by Andre Norton
Lathrom said, his deep voice rumbling in his chest.
"Farther north, and to the east, there is a wide valley where, unless my guess is wrong, the enemy is gathering," Gaurin went on. "There are ways in and out from several directions, including from the south. I think that they plan to rush down upon us, when their numbers are complete, and take us by surprise. I propose that we turn the surprise on them instead. Let us secretly take our engines of war— the catapult, the giant bow—through one of these paths and, when we have gathered, fall upon them in a battle that will finally decide the war."
"They have eyes just as we do, and scouts," Reges said. "What is to keep them from sending those flying horrors and discovering our plans?
"I think they will not be expecting any such move on our part," Gaurin answered.
"Further, we will travel at night, and hide ourselves during the day. Our white outer garments will help with this disguise and we will conceal our engines with tree branches. Remember, we have not seen a Dragon aloft for many days now. I think they are reserving them for later, when they attack in force."
Ashen had been studying the map from her place at the foot of the table. It was boldly drawn and, if accurate, showed a spot that might be used for the immediate treatment of the wounded. She arose. "May I have permission to speak?"
"Granted, of course," Royance said.
Quickly, she outlined what she had broached to Gaurin, omitting the fact that his reaction had not been favorable. This battlefield he had chosen, however, was so far from the encampment of the Four Armies that even he must see the wisdom in her proposal.
"We can expect casualties. What will you need, in setting up this new thing—I suppose you'd call it a field infirmary?" Royance asked, interested.
"A few women, some men to act as litter-bearers, bandages and salves."
"And me, probably," Zazar said grumpily. "Leave it to you to make me freeze out in the open instead of tending to the badly hurt, the way I should."
Ashen turned to the older woman. "I will not ask you to go with me," she said,
"for I know where you would be the most valuable."
Zazar was not mollified. "You would put yourself in more danger than you should.
It's a good enough plan—more men will live, and the lightly hurt can go back to the fight sooner—but there are others who can do this just as well or better than you. Let one of the physicians from the infirmary take this post."
"I will agree to have a physician there with me. But I must be—" Ashen bit her lips before she could finish her statement: / must be near Gaurin, lest he be hurt and I am not there.
"Well, I suppose that will have to do." Zazar turned to Rohan. "Do you still make those silly silk roses out of thin air?"
Startled, Rohan nodded. "Yes, but not very often these days."
"Make me one now."
"I really need two good hands—Wait, here it is."
A pink silk rose appeared and dropped on the table in front of the Wysen-wyf.
She picked it up and promptly shook it out into a length of thin, almost transparent fabric. "Do you have to color it?" she asked her foster grandson.
"Why, no, it takes more effort only I thought you might like a pink one—"
"And do they always have to be all folded up like this?"
"No, Granddam. But there's not much to delight ladies in simple strips of uncolored silk."
"I'm not thinking about ladies," Zazar snapped. She handed the silk to Chevin, who happened to be sitting next to her. "Here," she instructed. "Wrap this around your nose and mouth. Tell me what you think."
Obediently, Chevin wound the strip of silk around his head. "I can breathe through it, if that's what interests you," he reported.
"Of course you can breathe through it. The air's chilly in here, despite everything. Do you feel a difference?"
"Yes, Madame Zazar. Breathing is much warmer, for some reason."
Zazar snorted. "The reason's simple. Your own breath is warm, coming out, so it softens the cold when it comes in again." She turned to Rohan. "D'you think you can make enough of these—just strips of cloth, mind, and white, not colored—so that every soldier can have one before they go marching off again?"
Comprehension dawned on Rohan's face. "I can certainly try, Granddam," he said.
He glanced around the table. "And it will give me something more important to do than just run errands. Not that I minded," he added hastily.
"Good enough for you, if you were silly enough to get your arm broken," Snolli muttered, and beside him the Spirit Drummer sniggered behind his hand.
"Well, get to it," Zazar instructed. She turned to Gaurin. "When d'you plan to move out?"
"Not for a few days yet," he said. "Thanks to our great Admiral-General Snolli's information, we will know when our enemies have gathered enough that they may begin their assault. My Lord Royance will give the orders for us to go."
"Then you'd better keep in close touch with me, Royance," Zazar said. "I'll be brewing up something I've been thinking about for a while, that will help the men's resistance to the cold. Should come in handy if you're going to march 'em through the snow."
Far from being incensed at the untoward familiarity Zazar displayed by omitting his title, Royance, Lord of Grattenbor, Lord High Marshal and Head of the
Council of Rendel, ally and kinsman of the House of Oak and as mighty as a king in his own right, arose from the table and bowed once more to the Wysen-wyf. "It was a fortunate day that brought you to us," he said. "And we thank you for all your efforts."
Rohan soon found that manufacturing strips of white silk out of nowhere was very tiring when it was done in such large numbers. Zazar, however, was relentless.
