"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 termsand 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 everyoneDara 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 Darawho 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 winkor 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, the 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'shis 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 stoodwhere 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 herhe 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 herspecified 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 yellor curseit 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 waterlife 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, avidthen, 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.
As they finished battling the chairs and came toward her, she fed the spell all she could manage. She couldn't see the rain barrel, but she could sense its level dropping, just as she could sense with slightly less certainty the sudden sogginess of the intruders' clothing. The rest of the task came easily after that.
The men stumbled a little, shrugging and tugging, scratching and pulling at clinging clothes, then they began to rub their eyes, to wheeze, and sneeze, and cough. One doubled over and heaved whatever he had eaten last onto the cottage floor, then another did the same. Already they were starting to smell like muck dredged from the bottom of a marsh . . . or worse.
"Leave," she said to them, in her harshest tone. "Leave this house or suffer greatly."
One of the intruders barked a command, and they all tried to come at her again, but their ills were clearly getting the better of them, and the effect was increasing. They would be mildewed, moldered and going to rot both inside and out in another few moments if they did not turn about and leave. Away from here the spell would wear off eventually, and they would slowly become less enticing to the tiny creatures infesting them now. Shassel felt a moment of relief as she watched the men stumble, then take to their knees and begin to crawl away, their forms just visible in the open doorway. She breathed a sigh. The effort had tired her considerably, but the worst of it was behind her, and it was a good sort of tired, like climbing a hill for a magnificent view. She felt quite pleased with herself.
Then the doorway filled with darkness as a huge shape the breadth of the opening, though not quite its height, appeared. The man's head was round and topped by a wide-brimmed hat. At first she thought it might be Frost, but no, the hat was different and even Frost was not so large a man, not nearly so big around. In the same heartbeat she knew this was an adept, one capable of hiding his glamour from her until he had stepped into her presence. Shassel had nothing substantial prepared for this.
Instead she attempted to wrap the spell afflicting the soldiers around this new intruder too; she spoke the extra phrases as best she could imagine, then drew all she could from herself, more than she should. The effort seemed to succeed at first, but then she felt the energy of the spellall of itsuddenly dissipate, like pushing on a door that's jammed and having it abruptly opened. The other had used a warding spell of a different kind, one capable of deflecting, of shedding magical energies like a well-oiled cloak shedding rain. It had been well constructed over time, and quickly adaptable to whatever the wizard encountered, though that required substantial personal resources. Clearly, this big fellow had the capacity. Shassel could not hope to match him toe to toe.
The men on the floor were getting up now, urged on by the mountainous mage.
"Who are you?" Shassel called out to him. "Why do you come here? I have nothing you want."
"I disagree," the man in the doorway replied, raising his hands and shouting an undecipherable phrase. Shassel felt the other's binding spell take hold. Her hands would not move, and neither would her feet. Another solid piece of magery, another this wizard had no doubt spent considerable time on. He was maintaining the spell directly, keeping it well supplied with energy from his considerable reserves.
Shassel tried, but she did not have the mass or the strength to free herself. Or the toolsnot just now, at least. She tried to speak but her throat locked, bound as well, though not as tightly as her limbs. Only a muffled, wheezing whisper came out. Certainly not a voice to be used for casting spells.
"You have her?" said yet another voice. A much, much smaller, younger sounding man appeared in the doorway just as the colossal sorcerer moved inside and came a little closer.
"Yes."
"Good as your word."
"Who . . . you?" Shassel got out, though she barely recognized the words herself.
"I am Tasche," the wizard said. "You have heard of me."
Shassel tried. "Yy"
The wizard waved a hand, and Shassel felt her throat ease a very little bit.
"Yes."
"Of course."
"Though . . . nothing good . . . I assure . . . you," Shassel said, straining but happy to do so.
"Just quiet her again," the one in the doorway said.
"I can feel you trying to undo my bindings," Tasche said, ignoring the one behind him. "It will not work, but you are welcome to exert yourself all you want. It will only make things easier."
Tasche reached the table and waved, lighting the lamp that rested there. He looked quite wicked in the dim light flickering up from the table in front of him. All jowls and shadows. Deep-set eyes. A tent of a cloak.
Shassel struggled, but she was forced to let up. "The Greater . . . Gods . . . curse you," Shassel growled, angry enough to have screamed, if only she could.
