White As Snow (Fairy Tale) Read Online Free Page A

enjoy this unusual tale of winter wolves and
blood on snow. With the help of the good folks at Tor Books, we have more Fairy Tale series novels in store for you. For information on forthcoming publications, visit the Tor Books Web site ( www.tor-forge.com ) or my own Web site, The Endicott Studio of Mythic Arts ( www.endicott-studio.com ).
     
    T. W.
Tucson, Arizona
and Devon, U.K.

The Mirror : The Maiden
    I.
    O NCE UPON A TIME, IN WINTER, there was a mirror.
    It had been brought from the East, where the sun rose, and the moon; that always-rising place of curiosity and brightness.
    The mirror was made of glass, which, in the lands it had been brought to. was not usual. And so, to protect it (but also because those who looked in it were sometimes very startled hy the monstrous clarity of the reflections), it had a lid, which could be closed. And often then, the mirror stood shut by its silver lid, like a sleeping—or a dead—eye.
    However, today the mirror had been opened.
    What did the mirror see, looking in?
    A young girl, slender, clear and bright herself with youth. She stared at the mirror, which she knew must be sorcerous, and then swiftly away.
    But the mirror continued to mirror her as she went to a high window and, instead, looked out.
    “What can you see?” asked the blind old nurse in her turn.
    “The snow,” said the girl, “and the black trees stretching up their arms to the sky. Nothing else.”
    The nurse sang in her cracked voice:

    “ Black is the wood, white is the snow,
Red the roses that under it grow —”

    The girl paid no attention. She had observed something flickering, shifting through the avenues of the winter forest—was it a group of riders? A pack of wolves? Then nothing was there, only the wind thrusting by the trees. (War was bounding over the snow’s book toward this castle, but the girl had not seen this. And the old nurse, witch enough once to have done so, was half blind too, now, in her psychic vision.)
    “ Black is the wood— ”
    “Hush,” said the girl, irritated. She spoke to the nurse as, seven years before, the nurse would have spoken to her.
    Without protest the old woman withdrew herself, a snail, into the shell of her thoughts.
    And the girl went on staring at the forest. Her name was Arpazia. Her hair was black as the woods, her pale skin better than the snow. Her eyes, though, were a light, water-gray. She was fourteen years of age. She longed for change, not knowing the change of all things was almost upon her, nor what it could mean.
     
     
    Draco the war-leader, soon to be a king, led his army through the forests. In his rough way, he had studied strategy, and was well aware few battles were fought by choice in winter. So, he had chosen it.
    His men no longer grumbled. They were warmed by spoils from the last three stone towns, and all the villages they had sacked.
    Up there, through the trees, stood the last castle on the board. But it would be easy to take. The lordling was old, and his battalions
lax. Few were left to come to his help. Draco doubted if even a spy had reached this spot with the news of an army’s approach.
    He had dreamed of that castle. In the dream it had been iron and obdurate, but nevertheless he smashed it like an egg. Then they all acknowledged him, gave in. He rode to the palace at Belgra Demitu, a king.
    As dusk began, deer roasted on the red fires. They ate them, and drank wine. Near midnight, Draco went to the priest and prayed.
    “God favors you, my son.”
    “I know it, Father. How else could I have come so far?”
    “When you are raised high, do not forget God then.”
    Draco thought the priest meant he must not forget the Church and his gifts which must be made to the altar, piling on the gold. But there would be plenty, and besides he was devout.
    “Amen, Father.”
     
     
    They had dressed Arpazia in the carmine dress, braided her hair, and placed on her head a slim golden circlet with a white veil. She was being