When the worst blizzard of the season so far and one of the worst Elderaan could remember hit, he couldn’t help thinking of the girl again. He did his best to shove the thoughts from his mind, but as the wind and snow battered against the door and windows of the shop, thoughts of what it must be like for her alone in this weather came unbidden. But there was nothing he could do. He would catch his death of cold if he went out in this weather. With luck, she and any others like her had found shelter.

He focused instead on stoking the fire and making his room as comfortable as possible before settling down to sleep. But sleep wasn’t something willing to come easily. It wasn’t just the howl of the wind and the banging of the shop sign against the side of the building. He’d slept through such sounds before. No, it was thoughts of that blasted girl freezing to death.

So he tossed and turned, listening to the banging of the shop sign. There was a kind of rhythm to it: the loud clatter when it made contact with the wall, accentuated with the creaking of the chains it hung on, and periodic softer thuds barely perceptible above the wind. He wondered what those were. Hitting the wooden bar the sign hung from, perhaps? No, their timing wasn’t in synch with the bangs. Not the sign then. Something else banging.

He pushed aside his blanket and sat up, straining to hear more clearly. Four quick thuds. A pause. Four more quick thuds. A precise repetitive pattern. Too precise for something blowing in the wind. The door. Someone was knocking on the door!

He leapt out of bed, grabbed his robe, and hurried down the stairs. The cold showroom floor stung his bare feet, and he could already feel the thin draughts of wind seeping through the cracks in the door. The banging was much more audible here. He scrambled to the latches to unlock the door and then opened it.

It flew out of his grasp at the strength of the wind and hit him in the side of the face as it whirled open, threatening to rip off its hinges as it slammed into the wall. Snow whipped about him. The white cloak he wore whenever he went out flew off its hook, and the ledger at the sales counter opened, sending papers flying about the room. The rats began scratching at the corners of their cages, seeking some kind of escape from the sudden onslaught.

The girl stumbled into the shop.

At least, Elderaan assumed it was her. She had a heavy blanket wrapped around her, obscuring her features. But the figure who collapsed on the floor was about the right size.

As soon as she was clear, Elderaan grabbed the door, heaved it round, and pushed it shut. The papers gradually settled down, but the rats remained agitated. Elderaan rubbed at the side of his face, then reached down to the girl. She took his hand and let him help her to her feet. As she did so, she let go of the snow-covered blanket, which fell to the floor.

It was her.

Once she was on her feet, she pressed herself against him, her arms around him, clutching at him. Her body shook and she began to sob.

Elderaan had not been prepared for such a display of emotion, though in retrospect, it was understandable. He put a hand on her back and patted it hesitantly. He didn’t have much experience with children and wasn’t sure what he should be doing. “There there. It’s all right now.”

She continued to sob.

After several minutes, he decided to say something. “Now, now, you can’t stand here crying all night, can you? Hmm? We need to get you looked after. Look up. Look me in the eye.”

Her sobbing stopped and she looked up at him. She released one hand gripping him and wiped her sleeve across her face. Elderaan reached down to take her hand before she could grab hold of him again. “Let’s see that hand, hmm?” She let him take the hand. “And the other one.” She let go with the other and let him examine it as well.

Both hands were bone cold and almost blue-white in colour. The skin was stiff and not very pliable. He gently squeezed one of her fingers, then increased the pressure a little—not enough to hurt her, but enough to produce a response. Yet, she showed no reaction. “Can you feel that?” he asked.

She shook her head.

“Hmm, yes. We’d better get you seen to. Come with me.” He let go of her hands and headed up the stairs. The girl followed behind. He led her into his room where he grabbed one of the blankets from the bed. “Wrap this around your hands while I warm some water on the fire.”

He let her be for a few moments while he filled a pot with water and hung it over the fire. Then he looked back to make sure that she had done as he asked. She had done more than that. Since the blanket was much larger than she needed for her hands, she had wrapped it around herself first and then had wrapped a separate end around each of her hands.

Elderaan let the water sit over the fire for a minute or two and then removed it. He dipped a finger in to test that it wouldn’t scald the girl, and then, satisfied that it wouldn’t, placed the pot on his bedside table. “Come over here. Unwrap your hands. I want you to soak them in this water for a while. You might feel some tingling or even pain as the feeling returns, but don’t remove your hands until I tell you it’s all right. Do you understand?”

