by Andre Norton
“And you’re brave and daring, too! Not many would have had the stones to address me as you did! More and more I am glad I decided to save your life and bring you here, young Red Fox. Here,” he said, taking down an eleven-by-eleven board from his wall. It had seen much play. “Take this as a gift from me to a young but worthy opponent.”
From a corner of the room, Mikkel observed Askepott watching them. She might have nodded; in the dim light, he could not be sure.
Mikkel had been in the Wykenig village a moon’s turning before Holger informed him that he had decided to write to the NordornLand monarchs and inform them that their son yet lived.
“I am very considerate that way,” he said. “Later, I may write to them again.”
“Thank you, Ridder Holger,” Mikkel said.
“Thank me indeed. It was against Gunnora’s wishes. If she had her way, you’d be bones on the bottom of the sound, or I miss my guess. She has taken a dislike to you.”
“I am sorry for that,” Mikkel said. “I will be careful as much as possible not to annoy her.”
“She doesn’t like your red hair or your ice-blue eyes. None of which you can help.”
“No, sir. But I will try to stay out of her way anyhow.”
“Oh, she is just a woman. Do not pay a lot of attention to her or any woman—except for Askepott. She rules the house, even rules Gunnora.” Holger laughed, pleased at his own wit. “Askepott will send the letter. She knows of such things.”
Mikkel determined to ask Askepott, as soon as he could find a moment to do so without being overheard, how she was going to do this thing. Maybe he could even add a line to Holger’s letter. It would make him feel better, and would certainly lighten Mother’s and Father’s hearts.
But he was doomed to be disappointed. Askepott refused any such addition.
“Do you not think Holger would know if I allowed you to write directly to your parents? Do you not think that if he wanted you to write to them he would have suggested it himself? No, Ridder Red Fox, not this time. Nor the next, I warrant.”
“Yes, Askepott,” Mikkel said, chastened. “But at least you can tell me how you propose to send the letter. By ship?”
“Where are your eyes, boy? Don’t you realize that all three of Holger’s ships are at winter rest and propped up on blocks? Men have been at work for days, scraping the hulls and getting them ready for new pitch to be applied.”
Mikkel had, indeed, seen the work going on down at the shore. Somehow, he hoped that a vessel could be taken out of its framework and put out to sea once more.
“You are still thinking like a Nordorner prince, Mikkel,” Askepott continued. “You are important, yes, but not important enough for Holger to risk a ship this time of year. But I will send off his note with a man on an ice-sleigh and let you watch him leave. You’ll like that.”
It seemed to Mikkel that the packet was a bit bulkier than it needed to be if all it contained was Holger’s letter. But this thought was quickly lost in his fascination with the ice-sleigh.
Indulgently, Rødiger, the man chosen for the errand, put the ice-sleigh through some maneuverings for Mikkel.
“See here, young Red Fox?” he said. “You have to kick it to make it go. Would you like to try it?”
“Oh, yes, please!” He hopped on and Rødiger positioned the boy between his knees.
“Kick it here and then hold on.”
Mikkel did as Rødiger directed and the vehicle fairly leaped into motion. Rødiger took the steering rod and skillfully guided it through and around the village, returning much too soon to the starting place.
“Oh, please, may we do that again?”
“Perhaps when I return, Red Fox. But now you must get down so I can be on my way.”
Reluctantly, Mikkel dismounted from the sleigh. Rødiger tucked the precious packet containing Holger’s letter well wrapped in waterproof trappings into his tunic. Then, with a spurt of speed that sent snow flying in his wake, he was off.
At last Zazar sent word to Ashen. The Wysen-wyf’s cold had improved greatly, though the smell of the brandewijn medicine still lingered. The air in Zazar’s apartment was warm enough, possibly because the fire in the hearth blazed more brightly than usual, but the floor was still cold. There were cracks in the plank flooring that allowed chill air to seep through.
“I will send you some wolf hides to use as rugs,” Ashen told Zazar. “You need to keep your feet warm. While you are recovering from your cold,” she added hastily.
