Frost

by Mark A. Garland

  "I do not think even Frost has ever contrived a spell such as that," Sharryl said, teasing Frost. But while he had built his ego into one of his largest features over the years, it had been resized in dramatic fashion in Ariman a year past, and remained manageable. The story was sheer nonsense of course—at least the part about clouding so many minds all at once . . .

  "Perhaps I lack the necessary imagination," Frost said, and showed Sharryl a surly grin.

  "Or the experience," Rosivok added.

  "Or the body mass," Sharryl said, turning and walking backward just ahead of Frost and making a show of sizing up his girth.

  "Outshined by a hedge witch," Frost said, shaking his head. "I must spend more time with such women, I think, acquiring skills."

  "Perhaps, but he has managed an impressive trick or two, now and then," Rosivok said in a slightly mocking tone.

  Frost sketched a bow. "We all have our moments of luck and coincidence," he said.

  "As Frost says, so say I," Dara said without cheer from her perch on the front of Lurey's cart, where she sat beside the peddler, taking her turn.

  "I don't doubt it is luck," Dorin agreed, sounding much too dour.

  "I believe they see no humor in our argument," Frost said of the twins.

  "Let me," Lurey said, waving one hand and grinning. "They were joking," he told Dara and Dorin. "Understand?"

  "No," Dorin said.

  Lurey's brown went up. "No?"

  Dorin narrowed his gaze. "No. The Blade has great power, I have felt it. But what of Frost? He claims he left so many years ago to look for Andair, yet now he finds Andair on a throne not rightfully his, and still he does nothing. Perhaps Frost left because he knew one day Andair would return, and there would be nothing he could do about it."

  "In the attack at our cottage he did nothing," Dara said, less acerbic but equally sincere. "A trick with the lamp, nothing more. These two fought the battle," she added, waving fingers toward Sharryl and Rosivok.

  "That is our purpose," Rosivok said bitterly, his expression severe—though his tone had more effect, as this look amounted to no great departure from his regular one.

  "A lucky thing for Frost," Dorin said.

  "For us all," Dara said.

  "I see," Frost said solemnly, as he walked beside the cart. "Well then, think what you will."

  "I'd say you have hurt this big fellow's feelings," Lurey said, tipping his head to the twins. They refused to humor him.

  "It is all right," Frost said. "They will believe what they want." And say only what they want, he thought, certain there was more they were not telling him. Though he was just as certain this was not the time to press. They were in no mood, and neither was he, come to that. You are getting used to taking their abuse, he told himself. Well, he could tell himself all he wanted.

  "That is true of everyone, I think," Lurey chuckled, lightening the mood somewhat. The subject was dropped after that.

  The rest of the day went quietly. The twins and Lurey managed some idle chatter among themselves, as did Frost and his Subartans, but no conversation included them all. Not even that night when they made camp on a rocky knoll at the edge of the woods.

  Sharryl and Rosivok took their usual turns standing guard through the night. The absence of any sign of trouble or anyone tracking them was itself a cause for worry of a sort, though still preferable to being under siege, Frost decided as he lay in his bedroll, thinking. But no one knew where they had gone, or why, to the best of his knowledge. And anyone who did might as well expect them to return all by themselves. Then there were those who might guess they were seeking Shassel, and would not follow for that very reason. Who would risk angering Shassel and Frost together?

  Fools, Frost answered himself—something the world always seemed capable of creating in vast numbers.

  The next day saw slower progress as the forest floor became more hilly, bringing with it greater caution and fatigue. But by midafternoon, after crossing a small stream and combining their efforts to push the cart up a sharp rise textured with roots and rocks they came upon a cottage, small and in poor repair, a place that had plainly been abandoned for some time. Or left to look that way. Frost knew the latter was the case. He could sense another within, and knew without a doubt it was Shassel.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  "What is it?" Lord Andair said, as he was joined by Gentaff in the hallway.

