The rescue business was much more complicated than he had ever imagined.
Now that he had his bearings, Declan surveyed the city from where he now stood in the southwestern corner. It was all contained in a roughly hexagonal wall, broken only by a distant gate to the north, some rough gap in the west, and the open southern harbor on the lake. From the water’s edge, the city sloped gradually upward to the north, flat except for a pair of hills in the northwest. Near the peak of the farther hill, Declan noted the distinctive dome of an observatory.
He pointed it out to the Ulfen. “That is where we must go.”
“You think Ellasif is there?” said Jadrek.
“No,” said Declan. “But I am fairly sure we did not arrive where she did. The portal I created was only a crude imitation of the arcane channel created by the spell that sent Ellasif here. Due to the melted ice you found at the warlock’s home, I can only suppose she arrived somewhere in Whitethrone. I’ve seen this sort of ice-based teleportation twice in recent months, and when I consulted a colleague at the—”
Olenka cupped his mouth with her strong hand.
“Imagine that we are not witches,” she said, “and that we do not understand such things.”
Jadrek grunted his agreement. “Just lead us to Ellasif.”
Declan nodded, and Olenka removed her hand. “I am not a witch, by the way,” he said, holding up a reproachful finger. How much things had changed this summer, that he was now so eager to assert himself a wizard. “We go to that observatory,” he said. “It’s the most likely place to find my master, who was abducted from his home in Korvosa.”
“Tell us more as we move,” said Jadrek. “Something tells me we do not wish to linger on these streets at night.”
Declan had to agree with that opinion. They were no longer dripping, but their wet clothing made them both susceptible to chill and more than a little suspicious. Even on the streets of Korvosa, their appearance would have provoked some hard questions from the local guards, as Declan knew all too well.
Declan began to explain the events that had instigated his long trek from Korvosa through the wilds of Varisia, and then north through the Lands of the Linnorm Kings. He had barely described his master and the fetching kitchen maid when they walked into the western quarter, where the many shops competed with each other in extravagant displays of layered woodwork. By the eldritch light of the street lamps, Declan saw more shades of white than he knew existed, and between them hues so subtle that they seemed the ghosts of once-living colors.
Soon they were no longer alone upon the streets. Streams of people flowed from an enormous stone edifice to the north, spreading out into the streets in all directions. Dozens of Whitethrone natives approached, most of them laughing or talking in voices that echoed down the streets. Most appeared quite human, although their hair and skin were fairer than Declan was used to seeing, often so blond or pale as to seem white at a distance. Some were as tall as Ulfen, though many of those who appeared to descend directly from that hearty northern stock behaved as servants and bodyguards, gazing at the ground or glowering into the shadows to dissuade any hopeful cutthroats.
The strange folks wore garments of thick linen and wool with capes of rabbit or seal pelts. A few fantastic collars rose high behind the heads of men and women with such delicate features and elegant jewelry that Declan assumed they were nobles. Their clothes were almost uniformly white, with a black muff, hat, or stole as a striking accessory.
The exception to the rule of fashion were a few groups of young men and women who laughed somewhat too loudly, walked with affected swaggers, or encouraged their fellows in choruses of the same songs again and again. They wore clothes of many colors, often garish or downright theatrical. Declan had seen more somber apparel on fools capering in holiday parades. He recognized several southern fashions: Varisian, Chelish, Taldan, and even some from distant Osirion and Katapesh. One young rake kept retrieving the enormous purple turban that fell from his head whenever he laughed at a joke.
“Jadwiga,” Jadrek murmured.
“You can’t mean everyone here is a witch,” said Declan.
“Not all of them cast spells,” said Olenka. “But all of them are witches, daughters and sons of Baba Yaga.”
She spat after uttering the name, and Jadrek admonished her with a scowl. Declan was relieved to see that none of the jadwiga seemed to notice her gesture.
Declan kept to the side of the street, hoping to avoid awkward entanglements. Jadrek and Olenka followed in grim-faced imitation of the Ulfen bodyguards they had seen. Definitely quick-witted, Declan thought. He finally appreciated the southern penchant for Ulfen bodyguards. These northern warriors were far more than just physically formidable.
They passed the celebrants without incident, for which Declan was thankful. By the time the newcomers reached the huge theater from which the revelers had emerged, the crowd had already dissipated into the surrounding residential neighborhoods. As they traveled farther north, toward the twin hills, a different nocturnal congregation began to appear.
In twos and threes, sometimes accompanied by one of the strange pale humans the Ulfen called jadwiga—surely they could not all be witches, Declan thought, so the term must have more than one meaning—enormous wolves prowled the streets. Their eyes were blue flame, and Declan overheard two of them conversing in human voices as they padded across the street ahead of them.
“Winter wolves,” said Jadrek.
“Dangerous, I presume,” said Declan.
Jadrek and Olenka exchanged a glance that let Declan know he had no idea.
“One of them led the attack on White Rook the night Ellasif’s sister was born,” said Jadrek.
“Do not speak of that night.” Olenka touched the hilt of her sword, drew the wings of Desna over her heart, and kissed her fingers.
