by Andre Norton
“Like what?”
“Well, you will need my guidance now even more than before. We are much better off allied than separated. Therefore, you will return home with me. You do hope to inherit Iselin from me, don’t you.”
“Granddam—”
“Don’t bother to dissemble. There’s no shame in ambition. The shame comes if dishonest methods are employed to make those ambitions into reality. Remember that.”
“Yes, Granddam.”
No one knew who had been lurking near the door, listening, but the story went through the castle like the wind. Perhaps it reached the ears of Bjaudin NordornPrince. Perhaps not. Perhaps most people dismissed it as idle gossip. Zazar, however, believed every word.
When the funeral ceremonies conducted by Esander the Good were concluded, Bjaudin ascended to a platform that had been set up for him in the castle ward. He was dry-eyed and composed, but his shoulders sagged under the weight of his new responsibility.
“We have come together to mourn your King and Queen, and our beloved father and mother,” he said to the people gathered, “and also to celebrate the wondrous things they accomplished. The NordornLand lay in rubble, almost destroyed by a terrible foe. The last direct heir of Cyornas NordornKing of honored memory, was killed in battle with none to survive him. With his last breath he passed his kingship to his cousin Gaurin. Together he and Ashen rebuilt the NordornLand with their own toil, through their own great efforts. All that they did was for the ultimate good of their country. They ruled in peace and justice, and when unrest touched the land it was only fitting that they gave their lives in defense of the kingdom they had worked so hard to create.
“It is fitting likewise that I carry on to the best of my ability. I will never be the great warrior Gaurin NordornKing was, but I can strive to be as good, as fair, and as just. To settle any unrest or uneasiness, this day I vow to all here that I will finish his progress through the land, distributing the King’s Penny, so that the people can see that the kingdom is secure and he lives on in me.”
All the nobles gathered and the townspeople as well nodded in agreement, and with one voice, said, “Aye.”
Then Bjaudin NordornKing gestured and the best stonemason in all the NordornLand stepped forward. In front of all the people gathered, Bjaudin addressed him. “Make for Gaurin and Ashen the finest tomb you can devise. Make it of pure white stone. It will be a monument to them, here in the castle ward. Later, we will place atop this tomb a fair likeness carved with them lying side by side, as they lived and as they died. Their withered right hands, sacrificed in the service of the land they loved and ruled, will be made whole once more. These fair hands shall be clasped in memory of the love they had for each other.”
“I will make the tomb, Sir,” the man said, bowing. “Though I feel unequal to the task, I will try.”
“There is a funeral feast within,” Bjaudin announced to the people, “for those who desire it.”
Then the nobles bore the bodies to a temporary tomb outside the castle walls, and returned to the Great Hall where the feast had been laid out. Bjaudin would occupy the central seat at the High Table with Princess Elin beside him. Everyone waited to enter until they were seated. The nobles and those who had had part in putting down the late uprising were to be grouped at tables to the Prince’s right, to honor them. The ladies were likewise seated at tables set to Bjaudin’s left.
Cebastian sought out Svarteper as they waited in the vestibule. “Sir,” he said, “I would ask something of you.”
The High Marshal of the NordornLand stared at the Rendelian warrior. “Say on.”
“Well, my lord Gaurin NordornKing asked me—that is, he mentioned, if you would be agreeable—”
“Oh, spit it out, man.”
“He wanted me to come to Cyornas Castle and be your second, an it please you, sir.”
“An it please me.” Svarteper glowered, his face becoming red. “And did my lord NordornKing then think me in my dotage?”
“No, sir. He but thought you might appreciate having a little of your burden of duty lifted from your shoulders.”
“Hmmm. I will think on it,” Svarteper said grudgingly. “Seeing as it was practically his last wish and all.”
Zazar had been watching this exchange almost with amusement. “Well,” she said to Ysa. “That’s settled. Now, what do you propose to do?”
The Duchess dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. “I will return to Iselin, and Elin with me, to see to her upbringing.”
“That’s very noble of you, considering . . . well, considering what I think you did but cannot now prove.”
