by Andre Norton
“Oh, yes. My lady wants a boy and her lord likewise. In the NordornLand, the first daughter is always named for the husband’s mother.”
Zazar understood at once. Everyone knew of the day when Baron Einaar of Asbjørg, a small, insignificant island to the northern part of the NordornLand—came to Court. And all knew of the illicit liaison between Gaurin’s father and Bergtora, Einaar’s mother. Duke Einaar had no reason to love or revere that mother or to perpetuate her name.
“If the child turns out to be a girl, we’ll break custom. We might even call her Zazar.”
At that, Lady Hermine laughed, but softly lest she disturb the sleeping Duchess.
A day later, Elibit having been delivered of a son and considered out of danger, Zazar sent word to Ysa.
“The young Duchess is well, then?” Ysa said, puffing as she came through the door to Zazar’s tower rooms. “And the boy is healthy?”
“Hale enough to be given his name, Cirion, and put in Beatha’s care. She’s glad enough to be out of the kitchen and back to doing what she loves best.”
“But that isn’t what brings me here,” Ysa said. “Do you have any snowberry juice and wine? That is quite a climb.”
“Almost as difficult as the one back in Rendelsham Castle to the tower where you did your magic-making,” Zazar retorted a little more sharply than absolutely necessary. “But that was years ago.”
Nevertheless, she set the already prepared pitcher closer to the fire so it could warm more quickly. Then she drew up the two chairs facing and indicated that the Duchess should take one.
“Give me the bracelet,” she told Ysa.
The Duchess took the kerchief out of her reticule and handed it to Zazar. “I haven’t touched it since—well, for a long time.”
“Makes your fingers tingle, doesn’t it? I can feel a buzz even through the kerchief.” She set it aside.
Weyse, who had been napping nearby, roused a little and sniffed at the bundle. Then she drew back, fur standing up in a ridge down her back. As fast as she could go, she trundled off toward Zazar’s sleeping room and, if one went by her actions, would gladly have slammed the door behind her if she had been able and there had been a door.
“Well!” Ysa exclaimed. “That was odd.”
“Not so, when you consider that she is a creature of Power herself. Whatever is hidden in the teeth on that bracelet, it is something not to be trifled with. You were wise to bring it to me.”
“It is just a loan, until you learn what is the true nature of the Power it holds.”
“Oh, yes, of course,” Zazar replied, not meaning a word of it. In Zazar’s opinion, Ysa led the list of all the people in the world who should not have this item in their possession.
“How soon do you think you’ll have any information?” Ysa asked.
“I don’t know. It might be a day, it might be a year.”
“Well, if it looks to be that long perhaps I should take it back with me to Iselin.”
“No. It isn’t yours to take. If it belongs to anyone, it belongs to Ashen. You are curious, that is all, so don’t get yourself all upset for nothing. Give me some time to work on the problem before you give up on me.”
“Well,” the Duchess admitted, a little reluctantly it seemed to Zazar, “I suppose that, in a way, Ashen could claim it. But it is mine now. And I did come all this way to seek your guidance.”
“Then learn patience, Madame. Learn patience.”
When Ysa finally departed Zazar’s tower rooms, the Wysenwyf unwrapped the kerchief and laid it out flat on her worktable. “Weyse,” she said, “come here, please.”
The little creature poked her nose around the opening in the curtain, but didn’t venture farther into the main room.
“Oh, come on. I won’t let anything happen to you and you don’t have to touch any of the teeth on the bracelet. I just need to borrow some of your Power.”
Very reluctantly, Weyse waddled slowly into the room but did not, as was her wont, jump up in Zazar’s lap. She had to reach down and lift Weyse up, where she turned her back firmly on the table and clung to Zazar’s shoulder and began to whimper a little.
“Yes, I know it is evil. I just don’t know what kind of evil it is, or what its purpose is, or why it was among the things hidden in the Dragon Box.” She thought for a moment, and then made a decision. “We need to return to the Wykenigs’ steading and ask Askepott. After all, she knew what you are, when I had only a suspicion. I supposed you could say she has been stuck away from everything and everybody, up there in the wild north, but then I have quite a store of knowledge—of a different type—and I was stuck away for countless years in the Bog.”