“I want to know,” said Declan.
“You have not finished your story,” Olenka noted.
She had a point, so Declan continued to fill them in on his reasons for coming to Whitethrone. He emphasized his duty to his master, the astronomer, rather than his initial enthusiasm for rescuing Silvana and playing the hero. And he included the stories he’d heard from the Varisians of how the fierce little Ellasif had beaten the mighty Gisanto, even though he had not witnessed their bout.
They passed along a street full of windowed shops displaying a dizzying array of porcelain dolls. Declan thought that each was, for lack of a better term, perfect. Their faces, while not exactly lifelike, captured expressions one would associate with a little girl. This one was sweet, the one beside her petulant. Another knew a secret and was ready to tell it, while another had just drunk too much milk.
“Once we’ve found Majeed and Ellasif,” he said, “I should buy one of those for my niece.”
“No,” said Jadrek, gripping him by the arm.
Declan stared up into the big man’s face, surprised by his ferocious response. Jadrek’s blue eyes were hard as stones, and Declan decided it was best not to demand an explanation.
“All right,” he said, pulling his arm back.
But Jadrek did not let go. “The jadwiga make their dolls from the ground bones of captives,” he said. “They attack our villages for plunder, but also they steal children, as they tried to kidnap Ellasif’s sister.”
“Tried? I thought they succeeded.” Between Ellasif’s grim look of determination whenever the girl was mentioned and her revelation that she, too, had someone to rescue in Whitethrone, Declan had managed to piece together that much of the shield maiden’s story. Liv had clearly been stolen by the winter witches, and Ellasif was determined to get her back.
Jadrek refused to be distracted. “They tear out the souls of these children and place them within certain of these dolls. And then they place these dolls in the dancing huts that stand sentinel along our border.”
“I understand,” said Declan.
“You do not.” Jadrek emphasized each syllable with a painful squeeze of Declan’s bicep. “This is not a human city. This is a city of witches and monsters. Some of them may look like you, but they are not like you. Do not forget.”
Declan looked to Olenka, hoping for a sympathetic face, but she returned only a solemn stare, nodding agreement with what Jadrek had said. “I won’t forget,” he said.
Jadrek released his arm. Then he punched him once, hard in the shoulder, to show they were still friends.
Declan knew that was going to leave a bruise.
When they spied the rent in the western wall and saw packs of winter wolves sitting vigil nearby, they turned east toward the center of the city to avoid the creatures. They could not escape all the monsters of Whitethrone, however. They passed a little group of snow goblins led by an ogre so foul that a cloud of stinging insects formed a black halo above its lumpy head. On one street corner, a pair of blue-skinned ice trolls took turns striking each other in the chest with fists the size of ale kegs. Only occasionally did the travelers spy a band of ordinary northern men, bulky Ulfen or flint-eyed Kellids. Always these moved furtively in groups of their own kind, or else were thralls marked by collars with runes indicating ownership, supervised by one of the pale jadwiga.
When they reached the central thoroughfare, Declan noticed the cobblestones were unusually large and uniform. After the third time he twisted his ankle on them, he knelt to examine them more closely.
They were human skulls, each filled with sand and mortared beside the tens of thousands of others that formed a road from the northern gate all the way down to the ice palace.
“The bones of our ancestors,” said Olenka. “The countless dead who fell when Baba Yaga stole our land, and the countless more who died in the centuries since.”
Realizing they stood on a path of skulls, Declan lost all interest in further stories. He wanted to get inside, preferably beside a fire with a cup of spiced wine and, if Desna smiled upon him, someone who had heard news of Majeed Nores. It seemed too good to be true, but the sight of an observatory gave him hope that the winter witches had abducted him for his knowledge. He only hoped the cantankerous astronomer did not treat his captors so disagreeably as he had his apprentice. If he did, Declan’s chances of finding him alive were considerably slimmer than he’d hoped. On the other hand, if the man yet lived, his sour disposition might make his captors accept a more reasonable ransom, if only to escape his presence.
As they began to climb the winding path—formed, Declan was relieved to see, of ordinary stones—Declan realized that at this hour the best he could hope for was a servant or guard with whom to leave a message. As they approached the tin-shod door of the observatory, he prayed he would not have to return to the road of skulls to inquire about lodging. He tugged the bell pull and heard a chime inside the circular building. Unlike most of the nearby structures, its walls were constructed entirely of stone, with a domed roof of brass tarnished to a pale, streaked green. A wide slice of the roof was open to the sky, revealing the outer lens of an enormous telescope.
A hatchet-faced woman of Kellid origin opened the door and eyed them with curiosity.
“Good evening,” said Declan. “I couldn’t help but notice that this is an observatory.”
The woman stared at him, and Declan realized she might not speak the common tongue. Not for the first time, he regretted skipping language lectures at the Theumanexus. “Maybe she speaks Skald,” he suggested, tugging on Jadrek’s arm.
“I understand your words,” the woman said. “Why have you come?”
“I seek my master,” he said. “An astronomer named Majeed Nores.”
The woman frowned at the sound of the name.
