might already know this!’
‘A lengthy logical jump,’ the First Judge observed, frowning. ‘And one the groundling conjurer might prudently hesitate to make.’
‘Not if he already knows the proper conjuration procedure, ’ said Kalawnn. ‘It might well have been written down on a portion of the tablet that I was prevented from reading by the tumult of battle.’
‘It’s worth a try,’ the Judge said. ‘We could at least make the offer. What can we lose? Beynor might not even be alive…
‘Oh, very well.’ The Warrior spoke in a resigned rumble. He took a firm grip on his Longspeaker sigil. ‘Let’s unite our talents again.’
‘I’ll join with you for one last attempt,’ the Conservator said.
After a brief consultation to get the wording right (for there was always a chance that such a broad outcry might be overheard by the wrong persons) the Four closed their enormous glowing eyes and sent forth a generalized shout on the wind.
‘TO YOU, GIVER OF OUR MOST VALUED GIFT, WE SEND GREETINGS AND OFFER THIS SINCERE PROPOSAL: ASSIST US IN A CERTAIN MATTER, AND WE WILL GRANT YOU FREE ACCESS TO THE GIFT, WHICH WE BELIEVE IS CAPABLE OF LIFTING YOUR DOLEFUL BURDEN. WE WILL ALSO GIVE YOU OTHER ITEMS OF GREAT VALUE AS A TOKEN OF OUR GRATITUDE AND ESTEEM.’
The Eminences disengaged their minds and waited.
Master Kalawnn found that he was holding his breath. Beynor was alive. He was certain of it. Over the years a feather-light, distant presence had invaded his sleep from time to time in the winter months – scrutinizing his dreams, asking him questions, attempting to exert subtle coercion that would carry over into his wakeful life. The Salka shaman had fended off the dream-intruder; but he knew it must have been Beynor, who had been an expert in that rarest of natural talents.
‘So answer us!’ Kalawnn broadcast his own silent entreaty to the strange, tormented human being who had almost been his friend. ‘We need one another, Beynor, and this time there will be no double-dealing, rudeness or condescension on our part. We will treat with you as an equal and share the power of the Known Potency if you play fair with us. At least let us explain what we want and show you what we have to offer.’
Kalawnn listened, as did the others. And just as the sun descended behind the clouds, a gossamer thread of windspeech seemed to emanate from the vanishing solar orb itself.
Hello again. If you have anything to say, be quick about it. I’m very busy.
Before the advent of the Sovereignty pacified the unruly interior of Didion and made safe the Wold Road leading from Cathra to Tarn, Castlemont Fortress was the only reasonably comfortable refuge for travelers between Great Pass and Boarsden. Its guest facilities had once been primitive: a stonewalled enclosure at the foot of the fort’s knoll accommodated pack teams and their drivers, while simple bedchambers and a modest dining area located in the keep above served more fastidious guests.
When Somarus Mallburn assumed Didion’s throne and accepted vassalage in the Sovereignty, the robber-barons and brigands who had infested the Wold with his tacit approval were largely put out of business. Traffic over the pass multiplied tenfold. As a consequence, the hostelry at Castlemont also expanded, welcoming ever-increasing numbers of travelers. Its shrewd castellan Shogadus, now elevated to the rank of viscount, became famous for his hospitality and grew exceedingly wealthy. It was his custom to greet personally and oversee the settling in of illustrious guests who were willing to pay a premium price for luxurious accommodations.
Among these, arriving late on a certain afternoon in Harvest Moon, was a solitary wayfarer who claimed to be Master Lund Farfield, a lawyer journeying from Cala City to Didion’s capital of Holt Mallburn. He was a tall, slightly stooped man with hooded eyes and gaunt features that were sun-damaged and deeply creased. Silvery hair gave him a misleading appearance of middle age. Beneath the inevitable patina of mud and dust, his riding attire was sumptuous. He was also girded with a sword fit for royalty and rode a blood horse with a silver-studded saddle and bridle. The viscount and his chief steward Crick decided that the alleged lawyer must be a high-ranking Cathran nobleman traveling incognito – perhaps a court official on his way to the great ongoing Council of War at Boarsden Castle.
‘I would like the best quarters in your dormitorium,’ Master Lund said in a peremptory manner as he was greeted by the noble host. ‘Price is no object.’
‘Alas, messire!’ Viscount Shogadus was regretful. ‘Our finest suite has already been reserved for the three royal sons of the Sovereign of Blenholme, who are expected to arrive later this evening, along with their retainers.’
Well, well! thought the guest, doing his best to preserve an expression of well-bred vexation. He said, ‘Most disappointing, my lord.’
‘However, we have another chamber, even more splendidly appointed than that reserved for the princes, even though it be a trifle smaller.’ Shogadus gave an ingratiating smile. ‘Since you journey alone, Master Lund, perhaps