Ironcrown Moon Read online

  I cannot kill the witch, Maudrayne realized. Nevertheless, I won’t rest until I find a way to get away without doing her serious harm.

  She left the hut and closed the door behind her. Rusgann was waiting with Dyfrig, carrying her own cup and an extra bottle of mead. Maudrayne put the things into the basket, handed it to the maid, then led the way through the pasture to the steep path down the cliff.

  After the picnic breakfast was eaten, the three of them embarked on the promised treasure hunt along the narrow fjord beach. Good food and plenty of drink had cheered Rusgann so that she put her former misgivings aside. The bay waters sparkled under the bright sky. Kittiwakes, fulmars, and other birds nesting on the rough rock walls and sea pinnacles made a raucous din. Green sedges, cliff ferns, and tufts of white starwort grew in sheltered high places, while some deeply shadowed stretches of shingle above the tide-line were still heaped with slow-melting slabs of ice driven ashore by the winter westerlies.

  The tide was receding. They hiked along the emerging sands and slimy boulders below the fjord cliffs for hour after hour, finding all sorts of interesting things: colorful agate pebbles, net floats, shells, the skull of some small animal, and a freshly dead mirrorfish two ells long, from which the boy gleefully scraped a heap of huge, gleaming scales. There was even a chunk of white quartz with embedded metallic specks that might have been gold. Maudrayne carried all the treasures in the basket, along with the remains of the food.

  Dyfrig raced ahead tirelessly, pursued by laughing Rusgann. After a while the two of them were lost to Maudrayne’s sight behind a jutting promontory at the end of the fjord beach.

  She brooded as she hurried to catch up with them. Escape from Dobnelu’s steading was not going to be easy. The sea-hag was a vigilant guardian except when she was sunk in one of her trances or stupefied by strong drink, as happened when changing weather made her bones ache. The drumming happened only at irregular intervals, so they would probably have to rely on ardent spirits to disable Dobnelu’s windsearching ability. Fortunately, Rusgann was an expert distiller of malted barley liquor, and there was plenty left from last year’s batch. However, tempting the old woman to overindulgence without arousing her suspicions would be tricky.

  As the raven flew, Northkeep Castle and its surrounding villages lay only sixty leagues to the southeast, on Silver Salmon Bay; but to get there traveling overland was virtually impossible. Away from the shore, this region of Tarn was a trackless plateau of rolling tundra and bogs. Game would be the only food source unless they waited for the berries that ripened at summer’s end. Maudrayne was an experienced hunter, but without a bow and arrows, she could take birds and animals only by means of inefficient snares. Nor was the upland wildlife entirely innocuous: even if they managed to evade the bears, snow lions, and wolf packs, biting midges might well eat them alive.

  Following the shoreline meant fewer insects and predators, and the tide pools were full of mussels and crabs and stranded small fish. But the irregularity of the coast route more than doubled the distance to the castle, and the going would be appallingly hard, especially for a small child. South of Dobnelu’s home fjord, the shore was jumbled rock and salt marsh, rather than easily traveled sand. Below Useless Bay lay another broad inlet with a river delta and treacherous flats that could be crossed only by means of ski-like mud-shoes. The final obstacle before Silver Salmon Bay and the settled lands held by her elder brother, Sealord Liscanor, was a precipitous headland so sheer that it could only be climbed with the aid of ropes.

  No, only an idiot would think of escaping on foot. The terrain was too difficult and the journey would take too long. Dobnelu—or Ansel himself— would be certain to find them with windsight long before they reached Northkeep Castle. Only one course of action had any real chance of success: escaping the same way they had arrived—by boat.

