Frost

by Mark A. Garland

  "Indeed, I do, that I do," said the Friend. "But I am not being difficult, only sensible. You could do just the same, and answer my questions, while I answer yours."

  "You're saying I am not being sensible?" Haggel huffed, pressing the blade even closer. He was not about to be put off by a knave who hides in the dark.

  "I did not mean to."

  "No," Tasche said, waving at Haggel again. "The mage will not be harmed. I need a mage to use as a channel, an instrument, in a very complex spell; it is one I have waited years to complete, and the future of all Grenarii may depend on its success. Grenarii, and Worlish. I have even gone to the trouble to prepare another spell that will allow this mage to sleep the entire time; once we have returned the mage to the place where we found him, he will awaken again in good health, and have no memory of what happened."

  "Incredible," the Friend said.

  "It is, I know," said Tasche.

  "Then this mage need not be very . . . cooperative in nature?" the other asked.

  "That does not matter," Tasche said.

  Haggel didn't like the hesitation in the informant's voice. He stood back and leaned to Tasche's ear. "He's up to something," he whispered.

  "So are we," Tasche replied.

  "That's different," Haggel snorted. Then he felt Tasche lean closer and gently rest one hand on his shoulder. "Please, my prince, a moment."

  Haggel decided the wizard was trying to get him to back off. Which still didn't seem like the best idea. He went along anyway, though he instructed his soldiers to stand where they were and keep a careful eye on the shadowy figure.

  "It shall be, then," the shadowy figure said at last.

  "Very well, your gold," Tasche said.

  Haggel was in charge of that. He untied the leather bindings and pulled the bag from his waist, then held it out. The dark cloth was invisible in the night, but it was clear his hand was holding something. "I would count it out for you, but some fool has doused the fire," Haggel said.

  "I understand," the Friend replied as he took the bag. He dug his hand inside, then withdrew, and set the bag in his lap. "There is a mage, an old woman who was powerful in her day, but that day has long since passed. Still I will warn you, she may prove a handful. Her name is Shassel. She is not easy to find, she moves about and is away often, but she has just returned from the Hubaran Forests a few days past, and can be found not far from here. If you do all as you say, we are both well served. But there is a catch. Or . . . several."

  "What sort?" Haggel asked, his hand tightening on the hilt of his sword again.

  "There is another mage with her, a substantial, most forbidding fellow named Frost. Quite powerful as I understand it. He has two warrior guards as well, a dangerous pair, the equal of a small army. She also lives with her great-nephews who have been known to try a trick or two as well, and the two of them, like Shassel, must not be harmed in any way. Can you promise that?"

  "None of them will be," Tasche said. "Tell him, my prince."

  "Yes, yes, yes," Haggel said, nodding in the dark.

  "Even by herself, Shassel will be a challenge," the Friend said. "I suggest you try to win her to your cause, and enlist her help willingly. She has been known to favor many such as yourselves, though I would not attempt to lie to her."

  "Are you saying we are lying to you?" Haggel protested.

  "Yes, yes," Tasche said, waving at Haggel yet again. "We will do that. We will try. How do you suggest we go about it?"

  "It will be best to wait until they are not all together, until Shassel is alone. You must bide your time. Then you can approach her openly, and tell her what you need. If she does not agree, use your sleeping spell, but be sure you do not—"

  "Yes, yes," Tasche said. "We won't harm her."

  "Tasche can see to Frost," Haggel said, growing tired of the conversation, thinking about other parts of it.

  "I have heard of him," Tasche said. "You may be right."

  Haggel thought Tasche was agreeing with him at first—then he realized the reply was meant for the informer. Which was troubling, since Tasche billed himself as one of the most able sorcerers in the known world, and since he had been insisting all along that he had everything well in hand. Not that Haggel believed such claims entirely, but he believed enough to have come this far. Any sign of doubt . . . "Does the presence of this Frost and the others concern you so much?" Haggel asked, probing.

