Cold Fire (33 page)

“You’re supposed to use those board walkways, you know,” her father pointed out. “That’s why they laid them down, after all. It’s not called Blackfly Bog for nothing.”

“Oh, Papa, it takes forever to get anywhere that way,” Jory complained. She stopped beside Daja’s horse, a hand on Daja’s booted ankle. They had said their important goodbyes while trading staff blows that morning, but Daja had wanted to see her in her element, in the life she was making for herself. To Daja Jory said, “You betrayed me. You turned my meditation over to her.” She pointed an accusing finger at Heluda Salt, who only grinned wolfishly down at her.

“And she can give you a fight with a staff,” Daja told her cheerfully. “She’ll keep you humble.” Trader, log it, she thought, I’m starting to talk like Frostpine.

Jory grinned back, teeth flashing against creamy brown skin. “I have Olennika for that,” she said. “I don’t think I can stand two humbling teachers.”

“All I know is, you’ll need them,” retorted Daja.

“Come back soon,” Jory said quietly. “We’ll really miss you.” She glanced at the top of a frame wall: Nia straddled it. She was dressed like her twin in a short gown and boots, except that her sensible dress was maroon, and Jory’s was blue. As Arnen, seated opposite Nia, drilled openings through two connected beams, Nia thrust pegs into them and hammered them in. Without looking away from her work, she raised her mallet and waved it, then drove the latest peg home. Two weeks after Arnen got his mages’ certificate, he had opened his own shop, taking over Nia’s meditation as well as her carpentry instruction with Camoc’s and Nia’s approval.

“I’ll come back when I can,” promised Daja. She had said her goodbyes to Nia as well, talking with her until late the night before.

“And Nia will write,” said Jory. “She’s better at it than I am.”

Olennika’s voice echoed over the clatter of hammers on wood, nails, and stone. “If they aren’t going to dismount and help, tell them to go away, Jorality.” She had a crow-harshness to her tone now, a lasting reminder of the night when she had kept her part of the hospital safe until everyone who could escape was gone. “Those flatbreads won’t put themselves to bake!”

Jory looked at the bundled-up Frostpine. “When he comes out of his cocoon, tell him I said goodbye,” she said cheekily. She trudged back to Olennika through the mud, ignoring the plank paths.

“You can come out,” Matazi told Frostpine. He sat in multiple layers of habits and clothes, a heavy fur hat on his bald crown, two pairs of gloves on his hands. “Breathe some air,” urged Matazi. “It’s good for you.”

Frostpine swiveled his head to glare at her from his layers like an irate owl. “That air is cold, wet, and moving,” he informed her.

“That’s the green wind of the Syth,” Kol said with a smile. “Smell it. Damp earth, growing things-spring is on its way.”

“On its way, maybe. Here, no,” grumbled Frostpine. “I love you both dearly, but I am going to find some real spring. The kind that’s actually warm.”

Matazi leaned over and kissed Daja’s cheek. Kol rode over to do the same. “Thank you for our girls,” Kol told her. “For setting them on their proper road.”

Daja smiled shyly at both of them. “That’s what Traders do-we find roads, and we follow them. Trader and Bookkeeper keep your balances high and your debts low.”

She looked at Heluda, who said, “If the two of you ever get tired of this smithing nonsense, I could make fair magistrate’s mages of you.”

Daja chuckled and shook her head. “I think the smithing nonsense is in our blood.” She reached across the gap between them and poked Frostpine with the end of her Trader’s staff. “Come on, old owl,” she told him. “I’ll find you the way to springtime.”

“Gods be thanked,” Frostpine replied with feeling. They set their horses forward on the road south.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

With heartfelt thanks to my good geometer, Richard McCaffery Robinson, who maps with such style and accuracy (unlike the author), to my lovely and besieged editrix Kate Egan, who bears so patiently those frantic calls begging indulgence for yet another delay, to my agent Craig, my husband Tim, and my friend Raquel, who supply me with badly needed grounding. I don’t think readers always know how much people other than the writer add to books in terms of ideas, fixes, corrections, additions, and general wet-blanketing for authorly hysteria, and they should. Very few books are made strictly by the efforts of one person, even if that person is the only one getting paid.

NOTES

Calendar used in most lands in which these books are set, including major holidays.

January Wolf Moon

February Storm Moon

March Carp Moon

Sunborn (spring equinox)

April Seed Moon

May Goose Moon

Wild Night (Beltane)

June Rose Moon

Midsummer (summer solstice)

July Mead Moon

August Wort Moon

September Barley Moon

Coldborn (autumn equinox)

October Blood Moon

Dead’s Night (Halloween)

November Snow Moon

December Hearth Moon

Longnight (winter solstice)

Days of the week:

Sunsday

Moonsday

Starsday

Earthsday

Airsday

Firesday

Watersday

ABOUT FUR

I know the use and mention of fur in this book is going to draw howls of dismay from animal lovers, and in our time, I howl with them. (I wear leather because at least the cow gets eaten-we do use everything, and I am a carnivore.) These days in the western world there are so many substitutes to keep us warm that I prefer that the fur remain on the person whose skin it is.

BUT.

My worlds are set in times and places where those alternatives aren’t available. They are set in times very like our Middle Ages, and in those times, those who could afford it wore fur to keep warm (and without things like central heating, insulation, and storm-proofed windows, people got a lot colder a lot quicker). Keep in mind that this is fiction based on human history, and that not everyone believes and prefers the same things as the author.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

TAMORA PIERCE is a full-time writer whose fantasy books include The Circle of Magic, The Circle Opens, The Song of the Lioness, The Immortals, and The Protector of the Small quartets. She says of her beginnings as an author that “after discovering fantasy and science fiction in the seventh grade, I was hooked on writing. I tried to write the same kind of stories I read, except with teenaged girl heroes-not too many of those around in the 1960s.”

In her Circle of Magic quartet, Ms. Pierce introduced the four unforgettable mages-in-training who are now four years older in The Circle Opens-Sandry, Briar, Daja, and Tris. She began the new quartet at the urging of her many readers, who encouraged her through letters and e-mails to explore the mages’ lives further. She chose their next turning point to be when they each acquire their first students in magecraft.

Ms. Pierce lives in New York City with her husband, their three cats (Scrap, Pee Wee, and Ferret), two parakeets (Zorak and the Junior Birdman), and a “floating population of rescued wildlife.” Her Web site address is http://www.sff.net/people/Tamora.Pierce.

OTHER BOOKS BY TAMORA

THE CIRCLE OF MAGIC QUARTET

Sandry’s Book

Tns’s Book

Daja’s Book

Briar’s Book

THE CIRCLE OPENS QUARTET

Magic Steps

Street Magic

Cold Fire

THE SONG OF THE LIONESS QUARTET

Alanna

In the Hands of the Goddess

The Woman Who Rides Like a Man

Lioness Rampant

THE IMMORTALS QUARTET

Wild Magic

Wolf-Speaker

Emperor Mage

The Realms of the Gods

THE PROTECTOR OF THE SMALL QUARTET

First Test

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