"They asked me to take them and I said no, not without Shassel's approval, which I knew they did not have, so instead they tried to steal my horse that night, which—"
"Borrow," Dorin corrected.
"—which I knew they very well might do, so I decided to sleep with the horse, which was how I was awakened by the two of them tripping over one another and me in the darkness, and caught them in the act!"
"It was a year ago, and we have made it up to Lurey many times over, which is the only reason we've never told you," Dara assured Shassel, who had fixed the two of them with a cold, merciless look.
"We will speak more of this later," Shassel assured them, and they lowered their heads like scolded puppies. "But I have heard a great many things about you, Frost," she continued. "You've made quite a name for yourself."
"What sort of name?"
"They say you are a rogue, a sorcerer for hire, if you approve of the task and those who require it. Which fits you, I think. Though some of the stories are quite fantastic, and some of the fees they say you have garnered for your services must be exaggerated. That, or you are more wealthy than a king."
"There are many kinds of wealth, I have learned that much," Frost said. "And I have been fortunate to acquire a great deal of most of them."
Shassel smiled gently, then she cocked one eye. "Of course there is the story I hear most these days, of you and the legendary Demon Blade—of a battle for half the world fought against a terrible demon and an army of thousands, and all of them left lifeless and destroyed by your hand alone. Surely there is a bit of embellishment in all of that, as is common."
Frost folded his arms across his chest and leaned back. "No, that more or less sums it up."
"Remarkable."
Frost bowed his head. "Many would agree."
Shassel wrinkled her nose at him. "Such bragging of mastery I have never heard, yet I could more easily believe that you have forgotten how to cast even a simple sleeping spell."
"That is possible," Frost said. "Though I will wager you have forgotten a thing or two as well, you being so much older than I, and probably a little absent-minded, as is common."
Shassel was undaunted. "Absent-minded, you say?"
Frost nodded.
"Lurey?" Dara said, collecting everyone's attentions to the peddler; he who was seated comfortably enough in his chair, hands folded neatly across his abdomen, eyes closed, snoozing quite soundly. When he did not respond Dara reached over and shook him. Slowly, he began to come to.
"Still a streak of imp in you, I see," Shassel said. She held him in her gaze. "Dara, go, bring me a small piece of firewood."
Dara nodded once, then got up and went straight to the pile of split logs stacked beside the hearth. She picked one up and brought it to Shassel.
"Give it to Frost, he hasn't had enough to eat," Shassel told her. Dara held out the log, which as much to Dara's surprise as anyone else's, had somehow managed to become a loaf of bread.
"I am quite full, in fact, but I expect a chilly night," Frost answered her. He spoke the base phrases of the spell he needed, then he used Shassel's own binding phrase, loud enough for her to hear, "Tesha teshrea." Then he told Dara to put the "bread" on the table. By the time she did, the loaf had turned back into the piece of maple it had been.
Shassel looked a bit unsettled, or as close to that as Frost hoped she might. "You had forgotten I knew," he said, and saw that she understood exactly.
"I was testing whether you still remembered," Shassel corrected. "I am satisfied."
"Without a doubt," Frost said wryly.
"He is here about the Demon Blade," Dorin said. The stubborn look on his face was clear, the lack of indulgence, though wisely he had stopped short of directly chastising anyone.
"We have at least one in our midst in the mood for serious business," Lurey said, still not fully alert but getting there, and perhaps more anxious than most just now to see the two sorcerers move past their game of magical tit for tat.
"Very well," Frost said, settling his gaze on Shassel once more. "I have a question to ask you."
"No, I do not want the Blade," Shassel said flatly.
"Neither do I," Frost replied.
"Have you ever considered selling it?" Lurey asked, sheepish.
Frost shot him a bitter look, and Lurey put his arms up, palms out—hands off.
"Then what do you want?" Shassel asked.
"You knew many of the mages who were present at the last council during the time Ramins was chosen as the Blade's Keeper. But he was already old and others are always chosen to take the place of the Keeper, when the time comes, though it changes according to who is born to whom. The succession is intentionally hard to follow from outside, but I must. I seek to find the next, chosen Keeper, so I can be rid of the cursed thing."
"Some would not think it a curse," Shassel mused.
"Death follows the Blade everywhere, and it will only get worse," Frost said.
"Which is why I do not want it," Shassel said.
"Then help me. As much as I would be rid of it, I cannot allow the Blade to fall into the wrong hands. I have learned many things since it came into my possession. Enough to know that the consequences of a mistake would be far greater than anyone realizes; even you, Shassel, perhaps even me."
They sat looking at one another in silence. No one in the room made a sound. If Shassel knew anything, she had surely sworn an oath never to divulge the information to anyone, under any circumstance. But these were not "any" circumstances, Frost insisted, and he was not "anyone."
"I do not know, I wish I did," she answered, letting her eyes wander as if looking for something other than what she knew was there. "But as you say, I knew many who were part of the last council. I know of only one, though, who remains. One who would know. He is aging, like me, yet still quite powerful."
Frost let a sigh of relief escape his lips. He had come so far to hear these words, never knowing until just this moment whether he ever would. "Do you know where I might find him?"
