The Cry of the Icemark

4



Thirrin had a full day of studying to get through. Math, geography, the natural world, and what Maggiore Totus called “alchemical science.” She wished her father hadn’t decided to educate her and had just allowed her to rely on scribes and others of the “clever ones,” as Redrought called them. After all, he couldn’t even write his own name, and yet he’d managed to rule his kingdom with intelligence and cunning for more than twenty years. So why did she need to know how to write and reckon and do all of those other bright things that got in the way of her being herself?

“Because the times are changing and I want a daughter who knows her place in the world and how to keep it!” Her father’s booming voice sounded in her memory.

Well, perhaps the world was changing, but did it really help her to know the main exports of the Southern Continent? Or how to calculate the area of a cylinder, or how to brew a sovereign remedy against dropsy? She didn’t think so, but her father was determined, and so she must learn to be like one of the educated clever ones of the commonality.

“Well, Your Highness, am I to presume that you’ve completed your mathematics assignment?” Maggiore Totus asked.

Thirrin handed him a sheaf of paper in cold silence, hating the way the little man managed to make her feel guilty even when she had done her homework. She knew she could kill him in a variety of gory ways in less time than it took him to adjust the strange spectoculums that rested on the very end of his nose, but even this distraction didn’t seem to help!

Her tutor tutted quietly to himself as he read through the messy sheets of paper. “Well, the answer is correct, but how you arrived at your conclusion remains a complete mystery.”

“If the sum’s right, what does it matter?” Thirrin asked irritably.

“It matters because it would prove to me that you didn’t just guess at the answer.”

She privately thought that in the case of math, getting the right answer was all that was needed, but she didn’t say anything.

“Now tell me, what exactly does this jumble of lettering mean here?” the little tutor asked, pointing to a blotchy mess of ink. Thirrin shrugged, and Totus began to calculate just how far he could push her before she exploded and stormed out. He decided she was just short of abandoning the world of learning and spending the rest of the day with her father’s housecarls, so he retreated with decorum. “Very well, we’ll assume that you arrived at your answer by conventional and logical means, shall we?”

She shrugged again, and the tutor walked back to his desk. He looked out the window on to the garden that had so surprised him when he arrived to teach the Princess. Somehow one didn’t expect to find such a beautiful haven of peace in the middle of the grim fortress of Frostmarris. Magnificent rosebushes blazed rich and dazzling colors onto the air, and neatly clipped hedges and borders barely contained an ordered tumble of bright flowers. But already some of the beautifully kept plants were beginning to look just the slightest bit jaded, and the leaves on some of the more delicate trees and shrubs had already turned crimson. He felt a sudden dread as he realized the bitter winter of the Icemark couldn’t be far away.

“For the rest of the day we’ll study geography,” he informed her, “concentrating on the Southern Continent.” Thirrin groaned. “And in particular on their navy and its role in the defeat of the Corsairs and Zephyrs in the great Battle of the Middle Sea.”

His pupil brightened, and Maggiore Totus tried to convince himself that he wasn’t betraying his teaching standards more and more with every passing day. Almost every lesson had to have something about the military in it to hold his pupil’s attention. Still, he comforted himself, she would one day be Queen of the Icemark and would probably have to lead her troops in battle, too. He couldn’t expect a daughter of King Redrought’s to be anything other than warlike and uninterested in the gentle arts of learning. He would feel he’d succeeded if at the end of her schooling she could write an understandable sentence, read a letter without help, and discuss the accounts with her quartermaster. In the meantime he’d aim for the stars, in the hope that he could at least get her to the top of a reasonably sized hill.

He drew the battle positions of the opposing fleets on the blackboard, and watched as Thirrin happily copied them into her book. But his attention was drawn back to the garden beyond the window and its signs of the coming winter. If only he could leave before the terrible winds and snows came, before the deeply penetrating frosts etched every window with thick patterns of ice-ferns. At his home on the southern coast of the Middle Sea, the winter would bring a little gentle rain and the days would be warm rather than hot. But the wine would be mellow, and the lilting language of his people would sing and lull his mind to a quietness he’d almost forgotten here in the cold north.

