Sword of Ice and Other Tales of Valdemar

'I won't tell him, Your Majesty,' the young man laughed. 'He does take his hobby quite seriously.'

Selenay chuckled. 'I'm sure he, does. But what brings you here? Especially so late at night? You could— should!—have given yourself an evening of rest before reporting to me.'

'I have a story to tell you, Your Majesty.'

Selenay stiffened, folding her hands in her lap to hide their sudden trembling. She'd half expected to hear those words.

Too often, the story he had to tell was the dark and deadly result of what he was. For some reason, he preferred to give his reports as 'stories.' It was as if he tried to maintain some kind of fiction that she was innocent of his actions. She was not, and could never be. She gave him orders and the freedom to act; she was as culpable as the archer who looses an arrow. That she did not always know where it would land made her more responsible, not less.

'I thought—on a night like this one, in the deeps of winter—you would enjoy this,' he continued, and smiled. 'It is the story of the Blue Heart, Your Majesty; a regional legend of the mountains near White Foal Pass.'

Selenay sighed, and relaxed again. Just a story, after all____

And oddly enough, she was suddenly in a mood to hear a story.

'In those mountains,' the Herald continued, 'there is a small and isolated village. Its population is less than two hundred, and most of them make their living from the fine wool of the long-haired goats they raise.'

'I know that wool!' the Queen said in surprise. 'Very soft and fine, and very expensive.'

The Herald nodded. 'It is indeed. And it is with that wool that the story begins. ...'

The trader examined the sample of wool cloth with pleasure and delight. It was soft as a puff of down, warm and light as a purring kitten, and a lovely shade of blue-gray. He'd never seen such cloth, nor anything of so fine a weave. Plush was the word he'd put to it, and he was already calculating his profits. He already had a customer in mind, a man of wealth and power in military and secular service of Sunlord Vkandis. Baron Munn— who had led his own private, household troops against the Unbelievers, and as a consequence was high in the favor of the Son of the Sun. The Baron made no attempt to conceal his fondness for luxuries, and he was a good, if choosy, customer.

'It will be hard to find customers for so unusual a weave, but I can take all you have at ten coppers the bolt,' he said, expansively, with a condescending smile as if he were doing the rustics a favor.

But the village headman only shook his head sorrowfully. 'Oh, Trader Gencan, that giving a mood we're not in,' he said, just as condescendingly, and sighed. 'It's a been a hard year, that it has. We need so many things, so many things, or there'll be no wool for next year, for we'll have had to eat our goats to stay alive.' His voice hardened as he bent to the bargaining. 'Thirty coppers it'll have to be, or nothing at all.'

'What?' Gencan yelped, taken by surprise. Why— that was exactly what he'd expected to sell the stuff for! These mudfoots weren't nearly so green as they looked!

And neither was his former competitor, from whom he'd stolen—ah—acquired this trade route. Perhaps this was why he had not fought to retain it. There was nothing worse than a tradesman who knew the value of his goods!

He bent to the bargaining with a will, and sweated until he'd brought them down to something reasonable.

Something a man could make a decent profit on. Sixteen coppers a bolt was one copper more than he'd wanted to pay, but at least it allowed him a profit margin. . . .

They had just settled on that price, when he happened to look out the window and froze in surprise at what he saw wandering by.

'Who is that?' he gasped, wondering if he had somehow stumbled on a creature like one of the fabled Hawkbrothers. The headman followed his gaze and smiled.

'Our lovely butterfly,' he said, with a smile of pure pleasure. 'That's our butterfly.'

'She's your daughter, then?' the trader replied, unable to take his eyes from the girl.

But the headman laughed. 'No. Oh, no, Trader. In a way, she belongs to the whole village.'

Now Gencan spared him a sharp glance. 'The village? What's that supposed to mean?'

But now the headman frowned, just a little. The girl drifted out of sight, and Gencan was able to gather his scattered wits about him again. 'It's a strange story, Trader,' the headman said at last. 'And not altogether a happy one.'

Gencan pursed his lips and nodded sagely. 'Well, then,' he replied. 'What say we drink to our bargain and you can tell me her story.' He signaled to his servant to bring in the wine. 'Nothing makes a bitter story more palatable than a good wine!'

He poured the headman a cup of the strong, smooth wine, then settled in to listen with as good a will as he'd bargained.

Leaving his caravan in the charge of his most trusted assistant, he rode out that very night, pushing hard for Karse. Eight days later he was kneeling, forehead to the floor, before Baron Munn. The cost of a private audience had been steep, but the results of this audience could make him wealthy beyond the income brought by any trade route. He would be able to retire and hire others to lead his caravans, while he directed them like a great lord with his retainers.

Baron Munn sucked at a plum pit, and looked down at him out of one half-lidded eye. The Baron was a massive, bulky man, but his face and limbs showed only the barest hint of the fat of soft living. He had been called 'The Bull of the Sun,' and he looked like his namesake in every way, down to the expression in his face. 'Rise,' he said at last, waving a hand languidly. 'State your business.'

Gencan only removed his forehead from the floor so that he could watch the Baron's expression. 'I thank the great and wise Baron Munn for granting me an audience,' he said, with every token of humility. 'I am not even worthy to scrape the bottoms of the great one's—' 'Fine, fine,' the Baron interrupted. 'Get on with it.' He selected another fruit and bit into it, licking the juice from his fingers.

'I have come to tell you of a young woman, Great Lord,' Gencan said, quickly.

Baron Munn looked up from his half-eaten peach, pale eyes bright with interest.

'She is barely fourteen summers old,' Gencan continued, 'And just coming into the full bloom of womanhood. Her hair is the white of snow, of clearest ice, a waterfall of molten silver. Her eyes are the blue of a clear sky, of the finest sapphire. Her skin is as flawless as cream from the cattle of the Temple. Her face and her form are as perfect as that of a young goddess.'

The Baron was truly interested now; he licked his lips and set his fruit aside. Oh, he was feigning indifference, but Gencan had not been a trader all his life without learning how to read people. He played his winning card. 'Such a lovely creature could only have been created by the Sunlord himself,' Gencan continued piously. 'And in the wisdom of the Sunlord, he has balanced all her virtues, by a single defect. He has given her the mind and heart of a child of no more than eight years. So she is now, and so shall she remain all of her life. Innocent, simple, trusting, and loving! She cannot know a lie, cannot tell one. She cannot understand any but the simplest of commands, or do more than care for herself as a child would. Her needs are those of a child, her joys and fears those of a child, and she will do anything she is told to do by an adult.'

Baron Munn straightened in his thronelike chair. Gen-can watched as the light of interest and curiosity in his eyes turned to the flames of desire, a desire that turned his strong face into a caricature of himself. Now he looked even more like a bull—a bull scenting a heifer. And Gencan knew that the whispered rumors he had heard about the Baron were true.

Baron Munn composed himself after a moment, pulling a mask of indifference over his features. He stared at Gencan as if he were deciding on what he meant to order for dinner. But his ragged breathing gave him away.

'Tell me where this girl is, Trader,' the Baron said harshly. 'I will send my people to see if all you have told me is the truth.' His hand, the strong hand that had swung an ax it took two ordinary men to wield, clenched on the arm of his chair. That ax itself hung behind his chair in a jeweled sheath, lest anyone forget what it was that had brought the Baron to power. 'If it is true, and I may have her, you will be rewarded.'

His hand clenched again, and Gencan blanched, remembering how many heads the Baron had removed with that ax, to the greater glory of the Sunlord. 'If you lie,' he continued, 'I will make you my slave. My