  Fishermen came only rarely into Useless Bay, fearing its treacherous shoals as much as the sorcery of the infamous sea-hag who dwelt there. But the sighting of Vik Waterfall’s lugger—and Dobnelu’s warning about the sailors having a spyglass—had given Maudrayne an idea. The next time a boat appeared offshore, she’d try to signal to it from a place out of the old woman’s sight. She’d proffer the valuable opal necklace, and use hand signs to tell the crew what she wanted and where and when to pick her up. If she was lucky, one of the men might recognize her, even though ten years had passed since she sailed her sloop-rigged yacht among the fishing fleet in Northkeep Port, before going south to become the bride of Conrig Wincantor…

  She had almost reached the end of the rocky point that separated the long fjord beach from the next cove, into which Rusgann and Dyfrig had evidently vanished. She paused for a moment, setting down the basket and looking out to sea, past the numerous barren islands and shallows that gave the bay its discouraging name, to the distant open water where the great iceberg drifted. As a proficient sailor in northern waters, she knew that with cautious navigation and a fair wind, even a small craft might reach Northkeep in a little over a day. Given a few hours’ head start, even if Dobnelu woke from her drunken slumber and bespoke Ansel of their escape, he would never catch them at sea unless he conjured up a storm that risked killing them.

  And Ansel doesn’t want us dead, she said to herself, else he would have left us to our fate long ago. No, our deaths would somehow spoil his great game.

  Mulling the possibilities, Maudrayne made her way around the end of the promontory, climbing among huge granite boulders veined with white quartz and overgrown with thick mats of slippery seaweed. This part of the shore was unfamiliar. In their abbreviated outings with the old woman, she and the boy had never gone so far away from the steading. When the tide turned, the easily traversed sections of these rock piles would probably be submerged, and Maudrayne was beginning to be concerned about getting back safely with Rusgann and Dyfrig ahead of the flow.

  The next cove was small and extremely steep-sided, with a towering islet poking up amidst a welter of exposed reefs a few hundred ells offshore. The boy and the handmaid were nowhere in sight, perhaps concealed among the many large rocks at the base of the cliff. She was ready to call out to them when she caught sight of something that brought her to a standstill with her heart pounding.

  Barely visible in its anchorage on the far side of the high island was a single-masted fishing lugger with a blue hull. It was almost certainly the same boat that had cruised past two tennights ago.

  Dear God! Was it possible that Rusgann had signaled Vik Waterfall to come ashore?

  In her haste, she tripped and fell, spilling the contents of the basket into a tide pool. She muttered an oath and hurried to retrieve only the important things—the knife and the finely made wooden cups—thrusting them into the capacious pockets of the peasant apron that was part of her everyday garb at the steading. Unencumbered now, she scrambled over the rocks as fast as she could. Some of them were house-sized or even larger, with narrow gaps between them that had to be threaded with care. She was still unable to see much of the cove shoreline ahead, but she was encouraged by the occasional sight of footprints on patches of wet sand. Dyfrig and Rusgann had certainly come this way.

  At last she came out onto the narrow beach and pulled up short.

  About twenty ells away, a leather coracle was drawn up on the strand, one of the lightweight watercraft with whalebone frames that the smaller Tarnian sailing boats often used as tenders. Two men stood near it, hailing her approach with eager shouts. Rusgann sat on the pebble-strewn sand a short distance away from them, with her back pressed against a half-buried boulder and Dyfrig huddled against her skirts. The maid’s hair was disheveled and her face distorted by fury.

  The older of the two men came striding toward Maudrayne, and her heart sank as she realized that he was not her affable old acquaintance Vik Waterfall but rather the latter’s younger brother Lukort, a character notorious in former years for his violent temper and unsavory dealings. Eleven years ago, the Waterfall clan had banished h
im for stealing lobsters from the traps of other fishermen. Yet here he was, wearing a skipper’s cap, in charge of his brother’s boat.

  Lukort Waterfall was sinewy, straggly-bearded, and not very tall. His eyes, almost as pale as a wolf’s, were close-set under bushy brows. He wore a vest of pieced and embroidered sealskin, canvas trousers cut off at the knees, a belt with a tarnished silver buckle, and high seaboots. His companion was a burly, oafish-looking youth with a soup-bowl haircut, a heavy jaw, and cheeks as smooth as a girl’s, clad in a homespun tunic and trews of undyed wool. His huge feet were bare.

  “Princess Maudie!” Lukort exclaimed, doffing his cap with a flourish and bowing deeply. “You took long enough gettin‘ round the point. We feared you had a mishap.”

  “Mama!” Dyfrig screamed. “Run!”

  Before her shocked mind could react, Lukort rapped out a command to the younger man, who darted to the boy, wrenched him away from Rusgann, and clapped a big hand over his mouth.