“Mr. Maggiore Totus!” Thirrin’s voice cut into his thoughts. “You’re not daydreaming, are you?” And she smiled so brightly he couldn’t help but smile back.

Thirrin could be charming when she forgot to be a princess. But just recently that happened only rarely, and Totus was beginning to wonder what was on her mind. He thought that perhaps he knew but couldn’t be sure. And how exactly would one ask the heir apparent if she was afraid that she’d have to rule the country before she was ready, and if she was frightened that her father would die before she’d had time to experience life properly? Redrought was a strong man, a very strong man, but the history of the Icemark was violent, and Maggiore’s studies had shown him that of the previous eight monarchs only two had died in their beds and only one had ruled for more than twenty years — and that one was Redrought himself!

He could almost feel sorry for Thirrin, even when she was at her most obnoxious. She might be undergoing the best training for her future role as Queen, but the very real possibility that she could be ruling the Icemark before she was sixteen had to be a terrible burden, especially when the country had The-Land-of-the-Ghosts as a neighbor to the north and the formidable Polypontian Empire and General Scipio Bellorum to the south. To rule even a tiny kingdom at such a young age would be pressure enough for anyone, but the Icemark had no one but the most vicious enemies on its land borders and only the pitiless sea, with its pirates and raiders, to the east and the west.

For the rest of the day he was gentle with his pupil, allowing her a little time to relax before she was called away by the weapons master or horse mistress. Not that she seemed to find those particular lessons difficult. She always ran from his rooms with a most insulting air of happy relief whenever she was off to raise a shield-wall with the housecarls or put some fierce war stallion through its paces. Maggiore Totus sighed. He’d have left for home long ago if he hadn’t thought Thirrin had it in her to be a good scholar. But he knew that her sharp intelligence would never be used to sift through the complex facts and figures that might reveal some exciting new truth, some previously unthought-of theorem.

A sudden hammering on the door made him yelp with fright, and a huge bearded housecarl marched into the room. “I’ve orders to take the Princess to the parade ground!” he boomed.

Maggiore glared at him. Why did they always have to shout? And did they really have to carry a shield and spear with them at all times? “I’m not sure that the Princess Thirrin has finished all of her work yet,” he answered, deciding to stand upon his authority as Royal Tutor.

“Yes, I have … well, at least most of it. I can finish the rest as homework, can’t I?”

She seemed so desperate to get away that Maggiore sighed resignedly. “Oh, very well. But I expect it to be neater than last time.”

“It will be,” she answered, and as she rushed for the door she suddenly stopped and kissed him on the top of his bald head. “Thanks, Maggie!” she said, and ran off down the corridor.

The soldiers had been marching north for more than a month now, and the Polypontian Empire’s superb military roads meant that they’d covered more than seven hundred miles. Their regiment, the White Panthers of the Asterian Province, had been fighting in the south less than six weeks earlier, but after the victorious conclusion to that particular campaign, they’d been given a week’s rest and had then begun their march north.

None of the soldiers knew exactly where they were going, and neither did most of the officers, though rumors were rife. Some said they were finally going to attack the Icemark, the Empire’s immediate northern neighbor, and most thought it was about time. For some reason General Scipio Bellorum had left the Icemark in peace despite making war on all and sundry around its borders, and exactly why remained a deep mystery. But once again rumor provided some clues. The most popular was that the Icemark was a land of witchcraft, which even the formidable Bellorum found daunting. But others doubted that; the general was afraid of nothing; it was even said he’d live forever because death itself wouldn’t dare take him.

The troops were approaching the border area now, on their way to join the huge army that was being amassed. The wide, gently undulating plain that nestled beneath the foothills of the Dancing Maidens mountain range was covered with military camps, forges, armories, parade grounds, and cavalry training runs. To the soldiers of the White Panthers regiment, it was all very familiar. Every block of barrack tents and every parade ground was pitched in exactly the same position, so no matter where they were, in the Empire or on campaign, they felt completely at home.

