by David Wise
All about them now, trees thinned, scrubbier varieties replacing the forest titans of the lower mountain. Through gaps in the woodland wall, the journeyers saw open ground, a frozen desolation drenched in waning moonlight.
"Hope we is nearin'them mines," a mercenary wheezed. "I wants to get about killin'them pit workers and takin'the silver."
"Save your breath," Wilm said curtly, eyeing his bloodthirsty fellow fighter with distaste. "No telling how much farther he will make us climb. . "
But in fact, within fifty paces they reached the sought-for campsite. Five of the travelers sank gratefully onto the stone benches ringing an ancient fire pit. Hans alone was energetic, buoyed by anticipation. He walked to the northernmost edge of the clearing and gazed out at the barrens. Not far away stood miners' huts, securely shuttered against the night. With an evil smirk, he touched the sword. Lisl and the men watched him anxiously, sensing magic in the frosty air. Satisfied with his efforts, Eckert turned and said, "Gather fuel. Get a fire going."
"Will that not reveal us to them there on the slope, Cap'n?"
"No. Nor will our torches. I willed the miners to see and hear nothing beyond their doors. So you have no excuse for not working. Move."
They did, grumbling. And when the pit glowed with heat, they grumbled about the hard cheese and dried meat they had brought in their packs. Exasperated, Hans used the sword to lure two plump hares within reach, skewering the helpless prey. Content at last, the mercenaries butchered and roasted the game, devouring it noisily.
Wilm and Lisl ate little and sat apart from the rest. Clasping hands, they eyed each other sympathetically, mutual enslavement and hatred of their enslaver linking them. As a cold wind soughed overhead, the gypsy began to croon. The haunting melody gave the brutish mercenaries pause. Even Captain Eckert listened with interest.
"What is that song?" he asked when she finished.
"Regina d'Ghiacco."
He grimaced. "The Ice Queen? 'That ridiculous Vistana legend of a beautiful spirit who prowls this mountain? "
"Jezra Wagner is not a legend," Lisl snapped. "She was buried in an avalanche long ago. Her spirit roams Mount Baratok and the lands about and seeks relief from the terrible cold that always afflicts her. If she touches you. . it is death."
The veterans'eyes widened. Hans, though, spat an obscenity. "Ridiculous!" he repeated. "Who has seen this Ice Queen? You? And if she is such a menace, how has anyone lived to tell the tale after encountering her?"
Lisl shrugged. "I said you die only if she touches you. Some who saw her managed to flee before she got too close. Later, they returned and found their unfortunate companions frozen."
His laugh echoed through the clearing. "And you superstitious Barovians can think of no other way a man might freeze to death? If a fool gawks at a snow mirage until his blood congeals, that does not prove spirits exist. "The mercenaries, encouraged by his explanation, nodded and chuckled.
Lisl insisted, "Jezra is real, and the gods help those who invade her ancestral lands, as we are doing."
Hans lashed out, slapping her hard. She fell back on the stone bench, her cheek reddening from the blow. Wilm struggled to rise and defend the gypsy, but could not; his brother crushed that noble impulse with a scornful glance and a touch on his sword.
"You seem to have an affection for her," he said, his tone mocking. "Very well then, keep her quiet. Share her naive beliefs in Vistana legends, if it solaces, so long as you are not noisy about it. As for me, I believe only in money. Not gold, precious though it is, for it is too soft for my nature. No, I will have a fortune fit for a king — cold, hard silver, enough to last me a lifetime!"
On the mountain slope, the beautiful young woman halted. She had been listening to a melancholy song issuing from the woods and wondered why it had ceased so abruptly. The ancient tune and the singer's sweet alto voice had been pleasing.
She wondered, too, why the journeyers stopped where they did. Jezra had assumed they would continue straight on to the miners'huts. Instead, they made camp on the border between forest and barrens.
No matter. Indeed, this was better. She would rendezvous sooner than she had expected.
Ever since she had begun her descent at twilight, she had adjusted her course to intersect with theirs. Now she would meet these people face to face. Her heart pounded with excitement. How she could speak to them, perhaps share her own songs with the woman she had heard earlier. . and she could touch them. .
