Frost

by Mark A. Garland

  "But they must keep her alive to do that," Frost said. "Andair and Gentaff are many things, but neither of them is stupid."

  "Andair?" Muren said, looking about nervously.

  "Yes, and Gentaff," Frost repeated, still looking about on the floor, in the corners.

  "But they did not take her," Muren said.

  Frost looked at him. "That is what I have been led to believe. Are you sure?"

  "Yes," the boy replied. "I saw them; they came in the night, but I recognized the markings on their horses."

  "Who?" Frost asked, suddenly impatient.

  "They were Grenarii."

  Frost felt rage taking control of him as the words faded in the air between them. A flood of thoughts rushed in, all falling into place. If the Grenarii had taken her it was possible Andair had somehow known about it, and simply used that information to his advantage. Had simply lied. Such was not unusual for Andair. He has tricked me yet again!

  Sharryl and Rosivok stood close to Frost now.

  "The Grenarii have made a grave error," Frost said through gritted teeth, as he turned to look from one Subartan to the other. Both nodded.

  "Are you going after her?" Muren asked.

  Frost felt an urge to kick something, to destroy something. He fought it. "Yes."

  "I saw the road they took. I followed as far as I could, but they had horses, and . . ."

  "Yes, boy, good. You may show us."

  "Will we return to Wilmar's holdings first?" Sharryl asked.

  "It would be wise," Rosivok agreed. "If Andair and Gentaff know of this, they are sure to expect you. If they learn that you have fled north after the Grenarii instead, they may abandon their plans."

  "And attempt new ones," Frost added.

  Rosivok nodded.

  "The twins," Sharryl said.

  "It is impossible to know what Andair has in mind," Frost said, fighting hard to control his frustration. "I know only that the Grenarii have taken Shassel, and I will not allow that to endure. She must not come to harm. Wilmar and Tramet are charged with tending to the twins. They will have help. Dorin and Dara have been captured by Gentaff once already, so they will be keen to any fresh attempts at trickery, or force. We will trust together they are up to the task, at least for now.

  "As for Andair, he has tried to make it known that he has Shassel. He would not spread such a dangerous lie unless he is prepared for me to visit him again, to bargain for her return, or fight for it. He must wait a little longer than expected. Then, he will get more than expected."

  Frost stayed his own tongue. The taste in his mouth was sour enough to kill a man, and seemed to get worse as he spoke. Now, only the pain inside spoke to him. He stepped out of the cottage once more, then turned to the boy, Muren, in the doorway behind him. "Tell no one," he said. "When I return, you will be well rewarded."

  "Shassel's return will be reward enough," the boy replied, stalwart as could be.

  Frost nodded. "Good boy," he said. "I believe you may actually mean that."

  "Once and half again," Muren replied.

  Frost signaled his Subartans, and they gathered their horses to go.

  * * *

  "I bring you word, Lord Kolhol, of treachery and deceit, of a dangerous threat, but also unexpected opportunities! News that might save your kingdom, and yourself."

  "Did I hear that first part right? Do you threaten me?" Kolhol asked, leaning forward and glaring at the smallish peddler that stood before him—an older man, not quite Kolhol's age, narrow eyes, weak chin, well dressed for traveling but properly disheveled, someone who had just made a long, hard and hurried journey on horseback.

  "I would never do that," the visitor said. "I am here to serve you as any man of my means could. Out of conscience . . . and need. I have heard you can be a generous man, when the reasons are good ones."

  Kolhol raised his brow and used two fingers to stroke at his short, thick, graying beard. "You think your news that valuable, do you?"

  "I do, that I do," the other said.

  "Then speak, and if I find this news to be as you say, you shall have twice its worth. If not—well, you will not like that at all." Kolhol smiled, but stopped short of a chuckle.

  The visitor seemed undaunted. "We should speak in private, my lord."

  The king frowned, considering the request, then he shrugged and waved the many in attendance in the great hall away from his throne, except for the two large and armored soldiers that stood guard on either side of him. They would stay. "Go on," he said, leaning forward.