And now they could see their great leader, Scipio Bellorum himself: part man, part god, ruthless and aloof, riding the lines of troops as they presented arms. They awaited his command.

Thirrin spent the rest of her day happily taking weapons drill with her father’s elite corps of housecarls. Within a few minutes of hitting a bull’s-eye with her throwing ax, she was happy and relaxed and the dust of the schoolroom had been blown away. The huge soldiers, all of them especially picked for their height and strength, treated her fighting skills with enormous respect. She was not only their future Queen but also their mascot and lucky symbol. They cheered every time she hit the target with her javelin and politely ignored her misses, but over the three years she’d been training with the weapons master, there’d been far more reason to cheer than to remain politely silent.

By sundown when the training session ended, she was pleasantly tired and began to make her way back to her rooms with happy thoughts of supper. Then, changing her mind, she headed instead for her father’s apartments. There was no official banquet tonight, so the kitchens would be having an easier time before the next round of diplomatic dinners for one or another of Redrought’s barons. And the King would be eating as quietly as he ever could in his rooms. Thirrin had decided to join him, knowing he’d be pleased to spend the evening with his daughter. Besides, she had things on her mind and wanted to talk to him.

She crossed the shadowy Great Hall, listening to her booted footsteps echo from the smoke-blackened beams high above her head in the gloom of the roof. As she passed by, some of the ancient battle standards waved lazily, as though some ghost of wind from a long-ago battlefield still stroked the faded regimental colors. Ahead she could see her father’s throne on its high dais rising out of the gathering shadows like a mountain made of carved oak. She reached it and quickly skirted around the back, where the door set in the wall behind stood slightly open.

“Grimswald! I said I wanted ale, not brown river water!” Redrought’s booming voice lashed the Chamberlain-of-the-Royal-Paraphernalia.

“Well, I’m sure that it came from the same barrel that His Majesty was happy to drink from yesterday,” a voice of old leather and dust answered.

“Well, it tastes like river water today! And fish do unspeakable things in rivers, so get me some more!”

“As His Majesty wishes.”

Thirrin walked in just as the old chamberlain waved forward one of the servers who stood in the shadows at the back of the cozy room. He handed the man a jug and, with a huge wink, told him to fetch beer from another barrel.

“Thirrin!” her father shouted when he caught sight of her standing in the doorway. “Come in, come in! Grimswald, set another place; my daughter’s come to eat with her old dad.”

The little chamberlain bustled around fetching cutlery and placing a chair at the plain wooden table where Redrought ate when there were no dignitaries to entertain.

“I hear you equaled my best housecarl with the throwing axes today,” he said, smiling proudly at her.

“Yes. And if the weapons master hadn’t called an end to the session, I’d have beaten him,” Thirrin replied.

Redrought roared with laughter. He often roared with laughter when other people would have only smiled. “I bet you would have, too! Sigmund’s getting a bit long in the tooth. I’ll have to see about retiring him soon. His people come from the northern provinces. I’m sure he’ll be happy with a bit of land and a pension.”

“He’s still a better axman than men half his age,” Thirrin said in the old soldier’s defense. “It’d be a pity to lose his experience from the bodyguard.”

“Oh, don’t worry, he’s still good for another five years or so. I’m just thinking of the future,” Redrought bellowed good-humoredly.

The servant returned with the jug of beer, and Grimswald poured a measure into Redrought’s tankard. The King took a huge swallow. “That’s better! I can always tell when a barrel’s past its best!”

“Yes, sir,” the chamberlain said, and smiled to himself like a mischievous little boy.

“And don’t forget Primplepuss! Where’s her bowl of milk?”

“I have it, sir,” the wrinkled little man said, seeming to produce a dish from his sleeve.