"Indeed, he is not far. But he may as well be."
Frost tipped his head. "Why?"
"The one you seek is Gentaff, court wizard of Andair."
Frost closed his eyes. It seemed always to be this way with the Demon Blade, each step forward carrying with it a step backward, each instance of relief involving a modicum of pain. On the face of it, this situation seemed to have no solution. "Then I must find someone else."
"That might be impossible," Shassel said.
"Then we have to find a way to make Gentaff talk!" Dorin spoke up, trotting out the bluster he seemed to be increasingly fond of.
"Dorin's right," Dara said.
"Even if that were possible," Frost said, "anything Gentaff said would be suspect. He has no reason to cooperate and at least one reason not to."
"There are ways of being sure what he tells is the truth," Shassel said. "Though none of them easy," she added with a shrug. "Especially with the likes of him."
"And what is he like?" Frost asked. "You must know well enough to say."
"You would not like him. Big and oftentimes bold, always arrogant, far too talented and cunning, and concerned largely with sport and profit these days—"
"Nothing at all like me, then," Frost put in.
"—and the wishes of Lord Andair, of course," Shassel continued without pause. "Which I happen to know are many. Gentaff has changed, or he has left behind the masks he once wore. He was always a cold and greedy man, mind you, but he has gotten worse in latter years. He never spent time in this part of the world, largely because he knew I was here and would disapprove. But I am older than he, and no match for him anymore. Perhaps no one is. Even you."
Frost shook his head. "No one can know that. But short of finding out, he may be willing to listen to reason."
"Even you doubt that already, I can see it in your eyes," Shassel said.
Frost thought it over. "True."
"Let me think on
this, and you as well," Shassel told him. "You have all had a long journey, and I grow tired of simply sitting on my haunches these days. In the morning, we will talk further, and come to something. You cannot both keep the Blade and be done with it at the same time, after all, and I rather doubt it can be destroyed."
"Destroyed?" Lurey asked, though Dara and Dorin both said it too, half a beat behind him.
"They do not understand as I do," Frost said. "I doubt anyone can."
"Sounds impressive," Shassel remarked.
Frost nodded.
"Can I see it?" Shassel asked. "Before some highwayman pries it off your big dead body?"
"Of course," Frost said, "but you should consider carefully. If you seek the Blade with your talents in any way, it will draw from you immediately and endlessly, until you force an end to the bond. If you can. If not, without the corpulent reserves of your youth you might die."
"Interesting," Shassel said, turning quite serious. "I had imagined something much different."
"As did I, but the truth was a painful lesson for me, one I have yet to fully learn."
"Keep your Blade for now, then. We will talk more of this, too, in the morning," Shassel said with a long sigh. She looked from one to the next about the table and everyone seemed in agreement. Frost could see the fatigue on her face.
Sharryl and Rosivok got up without a word, though two quick hand gestures communicated all that was necessary between them—who would stand first watch, who the second. Then Rosivok went to get the bedding.
Frost said good-night to Shassel with a kiss on the cheek and laid his head down on a mound of linens Lurey had fetched from his cart. He found it comfortable enough, but thoughts of what to do about Andair and Gentaff kept him awake as they twisted together in his mind, and refused to unwind. He closed his eyes and waited for morning. After a time, he wasn't sure how long, he was rudely awakened.
* * *
"I think he's asleep," Dorin said in a faint whisper, when Rosivok stepped outside for a moment and moved into the trees; his task would not take long, Dorin knew. They had to work quickly.
"He isn't snoring," Dara said. "I'm not so sure about this."
"No doubt snoring is too undignified for him. He has probably devised some means to prevent it. But he is not the only clever mage hereabouts, though he thinks he is greater even than Shassel."
"I think you are right," Dara whispered back. "And he has no remorse, not for anything that's happened."
"Except for when Andair made a fool of him."
"True."
They sat side by side in their bedrolls on the floor watching Frost. One oil lamp burned, turned down low, but it was enough to see by.
"What do we have in mind?" Dara asked.
"There," Dorin said. He pointed to Frost's walking stick which stood leaning against the wall near the wizard's head, in the small space between Frost and Shassel's bed. There was no way to get to it without stepping on Frost. Which was the idea. "Frost seems quite fond of it. There may even be more to it than just wood."
"A talisman of some kind?"
"Yes. Who knows what means or charms he may have invested in that stick over the years. Countless hours' work, all gone, just like that. And he will have to come to us to get it back again."
Dara smiled. Dorin smiled with her. He liked the sound of that. And they would give it back, but only when Shassel asked them to.
"When he wakes in the morning and finds it gone, he will be a little less smug, I think," Dara said, putting her hand to her mouth to blunt a snicker.
"Probably furious."
"Probably a mess," Dara said. And then, sobering, "But how furious do you think he will actually be?"
"It doesn't matter. He would not attempt to harm us with Shassel here, and anyway, I am not convinced he is so much more powerful than we are, especially if we stand together."