“I know he was brought here, to Whitethrone, and I assumed—or rather, I’d hoped—that someone here might know what became of him.”
With a suspicious glance toward the Ulfen, the woman opened the door and stepped back to admit them. They passed through two small antechambers, the second with open cloakrooms to either side, before entering the central chamber. Jadrek and Olenka gaped openly at the sight, and Declan felt his own jaw drop as he saw the great telescope.
The device was to Majeed’s glorified spyglass what an ancient redwood was to a sapling. Mounted on a frame the size of a merchant caravel, the brass tube consisted of eight parts of diminishing diameters, the largest wider than the mouth of a well. Standing near the eyepiece at floor level, four elderly jadwiga listened intently to the lecture of a completely hairless man who peered through the eyepiece.
“Master Nores!” cried Declan. He ran a few steps before mastering his enthusiasm and walking the rest of the way toward the portly astronomer.
“At last,” said Majeed. He dismissed his audience with an imperious gesture, and the jadwiga departed with a few scornful glances at Declan and his companions. “I had begun to think you were permanently lost, boy. And do not think for a moment that your months of absence do not count against your apprenticeship.”
“Where’s Silvana?”
“What?” said Majeed. “Who? You mean the kitchen maid?”
“She was transported the same night you were,” said Declan.
“Ah,” said Majeed. “That explains the confusion. Upon my arrival, I asked why my hosts had not brought along my assistant. The estimable Mareshka Zarumina explained that you would arrive eventually.”
“Mareshka?” said Declan. He remembered Skywing saying that name back in Korvosa, but that was a question for later. “Never mind that for now. What happened with Silvana?”
“I really couldn’t tell you,” he said. “She wasn’t much use here at the observatory. Perhaps someone took pity and brought her into some local household, but really, I doubt it. The locals aren’t exactly welcoming of uninvited guests. Those without good reason to visit—or a heavy purse—usually end up in the Bone Mill.”
“The what?” said Declan.
“The Bone Mill,” Majeed repeated irritably. “It seems the bedtime stories we Korvosans tell about Irrisen are essentially true. Visitors who do not make themselves useful by bringing wealth or, in my case, a superior understanding of the astronomical arts, are eventually rendered useful in other ways.”
“What are you talking about?”
“It’s as they say about giants and witches who capture lost children,” said Majeed. “They grind their bones to make their bread.”
Chapter Fifteen
The Winter Witch
Get away, you filthy little lizard!”
Mareshka flailed her hands in a vain effort to swat Skywing out of her hair. Her icy familiar chased the little drake, orbiting the witch’s head like a frosty comet. The more she thrashed, the more Skywing clung, using her head as cover from the elemental and churning her white locks into a chaotic nest.
“Let go of him,” said Ellasif. She reached for the drake. “You’re only making it worse. You’re scaring him.”
At Ellasif’s touch, Skywing leaped away and flew a circle around the room.
They had appeared not in the Spring Palace but in a room with tall windows of perpetual ice. Ellasif could see at a glance that they were high above the frozen river. They were somewhere inside the Royal Palace.
The ice creature continued to chase Skywing. He paused to hover above a basin in the center of the room, gathering a deep breath that puffed out his little belly in what might have been a comical sight under other circumstances. He blew a gust of frost at his foe. The icy particles sparkled in the air and left a swath of white against the wall, marred by a drake-shaped blur in the center.
Skywing flew on, his wings slapping the walls as he sought a way out. Half-whitened by the sprite’s icy breath, he panted in terror. Ellasif had never seen him behave less than fearlessly, and the pathetic sound laid a cold hand upon her hea
rt.
“Let him go!” she shouted.
“I’ll have you ground to dust,” Mareshka growled at the dragon as she raised her staff. The eyes of the bearded head of her staff glowed blue-white, and a nimbus of frost danced between the horns of its helm.
Ellasif knocked the staff aside just as a flash of ice shot forth. It missed Skywing by inches and shattered one of the ice panes.
Run, sent Skywing. She will kill us both!
“Wait,” Ellasif said aloud. She was not accustomed to this mental communication. She changed her mind and thought, Out the window!
“Do not touch me again,” Mareshka snapped at Ellasif. She turned back to find her target, but Skywing had already darted out the broken window and vanished into the night sky. The little elemental pursued him, but Ellasif did not think for an instant that the clumsy thing could catch a frightened house drake.
Ellasif couldn’t bear to see Skywing harmed, but neither could she risk angering the woman who stood between her and Liv. She was relieved to see Mareshka finger-combing her hair back into place, breathing calmly as she regained her composure.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know what made him behave that way,” Ellasif said. “He must have been frightened by all the commotion at Szigo’s grove.” She surprised herself with the depth of her loyalty to Skywing, a creature she barely knew and over which she could claim no ownership. Perhaps she felt protective of him because he was Declan’s familiar—or pet, or neighbor, or whatever he had called the little drake. That Ellasif should feel protective of Declan was still confusing. After all, in a few days she expected never to see him again, once she exchanged him for Liv. She had known that from the beginning, but now the thought made her feel queasy, and not only because of her guilt at the deception she had perpetrated.
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