by Andre Norton
“No, you got Zazar, for good or for ill. I thought for a moment I had fallen prey to a trap from which I couldn’t escape.”
“Apologies again. Sorry to leave you waiting like that. I didn’t know when you would use the herbs, so I was a little unprepared to, um, receive visitors. Had to excuse myself and clean this storeroom so I could fix a landing place in here. Next time things will go easier.” Askepott grinned. “I didn’t think you’d want the column of fire to appear in the middle of Gunnora’s bath, would you?”
“Even not knowing who Gunnora is, no, I wouldn’t.”
Weyse loosened her grip on Zazar’s neck and clambered down from her perch. She waddled over to Askepott, sniffed her thoroughly, and stood up, begging to be held.
“Well, now,” Askepott said. “A benevolent summat. It’s been many a year since I’ve seen one of your ilk. Too cold up here for you. The other sort, however—” She shuddered. “They don’t leave anything when they catch you—even footprints in the snow.”
“Tell me of Mikkel.”
“That is why you’ve come, of course.” Askepott set Weyse down.
Unexpectedly, the odd creature’s little round ears pricked up. She uttered a trilling chirp that was answered by a chuff! from someplace beyond the confines of the room. She scampered toward the half-closed door only to be nearly hit on the nose as the warkat Talkin pushed through it. In moments the two were rolling around ecstatically on the wooden floor.
“Well, he’s grown and flourished anyway,” Zazar commented, indicating the warkat.
“I’ll take you to the boy—Ridder Red Fox, as he’s known around here. You can make up your own mind.”
Leaving Weyse and Talkin behind, the two women made their way down a darkened corridor. At the far end, the flickering light of a banked fire and smells of cooking told Zazar that this was a kitchen complex. Askepott gently opened a door down the corridor. For light, she gathered sparks that glinted off the walls and ceiling and held them in the palm of her hand.
“His place is over here,” she said softly.
Six sleeping forms occupied six piles of straw serving as beds. Zazar made her way to where Mikkel lay, deep in slumber. She reached out and almost touched his hair, now unkempt and needing a comb, and stopped herself.
Then she held her hand, palm down, over him and a different light appeared. Mikkel’s face, hair, and body, as much as could be seen under the blankets, glowed in an aura of pale green, the color of health and growth. To her relief, no sign of illness touched him. “Yes, he is well,” Zazar murmured.
One of the other children tossed and cried out in her sleep.
“We must leave,” Askepott whispered. “I don’t have the materials at hand to make anybody think they’d had a dream.”
“This is enough, at least for now,” Zazar told her once the door had closed behind them. “At least for me. His mother—well, she is a different matter.”
“Mothers always are. But I must say this is the first time any of the household younkers’ mothers have come into consideration. Of course, it is also the first time we’ve had a prince of the Nordorners in our midst.”
“How long will your traveling herb mixture let me stay?”
“Long enough for a little chat and a cup of tea. Follow me.”
Askepott led Zazar down the corridor toward the warmth and comfort of the kitchen. A pot of tea was already brewed and being kept warm on the grate in the inglenook.
Askepott handed Zazar another bundle like the one that had been included in Holger’s letter. “This is all I have until I prepare some more. There’s enough for another brief visit. Say, three days from now? At the full moon? That’ll give me time to prepare the closet properly.” She grinned. “Also, I needed to make sure of who or what I was dealing with before I arranged a longer stay.”
“I can’t blame you for that. But I am Zazar and that’s all I will ever be.”
“I’ll have a fresh supply ready when next you hear from Holger,” Askepott said as she poured tea into a mug and handed it to the other Wysen-wyf. “Come at the first full moon. I’ll see to it that he sends regular messages. Then we won’t have this hurry-hurry scraping together of a landing spot for you. And perhaps you can bring a packet of Transport herbs for me as well. I have a hankering to know what sort of place young Ridder Red Fox hails from.”