"Our men may be subject to Dragon's Breath when they get where they're going. No sense in having them half dead before they even get there," she said sternly, and Rohan went back to his chore.
Ashen kept Rohan's energy up by seeing to it that he had plenty to eat. She gave him a table in the infirmary tent close by where Zazar set up her store of medicinal herbs. There the Wysen-wyf brewed small amounts of first one and then another potion until she got the formula right.
"We're going to need more than I brought. The herbs are potent and we don't need as much as we might with another mixture," she muttered, almost to herself, "so they will last a little while. But I will have to send you—no, I will have to make you take me back to get more before we're done."
"Will I still have to make white silk wrappings while we're gone?" Rohan asked hopefully.
"Of course!" Zazar snapped. "Now stop being so lazy and get back to it."
Ashen watched the two with a mixture of affection and exasperation. Affection won, not only for Rohan, but, somewhat to her surprise, toward Zazar as well. It was an emotion she was not accustomed to associating with the Wysen-wyf. With every minute that passed, she was more and more grateful for Zazar's presence and the miracles she had already accomplished.
Most of the men who suffered from the effects of Dragon's Breath seemed to be greatly improved. Only Hyn-nel and Norras showed slow progress. That, Ashen thought, was because these two were the worst afflicted and so would be the slowest to recover.
Prudently, Ashen waited until Rohan was absent before voicing these thoughts about Hynnel and Norras. No sense in worrying the young knight unduly.
"Those two will never recover fully," Zazar told her bluntly. "When so much of the lung has been destroyed, there is no restoring what is gone. It is good that they still live and that must be laid to your good nursing. And my potions and the hot baths, of course. But they will be invalids for the remainder of their lives, and the slightest ailment might carry them off. Same with the other six, only not in such a measure."
Ashen's first impulse was to reject Zazar's words, but in her heart she knew them to be true. She would, she decided, think about it later, when she had more time. Instead, she asked, "And the white silk coverings? Will they help our brave warriors resist t
he Dragon's Breath in the coming battle?"
"They will, with my strengthening potion to help." Suddenly, and uncharacteristically, Zazar reached out and took Ashen's hand in a gentle grasp.
"Do not fear for Gaurin," she said. "He has devised a way to destroy these horrible Dragons at a distance, and he has come through other battles with nothing worse than scratches."
Tears welled in Ashen's eyes. "It's just that— Well, I am sick with worry about him, and I haven't heard from Hegrin nor she from me since I've been here, and it is all becoming more than I can bear."
"You can bear it, Ashen Deathdaughter. You have no other choice."
Ashen was forced to smile through her tears; the rough edge was back in full measure in Zazar's voice, and this somehow served to comfort her more than the
Wysen-wyf's unaccustomed gentleness. "Thank you," she said simply.
"It's no more than you should have thought of yourself." Then Zazar changed the subject abruptly. "Have you done much reading, and you know the kind I mean, lately?"
"Well, not since I've been here, of course," Ashen said.
"It might be important. Tell me what you've learned."
Obediently, she related to Zazar the arrangement she had had with Esander, the kindly priest at the Great Fane of the Glowing, but it was when she mentioned the book Esander had given her that Zazar's interest and attention sharpened.
"Describe this book," she ordered.
"Well, it is both very old and extremely valuable. It is bound in blue velvet and the hinges and locks are of gold set with precious gems. The title is embroidered in pure gold as well, and there are many gemstone beads in the stitching. It is called Powyr. The word is spelled oddly. There is a second title, also embroidered in the velvet, and this is Ye Boke of Ye Fayne, also spelled oddly. The paper is cream-colored and not at all affected by the years.
The writing on it is beautiful, with the capitals all picked out in red and gold, and there are colorful illustrations on the title pages of each section.
When I am not reading it, I keep it locked away in a cabinet that only one other person has a key to."
"And that would be—who was it? Ayfare, your maid. She was with you when you visited me, and you were so sick."
"Yes." Ashen stared off at nothing, remembering Obern's child she had miscarried, almost at the cost of her life, and how Zazar had saved her.
"I would like to see that book."
"I brought hardly anything with me from Rendelsham, and in any event, when we journeyed to the capital, I left it behind at the Oakenkeep," Ashen replied, puzzled. It was the first time she could recall Zazar showing any interest in any book or tablet that she did not already have access to.
"You don't understand, Ashen. I need to see that book."
Ashen gazed into Zazar's eyes, and the old woman stared back implacably.
"Very well, then. I will have it brought here. I don't know how, exactly, but I will arrange it."
Zazar shrugged. "Oh, that's easy," she said airily. "When Rohan and I return to the Bog, I'll drop him off close by the city. There he'll pick up Ayfare, check on his lady, see how Rannore is faring—Lathrom will want to know—and bring
Ayfare to the Oakenkeep. I'll meet them there, we'll find the book, send Ayfare back to take care of Rannore, and then I'll return here before you'll know I'm gone."
