Frost

by Mark A. Garland

  "Let me see," he said, and she raised her arm. The blow had done more damage to the sleeve of her tunic than to flesh, but it was near the elbow and deep enough to leave a scar, and still bleeding. Frost closed his eyes and held his hand over the wound. He could not undo what had been done, but he could help, he could stop the bleeding and ward off infection, then let nature do the rest.

  He wiped her blood off his hands on his own tunic when he had finished. "Wrap a clean cloth around it and let it heal," he said. Then he turned to his Subartans. "They were nearly killed," he said of the twins.

  "We did not allow it," Rosivok answered.

  "You allowed too much."

  Sharryl and Rosivok only nodded.

  Frost sighed heavily as he stood and looked about the room. "Mostly, I am troubled by the necessity. Nowhere is safe, and no one is safe around me. I should never have come here."

  "I had hoped you'd changed for the better while you were gone, but I see you haven't." Dara snapped at Frost. "What new crimes have you committed? What did those men die for?"

  Dorin moved closer to Frost, confronting him. "Answer her," he said.

  The boy showed more spunk than sense, but that was all too common among the young. Of all men, you should not forget that much, he told himself. "I have done nothing, and it was their idea to come here asking to die," he said. "They were fools whose greed outweighed the value of their lives. I will show you."

  Frost drew closer to the twins, who were gathered at the center of the room, and removed his robe. He worked at the harness fastened about him next, then tugged at the linens, unwrapping them, until sword and scabbard were revealed. Finally he reached with his left hand and withdrew a sword. Its blade was short and flat, its edges sharp, the hilt dark and meaty and smooth. A well-made weapon, but unremarkable in most respects. He held the sword straight up before him. "This is what they wanted."

  "They had swords," Dorin said.

  "Not like this one," Frost said.

  Dorin snorted loudly. "Next you are going to tell us that is the Demon Blade. Don't think we have not heard the rumors that you have it, that you used it to save the world, destroying demons and armies alike. Stories fit for small children and perhaps one old woman, who has surely let her feelings and her memories get in the way of common sense."

  "Common sense has little to do with the Demon Blade, I promise you," Frost replied. "But everything you have heard is true. That, and more. Which is one of the reasons I came back. It is also one of the reasons I needed to see Shassel—though not the only one."

  The twins stared at the sword in Frost's hand as if it had just bitten them and might strike again. "I still don't believe you," Dorin said finally, shrugging free of his daze.

  "Neither do I," Dara said, though she seemed less resolute.

  "Believe what you will, but it changes nothing," Frost said. Perhaps too sternly, but he had good reason, after all. He knew he ought to grant these two some leeway, yet he had feelings too, and knowledge they lacked; he would not suffer as their fool, at least not without end. He thought to further test one thought of his own while he tried to change another's. "Tell me of your gifts," he said.

  This drew two silent stares.

  "You condemn me for not teaching you of magery," Frost went on. "Therefore you must both possess at least a glimmer of the gifts Shassel and I possess."

  The twins glanced intently at one another, and Frost knew he had touched on something dear. When they turned back to him Dara asked, "What of it?"

  Frost considered his reply. Where to start? "Best to begin with the matter at hand," he said. "I have learned a great deal about the Blade since it came into my possession. More than anyone since the first Council of Wizards, I suspect, but I have a great deal more to learn. More, perhaps, than can be known by any one man, or ever should be. But I am certain of this: an adept of any measure who lacks proper knowledge and understanding of the Blade risks death, merely by touching it. Even forewarned, the Blade will teach you a lesson not soon forgotten, a lesson I learned several times over, and each time too harshly.

  "These are not stories or lies, only the truth. I have managed nearly to kill myself more than once, as well as those unfortunate enough to have been on hand at the time."

  He glanced at Sharryl and Rosivok as he heard both of them groan quite softly, just under their breath.

  "How so?" Dorin asked, clearly for himself and his sister. "Tell us . . ."