Redrought grinned, and fishing around inside the chest of his tunic he extracted the little cat. “Ah, there you are, my sweeting!” he said more softly, and the little creature meowed in agreement. The King’s huge fingers wrapped themselves gently around the kitten and set her down on the table before her dish of milk. He smiled on her indulgently for a few moments as she lapped, then turned to his daughter. “Well, why have you decided to have supper with me?”

“Do I need a reason?”

“No, but there’s usually a favor to ask if you choose to. Otherwise you’re in the mess with the housecarls or in the stables with the hands.”

Thirrin felt suddenly guilty. Surely she ate with her father for reasons other than asking for favors? “I want nothing at all,” she eventually answered, defensively.

“Just the pleasure of my company, eh?”

At that point the food arrived, and she waited for the servants to place everything on plates and withdraw before she continued. “Yes, for the pleasure of your company … and to ask a few questions.”

“Ha! “ the King shouted, as though his suspicions were confirmed, but then he smiled. “What do you want to know?”

Thirrin chewed on her chicken drumstick for a while as she ordered her thoughts. Ever since she’d met Oskan in the forest, she’d been wondering about his mother and father. It then occurred to her that nobody ever mentioned his father. She made a mental note to ask the King if anyone knew who he’d been, once she’d satisfied her curiosity on several other points. Finally she asked, “Why weren’t witches banished after the war with The-Land-of-the-Ghosts?”

“The evil ones were,” the King answered. “But the good ones were — are — too useful.”

“How?” she asked.

“They’re healers and midwives, they can drive blight from the harvest, and they’re a brilliant line of defense against any evil that comes from the Vampire King and Queen. Not only that,” the King said, pausing to drain his tankard of beer, “but they’ve been staunchly loyal, always the first to offer help when it’s needed. You’d do well to remember that when you take the throne.”

She nodded as she digested the information. “What was White Annis like?”

“One of the best!” Redrought boomed. “Powerful. I saw her draw a child back from the brink of death when all else had been tried and failed. And once, when out hunting, I watched her turn a charging boar with nothing but the threat of her eyes.”

Father and daughter chomped in silence as the image of the witch was absorbed. “And I’ll tell you another thing!” Redrought continued, pointing at his daughter with a turnip. “She was beautiful. Hair as black as polished jet and eyes like the sea under a stormy sky!”

Thirrin looked at her father in astonishment. She’d never heard anything even vaguely poetic cross his lips before, and yet here he was describing White Annis as though he were a praise singer.

He blushed and cleared his throat. “Of course, she got a little ragged toward the end of her life. Witches always do, but her Power never faded.”

“And yet this great healer couldn’t save herself,” Thirrin said.

Redrought shrugged. “It was her time. Witches always know and leave life with dignity.”

Thirrin beckoned to the servant, and he poured her a goblet of wine — three parts water, as was right for her age.

“Her son lives in her cave now.”

“Yes, Oskan, I know. He’s treating the injured stable hand.”

“Will he have inherited his mother’s Power?”

Redrought shrugged. “Who knows? Warlocks, male witches, are rare. Men are usually wizards, more mathematics than magic. But they’re not beyond drawing down lightning when they need it or making stones walk if it’ll serve their purpose.”

“He’s a healer,” Thirrin said, as though this confirmed his supernatural powers.

“Well, yes,” Redrought agreed. “So perhaps he has the rest of his mother’s gifts, but who can say? It’s not certain.”

“Has the surgeon brought the stable hand back to the city yet?” Thirrin asked.

Redrought shrugged. “I don’t know. Ask Grimswald. GRIMSWALD!”

“Yes, My Lord?” The little man stepped out of the shadows behind the King’s chair.

“Oh, there you are. Has the surgeon —”

“No, My Lord. He thought it best to leave him for a day or two to rest.”

“When will he go to collect him?” Thirrin asked, knowing that Grimswald would have every detail of the surgeon’s plans.

“Tomorrow, I believe, My Lady.”

“Good. I’ll go with him. My horse needs the exercise.”