“I don’t need your coddling,” Zazar retorted, her tone surly, but she did not refuse the offer. “Come on, come on, sit down. Put your delicate feet up on a stool and take a look at what I received from Holger den Forferdelig’s house.”
She spread out the original letter, and placed beside it another piece of paper, smudged with many erasures and words crossed out and rewritten. “As you can see—well, maybe you can’t—some of the letters are upside-down and the spelling is atrocious. She is as unused to the act of writing as Holger the Terrible is. But here it is.”
Ashen pulled a candle close and began to read.
a wysenwyf gretes a wysenwyf the boy is under my kare i well werk him hard but that s good for him have no fere for his safety when nex holger sends wird to you i will put another note in it i give you a gift you know what to do with it stenvor ashpott
“Who is this person?” Ashen asked. “Do you know her?”
“I know of her, and she knows of me. Wysen-wyves are a diminishing breed. There aren’t many of us.”
Ashen’s mind seemed to be working very slowly. “Then this Stenvor is a Wysen-wyf.”
“It’s Steinvor, and she’s known as Askepott, not Ashpott. Mikkel could not have been more fortunate, to have wound up where he is after such a brainless escapade. I doubt Holger would dare touch the boy, even if he decided to do him harm.”
“What did this Askepott mean, that she sent you a gift?”
Zazar smiled, just a little. “Wysen-wyf business. If anything comes of it, I will let you know. You look terrible. Much too pale. You might as well have been brushed by a spirit from the next world.”
“In a way, I have. Some part of me was convinced that Mikkel was dead. To learn that he is alive, and as safe as he is—well, it is as if I had just seen a ghost.”
“Here.” Zazar took down a flask from a shelf, unstoppered it, and poured a generous amount into a smaller flask. “Take this to your apartment, drink it, and lie down. It’s neat brandewijn. I made it myself. No cough remedy in it. It’s pure and wholesome, and it’ll be good for you. You’ll sleep for the rest of the day and through the night. You need it. Now, go.”
Late that evening, Zazar made her preparations. She thought there might be enough herbs in the packet Steinvor Askepott had smuggled to her for more than one “meeting” if she were frugal with their use.
She had not performed such a rite in years—not, she thought, searching her memory, since she had barged in on some of Ysa’s spell-making—meddling was more like it—and introduced her to Ashen. Also, if truth were told, she did it to show Ysa that she was not the only one who could call upon Power.
That had been years earlier when she had taken Ashen to the ruins of the scholars’ city, Galinth, and left her there to be found and eventually taken to Rendelsham and her rightful inheritance. No harm in showing Ysa that Ashen was more than a mere Bogwaif, abandoned by a woman ashamed to death of what she bore. That Ashen had sought to contact Zazar by ingesting one of Zazar’s potions only confirmed the Power the then-girl possessed; Zazar merely seized the opportunity offered. It had been a gratifying exercise.
Back then Zazar had sought a cave, primarily for the secrecy it offered. None to be had around here, but the tower room might do. Also, there had been a pillar of fire. Now there would have to be another, but not of her devising.
“Well, Weyse, what do you think?” she asked the fat little un-earthly creature who had become her constant companion. No longer co
uld she call on Bog-creatures to bring her information; even if the Bog had still existed, another had that Power now. Only Weyse remained. “Are you willing to risk the fire to help Ashen and Mikkel?”
For answer, Weyse jumped down from the chair where she had been sleeping, waddled over to where Zazar stood on the bare wooden floor, and climbed her dress until she could wrap her paws around Zazar’s neck.
“Good,” the Wysen-wyf said.
If ever she was going to meet Steinvor Askepott, now was the moment. She took about half of the mixture the other Wysen-wyf had sent her and sprinkled it in a circle around the two of them. Taking a deep breath, she summoned up an old Power and pointed at the magical circle, invoking the Ritual of Travel. Nothing happened. Reluctantly, she poured out the remainder of the mixture, tried again, and this time it burst into flames. In less than a heartbeat the fire became a pillar surrounding them. It began to spiral—a very nice touch, Zazar thought—and then, unexpectedly, the motion came to a halt.
