by Andre Norton
Ysa sat back in her chair, astonished. “Zazar, I should be used to your bluntness by now, but still—”
“It is all that you understand,” Zazar told her. “You do not realize that I am actually trying to do you a good service. There is no way of telling what could happen to you if you tried to invoke the Power in the bracelet.”
Ysa stared at her keenly. “You don’t know what it actually does, do you?”
“No, not exactly. But what I do know is that Flavielle—remember her?—had a daughter, and the daughter wants the bracelet. That is enough to tell me that it is extremely dangerous and when I can figure out a way to do it, I will destroy it.”
“No, you mustn’t!” Ysa raised her hands to her mouth as if she would call back the words.
“And why not? Would you loose again the mischief of the Sorceress we fought so many years ago?”
“How do you know all this?”
“Let me just say I have my ways. Just as you have yours. And there’s an end to it.”
“Oh, I think not.”
“You’re not going to get your greedy hands on that evil thing again.”
“As you said once before,” the Duchess responded haughtily, “it isn’t yours to bestow. Or withhold.”
“Wait for it to be bestowed on you with one hand and whistle with the other. See which comes true first.”
Weyse had trundled in to the workroom and was investigating the spice cakes. Alfonse barked, trying to scare her away, and Zazar picked him up unceremoniously and dumped him on the floor, well away from the cakes.
“There’s no cause to abuse my little dog!” Ysa cried. She picked him up and cradled him in her lap. “Poor Alfonse. He’s never been happy here in Cyornas Castle.”
“Then take him—and yourself—back to Iselin at once before I set the warkats on him.”
“I do not know what’s gotten into you of late,” Ysa said. She gathered her rumpled dignity about her, arose, and settled an equally rumpled Alfonse in her arms. “I’ll return to Iselin, since there is no courtesy to be had in this place, and you can rest assured you’ll hear from me.”
“Oh, I’ve no doubt,” Zazar told her. “Trust you to meddle and make trouble when the storm clouds are on the horizon. Now quit talking about it, and go!”
When the door had closed behind the Duchess, Zazar almost regretted her harsh words. But she had no time to soothe the spoiled Duchess when the critical concern was the bracelet and how to dispose of it—or at least take it well out of reach—before Gunnora could pry its whereabouts out of Askepott.
The bracelet had to be hidden permanently, or, better, destroyed. But how? Not for the world would she try to smash the dragon teeth; instinctively, she knew this would invoke terrors unimaginable. But where to hide it? If only she could have finished the conversation with Askepott. Now she worried that Gunnora would try to harm her, or Mikkel, or both. She had given Askepott a good supply of herbs of Transport to the tower room; Zazar hoped she would not wait until the next full moon to use them.
The bracelet, still wrapped as she had carried it to and from the Wykenig stronghold, lay on one of her shelves, behind a large pot she used for stirring various mixtures. It would not be easy to find there, unless someone could “smell” the dragon teeth as Gunnora claimed to be able to do. And it was far from being a satisfactory permanent hiding place.
“Well,” she told Weyse, who was busily stuffing fruit-covered spice cakes into her mouth, “Gunnora is not apt to pay us a visit any time soon. Now that I’ve offended Ysa sufficiently that she might go home, we may have a breathing space before the next crisis hits.”
Askepott found an excuse to go out beyond the fence surrounding the village, where she found Rødiger, whose ice-sleigh had seen good service in carrying letters to the NordornLand. The vehicle was stowed in a shed nearby.
“I am curious about your sleigh,” Askepott told him. “And equally curious about how you find your way south in it.”
“Simple enough, Askepott,” the man responded. “There’s a trail of sorts, y’see, and once I get to the first Fridian village I can deliver my package, and then turn around and come home again.”
“Yes, that does sound easier than it appears.” Askepott took a deep breath. “What kind of trail is it?”
“The trail itself is easy enough—you go with the land—and just check to find red rags tied to trees now and then.”
“And what would happen if you tried to ride it farther than the Fridian village?”
