Frost

by Mark A. Garland

Andair pondered the other's words as he paused. "Why didn't you tell me all this in the first place?"

  "You might not have risked what you did."

  "True, but now that we have, was it worthwhile?"

  "I learned a great deal. More important, he did not use the Demon Blade, which means he either did not have it with him or he is hesitant to call upon it, even when trapped and outnumbered. My guess is that his reputation with the Blade is exaggerated and that he is afraid of it, he as much said so. Perhaps it is too powerful for him . . . that is also quite possible."

  Andair nodded. "All the more reason for us to have it."

  "Yes. And we shall, you and I. Henceforth we will have no secrets. I will see to that."

  Somehow that assurance didn't made Andair feel any better. "What is next?"

  "We must have him back."

  "What?" Andair sputtered. "Have him back?"

  "Yes, my lord, and soon. But not too soon."

  "I see."

  "Good."

  With that Gentaff turned and walked away. Andair felt about to burst as he followed Gentaff out of the room, but he followed in silence. For now.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  "This way, follow me," a voice from the shadows said, as Frost and the others passed the crook in the road just east of the city. Lurey emerged from the trees mounted on his draft horse, minus the wagon. He wore a simpler-than-usual tunic over his other clothing, a dark brown color that blended well with the woods, particularly at dusk. He pointed. "You should go north, I think, there. If they are following you, they will likely stay to this road, thinking you are headed home."

  A small village lay within sight of them, a place where the road intersected with another that ran north and south. An unremarkable village and crossroads. "Why here?" Frost asked, as the peddler eased his mount into line with the others. "And why north?"

  "You have friends that wait to help you."

  Frost nodded. "Who?"

  "It is best to wait and see. That is their request. How are Dorin and Dara?"

  The twins remained unconscious, draped one each over the withers of Sharryl and Rosivok's mounts. Frost had a fair idea of what he needed to do to revive them, but that would take a few moments and a second wind, both of which must wait till later.

  "They will be fine," Frost answered. "Have you seen Shassel?"

  "No," Lurey said, still looking away, up the road. "No, not for days. I have been traveling. But when I heard you were on your way to Weldhem, I guessed you might be in need of an ally. No reward is necessary, of course. I do this out of concern for my friends, no matter the cost in lost business. Which has been dear."

  Frost held his frown in check. Lurey seemed an amiable sort, but he tended to put his purse ahead of everything else; although, that could provide a handle by which to wield such a man.

  "I insist on giving you a reward, all the same," Frost said. "It is important to me."

  "You are much too kind."

  "I know," Frost muttered. "Something I intend to work on very soon."

  Lurey looked and sounded a bit nervous as he chuckled at Frost's remark, then his eyes got busy as new thoughts grew behind them. "You look most tired."

  "I am."

  Lurey nodded. He said nothing else as the horses drew to a halt at the crossroads. Then, "I was wondering . . ."

  "Yes?"

  "How did you fare with Andair and Gentaff?"

  Frost thought first to brush aside Lurey's questions about the rescue of the twins; the details were none of his business, and Frost was just weak and weary enough from the ordeal to make talking and riding too great an effort when combined. But he found another part of himself eager to talk about what had happened. The part that had confronted Andair's army and his great sorcerer Gentaff on their own terms—and won. "I faired well," Frost said, indicating the twins.

  "But what was it like?" Lurey asked. "Tell me, and leave nothing out."

  Frost smiled, took a breath, and turned his horse northward with the others. "Very well," he said, allowing himself a grin. "It was most . . . extraordinary!"

  * * *

  Wilmar rushed to greet them, followed in close step by his son, Tramet. Frost recognized him immediately, though as they drew nearer one another he saw that the years had not been so kind to Wilmar. Memory recalled a striking young man full of vigor, but here walked a man whose face was dark and weathered, his hair thin and graying beyond his years.

  Tramet, on the other hand, reminded Frost of his father precisely, right down to the gait and the grin the boy showed as he sprinted ahead of Wilmar to greet everyone—Dara in particular.

  "The one I told you about," Lurey said, grinning. Frost nodded, relieving any doubts.

  "Welcome!" Wilmar shouted out. "Welcome, old friend!"