The outlines of the tower room faded until there was only cold, blank emptiness outside the frozen spiral of flame. Weyse, whimpering a little, clung even harder to her neck, gazing about in fear.
Have I erred? Zazar thought. Is this a trap, to some purpose unknown to me? Am I now never to guide Ashen through the rest of her stay on this earth, and give her what help I can to ease her hurts?
She could not get out. She could only stand, frozen as the motionless twisted flames, awaiting her fate.
Twelve
Oh, I am so glad to be going to live with you for a while, Granddam,” Princess Elin exclaimed.
Outside the Duchess Ysa’s coach, snow was falling, thick and white and deceptively gentle, muffling most sounds and making the country through which they traveled a wondrous place. Inside, the Duchess and Princess Elin were warmly wrapped in cloaks and fur lap-robes. Little Alfonse had his own bed on the floor between the two ladies, though he preferred to be on Ysa’s lap, as well wrapped as she.
Everywhere, the evergreens bore their snowy mantles lightly, and only seldom did one see the tracks of conies or snow-foxes or fallowbeeste. It seemed that all who lived out in the open had now gone to ground, where they could keep warm and await the coming of spring.
“We are lucky that we don’t have a howling gale to contend with,” Ysa replied. She pulled the fur lap-robe higher, as if she would disappear under it entirely.
“That would be exciting,” Elin said.
“You only think so because you have never seen one except from the safety of Cyornas Castle. If you are out in it, it is not exciting at all.”
“Will they be expecting us at Iselin?”
“Indeed. I had Lackel send Ruffen, one of his Troopers, ahead so we will receive a warm welcome and something to take the chill off. My ladies especially will welcome this.”
If Ysa’s ladies had hoped to return to Iselin in the relative comfort of the carriage, they were disappointed. They had to ride between the carriage and the Troopers, because of Elin’s presence, as they had traveled on the journey to Cyornasberg. Again, Elin’s ladies rode with them. Bringing up the rear were two wagons carrying an additional load of luggage—all in all, an unwieldy caravan.
Elin had barely given any of the ladies a thought.
“Why do you care, Granddam?” she asked Ysa. “They are just servants, after all. They should be glad of their station in life to minister to royalty and not be assigned to kitchen scullery duty, or perhaps worse.”
“Child!” Ysa exclaimed. “Have you no heart at all? No compassion? Have you never wondered why, for example, I have but three ladies and your mother has six?”
“Yes, and I have only two. It isn’t fair—”
“Listen and learn, young lady. Your mother is a queen. When I was a queen, I had even more ladies than she, though Ingrid, Gertrude, and Grisella were always my favorites. They stayed with me when I left Rendelsham Castle for the Yewkeep, a vastly less comfortable residence. They go with me wherever else I may journey. They are loyal to me, for they know I am loyal to them. You have but two ladies for that is all your present station entitles you to. Look to their comfort and safety, or you won’t have them for long.”
Chastened and taken aback by her grandmother’s stern tone, Elin bowed her head. “Yes, Granddam. I heed your words.”
“See to it that you do,” Ysa said, slightly mollified. “Oh, look, we’re nearly home!”
And the ladies can thaw out, Elin thought. What a fuss over mere servants. And yet, Granddam Ysa’s three ladies had grown old in her service, so perhaps it would be wise to model her behavior on Ysa’s. In that respect, at least. As for other matters—Well, that remained to be seen.
The entourage turned onto the great wooded road to Iselin Manor. The beautiful circular drive had been made even more so by the thick, soft snow. The blanket of white was scarcely marred by footprints; most of the inhabitants of the houses and other buildings that flanked the manor house would be at the main building, waiting to welcome their Duchess home again.
Elin watched carefully what Granddam Ysa said and did, once they were all dismounted and had entered into Iselin Manor. Lackel took the House Troops off in another direction to the barracks where they lived.
Servants and courtiers waited inside in two rows. The Duchess greeted them all in turn. Three men—Elin vaguely remembered them as the barons who formed Ysa’s ridiculously small Council—bowed low to her and to Elin. They wore the deep blue Court color Ysa prescribed, even at the Castle of Fire and Ice, and in Elin’s eyes looked as if they would be more at ease in the garb of a farmer. She allowed one of them to kiss her hand.