  "Frost has gone into the Hubaran Forests," Gentaff said, matter of fact. The two men continued walking a few more paces, then stopped before a narrow wooden door. "Surely he is searching for Shassel. He goes with two others, the twins who live in Shassel's old cottage, Dorin and Dara. I'm told you know them, that you knew their father."

  "True," Andair said, leaving it at that.

  "Together, they will be harder to follow. Even without the Demon Blade that would be so."

  "I know, but in a way my mind is eased," Andair said, more pleased than he had once thought he might be at such news. The waiting, the not knowing what Frost was up to, he liked that least of all. As for the twins, well, he remembered all that well enough, nasty children playing at curses and such. The whole family was a bothersome, defective lot, but he'd taught them a lesson—those twins and their father. He would teach Frost a similar lesson at least before he was through.

  He entered the giant storage room and watched while a barrel of barley for the alewives was rolled near and opened for his inspection. This was the receiving room, just above the castle's main storage rooms, and the place where all Andair's private goods were accounted for before being lowered through the large, square hole in the floor. It was not Andair's job to assess the goods, but he was often on hand. He enjoyed the task, and it tended to prevent a good deal of loss in general. He'd had his eyes opened the first day he happened along and looked things over—a little digging beneath the grain had turned up not more grain but rocks, and had necessitated having two stewards put to death. No one had tried to cheat him since, and he had every intention of keeping it that way.

  "We both seem so confident," Gentaff said, almost singsong in his tone. "One wonders if it is all justified."

  Andair took the other's meaning in stride. "I never doubted this day would come, it was only a question of when," Andair said. "But we do not even know if Shassel is still alive, and if so, is she well enough to help Frost? They have the Blade, but I have you, and Weldhem Castle for another. They are not the type to wipe out the thousands of innocent people and soldiers that inhabit this city just to smite me. So we have some leverage to work with as well as a great many uncertainties that could be problems as well." That was the troubling part, or one of them anyway.

  "You have a plan?" Gentaff asked. "No, but of course you do."

  "Perhaps."

  Andair grinned. "Then we'll do that."

  "What you do next may decide the future," Gentaff said. "What I do will come after that."

  "Of course," Andair said; then, thinking to turn the wizard's words back, "Which is why we'll hear what you suggest." He glanced over and found Gentaff frowning, which on his moody features tended to make one think of unpleasant things. Andair was unfazed. Having seen his own frown in the mirror times before, he had the confidence of superiority.

  "But you are king," Gentaff deferred.

  A lively game, Andair thought. One they were both good at. But Andair had traded heavily in countermoves over the years and was especially devoted to letting his opponent lead, which usually allowed for any number of advantages. "And you are Counsel," he said.

  Gentaff put a great deal of stock in himself, his intellect, his powers of sorcery, his own goals and his ability to combine them with others. Andair understood this well enough to make it amount to one of Gentaff's few weaknesses.

  "Very well," Gentaff replied with a grunt. "I favor the easiest path to our goals. You concern yourself with the day when you might be forced to confront Frost once more, you fear retribution for past deeds, and now that he has the De
mon Blade you worry that even I will not prove Frost's equal. You also worry he will use the Demon Blade against you, yet you worry as much that he will keep it forever from you."

  Andair wanted the Demon Blade for many reasons: It was priceless for one, but more importantly, in Gentaff's hands it would make Worlish the most powerful realm in this part of the world. Instead of worrying about the Grenarii, their great King Kolhol would fear for his throne's survival instead, and for good reason. Andair liked that idea very, very much. He'd already imagined what it might be like, imagined prolonging for a long time the pleasure of watching Kolhol and his great kingdom dangle on the end of that tenuous string, waiting for the inevitable . . .

  "You make yourself clear," Andair said.

  "There is only one way to be done with all this worry and speculation. Invite Frost here. Alone. Tell him to bring the Demon Blade. He must want something from you, and perhaps from me. We should know what it is, then bargain."

  "What could he want from you?"