  If Wilmar had come charging up the road with a weapon in his hand and cries for death-born retribution on his lips, Frost would have accepted it. Would even have expected it, up until this very moment. In choosing sides with Andair against Wilmar all those decades ago, he had made the biggest mistake of his life. Yet here was the man he had wronged and ruined loping up the road, shouting welcome and apparently offering sanctuary. Which only made Frost feel the worse for misjudging him so completely back then, for being such a fool. Andair's fool . . .

  "We are grateful beyond words!" Frost called back.

  "We expected you sooner," Wilmar said as he came well within earshot and stopped to catch his breath. They met on the narrow dirt road in a low and drifting cloud of dust stirred by the horses. Tramet went straight to Dara and Sharryl's horse, nearly bouncing as he walked. Frost had managed to awaken them, but barely.

  "It has been a very long day, old friend," Frost said in reply, still half expecting Wilmar to dispute the phrase.

  "A successful rescue against such great odds and adversaries makes for such."

  Frost nodded again.

  "Are you all right?" Tramet asked, gazing up, eyes completely full of Dara—who had certainly noticed him but had made no attempt to react.

  "Dara and Dorin were deep in trance," Frost explained. "It took much too long and proved a most draining task to revive them. They are only just coming around."

  "Gentaff's spells," Wilmar said, shaking his head. "He has that reputation. As word of your march on Weldhem spread there was great speculation about the outcome, but I can tell you that almost no one thought you would succeed. And yet you have. Now, no one in all the land will speak of anything else for weeks." Wilmar smiled, though there was a shrewdness in his eye.

  Frost decided to set the record straight from the start. "The spells Gentaff used on the twins were more layered than I would ever have expected. Which only adds to my assessment of Gentaff. The rescue went well, though thanks to luck as much as skill, and the storm in particular, which I was able to plunder. But Gentaff quickly managed to control the storm's worst fury, and he gave up much too easily after that. No, Gentaff is an even more formidable and dangerous opponent than I had expected. Just as Andair was so many years ago." And may yet be . . .

  "I hear much the same about you," Wilmar said, adding a wink—or was it only the dust in his eye?

  "I have learned a thing or two, though perhaps not enough," Frost said.

  "So say we all," Wilmar replied, and Frost sensed this was meant to put an end to the subject, or at least dissolve the darkened heart of it.

  Frost could not let it go so easily, though whether it was guilt or regard or some pairing of the two that compelled him he could only guess. But he heard himself say, "I never meant to allow so much wrong to happen. I searched for you, and Andair, for years. I do not expect your forgiveness, or your son's, for what . . ."

  "Then forgive yourself," Wilmar said. "Shassel told me most of what I needed to know, long ago. I will not tell you I wasn't angry for a very long time; I was. I lost everything. But so did you. And none of it was all your fault. The blame lies with Andair. He is the one who took away the future, the kingdom, t
he friendships, the life that was mine to live. Now that you have returned, perhaps we can pay him back in kind."

  So that is Wilmar's mind on the matter, Frost thought, seeing it now, feeling a chill of relief and satisfaction touch his spine. Good. "Perhaps," Frost said, allowing himself a smile, one he had no will to censor. "Perhaps we shall."

  The chill melted into flush. He closed his eyes and was nearly overwhelmed by the darkness and dizziness yet again; finally he opened them. He was still on his horse, but Wilmar stood beside him now, both hands reaching up to prop Frost up there.

  "They need a meal and a good rest," Lurey said, coming around to the front of the group now, bending from his mount as if confiding in Wilmar.

  "We will hide you in our home," Tramet said, his voice sounding much that of a man's—his father. Dara was coming around a little more, apparently inspired by Tramet's considerable attention, though she and Dorin still relied mostly on the able arms of Sharryl and Rosivok to keep them from falling.

  "It is near," Wilmar said. "You will all come."

  "You may bring misery down on your heads by this," Frost told him.

  "Andair's soldiers won't find you there, not for a time at least," Wilmar said. Then, "But if they do, we will all live or die together."

  "Together!" Tramet called out in echo.

  Wilmar smiled. "My son is perhaps too keen, but his heart is willing."