The strange hunger in her breast worsened with every passing moment. She must hurry! Her pale eyes gleaming, Jezra headed toward the camp at the edge of the barrens.
A lopsided discussion was underway there, the veterans questioning, their captain sweeping aside every doubt expressed.
"But the count, the boyar's thief-takers. ."
"No thief-takers will pursue us. Admittedly, Sebestyen's original plan would have drawn them like flies to carrion. He was going to recruit a gang of fellow half-breeds to slit the miners'throats. How stupid and clumsy! And entirely unnecessary!" Hans grinned and said," Once the moon is set, we will simply walk over to the huts. At my command, the bespelled workmen will emerge from their hovels and load the silver on mules for us. We lead the pack train back here, then on down the mountain. ."
"Leaving a trail of footprints and hoofprints a child could follow," Wilm commented acidly.
Hans noted that his brother still held Lisl's hand. This deepening affection between them might explain the pair's annoying tendency toward defiance. He would smash Wilm's feeble little rebellion in due time. As for Lisl. .
"You forget my sword's power," he said, gesturing grandly. "The mountain flank above the mines is heavy with snow, a weight that needs only a touch of magic to bring it down on them. The avalanche will cover everything, including tracks. To the boyar, it will seem an unfortunate accident. By next spring's thaw, when he discovers the truth, we will be far away — and very rich!" Hans sat back, his expression smug.
The mercenaries nodded approvingly. "Ai! Twil be a treat to see 'em squashed under all that snow!" one crowed, his mates slapping their knees and grinning.
Lisl shivered, and Wilm put an arm around her. "Come closer to the fire," he said.
"It is not. . not that kind of cold. It is. ."
"We still have a while before the moon sets," Hans interrupted them. "Amuse us, gypsy. Tell our fortunes, for fortunes we soon will have!"
Lisl shivered again and shook her head. Wilm pleaded that his brother let her be, but Hans demanded she obey. "I know you play those Vistana tricks, woman. I saw you reading fortunes for the tavern patrons. Read ours."
Reluctantly, she knelt by the fire pit and pulled a set of runes from her pocket, casting the engraved stones on the ground.
"Well?" the eldest mercenary exclaimed. "What do they say? "
"That you will finally have relief from the aches in your bones, an end to the old wounds that often pain you."
He looked surprised, then smiled. "A good fortune, that! No more pain while we and the Cap'n lounge about the foreign palace he will buy with that silver!"
"What about me?" another asked.
Lisl threw the runes again, her manner solemn. "I see you. . elsewhere. "
The man guffawed. "Elsewhere than Barovia, you mean. Far away! I will drink to that, once we are across the border with the loot."
The gypsy seemed about to add to the prophecy, but did not. Instead she cast the runes for the remaining mercenary. "A long journey for you as well."
"Not comin'back to Barovia ever, am I?" he worried.
"No. Not ever."
Wilm knelt beside her and whispered," What do you foresee for us?"
She cast the runes carelessly and said," Freedom."
"You have not read my fortune," Hans cut in. He chuckled at her surprise. "I need not believe this mumbojumbo to be amused. Throw the stones."
This time, Lisl peered closely at the runes'position, then stared at Captain Eckert. "I see silver. Co
ld, hard silver. You will have more of it than you can carry."
"Ha! It takes no arcane skill to predict that! Of course I shall have the silver," he said loudly, as if daring anyone to argue. "After all I have done to win it, I deserve that silver."
Lisl thought of her cousin. Wilm remembered scores of helpless victims cut down by his brother, as though those people were less than insects. The gypsy said tonelessly," Yes, you deserve it."
Suddenly, a moan of agony stunned the group. Hans whirled around and watched in astonishment as a beautiful stranger rushed into the clearing.
She was a tiny, lovely woman dressed in an elegant habit, her cloak lined with the most expensive fur. Hair the color of silver flowed about her shoulder? and exquisite face. Her eyes were an incredible blue, and they seemed to pierce the captain's soul.
Hans had never beheld such a woman. Fascination warred with suspicion. "Who. . who are you? Where did you come from? "
"Where? I come from the mountain. My mountain."
