“Majesty,” a Snow Witch moved hurriedly between rows of ice shelves that held the bodies of injured witches. “Majesty, we have visitors,” she said excitedly as she bowed low. “The two magicians that helped us against the daemons; they’re here!”
Samantha straightened, her face strained. “I can’t come now, Matilda. They’ll have to wait,” she said tiredly. “The daemons’ poison is deadly and even the healing power of the talisman takes time to work. I’ve still a long way to go before I finish treating everyone.”
“Majesty,” Matilda looked doubtful, “they need help themselves. The old man is ill.”
“My witches must come first,” Samantha said icily. “The magicians will have to wait. See that they’re comfortable and I’ll come as quickly as I can.”
Matilda bowed and withdrew. The talisman that shone on the queen’s arm had filled the court with a new sense of power and importance. She was going to enjoy telling the magicians that they would have to wait.
It was very much later that Samantha sailed majestically into the Great Hall. Approaching the magicians regally, she apologized profusely for keeping them waiting. Words, after all, cost nothing and although it was only a small show of her new status, she knew it would not go unremarked. It was only when she met the icy, blue eyes of the younger of the two men that her heart quailed and she understood why her witches had grouped themselves as far away from her guests as possible without seeming rude. A wolf man! One of the Onegin!
The wolf man bowed, but not, she noticed, too low. “Count Vassili Onegin,” he said coldly, clicking his heels, “special envoy of Lord Jezail of Ashgar.”
The queen’s eyes flashed venom at Matilda, who paled visibly, knowing that the queen’s punishment would be severe. “You are welcome, milord, and you have my sincere apologies,” she said. “I was not told who my guests were otherwise I would have come immediately. Please forgive me.”
He inclined his head and indicated the old man who lay with his eyes closed on one of the spindly ice sofas. “Prince Kalman was badly bitten by the daemons and although I’ve done my best, he seems to have need of more help than I can give.”
Bending over the prince, a ripple of unease trickled through her as she felt the count’s eyes staring fixedly at the talisman clasped firmly round her arm. She wasn’t a fool and knew perfectly well that the envoy of Lord Jezail had surely come with but one thought in mind — to take the talisman back to his master in Ashgar.
Half an hour later, the queen, accompanied by her ladies in waiting, ushered her guests to a private sitting room where tea was being served. Prince Kalman had regained consciousness and no longer looked so desperately ill; the pallor had left his face and although still fragile, he walked with a firm step. What, Samantha wondered, had happened to leave him in such a state? He’d obviously fallen victim to a spell of some sort and a very powerful one at that. Gone was the fair-haired, debonair young prince that she knew — he looked, she thought disdainfully, at least a thousand years old, if not more.
Prince Kalman brought the subject up himself. Finishing his tea, he put the cup and saucer on the table and looked at Samantha with more confidence in his tired, watery eyes than he felt. He knew from past experience that witches were a tricky lot and bore watching. “Count Vassili brought me here, Samantha,” he began, “so that I could ask a favour from you; a very great favour.”
“Indeed,” she answered warily.
“We have been friends for many years, you and I,” he said, forcing a smile, “and as you see I have been affected by a powerful spell. It is a spell that is slowly taking my life, as you may have noticed.”
Politeness forced her to speak. “How can I help?” she asked, half-guessing the answer as she spoke.
“By letting me wear the talisman until the spell is destroyed,” he replied. “Its magic is powerful and I know that my time is near.”
Samantha’s face darkened. “Give you the talisman!” she repeated with an incredulous laugh. “Do you think I’ve lost my senses?”
“I need it, Samantha!” Kalman’s face flushed. “You know as well as I do that it has the power to cure spells. I wouldn’t ask for it otherwise.”
Again she laughed derisively. “Do you take me for a fool, Prince Kalman?” she snapped. “Your father and the Lords of the North have the power to counteract any spell that binds you. You know that just as well as I do! Ask them for help and don’t come to me with fairy tales!”
“You know I can’t ask my father,” he replied stiffly, “and the Lords of the North have barred me from Morven. What I say is the truth!”
“And I don’t believe you,” she countered. “What madness! If I were to give you the talisman, I’d never see it again!”
Kalman’s face whitened and the count half-rose to calm him down.
Samantha, too, got to her feet and looked at them fiercely. “Understand this,” she said harshly. “The talisman is mine and I give it to no one. Not to you, Prince Kalman, nor,” and here she glanced at the count, “to you or your master, Lord Jezail.”
“I will convey your message to my master,” the count said smoothly, rising to his feet.
Prince Kalman, too, stood up, his face stony with anger and despair. Then he remembered Clara. “Where is the child?” he asked, looking round. “Didn’t you bring her with you?”
“I did,” Samantha answered and, knowing how deeply he hated the two children, smiled to soften his disappointment at not getting the talisman. “Don’t worry,” she said sweetly, “I’ve taken care of her. She’ll trouble you no more.”
Kalman stiffened and looked at her in alarm. “What exactly do you mean by that?” he asked sharply.
“She’s in the deep dungeons,” came the casual answer.
“You mean you’ve put her among the snow worms?” he sounded incredulous.
“Ages ago,” she smiled. “They ought to have finished her off by this time.”
The count leapt forward and grabbed the prince’s arm as he lunged furiously at the queen.
“You fool!” Kalman gasped, struggling frantically, as he tried to reach her. “You complete fool! Do you think the Lords of the North will stand by and do nothing? If she’s dead you’ll suffer for it, Samantha — talisman or no talisman!”
“I couldn’t care less!” she snarled, rising to her feet. “She was mine to punish by right!” She threw out her arms in anger. “Do you know how many of my witches the daemons injured,” she hissed, “how many lie poisoned by their bites?”
“Where is she?” Kalman demanded in a voice that brooked no denial.
“Find her yourself,” the queen spat. Then she stepped back, white with fear. The witches standing at her side screamed shrilly and at their cries, more poured in from the Great Hall. They stopped dead in their tracks, however, as they looked towards the queen; for the Ashgari count had disappeared in a shimmer of light and in his place stood a great, grey wolf.
The wolf bared its teeth threateningly and growled at the petrified witches. Then, nudging Prince Kalman with its head, looked up at him. “Follow me,” the wolf said, “I know her scent.” And it ran from the room, sniffing the ice.
Kalman gave the queen one last, furious look and followed. The wolf ran to the area around the queen’s throne and started to sniff the ice, searching for Clara’s scent.
“This way,” he said, and trotting steadily so that the prince could keep up with him, made his way along corridors and down a flight of stairs until they came to the roughly carved tunnel where the dungeons were. It was then that they heard Clara’s scream of pure terror and the noise of a struggle as she hit out frantically at the snow worms with the heels of her shoes.