  "Which counts for much," Frost said readily.

  "I will be along later on," Lurey said, as he turned his mount back the way they had come. "I have neglected my business much too much these past few days. I must tend to it."

  Frost nodded, followed by Wilmar and Tramet, who both wasted no more time in turning about and leading the way.

  * * *

  "A visitor so late?" Lord Andair grumbled. He had just retired to his chambers for the night, having spent much of the evening in conference with Gentaff, and taking little joy from it. He liked being in control, liked being the one orchestrating others' troubles, not suffering with his own, and here he was mired in difficulties with his fate resting all too heavily in the hands of another.

  But it was Gentaff, after all . . .

  "He says he has vital news," the page said from the doorway. "He says you must come at once."

  "Tell him to leave his news with you and I will tend to it in the morning." He'd had a little too much ale and much too trying a day for anything more.

  "He will not do so, I have already asked," the page replied. "He is speaking with Gentaff even now."

  By the Greater Gods, Andair thought wearily. But if Gentaff thought it important enough to hold an audience with the man, then . . .

  He considered his options. He had just finished changing into his bedclothes and dismissed his squire. He sighed, then began pulling them back on himself. Nothing ever seemed to happen at midday, for some inconceivable reason. "Very well, I'm coming. Now get out!"

  He tugged at his shoes, then he followed the page. He arrived in the Great Room to find only Gentaff and the visitor, a rather short and unimpressive fellow just older than Andair himself, neatly dressed, though his clothing was not that of a nobleman, especially the drab tunic he wore.

  "A merchant?" he asked, gruff, as he strode toward the main doors where the two men stood—where Gentaff had apparently met the visitor, and kept him.

  "I am, that I am," the man said.

  "You will introduce yourself," Andair ordered.

  "A loyal citizen, a friend," the visitor replied.

  "He wishes to remain nameless, for now," Gentaff said. "Though I can force him to reveal whatever you wish."

  It probably isn't worth the trouble, Andair thought, and it is bound to take too long in any case. He glared at his visitor instead. "Let us get straight to it. I have no intention of dragging this out any longer than we must. You have information? Information worth risking imprisonment for?"

  "That I do."

  "He does," Gentaff echoed, and for the first time Andair took his visitor seriously.

  Andair nodded. "I would have it then."

  "If what I say proves valuable, I would not be averse to some sort of . . . compensation."

  Andair watched the merchant's eyes. He didn't like what he saw, but he understood it perfectly. "Yes, of course, I pay very well when I am pleased. But so far I am not."

  "It concerns Shassel, Frost's aunt."

  Andair felt the name as if struck by it. A reaction he had every intention of eliminating soon . . . one day. "What of her?"

  "Shassel has been taken captive by Haggel and Tasche, the lord prince and court wizard of your enemy, Lord Kolhol of Grenarii."

  "I know Tasche. I doubt he is any match for Shassel," Gentaff stated.

  "No doubt, but they intended to capture her this very day, and by now they may have her. They plan to take her home with them."

  "I do not enjoy the lords and mages of other realms prowling about my lands uninvited, snatching citizens," Andair said, "but in this case I may make an exception. Regardless, I fail to see why this should be of immediate concern to me. Unless they decide to bring her back."

  He glanced at Gentaff with this last to see if the sorcerer would endorse the humor. Gentaff looked unaffected. Entirely.

  "If you will, one moment," the sorcerer told the merchant, then he touched Andair's arm and walked with him to the center of the room, where he lowered his voice to a harsh whisper Andair found discomforting.

  "It may be that the Grenarii intend to use her to bargain with Frost for the Demon Blade," he said. "Tasche and Kolhol and the army they command are already threat enough, but give them the Demon Blade . . ."

  "No!" Andair blurted, then he glanced over his shoulder at the merchant waiting patiently near the door. "No," he repeated at a whisper. "That will not do at all."

  "We should first learn whether this information is accurate," Gentaff said. "If so, we must use it to our advantage."