"Yours?" He sounded inane, even to himself. His shock was now heavily tinged with apprehension, and he unsheathed his sword.
"I am Jezra, and all the Wagner lands are mine. " Briefly, she glanced at the others, then returned her attention to Captain Eckert.
"You are one of the count's spies, sent to stop me from taking the silver!" he shouted, raising the sword and ordering his men to attack. As alarmed by the unforeseen threat as he, the mercenaries hastened to cut down this intruder.
Compelled to obey his brother's commands, Wilm, too, started forward. But Lisl clutched at his arm desperately, holding him back. "Stay away from her!" she screamed. "She is death!"
If Hans heard the warning, he gave no sign. "By edge of steel or by my magic, you perish!" the captain exulted. "Become the ghost you claim to be!" His sorcerous blade slashed completely through the stranger's pretty neck.
To no effect.
The mercenaries struck her breast and belly and head. None of their blades drew blood.
Hans Eckert gawked at his sword and then at the woman. "This cannot be! It is impossible! The sword must kill you. I bade it take your life!"
"Why are you so unkind?" Jezra wailed. "I only want to share your fire, your presence. . "As swift as light, she darted at them, taking hold of each man in turn, pleading for understanding.
As she made contact, bodies were transformed instantly into glittering, crystalline ice. Three frozen corpses stood in the clearing when Jezra reached Hans.
The spirit touched him, and the touch became an embrace. Her small arms slid around his waist as she gazed up at him. "You are too handsome to be such a cruel man. So handsome, and so warm. No, please, do not pull away from me! Just let me hold you for a while." Sighing, she laid her silvery tresses against his chest and hugged him tightly.
Invisible manacles fell from Wilm's wrists. The compulsion that forced him to serve a brother grown hateful and murderous vanished like dew in a bright sunrise.
Dumbfounded, he stared at Hans and the silver-haired woman. She embraced a man of ice who held a sword of ice. As she at last withdrew a pace from the mercenaries'leader, an abnormally powerful gust of wind roared up the trail. It was preternatural, an angry god's breath, thrusting violently at the lifeless statue of Lord Captain Eckert. The crystallized form swayed for a long moment, then fell with a crash, shattering, and the magic sword shattered beside him.
Jezra was oblivious to this stunning conclusion of their embrace. She cried in ecstasy," Warm! I am warm again. "It was a prayer of thanksgiving, and she repeated it over and over, dancing among the remaining ice-clad statues she had made. The spirit sang joyously of spring and summer, things she had not known for centuries.
Lisl tugged urgently at Wilm's arm. "Do not listen. Her singing can drive mortals mad. Quickly! We must get away. Legends say that her joy when she steals warmth from the living lasts only a short time. Then the Ice Queen might seek us."
The young man sheathed his sword, and he and the gypsy sidled cautiously around the fire pit and hurried to the edge of the woods. "We can go to the miners'huts," Wilm suggested. "The spell Hans cast is broken for them, too, now."
"Yes! We will be safe there. Safe. . and free." Reminded of the accuracy of her earlier prophecies, Wilm felt a chill snake down his spine.
They paused at the forest's edge and looked back at the camp. Jezra still danced there, leafless trees visible through her graceful, insubstantial face and body. Broken pieces of a steaming, half-frozen corpse and a nowuseless mage sword lay at her feet.
"What of her?" Wilm wondered. "Poor specter!"
"She will return to the mountain," Lisl said. "Jezra spoke truly. The Wagner estates are her home, and she guarded their upland holdings from invaders tonight."
Wilm stared at his elder brother's remains. Moonlight gleamed on the frozen pieces, making them resemble a heap of sparkling coins. "You spoke truly as well, Lisl," he said. "Hans finally won his cold, hard silver, enough to last him through eternity. Come. He has no power to keep us with him anymore. "Holding hands, the couple walked on toward the mines.
And Jezra Wagner, the Ice Queen, singing a paean to the warmth of life, danced out of the forest clearing. Bathed in silvery moonlight and momentarily rid of the terrible hunger that drove her, she began to ascend Mount Baratok.
