by Andre Norton
Queen of Spies, a woman who had seen more of the world than most people at Court could imagine, was actually blushing!
"I do not know when the attack from the North will come," Royance said, "nor, indeed, if it will come. We have had no sign, only rumors. But there is no purpose to be served in leaving you and Harous unwed, when it is obvious that you are so well suited to each other. There is kinship between you, to be sure, but distant enough that no impropriety could be put to your being man and wife.
I cannot think what has been holding him back all this time, other than that maybe, like many a man, the matter has not been put to him in such a way that he recognizes the need." He got to his feet, bowed to Ysa and to Marcala, and took his cloak from the peg. "Yes, I will go to Harous and make the suggestion that now is the time to marry. You may as well start planning the wedding."
With that, he took his leave. Then Ysa had to deal with Marcala, weeping for joy and swearing eternal loyalty, when what she wanted most was to be left in private. With the matter of Harous and Mar-cala's marriage all but settled, she had something important to do, something that had been left far too long while other matters occupied her attention.
Once she had seen her highborn guests out of her apartment to go about their business, the Dowager Queen Ysa sought the little secret door. Then she climbed the stairs to her tower room again, where she had ever been wont to go when she needed a quiet place for reflection, or wanted to work some bit of magic.
She entered, locked the door behind her, and stood gazing about. The four great windows looking east, west, north, and south had long since had their transparent coverings removed, to be replaced with heavy woolen draperies. Back in the days when she had been truly young and she had not yet been moved to take up the study of arcane matters, decorative glass panes, capable of opening outward, had been installed even in this high place during a period of remodeling of the castle. Before this unseasonable cold had wrapped Rendel in its icy fingers these windows had mostly stood open and here was the best place to come and catch an evening breeze. Now, however, Ysa was glad that drafts had been reduced to a minimum.
The great chair, carved from blood-colored wood of such density that it required very sharp tools and great strength to work it, still stood in the center of the round chamber, and also the table fashioned of the same wood, close beside it.
Her book of magic awaited her there.
She struck spark to the brazier kept ready for her, and moved to the smaller table and chair, much less ornate, where she sat to take off her coif and remove the light layer of cosmetics that was all she needed since she had renewed her youthful beauty. Successful magic required that she come to it in as unadorned a state as possible. As was her habit, she lighted a candle and set it beside the mirror, admiring herself as she worked. Her hair now bore no trace or strand of white, and shone with a crisp ruddiness to rival the hue of the wood of the great chair. It tumbled down her back when she took the pins out, a glorious riot of color. For a moment, she felt that all the light and color in the world had been concentrated in this one lofty chamber, high above the city of
Rendelsham, centered on herself.
She tried not to think about Flavielle, once Flavian, whom she had hired, and of the treachery the woman had attempted and nearly succeeded with. Ysa had told him—her—everything, even to the miscarriage of Ashen's and Obem's child. Now she knew she had just been used as a conduit of information, whether important or not. If it had not been for that oaf Rohan and his timely confrontation with the woman, who knew what kind of mischief she would have wreaked? Ysa supposed she should be grateful to Rohan, but could not summon up the feeling. Once more, as frequently happened when thinking of him, she was reminded of something that nagged at the back of her mind. But she could not remember it.
Well, Flavielle was gone now, and Ysa knew she had to repair her hold on the
Kingdom, and on her own Power, lest more of her plans come to naught. The Four
Rings gleamed in the candlelight. She told herself that the movement she had felt on her fingers at the moment the Sorceress stood revealed and the young
King Peres had chosen to assert his authority, had been nothing but a nervous twitching of her own. Secure they were on her hands, and there they would remain. She would see to that.
She reached for the simple hooded robe of red velvet, grateful for the warmth of the garment. The brazier had not yet taken the chill off the air. She pulled the hood up over her head and fastened it in place with a plain hairpin in place of the jeweled ones she ordinarily used. She went to a box covered in silk, roused the drowsy flyer that slept there, and picked it up. Then she moved to the great chair and settled the flyer in her lap. She picked up the book, opened it to a previously selected page. Before, she had merely tested out the spell, not bothering to make the full preparation, and so it had been but a temporary one.
She began the ritual.
With the ease of practice, she intoned the words. The Power of them reverberated from the stone walls, and created a nexus of energy that hung in the air before her. Like a cloud, its outline shifted and altered. Then, before the flyer she held could even try to break away from her grip, the nebula swooped down upon and into it through its open mouth. It gave a great, startled leap, and then was still.
"Now," she said with some satisfaction, "with this spell we shall find out if I can see what you see, as you experience it, and not wait until later." The flyer seemed to be holding its breath, and she stroked it until it got over the shock of the cloud's invasion, much stronger than it had been the previous time.
Eventually the creature stopped trembling, and gripped the fabric of her robe with its tiny paws.