“Oh, nothing much. It would still work. It charges itself overnight, y’see. Has something to do with the lights in the sky. I don’t understand it; I just use it.” He laughed hugely at his own joke.
“I need to visit the Fridians,” she told him. “They have some things I want to trade for.”
“Does Holger know about this?”
“Am I supposed to tell him everything, every time I take a breath?”
“Well, no . . .”
“It isn’t any of his business.” She lowered her voice to a confidential tone. “Woman business, if you must know. Gunnora is looking a little peaked lately, and I thought I’d mix something that will perk her up. I mean, if she’s carrying—and I don’t say she is, and I don’t say she isn’t—she needs it.” She winked broadly at the man.
“Well then, why didn’t you say so? Trouble is, I can’t get away just now to take you.”
“If there’s a trail, I can take myself.”
“Do you know how to drive an ice-sleigh?”
“What is there to it? I’ve watched you enough to know that you kick it and then hang on and steer. It goes best on ice, but I have enough sense not to turn it over if I hit some snow.”
“Let me think about it.”
Good, Askepott thought. You think about it while I load my belongings on the sleigh and get me gone before Gunnora can stop me.
She had left her bundle of goods outside the kitchen door. Picking her time carefully, she retrieved the bundle and shoved it into the sleigh. Then she settled her carry-sack near her feet and, as warmly dressed as she could manage against the cold, kicked the sleigh into action and roared off, sending a spray of snow in her wake.
Before anyone at the village could react, she was halfway out of sight and well beyond pursuit. She didn’t spare a thought as to how the household would continue without her; Lotte had been one of her best assistants, and she could manage.
Rødiger had been correct about the trail. Askepott fancied she could make out the tracks of the last few passings, though that was clearly impossible. It followed a clear path, winding through the trees, and when the way was uncertain, a bit of red rag indicated the correct direction.
Late in the day, she came to the Fridian village. She had had no instruction in how to stop the sleigh, but managed by taking her foot off the kick pedal and dragging the other to slow the vehicle. Fridians, laughing at her awkwardness, came swarming out of their huts to help. All bore facial tattoos.
“You not know how for sleigh!” one of them cried jovially.
“No, I not know how, but I’m here anyway,” Askepott said. Stiffly, she climbed out of the conveyance, hoping that it would not take it into its head to run off without her. But the sleigh seemed to have stopped for the time being. Fridians pulled it into their village and parked it beside one of their conical houses.
“You stay here,” said the man who had first spoken to her. “You from Wykenigs?”
“Yes, you might say so. Can I get a hot meal here?”
“Sure, sure, woman bring. You rest.”
The house looked snug enough, constructed of thatch and hides. The curved tusks of a snow mammoth flanked the doorway. She brushed past the inevitable dogs and children standing around to gawk, and entered the house. A woman was busy kindling a fire in the center. She grinned and nodded, and placed a pot of water near the hearth.
“Thank you,” Askepott said.
The woman obviously did not speak the
common tongue, but understood her meaning. She bobbed her head, grinned some more, and scurried out only to return a moment later with Askepott’s belongings from the sleigh, which she dropped just inside the door and ducked out again without waiting for thanks.
Quickly, she checked to see that a certain bundle was safe in her carry-sack, and stifled a yawn. She was more tired than she wanted to admit. Part of it, she knew, was from the tension caused by managing the unfamiliar vehicle. Tomorrow, she would do better. But now, all she wanted was some hot food, a bed, and sleep.
What she would do, once she was past the Fridian village, she did not know. But she would manage somehow.
The next morning, with the memory of a hot supper, a good night’s sleep to refresh her, a dish of hot porridge inside her, she took a look at the surrounding countryside through which she proposed to go.
Ahead lay a range of fire mountains, some leaking smoke. In places, rivers of molten rock had hardened in the snow. There were bound to be hot springs nearby, but she had no time or inclination to tarry long enough to locate them, much as she longed for a good soak in scalding water.