  "I have information he is no doubt interested in."

  "What kind of information?"

  "Very old, but it does not concern you," Gentaff told him. "What matters is that we hear him out face to face, after which you will attempt to make him a fresh offer that will be acceptable to everyone. Failing that, we will take what we must ultimately take anyway, no matter. I can be most persuasive. I suspect, given the right incentives, he will come to reason."

  "What if he won't listen, won't reason, won't make peace? What if all he wants is vengeance, and he will not rest until my head is splayed on a spire before the city's gates, and yours along with it?"

  "You see, you claim we have leverage, yet you worry over what might be. We must learn what is and worry about that instead. We must take the lead."

  "Then you suggest we let him enter the castle unhindered and negotiate in good faith," Andair said, "and go again as if he were a bard passing through. This is not like you, Gentaff, or me."

  "I suggest no such thing. We will employ every trap and trick imaginable, and use every means so that no matter what happens the outcome will favor us. Whatever magic he commands can be countered, if it is done carefully. That will fall to me. You must be prepared to do the rest."

  Better, Andair thought with a small sigh of relief.

  More barrels were opened, these filled with finely woven cloth for the castle's tailors. Andair had some of the material brought to him so that he could examine it more closely. "Well and good," he said, waving the servant away. He liked to find fault with even the finest merchandise to keep the tradesmen working at their best, but this whole business with Frost and Shassel and the Demon Blade, not to mention the cursed, growing Grenarii threat on his northern boarders was keeping him sufficiently distracted these days. All of it required too much inspection on its own. A frustrating situation he was at pains to remedy.

  "Agreed, then," he told Gentaff, as barrels of spring wheat were hauled through the doors, then rolled on edge and set before him. "Get hold of that same good fellow again, what was his name? The one who fancies himself twice the nobleman of any of my nobles."

  "Jons. He is a troubadour by trade."

  "Yes. A most ambitious troubadour, eyes on the court, though not so great an entertainer as I recall. We'll try him at this again. Frost did not kill him the first time, so he may not again. And if things go badly his loss will not be so great. I will call my captain as well, and have the two of them come to see me."

  "Agreed," said Gentaff, clearly pleased with the whole idea.

  "But there is one trouble with all this: We can invite Frost here, but it is likely he may refuse."

  "Then we will need a means to insure that he will come. Especially, one that will give us more leverage. I have some ideas. Perhaps we can discuss them."

  Andair smiled. He had some ideas of his own. It pleased him that Gentaff was thinking along the same lines. "Meanwhile," he said, "we should prepare some plans that do not rely so heavily on magic. Those are the kind that worked so well on Frost once before. The kind that work on almost everyone. I must know how to find Frost's weaknesses, and use them against him."

  "That is your excellence, Excellence," Gentaff said.

  Andair turned and glowered at the old wizard, who chose to ignore the expression. That sense of humor again. But Andair knew to let it go—for the time being at least. He watched Gentaff leave, then went back to the business at hand. Wool for weaving was being brought in. Lots of wool. He wished there were someone to do the job for him, someone he could trust. But he was resigned to the fact that there was no such person. He'd never kept a wife or had any children for much the same reason.

  "That third bale," he instructed, and two men set about untying it. All proper and accountable he learned, to his satisfaction. Or was it? He had found so few crimes committed here during the past year that no punishments had been required, not so much as a flogging. Nothing to take his mind off his troubles . . .

  Now Frost had made his troubles worse by leaps. He decided to let the rest of the stores tend to themselves. If Frost was coming he needed to prepare, he and Gentaff needed to talk in private, the army had to be notified.

  At last, a step toward progress, and the end of waiting.

  * * *

  She met them at the door, shorter than Frost remembered, or it was the fault of her declining posture, and she was thinner, as many an aged mage tended to be. But it was Shassel. Her face, with finer features than his even when she was young, had grown almost sharp-edged, though there remained a subtle, crafted kindness about it that even the wrinkles of age had not debased. Her eyes were dark, puffy bags beneath them, but they were blue and keen as ever, endlessly deep and mystifying. Her thick dark hair had been long enough to sit on when last Frost had seen her, but it had been cut to just below her shoulders and was turning mostly white.

