Prophet of Moonshae

6

As the first son of a young monarch, Brandon Olafsson stood one step removed from the kingship of Gnarhelm. Indeed, there were those among his people who whispered that he would make a better ruler than his father, Svenyird, ruler of the northmen occupying the rugged northern portion of that greatest island of the Moonshaes, Alaron. Brandon was young, of proven courage and keen wit. And no one could deny that the old king's step had slowed, his eyes grown cloudy and his brain, all too often, confused.

Yet Brand would have been the first to whip the speaker of such treason, for he was a loyal and trustworthy prince of these hardy seafaring people. He was content to champion his family, and, as his nation's most accomplished sailor, to sally forth on whatever missions his father might deem necessary.

For a long year, however, there had been no such journey. The young warrior had become irritable, feeling his skills growing stale, his muscles stiff. Though these afflictions occurred mainly within his mind, they were nonetheless real. To a young man, leader of a warlike people, times of peace were trying. Brandon-bigger, faster, and stronger than any of his countrymen-felt this tension more than most. He was a caged animal, restlessly pacing before his enclosing bars.

He had found some small amusement in hunting the great white bear of the northern coasts. Together with the other young men, he gathered to tell stories during the long hours of winter darkness and the slow spring awakening. Nevertheless, they had been seasons of almost maddening monotony for Brandon and his warrior kin.

Thus it was that when Sigurd the fisherman returned from a voyage that had taken him far beyond the sheltered waters of Salmon Bay, frantically racing ashore and shouting an alarm, Brandon had been among the first to gather in his father's great lodge. Soon the rest of the warriors gathered, and the king had taken his great oaken throne, the chair that was cloaked in bearskins and stood beneath the head of the sea dragon Svenyird had slain in his younger days. Heavy beams supported the wood-shingled roof, and thick traces of smoke curled eternally among the rafters. This was a dark and sweat-stained place, a manly place.

The northmen waited impatiently as Sigurd cleared his throat, timing the opening of his tale with meticulous care.

"I set sail, near a fortnight hence now, to catch the salmon schools," Sigurd began, finally satisfied that he had his audience's attention. "Followed the coast north, I did-but the gales! They came and they swept me from the bay! My friends, I fought those waves as our great king must once have struggled with yon sea dragon!"

The fisherman paused to allow his listeners to look at the mounted dragon head. He waited, allowing the heroic image to form in their minds.

"I ran before the storm-used nothin' more than a coupla scraps of canvas on my mast. Before I knew it, the rocks of the archipelago loomed ahead of me-gray death, as you all well know! But if I passed them, nothing but two thousand miles of ice-flecked water waited for me.

"Well, my brave friends, my choice was simple, and it was no choice at all. I ran for the lee side of one of them rockpiles and just managed to slip into a tiny cove. There, I tell you true, I thought my troubles were over!"

Once again Sigurd paused, his last words hanging in the air. Now the northmen leaned forward with almost palpable tension.

"I know the isle. So do many of you. We have kin there, and I thought sure someone would come to meet me. But no one did, and at last I set out to look around. Near to where I touched shore were several huts, and these I went to visit." Sigurd looked full into the eyes of the king.

"I approached with caution, sire, feeling the presence of a great evil lurking somewhere within the mist and fog," Sigurd explained carefully.

"Yes, man-tell the tale!" barked the king, sharing the tension that had spread about the room like a smoky incense.

"Strangely, the door of the hut stood open. I entered, calling aloud for one who might live there, but there was no answer."

Sigurd cast his pale eyes, set in the midst of a face weathered for many years by the lashing of the sea, around the room. The northmen's attention was rapt.

"Each of the houses, sire, I entered-and found no one. Finally I came upon a dwelling-I had previously thought it to be a pile of wreckage-and discovered charred timbers. Within, there were four bodies-a man, a woman, two children."

A growl passed around the lodge, rumbled from a hundred warlike hearts. Sigurd paused again, his expression smug.