She wrapped herself as warmly as possible and climbed back into the sleigh to settle herself beside her belongings. She accepted with gratitude a fur lap robe from her Fridian hosts.
“You go back now?” asked her host, indicating the direction from which she had come.
“No. That way.” She pointed south.
The man looked troubled, and sucked his teeth. “Oh, oh. Very hard. Not many villages. You find seter maybe now and then or you freeze. Where you go?”
“I am headed for the Castle of Fire and Ice, in Cyornasberg.”
The man’s face cleared. “I take letter there two, three moons ago! I know way!”
“Can you show me?”
“Sure, sure, I show. You drive, I show.” He rattled off something in his own tongue, pointing at the sleigh and then at himself, striking a boastful pose.
The villagers sent up a cheer. Laughing, they helped him into the sleigh behind Askepott and pressed bundles of food and cooking utensils into every available space. Then, with certain misgivings, Askepott kicked the sleigh into action and they were off again.
She could not have fallen into a better bit of luck. The Fridian, whose name she learned was Eir, apparently knew the countryside well. He guided her past another ridge of high mountains where more steam escaped through rifts in the uneasy surface and occasional hot springs, smelling strongly of brimstone, bubbled to the surface. Now and again the ground trembled as one of the mountains belched forth a particularly large spout of steam.
That night, Eir found a seter, a stone building erected for the use of anyone traveling through the land. Askepott, who had driven the sleigh with much more skill than the previous day, brought it to a halt and parked it beside the building.
Once inside, Eir kindled a fire and set a clay pot full of fresh snow on the stone central hearth to heat. Then he took some dried meat and crumbled it into the pot. Soon the scent of nourishing meat broth began to fill the air.
“We rest now, eat, sleep. Tomorrow, maybe reach Pettervil.”
“Where’s that?”
“Two days from city. Maybe more, if storm and snow.”
“You will be well rewarded when we get there.”
Eir grinned. “I know.” He glanced toward the door, now covered with a wool mantle to block the cold wind. “Maybe sleigh?”
“Maybe. We have to get there first.”
“We get. Now go to sleep.”
Even under the improved conditions of travel, Askepott was almost as tired as she had been the first night. Despite the unforgiving stone floor and the inadequate mattress her spare clothing made, she promptly went to sleep and did not awaken until morning.
Eir petitioned to take over some of the driving task, and, reluctantly, Askepott exchanged seats with him. He proved to be a much better driver than she expected, and she suspected that Rødiger had allowed him to drive the sleigh around the village. No wonder he had volunteered to come with her.
On his urging, they bypassed Pettervil, just glimpsing the town walls at a distance.
“Too much stay, and want coin also,” Eir explained. “But know where we are now.”
Askepott thought about a purse in her carry-sack, containing an assortment of red and rare green stones. “I have no coins. I’d have liked—Never mind. Let’s go on.”
The farther south they progressed, the easier the journey became. Only one storm delayed them. For the last legs, they kept the Icy Sea within sight and traveled down the coastline. There were no seters here, so Eir built double lean-tos out of fragrant tree branches. These branches, covering the ground, made a bed so comfortable that Askepott overslept two mornings in a row.
“I am feeling my age,” she grumbled, not thinking Eir was within earshot.
“Mighty much age, too,” he said, grinning. “That good. Age brings wise.”
“If you say so. How much farther now?”
“One day.”
“Then let’s get started.”
True to Eir’s prediction, next day the walls of Cyornasberg came into view, and a more welcome sight Askepott could not imagine. Normally she would not have sought out a city this size, but the present circumstances dictated that she now make it her home—if the NordornKing and NordornQueen would have her.
When they reached the city gates, she unloaded her bundle of belongings, leaving behind the pots and jars and packages of food the Fridians had provided.
“You need ice-sleigh now?”
Askepott hid a smile. Eir was completely transparent, anything but cunning in his desire for the magical conveyance. Holger had undoubtedly come into ownership by theft; it was only justice that he lose it by theft as well. Her conscience did not pinch her in the slightest.