  The maid sprang to her feet shrieking, “You stinking whoreson, let him loose!” The youth fetched her a casual blow in the stomach with his fist and she fell moaning to the stony sand.

  His mouth temporarily freed, Dyfrig again cried, “Run away, Mama!”

  “Don’t move!” roared Lukort. A split second later his tone was wheedling and conciliatory. “Be easy now, princess. My son Vorgo and I won’t hurt the wee smolt and we won’t hurt you… So he’s your boy, is he? Well well! Yon wench said he was hers! A liar as well as a foul-mouthed hellcat, ain’t she?”

  Vorgo smirked, keeping a firm hold on Dyfrig as he wriggled. Rusgann struggled to her feet and stood a few feet away from the pair. Her face was unreadable.

  “I know you, Lukort Waterfall,” Maudrayne said in a stern voice. “How dare you mistreat my child and my servant?”

  “The twitch needs to be taught good manners. Got a nasty mouth on her. As to the lad, no one’s mistreatin‘ him. We just don’t want him runnin’ off afore you and me have a chance to talk business.”

  “Business?” Her mind was a turmoil of conflicting emotions. “What kind of business?”

  “The world thinks you be dead, princess. Your brother Liscanor was in a black rage when the news come to Northkeep. He tried to talk the other sealords into makin‘ war on Conrig Ironcrown to avenge the insult to you and your family. Nothin’ came o‘ that. Tarn had too many other troubles, and now we’re part of the Sovereignty whether we like it or not.” He shrugged. “But here you be, alive—thanks to the God of Heights and Depths!—and with a fine young son to boot. Imagine that! How old would the little fella be? About four, eh?”

  She said nothing, feeling the hairs at the back of her neck creep with apprehension. The crafty devil had guessed who Dyfrig’s father must be.

  Lukort murmured something to Vorgo, who hoisted the child to his shoulder and strode to where the coracle lay. He cut off a piece of line to bind Dyfrig’s wrists, put him into the skin boat, and cast off, heading for the lugger anchored behind the small island.

  The skipper beckoned to Maudrayne. “Come closer. No need to keep shoutin‘ one at t’other. Don’t worry about your lad. I told my son to take special good care o’ him.”

  She came slowly towards Lukort, stopping well out of easy reach. It would not do to underestimate the cleverness of this villain. She spoke to the maid. “Are you badly hurt, Rusgann?”

  “Nay, my lady. The young lout only punched the breath out of me. The lad and I came on the two men here when we rounded the point. Dyfi was all happy and excited, but I warned him he must say nothing at all until we knew they intended no evil. This Lukort was polite enough at first, asked if I knew the Lady Maudrayne Northkeep who lived nearby with the sea-hag. Said he was one of Lord Liscanor’s subjects, come to see if you were being kept here against your will.”

  Maudrayne turned her gaze to the fisherman. “Two tennights ago, you saw me at Dobnelu’s steading through your spyglass.”

  He nodded, all joviality. “And wasn’t it a great shock, seeing a queenly redheaded beauty carrying a milk-pail from the old hag’s byre! Us seamen give Dobnelu’s fjord a wide berth accounta her curses. But nothin’s to stop us peepin‘ at the place as we sail on by. I studied through the glass and nigh jumped out o’ my skin when I realized ‘twas you: Ironcrown’s wife that was supposed to be drownded in Cathra, alive and well and back home in Tarn. I pondered it for days, wonderin’ what to do.”

  “Wondering how he could turn his discovery to profit!” Rusgann growled.

  “And did you tell others of what you’d seen?” Maudrayne inquired.

  “Only a few good mates who know to keep their gobs shut. Needed advice, didn’t I, to figger the best way to outwit the sea-hag.”

  Maudrayne said, “I’m surprised you dared risk her wrath, setting foot on this forbidden shore.”

  A look of low cunning spread over the skipper’s face as he took from his shirt a small pouch hanging on a string around his neck. “Got me special charms for that. Vorgo, too. Cost every silver mark I owned to get ‘em from Blind Bozuk the shaman. This here lets us cross the hag’s magic circle of stones without her knowin’. Bozuk said it’d only work on Solstice Eve, when the fires of sorcery burn wan in the midnight sun. We waited till the time was ripe, then sailed back here in my lugger Scoter, keepin‘ far out from shore. We came into Useless Bay with the centerboard up, mostly using sweeps to drive the boat.