  The visitor leaned nearer as well. "It is not my place to ask, but I must, you see: Have you ever wondered at the ways of your son's mind? The truth of his heart? The goals he has set for himself?"

  "Constantly," Kolhol said. This fellow couldn't know the half of it, and probably shouldn't. "Go on."

  "And your court wizard, Tasche, have you ever—"

  "More so. We each have our own ideas about things; many of theirs are wrong. I have my doubts about them both, but I wonder why I must discuss them with you?"

  "You need not. I needed to know whether you trusted them."

  Kolhol saw the look in the other man's eyes, a little too steady, too calculating. "And as I do not?"

  "I would call you wise. I do not know all the facts, but it would serve you to wonder whether Haggel and Tasche are hatching a plot to do you harm—perhaps imprisonment, or even death. They have gone to great lengths to do whatever it is they are up to, even as we speak."

  Kolhol sighed. He had known or guessed most of this, and the rest . . . "You mean you do not know their plan, either?"

  "I do in part. They have captured an aging adept named Shassel from her cottage in Briarlea. They apparently intend to use her to help them with a spell designed to summon some powerful and most offensive creature or other, an ally from the darkness. Then they intend to send her back."

  "I wondered where those two had gone," the king remarked. This was as good and foolish an explanation as any. "They were seen returning. But instead of coming here they have since traveled east, into the Maardre Forest. That must be where they plan to try this spell you speak of."

  "You had them followed?"

  "Of course."

  "Then you do not doubt what I say, that they plot against you."

  Kolhol shook his head. "If any of this was to benefit me, they would have told me about it, and they would be here, not hiding in the forests."

  "My very thoughts," the visitor said.

  Kolhol shrugged. He would deal with Tasche and Haggel soon enough, in one fashion or another. "You say there is more?"

  "Yes. Much more. As luck would have it a man named Frost, a most powerful sorcerer to begin with, has returned to Briarlea after many years' absence, and he is in possession of the Demon Blade."

  "The Blade?" Kolhol said, sitting forward. He had heard rumors, many rumors lately, but there were always rumors.

  "Shassel is family, so it is not unreasonable to expect that sooner or later Frost will come looking for her. He might be a natural ally for you. He despises Andair."

  Kolhol's mind was racing. "A powerful sorcerer?" The other nodded.

  He might just be a fine replacement for Tasche, Kolhol thought, if it should come to that. Kolhol tried not to drool. "I am intrigued. This may be great news indeed."

  "I must warn you, my lord, this Frost is a capricious sort, unpredictable, dangerous. Controls would be wise."

  "Agreed," Kolhol replied. "But what controls such a man? Wealth, certainly, and power, but others can offer him that. What does he want?"

  "Other than Shassel, and Andair's hide?"

  "Yes, I see," Kolhol agreed, rubbing his chin once more; then he began to chew at his thumbnail. He stopped so he wouldn't accidentally chew it off, then sat back once more as satisfaction spread through his mind like the warmth from a fire. "If I were to capture this Shassel away from those two fools, Frost would be forced to do my bidding."

  He saw a new
and curious look in the visitor's eyes now, as if somewhere in the man's mind he was talking to himself in earnest. "Your thoughts?" Kolhol asked.

  "You know best, of course, my lord," the other answered, adding a gracious bow. "But you might be better off rescuing her."

  That did make better sense. He needed to think. "Pay him," Kolhol said, waving to one of the servants waiting at the back of the room. As soon as the gold had been counted out, Kolhol told the visitor to be on his way. He was gone an instant later.

  "Call Captain Durret before me," Kolhol told the guard on his left. The soldier acknowledged the command and rushed out of the room.

  Durret was an able soldier, a man Kolhol had fought alongside in the past and shared more than enough ale with, a man who got things done, and done right. He would have Durret take as many men as he thought he would need to collect this Shassel and return her to him, unharmed. He would have him collect Haggel and Tasche as well. No matter what that required.

  * * *

  "Isn't there some means to shut her up?" Haggel said, pulling at the door on the old keep at Maardre.