  "Better to show you," Frost continued, stepping forward until he stood within arm's reach of the twins. "I want you to do precisely as I say. The Blade has a powerful aura, it is enticing and exotic, irresistible to many. No doubt you have sensed it already, but you have convinced yourselves it was not real, a touch of fever perhaps, or the rush of the fight. Feel it now, and believe what your heart and mind are telling. But resist the urge to test its depths. Resist your desires, and the bitter-sweet seduction of the Blade. Resist the urge to use your magic in any way. Ward yourself against it as best you can. Then use only your left hand to touch the sword."

  A considerable moment of hesitation followed. But then, with the sharing of a glance, they reached out together with their left hands, just as Frost knew they would, and gave in to the desires and curiosities that must be turning them mad.

  Frost remembered the feeling well. He watched as their fingertips touched the flat steel of the blade, as they closed their eyes as if in ecstasy, as their bodies began to tremble ever so slightly. He waited for the rest—for what he knew would come despite all his warnings and advice. A thing learned only the hard way; though his words would never leave these two once they had been wedded to the experience, his advice probably would save them now.

  It took only an instant for the looks of anxious rapture on the twins' faces to change to sudden, contorted agony. Their voices formed a sour harmony as the pain displayed itself through their vocal cords in a low growl at first, then rising, twisting, and finally hurtling toward the heavens. When Dara's body began to jerk and snap, Frost called to her, and she seemed to understand, though she also seemed powerless to do anything about it.

  Frost pulled the sword away. As if tied to the motion the twins rocked, then collapsed on the floor in front of him, moaning softly, both of them clutching left arms with right hands. It was several moments before they could so much as focus their eyes again. It was some time after that when they finally managed, with help from Sharryl and Rosivok, to get up again, only to sit in chairs. By that time, Frost had slid the Blade back into its scabbard and wrapped it away from sight.

  "Well?" Frost asked, brow raised, waiting.

  "It's—it's true," Dorin said, though it came out as more a gasp.

  "Yes, true," Frost said. "Only the Demon Blade could have such an effect, and only on a true adept. It draws from you, from every part of your body, and then from your soul if you let it. The means with which to safely employ the Blade without devastating yourself in the process still escapes even me. Though not for lack of trying. I have come close, I have even succeeded, after a fashion, though luck has surely played a part. And that is not all.

  "I have come to believe that the last of the Blade's secrets may not be knowable by any one sorcerer, and to believe that those secrets are far greater, far darker, than anyone can imagine. Perhaps even the Council of Wizards that created it did not know its full potential—or the Blade's powers have grown in the centuries since that time, until even the Greater Gods might wonder at it now.

  "But short of that knowledge, the Blade can wreak havoc. It can bring a most grisly death to thousands, and to those who would use it. It can even reshape the land, as I have learned. But without having felt its touch the two of you would never have accepted these truths."

  "Frost," Dorin said, his voice still thin and rasping. "I believe you." He closed his eyes and rubbed his arm once more while he fought to keep himself upright in the chair. There was no way to describe what had happened, he was coming to that now.
/>   Dara had apparently arrived at a similar conclusion. "We didn't know," she said, trailing off.

  "I will accept that," Frost said almost jauntily. "Now, perhaps you will tell me how to find Shassel. I need her."

  "You want her to help you learn more about the Demon Blade," Dara said, trying to finish Frost's thoughts for him.

  "No," he said. "It is my hope that she can help me find the Keeper of the Blade. Old Ramins held it for ages, but he died without naming his successor. There is only one, and such things are known from birth. But Shassel may know the one I seek . . . or someone else who does. That is why you must take me to her, and quickly, before others try what these men have."

  "Who were they?" Dara asked, observing the bodies again. Frost shrugged in unison with his Subartans as they all followed her gaze to the bodies.

  "Not soldiers," Rosivok stated.

  "No, but Andair has already offered to buy the Blade from me," Frost said. "Now that he knows I will not sell it, he has surely put a public price on it, and likely on my head as well in hopes of bargaining with a new owner. So you see, it does not matter who they are. They came, and there will be others."