  "Not only them, I have also heard of Shassel. She will be perfect for our needs, but she was indeed powerful once, and may still pose a challenge. If we must contend with her and Frost at the same time we could cause ourselves undue hardship."

  The informer chuckled quietly at this. Haggel frowned. "Is it at least possible that you could manage them both?"

  "Yes, but why not choose battles that are easily won?"

  Haggel thought about that, as he strained to see the wizard's face and failed. Tasche was old and well traveled enough to know quite a bit. It hadn't been easy, but Haggel had learned to at least listen to him now and then—just as he tried to listen to his father sometimes, though he often had poorer luck with that. "I see," he said. "I just don't want to spend too much time in this province."

  "Of course not," Tasche replied. "Now, Friend, where can this Shassel be found?"

  * * *

  The weather held and good speed was made the next two days, though not a minute of it proved pleasant to Haggel. He felt sore and stiff from so much riding, though he was certain Tasche must be worse off, having twice as much weight to carry on a frame not much bigger than his own. But Haggel was determined, and he tried to make the best of things; in his youth Haggel's father had made greater journeys and—as was told him time and again—suffered far greater pains only to reap great triumphs. It will all be worthwhile, he kept telling himself. It will all be glorious . . .

  They kept their horses off the road whenever others were coming, at least as much as that was possible, and made small talk about the spring weather and the remarkable health of bug populations. Dressed in proper tunics and caps instead of armor and velvet, they could have been any minor lord and his squires. Haggel rather delighted in the role, though at every meeting along the way he had the greatest urge to tell both freemen and peasants alike that these lands would all be his one day. A day not far off. Then he would be their lord and king.

  The only thing that bothered him was Tasche's silence; not that this alone was unwelcome, but it was unusual.

  "We need to know exactly what we are going to do once we find this old adept," Haggel said, taking Tasche aside as they approached the region in eastern Briarlea where the small village they were seeking was supposed to lie, at least by Haggel's best estimate.

  "We are going to wait for the right opportunity, I think."

  "Yes, yes, and then what?"

  "We will take her."

  "Yes, but what if something goes wrong?"

  "Now you are asking me to see the future."

  "No, no," Haggel snarled, growing frustrated. "I want to be sure this Shassel will not turn us all into toads . . . or worse."

  All four soldiers, who had been riding silent for the most part, began to mumble in unison at this. Tasche paused to glare at them. Haggel glared at Tasche. The assembly drew to a halt.

  "I have prepared warding spells," the wizard said. "They should protect us. But they take good time and energy to construct, and they will only last a short while. So we must determine the best time and place to make our move. Then, once I enact the spells, you and your men must do all the rest. Grab her, bind her, and so on. I will be busy maintaining my spells and watching our flanks."

  "From a safe distance, I'd guess," Haggel said bitterly.

  "I will require as few distractions as possible, of course, but I will be right behind you," Tasche replied.

  Haggel frowned and shook his head. Aside from himself, Tasche was the only man he knew who could mix duty and apparent sacrifice with self-serving conceit so well. Tho
ugh that was one of the few things Haggel actually liked about Tasche; it helped him see himself in a more justifiable light. Anyone could lead a charge, after all, but to stand aside while others charged valiantly to war and still be revered as the hero—that, to Haggel's mind, was an art worth perfecting. Though just now, Tasche had beaten him to it.

  Before he could ruminate on the subject much further, another troop appeared on the road, all on horseback. Soldiers, perhaps, though they were still to distant to make out details. Regardless, the woods looked better than ever. Haggel ordered everyone to cover, hoping they had not yet been seen by the approaching riders.

  "Keep the horses still, and behind the trees," Haggel ordered the soldiers.

  "Shhh . . ." Tasche said, after everyone had done their best to comply.

  The riders passed at ease. A well-dressed man led the way, a nobleman. Four men accompanied him, soldiers in Lord Andair's army, as was made clear by the style of their light armor and the royal coat of arms, plainly visible on the shields that flanked the horses behind their saddles. All five kept riding, and never cared to glance this way.