  "There is, but not yet," Tasche answered, glaring at Shassel as two soldiers carried her in and laid her on the floor as quickly as they could. They wore strips torn from blankets wrapped around their hands to keep from being burned, a consequence of holding onto Shassel this past day and a half. Though the warmth, some of the men conceded, was partly welcome considering their general condition. While they continued to improve, the men looked abhorrent: their skin greenish-brown and mildewed, rotting clothing, snot running out of their noses between bouts of coughing and hacking, their hair falling out in clumps. All particularly unsightly, so far as Haggel was concerned. He remained eminently pleased that he had not entered the cabin with them that night, not until Shassel had been hobbled by Tasche's binding spell.

  "We rest tonight," Tasche said. "I will need most of the day tomorrow to prepare. By the end of the day I will be ready to do all that must be done. Once the spell is completed, I assure you, she will be silent."

  Not a moment too soon, as far as Haggel was concerned. She hadn't stopped riding, degrading and threatening him, his father, Tasche, the soldiers and every man, woman and child in Grenarii since they had left her cottage in Briarlea.

  "There are ghosts here," she said now. "I will speak to them. They were wronged by your family, young fool Haggel. They will want your blood when I am through."

  Haggel glanced up and about reflexively, part of him expecting to see something in the shadows and corners of the large hall. The lord who built this place had been dead for years and the lands had gone back to forest. The walls that once protected the castle were but tumbled remnants now, though the keep still had a roof, or most of one, which made it suitable enough for their purposes. Haggel didn't know what had happened to those that once lived here, and he hoped he wouldn't have to learn.

  "I will tend to any ghosts that bother us," Tasche said, haughtily. "I fear no such things."

  "Fear comes either from ignorance or wisdom," Shassel said. "You lack the wisdom even to tell the difference."

  Tasche's light brown face turned florid at this. He looked about to explode. Haggel shook his head in frustration. "This is all I need," he said. "If you fall apart, everything does."

  "Yes, yes, yes," Tasche said, looking too much like a scolded child for Haggel's tastes; he'd been that too many times himself.

  The two of them just stood there. Haggel thought it an awkward moment. He was nervous about absolutely everything: the spell Tasche was counting on, the very idea of defying and likely imprisoning his father—at least for a time, the idea of actually assuming the throne of Grenarii—as opposed to thinking about it. And then there was Shassel and her threats, and Frost, whom they knew almost nothing about. The one thing he didn't doubt was his own destiny to rule as no one had ruled before. Somehow. Soon. It was getting there that posed most of the difficulties.

  "We need a good night's sleep," Haggel said finally.

  "Not so likely to happen," Shassel said, adding a laugh that was more a cackle.

  "A good night's sleep," Tasche affirmed. Then he added, "To forget about the old woman and her big mouth!"

  "She will not forget either of you," Shassel told them.

  Tasche was glaring again, turning red again—or still. Haggel had had enough. He shook his head and went to find a suitable place to lie down for the night. The lord's old bed was still usable, though fresh stuffing would have been nice. He lay down and fell asleep quickly, as he always did, though he slept uneasily, dreaming of ghosts chasing him. He woke up screaming when they caught up to him, then realized where he was. He peered into the quiet darkness but saw nothing, and went back to sleep. The third time he woke up screaming he gave up and decided to sit up the rest of the night. Which proved boring, so he woke Tasche a little early, and asked when the spell-working would begin.

  "I want to watch," he said.

  "There is not much to see," Tasche replied bleary-eyed, after grumbling that the sun had not quite risen yet. "A lot of concentrating, a lot of reciting and confirmations, a little testing, more reciting, more building, more overlaying, and so on."

  Haggel shrugged. "What can I do to help?"

  "It is a most difficult and dangerous task I am undertaking," Tasche replied. "You can see that I am not disturbed."

  That was what soldiers were for, but Haggel only had a handful of those, and none was in very good shape. Still, out here in the middle of nowhere there were no distractions anyway, which made the job palatable even for a prince.

  "Very well, get to work. I grow anxious."

  "So do I, but I haven't had breakfast."