“Gladly. I must say, Steinvor Askepott, that though you frightened the wits out of me at first, I feel much better in my heart about Prince Mikkel. Now I have to figure out a way to transmit this to his mother without her demanding that I bring her along with me next time.”
“That would be awkward. She’d be sure to cry and carry on and I’m not sure I can create an adequate veil of Silence to keep the entire steading from being roused.”
“Leave that to me. I’ve known Ashen all her life. Caught her as she dropped, being born. Knew then that she was a Changer, and destined for great things. I thought she had done with all that when she killed the Mother Ice Dragon, but perhaps there’s still something the Weavers have planned for her to do.”
“I’ve heard somewhat about that adventure. Tell me about it.”
The two Wysen-wyves conversed for the better part of an hourglass’s turning. Weyse and Talkin eventually made their way into the kitchen and curled up together nearby. By the time the Transport herbs had burnt low and Zazar was forced to return, her heart was at peace, for she knew she had truly met another of her kind, one whose gruff exterior hid their kind’s fierce compulsion to see all disorder put to rights.
She thanked the Weavers and every other Power, both known and unknown for this blessing. Mikkel was safe. It was well.
When the promised wolf skins arrived, a gift from the Nordorn-Queen, Zazar almost refused them. What a mess they would make, if the fire of the Transport herbs touched them! But then she realized that the floor really was much warmer with the skins in place and anyway, they could always be pushed aside when need be.
A more pressing problem was the replenishing of her stocks of herbs and other materials from which to formulate her own Transport blend. That, and reassuring Ashen that her son was alive, well, in good hands, and actually thriving.
On pretext of thanking Ashen for the wolf skins, Zazar invited her to the tower rooms to share a cup of tea and see for herself how much warmer the floors were. When Ashen was properly seated and taking a cautious sip of the hot liquid, Zazar told her what she had learned about Mikkel.
Ashen nearly dropped her cup. “Are you sure? But how? And when? Was it really Mikkel?”
“Hush now, or I’ll have to put a soothing remedy in your tea and put you down for a nap. Yes, it really was Mikkel. She really is a Wysen-wyf, too. Knew what sort of creature Weyse is, though I have never told another soul.”
“What might that be?” Ashen held onto her cup as if this mundane article was all that was keeping her connected to this world.
“She’s a summat. A benevolent one. In the land beyond the Isle of Writhram, the dangerous ones are known as the Shapeless Shadow, the Devil Tiger, the mist that pursues. You always wondered how she could pop out of sight and re-appear without anyone knowing where she’d been or how she’d gotten there? Well, now you know.”
“And you’ve seen Mikkel?”
“Do you remember the packet that Askepott sent me in Holger den Forferdelig’s all-too-short note? Well, that contained a mixture that allowed me to travel to where she lived and see Mikkel with my own two eyes. A night or so ago I used the mixture. I saw Mikkel as he slept. Stayed nearly an hour, and Askepott and I visited and got to know one another.” Zazar refilled Ashen’s cup. “You’ve had a brief experience with herbs of Transport yourself.”
Ashen thought, brow furrowed. Then her face cleared. “I was in Galinth, tending to Obern when he was injured. I sought to contact you—and wound up in a cave, being introduced to Ysa!”
“Just so. Askepott will send me another packet of Transport when next Holger communicates w
ith us.” Zazar found herself saying words she had definitely not intended to utter. “If it turns out that I can take you with me on one of these excursions, I will.”
She bit her tongue, wishing she could take back her rash words. The NordornQueen’s eyes filled with tears that threatened to spill onto her cheeks. She set her cup down.
“Oh, yes, how I would love to see with my own eyes. I couldn’t really believe that he was dead, but neither could I believe he was alive. Now I know.”
“I always did. Now, I am planning to return and even to bring Askepott here, later. To find another Wysen-wyf—another older Wysen-wyf, that is. Nayla is still young as our ilk goes. Let’s just say that Askepott and I have a lot to discuss other than Mikkel’s well-being.”
“I am so grateful.” Ashen stopped trying to hold back her tears. She put her head in both her gloved, maimed hands, and sobbed openly.