Redrought looked at his daughter narrowly. Her horse was more likely to need a rest than exercise. But then he mentally shrugged; let her have her friend if she wanted. She was approaching the marrying age for a royal daughter, but she was already far too clever to let anything get in the way of any advantage to the House of Lindenshield that could be sealed by marriage.

“What about his father?” Thirrin asked, interrupting Redrought’s thoughts.

“Whose father? The surgeon’s?”

“No! Oskan’s. Who was he?”

The King shrugged. “No one knows for sure.” He almost added that not even White Annis was certain but decided such talk was unsuitable for his daughter’s ears. “There are plenty of rumors, of course: wood sprites, spirits, even vampires. But he was probably just a human traveler who … um, just … you know, happened to be passing.”

“She wasn’t married, then?” Thirrin asked.

“No. Witches choose who they want for as long as they want. There’s rarely anything formal about their arrangements.”

“So, Oskan’s father could have been anyone or anything?”

“Yes. But a wood sprite is the gossips’ favorite at the moment,” Redrought answered, adding: “Mind you, he’s pale enough to have Vampire blood somewhere in his veins — so to speak! But who knows?”

Thirrin nodded. Her new friend was certainly an interesting mystery.

Thirrin’s horse was saddled and waiting in the courtyard, its breath pluming on the crisp sharp air of early morning. The weather was perfect for riding: A sharp frost had scattered a brilliant crystal sheen of white over the rooftops of the houses, as though in anticipation of the coming snows of winter, and the early morning sounds of awakening households echoed with the purity of chiming bells on the cold air.

She’d allowed the surgeon an hour’s head start so that she could gallop to catch up, and as she and her escort of two cavalry troopers trotted down through the winding roads of the city, their horses blew and fidgeted in anticipation of the run. Once through the gates, the riders kicked their mounts and took off across the rich agricultural plain that fed the capital. Within minutes they’d reached the eaves of the forest and the Great Road, which sliced through the trees on its journey to the northern provinces.

They caught up with the surgeon and his assistant just as they were about to turn off the road into the tangled network of forest tracks, and reined back to a walk. Thirrin’s face glowed with the tingling cold and, not wanting the horses to get chilled, she urged the quiet mules of the doctor and his assistant to a brisk trot as they headed for Oskan’s cave.

The forest was darkly brilliant with deep shadow and dappled sunshine, which pooled amid the rich browns and flame reds of the autumnal leaves. The busy sounds of squirrels echoed through the branches as they gathered stores for the coming winter. Thirrin was so intent on trying to catch sight of the little red creatures as they dived through the forest canopy that she was almost taken by surprise when the horses started to climb the steep track that led to the cave.

She forced herself to concentrate on the broken and stony path, not wanting to arrive at Oskan’s with a lame horse. As they drew near the end of the pathway, she looked up to see the tall boy waiting in the entrance of his cave.

He raised his hand in greeting, then, catching sight of Thirrin, he bowed his head formally. “Welcome to my home,” he said politely as they all dismounted. “Your man is healing well.”

“I’ll decide that, thank you, young man,” said the surgeon stiffly. “Where is the patient?”

Oskan led them into the cave, which smelled sweetly sharp with the scent of drying herbs and spices. The injured man lay on a low cot next to the fire. As they entered, he raised himself onto one elbow and would have climbed to his feet if the surgeon hadn’t pressed him back down. “Before you go anywhere, I want to examine your wounds.” He stripped away the clean bandages and stared aghast at the neat stitches that held the edges of the deep gash together. “I heard rumors that you’d done this! What gives you the right to endanger this man’s life?”

“Nothing and no one,” answered Oskan, sounding puzzled. “I stitched his wound to help it heal.”

“You think you can cure by adding further injuries?”

Thirrin had watched this clash in silence, knowing that it would come. After all, she herself had been horrified by Oskan’s methods until the old soldier had told her he’d seen it done before by White Annis. She looked at the injured man now and was amazed at the difference in him. He was obviously no longer in pain, and from where she was standing, the wound seemed to be healing cleanly. There was also no sign of any fever. All in all, she had to acknowledge that Oskan’s treatment seemed to be working.