  "We don't know where Shassel is, not exactly," Dara said, recalcitrant.

  Frost looked at her first, then Dorin, and waited for an explanation.

  "It is true," Dorin said. "She has seldom wanted us to know, and has made that fact known about, so that we would not be in danger from anyone who came looking for her."

  "A good strategy, but it has drawbacks," Sharryl noted.

  "You cannot warn her of someone looking for her," Rosivok added.

  Frost nodded wearily. "So, you never visit her?"

  "We have," Dorin said "At a small cottage she keeps in the forest. We travel by night, mostly. It takes two nights, and she is not always there. She knows of many others in the region, many places where friends welcome her whenever she visits. She could be anywhere."

  "A pity," Frost said, shaking his head. He was in no mood to hunt all over half a province looking for her.

  "We don't know exactly where she is," Dara said, "but we know someone who might. We can take you to him. He will take us to her."

  "Who?" Frost asked.

  "A friend," Dara said.

  Frost nodded. "Very well, when?"

  The twins exchanged a brief, defining nod. Then Dorin said, "Now."

  * * *

  Lurey stood beside his cart wearing a full beard, a hat to rival Frost's, and robes sewn in vertical colors, most of them shades of blue, green and brown. A rather smallish figure, not terribly stout and not daunting in any way, though there was a definite flare in his aging eyes, a guileful look that grew more persistent through the wrinkles around his mouth. He was more weathered than old, more peasant than prince, though he was far better dressed than anyone in these parts. Frost judged him to be between forty and fifty, but it was hard to tell.

  The draft horse hitched to the cart was a splendid animal, healthy and able enough, like its owner. Lurey was a muslin peddler and by all appearances a successful one. His house was the largest and finest in the village, as was the building next to it, used to store Lurey's goods.

  "This is Frost, nephew to Shassel," Dorin said. "And this is an old friend, Lurey."

  "I am, that I am," Lurey said with a bow, though he never lost a wisp of the craftiness in his eye, nor his focus on Frost. "Good to meet you, nephew of Shassel."

  Frost bowed in return.

  "A moment," Dorin said, and the twins took the peddler aside so as not to be overheard by the villagers in the huts nearby; then, while Frost waited silently, they explained all that they could have of what had just happened. They got most of the story right, but told far too much of it for Frost's liking, though there was little to be done.

  "You look well," Lurey finally said, turning again to Frost.

  Frost nodded. "As do you."

  "A fine day," the peddler said. "It is," Frost agreed.

  Lurey simply stood staring at Frost after this. Frost had no difficulty staring right back. Then Lurey chose to step forward, until he'd removed all distance between them, save a hand's width. "Dara and Dorin say you are their trusted friend," he said under his breath.

  Frost didn't budge. "That is true."

  "And Shassel's'?"

  Frost nodded.

  Lurey grinned. "You know, so am I."

  "Why?"

  Lurey grinned some more, in spite of Frost's stance and tone, and the subsequent gathering near of his two Subartan warriors that had followed Lurey's movement. "I see you are truly concerned," Lurey said.

  "It is not worth testing," Frost replied.

  The smile on Lurey's face remained. "I have been their friend for years. I am a widower myself. I have no children of my own, you see, and for all the luck I have with women it is possible I never will. But I have always wanted some. These two have generously offered their services in that regard, and I offer them mine, from time to time. We see to each other's needs that way. Shassel is simply someone it is much too easy to like."

  "I should consider them all fortunate," Frost remarked.

  "I would agree," Lurey said with a hearty chuckle, the sort that might put anyone at ease—the sort that might have been intended to do so. Which gave Frost pause, though only briefly. Too harsh a judgment would serve no one, least of all the twins. They trusted him, and apparently so did Shassel, which meant Frost should at least attempt a neutral stance for now.

  "Perhaps I should let you live, for now," Frost said.

  Lurey hesitated, then he broke into laughter again.