She picked it up by the nape of the neck. It struggled in her hands, panting, kicking, and flapping its leathery wings, but as she had done when first she summoned it, she held it up on a level with her eyes, imposing her will upon it, dominating it. "You are not hurt," she told it. "Be still. This is all to the good."
The creature's mouth opened again and, for a moment, Ysa thought it was going to try to bite her with its sharp teeth. Its tongue was purplish red, and curved up at the end. It chittered and then uttered a thin, high shriek of protest so shrill it hurt Ysa's ears. Nevertheless, she continued to hold it until it had regained a measure of calm. She carried it to one of the windows, pulled back the curtain, and opened the casement a crack.
"Go out over the land, and seek," she said, pleased enough to be generous. "You may even fly to the Oakenkeep, but do not linger." Then she let it go, into the air. Its wings spread and beat and, as always, as it went its outlines grew more and more hazy until it vanished entirely. She watched for a moment, and then closed the window again and pulled the curtain to. If her spell had worked correctly, she would see what it saw when it suited her, and wherever she might be at the time. Also, she would know when the flyer had returned, seeking to be admitted again. It would need to have a window opened so that it could get in.
She checked to see that a dish of grain and another of water was ready.
As clearly as if it had been within the hour, Ysa could visualize in her mind's eye the amulet Harous had once shown her, years before. Whether made of wood or of stone, she did not know; it had a gray sheen as though well rubbed, and was fashioned into the shape of a winged creature. Despite the polish, an observer could see that the creature was represented as furred rather than feathered. Its tiny eyes glittered with gems. And his claim—
"Zazar, Your Majesty." His voice had risen hardly above a whisper as if there might be listeners in the room. "This came from Zazar."
She had accepted it at the time, but now did not believe it. Could not believe it. Would not. In fact, the whole claim was quite preposterous. This was not the kind of work Zazar engaged in. But she had let the matter go at the time, being too absorbed in the problems presented by Boroth's last illness, and the possibility that an heir would emerge to claim the throne she had determine
d would go to her son. An illegitimate heir and an unworthy son, to be sure, but the demands of dynasties could not be concerned with such niceties.
Also, she had been assured of Harous's complete loyalty then, despite his delving into matters arcane and, perhaps, dangerous. Not that she was any less certain regarding him now, but prudence demanded that she make her own investigations.
For once, Ysa felt security such as she had not known in years concerning what might or might not be stirring in the North. Surely, with the defeat of the
Sorceress, that threat had subsided, possibly forever. Instead, she had now decided to learn whether or not Count Harous really did have a flyer such as hers, and if so, what use he was making of it. Further, if he did, and the use was not to her liking, she now had the means, through Marcala, to acquire the amulet and, with it, a second flyer.
Marcala's admission that he came to her apartment, rather than admitting her to his quarters, was the key. Boroth had never bothered with such niceties; he had been fully capable of entertaining his women in his and Ysa's marriage bed.
Harous, however, kept to the dubious proprieties of an irregular liaison. He visited his lady in her apartment, only when the lady indicated that such was welcome. His own quarters remained private. Therefore, when Marcala married
Harous, she would be allowed access to all rooms in Crag-den Keep, and thus able to locate the amulet, wherever Harous had it hidden.
Perhaps Visp, her flyer, would even encounter Harous's flyer, if indeed he possessed one, in its journey northward. Yes, there was much to learn and, now that the Grand Tourney was past and the Sorceress sent packing, she had the leisure at last.
Ysa found herself reluctant to descend the stairs and become enmeshed, even peripherally, in the beginning of the hubbub that always surrounded an important wedding. There was time to verify that the spell was working correctly before she had to leave the tower. She returned to the great chair, seated herself, and closed her eyes, concentrating. At the same time, the vision of the flyer opened behind her eyelids.
Up, up she flew, above the cover of clouds that ever covered the land in these days. The cold sun sparkled on the tops of these clouds and the air burned in her lungs. Still she flew on, ever farther, confident in her invisibility that she could avoid whatever hazards she encountered on the way.
Once before, she had done this by way of a temporary spell— seen through the flyer's eyes directly. Now, however, this ability was under her command. And she proposed to make the best use of it.
Even Ashen could tell, grudgingly, that Anamara was beginning to improve.
Whether it was Zazar's work or Weyse's influence, the girl gradually ceased her nervous, birdlike gestures, and instead began behaving as one very young, who is being introduced into the company of adults for the first time.
"Indeed," Zazar said when Ashen asked her about it, "the effects of the
Sorceress's spelling have erased most of Anamara's memory of herself. Oh, now that I've worked with her for a while she knows her name and those of her late parents, but she is like a little child. And, like a child, she will have to be again taught almost everything else that she once knew. I am convinced that my work here is almost accomplished. After I leave, it will be up to you to tutor her."
