Scent of Magic Read online

  Willadene balanced on the edge of a cliff among rocks, looking down at that white star standing tall below. Heart-Hold. But she had no wish to pluck it. Heart-Hold was of the heart and grown within one.

  There were arms about her and she smelled that particular scent which she knew for always would mean security and warmth for her. Soft fur brushed her cheek.

  Then the worlds they had found apart for an instant whirled about them all and they were back in Ishbi. Only here also was change. There was no body on the high seat; that had been cracked and reduced to dust.

  A pillar of light hung there in the air. Though they could not see within it, they were certain there was a flower at its heart. While above all the putrescence of this place had been cleansed away and a scent born in a world apart from theirs, yet welcoming, impregnated them all.

  Slowly, not quite sure they were still not caught in another dream, they turned and went out of the mass of ruins which was hardly more than rubble. Where the ferns had stood there was open land, fields dotted with the remains of a city which would never be again. And they were hailed with exuberance by a party of men who stood in those fields, staring wide-eyed and near unbelieving.

  “Will—she strive to come again?” Mahart asked, as they went to join those others.

  “Evil begets evil,” Lorien answered her. “This time we must keep watch.”

  “But how?”

  He looked to Willadene who was murmuring to Ssssaaa cradled in her arms, Nicolas, light-footed as ever, beside her.

  “Old knowledge,” said the Prince slowly. “The stuff of legends which have been allowed to rust away. Talents exist still among some of us. Those must be found and cultivated—put on guard—”

  Nicolas laughed. “A new form of border watch, Highness? Do not be surprised if you find your suggestion may come true. Swords and spears, yes, but beyond those, weapons which will not shatter and cannot tarnish.”

  The room was stuffy and Mahart felt as if she had been thrust into a cell, her hard-won freedom gone. But that was one of the things to be decided here this day. She was aware of Lorien, just as she knew he was well aware of her, though he did not look in her direction but rather gave his courteous attention to the Duke.

  It was an oddly formed party which had gathered in the castle to perhaps decide the whole future of Kronen to come. Vazul, of course. Though he looked oddly bereft these days for Ssssaaa had not rejoined him. The Herbmistress’s apprentice was here also, as well as Halwice herself, and in a place of honor the Abbess who so seldom left her own place of rule. Nicolas no longer wore that black which melted in the shadows but rather the rust-brown uniform of a captain of border rangers.

  In the center Duke Uttobric squirmed as usual in his chair, eternally uncomfortable.

  They had unfolded their stories, woven them together in detail. And as strange as those tales had been no one had doubted that they told what was the truth. Now that they were through the Duke spoke first to the Abbess.

  “Your Holiness, it would seem that evil rooted itself heavily in our midst and we felt nothing but uneasiness. Is there no way we may keep watch and ward on that which lies in the hearts and minds of men and women?”

  “Such invasion is also of evil,” she said quietly. “However, the truth is that we must now set wards. Already our Abbey scholars are seeking out the very earliest accounts, looking for any reference as to how such Darkness can be detected before it grows. What we learn we shall share with all.”

  “By the Star, Holiness, we give you thanks for that.”

  She looked past the Duke to Prince Lorien, a long, measuring look as if she must make some decision but was not completely sure of her ability to do so.

  “This amulet which you used against the evil one,” she asked, “what was its nature?”

  His hand went up close to his throat as if he would reach for something which was no longer there.

  “It was my vow crystal.”

  The Abbess nodded. “And even the touch of that was enough to buy you time. Therefore, it would seem, Highness,"—once more she addressed the Duke—“that the Star has accepted our need. But more greater—” Now her attention fastened almost equally on the two girls. “That which used your aid to bring it into life was long lost. It has withdrawn, perhaps, from this world again, but a part of it will remain. Heart-Hold is not for one man or woman but for all of us who live and die and strive to better what lies about us.

  “Heart-Hold"—now she regarded all four of those across the table with some of the same searching she had turned upon Lorien earlier. “Heart-Hold appeared to you—knitting you into such bonds as no shadow can hope to break. Your Highness wishes wards—I do not think that there shall be another stirring—at least in our lifetimes—but there are your wards.”

  Her wand staff had been lying across her knees; now she raised it and slowly swept it by the four. The crystal on its tip blazed high, and Willadene sighed with delight, for the fragrance settling around her was that of the other world—the world of fair dreams, safe days, and quiet happiness.

  However, the Abbess was not finished. “Halwice"— the wand dipped in the direction of the Herbmistress now, and once more its tip flared—"you are of the Old Blood, though out of prudence you have denied it, using but a small part of what lies within you to give. Now, I say here, loose the bonds laid upon you by earlier generations before your birth. Be what the Star meant you to be!

  “Highness.” It was the Duke’s turn to meet her eyes. “In this woman you shall find such a guard as whose like has not been known since before the days of the House of Gard. It was their denial of such talents through narrowness of mind which brought an end at last to their rule and house. I think it is already in your mind what else is to be done.

  “These tell us Ishbi is cleansed. But it was tainted. Choose you another site for your watchers. There also shall be a Call Cell of the Abbey, for it is time we must also be alert.”

  She laid her wand once more across her knees and was silent.

  The Duke cleared his throat and held out his hand to Vazul, to have a sheet of parchment, laden with seals, passed quickly to him.

  “Highness"—it was the Prince he first addressed—“you are not of our Kronen blood, you have no reason to wish to take on any burden of another land. But we can do no more than ask. This"—he gave the parchment a little wave—"creates on the north border—that wildest and harshest portion of the duchy, the place from where danger may watch and wait—a holding. Those who man it must be warders indeed, not only ready to patrol against outlaws but against the rise of Dark. If you will be one with these three who are of our blood and so are surely called to the duty, our gratitude will be great.”

  With one hand Lorien accepted the charter, but with the other he caught at Mahart’s and felt her fingers close tightly about his in return.

  “Your Highness,” he said firmly, “I think that such anchorage here has been set on me as I can never deny. Thus I agree.”

  Thus the four signed the charter, Willadene already planning a session with Halwice to discover how information might be exchanged between them; Mahart, feeling free in spite of the castle walls shelling her in; and Nicolas, shooting glances at Willadene and then at his former master, the Chancellor. There would surely be much to be done and most of them green to the doing of it. It might be another form of employment than he had known for the past few years but not the less absorbing. And—he looked to Willadene once again—it would be new not to be alone—new and, he believed, rewarding.

  But there was one more thing he must say to Vazul before they parted, and that he did as they arose to toast the new venture from the golden goblets of state which appeared at the Duke’s summoning.

  “Ssssaaa—she was gone after the Heart-Hold.” Knowing what the small creature had meant to the Chancellor, he hated to say that. However, to his surprise Vazul smiled and clapped him on the shoulder.

  “Do not worry. But send me the pick of her litt
er when her whelping time comes. I find myself quite chilly at times without a champion in fur.”

  Thus was the Border March of Kronen brought to life and appeared thereafter proudly on every map as Ward-land. Perhaps those of Kronen might not understand truly what roots it had, but to those who held it there was always the strong fragrance of Heart-Hold to be met now and then on a wandering wind.

  All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 1998 by Andre Norton

  ISBN: 978-1-4976-5669-7

  This edition published in 2014 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.

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