“No. It is yours,” she told him. “I don’t have anything else to pay you with.”
“No need more pay. I take. Make me big man in village!”
“Do you have enough food for your journey back?”
“We not eat all. Enough left over.”
“Then travel safely.”
“And fast, too!”
With that, grinning hugely, Eir hopped into the sleigh, kicked it into action, and was off in a cloud of snow particles.
Askepott lingered only long enough to see him out of sight. She hoped he would not come to grief if ever Holger learned of his part in the ice-sleigh’s disappearance.
Then, laden with her bundle of belongings and uncertain of how she would be received, she entered the city gate and made her way toward the imposing Castle of Fire and Ice.
Sixteen
Trying to remember not to gape like a yokel, Mikkel followed Petra through the streets of the City ’Neath the Waves. Everywhere, other Maidens greeted Petra gladly, and even followed her, touching her and chattering among themselves as they made their way toward the center of the city. All wore flowing white robes, some belted with gem-set silver chains, others with colored sashes. All went barefoot, their little feet pattering softly on the warm stone.
Overhead, Mikkel could see a transparent crystal dome, supported by towers that looked to be made out of stone lacework. Outside the dome, fish swam and an occasional ice-shark came into view knifing through the water, seeking food. Because of the twi-night above, the water was dark. The interior of the dome was lit with what looked to Mikkel like smooth polished pieces of bone firmly anchored in holders attached to the lacy towers. These bones emitted a strange glowing light, waxing and waning as people passed by.
From time to time Mikkel observed a rock-lace circular wall, behind which thick mud bubbled and gave off steam that smelled of brimstone when one approached close enough. Rising from the mud were stone tubes, much smaller than the one they had used to get here. Each of these tubes was capped and stone pipes had been attached to gather most of the heat emitted, very likely to be transferred elsewhere. Mikkel realized that this City �
��Neath the Waves must be built in the cauldron of a sleeping underwater fire mountain. These stone fumaroles, rising from the unstable subsur-face, had to be the city’s method of heating.
“Where are we going?” he asked.
“To the Rock-Palace. It’s where I live. I told you I was a princess.”
The palace was small by Nordorn standards. It looked to have been created from the same kind of clear crystal as the city’s dome, and great mirrored panels flanked the doorway. Inside, graceful curtains provided privacy when needed. The walls were set with white gems that gave off a glowing iridescence in the light of the bones.
More Rock-Maidens, evidently having received the news of Petra’s return, came rushing out of the palace to greet her. They enveloped her in loving arms, cooing and laughing and petting her hair, her hands, her face, speaking in a language Mikkel did not know. Some of them looked at Mikkel curiously, but then ignored him. He wondered what he was supposed to do now, besides stand by and be silent.
One Rock-Maiden stood a little apart. When the crush of greeting had ebbed, she bowed to Petra, and then the two clasped each other in their arms. Apparently, they were close friends. Perhaps this one had ruled in Petra’s absence.
Petra extricated herself from the other’s embrace and spoke to the Maidens in their language. As one, they turned to stare at Mikkel and he knew she was telling them of his part in her rescue. Shyly, they approached him and began touching his hair, hands, and face as well. Then, with muffled giggles, they fled back to their Princess and regarded him with questioning eyes.
“You will live in the palace, in a guest suite,” Petra told him. “You will be fed and washed, and given suitable clothing. Then we will see what is to become of you.”
“I had been wondering.”
The deep tones of his voice sent the Maidens into more fits of giggles, barely stifled behind their hands.
“Be patient, Mikkel. They have never seen an Outsider Man before.”
It was on the tip of Mikkel’s tongue to say that he was still considered a boy, but when he saw himself revealed head to foot in the mirrored walls of the Rock-Palace, he could not claim that status and be believed. He was tall, perhaps even taller than Holger, and wide of shoulder. His muscles lay smooth on his frame, speaking of strength. His hair was unkempt and a red beard covered his chin.