  "You don't need it," Haggel said, making a show of sizing up the enormous proportions the wizard expressed.

  Tasche frowned condescendingly. "Food is strength, and hunger is a distraction."

  Haggel tried to think of a response but decided it was too much trouble. "Then eat!" he said, throwing up his hands. He left Tasche alone and went to awaken his men.

  * * *

  "Can we get on with this?" Haggel asked Tasche. "It will be dark again before long."

  Tasche turned on him, clearly irritated. Haggel didn't care. The bugs in the forest were eating them alive, the fresh food was nearly gone, and he was bored silly; but mostly he was dying to get a look at Tasche's most powerful, incredible, boundary-crossing, sorcerer-snubbing aberration of darkness that was to come from this most difficult spell-working Tasche claimed to have spent so many years on.

  "It goes well," Tasche said through his teeth.

  "I am impatient," Haggel said. It was about time, and Tasche knew it. But now, as he studied it, Haggel wasn't sure he liked the look on the other's face—one he was not accustomed to seeing there. Concern? Consternation? Fear?

  "What's wrong?" Haggel asked.

  "Nothing, nothing is wrong," Tasche snarled, turning back to the staff laid before him on the floor and the smoldering earthen pots set one to either side, each the size of a man's head. Whatever was in them smelled horrible, like burning dung with some sort of sour plant, surely poisonous, mixed in. The smoke curled about Tasche and drifted through the poorly lit room keeping company with the echoes of Tasche's chants as he went back to him.

  "How much more is there?" Haggel asked honestly.

  "Indeed, we are ready, if that pleases my prince," Tasche said with venom.

  Haggel dismissed it. "Good," he said.

  Tasche got slowly to his feet, then instructed the two soldiers present to pick up the bowls. "Follow along," he told them. Then he nodded toward Shassel.

  "Bring her," Haggel commanded, and the other two guards wrapped their hands, picked her up, and followed the others outside.

  They walked well into the woods and away from the old walls and keep until they reached a large clearing, now knee-deep in brush and shrubbery, where grain had once been grown. The sun had just disappeared behind the tops of the trees
to the west and the clearing was already cast mostly in shadows. When they reached the middle Tasche bid everyone halt. Then he had the two soldiers carrying the pots tramp some of the ground cover flat, an area oval in shape, eight paces across and six wide. Next they were told to place the pots at either end of the trampled spot, and Shassel was laid length-wise in the middle, head and toes pointed at the pots.

  Now Tasche strode forward, placed the point of his staff in the earth beside Shassel, and began to chant once more. The chants went on for several moments, the same four, repeating. Haggel had no idea what the sorcerer was saying, the words were not familiar, but it sounded quite dire. Haggel guessed that was probably good. He tried to grin at the tension, then he jumped as he heard a yelp—from Shassel.

  "What are you doing!" she screeched "Are you an idiot, or a fool, or both?"

  "Silence!" Tasche shouted at Shassel. "Why?" the old woman asked. "I hear you well, and I cannot believe what I am hearing. Even I would not attempt such a thing. If you continue with this madness, you will destroy all of us, perhaps many more!"

  "I refuse to listen to you," Tasche said. "You would say anything to save yourself and to change the course of this night. You have only your life to concern you. I look to the future of this realm and the destiny of its prince!"

  Shassel coughed. "Who would say anything?"

  "Tasche is right," Haggel said. He leaned over so as to spit on Shassel's prone form, but at the last instant thought again. "We expected you to try and save yourself. We did not expect it would be such a pathetic attempt."

  Tasche sent Haggel an approving nod.

  "You want to see pathetic, allow your half-witted sorcerer to continue," Shassel answered. "You will be sadly enlightened. He does not know what he is about. He has bits and pieces of the spells he needs to bring forth a creature of the darkness, but he does not know what sort of beast he will conjure. He is making much of this up as he goes, guessing, rounding, blundering. He does not have the mastery required to do what he is attempting, not on such a scale."

  "I do!" Tasche howled.

  "Do not!" Shassel snapped back.

  "My skills are greater than you know!"