“I had nothing to do with the way those ungrateful peasants rose up against their rightful lord!” Ysa exclaimed.
“I do not remember suggesting that you did,” Zazar returned. “Will you never learn to stop your idle meddling? This time the consequences were more dreadful than you could even imagine.”
“It was done in all innocence,” Ysa protested. She dabbed at her eyes again. “It was a frivolous pastime, nothing more, making suitors jealous to entertain Princess Elin—”
“—who does not need to learn such games. Nor do I think that is the whole of it, but let it go.” Zazar sighed. “Think on this. Next time you decide to amuse yourself in such a fashion, I will be waiting to turn it back on you. And so remember.”
“I will be true,” Ysa said fervently. “And so I swear.”
“Oh, go, go, before you start twisting words again to change the meaning of your oath.”
Duke Einaar approached. “The Prince has taken his place at the High Table. Shall you go in to supper?” he asked.
“I couldn’t eat a bite, but I will go in,” Zazar said. She took the Duke’s proffered arm before Ysa could, relishing the startled look on her face.
And so, she thought, as she picked at the plate of delicacies Duchess Elibit insisted on preparing for her, I remain here while Ysa escapes to the safety of her duchy.
As the meal neared its end, Rols approached and leaned down to whisper in Zazar’s ear. “Bjaudin NordornPrince would have a private conference with you, when everyone has gone.”
“Tell my grandson that I will await his pleasure.”
To her surprise, Bjaudin did not wish this discussion to take place in his apartment or even the apartment the late King and Queen had shared and which, by right, was now his. “Let us go up to your private quarters, Granddam. There is that I wish to talk with you about and it does not need anyone else around to overhear.”
“It’s a long climb,” Zazar said, but nevertheless she led the way.
To her further surprise she found the silver ewers neatly lined up outside her door along with the silver basin.
“The ewers are all filled with clean water,” Bjaudin told her. “I would have you perform the Ritual of Seeing for me.”
It was on the tip of Zazar’s tongue to tell him that it was far too late at night to be peering in on anybody, but nevertheless she led him into the tower apartment and lighted the candles. She then laid out the basin and filled it from two of the ewers.
“I have never been in your quarters before,” Bjaudin commented. “You could have more comfortable accommodations down in the main house.”
“This suits me well,” Zazar told him. “And it is private. I think you said that this Seeing was to be a private matter.”
“So I did.”
Weyse appeared at Zazar’s side, and she began the Ritual. “Speaking of privacy, whose are we invading at this time of night?”
Bjaudin answered with another question. “Can you beg a favor of the Rock-Maiden Princess Petra?”
Zazar’s eyebrows rose. “You could say that she owes me something. Or will. I have located the source of a particular root from which an elixir can be made that lets Rock-Maidens endure the presence of iron for a time,” she said. “It grows, rarely, in the Lowlands.”
“Good. Then please proceed.”
She continued the ceremon
y without further comment. When she spoke Petra’s name, the image of the Rock-Maiden materialized in the mist. She seemed to be asleep, in a bed that looked like a giant white shell. Zazar noted that she was alone.
“Petra,” she said again. “Petra, please wake up.”
The Rock-Maiden roused and sat up, her white silken bed-clothes falling around her waist. She slept nude. “Who calls?”
“It is I, Zazar,” the Wysen-wyf replied. “Sorry about the lateness of the hour.”
“It must be important.”
“Yes, it is. There are several matters. First, Gaurin Nordorn-King and Ashen NordornQueen have died,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. “Their funeral was today. It is too late to tell them how young Prince Mikkel fares, but I want to know. As does someone else here with me.”
“I am sorry for your loss,” Petra said, and, indeed, she did looked saddened at the news. She arose from her bed and donned a white silk robe. “You may set your mind at peace about Ridder Red Fox. The farther north we sailed, the more he came back to himself—well, himself as he was before we set off on our journey but not as you knew him. He is content, and happy with me.”