The bastard was right, that was the worse of it. She was too frail to force him loose of her. Better to bide her time and use her wits, something Tasche likely did not have in proportion to bulk.
"Ah, much better," Tasche said, as he felt her ease her struggle against him.
"Who . . . is he?" Shassel asked, nodding in the direction of the door.
"Prince Haggel of Grenarii, of course," the man in the doorway answered for himself. "And one day, king. King of Grenarii, and more."
"So . . . sure," Shassel said, closing her eyes. She had heard enough of the prince as well. She had expected nothing more than this. But one could hope.
"I am sure, yes," the prince replied. "And you are going to help."
"Yes," Tasche said. "You are indeed."
"How?" Shassel asked.
"It is the most wonderful idea," Haggel began, sounding very keen as he took one small step forward. "Tasche has been working on a spell that will allow him to draw forth"
"My prince!" Tasche shouted, cutting off the younger man. "She does not need to know."
"Ah, of course." Haggel turned to his men, who were all gathered near him, coughing as quietly and politely as possible and apparently trying to stop their shivering. "Get her," he said. "So we can leave. We have been in this land long enough . . . for now."
Shassel had never met either of these men, though she had heard enough about them to know that even King Kolhol himself was not terribly fond of them. "For now?"
"I will be King of all Worlish soon enough, old hag. Pray you live to see that day."
"Perhaps . . . one of you . . . will be king," Shassel answered, getting her voice in slightly better order.
"I will be!" Haggel snapped, then he seemed to calm himself. "Me," he added, all the same. "Me."
"I live only to serve," Tasche said with a minor bow.
Shassel shook her head. Now she knew what she was up against. In her youth these two would have been the most glorious of playthings. She cursed the march of time. Then she left that thought, and began important new ones.
Two days didn't seem like very long, but it had been long enough to allow Frost to get his wind back, if not all the bulk and stamina he had spent like a drunkard's coins during his battle with Gentaff. He was still recovering from his battle with another wizard in a mountain pass, and had not been fully back to normal in the first place, but he had done well for himself, he was sure of that. And he liked the idea.
Almost as much as he liked the idea of breakfast, which Dara had insisted on cooking for everyone, though especially for Tramet. Frost feasted on eggs cooked with cheese and thick hot porridge complemented by fresh bread rich with lard and spread with honey. Tastiest of all were the pieces of well-smoked and salted pork that lay in a shrinking pile in the center of the table.
"She has not stopped looking at Tramet since we arrived," Frost said, pausing from the meal, raising a thinned yet still corpulent hand and speaking behind it to Wilmar. He was back to consuming the rest of his generous portions by the time Wilmar had swallowed and said, "And he her. But it was so even years ago, when they were only children. It seems time and ripening has only deepened their fondness for one another."
"And absence, perhaps," Frost added.
"She's making a fool of herself," Dorin said, careful to keep his voice down as well. He sat close to Frost's right and opposite Wilmar, but right next to Trametwho had taken his elders' remarks in good stride, but now seemed to take exception to Dorin's.
"I suppose that means I've made a fool of myself as well," he said, eyeing Dorin pensively.
"Actually," Dorin said, "yes."
"Is that so?" Tramet said, rising from his chair as if to challenge.
"Sit down!" Wilmar commanded, and the boy did as he was told, reluctantly.
"He is the one who started it," Tramet protested. "He is saying that"
"Are you defending your honor, or Dara's?" Wilmar asked.
"Both," Tramet said.
"Then you have a job ahead of you," Dorin said with a wicked grin.
Tramet seethed, but as he looked to his father, he found the other shaking his head slowly, side to side, warning him. Tramet calmed himself slightly, took a breath, and turned to Dorin once more. "Life would be simpler if I were more like you, and simply had little honor to worry about."
Now it was Dorin whose features grew gnarled.
"A fine parry," Frost said, placing his hand solidly on Dorin's shoulder. "But that will be enough, I think. Anymore and this wonderful meal would be spoiled."
As Dara returned to the table and sat, everyone was absolutely silent.
"What's wrong?" Dara asked, as she looked up.
"Not a thing," Frost said.
All heads nodded in accordance.
"You weren't talking about me, were you?" she pressed, apparently not convinced.
"About how good the food is," Tramet said, glancing hopefully at Dorin.
"And I was agreeing," Dorin said.