  This was sorcerer sophistry, Andair knew, yet another annoyance that seemed inescapable with Gentaff's kind. They made much of their great cleverness in always finding ways to use the momentum of enemies, forces or circumstances to empower their magic and help them succeed, which added insult to invention. But they spent their lives training their minds to think that way. Andair could do nearly as well on the spur of the moment. Nearly. Though now and then it paid to listen to his sorcerer all the same. Andair let out a sigh, then bent to Gentaff's ear. "Of course. What do you suggest?"

  "We steal their deeds. We make it known that we have taken her, not Kolhol, and are holding her, but elsewhere, not here at Weldhem. Frost will know she is not here in any case, he has the ability. If he goes to Shassel's cottage, which he likely will, he will only find her gone. He will then be forced to come back to Weldhem and bargain with us, instead of Kolhol. If he wants to see her alive again, he must give us the Blade."

  "He will be most unhappy when he learns we have her. But far, far more unhappy if he learns we do not actually have her," Andair said, glee in his voice at first, though he was not so sure it was warranted.

  "True," Gentaff replied. "But it will not matter. When next he returns we will be better prepared to meet him, no matter what he does, and we can always claim that Kolhol raided the spot where we had taken her—he killed all your men and took her prisoner, back to Grenarii."

  Andair stared at Gentaff for a moment, a bit awed with the plan, then he nodded enthusiastically. Perfect.

  "We need only learn where he and the twins have gone, or where they are going," said Gentaff.

  "I have sent men to search for them, but it will be tomorrow at least before we hear anything."

  "Perhaps, in anticipation of your royal generosity, I can help with that as well!" the visitor piped up.

  "You have remarkable hearing," Gentaff told him, turning to him.

  "A gift," the merchant replied.

  Gentaff nodded once. "Yes, but some gifts are poison."

  The visitor said
nothing. Andair started toward him again, with Gentaff right behind. "Very well," the king said. "We will see how useful you can be." He called out into the hallway. A page and a young squire appeared almost instantly. "Fetch the gold, the red bag," he ordered, and the two disappeared again. Andair faced his visitor once more. "Now," he said, drawing close, "you will tell us where they are."

  "And then you will see that they get our message," Gentaff added.

  "I will," the merchant replied, "that I will."

  * * *

  The sound was that of breathing, several men breathing loudly and clearly in Shassel's aging ears. The warding spell worked that way, a fine spell that required almost no energy at all to function and no tending whatever, unless it needed to be redone. One she had taught young Frost, so many years ago. It did not shimmer or repel or bring any forces to bear, it simply gathered sounds and brought them to her—specified sounds, whatever remained after weeding out unwanted others. Breathing was chief among them.

  She sat up in bed and drew her walking stick near. In the event of just such a hazard she had prepared two of her oldest and most reliable spells. One of them made considerable use of the nearby forests, and was by far the most complex of the lot. The other was merely a trick of the light, and was already in place.

  Closing her eyes, drawing carefully from within herself, Shassel spoke the words that would give life to the spell she would need, if her concerns about her visitors were correct.

  Before Shassel could finish the door burst open. Blinking to see detail in the aura of moon and starlight she counted five armed figures as they rushed into the room. They seized just inside the doorway as they found themselves face to face with what Shassel knew to be three wooden table stools.

  "Wolves!" she heard them yell—or curse—it was difficult to tell. "Three wolves!" another voice shouted. In the near darkness, their minds already prone to absurdities of woodlands and magic on such a visit, these were not difficult false glamours to create in a stranger's eyes.

  "They are trained!" a third called out. "Look, they do not move. They wait to strike."

  "They await my command," Shassel said from across the room, buying just a little more time. Shassel spoke the final words under her breath, then added her binding phrase, "Tesha teshrea." She glanced up as the commotion ahead of her drew her attention. The men had drawn their swords and were advancing. They grew suddenly busy, hacking away at the three chairs. Shassel grinned slightly, but kept concentrating on the work at hand. The forest teemed with life; it grew on every surface, on every fallen tree, the surface of every still pool of water—life that came on the air and settled in a bowl of porridge or fruit to change it into something else again. Shassel could not create such life, but she could attract its attention easily enough, could bring it searching toward her, hungry, avid—then, she could guide it on its way. Dampness was the key; she had already planned for this, but there was more than enough water in the rain barrel at the corner of the cottage to supply what she would need.