“Let my granddaughter and me recover from our journey and we will all be together at meat tonight, my good lord Baron Gustav,” she told him. “We are tired. I am not as young as I used to be. But be assured that I treasure your love and loyalty to me.”
“Your Grace,” said Gustav. They bowed themselves out of the entry hall.
“Go and warm yourselves,” Ysa said to her three ladies. “Then you may unpack my belongings and set all to rights in my apartment. My granddaughter will occupy the rooms she had when she visited me before; I think I will make them hers permanently.”
“Thank you, Granddam,” Elin said. Her tone was soft and even kindly. “And you, Hanna and Kandice, go with the other ladies and warm yourselves likewise before you make my rooms neat and tidy. I’m sure my granddam’s ladies will show you the way if you have forgotten. This journey back to Iselin must have been hard on you all.” She turned to Ysa with a sweet and innocent smile that summoned up a fleeting dimple. “If we are to continue traveling back and forth from here to Cyornas Castle, I might have to petition my father for another coach so that all may ride in comfort!”
The ladies laughed, a bit uncertainly but gratefully. It was interesting, watching their reactions.
They were not used to this side of the NordornPrincess, Elin thought. Perhaps I should cultivate it more.
“That is a good suggestion, Elin,” Ysa said. “But surely by the time we return, the weather will have moderated. For now, we will settle in and enjoy each other’s company. Now, join me by the fire in my Great Room while our ladies make all ready for us.”
The Duchess’s Hall was nowhere near the size of the Great Room at the Castle of Fire and Ice. This made it easier to heat, though, and it was quite comfortable with the fire roaring in the fireplace. As was the custom in all residences of this type, chairs and a table had been set up close enough to the fire for comfort, but not so close as to risk danger from flying sparks. A screen closed in the area to make all cozy; it would be removed in the event of a formal dinner or other celebration and trestle tables set up. Now, Harald, Ysa’s Seneschal, bowed Ysa and Elin into this warm area where they would wait until their rooms had been prepared. Alfonse trotted at Ysa’s heels.
“I have hot snowberry juice to be mixed with wine, Madame,” Harald told the Duchess, “and Ania has instructed the cook to
make hot meat pies as well, to be ready for you when you should arrive.”
“Excellent,” Ysa replied. “I am glad I took your advice and named her Iselin’s Chatelaine.”
Maids hovered, ready to take their velvet cloaks away and hang them up so the snow could be brushed from them. There was a surprising amount of it, considering that Elin and Ysa had merely walked from the carriage to the door.
“Our poor ladies would likely drown if the snow they gathered happened to melt too quickly,” Ysa said, and Elin nodded agreement.
She took a seat and motioned Elin to the chair opposite. “This is almost the best part of returning home. The staff is always glad to see me.”
“I feel very much at home here, Granddam,” Elin said.
They applied themselves to the savory meat pies. Alfonse got an entire pie to himself. He snuffled over it greedily and then curled up in his little basket with a happy sigh. The ladies ate with much more decorum but with every bit as much appreciation. Ysa kept an excellent chef. There was very little to return to the kitchen.
“Now,” the Duchess said as she settled herself where she could put her feet up on a cushion and warm them at the fire, “while we wait, let us take a look at that bracelet you told me about. I assume you had the wit to put it into your reticule and not trust it to the luggage.”
“Yes, Granddam,” Elin replied with another of her dimpled smiles. “Here it is.” She opened the little handbag that matched her velvet traveling cloak and took out a small parcel wrapped in a kerchief. She handed it to Ysa, being careful not to touch the contents.
“Well,” Ysa said as she unwrapped the kerchief. “Interesting. Very interesting.” Tentatively she put a fingertip to one of the teeth strung on the thin chain. “You said you have touched this. Am I correct?”
“Yes, Granddam, and got a very funny feeling.”
Ysa was gingerly handling each tooth in turn. “The same ‘funny’ feeling for all of them? Or different?”