Wilmar grinned privately at Frost, then at the boys, who had gone studiously back to eating. Not so serious, Frost thought, looking at these two young men who had known each other for most of their lives. They were too alike, if anything, and good friends. A bit of testing was to be expected, especially where Dara was concerned.
"If you are up to it, we have much to talk about, you and I," Wilmar told Frost, as even Frost finally admitted his unwillingness to attempt another helping.
"I intend to right some very old wrongs," Frost told him, even though he had said as much the day before.
"I know," Wilmar said. "And I am counting on you to do just that. I have waited too many years for this time. But there are many new wrongs as well. We also will work on them."
"Yes, we shall," Frost agreed.
"If we can truly count on Frost to help," Tramet said, making sure not to look anyone in the eye.
An awkward silence filled the room for a moment. Frost had expected this from Wilmar and his son. "You can," Frost assured him.
"It is not your place to say such a thing," Wilmar said. "With all I have told you, all you have been told, there is much you still do not know."
"Dorin and Dara have told me more than enough already," Tramet said, though as he sat there under the disapproving glare of his father, he seemed to grow less confident.
"There are always two sides to a story," Wilmar said.
"When did they tell you these things?" Frost asked, turning to the twinswho for their part looked suddenly as if the Greater Gods had only just created them, wide-eyed and innocent of the world.
"It was long ago," Tramet answered for his friends. "When you left, you cleared the way for Andair and all the misery that has followed. I don't know if you were scared, or shamed, or both, but Dorin and Dara"
"I know," Frost said, loud enough to stop the boy. "They have told me, and I am sorry. This comes to mind too often, but I cannot change the past. I am working on the here and now, however. Andair and his sorcerer did not have their way this time around. Dorin and Dara are here as proof of that."
"But for you, we would not have been taken," Dorin said, not angry, but not entirely forgiving either.
"Of course, you are right," Frost said, and nothing else as the two stared at one another.
"We should clean up," Wilmar said.
Frost set his spoon back in his empty bowl. Three pieces of pork remained. He reached for one, but dropped it again as he heard someone at the door, knocking. Tramet went to the door and opened it.
"Good to see you again," Tramet said.
Lurey stood grinning at him, looking at bit flustered. Tramet let in the peddler.
"Back so soon?" Wilmar asked, rising to greet his visitor.
"I came at once," the peddler replied, all out of breath. "There is a herald from the king," he said. "He walks about asking questions and speaking of our friends here." He looked straight at Frost. "He asks that any who know of you or might come across you convey the king's message."
Frost nodded. "Which is?"
"He claims Andair has taken Shassel in place of Dara and Dorin, though she is not at Weldhem."
Everyone stood up at once in a clatter of wooden chairs on wooden floorboard. "Shassel?" Frost said, repeating the name out loud as Dorin and Dara gasped in unison. They all looked at one another, stunned.
"While you were busy rescuing Dorin and Dara, it seems Andair and Gentaff were busy working the second half of their plan," Tramet said, clenching his fists as he spoke.
"Still clever enough," Wilmar said, his voice shaking with rage.
"Surely, he will want the Demon Blade in exchange," Lurey said.
"As surely they have planned things differently this time," Wilmar added.
It is a lie, Frost thought, looking down at his hand.
But then he froze. "Shassel," he said again, only a whisper this time, though it drew the others' attention. Sometime during the night the thin strip of bark twined around his finger had smoldered and blackened. Weakened, exhausted, famished then fed, he had apparently slept thought it all.
Frost looked up. He took two steps forward, grabbed the peddler by the arms and held him dead in his gaze. "He said she was not at the castle?"
Lurey nodded.
"We will begin at the cottage," Frost said. He turned to Dorin. "Find Sharryl and Rosivok at once. We have to leave."
"Perhaps it would be best if Dorin and Dara stayed with us," Tramet offered, taking Dara's hand, holding it tightly.
"They are safe here, and if there is any sign of trouble we can move themmove all of usto some place safer."
"He is right, I think," Wilmar said. "You don't know where you might have to go, or what you might face. And Andair has already taken them, already tricked . . ."
He stopped short. Frost looked at Wilmar, feeling the truth of the other's words rest hard and heavy in his gut. It was true. He nodded. He didn't like the ideaevery time he left someone somewhere lately, they disappearedbut it did seem like the best course for now.
The twins began to argue at once. In the end, they lost. Before the sun had risen to the middle of the sky, Frost and his two Subartans were on their horses, and on their way.