"You do seem to have it all worked out," Ashen said.
"Of course."
A burst of lightning briefly brightened the interior of the infirmary tent, closely followed by a clap of thunder. Zazar went to the entrance and peered out. "Storm," she commented briefly. "There'll be no movement of soldiers, enemy or otherwise, until it dies down. But that doesn't mean a ship can't sail.
Snolli told me that the sea is not nearly as disturbed as we might think, what with all the commotion on shore.
All is relatively quiet here for the moment. You know the routine of caring for the injured. So, I think Rohan and I will leave at once."
A week later, Rohan, accompanied by Ayfare and four of his marines as guard, rode through the gate at the Oakenkeep. There was no sign of Zazar, nor of
Harvas, whom Rohan had assigned to help the Wysen-wyf accumulate the herbs and other items she would need and then transport the bags and bundles to
Spume-Maiden. According to plan, the Spume-Maiden should now be lying at anchor in the sheltered harbor at New Void.
He left his horse in the charge of one of the grooms and made his way, despite the blowing sleet mixed with snow, immediately to one of the lookout towers. He gazed west, and then realized that Zazar would be coming from the south instead.
She would not dream of entrusting her precious goods to anyone she had not trained from infancy, and Rohan knew she would have insisted on stowing them herself in a place that suited her.
He could just make out a solitary figure on the road, approaching the Oakenkeep.
He wished for a far-see glass of his own, but knew this could be none other than
Zazar. Who else would willingly be abroad on such a blustery day?
He descended the stairs from the tower and hurried toward the residence. There, inside the Hall, Ayfare had already seen to it that a small fire burned in the familiar shelter of the screens. Rohan smelled food being heated and his stomach growled. He had not had hot victuals since leaving Rendelsham.
Within an hour, Zazar was sitting comfortably at the little table inside the screened-off area, noisily slurping a bowl of thick soup that steamed in the chilly air. "All's taken care of with the herbs," she reported. "We'll have plenty, if the war doesn't last too much longer. I added some salves and materials for making poultices as well."
"I'm sure that everything you chose will be put to good use," Rohan told her.
"Yes, well, did you remember to take the mixture I gave you, that helps you withstand the cold? I wasn't there to remind you, and you probably forgot."
"No, Granddam, I did not forget. And you are right. It does seem to make the effects of this beastly cold weather easier to endure."
"Good. You may be growing up a little. And how was everyone in Rendelsham? Your wife?"
Rohan felt his face grow warm. Their reunion had been wonderful, so much so that he felt he could not stand to tear himself from her arms. But in the end he had kissed her lips, her eyes, and her forehead, and bade her good-bye. To her credit, she stood staunchly and watched him ride away without weeping.
"My wife is well, as is Lady Rannore. If we win the war speedily enough, her babe may be born into warmth and light."
"Lathrom will be glad to hear it," Zazar said around another mouthful. "And Her
Highness?"
"I caught only a fleeting glimpse of the Dowager for I reported directly to King
Peres. I daresay she isn't much interested in me these days. The King appreciated my report, though, and is pleased that the war still seems to go well. He expressly asked me to send runners with news of the anticipated battle." Rohan reached for the pitcher of mulled wine and poured a goblet for himself and, at her nod, for Zazar. "I did learn one interesting thing. My sweet sis, Hegrin, must be quite a young lady. She is due to arrive at Court any day now. The King's sent for her. She'll be staying in Gaurin's and Ashen's apartment, where Anamara and Rannore and Ayfare will all look after her."
"Hmmm." Zazar's eyebrows rose, but she made no other comment.
"It's only natural," Rohan went on, "that the King would want people near his own age around him. He's surrounded by old men, long in the tooth, who are unable to go out and fight. They're turning him into one of them, or at least trying to. Hegrin will be like a blooming rose in that decrepit company."
"Some might say old Royance is a bit long in the tooth for what he is currently doing," Zazar commented with a trace of acid in her voice.
"Well, there's old, and there's old, if you take my meaning," Rohan said. "If everyone there had even a trace of Lord Royance's spirit, the King might not be longing for
younger companionship."
"He may have an eye toward something more than that," Zazar said. "Something more important. More permanent."
Rohan turned and stared at her. She stared back, the corners of her mouth turned down. "No," he said finally. "He's too young, not to mention Hegrin. They're still just children! Impossible."
"As you say," Zazar retorted. "But children grow."
"Impossible," Rohan repeated, but he had to admit that Zazar had given him something to think about. He pondered whether to relay this information to
Gaurin or Ashen.
Before he could make up his mind, Zazar put her empty goblet on the table with a thump and arose from the bench where she had been sitting. "Ayfarel" she called.