She nodded and came forward, letting the ends of the blanket fall from her hands. She then placed them in the water. She flinched a little, but kept her hands submerged.

Elderaan bent over and took a closer look at her face. Her cheeks and forehead were red, but weren’t the pale blue-white of her hands. “Your face looks not too badly off. How are your feet?”

“I can’t feel my toes,” she said.

“Hmm, we should probably soak them too just to be sure. We don’t want you losing feeling permanently. We should get you some dry clothes too, but I’m afraid I don’t have anything your size.”

“I have a change of clothes in my pack,” she said.

“Your pack?” In all the excitement, he hadn’t noticed her carrying a pack.

“I dropped it downstairs,” she said. “It’s watertight. Except I can’t close the flap all the way, so some snow probably got in, but the clothes shouldn’t be too wet. I think.”

“Yes, well, we’ll see I suppose. You stay here. I’ll go and find your pack and prepare some water for your feet. Let me know if that water starts to feel cold so I can reheat it.”

“Yes, sir,” she said.

He left her there and returned downstairs. Once there, he took a moment to survey the chaos caused by the wind. Papers lay in various scattered places around and on the sales counter, and there were a few puddles of water on the floor from melting snow. Luckily, it looked like most of the papers had not gotten wet, though his cloak had. A couple of tincture bottles on the display near the door had fallen over and a couple things had fallen off nearby shelves, but nothing seemed broken at first glance. The rats had calmed down, though they stirred at his passing now. On the whole, the devastation wasn’t as bad as he had feared, and he could worry about cleaning it up later.

The blanket the girl had arrived in still lay near the door. It was wet through. He found the pack tangled up within it. Although not very large, the pack was stuffed to capacity and heavier than Elderaan had expected it to be. A slender object wrapped in wet cloth stuck out the side of the flap, too long to fit in the pack and keeping the flap from closing completely.

He slung the pack over his shoulder and returned upstairs, where he filled another pot with water and placed it over the fire.

“The water’s getting cold,” the girl said.

“Very well, as soon as this pot’s warmed, we’ll reheat it. Now then, while I’m treating your frostbite, why don’t you tell me what this is all about, hmm?”

“What this is all about?” she said. “What do you mean?”

Elderaan turned to look directly at her. “I mean what you’re doing here.”

“Well, the storm,” she began.

“I don’t mean the storm. I mean following wizards around, offering your services, yet not being open about what you expect in return. One might almost think you were stalking us.”

Tears began to glisten in the corner of her eyes again. “I...I’m sorry. I...”

Elderaan sighed. That had been too harsh. He hadn’t meant to frighten her. “No, I’m the one who should be sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you.” He took the pot from the fire, tested the temperature, then brought it over to her. “Let’s get your boots off, shall we? Why don’t you sit on the bed?”

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

She turned to do as he asked and removed her hands from the pot on the table. She gasped and stuck them back in. “I’m sorry.”

“No, that’s all right. It won’t harm to remove them for a moment. You’ll need your hands to give you leverage to sit on the bed. Besides, we need to reheat that pot anyway, don’t we?”

She nodded, extracted her hands again, and pushed herself up onto the bed. Although her boots appeared as though they might have once been of decent quality, they were now heavily worn and ratty. As he lifted one foot up to remove the boot, Elderaan noted that the sole was worn almost through. It could not have provided much protection from the weather. He gently pulled it off, and then the other one. The girl’s feet were red and blistered. He moved the second pot directly under her and directed her to lower her feet into it. Then he grabbed the first pot and returned to the fireplace.

“Now, why don’t we start again? How about you tell me your name, hmm?”

“It’s, um...” She hesitated. “Asa.”

“Um Asa?” He stared at her. “Tell me the truth now.”

She looked away from him. “It’s Asa.”

“Very well, Asa. Why are you so interested in helping wizards?”

She didn’t look up. “I want to be one,” she muttered. Her face went red again.

Elderaan smiled. He had been right. “Do you now? Why so embarrassed then? Why not just say so from the start and avoid all this flustering about?”