“He looks well enough to me,” she said to the surgeon.

The man glanced at her with barely concealed resentment. “Forgive me, My Lady, but you cannot know that, and neither can this … boy!” He spat the last word with contempt. “I studied for five years under the greatest masters of anatomy and surgery in the Southern Continent; I served another four years in their hospitals and for a further ten years after that as a highly respected practitioner before your Royal Father summoned me to Frostmarris to take up the post of Chief Surgeon to the King! Compared to my experience and expertise, what can this young son of a witch know?”

“Enough to cleanly heal one of the deepest gashes I’ve ever seen,” Thirrin answered pertly.

The surgeon’s look spoke volumes. “In my vast experience as a medical practitioner I’ve seen far, far worse and healed them!”

“By luck or judgment, do you think?” Thirrin asked, her temper beginning to rise at the man’s arrogance.

The surgeon’s anger was held in check only by Thirrin’s position as his Royal Patron’s daughter. “My lady’s judgment is clouded by her lack of knowledge in my field. A lack that is only equaled by this boy’s.” He turned to Oskan with a massive contempt. “Did you even bleed him?”

“I thought the bear had bled him enough already,” Oskan answered calmly.

“And how exactly do you expect to purge his body of the evil humors from the bear’s claws?”

“I don’t know anything about humors. I just cleaned the wound and stitched it up.” Oskan was visibly controlling his temper now.

“Then it will fester, the man will die, and you will have killed him just as surely as the animal that attacked him!”

Thirrin stepped closer to the stable hand and peered at the neatly stitched wound. “It looks perfectly all right to me. Healing nicely with no sign of any infection.” She turned to the two soldiers of her escort, both middle-aged veterans who’d had long experience of battle wounds. “What do you two think?”

They agreed it seemed to be healing well and stared unwaveringly back at the enraged surgeon. “None of you know anything about the process of such injuries. Either he comes back to the city now and is thoroughly bled or he will die!”

“I’d much prefer he stayed here for at least another three days,” said Oskan quietly. “With the permission of the Princess, of course.”

“It seems to me we should ask your patient what he thinks,” said Thirrin. “After all, it’s his arm.” She turned to the man and raised her eyebrows expectantly.

The stable hand had been staring from one member of the party to the other, completely overawed by the great people who were arguing over him, but at last he managed to stutter, “I think I’d like the witch’s son to carry on with his treatment.”

“That’s Oskan Witch’s Son to you,” said Thirrin sharply.

“This man can’t possibly know what’s best for him!” the surgeon protested. “He barely knows what day it is, let alone has the ability to make a medical decision.”

“I do know what day it is,” said the injured man, stung to anger. “It’s Thor’s day. And I know something else, too. Last year I fell off my horse and gashed my knee. It was about a quarter the size of this wound, but it still managed to fester, gave me a fever, and took about a month to get to the state this wound took only a couple of days to reach! “ He fell silent, suddenly aware that he had everyone’s attention. But then he plucked up courage and went on. “I was out hunting for the King, so His Majesty sent this man — his surgeon — to treat me. My missus said he nearly killed me and that she could have done better with old wine and clean bandages like her mam used to use.”

“Oh, this is absurd. I don’t have to defend my clinical methods to ignoramuses.”

“No, you don’t,” Thirrin cut in coldly. “The man obviously has chosen to trust the methods of Oskan Witch’s Son. So I suggest you leave the ignoramuses here and return to Frostmarris.”

“But, My Lady, the King directed me to —”

“Examine the patient, which you have done. You’ve carried out your duty, so I now give you permission to return to the city and your other patients, who are so fortunate in having your vast expertise.”

Never having been dismissed by a thirteen-year-old girl before, it took the surgeon a few moments to gather his dignity, but then he turned and swept from the cave, collecting servant and mule en route.