"I!" exclaimed Ashen. She stared at Anamara where she sat on a footstool close beside the Wysen-wyf, gazing at the two of them in turn. "I bear no responsibility for this girl nor obligation to assume her welfare. Further, I have no intention of doing any such thing!"
"And yet, it must be your responsibility. I grow old, and I am not up to the task."
Ashen turned to the Wysen-wyf. She looked unchanged from when she had been the closest thing to a mother to Ashen, and her energy seemed undimmed. Zazar glanced back at Ashen, and Ashen caught the tiniest gleam of amusement in her eye.
"Old!" she exclaimed. "I think not. You must find another excuse."
"I must get back to my hut, and my business in the Bog."
Ashen allowed herself to laugh, but only a little. "And only now does it occur to you to worry about what the villagers may be doing to your house, to your belongings? I think not. No one there would dare touch any of your things or sample any of the mixtures you keep in pots on the shelf, for fear of being poisoned—or worse. I know how carefully you have taught them to be wary of you.
No, Zazar, I do not believe you."
The Wysen-wyf shrugged. "Well then, do it because the girl is your distant kin, and if you still cannot summon up enough charity, then you will do it for
Rohan's sake."
To that, Ashen could find no ready objection to give voice. She set her lips firmly, and looked away.
"Most of all"—Zazar's voice cut through the cold air like a whip and Ashen involuntarily met her eyes again—"you will do it because I instruct you to."
"I—I am surely beyond your having to instruct and discipline me," Ashen said, and knew her words to sound feeble, even in her own ears.
"You will never achieve that lofty status. You have entertained me mightily,
Ashen Deathdaughter, and I suspect you know it. But I will be open with you now.
I have done as much as I can do with the girl. She is like a very young child.
Now, think. Would you rather leave her to her fate, having suffered much at the hands of the minion of a woman you have no reason to like or even to trust? Or would you prefer to take this child into your care, as a member of your family, to rear to be a suitable consort for young Rohan? That is what it amounts to."
Abashed, Ashen felt her cheeks grow warm. She had not considered the problem from this point of view, being so taken with her personal animosity toward the girl that there was no room for any other thought.
"Very well," she said grudgingly. "I will take her into my care because you have ordered me to do so, though I do not want the burden she is sure to be."
"Did you hear, child?" Zazar said to Anamara. "She has agreed to look after you."
Anamara gazed at Ashen and smiled happily. She opened her mouth and spoke the first word she had uttered, to anyone's knowledge, since the Sorceress had taken away her wits and made her think she was a bird. "Mama," she said.
In Rendelsham, all attention both at Court and in the city was on the approaching nuptials of the valiant Count Harous of Cragden, Lord Marshal, the
Champion and Defender of Rendelsham, and the brilliantly beautiful Lady Marcala of Valvager. Not since the coronation of the infant King Peres had there been such an excuse for a celebration. The cooks and bakers were busy preparing an enormous feast, using as much of the stored wheat to grind for cakes and pastries as they dared. Huntsmen scoured the hills nearby for pigs and fallowbeeste, which they preferred to bring back alive to slaughter and cook at the last minute. When they could not, they butchered and dressed the meat and laid it outside to freeze, where it would keep without spoiling.
Harous himself went about these days with a bemused expression on his face, accepting congratulations and the occasional dig in the ribs and confidences that he was, indeed, a man much envied in his selection of a bride. That he was not exactly the one who had done the selecting was a secret kept among Lord
Royance, Marcala, and the Dowager Queen Ysa.
Because she was not expected to oversee every detail of the approaching festivities, Ysa found time frequently to visit her tower and send out her flyer. Now that she had harnessed the ability to see directly what Visp observed, she flew with it all over Rendel, assessing their readiness for meeting the danger that waited, just over the horizon to the North.
For the most part, what she saw pleased her. Of course, the people stayed indoors as much as possible, conserving all the warmth they could muster, but also they were beginning to become accustomed to this new way of life that had come to them.
Everywhere in Rendel, people, building more of the shelters the Sea-Rovers had invented to erect over their tender plants, kept their food crops alive and yield
ing. There was not the bounty there had been in warmer years, of course, but the people would not starve. Cows stayed in barns, not being let out into pastures to graze, and so escaped being frozen. Sheep and goats grew astonishingly thick coats, and the wool, come spring, if there was a spring, was bound to be of prime quality. Here and there a few hardy souls ventured outside and discovered that they could find ways of going about their business without freezing.
Ysa marveled at the adaptive ways of her people. Even as she observed them through Visp's eyes, she stroked the Great Rings on fingers and thumbs and was glad that Rendel had been given into her able care.
"No, Anamara," Ashen said firmly, "I am not your mama. I have said that I will take you into my care, and so that I will do, but you are not to address me as your mother, or even to think of me that way." She glanced up at Zazar. "I intend to send this girl to Rydale, as soon as I may, to be tutored by those who have my own daughter Hegrin in their charge. I can think of nothing better to do for her. Or with her."