  She looked much as Frost had imagined, including the part he had imagined most—the smile that lit her face as she laid eyes on him, and opened her arms to embrace him.

  "You look splendid!" she said in a smooth voice that was still the envy of any minstrel, though in a lower key than it once had been. He leaned forward and put his arms gently around her as she hugged him with surprising strength. He felt like he was ten years old again, like he ought never to let go.

  "I am a bit lean, I fear," Frost said, standing back again, "but I am determined to fix that. You on the other hand look perfect."

  "Do not perjure yourself," Shassel scolded. "I am an old hag at best."

  "A looking glass would convince you," Frost said, "but alas, I brought none. I think it best that you return with us to Briarlea at once, so that we can find a good one and settle the issue."

  "I may have one about, somewhere."

  "It will not do, I'm sure."

  "You have things all figured out already, I see," Shassel replied, just grinning.

  "Only this part of this day," Frost said. "Everything else is a jumble of bits."

  "I thought I taught you to leave jumbled thinking to others?"

  "I have come to let you finish the job."

  "Indeed," Shassel said, the smile a little bigger now. "I see you found my two latest projects," she added, greeting Dara and Dorin by way of a nod. The twins greeted her in kind, silent and looking utterly tractable.

  Frost witnessed this in amazement. "No flip remarks?" he asked them. "Nothing to say?"

  "Good-day, Shassel," Dorin said.

  "We brought sweetened bread," Dara said.

  "And myself, of course," Lurey said, stepping into the doorway, standing back of everyone else. He raised one hand above heads to wave.

  "Lurey was kind enough to drop everything and bring us here, as Frost asked," Dorin explained.

  "How much did it cost you?" Shassel asked, raising one eyebrow to Lurey.

  "Enough," Frost said, to which Shassel gave a nod.

  "We trust we did the right thing," Dara said.

  "Polite, respe
ctful, and thoughtful," Frost observed, shaking his head as he listened to the twins. "They seem to have undergone some sort of transformation. Most remarkable. You must teach me the spell," he added, turning again to Shassel. "I have never seen the like."

  Shassel was grinning like a girl now. "Sometimes I hardly know them myself," she said. "Now, everyone come in. Your warrior friends as well, Frost, if they like. We will finish our introductions over some fresh soup, and that bread of course."

  She turned and the others followed her inside. The room was small and sparely appointed, but it looked a little better on the inside than it had outside. Shassel had hung plenty of linens over the two small windows, over gaps in the mortar of old walls, even on much of the earthen floor. Lurey had apparently been generous, though Frost imagined Shassel had been generous in kind. A large stew pot was hung in the hearth, and the smell of soup heavy with greens and spices drifted freely from it. By the time the soup was in the bowls and on the table, everyone was properly acquainted, and the talk had turned from small to large.

  "These past few years have been difficult," Shassel said as one by one the bowls were slowly emptied. "With the twins getting older and bolder of course, and Andair suffering much the same fate, and all of them taxing me to the point of distraction."

  Dara and Dorin had been saying as little as possible while the two old friends began the task of catching up; they said nothing now, though the looks on their faces were easy enough to read. They knew they were not the easiest pair to deal with, especially for a woman of Shassel's age, which left them short of excuses for themselves, depending on the details. Shassel told several accounts of mischief, the sort common to all children, and everyone managed a laugh or two—especially Lurey; the peddler was quick to humor by nature, but especially so where Dara and Dorin were concerned. He even managed to embarrass them with a tale about secret plans to visit Wilmar and in particular Wilmar's son Tramet, whom Dara had apparently gotten to be rather good friends with before Shassel decided it might be better for everyone if she and the twins relocated, further east.