Winter Witch (18 page)

“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 heart.

“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.

“Perhaps,” said Mareshka. “But there is no lasting harm done.” She waved the head of her staff before the broken window. With an icy hiss, a film of water spread across the ragged gap. In an instant, veins of frost crossed the surface, and as they watched, the white lines faded to leave the window perfectly clear once more.

Ellasif glanced around the small room. A staircase occupied two segments of the hexagonal walls, a bone handrail following it down to the lower floors. Ellasif frowned as she noticed that the bones appeared to be both real and human. In the center of the room stood a pearlescent basin of clear water, from which emanated silvery light that shimmered on the walls and ceiling. The only other furnishings were three nearly identical chairs with cushions of red velvet. The center chair had a higher back than the others, lending it the appearance of a throne.

Ellasif saw that they were in one of many slender spires rising from the perimeter of the palace she had previously seen only from the shore of the city. Inside the central citadel dwelt Queen Elvanna, daughter of Baba Yaga and a jadwiga of such power that Ellasif would count herself blessed if she never saw the woman, even from a safe distance.

“So I guessed right,” said Ellasif. “You were spying on Szigo the whole time.”

“Not the whole time, of course,” said Mareshka. “I have many duties in service to Her Majesty. You were fortunate that I peered into my pool when I did. I knew Szigo was cross with you, but did not realize his anger was great enough to risk my displeasure.”

“Thank you for your intervention,” said Ellasif. She kept every trace of sarcasm out of her voice, for she knew that Mareshka’s timing was far too good to be true, for a witch or anyone else. Doubtless she had known of Ellasif’s capture for hours or perhaps even days, intervening only when necessary. She also remembered what the witch had cried out just before transporting them back to Whitethrone:
He must not see me like this.
She could only have meant Declan, but Ellasif did not understand what she meant by that. She had an inkling it had to do with the witch’s ability to change form. After all, Ellasif had seen her arrive at Szigo’s grove in the shape of a white raven. What other forms had she adopted?

Had Ellasif seen her before? The thought gave her a cold shiver. For an instant, she felt an impulse to drive Laughing Erik’s sword through the witch’s heart. The only way Ellasif could be truly safe from her magics was to kill her before she could cast an enchantment. That was the lesson she had learned from the elders of White Rook.

That was also the reason they had drowned her sister.

“Declan Avari is on his way to Whitethrone,” Ellasif said. She swallowed to clear her throat, which had shrunk as she thought about the difference between killing Mareshka and killing Liv. “I have fulfilled my part of our bargain.”

Mareshka smiled and traced a line in the water with her finger as she walked around the basin. “That is not entirely so,” she said. “You agreed to bring him here, not to accompany him part of the way.”

“I can go back and find him,” said Ellasif.

“But as you say, he is already on his way here. Why do I need you to fetch him now?”

“He was fighting off trolls when I was attacked,” said Ellasif. “Even after he leaves the Grungir, the sentinels along your border and the packs of winter wolves are bound to find him.”

“And all have instructions to let him pass when they do.” Mareshka waved a hand as if to dispel an unpleasant odor. “You are finished with that business.”

Ellasif suppressed the urge to raise the sword she still clutched in her hand. Mareshka seemed far more dangerous than Szigo, and she doubted she could kill the witch before the woman could utter a spell or invoke the power of that staff of hers. Besides, killing her would eliminate the one person she knew who knew where to find Liv. She had to suffer the witch to live, at least a little longer.

“You bargain like a Chelish devil,” Ellasif hissed. “I did what you asked, and it’s no fault of mine that your servant attacked our caravan. For all I know, you ordered the attack yourself so you could renege on our deal.”

“For all you know, I did,” smiled Mareshka. “But in fact I did not.”

“Then you never meant to honor your word,” said Ellasif. “Among my people, we would nail the rune of falsehood upon your forehead.”

“I find that easy to believe,” said Mareshka. “Your people are savages, little better than the trolls, and no less odious.”

“No matter what you think, they are still my people, and Liv’s. We belong with them, not here among witches and monsters.”

“Ah,” said Mareshka. A sparkle of amusement glittered in her eyes. “Perhaps we should ask what Liv thinks of that?”

Mareshka led her down from the scrying pool through increasingly larger chambers in the tower. At the bottom, she nodded to a pair of footmen dressed head to toe in various shades of white except for their dark blue tabards that bore the image of a white raven.

The men escorted them over carpets of bearskin and through passages lined with many-layered panels of wood carvings. They passed halls in which young jadwiga listened to the lectures of their elders, who demonstrated spells cast before mirrors, over braziers, and beneath icicles dripping from the naked feet of hanged men. They marched through a parlor in which the chatting jadwiga all fell silent as Mareshka walked by. At last the servants opened a pair of white doors filled with gold filigree.