She nodded, but Dorin had known she would understand. He had felt it first many years ago, the special bond he and his twin sister seemed to have from time to time—something they had spent great efforts developing since then. The sense of what the other one was thinking, where the other one was, or wanted to be. But there was more. It didn't always work, but more often than not they could use the same spell, with the same binding phrase, and pool their energies. The process had never been tested against another mage—save that one time, some years ago, when it had failed. But they had successfully managed more than a trick or two since then.
"We have to hurry," Dara said.
Dorin nodded. Without another word he took Dara's hand and began to recite the spell. The spell started drawing from their inner reserves, converting their physical energy into magical energy, then he directed it with their binding phrase. Together they commanded the stick to leap into the air, over Frost, and come to them on their side of the room.
Something went wrong. The stick jumped up, but then it instantly leaped away with at least twice the force they had applied to it, as if it was terrified by the touch of their influence. With a loud clatter the stick found the wall farthest from the twins and proceeded to bash and clatter against the wood as if it was trying to break through and escape to the world beyond.
"Stop!" Dorin shouted, letting go of Dara's hand and severing the flow of energies from within himself, then letting the spell discharge. As the cottage door burst open the stick rattled to the floor, where it lay still again. Rosivok stood in the doorway, poised and ready as he scrutinized the room. Dorin looked from the Subartan to the others, heart pounding, blinking in disbelief. Everyone was awake and trying to gather wits enough to wonder what had happened. Dorin found Frost looking straight at him and Dara, as was Shassel. They already knew. . . .
Frost raised his hand above his head and the walking stick drifted up from the floor, then crossed the room, floating just high enough to miss Shassel's bed; it ended in the grip of Frost's still raised hand. He placed it precisely where it had been against the wall.
"It is nothing," he said to one and all. "An experiment by Dorin and Dara that did not go as planned, I think. A bit more training, perhaps. But they need their sleep as much as the rest of us. I think Shassel will agree that enough is enough for tonight."
"Agreed, more than enough," Shassel said, with a look in her eyes that Dorin could read even in this dim light, the one that meant he and Dara would be smoldering footnotes in the fables of history if she did not love them both—or if they tried anything else.
"We," Dara began, stumbling, "we were only, um . . ."
Dorin took a breath and tried to help. "We were just going to—to, um, I mean, we thought . . ."
"Say good-night," Frost said.
"Now!" said Shassel.
"Good-night," Dorin repeated along with his sister.
Dorin heard Frost mutter something after that, and saw Shassel's lips moving along with his. He couldn't hear the whispers. He lay down and closed his eyes, and kept quite quiet and still. The next thing he knew it was already morning, and Lurey was shaking him awake.
"Come, eat your breakfast," Shassel called as he got to his feet. He found his great-aunt sitting at the table with Frost, Sharryl and Rosivok, eating porridge and grinning quite slyly at him and his sister.
"And when you are done," Frost said, "we will talk."
Dorin looked at Dara and saw a familiar flash of panic in her eyes, though like him, she tried to quell the obvious signs almost immediately. They pulled on their boots and ate as they were told. When the meal was ended they put away their bedding and joined the others outside.
"You may find this hard to believe, but there is much you do not yet know—about me, about sorcery, about the world," Frost said.
"There are not many teachers about," Dorin said, despite thinking he ought to keep his mouth shut just now. "And we lost some of those we did have, no thanks to you."
"Enough," Shassel said.
"It is all right, for now," Frost said. "I'm not sure what you were trying to accomplish las
t night, but I can tell you why you failed. I maintain a simple yet most reliable reversal spell on my staff—one which causes any new spell cast upon it to work in reverse. A useful precaution, thrifty, versatile, quick, and it has always seemed to come quite naturally to me. One of the few spells my father tried to teach me before, and which Shassel helped me perfect. We will teach it to both of you."
Dorin felt a mix of frustration and relief; here, finally, was the mentor he had always imagined, yet coming so late he felt betrayed by it all—or by himself if he accepted Frost now, if he forgave him for not being there before, and for the terrible price that had been paid in Frost's absence.
"You and your magic were never here to help us," Dorin said, using the words he had recited in his head for years, awaiting this day. "We do not need it now."
"But you do!" Shassel said. "All of us do. And Frost will need us as well to face what is to come. You have not told him, have you?"
Dorin shook his head.
"I will," Dara said. "I will."
"It will serve no one," Dorin said.
"No," Shassel stopped her. "You are wrong. But now I think it will be better if I tell him." She turned to Frost and took a deep breath. "To begin, you should know their father had no trace of the gift, but he was a good man, a good teacher, and he understood well enough."
Frost nodded sympathetically. "I wish I'd known him, but what has he to do with me?"
The twins grunted at this. Shassel cleared her throat and continued. "When Andair took the throne, many in Worlish were angry over it, and with good reason. He took so much land, the easier pickings first, but he got round to the rest when the time was right, including nearly everything that had once belonged to our families, and Wilmar's. He and his army grew too powerful too quickly, until even the worst of his misdeeds went unchallenged.
"It is as much my fault as anyone. I was away at the worst possible time, a time when Dara and Dorin were just beginning to realize their nature and their potential."
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