"Well, my lord, caring little for my own safety, I pressed onward. I found another village-a dozen houses by a larger cove. These, too, were empty, several destroyed. I noticed other things, then. Their boats were still there, apparently at rest along the shore. When I looked closely, I found that the hull of each had been holed. They were useless!

"Here, too, I found bodies in the burned huts. But more-at one of them, I found these!"

Now Sigurd raised the pouch he had worn at his side throughout his tale. Reaching within, he pulled forth an object of steel and several circular shapes of bronze.

"A broken sword, sire-and see, here? The hilt bears the mark of Callidyrr!"

The growls surged upward in force, becoming hoarse cries of outrage. Some warriors stamped their feet, while others shouted their fury.

"Treachery!"

"Betrayal!"

"War!"

"Aye!" Sigurd continued, raising the bronze circles. He had one other bracelet, of gold, but that he would keep hidden from the eyes of all the others, knowing his king would claim it as his due if he but saw it.

The fisherman concluded with a dramatic flourish. "A neck torque and a warrior's bracelet. They bear the symbols of the Ffolk!"

Now Brandon of Gnarhelm stood on his feet. In his hand, he held his keen steel axe, raised high over his head. "Northmen of Gnarhelm!" he cried. "We cannot let this treachery pass unavenged! Follow me to war! We shall take this butchery of the Ffolk and return it to Callidyrr tenfold!"

The rest of his words vanished, lost in the thunderous accolade of his warrior kin.

Earl Blackstone led them into the mountains on horseback, up a winding and rock-strewn trail. Alicia, Tavish, and Keane accompanied the nobleman and his second son, Sir Hanrald, as well as a squad of mounted men-at-arms. Sir Gwyeth, the elder son, had not ventured into the hall that morning. Alicia thought that the bluff knight still suffered from the humiliation of the previous night. In any event, she had not minded his absence in the slightest.

The day was chill, the sky leaden, but at least there was no rain.

"Why such protection?" Alicia had asked, indicating the dozen swordsmen.

"Gold," the earl replied simply. "It does strange things to men. Though we carry none with us, the effects of its presence in these hills cannot be ignored. The hills aren't safe from bandits now that there is wealth about."

"Besides," Hanrald added, with a gruff look at Keane, "despite my brother's boasts, a few trolls and the like remain at large in these hills."

"Yes, well-that bit of knowledge should keep me from slumbering in my saddle," Keane said, acknowledging the obscure apology. Alicia decided that perhaps Hanrald was not quite the boor that his brother was.

She rode beside the earl's son on the trail, and as the horses carried them easily along, she turned to him. "Your father told us in Callidyrr about the madman that came to your estate. I wonder-had he ever been seen around here before?"

Hanrald shook his gruff, black-maned head. "Not before that night. The raving fool was some dark sorcerer, I think. May the gods curse his. ." He stopped suddenly. "Forgive me, Princess. I am not used to polite conversation."

"You don't offend me," Alicia told him. "I know, too, that your brother perished on that night."

"Aye. Currag and I had our differences, but he didn't deserve that! I believe it was the stranger's sorcery that drove him to his death!"

Alicia thought Hanrald's remark about his brother a curious one. She remembered the young noble's earlier answer. "You said he hadn't been seen before that night. Do you mean that he was seen prior to his arrival at the estate?"

"Indeed, Princess." Hanrald gave her a gruff smile. "In the cantrev itself-Blackstone, as we learned later. He shuffled along the main street and went into each of the taverns there. Got himself thrown out of each one, too!"

"What did he do to bring that about?"

"The same thing he did at Caer Blackstone-he threatened everyone with doom, told them they were all going to die. Called these miners 'corrupters of the land,' or some such nonsense. I don't know if you've seen the men and dwarves who work our mines, Lady, but they're a rough and snarly lot. Talking to them like that is asking for a beating, or worse."

"Did they? Beat him, that is-or just throw him into the street?" Alicia was curious about this mysterious stranger, and Hanrald seemed to know more about him than anyone else she had talked to.