On the night of the full moon, Zazar again visited the Wykenig stronghold. Askepott reported that Holger den Forferdelig had no immediate plans to send another message. He was not a good correspondent; that, or Askepott was unable to cajole him into more frequent contact. In the meantime, the two Wysen-wyves could manage with their herbs of Transport, though they both knew that keeping their activities a secret would be accomplished more by accident than by design.
“Gunnora is watching me closely,” Askepott said. “And she keeps an eye on Ridder Red Fox, too. It’s as if she knew or suspected some secret about him.”
A week later, Askepott, using Zazar’s traveling mixture, appeared in the high tower room. She seemed very interested in observing where Mikkel had come from originally, and Zazar was not loath to show her as much of the town and countryside as could be seen from her tower window. Then the two Wysen-wyves descended the stairs so the woman from the Wykenig steading could get a good impression of her surroundings.
She whistled softly as they glided through the Great Hall. Earlier that evening there had been a feast such as Gaurin was in the habit of giving his nobles from time to time, to thank them for their unswerving loyalty. Half-burned candles still stood in the great chandeliers, and though the dishes had been cleared away, tracings of the meal remained. Here and there, a house dog gnawed on a meaty bone.
“Ashen won’t be pleased with this,” Zazar said, frowning, “nor will Ayfare. She’s the Chatelaine here and both like things kept clean. No dirt on the floor, and no scraps of food tossed into the corners.”
Three of the four resident warkats, sensing something new and different, arose from their places near the banked embers of the fireplace and came to look them over.
“That one’s the mam of Ridder Red Fox’s kitte?” Askepott asked, indicating one of the females.
“No, it’s the one holding Weyse in her paws and giving her a bath.”
Askepott shook her head. “What a household.”
“Yes. A happy one, mainly.”
“Let us hope it becomes even more so.”
“Have you heard something?”
“Nothing to put your finger on. Just some thoughts I’d like to share with you.”
“Come along, then, lest we wake someone we don’t intend to.” They ascended the stairs to Zazar’s apartment again and Askepott continued with what she had been mulling in her mind.
“Something is definitely brewing with Gunnora the Golden. She spends too much time in the little room she made Holger build for her, just off her private quarters. I think she is up to some mischief and is searching for the right ingredients with which to do it.”
“Do you know what those ingredients might be?”
“No. I don’t think it has anything to do with our lore. Nevertheless, I won’t let her into my stock of supplies, you can be sure.”
“The fire has nearly died away,” Zazar observed, indicating the smoldering herb circle.
“I think we’ve pressed our luck on these excursions as far as we can. It’s just as well that we have used our store of Transport and you’ll have to wait until next you hear from Holger before you visit again.”
“My very thoughts. I would not like either of us to get caught. Ashen wants to come with me and see Mikkel for herself.”
“I appreciate a mother’s concern, but that is not a good idea.”
“I know. I will have to deal with her carefully.”
“Well, until the next time.”
The Wysen-wyves clasped hands. Then Askepott stepped into the smoldering circle. The flames arose, spun, and she was gone.
While Zazar waited for the next note from Holger, the Duchess Ysa returned to the Castle of Fire and Ice unbidden and unexpected. With the heavy snowfall and dropping temperatures, the Great Hall was used now only for feasting, as it was too difficult to heat. The NordornKing and NordornQueen received their kinswoman in the outer room of their private apartment where they had been amusing themselves with a game of King’s Soldiers.
“Oh, yes, Elin is well,” Ysa told Ashen and Gaurin. “I just thought I’d leave her alone for a while to play at being a duchess in her own right. It should deliver a few valuable lessons—not that I think you are not rearing her correctly.”
“There’s nothing like firsthand experience,” Gaurin agreed politely. “Would that I had had similar opportunity, when my cousin died and I became his heir.”