  "I am eager for battle, but not here, not now," Haggel whispered, as he crouched behind a tree and watched.

  "Oh, agreed," Tasche said from behind a neighboring tree. "We will choose the time and place."

  The riders finally passed out of sight. Haggel waited just a bit longer, then he ordered everyone to follow him out again.

  "If our Friend was right, the village lies just around this next bend, on the left," Tasche said as the horses walked. "Shassel's cottage will be set against the woods to the right of the clearing, beyond small rows of cabbage. That is the one we look for."

  "I was about to tell them that," Haggel said.

  "I waited," Tasche replied. "You said nothing."

  "I guess I wasn't paying attention," Haggel said, then he let it drop. He'd been thinking about other things. There had been women working in the fields along the road earlier in the morning, several of them young and, for peasants, well, not altogether unpleasant to watch. . . . He wondered if he'd have better luck with the women of Briarlea, once he conquered it, than he'd been having at home.

  As the village came into view Haggel found it was much to be expected, quite unremarkable, about two dozen huts surrounded by planted fields and pastures, a few cows about, too many sheep and lots of chickens scattered here and there. The hut that Haggel thought must be Shassel's was exactly where it should have been, and one of the larger structures in the area, though not much finer than a barbarian hut in the northern ends of Grenarii. People could be seen in the village, a few small children and fewer adults; most were out in the fields. No one stirred at the cottage by the trees.

  Haggel had been ready for this. "We should ride on past, as if continuing; then, before it begins to get dark, we can make our way back and find a suitable place to wait, and watch all the goings on," he said.

  "Before we get too close I must shield myself, or Frost and Shassel may sense that I am near."

  "You can do that?"

  "Of course," Tasche said.

  Haggel saw that look on Tasche's face, the one that passed for intense concentration but somehow reminded him of a man suffering from extreme constipation. Haggel narrowed his gaze. "Are you sure?"

  "Of course I am sure!"

  He isn't sure, Haggel thought. But it was that way with all great wizards; Tasche had explained this long ago, when the topic had come up one evening. "Nothing is certain in magic," he'd said. Which made it rather like sword fighting, as far as Haggel was concerned. He had spent many nights practicing, making use of the finest swords in the land and his father's most reliable teachers, honing his skills until he was sure he'd become the best swordsman in all Grenarii.

  Even so, when it had come time to spar with one of his father's warriors, the other had bested him completely. Devastating at first, but Haggel had since reasoned that no one could be that much better than he was, that luck and the prevailing will of the gods must play a crucial role in such things. In any case, he'd improved since then.

  "Do what you must," Haggel told Tasche, then to his men, "Keep the horses close, just in case."

  With the soldiers' acknowledgment they kept riding until the village was out of sight, then they turned and picked their way back into the trees, with Haggel leading the way and Tasche coming along behind.

  * * *

  "It may be possible to meet with Gentaff alone, and not Andair," Frost said, picking up the topic once more as he walked with Shassel along the road. She had been eager to say hello to people she hadn't seen in some weeks, old friends and neighbors, and had insisted Frost come along. He had little patience for that sort of thing, but could not refuse Shassel her wish. Almost everyone had been delighted to see her, but that came as no surprise to Frost. Now, with the day's light and their energy both starting to fade, they had decided to make their way back to Shassel's cottage.

  "Possible, maybe, but unlikely," Shassel said. "Even if Gentaff was a decent and reasonable man, and he is neither, he would have very little reason to go about meeting with you in secret. He has nothing to gain."

  "If he knows the true-named Keeper of the Demon Blade, he might well want to see the Blade delivered into the proper hands as I do, even though Andair may not. A private meeting would separate the two and allow him to speak his mind, and to hear mine."

  "All for nothing. You don't know him. Even if he bargains he will not bargain in good faith; it is something he and Andair utterly lack."