“Because you’re not supposed to.”

“Not supposed to? Why ever not? How is anyone supposed to know what you want if you don’t tell them, hmm?”

She looked up at him and sniffled. “That’s what the woman at the Hall of Knowledge said.”

“The woman? Which one?” He could guess which one though.

“The tall, pretty one,” Asa said.

“Ezmelda?”

“I think so. I went there first and she spoke to me. She told me that wizards choose their own apprentices, not the other way round. I must wait to be asked and not ask myself.”

Elderaan knew of no such rule, though Ezmelda was ever one for finding obscure traditions from centuries past and insisting that they be followed today. Or she was just trying to get rid of the girl.

“So I thought maybe if I helped you out,” Asa continued, “you might think of me when you wanted an apprentice. I don’t think the other old man liked me very much, but you seemed nice.”

“Other old man? You think me old, do you?”

“Well, you are, aren’t you?”

Elderaan chuckled and lifted the pot from the fire. “I suppose I am getting on a bit, yes.” After checking again that the water wasn’t too hot, he carried the pot over to her and placed it on the table. “Hands in.”

She did so and looked at him expectantly.

“So, you thought that by being nice to me and other wizards, we might start to like you and one of us would spontaneously offer to train you?”

She started to nod, but stopped and frowned. “Yeah. It was kind of stupid, wasn’t it? But I didn’t know what else to do.”

Elderaan sat on the bed beside her. “No, my child, I wouldn’t say it was all that stupid, after all. Unusual, certainly. Risky too. But also creative. It shows intelligence and determination. It also might have worked somewhat.”

Her eyes widened and she grinned.

“But only because I figured out what you were up to! If you had approached Agernon one more time, he probably would have frozen you in the ice.” At her shocked expression, he added, “Metaphorically speaking, that is. He can’t actually do that. At least, I don’t think he can. Anyway, the point is, you managed to annoy him quite intensely.”

“That’s why I stopped approaching him,” she said.

He patted her shoulder. “Well, you’ll have to make amends with him, if you’re to stick around.”

She looked up at him, her face not managing to hold back the excitement. “You mean you’ll teach me?”

“Ah ah ah,” he said, standing up. “Aren’t you supposed to wait for me to ask?”

“Oh, sorry.” She broke eye contact and lowered her head.

Elderaan chuckled. “First off, that’s nonsense. Ezmelda was just trying to get rid of someone she thought was a bothersome child. If there are actually any rules for how these apprenticeships are arranged, I’ve certainly never heard of them. The Council sometimes assigns them, but I don’t think even that’s a hard-fast rule.”

She looked up at him again, her smile returning.

“But I can’t give you a strict answer to your question yet.”

“Why not?”

He sat down beside her again and gave her a smile. “Wizardry requires more than just intelligence and creativity. It also requires a natural inborn talent. Without it, there’s nothing you can do. Only a quarter of humans have it. Still, those aren’t terrible odds. You have a reasonable chance.”

Asa slumped a little. “How do we find out?”

“That’s why you need to make amends with Agernon,” Elderaan said. “He’s the one who can find out for you.”

“Oh,” she said, slumping further. “Can’t you do it?”

Elderaan shook his head. “I’m afraid not. I’m a mentalist, not an enchanter. I don’t have the skill to test for the talent.”

“Mentalist,” she repeated. “Magic of the mind.”

“That’s right. There are three disciplines—well, four, but the Isyar jealously hold on to the secret of the fourth. Mentalism is one of them and enchantment is another. Agernon is an enchanter and has the skills you need. He performs the services for the Council at the Hall of Knowledge from time to time. We’ll need to convince him to do so for you. But that’s a problem for later. You need some rest first. Let me see your hands.”

She held them out to him. The normal colour was returning and the skin had regained some pliancy. She flinched as he prodded them. “That stings.”

He nodded. “Hmm, yes, that’s normal. I think we got to you in time.” He stood up and went over to where he’d left her pack. Being careful not to let the long, slender object fall out, he opened the flap and pulled out the top item, a crumpled and damp wool skirt. “Yes, this won’t do. You’d be better off to just wrap yourself in the blankets on the bed. I’m going to go downstairs and clean up. I want you to soak your hands and feet for a few more minutes, then get undressed and wrap yourself in the bed blankets. Then lie down and get some sleep. We’ll talk some more in the morning.”