"Kind of funny, that. From what I hear, no one hurt him-just 'encouraged' him to move on. You know, it never struck me before how odd that is, but some of those fellows would just as soon slit a man's throat as talk to him."

"Does anyone know where he came from?"

Hanrald shrugged. "Not as I've heard. I suppose he could have been a deranged hermit come down out of the mountains. The gods know that a solitary life up there, watching for trolls and firbolgs around every hill, would be enough to drive a man to madness!"

"Lady Princess," called Earl Blackstone, turning to look over his shoulder at her from his position at the lead of their column of horses. "I would speak with you if that meets your pleasure."

"Certainly, my lord." She turned to Hanrald. "Thank you. It sounds a most mysterious circumstance!"

"Aye-mysterious, and fatal," replied the young lord as Alicia's mare trotted forward to Blackstone's side.

"This whole block here is the Granite Ridge," the earl said, gesturing to a huge gray mass of rock that rose to their right and extended along the horizon like the backbone of some spiny lizard. The trail had gradually climbed away from the cantrev and the earl's estate.

All along the ridge, the riders saw the black mouths of tunnels, all leading toward the interior of the great block of stone.

"Where you found gold," Alicia added.

"Indeed." The memory obviously pleased the earl, and well it should, for the discovery of the yellow metal had made him the wealthiest man in the kingdom.

The trail took them around a great shoulder of the ridge, and all at once Alicia felt the onslaught of a great sadness, like a heavy cloak that fell across her shoulders, one that she was unable to shake free. She noticed at the same time that none of the tunnel mouths, with their rust-colored drool of tailings spilling downward in wide fan patterns, marked this face of the rock-studded landform. It looked oddly barren, in contrast to the heavily excavated slopes they had passed, yet Alicia knew that this was in fact its natural state.

Granite Ridge reached out, as if with a protectively curled arm, to wrap around a small pool of water in a narrow swale. Steep slopes, rocky but climbable, rose upward on three sides of the pond, while the trail approached from the fourth. Stunted cedars sprouted, apparently from solid stone, around the stagnant surface.

The path curved downward, over erosion-smoothed boulders, to the shore of the brackish-looking water. A small shelf of level ground surrounded the circular pond, though much of the shore was choked with bracken and willows.

"The Moonwell," breathed the princess. This was not the first of these once-sacred pools she had seen, but never had one affected her like this. She felt within her the birth of an almost hopeless sense of despair. The water lay placid, deathly still, the surface too dingy to reflect an image of the encircling rocky height. She saw a speckled pattern across the surface where weeds flourished in the liquid that had once been as sacred as the blood of the goddess herself.

"Not much to look at, is it?" inquired Blackstone gruffly.

"Ah-beauty lies not always on the surface of the view," Tavish pointed out.

"No, this surface seems to be mostly algae and other such scum," observed Keane dryly.

"Shhh!" Alicia, not knowing why, hissed for silence. The others ceased speaking, though the clopping hooves of the horses intruded loudly. Abruptly she looked at her companions, all of whom studied her curiously. The scrutiny annoyed her. There was something here. Perhaps the others didn't feel it, but she most certainly did.

"Let's dismount," she suggested, though they were still a hundred paces from the well.

The others obliged, though Blackstone bade his men-at-arms to remain astride their horses and alert some distance away from the princess and her party.

As if sensing that Alicia saw something they did not, Tavish and Keane held back as the princess started slowly toward the shore. Blackstone would have lumbered at her side, but the bard laid a restraining hand upon his arm and, with a scowl, he slowed his pace to remain with the pair.

Alicia noted other details: the perfection of the setting, with the bluff curled protectively around the pool; the symmetry of two waterfalls-little more than splashing rivulets, actually-that spilled toward the well, one from the right and the other from the left. Among the cedars, she noted a flat-topped stone arch, symbolic gate to this sacred place of the Earthmother's.

Once again the young princess tried, unsuccessfully, to shrug off the bleak feeling of sadness. The Moonwell seemed like an open wound, crying out for some kind of salve. In that instant, she knew that the mine could not be allowed to corrupt it.