“Oh, you’ve done reasonably well,” Ysa said airily. “Now, what news do you have since last we spoke? Have you heard from Royance and his handsome Mjaurita? Did the Prince and the Duke return safely to their lands? Are they now pleased with their betrothals? And what of Einaar and his lady? The new babe must be almost due by now.”
“The Earl and his Countess are in their residence in Åskar,” Gaurin told her. “We have heard from Yuland; their Duke has returned safely. Nothing from Prince Karl, however. I expect the Icy Sea is much too hazardous for a ship to risk delivering a message.”
“My sister-in-law is very near her time,” Ashen said. “Zazar is with her.”
“In the Duke’s suite?”
“In a small chamber adjacent.”
“Why, then, I must go and pay my respects! Don’t worry, I won’t tire the Duchess. I remember how dreadfully hard it was with me, as I waited for Florian’s birth. I labored for several days.”
“Your kind concern does you credit, Madame Mother. Your usual living quarters will be ready for you and your ladies when you want them.”
“Thank you, Daughter Ashen.” Ysa swept a brief but correct curtsy and left the room. The NordornLand rulers looked at one another.
“Whatever does she have brewing now?” Ashen said, not expecting an answer.
“It must be something she deems important, or it could be nothing more than a whim on her part. Perhaps she really is concerned about Elibit.”
“She barely acknowledged Elibit’s presence when she was here before. Now, she invokes the supposed difficulty when Florian the Forgotten was born.”
“Well, I daresay we’ll find out, sooner or later. Now, let us return to the game. As I recall, I was beating you soundly.”
“I must speak with you in private,” Ysa told Zazar at the first opportunity.
“I am busy.”
The Duchess spared a glance at the frail figure lying in the bed. She was sleeping, and drenched with sweat that Hermine, one of her ladies, was gently sponging off her. “She’ll be all right for a while. Come. This is important.”
“So is the birth of Duke Einaar’s second child,” Zazar retorted, but she followed Ysa out the door of the labor room. “Now, what is it?”
“We really should be in private.”
“Perhaps, but this is as far as I am willing to go when the Duchess may need me at any moment.”
“Very well. Do you know aught of this?” Ysa took a bundle wrapped in a kerchief from her reticule and opened it enough so that Zazar could glimpse the strange silver bracelet.
“Yes.” Zazar frowned, thinking. “It was in the Dragon Box, where we found the map that led
us to the Mother Ice Dragon’s lair. I thought it had been lost. How do you happen to have it?”
“That doesn’t matter. What does matter is that it is in my possession, and it is an item of Power. I need your help to discover just what sort of Power it is. When do you think you’ll be available?”
“Not until the Duchess has given birth and is out of danger.” Zazar shook her head. “You never cease to amaze me with your selfish insistence that you and only you are the center of the entire world.”
“Not so! By all means, go back and minister to the woman. I hope she lives and her child prospers. I will be waiting, though, for the moment when you graciously decide to honor me with your presence and your knowledge.”
“Oh, go feed your fat dog a spice cake,” Zazar retorted, and returned to the room she had so recently left. With an effort she refrained from slamming the door.
One mystery in this tangle was no mystery at all. The only way the Duchess could have come into possession of the bracelet was that Elin had taken it from its resting place in Ashen’s jewel box and given it to her.
Out of sight, out of mind. She hadn’t thought of the bracelet in years; now Ysa had given her something to think about. She wondered if her skills, grown rusty over the years, would be equal to fathoming the Power residing in the thing. If she could not, then surely two Wysen-wyves working together could unravel it.
She would have to find some way to get the bracelet away from Ysa and, if not returned to where Elin had found it, then put away in a secure place, preferably under lock and key. Whatever its use and meaning, it was not something that should be left for any snoop to find.
She seated herself beside the Duchess Elibit and glanced at Hermine.
“She rests,” Hermine told her. “I think it is in preparation for the next step. My lady will be lighter of a fair son before the next hour’s turning.”
“You’re sure it’s to be a boy?” Zazar had come to that conclusion some time previously, but was curious to know how Elibit’s lady had decided the gender of the new child.