She nodded. “Yes, sir. Where will you sleep?”

“Don’t worry about me. Just take care of yourself.” He put the pack down and went downstairs.

Once he’d gathered up the scattered ledger papers, reorganized them, picked up his cloak and any fallen items, and mopped up the melt-water, he proceeded to do a bit of rearranging of the display shelves and then made sure the rats had an ample supply of food. None of it took particularly long, and he wanted to make sure Asa had enough time to get into bed before he returned. Eventually, his still-bare feet were becoming numb with the cold, so he realised he needed to return upstairs before he ended up with frostbite too. He was also starting to realise just how exhausted he was feeling.

He was halfway up the stairs when he remembered he needed somewhere to sleep, so turned around and collected his heavy wooden chair from behind the sales counter. It was a struggle to get it up the stairs, particularly without making much noise, but he managed to get it into the bedroom.

Asa was already fast asleep by this point, only the side of her head visible amidst the tangle of blankets. He placed the chair down beside the wardrobe, and flinched at the soft thud it made. But the girl didn’t wake up. He then collapsed into the chair with a sigh. It wasn’t the most comfortable thing to sleep in, but his muscles ached and he was exhausted enough that he didn’t doubt sleep would come.

Then his gaze fell on Asa’s pack. It had fallen on its side and the cloth-wrapped, slender object had slid partway out. It would be invasive of him to pry through her things, but he was curious, and it would be good to know what belongings she already had. Besides, she hadn’t objected when he’d opened it to check her clothes. What if the skirt hadn’t been right at the top? He would have had to dig through anything else in there to find other clothes. It was spurious reasoning, he knew. Truth was, he hoped the pack would reveal secrets she hadn’t yet told him and might be unwilling to tell him otherwise. He was pretty certain she’d lied about her name, after all.

With a groan, he stood up and crossed over to the pack. He knelt down and pulled out first the slender object. As soon as he held it in his hands, it was clear that it accounted for a significant portion of the pack’s weight. From the feel of it, most of its length was flat, but one end had a slightly different shape to it, wider momentarily and then more rounded. Its weight and balance made it difficult for Elderaan to untie the strings that held the cloth wrapping in place, so he returned to the chair and laid it across his lap.

He looked over to the bed to ensure the girl had not wakened, and then began to work at the ties. Once they were out of the way, he unwrapped the object, revealing steel that glinted in the light from the fire. A sword, and not just any sword by the look of it. He was no expert, but this looked of fine craftsmanship, with gold filigree etched into the hilt, and the pommel contained an engraving of a bear’s head on both sides. The Bear of Arnor. This was a noble’s sword, probably a royal one.

It wasn’t a particularly big sword, certainly smaller and slenderer than the ones Elderaan had seen carried by the Watch here in Quorge. Presumably, it was meant for someone of a lighter build, probably a woman—but a grown woman, not a young girl. Why did this girl have it? How had she gotten it?

It was possible she’d stolen it, but there was another possibility. It seemed unbelievable that she could have travelled so far, but she was the right age and had the right general appearance.

Just over a year ago, ten-year-old Princess Felitïa had vanished without a trace. Within days, the Church had posted rewards for information across the entire country and possibly beyond. Rumours and stories about what had happened—that she had run away, drowned, been kidnapped, or even murdered—spread almost as fast. Here in Quorge, while people talked, few were all that concerned by it—apart from the Foliths in Lord Belone’s court, he supposed. Few people liked the royal family and most outright hated them. Elderaan had no love for them, certainly. Also, Quorge was so far away from Arnor City, no one expected a missing princess to be found here, so no one cared.

Elderaan began re-wrapping the sword and glanced over at the sleeping girl. A year was more than enough time for her to have made the long trip half-way across the continent, but it still seemed far-fetched that, at her age, she could have done it. Not alone, at any rate.

He retied the strings and returned the sword to the pack. He decided to resist looking at anything else in the pack for now to avoid it looking too disturbed.

What had he gotten himself into?