Reverently she passed beneath the arch and approached the shore. The placid water swirled slightly as a gust of wind eddied in the circular valley, and then the surface fell still. Alicia walked until her boots rested on two low stones that jutted from the shore into the water. She couldn't see the bottom through the murky stuff, though it must have been a mere foot or two deep here.

She stood there in silence for some time. It might have been hours, though more likely only a few minutes passed. She felt herself drawn deeper and deeper into the soul of the water before her.

"Lady Princess, what do you see?" Blackstone couldn't help himself. He clumped forward on the rocks to stand at her side, not waiting for her to answer his question. "The vein of gold extends at least through that height… there." He pointed to the shoulder on their right.

Suddenly Alicia had a picture of those tunnel mouths, dripping tailings down the slope, into the well. She immediately understood the desecration that would be.

"The well must be preserved," she said quietly, turning to look at the earl.

Blackstone's dark eyebrows came together in such a ferocious scowl that his anger felt like a slap across her face-and that, too, was an abomination in the sacred place of holiness and peace.

"You can't be serious!" he insisted. "It's dead! Look at it, for the sake of the gods and the Ffolk! It stands here useless, while above it lies gold, millions of coins worth!"

"Enough!" Alicia barked her command, not in her role as a princess but in the voice of something deeper, more abiding. It was a power that filled her words, as proved by Blackstone, who blinked, biting back his anger, and held his tongue.

Abruptly a wave of weariness swept over Alicia, and she staggered on the rocks. She would have fallen but for the arm of Tavish as the bard reached out and helped her back to the dry shore.

"What is it, child? What happened?" asked the older woman, her voice soft and concerned.

Alicia looked at her and at Keane in wonder. "I don't know.. . Something, a feeling, came over me-a knowledge that this place is still important."

"For the sake of the gods, why?" demanded the earl, his fury once again forcing him to speak. In his mind, he saw a stream of gold flowing away from him, just out of his reach.

"Perhaps you should leave her for a while," Keane suggested, his voice low.

The earl whirled on him, and for a moment, the full force of his fury threatened to explode against the thin tutor. Then something-perhaps the memory of Gwyeth's humiliation at Keane's hand-gripped his tongue. Still furious, he stomped away from the trio at the edge of the pool.

"Thanks-thank you both," Alicia said. She felt shockingly weak, as drained as if she had just undergone a long and arduous training session with horses or arms.

"Now, tell us, what did you see?" Tavish persisted. Alicia noticed that the bard's eyes flared brightly, as from the heat of some private excitement.

"Nothing-not really. I didn't see anything, but I had a feeling here. First, of sadness-a sadness so bleak that I feared my heart would break. Then when I approached the water, it was as though I heard a soft voice counseling me, warning me. I knew that it would be wrong to let any harm come to this well!"

"I fear yonder earl does not share your conviction," murmured Keane, with a sidelong glance at Blackstone. The earl had rejoined his men-at-arms and now glowered darkly at the trio on the shore of the pool. His son Hanrald said something to the earl, but the noble brusquely gestured the younger man away.

Alicia looked up in alarm. "He must not destroy the Moonwell! We-I-have to make him understand and obey me."

"It won't be easy," Keane observed. "The king has already given him virtual agreement to go ahead with his plans. Remember the meeting in Callidyrr?"

"Agreement pending the approval of King Tristan's envoy-of me!"

"He may dispute that, claiming that the envoy was originally announced as the queen."

"She would understand. My mother would know if she could but come here!" Alicia exclaimed. "But even without her presence, I don't believe Blackstone would disobey an order backed by the authority of the High Crown of the Isles!"

"Shall we make our way back to the manor or give the earl the good news right away?" wondered the tutor.

Alicia thought for a moment. "Neither. A delay of a day or two will not harm our purpose, and I would spend some time beside this pool." She looked at the sky, which, though still gray, did not show the heavy darkness of impending rain.