Thirrin watched him go, then turned and warmed her hands at the fire. “Well, shall we get the patient back to the inner cave?” she said brightly, helping the man to his feet. “And you men can attend the horses,” she added to her escort, who saluted and went outside. Oskan took his patient’s good arm and led him back to the bed along the narrow corridor that connected the complex of caverns.

It was while she was left alone for a few minutes that Thirrin’s mask started to slip. What was she thinking of? She was suddenly and horribly aware that she’d effectively got rid of everyone but Oskan, who would soon return to the hearth where she was sitting all alone! If she had a situation to deal with, such as the surgeon and the injured huntsman, she was fine — even domineering — but when she was on her own, or it was something about herself, that’s when everything nearly always went wrong.

She almost panicked. Being alone with a boy meant she was bound to blush and stutter and make a complete fool of herself!

If she acted quickly, she’d be able to cross to the mouth of the cave and call the men back in; at least that way there’d be others around her to distract attention. But then she heard Oskan coming back from the inner cave, and she abandoned the idea. Far better to look like a princess in control — even if she didn’t feel it — than be caught rushing around and squeaking like a fool.

Thirrin tried to calm herself, and had to call on all her training as a warrior as she prepared to deal with her embarrassment. But in the end she carried it off quite well. She was hardly blushing at all when Oskan reappeared. She took deep, steadying breaths and managed to keep her voice relatively level.

“You’d better hope he doesn’t develop fever or the green rot now, Oskan, otherwise our gentle surgeon will do his best to have you driven out.”

The boy drew up a stool and sat next to her before he replied. “I’d hope he wouldn’t get sick, anyway,” he said and, grinning one of the brightest smiles Thirrin had ever seen, he went on, “but especially so now. I want to prove that pompous moron well and truly wrong.”

Thirrin smiled in return, slowly beginning to relax again, and decided to forgive him for not asking permission to sit in her presence. “Is there any doubt?”

“Things can always go wrong in healing.”

“Do you expect them to?”

He grinned again. “No.”

There was something about the boy’s calm presence that helped Thirrin to feel unusually at ease, and she bravely decided to ask him about any other skills he might have learned from his mother. “Can you do magic?”

He took so long to reply she thought she’d offended him in some way, but at last he said, “I don’t really know what you mean by magic. I can read the weather, but any shepherd can do that; I know the ways of the animals, but again so does anyone who lives in the forest….”

“Can you see the future?”

He shrugged. “The Sight, you mean? Sometimes … perhaps. But never to order and never the whole of any situation. There’s always a mystery, always something we’re not meant to know.”

Thirrin nodded, her suspicions confirmed. “Can you draw down lightning?”

Oskan paused, startled by her directness. “I’ve never tried. Seems like a silly idea to me. You could be hit.”

“I never thought of that.” Thirrin was now beginning to feel so relaxed in this boy’s company that her contradictory nature decided to take control, and she immediately began to feel hot and uncomfortable. Complete social humiliation was now threatening. She stood and made ready to go. Being Princess, with the royal right to ignore conventions of leave-taking, often had its advantages. “How long will you keep my servant?”

“Another three or four days,” he answered. Then looking at her standing stiffly in her full Princess mode, he added, “My Lady,” and bowed.

She strode to the entrance of the cave and nodded imperiously to the soldiers of her escort, who immediately led up her horse. “I’ll return in four days, then.”

Oskan nodded. “He should be ready to ride by that time.”

Thirrin swung easily into the saddle and, being firmly hidden behind her Princess facade, she felt brave enough to hold out her hand. Perplexed, Oskan just stared at it stupidly, and she thought she was going to have to embarrass herself excruciatingly by demanding that he kiss it. But then he took her fingers and pressed them to his lips — for much longer than she thought was strictly necessary.

“In four days, Oskan Witch’s Son.”

“In four days, My Lady. I’ll look forward to it.”

She rode off at the head of her escort, suddenly feeling a need to unsling her shield from the saddle and carry it on her arm.