  Frost managed a smile as he realized how Lurey had taken the statement. So be it, he thought. "These two tell me you can take us to Shassel?"

  "They are correct. We can go tonight."

  "We can go now."

  "No, no," Lurey said, shaking his head with vigor. "We would be much too easy to follow by day, and if you carry the Demon Blade with you, we will be followed for certain. There is the matter of my promise to Shassel that I would not allow others to know the way. If we bring a crowd . . ."

  "If we are followed I will know, and steps will be taken. It is more a question of how many will follow us, and the longer we wait, the greater that number. The rest does not matter."

  Lurey seemed a curious fellow, a mix of vagabond, rogue, and favorite uncle all rolled into one. Despite Frost's doubts, especially lately, he felt he could give the old fellow a chance. A small one.

  Old fellow, Frost repeated in his mind, allowing himself a mental shrug, the man is only a few years older than I. Frost stepped back, allowing the peddler some room.

  "I understand," Lurey said in time, then, adding a grin, "I will defer to your wisdom on the matter. However, and I am embarrassed to say this, truly I am, but I have a small wagonload of goods to load and deliver, and the payment to collect, which I am in need of lately, you see. Leaving right away will likely cost me, or at least . . ."

  "How much?" Frost asked, waving come-hither at Lurey.

  Lurey seemed to ponder the answer as though it involved a whole day's calculations; then, with sudden relief, he held up four fingers on one hand, and one on the other. Frost dug in his pouch and produced the coins. Lurey snatched them up and whisked them from sight.

  "All well and good," Lurey grinned.

  "I expected no less," Frost said. "Let me know as soon as you are prepared to leave." Then he turned with his Subartans and walked away.

  * * *

  The journey took three days. Lurey and the twins usually rode in the peddler's cart; Lurey's horse could easily manage the load since the cart was not heavily laden with muslin, but two Subartans and a most substantial wizard thrown in were out of the question. So they traveled in a loose line, taking turns walking in front of or riding up on the cart, while Frost's mule plodded along behind.

  Lurey, for his part, helped the journey seem to go more quickly by treating one and all to a seemingly endless string of sto
ries from his travels. Though an unusual number of them tended to find Lurey himself the hero of the day—if often reluctantly, or so he said. At first he told tales of things familiar, nearby places and minor adventures, from catching a thief in Calienn to following a herd of sheep out of the mountains into Camrak one late autumn, when the snows had caught him unawares.

  Soon, however, the stories grew too fanciful to believe—especially the second day, when the drudgery of trekking through the sparsely populated woodland trail began to set in. The forest itself was old, with a thorough mix of thick, tall trees that let little sunlight in, which in turn kept the underbrush thin. Visibility was good, a virtue to wary travelers, but cover would be difficult to find. The weather had turned sunny and hot, but the coolness of the forest's shade made the walking comfortable, and the dryness that had come with late spring this year had kept the bugs to almost bearable numbers, as long as one kept moving. All in all there was little to complain about, other than boredom.

  Which made even Lurey's most dubious stories welcome, no matter, like the spice trader with wives in three different kingdoms, a man who came to life sounding curiously like Lurey himself, save the spices—though of course he denied all implications. Or the court wizard in Grenarii who had attempted to cure a most conspicuous wart on the face of the realm's young prince, and instead created a plague of warts that covered the prince's entire body for weeks.

  "The king only spared the wizard's life so that he could devise a cure, and only spared it after that because there was no one else to fill the wizard's position," Lurey said.

  "I was not aware you traded with the Grenarii," Frost said, which caused Lurey to grow nervous for a moment.

  "Yes, well, of course I used to," he said, "sometime ago, when the lines between sovereigns were less strictly drawn. I have not been there in ages."

  Then he quickly moved on to a fresh tale about a hedge witch in a province no one had ever heard of, a woman who had the means to cloud the eyes of others so that she could walk unseen in their midst. "Quite useful for picking pockets at festivals and such," Lurey said. "No doubt she is rich by now."