"My friends," she said, looking back and forth from Tavish to Keane. "I wish to stay here through the day and the night. Will you remain here beside me?"

Tavish chuckled. "Your mother's daughter, that you are! Why spend the night in a comfortable lodge, with cooked food and a warm bed, when a mattress of the goddess's own boulders beckons? Of course I'll stay."

Alicia thanked the bard and turned to look at the tall young mage. She was surprised by how much she wanted him to agree. For some reason, she realized, Keane made her feel surprisingly safe-not because of any warlike prowess, but for his alert mind and his steady presence. And, too, his display against Gwyeth had been impressively effective. While she knew that, as princess, she could command him to stay, that felt like a very unsatisfactory alternative to her.

Keane cleared his throat awkwardly. "Outside? Well, for one night, I suppose I could manage. … Do you suppose we could ask the earl to send up some food?"

"And bedrolls, too," laughed Alicia, suddenly relieved.

"Surely you wish me to leave men to guard you!" objected the earl, after Alicia had explained her intent.

"That won't be necessary." The princess felt that the absence of Earl Blackstone's swordsmen would enhance her security far more than their presence.

Grumbling something under his breath about scatterbrained girls, he finally agreed to send up food, wine, and some furs for sleeping. He rode away at the head of his guardsmen, and Alicia watched them until the winding trail carried them out of sight. Only then, and despite the stagnant water and the high, barren rocks looming overhead, did she feel the first stirrings of peace descend over the Moonwell and its little vale.

Once again the cloaked stranger came to Blackstone Manor in the dark of night, and though the man had been many miles away in Callidyrr that very day, the earl did not question his means of transport. He met him alone, in the privacy of his personal chamber. Even his sons would not know of this dark, nocturnal visitor.

"The younger sister, I believe, will be pliant to our will," said the newcomer, speaking from beneath his drooping-hood.

"Good," growled Blackstone. "The older one is going to be trouble." He told of Alicia's intransigence in the exploitation of the well.

"She is an obstacle," agreed the dark one. "But such obstacles can be overcome."

Blackstone glowered, his eyebrows meeting in a bushy ridge of darkness over his eyes. He stared, as if his gaze would penetrate that cloth enclosing the serenely hooded figure. "What do you mean?" he asked carefully.

"You couldn't have arranged the situation better had you planned it. Of course, no harm can be offered the girl-not while she is your guest. But has she not herself foresworn your hospitality tonight?"

"Indeed." The earl continued to study the cloaked figure.

"In fact, you tell me she declined your offer of a protective escort-guards to keep her safe against such threats as lurk in the hills."

"Aye-and those threats are real, but they do not materialize at my beck and call. And I cannot risk sending some of my own men, however well disguised. What we speak of is treason against the family of a very mighty High King. The loyalty of even my most trusted sergeants would be strained by such a task."

"There is another way." Now the hooded man leaned forward, clasping his hands over his knees. They extended from the sleeves of his robe, and Blackstone saw that they were slender and frail, almost womanly. The blue of veins showed through the pale skin.

"Continue," said the earl quietly.

"You remember, I am certain, the choice portions of iron and steel I have claimed from you these past years?"

"Aye. . and gold aplenty, too!"

The stranger laughed mirthlessly. "Even gold. All of these are materials that have enabled me to complete a task."

"What task is this?"

"There is a thing I have made-an iron golem. It is completed, hidden in a cave in the hills not far from here-and not far from the Moonwell."

"What is it? What can it do?"

"It is a mighty creature, more powerful than a dozen giants. It is immune to weapons and capable of killing with a single blast of steaming breath. But more than this, it is capped with the horned helmet of the northmen. It will be taken, by whoever sees it, as a great icon of the raiders, sent to inflict harm upon the Ffolk."

Blackstone scowled more fiercely than ever. "Why should I seek war with the northmen? My manor sits astride the border with Gnarhelm. We would be the first to feel the scourge of battle!"