She reached around Weyse and folded the kerchief up into a square and tucked it away into the waterproof pouch that had contained Askepott’s letter and bundle of herbs of Transport.
Weyse immediately relaxed. Zazar got up and transferred her to the other chair while she began rummaging around in her store of herbs and other items on the shelves lining the chamber.
“I’ve had other matters occupying me, but I do need to make some Transport mixture as well and have it ready the next time Holger den Forferdelig sends word and I know when to return to his steading. It is becoming more and more important that Askepott be able to visit me here, and also that I can travel there when I please.”
She peered out the window. From her vantage point, she had a good view of the countryside to the north and east. It had been several weeks since the first letter; surely by now Askepott had been able to persuade Holger to write again.
Nothing for it but to wait, however. And while she waited, Zazar would continue to try every avenue open to her to discover what lay behind the strange bracelet strung with even stranger little teeth.
Ten days later, the eagerly awaited messenger arrived, this time a Fridian who did not scorn a reward for his troubles. Zazar made certain she was among the people in the outer room of the monarchs’ private quarters when the parcel was opened.
Again, another bundle addressed to Zazar dropped out. And again, Holger’s message was brief:
The boy is eating me out of house and home. H.
“Well, that is curt to the point of impoliteness,” Ysa noted with a scornful sniff.
“It is what we crave to hear,” Ashen told her. “And it is what we have come to expect from the Wykenig who holds Mikkel captive.”
“If he had grown weary of his game, the message would have been otherwise,” Gaurin observed. “But he tells us that Mikkel is well, and thriving, and it still amuses him to make certain that he is well cared for.”
“It is good news, then,” Einaar said. “As good as possible under the circumstances.”
“Yes, dear brother,” Ashen said.
Ysa reached for the bundle addressed to Zazar but she retrieved it neatly, almost from under the Duchess’s fingers. “This is mine,” she told her.
“Well, of course,” Ysa responded a bit huffily. “I wasn’t going to steal it. Just smell it. There’s an odd odor about your parcel. Your correspondent uses a strange perfume.”
Zazar permitted herself to smile. Ysa was so transparent. “Yes,” she said, and refused to elaborate further. Instead, she turned to Ashen and Gaurin. “I may be at meat tonight, and I may not. I have work to do.”
“Can anyone be of help to you?” Elibit asked.
“Only to the extent of keeping the curious away from my door,” Zazar told her, but her tone was softer than her usual wont. Einaar’s Duchess was a sweet little thing and Zazar feared that she would not live long, particularly if she continued bearing children. Her slight body was not made for it. She made a note to provide Elibit with medicine that would help prevent another pregnancy—at least too soon.
“There, there,” she said, patting Elibit on the hand. “I’m just a cranky old woman and I want to be alone for a while. That’s all.”
“Then you shall have your wish, Madame Zazar,” Elibit responded, “and more besi
des. I owe you much.”
“You owe me nothing.” Zazar looked around the small room, nodded, and left, closing the door behind her.
It was yet two days before the full moon and Zazar had a great deal to accomplish, starting with deciphering the note that was bound to be wrapped around the herbs of Transport.
This time it was a little easier to translate:
a wysenwyf gretes a wysenwyf the boy is doing well he wants to go home he is growing up and his kitte too when you come this time you can stay longer we will talk stenvor ashpott The invitation to “stay longer” suited Zazar immensely. The two Wysen-wyves now had even more to say to one another. Between them . . .
The possibilities seemed endless.
In the meantime, she continued to study the strange bracelet, ignoring the sometimes painful tingling in her fingers as she turned each tooth over, seeking the answer to the riddle.
It seemed impossible for time to drag any more slowly, but the full moon finally arrived. Zazar made her final preparations.
