The Wandering Fire Read Online Free

swung open and the glow of candlelight spun out a little way into the snowbound night. He moved sideways and forward to see and be seen.
    “No farther!” a woman said. “I have a blade.”
    He kept his composure. “I’m sure you do,” he said. “But you also have eyes, I hope, and should know who I am, for I have been here before.”
    There were two of them, a young girl with the candle and an older woman beside her. Others, with more light, were coming forward as well.
    The girl moved nearer, raising her light so that his face was fully lit by the flame.
    “By Dana of the Moon!” the older woman breathed.
    “Yes,” said Paul. “Now quickly, please, summon your Priestess. I have little time and must speak with her.” He made to enter the vestibule.
    “Hold!” the woman said again. “There is a price of blood all men must pay to enter here.”
    But for this he had no tolerance.
    Stepping quickly forward, he grabbed her wrist and twisted. A knife clattered on the marble floor. Still holding the grey-robed woman in front of him Paul snapped, “Bring the Priestess, now!” None of them moved; behind him the wind whistled through the open door.
    “Let her go,” the young girl said calmly. He turned to her; she looked to be no more than thirteen. “She means no harm,” the girl went on. “She doesn’t know that you bled the last time you were here, Twiceborn.”
    He had forgotten: Jaelle’s fingers along his cheek as he lay helpless. His glance narrowed on this preternaturally self-possessed child. He released the other priestess.
    “Shiel,” the girl said to her, still tranquilly, “we should summon the High Priestess.”
    “No need,” a colder voice said, and walking between the torches, clad as ever in white, Jaelle came to stand facing him. She was barefoot on the cold floor, he saw, and her long red hair was twisted down her back in untended spirals.
    “Sorry to wake you,” he said.
    “Speak,” she replied. “And carefully. You have assaulted one of my priestesses.”
    He could not afford to lose his temper. This was going to be difficult enough as it was.
    “I am sorry,” he lied. “And I am here to speak. We should be alone, Jaelle.”
    A moment longer she regarded him, then turned. “Bring him to my chambers,” she said.
    “Priestess! The blood, he must—”
    “Shiel, be silent for once!” Jaelle snapped in a wholly unusual revealing of strain.
    “I told her,” the young one said mildly. “He bled the last time he was here.”
    Jaelle hadn’t wanted to be reminded. She went the long way around, so he would have to pass the dome and see the axe.
    The bed he remembered. He had awakened here on a morning of rain. It was neatly made. Proprieties, he thought wryly—and some well-trained servants.
    “Very well,” she said.
    “News first, please. Is there war?” he asked.
    She walked over to the table, turned, and faced him, resting her hands behind her on the polished surface. “No. The winter came early and hard. Not even svart alfar march well in snow. The wolves have been a problem, and we are short of food, but there have been no battles yet.”
    “So you heard Kim’s warning?”
Don’t attack, he’s waiting in Starkadh!
Kimberly had screamed, as they passed into the crossing.
    Jaelle hesitated. “I heard it. Yes.”
    “No one else?”
    “I was tapping the avarlith for her.”
    “I remember. It was unexpected.” She made an impatient movement. “They listened to you then?”
    “Eventually.” This time she gave nothing away. He could guess, though, what had happened, knowing the deep mistrust the men in the Great Hall that morning would have had for the High Priestess.
    “What now?” was all he said.
    “We wait for spring. Aileron takes council with everyone who will talk to him, but everyone waits for spring. Where is the Seer?” Some urgency there.
    “Waiting also. For a dream.”
    “Why are you here?” she asked.
    Smile fading, then, with no levity at