  Frost believed her and stopped short of further debate; he hadn't even convinced himself. Had this been any other situation he might never have had this conversation at all, but it wasn't that simple. As long as the fate of the Demon Blade remained in his hands he could not act as he would, but rather as he must—no matter the personal cost, or how small the chance of a proper result. With a sigh he said, "I should give him the opportunity, even so. I feel I have little choice. Not if there is to be any chance at all that Gentaff might cooperate. Once I am rid of the Blade I can exact retribution on Andair, in full, but not until."

  "Tell me, when you confront Andair, on whatever terms, will you kill him?" Shassel asked matter of factly.

  "It is . . . possible."

  "Then I must tell you something else. As appealing as that prospect is, even to me, there is a reason I have not been plotting to rid Worlish of him these past few years. One you should consider as well, before you act."

  "Go on," Frost said, slowing his pace a bit.

  "The military balance would be sorely affected. Kolhol, the Grenarii king, has had his eyes on Worlish since fighting in his own lands ended almost a decade ago. He has a large, well-trained and well-supplied army, one that could be successful, I think, under the right circumstance. If Andair and Gentaff were removed, then much of their army would effectively be removed as well; many are loyal to him, or to his wages. There would be confusion, at least, for a time, long enough to leave Briarlea open to an almost certain invasion from the north. The rest of Worlish would fall easily enough after that."

  "Might this Grenarii king be persuaded not to act? A solid argument could be made, a messenger sent."

  "He has a son with an eager sword as well, or so I am told and the Grenarii army is much too big to sit on its hands forever. No, I doubt Kolhol would be persuaded even by the great Frost and his Demon Blade."

  She'd said this last half in jest, but the thought had crossed Frost's mind. "The Blade, perhaps," he said. "He has no doubt heard of it like everyone else. A cautious threat might be arranged, to at least buy time . . ."

  Shassel looked at him. "But?"

  "But I believe it would be ill-advised. If I am to go to Kolhol and threaten them with the Blade, I must be prepared to use it, and I am not. Thousands might die. I might die. Besides, we have no reason to believe the Grenarii know that the Demon Blade has surfaced, and I have no desire to tell them. Men and nations enough are looking for it
already."

  "So, there seems no easy solution," Shassel said.

  "No, but I cannot simply do nothing. If I have to, I will find another way to see the Blade safely delivered into proper hands, then come back and see to Andair and the Grenarii in my own good time, by my own best means."

  "I will help."

  "I know," Frost said, and glanced up as a boy of about fifteen years came by at a trot, heading the same way they were, toward the village. He looked ruddy-faced and tired as if he'd been running a long way and looked like just the sort Frost was going to need if he was to do as he'd said—like it or not. "You, boy, hold!"

  The boy stopped, chest heaving. Sweat soaked his brow and made his hair stick to the sides of his face and the back of his neck. His clothes were faded and frayed, but his eyes were bright enough. Frost asked, and the boy said his name was Muren, though he sounded uneasy. He seemed to recognize Shassel, but that apparently provided him little comfort, and Frost was clearly the reason.

  "One of your neighbors?" Frost asked Shassel.

  "Not everyone understands me as you do you," she said with a nod.

  Frost nodded in kind. Shassel had helped the peasants countless times with sick children, beasts or crops, and her presence in the region had helped to keep the worst of Andair's troops and others less savory from taking greater advantage of them. But sorcery was something most folk feared, even in the best circumstances. Like the weather it could turn against you without warning, and there was no defending against it. They knew Shassel, they didn't know Frost.

  Frost leaned toward the boy and held his gaze. "You have nothing to fear from us, boy. Only the king and his wizard need have those worries. Which is who I want you to see. I need a messenger to go to Weldhem, and I suspect you need a few good coins."

  Muren's frown lasted another instant. Frost held out the coins, and the boy's enthusiasm blossomed.

  * * *

  "How can I serve you, my lord?" Jons asked. He'd worn a freshly laundered green and blue tunic, new taupe pants and his best boots—all tailored precisely to his liking—to his audience with Andair and Gentaff in the great hall, and he felt every bit as daring and colorful as his clothes. What the king thought of him was possibly more important than what the king paid him. Jons could see himself serving no one of lesser stature in the future.