Sword of Ice and Other Tales of Valdemar

except that her eyes were not solemn, they were sorrowful. Ever since their mother had died a month after Nastasea's birth, she had taken on the tasks of housewife and sister, moving like a steady ghost through the house and tending to their needs. He felt a stab of sadness as he disappeared over the ridge, as if he were leaving her forever. . . .

But I'll be back before the moon turns full. Why do I feel this way?

Sunzenith rose over the windy farmlands, and Rivin took the time to rest and feed his sisters on bread and cheese and cool water. He himself fasted, knowing that in three candlemarks there would be a good meal waiting at Rianao's. Besides, he would need to keep a tight watch on his rations if he were to make it to Kettlesmith and back.

By a candlemark and a half, he was carrying Nastasea, who had begun complaining— 'feet!'—to mean that her feet hurt. Though nearly five years old, she still talked like one of the littlest littles. Sattar said that they had all been like that, and that this would pass.

Aye, just like the fears of monsters in the well and colddrakes In the dark. And me—with my fear of the barn. Still get kind of nervy when I go in there at night to sleep. Ah, well, time will cure.

A thread of wind tickled his face, and Nastasea giggled a little, playing with a digit of his hair.

Rivin nodded to himself. Time always has before. . . .

Rivin rubbed his shoulder—weary from holding the burden of his younger sister—trying to massage the pain out of it. His back leaned against the wood-built wall of his aunt's fore-room, his left side toward the cheery fire that was burning steadily in the hearth. He took a long drink from his milk-filled tin cup, grateful for the cool liquid, and smiled when Rianao walked by.

His aunt's establishment was larger than his home, being the dwelling of numerous children (called Rianao's Brood) as well as a crew of work hands, seven large wolfhounds, and five cats.

On the other side of the room was an enigma. Seated in a high-backed, armless wooden chair and dressed in white tunic and side-split, white leather riding skirt was Lisabet Morningsong, the Herald-Mage of the family, and distant cousin to Rianao. She didn't look much like a mage—with needlework on her lap and her face lost in concentration as she pulled up a knot—but there was a slight aura about her that spoke of control, restrained power, and authority.

She looked up at him upon noticing his eyes on her, and smiled slightly, inclining her head at him just a little before reaching into the basket at her side and hunting for a new color of thread.

'She's here on vacation,' he heard a voice say, and looked up at the looming form of Rianao's fifteen-year-old son Tileir, who had met the Morningsong pack as they arrived at Rianao's farm. 'Some vacation—haw!' The older boy shook his head as he slid down on the floor next to Rivin. 'She's just 'bout as old as Ma an' looks like she was Ma's daughter! They say,' his voice grew to an undertone, 'that it's the magic tha' does't.'

'I never heard of magic doing that,' Rivin murmured back.

'Neit'er I until m'cousin Kentith told me.'

'And what does Kentith know?' Rivin had only met Kentith once or twice, but had, from first encounter, disliked the boy for some strange reason.

Tileir gave a braying laugh. 'Why, boy, didn't ya hear? Kentith's been Chosen, too!'

Rivin went silent with shock. 'Kentith? Kentith Ra-venblack? Our cousin?'

'Why are ye so surprised? If Lisabet, why, then, whyn't another?'

Rivin shrugged. 'Do'know. It's just . . .' he trailed off, shook his head. 'Never mind.' He could see Tileir was going to push the subject, so he said, 'Where am I sleeping tonight?'

Tileir considered for a moment, his caravan of thought rerouted with this new line of questioning. 'Why—most prob'bly wi' me.'

Rivin winced, feeling a strange panic build inside. Panic not so much of having to sleep with Tileir, but of what Tileir might do to him.

Why am I thinking like this? he rationalized to himself in bewilderment. Tileir wouldn't do anything to me! Lady—I think I'm going mad!

Across the room Lisabet's head lifted, and she cocked her head to one side, as if trying to hear something she couldn't quite catch. She swept the room with baffled eyes, pausing only momentarily to look at him before going on.

It was then that Rivin heard the thin wail coming from outside.

'... No/ no! no! no! . . . won't! won't! won't! . . . DON'T WANT BATH!'

Rivin ran outside, stopping when he saw Rianao standing over Nastasea. The child was snarling up at her aunt, her little face streaked with tears and broken with anger.

'Won't, won't, WON'T!'

'Now, 'Stasea—' Rianao said soothingly, moving forward.

'NO!' the child shrieked, hands curled into white-knuckled fists at her sides, eyes squeezed shut.

'Aunt—here, let me.' He moved forward, past the round, horse-faced body of his aunt, and knelt hi front of Nastasea.

' 'Stasea,' he said, touching her fists.

'No!'

His ears rang as her scream echoed around him. In a soft voice he gentled her, watching as her short-lived tantrum drained away, her expression remolding again, except now it was confused and tear-filled.

'Want Mamma,' she whimpered, using her word for Sattar.

'Mamma's not here anymore, 'Stasea. Rianao's going to be your new mamma.'

'No!' The shriek went up again.

'Yes,' he said firmly, pulling her into his arms. 'Yes.'

He stroked her hair lovingly as she sobbed against his shoulder, stuttering out 'Mamma' every third word. He could feel Rianao's curious gaze on him as he spoke to his sister. He kept his own eyes fixed on the steaming tub in front of him.

'Let Ria give you a bath?' he asked at last, patting her back with a note of finality.

She sniffed and nodded, her eyes downcast.

'Good.' He turned to his aunt. 'All yours.'

She looked a bit shocked as he handed her his sister. 'I thank ye,' she said, blinking owlishly at him as he stood.

' Twas nothing,' he said as he walked away from

them, going back into the house, masking his face with false cheer.

But between his brows was a headache, between his shoulders tight muscles, and his arm once more hurt from holding on too hard to his sister.

Night!

He woke with a start, his breath heavy as his eyes strained to adapt to the absence of light. Next to him, Tileir dreamed on, his heavy snoring sending discordant ripples into the pearly pre-dawn silence of the room.

Rivin wiped his hands over his brow, surprised to find it dry. He had been flushed a moment ago, he was sure of it The room must have been stifling hot—

But it wasn't. The window was open, letting the cool air in, letting the hot air out. Slowly, so as not to wake Tileir, Rivin stood. He picked up his belongings, cast one last unnecessary, fear-inspired glance back, and then exited.

Rianao's home was silent save for the sound of the sleepers. The chairs were empty, the sewing set aside, and Rivin found himself thinking, / guess mages sleep, too.

He purloined a loaf of the oldest bread he could find, then moved outdoors and filled his leather skin with water from the well. His aunt wouldn't mind, he knew, but she would probably be disappointed when she found him gone before she woke. So would Nastasea and Danavan. Rivin had to remind himself that they were only half a day's ride from his father's, and that it would be easy to come and visit. . . just as soon as he finished planting . . . and harvesting . . . and trading . . . and planning for winter . . . but then they would be snowbound for all the winter, and then. . . .

Rivin realized with a sinking heart that it would be a very long time before he saw his sisters again.