“That is good news among all the bad,” Zazar said. “His future, though—”
“He is safe and secure as long as he is with me,” Petra said. “Mikkel is as one who has been frozen in time. His body grew, while his memory diminished. Since his body cannot ungrow, so shall his memory of his early years remain a mystery. He is caught in a niche in time. He does not further age, nor does he decline. He is, in a way, almost as immortal as I am. Barring an unfortunate accident—which I am fully prepared to avoid on his account—he will live forever.”
Zazar digested this in silence. Try as she might, she could find no flaw in the Rock-Maiden Princess’s logic. “That is very interesting.” She exchanged glances with Bjaudin.
“You said there were several reasons you have roused me from my sleep.”
“Bjaudin NordornPrince is with me. He wants to speak with you.”
“Let him. I would know what sort of man my Ridder Red Fox has as brother.”
“I give you greetings, sovereign to sovereign,” Bjaudin said. “I wish to make my parents’ tomb fine, and there is no one better to ask than you to create the fair effigies that will lie atop it.”
Zazar wondered why she had not thought of this herself. “Bjaudin NordornPrince speaks for me as well,” she said. “I told you that I might call on your skill with stonework. And so I do.”
“I would comply at once, except . . .”
“The elixir.”
“Yes. My Maidens were ill most of the way home.”
“I apologize. However, I believe I have unlocked its secret. I will call upon someone who is a kind of sister to me to send me all she can find of the necessary ingredient. I will have a good supply waiting for you when you return.”
“Without Ridder Red Fox.”
“Yes. Without Mikkel. Come at midsummer. Bjaudin NordornPrince is to be married then and crowned NordornKing.”
“What finer wedding gift could there be to give the brother of my Red Fox. I will be there, bringing my most skilled artisans.”
“One more thing. If the little warkat and his mate show up at the door to your underwater city, let them in.”
The Rock-Maiden smiled just as her image winked out.
“My mind is now at ease about my brother’s welfare even though his fate is not one he sought,” Bjaudin said. “He is safe with one who, I believe, will die before harm comes to him. The amulet he filched from Mother’s jewel box brought him luck after all.”
“That seems cold,” Zazar said, “as if you didn’t care.”
“I care deeply, Granddam. I am not abandoning him. I plan to send an envoy to the City ’Neath the Waves, someone Mikkel once knew. Tjórvi, his friend. Do you think he might help Mikkel regain his memory?”
“I have heard worse ideas,” Zazar admitted. “Not sure if Petra would relish losing her Red Fox, though.”
“It is possible he will ever be as he is, and if so, he will be happy with her. I am at ease about my parents’ tomb also. The jewels and tiaras worn by the NordornKing and NordornQueen will go into the Nordorn treasury. In stone, however, they will wear their crowns, and their heads will lie on tasseled pillows. Their feet will rest on subdued Ice Dragons.” He seated himself in one of the chairs beside the fire. “Now, Granddam Zazar, may I have a cup of tea? There is yet that which I wish to discuss with you.”
“Of course.”
Zazar filled her teakettle, added leaves to it, and set it over the fire to heat. As she prodded the coals into flame, light glinted on a ring that Bjaudin wore on the forefinger of his right hand. The last time she had seen this ring, Ashen had been wearing it.
“Yes,” Bjaudin said, “this is the Great Signet of Ash.” He leaned forward in his chair, clasping his hands in front of him. “You have been very tight-lipped about your worries, but others have not been so discreet.”
“Ysa.”
The NordornPrince smiled. “Yes. Granddam Ysa. I know that the near-death of the other Wysen-wyf weighs heavily on you, with the question of how to revive her, or even if she can be brought back.”
Zazar gave the mixture in the kettle a stir, and poured out two mugs of tea. She handed one to Bjaudin. “Say on.”
“You worry also about the Bracelet of the Nine and the Sorceress’s daughter, Gunnora.”
Zazar stared at him in frank astonishment. “Is there nothing you don’t know about?”
He smiled. “I try to know as much as possible about what goes on concerning people I care about.”
“I had long since decided to hide the bracelet where Ysa could not ‘accidentally’ find it and take it back to Iselin with her.”
