Ironcrown Moon: Part Two of the Boreal Moon Tale. Julian May

First came a sound of persons running. The smoke, which had the typical sulphurous stench of tarnblaze, had thickened and it was getting harder for him to breathe. Then a tremendous blast emanated from his own rooms on the far side of the library, causing more shelves to crash and shaking the edifice to its foundations. He’d left the apartment door open when he came out to fetch the book, and even through the smoke he could see a huge gout of flame belch out of his sitting room and set the library furnishings – and his own clothing – afire.

      He cried out with the last of his strength, then succumbed to oblivion until he awoke in the King’s Suite and bespoke his story to Sulkorig, who later pieced together certain missing details by questioning witnesses.

      Earlier, the novice who had been hauling hysterically on the bell cord was joined by another young Brother with more initiative. Shortly before the second explosion occurred, the two of them decided to attempt to rescue the unknown victim who was trapped in the library and calling out. They pulled down arras from the corridor wall and wrapped themselves, as protection against the fire within, and together plunged into the smoke.

      Instantly, they were bowled over by two Brothers dashing out of the library and crying, ‘Run! Run for your lives!’ Then came the horrendous second blast, and the fast-spreading inferno. In a small miracle, the roaring flames seemed to diminish the thickness of the smoke momentarily. The two rescuers caught sight of Stergos engulfed in fire. They used an arras to beat it down, then dragged the Royal Alchymist to safety.

      By then the corridor was thronged with men in red robes, members of the Palace Guard trying without success to restore order, and a few servants bearing containers of water, who doused the burned man and his scorched saviors.

      

      ‘Everyone on the scene assumed that the two Brothers who had emerged from the library a few minutes earlier were would-be rescuers who lost heart and fled,’ Vra-Sulkorig concluded. ‘Someone recognized them as they pushed through the crowd and tried to ask them questions. But they were coughing and moaning, and soon vanished amidst the commotion. By then the flames had spread to other parts of the cloister wing, and the residents were fleeing.’

      Snudge stood over the spot where the corpse had lain. ‘Do you see, Brother Keeper? He had come only a few ells from Lord Stergos’s apartment door. He must have been the last one to run out of there before the second explosion happened. The fireball roasted him in mid-stride.’

      ‘Blessed Zeth,’ Sulkorig muttered. ‘May heaven grant him mercy.’

      Snudge suspected there was scant chance of that.

      ‘Sir Deveron!’ The armiger Valdos called out from somewhere inside the ruined apartment. ‘You must come in here and see this! But beware. Some of the roof beams are sagging and may collapse at any minute.’

      Snudge entered, trailed by the Keeper. Fallen timbers lay everywhere in precarious tangles, some still smoldering in spite of the continuing downpour. Blackened and broken containers of ceramic or glass had survived, but all of the furnishings were ashes, and the beautiful hardwood floor that he remembered from his clandestine invasion of Kilian’s quarters four years earlier was entirely burned away, leaving the same flagstone underpavement that was visible in the library.

      Valdos stood just inside the doorframe of what had been the Royal Alchymist’s bedroom. The rear wall, made of closely fitted granite blocks, bore an irregular stain of yellowish-white at least five feet in diameter, surrounded by a halo of soot.

      ‘I believe that the second explosion involved two bombshells, set off simultaneously,’ Vra-Sulkorig noted. ‘In my early life I was a soldier, and I’ve seen such things before. Perhaps the fire-raisers had intended to blast open the door to Lord Stergos’s apartment. When they found it unlocked, they used both bombs inside.’

      But Snudge’s attention was elsewhere.

      In the middle of this room, where the bed had once stood, was a square area of newly exposed floor that measured some three ells by four. Instead of stone, it was covered over with rusted iron plates that were bulging and distorted by heat. At one end, a pair of plates on hinges had dropped open like trapdoors, revealing a hole partially clogged by debris from the fire. Stone steps led down from the bedroom level into a kind of cellar…or crypt.

      ‘Codders!’ Snudge whispered.

      He crossed the room with the greatest care, squatted gingerly, and peered into the opening. The underground chamber was about three ells deep and awash at the bottom with water in which floated bits of burned material. At the far end were two sizable objects of roughly hewn stone with heavy lids. They looked like tombs. In front of them stood a warped iron framework like a skeletal cabinet or chest that still held a few slabs of charred wood.

      The iron thing had a tantalizing familiarity.

      Then he knew what he must be seeing. Using his pike as a staff, he descended the steps into the crypt.

      

      ‘It was the remains of Kilian’s small oaken storage cabinet, sire. The one I had discovered in his sanctum, bound with iron bands and fitted with the peculiar lock that almost defeated my attempt to pick it. Its doors or what was left of them – were wide open.’ He reached into his belt-wallet and placed a discolored metal mechanism on the king’s desk. ‘I found this in the dirty water down around the tombs. But there was no trace of the sigils that had been stored in that cabinet – more than a hundred of them – nor the small moonstone medallions that were fastened to the covers of the two large books that I left behind with the sigils.’

      Conrig took up the lock and turned it slowly in his hands. ‘Someone knew how to work it,’ Snudge said. ‘It’s undamaged. And open.’

      The draperies of the study windows were drawn against the grey twilight and the wrenching sight of the ruined library and cloister wing across the quadrangle gardens. It was around the tenth hour after noon and still raining steadily, although the thunder and lightning had passed.

      ‘So now we are certain,’ the king said. ‘The trove is gone. Stolen.’

      ‘I fear so, sire. I learned some time ago that the two ancient books were transcribed in the Salkan language. Like the smaller one that I took away, they contained pictures of different sigils. I can only presume that the books held expanded descriptions of their varied uses, along with spells of activation.’

      ‘Including that of your own Concealer sigil that was…lost during the assault on Mallmouth Bridge?’ The Sovereign’s tone was dry.

      ‘I never noticed, sire. Since the larger books were illegible to me, I paid them scant attention. Concealer was certainly depicted in the smaller book, which had much of its content written in an old version of our own tongue. That’s why I stole it. But Concealer’s activating spell, like all others in the little book, was written in Salkan. And I must emphasize that correct pronunciation is absolutely critical for bringing a sigil to life. I was told by Beynor himself that saying the words wrong would anger the Beaconfolk and cause them to kill me. So he pretended to coach me – while actually plotting my death. Lord Stergos and I believe that Kilian also knew the peril of mispronouncing the spells. This was why he formed an alliance with the Crown Prince of Moss and agreed to share the stones, in exchange for Beynor’s expertise in the Salkan language. The Glaumerie Guild knows how to bring sigils to life, and Beynor belongs to the Guild, as do all members of Moss’s Royal Family. Kilian evidently had no suspicion that there might be another, simpler way to activate sigils – merely by touching them to the moonstone disks mounted on the book covers.’

      ‘You never told me that.’ Conrig looked at Snudge narrowly,

      For good reason, Snudge thought. There was more to the brief activation process as well, which he would never divulge to the king. ‘It slipped my mind, sire. And of course I was forced to give the little book to Ansel Pikan shortly after I took it.’

      ‘God only knows what he might have done with it! You and Stergos were both fools not to have kept it safe.’

      Snudge