  Mortal hard work it was rowin‘, but we stayed clear of the shoals and made it to this cove, outta sight of Dobnelu’s steading. We was all set to go afoot along the fjord and creep up to the farmhouse, when the wench and the lad come along.“

  Rusgann said, “I was fool enough to say you were following us along the shore, my lady, when I thought the men might be friendly. This one started whispering to that blockhead son of his. The lackwit blurted out something about hiding behind a rock and grabbing you when you appeared. I tried to run with Dyfrig then, but they caught us and knocked me down.”

  “And now you intend to kidnap us, Lukort Waterfall?” Maudrayne said contemptuously.

  “Rescue you, princess!” The fisherman’s voice was laden with false reproach. “First I figgered to take you back to your brother, hopin‘ he’d give me a nice reward.” The yellowish eyes shifted. “But now I reckon if I took you and the boy down south, some others—say, your uncle the High Sealord Sernin— might be even more grateful for your return.”

  “I see.”

  Others! Sly Lukort knew full well that Conrig Ironcrown was the one who would pay a fortune for her and the child… alive or dead. And if it were not to be the latter, she’d have to think fast.

  “Here comes Vorgo back with the coracle, so let’s be off, princess. Your boy’s waitin‘ for you aboard Scoter. She’s a fine craft, a legacy from my late brother, may the fishes eat his eyeballs. You’ll ride easy in her.”

  “How many in your crew?” Maudrayne asked casually.

  He chuckled. “For this sailin‘, just me and Vorgo. Scoter needs five men when we’re haulin’ in fish, but you’re a catch easier to handle, eh?”

  Only the two of them. So the plan that had sprung into her mind might work. “You’ll take my maidservant also, of course. She is very dear to me and to my son.”

  Lukort’s face hardened and he shot a rancorous glance over his shoulder at Rusgann. “Not bloody likely. The big wench stays.”

  “I beseech you not to leave her here with the terrible sea-hag. Look—I’ll give you a fine reward if you but reconsider.”

  She pulled the splendid necklace of opal and gold out from her dress and made as if to unfasten the catch at the back of her neck.

  “Swive me!” the fisherman gasped, undisguised greed widening his eyes. “That’s a beaut! Fire-stones the size of quail eggs.”

  “The clasp is stuck. Come help me open it. The bauble is yours in payment for Rusgann’s passage.”

  “Huh! I reckon it’s mine anyhow!” And he was on her as fast as a heron
striking, laughing in malicious triumph. He took hold of the pendant stones and gave a painful tug. She was aware of his wiry eyebrows and foul breath and the bits of food caught in his beard as she pulled the kitchen knife from the pocket of her apron and drove it into his throat just to the side of his windpipe, severing the great blood vessels of the neck as she’d done many a time hunting, when putting a downed and wounded game animal out of its misery.

  Lukort uttered a bubbling croak and, staggering, caught her by the hair. She yanked the knife free and an amazing jet of blood shot from the wound, soaking the two of them as they fell in a tangle of flailing limbs. With him struggling beneath her, she stabbed him again, this time taking him between the ribs. She screamed, “Rusgann!”

  The maid rushed forward, a granite stone the size of a turnip in one hand. She used the other to pull Maudrayne aside and smashed the rock into Lukort’s crimson-smeared face. Kneeling beside him, she struck again and again and again until there was nothing human left of his features.

  “Stop,” Maudrayne said at last. “He’s dead, bled out like a stuck deer. But take care, his boy Vorgo is coming back in the little boat.”

  “Dad!” wailed the big youth, his lumpy countenance full of horror. He sat as though paralyzed in the coracle, which drifted in the shallows a dozen ells away. “Dad!”

  Maudrayne rose slowly to her feet, a figure tall and hideous with gore, holding the red-stained knife high. “Now for you!” she howled, wading into the sea. The youth stared at her in disbelief, then threw himself over the gunwale of the skin boat and began to thrash away frantically in the direction of the lugger.

  Maudrayne took a few more steps in pursuit of the swimmer, shouting threats, while Rusgann splashed to retrieve the empty coracle, which she deftly flipped onto the sand.