First, she carefully pushed the wolf-skin floor coverings aside and weighted them down so they would not unfold and reach the burning circle. She didn’t want to have to explain to Ashen how they got burnt. The magical fire did have an effect on its surroundings; her wooden floor bore the marks of the several expeditions. She poured out the mixture along those marks, leaving a space open in the circle.
She returned the bracelet of teeth to the waterproof covering of Holger’s earlier letter and put the bundle into her carry-sack along with a few other items she thought might be useful, including a sack filled with the mixture of dried berries and grain that Weyse loved so much. To coax the little creature to come along, she offered a handful tucked into a fold of her shawl if Weyse would climb to Zazar’s shoulder. Weyse reluctantly climbed up and clung to her with one paw while she transferred the delicacies to her mouth with the other, greed winning out over her fear of what else lay in the carry-sack. Zazar filled in the gap in the circle, said the word, and ignited the herbs of Transport.
Again the column of flame arose and began swirling around the two. Zazar was almost tempted to reach out and touch the spiral, to see if it was really hot. She resisted the impulse, however. As before, the flames took her directly to the little closet in Askepott’s kitchen house. Askepott was waiting for her.
“Come, come,” the other Wysen-wyf said. “It’s a raw, cold night and I have tea to warm you. You’ll want to look in on Ridder Red Fox first, I expect.”
“It is definitely cold,” Zazar said. She blew on her fingers, wishing she had thought to wear gloves. “How do the children keep from freezing with no firepot?”
“Heh. The secret is in the straw they sleep upon. I put a little of a certain mixture into it. Not only do they sleep warm but there’s no vermin to trouble ’em either.” She laughed. “And, I expect, it builds character as well to think they’re enduring such hardships.”
She led the way, with Weyse scampering ahead of both women. Talkin came bounding out of the children’s sleeping room to greet his unearthly little friend and the two immediately headed off together on some errand known only to them.
Zazar checked on Mikkel; as before, he slumbered in fine health. And he had definitely grown. Were those crimson hairs on his chin? “He’ll be a man in no time,” she murmured.
“And that worries me,” Askepott said. “It isn’t natural. Something is making him grow much faster than he should. That’s one of the things I wanted to talk to you about.”
They hurried on down the corridor toward the light and warmth of the kitchen. There, Askepott poured tea for them and they sat down at one of her tables where, in addition to the hot liquid, a platter of meat pasties awaited them. A candle, smelling of honey, burned in a dish on the table.
“I can’t keep young Red Fox in clothes,” Askepott said. “I’m used to a boy making rags of his clothing, but Red Fox outgrows everything almost before he puts it on.”
“Has anybody else noticed this?” Zazar asked around a mouthful of the savory meat pie. She made a note to remember to save some for Weyse.
“Holger has. He thinks it’s funny to tell the boy that he’ll be going out on raids when winter is past. And Gunnora. She looks at Mikkel and I can see in her eyes that she’s measuring him for something. If you want my opinion, I think Gunnora is the one behind this unnatural growth. Perhaps she wants him gone, and Holger wouldn’t send a boy away. He would, a man.”
“Tell me of her.”
“I don’t know very much about her. Holger’s father, Ivar Groznoy—Ivar the Cruel—found her living in a kind of palace, Ivar claimed, made of ice. How she survived, nobody knows except that she was tended by the remnants of a force of warriors that had once fought against the NordornLand.”
A chill not born of the cold swept over Zazar. “Did—did she ever mention a name, perhaps?”
“Once. She said her mother was someone named Flavielle. Who her father was, nobody knows. The leader of the ones who took care of her was called Farod. He had been sore wounded in some great war, run through with a sword and left for dead, but he survived. Crawled off to die and didn’t. He returned to the ice palace and there he stayed.”
Zazar’s head was spinning. Farod had been the lieutenant of the Great Foulness, an Ice Dragon Rider, and she had watched, in company with Ysa and Ashen, as he and Gaurin had fought on the plain below the rock on which the women stood. His body had never been accounted for, and everyone had assumed it had been buried under the tons of snow the Great Foulness had brought down on them.
