by Andre Norton
"These tell us Ishbi is cleansed. But it was tainted. Choose you another site for your watchers. There also shall be a Call Cell of the Abbey, for it is time we must also be alert."
She laid her wand once more across her knees and was silent.
The Duke cleared his throat and held out his hand to Vazul, to have a sheet of parchment, laden with seals, passed quickly to him.
"Highness"—it was the Prince he first addressed—"you are not of our Kronen blood, you have no reason to wish to take on any burden of another land. But we can do no more than ask. This"—he gave the parchment a little wave— "creates on the north border—that wildest and harshest portion of the duchy, the place from where danger may watch and wait—a holding. Those who man it must be warders indeed, not only ready to patrol against outlaws but against the rise of Dark. If you will be one with these three who are of our blood and so are surely called to the duty, our gratitude will be great."
With one hand Lorien accepted the charter, but with the other he caught at Mahart's and felt her fingers close tightly about his in return.
"Your Highness/' he said firmly, "I think that such anchorage here has been set on me as I can never deny. Thus I agree."
Thus the four signed the charter, Willadene already planning a session with Halwice to discover how information might be exchanged between them; Mahart, feeling free in spite of the castle walls shelling her in; and Nicolas, shooting glances at Willadene and then at his former master, the Chancellor. There would surely be much to be done and most of them green to the doing of it. It might be another form of employment than he had known for the past few years but not the less absorbing. And—he looked to Willadene once again—it would be new not to be alone—new and, he believed, rewarding.
But there was one more thing he must say to Vazul before they parted, and that he did as they arose to toast the new venture from the golden goblets of state which appeared at the Duke's summoning.
"Ssssaaa—she was gone after the Heart-Hold." Knowing what the small creature had meant to the Chancellor, he hated to say that. However, to his surprise Vazul smiled and clapped him on the shoulder.
"Do not worry. But send me the pick of her litter when her whelping time comes. I find myself quite chilly at times without a champion in fur."
Thus was the Border March of Kronen brought to life and appeared thereafter proudly on every map as Wardland. Perhaps those of Kronen might not understand truly what roots it had, but to those who held it there was always the strong fragrance of Heart-Hold to be met now and then on a wandering wind.