The deep hood shook slowly back and forth. "There need not be war, but there will be suspicion. If the golem continues its rampage, perhaps destroying one of your own mine shacks, that suspicion will fall away from you. The princess will be an unfortunate casualty to an arcane threat, that is all."

"Can this. . creature accomplish this task tonight?"

"It is not a creature. It is a thing, created by myself!" snapped the visitor somewhat peevishly. "And, yes-within two hours of my leaving you, it can reach the Moonwell."

Blackstone sat back and looked upward, uncomfortable. He contemplated doing a thing he recognized as monstrous treachery. Though he had always been ambitious, he had come to his position honestly-by an accident of birth, true, but nonetheless the earldom of Blackstone was rightly his.

Now, with the failure of crop after crop of the Ffolk's harvest, the wealth of his holdings had made him foremost in influence among the king's advisers. This position was his, regardless of the activities of tonight.

Yet deep within himself, the Earl of Fairheight admitted that he wanted more … much, much more. This princess of Callidyrr, a mere babe, would stand in the path of his ambition, and his anger seethed.

And, the truth be known, Blackstone worried more about escaping the blame for his treason than he did about any moral qualms of his action. This concern was mollified by the promises and the plans made by the hooded visitor whose name the earl had never learned. Yet always before, the man's counsel had proved profitable. Had he not been the one who had first encouraged him to begin the excavations in Granite Ridge?

"Very well," he grunted, in the end reaching the decision that had been inevitable. "Go now and awaken your golem."

"This is the place," suggested the one-eyed pirate called Kaffa.

"Right you are," agreed Larth, for the isolated coastal farmstead matched up perfectly with the map given to the two outlaws by the nameless cleric.

Indeed, a brief search revealed Kaffa's longship, concealed amid a dense coastal thicket. A sail was carefully furled alongside the mast, and the ship was provisioned with food and water for a long voyage, as well as an assortment of fine steel weapons.

"As soon as the tide's high, we can put out to sea," muttered the grizzled, one-eyed northman with a snap of his fingers. He pointed to the prow of the sleek-hulled vessel. "Aye, and look: She's got a right proper name, at that!"

"The Vulture" read Larth. "She'll carry you to some ripe carrion, I'll bet!"

Kaffa gestured to the mast, where a triple-bolted image of lightning, made of steel, was fastened. "And here's our proof against sorcery," he noted, well pleased.

Already the coastal towns of Callidyrr seemed to beckon the piratical captain, offering the promise of plunder and other amusing diversions to the unscrupulous captain and his crew. The ship was long and sleek, easily capable of carrying a seventy-man complement.

"And here," added Larth, a few minutes later. "This will outfit a steadfast company of knights." He had discovered the barn where the unnamed cleric had collected armor and weapons, as well as horses, for Larth's thirty-man company. Heading north, Larth knew, they would soon enter the kingdom of Gnarhelm, and there they would act out their part as invaders from the south.

"The guy gave me the spooks," admitted Kaffa, reflecting on the robed priest who had collected them, given them their orders, and then paid them. "But he's got his organization down pat. He had everything here we could possibly need!"

"Aye," agreed Larth. "And not poor horseflesh, either." The veteran rider had just completed an inspection of his war-horses. "These steeds would do a king's guard proud!"

"All right, then!" Kaffa chortled. "We'll sail with the dawn to make war on the Ffolk!"

"And we ride at the same time to invade the north!" added Larth with a grin.

Then the two men bellowed their laughter, delighted, as if they had just made a great joke.

From the Log of Sinioth:

It is with a feeling approaching disbelief that I speak the command words. Breathlessly I await the results, watching. And then it moves! It rises!

It is the child of five years' labor, but now the child looms high over the parent. Like a gargantuan of destruction, it leaves this lair-this sheltered cave where I have so carefully crafted it over this half decade-and marches into the night.

Go now, mighty slave, and do the bidding of your master! Stalk your royal prey beside the once-sacred pool. There you shall slake your thirst-and there will Talos begin his climb to ultimate mastery!