“Granddam Ysa will remain in Cyornas for a while. Elin will return to Iselin in her stead.”
“And why, I would like to know?”
“We will need her. Gunnora is a great danger to the NordornLand—indeed, to the world.” Bjaudin sipped at his tea, and then seemed to change the subject. “Do you remember the Arikarin? No, I suppose you do not, but it threatened Cyornas Castle while you and Mother were traveling north to the aid of my father.”
“I remember the horrible smell of the thing, when we returned.”
“Uncle Einaar had knowledge of trolls and the wit to gather all four of the Great Rings. With them, we fought the troll-slug. I held Mother’s ring.”
She did some quick calculations. “You were just a baby at the time.”
“That is correct. Beatha carried me to the platform where Aunt Rannore, my brother-in-law King Peres, and Granddam Ysa waited. I took the ring in two fingers and clutched it in my fist. And then we subdued the Arikarin.”
“And you truly remember all this? Not just think you do because you were told later?”
“I truly remember it. I was teething, and chewing on the sapphire felt cool and soothing to me. Uncle Einaar has suggested that we could use the Great Signets again in these current difficulties, and I agreed.”
Zazar could have slapped herself as sharply as she had once chastised the slow-witted in her charge. She had completely forgotten the Great Rings and the Power they could command. But then, she had had a lot on her mind, and had not actually seen the might of the Rings. Also, she had always thought of Bjaudin as a solemn, scholarly boy, older than his years, but very much in the shadow of his illustrious father. Now, it was apparent, he was coming into his own, and brilliantly, if this converse with him was any indication. A great weight lifted from her shoulders. “I have been feeling very alone, as if I were the main—the only—bulwark against the Sorceress’s daughter.”
Bjaudin smiled and set his mug down on the hearth. “You are not alone, and never have been.”
“Your mother was carrying you when she and Ysa and I subdued the Great Foulness. I knew from the time you were born that—possibly as a result—you commanded Power but I didn’t k
now what form it would take.”
“And she was carrying Elin when she killed the Mother Ice Dragon. Elin has Power also.”
Zazar did not comment on this observation. She knew there was no need to, for both knew that Elin’s store of Power was sure to become a trial for the young King in days to come.
“Tordenskjold and Uncle Rohan,” Bjaudin continued, “will be going after Holger once NordornQueen’s Own has been completed and the odds shortened in Nordorn favor. If anyone can bring a halt to Holger’s heretofore undisputed monarchy of the northern seas, it will be those two. They will enjoy it enormously and will need no help from me. From us.”
“Us?”
“Of course, Granddam. I will never cease to need your wise counsel.”
To her astonishment, Zazar burst into tears. “Since Ashen and Gaurin died, I have been numb, not yet feeling grief or sorrow,” she confessed brokenly. “Too much to do. Now you have made it possible for me to mourn. They are gone, irretrievably gone, their tasks complete, their lives finished. But they left a worthy successor whom I greatly underestimated until now.” She swallowed hard and wiped her eyes on her petticoat.
Weyse jumped up into her lap. Zazar hugged her close and spoke into her fur. “Hope remains, and life continues. Ah, Ashen,” she murmured, her voice still thick with tears, “what marvels you and your Gaurin have set in motion. I hope to live long enough to see them spun out to completion.”
In the bustle of tardy guests arriving to express their condolences, Earl Royance and his Countess traveling back to Åskar, and a very sullen Princess Elin returning alone to Iselin in a flurry of carriages and boxes and new clothing, the disappearance of the four warkats went almost unremarked.
If it hadn’t been for Weyse, even Zazar might not have noticed. But the little creature clung to the Wysen-wyf, disconsolate, until she went in search of the warkat Finola, with whom Weyse had always had a loving relationship. But the warkats were gone.
“What does this mean?” she asked Einaar.
“Warkats come and go as they please, you know that,” he replied. “They have ever allied themselves with men when it suited them, as they did with my brother and also with Ashen. There is no longer need for them, and so they have returned to their home, somewhere in the far northern reaches.”