“Ivar finished the job on the man. Ran him through again and cut his head off so he’d stay dead. Then he brought the girl back and gave her to his wife, Jindra, to give her a proper Wykenig up-bringing.”
Zazar forced her lips to move. “And did you have any influence over this Gunnora?”
“Only enough to know that she has Power, and a lot of it. She married Holger when they were old enough, and has ruled this steading with an iron hand ever since.”
“Your story is one that brought back many memories. I watched while Gaurin, later NordornKing, and Farod, second to the Great Foulness, battled at the foot of a spur of rock. It was Gaurin who dealt what we thought was a deathblow to Farod.”
“You do get around,” Askepott observed. “In high company, too.”
“High enough. Ashen, later NordornQueen, Ysa, Dowager Queen of Rendel, now Duchess of Iselin, and I worked our magics together to defeat the entity that had begun that great war, where the Four Armies fought Ice Dragons and their Riders.”
“Dragons!” Askepott snorted. Then she picked up the teapot and poured fresh cups of the steaming beverage for both. “Dragons fascinate Gunnora no end.”
“How,” Zazar asked carefully, “does she satisfy her curiosity about dragons?”
“Well, I’ve seen the books she reads and I’ve read some in them as well. Also she has sent out searchers to the ruined ice palace, seeking a certain artifact. It’s said to have so much Power in it the one who wields it cannot be brought down.”
Zazar reached into her carry-sack and brought out the bundle containing the silver bracelet. She laid it on the table and unfolded the wrapping. “Could it be something like this?”
Askepott drew in her breath sharply. The teeth had a glow in the dim light of the kitchen, and the almost-hidden gems shone with a malevolent gleam. Zazar watched the other Wysen-wyf’s face grow pale.
“A picture of this is in one of Gunnora’s books!” Askepott reached out and hastily scrambled the bracelet into its wrappings. “Put it away! Put it away! Gunnora is apt to sense it and come searching!”
With a calm that she did not entirely feel, Zazar rewrapped the bracelet and sprinkled a few drops from a vial onto the bundle. A scent of spices filled the air.
“I came searching also, seeking just a little knowledge, and now I find more than I hoped for.”
“You do know what six of those—those objects are,
don’t you?”
“Yes. Shell-teeth. The—the creatures used them to break their way out of their shells. Then the teeth were discarded.”
“And carefully saved. I think we both know why.”
“Yes. But what of the three others? Those I cannot decipher.”
“Each is the cast-off tooth of one who became a mighty sorcerer, or sorceress, and can likewise be invoked if the summoner is strong enough in his—or her—purpose.”
“Flavielle was known as the Sorceress,” Zazar said, almost under her breath.
“How,” Askepott asked, “did you come by that—that artifact?”
Then Zazar told her the story of the Dragon Box and its contents, and how the NordornKing and NordornQueen had come to slay the Mother Ice Dragon and the remnants of her last brood.
“And maimed themselves in the doing,” said Askepott.
“Yes. Everything that was in the Dragon Box save that”—she indicated the parcel, still smelling innocently of spice—“was put to good use. Ashen kept it in her jewel box, until a mischievous child filched it. The Power residing in this thing is gradually entangling those who know of it in the NordornLand and, it would appear, here, too. It was Duchess Ysa who last came into possession of it and gave it to me to unravel the mystery.”
A faint sound, as if of a door opening, followed by footsteps, came from a room beyond the kitchen.
“Quick,” Askepott whispered, “go and hide in yonder cupboard. That is Gunnora or I miss my guess.”
Zazar did as she was bid, taking her cup and the carry-sack with her. She could only hope that Talkin and Weyse, wherever they might be, would have the good sense to stay out of sight.
She had no sooner closed the door behind her than a woman entered the kitchen. She put her eye to a crack in the door, where she could see but not be seen.
Even if she couldn’t sense the Power emanating from her, the bright yellow of the woman’s hair and her air of command told Zazar plainly that this was Gunnora the Golden. She had a silken robe clutched around her, and held a hollow silvery rod of a type that Zazar remembered, with another cold chill, seeing before.