Inside they found a sumptuous parlor that eschewed the blanched colors dominant throughout the rest of the building. From the deep red carpet to the terraces of green foliage and bright flowers, the room was alive with color. All of the walls were lined with shelves on which stood silent ranks of books interspersed with crystal skulls, leather masks, wands, orbs, and countless other arcane implements. In the center was a ring of tables forming three quarters of a circle surrounded by chairs. Upon one of those chairs sat Ellasif’s sister.

In the time they had been apart, Liv had transformed from a coltish girl to a young woman. She was still lithe, but the gentle swell of her breasts and hips had forever altered her profile, which was once slender as a willow switch. Her hair was more blonde than red, and the soft lines of her face far more feminine than Ellasif’s, but no one who saw them together could mistake them for anything but sisters.

“Liv,” cried Ellasif, running forward. She dropped Erik’s sword onto the table and squeezed her sister half to death.

“I can’t believe it’s you,” said Liv. “She said she would find you, but I thought you were gone forever.”

Through her tears, Ellasif turned to see what Mareshka had to say for herself. Obviously she had not told Liv about her earlier visit. The witch merely smiled in a perfect imitation of maternal affection.

“I will leave you two girls to catch up,” she said. She withdrew, and the footmen closed the door behind her.

Ellasif knew Mareshka’s departure provided only an illusion of privacy, but she could think of no way to ensure they would not be overheard by a witch who could view and hear things happening hundreds of miles away.

“Are you all right?” asked Ellasif. “How are they treating you?”

“I’m fine,” said Liv. “Better than fine, really. Don’t you know where we are? We’re in the Royal Palace! Have you ever seen such a fabulous place? Every day is like walking through a dream.”

“I’ve seen it before,” said Ellasif. “I came here a year ago, looking for you. Did you think I would let a day go by without trying to find you?”

The gleam of tears on Liv’s eyelashes confirmed her suspicion that Mareshka had never told her of Ellasif’s previous visit, nor of the bargain they had struck. Ellasif opened her mouth to explain what she had done, but stopped herself from speaking. How could she explain to Liv that she had come to trade another person for her?

It had seemed reasonable back when Mareshka first proposed it—a stranger’s freedom for her sister’s—and Ellasif would not hesitate to slay a hundred men to rescue her sister. During the journey from Korvosa, however, Declan had become more like a friend, no longer a hypothetical hostage to exchange. Ellasif was no longer certain she could go through with the deal, even if she could believe that Mareshka would honor it.

“We have to get out of here,” said Ellasif quietly. She went to the entrance and peered through the crack between the doors. The footmen stood outside, guarding the way. It would be dangerous to try only to subdue them. Ellasif was confident she could slay at least one of them before the other could raise an alarm. The trick was to silence them quickly.

Ellasif retrieved Laughing Erik’s sword. She would not be able to invoke its power to fly while remaining quiet, but all she needed was its keen edge. “I can kill one before he shouts an alarm,” she said. “Can you distract the other? You call for them, and I’ll wait behind the door there.”

“Why?”

The question took Ellasif by surprise. “What do you think I’ve been trying to do for the past year? I’ve come to free you.”

“You don’t need to free me,” said Liv. “I’m perfectly safe.”

“But you don’t belong here, Liv. It’s not your home. It’s nothing like White Rook.”

“That’s true,” said Liv. “At White Rook, everyone wants me dead.”

“No, they don’t,” said Liv. “They were just afraid you were a witch. We must show them they’re wrong.”

“They aren’t wrong, Sif,” she said. “I may not be jadwiga, but I am a witch.”

Ellasif flinched at the affectionate shortening of her name. The last person who had called her that was Jadrek. “No,” she said firmly. “You aren’t.”

“Not when I first arrived, perhaps,” said Liv. “But I’ve learned so much since then. I can cast spells. Look.”

She raised her hand, but Ellasif grasped it and pulled it down. “You don’t have to cast spells,” said Ellasif. “You can stop being a witch.”

“It isn’t a choice,” said Liv. “It’s what I am. You were the first to know, the night I was born. We didn’t understand it before, but Mareshka has taught me so much since she brought me to Whitethrone. I was born to be a witch.”

“That was the tiren’kii, not you,” said Ellasif. “It’s a curse, not who you are. We can find a way to remove it. I know a wizard—”

“No,” said Liv. “The tiren’kii is a part of me. When I’m ready, I will call it out myself. It will be my familiar, just like Mareshka’s ice sprite. You have to accept the truth, Sif. I’m a witch.”

Ellasif scowled, aware that she was losing the argument but unable to think of another way to counter what her sister was saying. “At least don’t call yourself that,” she said. “Say you’re a wizard or a sorcerer or something! It doesn’t matter, as long as we get away from here. I’ve spent every day since you vanished trying to rescue you. I would have rescued you the day...the day of the river, if only I’d realized what they were going to do.”

“I know,” said Liv. “Red Ochme knew you’d give your life to protect me, so they waited until you were away. But you don’t have to protect me anymore. I’m safe here. If I returned to White Rook, they would only try to finish the job.”