Objets d'Art
The invitation had mentioned "finest pheasant, reddest wine, and afterward, a tour of Marquis D'Polarno's famous art gallery. "I had no doubt of the excellence of these amenities, nor of my enjoyment of them; but I'd not come for dinner or drink or paintings. I'd come for immortality.
Stezen D'Polarno himself met me at the door. He was dark and elegant in the way of Southern men, but his smile was fierce and cold as a cat's. His attire was much richer than mine: a blue brocaded jacket, ruffle shirt, red vest, white canons, and tall boots that might have been made for riding.
"Welcome, Professor Ferewood — and all the way from the Brautslava Institute in Darken. I am honored. Come in. You've nearly missed the first course."
I bowed deeply, trying not to ruin the crease in my trousers. I'd struggled long to impress the line in the knee-worn wool and didn't want it stretched out just yet. Before I could rise again to speak, Stezen, hand extended, interrupted:
"Your" study of mortality and its. . remedies is quite well known to me."
He was a card player, this one, and had just revealed enough of his hand to draw me off. But these swarthy canasta cardsharps have nothing on Darkonian poker players.
"As, too, sir, is your art collection, and your own. .dabbling in my discipline. "
He smiled his cat-smile again, and the wry light that shone in his eyes told me my motives were duly noted. "Come in."
I bowed once more, shallowly this time, removed the cocked hat from my silver head, and stepped across the threshold. The moment I was fully within the huge crimson forehall — with its lush carpets, fine wall fabrics, satin draperies, black-marble stairs, and high and molded and bossed ceilings — I knew I must not let slip my awe. Keeping eyelids trimmed, I calmly relinquished my walking stick, coat, and hat to the servant who materialized out of nowhere. I waited until Stezen had stepped up beside me before offering some polite though reserved observations about the place.
With a wordless nod, he gestured me into the great hall, and I walked dutifully into it.
Though I had attended many of the richest colleges in Darken, I had not seen so sumptuous a chamber in all my days. The place, though uniformly huge, felt dark and close due to the thick piling of red upon black upon red: candles and moldings, casements and floors, embroideries and vases. . My stoic expression grew less so as my eyes greeted marvelous appointment after marvelous appointment.
Stezen hung back half a pace, a smug look on his feline features.
No point in my masking it, I told myself: he could have smelled my amazement. We passed many goldgilded paintings that I knew would be making Curator Clairmont drool. He might have come for
the paintings, but I had not.
"As you might imagine, good sir," I commented as we approached the banquet table, which was decked with silver and hemmed in by a black crowd of carnivorous nobles," the chance to converse with you about our. .mutual interest is what I'm really hungry for."
His eyes flashed. "We will more than converse on that matter. But food first and philosophy following."
I drew back the proffered chair and was seated amidst the other carnivores. The impressive collection of noble folk around me seemed to know that I had delayed their meal, and they seemed to resent it. Some were acquaintances: the mousy and disheveled Curator Clairmont from the Institute, a burly oaf of a man named Krimean, a flirtatious former student named Lynn who must have gotten an invitation by way of the bedroom. Others were mere acquaintances, or total strangers: a chubby merchant couple displaying all the hackneyed gawd of their kind, a passel of women who seemed all too fond of touching one another, and a host of others that disappear into the depths of my memory now. In one way or another, though, I knew everyone's interest was doubtless piqued by the rumors of Stezen's elixir of life.
Mine surely was.
No sooner than I was seated, servants sailed into view, their hands bearing cargos of huge and steaming platters. The first of these was placed in the center of the table and uncovered: a giant roasted pheasant. By some culinary trick, the bird had been cooked with the feathers still on its wings, tail, neck, and head. The rest of the fowl had been plucked bald, then dressed with wine and butter and feathered with leafy spices of every variety. After roasting, the lifelike head and slender neck had been pierced by an ingenious and inconspicuous wire near the breastbone, which was driven right through the throat to the beak. By this contrivance, the fully plumed head was positioned in a gracious bow, its unblinking eyes regarding the feasters submissively. The wings and tail were similarly arrayed, so that my first impression of the bird was it had somehow submitted itself to the plucking and basting and dressing and roasting and piercing through neck and wings and tail so that it could now stand before me, willingly presenting its steaming back to be sliced open. And, presently, it was.