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“But my lord, remains there nothing then of the amber found at Uppsdale? Surely your grandfather did not barter it all!”

“It went during the lean years, sweetling. I remember that my mother had an amulet left once—”

Ysmay’s hand was to her breast in protection. Annet had taken all else, and that she had had to yield. But Gunnora’s charm was hers! And she would fight for it.

“But is it true that the place where it came from could not be reopened—” Annet persisted.

“Too true. My father, when it was sure war would come, needed treasure for weapons. He brought in a man used to the iron mines of the South Ridges, paying well for his opinion. But the fellow swore no skill could shift that rock fall.”

Ysmay felt small relief. At least Annet did not ask more about remaining amber. She excused herself and went to her pallet.

But not to sleep easily. When she did it was with her hand closed protectively about Gunnora’s amulet. She dreamed, but when she awoke she could not remember those dreams, though she carried into waking the feeling they had been important.

The Lady of Marchpoint and Dairine came in the morning, excited over Hylle’s wares. Again they had hard money to lay out. And seeing Annet’s mouth droop, Gyrerd hacked one of the silver rings from his sword belt.

“If he lays his prices low to gain a market,” he said, “get you a fairing. More than this I cannot do.”

Annet said her thanks quickly. Experience had taught her how far her demands might go.

So, somewhat against her will, Ysmay returned to Hylle’s booth. This time his hooded servants were not visible. But within the door, on a stool, squatted a woman of strange aspect.

She was thick of body, her round head seeming to rest directly on her shoulders, as if she possessed no neck. Like the hooded men, she was dressed in a robe of drab hue but hers was patterned over with symbols in thick black-and-white yarn.

Her girdle was of the same black and white mingled together. Now her fat hands rested on her knees, palms up as if she waited for alms, and she stared into them. She might have been holding a scroll from which she read.

Strings of coarse yellow hair hung from under a veil fastened with braiding. Her face was broad, with a straggling of hairs on the upper lip and along the paunchy jaw.

If she had been left as guardian of the booth, she was a poor one, for she did not look up as the ladies approached, but continued to stare absorbedly at her empty hands. Only when Ysmay passed her, did she raise her eyes.

“Fortunes, fair ladies.” Her voice was in contrast to her lumpish, toadlike body, being soft and singsong.

“A reading of pins on the Stone of Esinore, or, if you fancy, the foretelling of what the Elder Gods have written on your hands.”

Annet shook her head impatiently. At another time she might have been tempted. Now she had silver and a chance to spend it to the best of her bargaining powers. Nor was Ysmay ready to listen. That there were true seeresses, no one doubted. But she did not think this repulsive hag was one.

“Trust that which you wear, Lady—” For the first time the woman looked directly at her. The soft voice was very low, plainly meant for her alone.

And Ysmay found herself, against her will, listening.

Hylle came out of the shadows.

“Ninque seems to have a message for you, Lady. She is a true seeress, esteemed in Quayth.”

This was not Quayth, Ysmay thought. Seeress or no, I do not want to listen to her. Yet she sat on the stool Hylle produced, to find herself eye to eye with the woman.

“Your hand upon mine, Lady, so that I may read what lies there.”

Ysmay’s hand half moved to obey. Then she jerked back, her disgust for the woman overriding whatever spell the other cast. The woman showed no emotion, only her eyes continued to hold Ysmay’s.

“You have more than you believe, Lady. You are one for far faring and deeds beyond the women’s bowers. You—no, I cannot read clearly. There is that under your touch now—bring it forth!”

Her soft, insinuating voice was a bark of order. Before she thought Ysmay pulled at the cord, drawing out Gunnora’s amulet. And behind her she heard a hiss of indrawn breath.

“Amber.” Again the seeress’ voice was singsong. “Amber in your hand always, Lady. It is your fate and your fortune. Follow where it leads and you shall have your heart’s full desire.”

Ysmay stood up. She jerked from her belt purse a single copper coin and dropped it into those hands, forcing herself to give the conventional thanks for foreseeing, though the words choked her.

“A good fortune, Lady,” Hylle stepped between her and the woman. “That bit you wear—it is very old—”

She sensed he would like to examine it, but she had no intention of letting it out of her hands.

“It is Gunnora’s talisman. I had it from my mother.”

“A sign of power for any woman.” He nodded. “Oddly enough I do not have its like here. But let me show you a thing which is very rare—” He put two fingers to her hanging sleeve. And it was as if the world suddenly narrowed to the two of them alone.

He picked up a box of fragrant pinsal wood, slid off its lid. Within was a cylinder of amber, a small pillar of golden light. Caught within it for the centuries was a winged creature of rainbow beauty.

Ysmay had seen in her own amulet small seeds, which was meet for a talisman of Gunnora’s, the harvest goddess of fertile fields and fertile woman. But this piece was marked with no random pattern of seeds. It was as if the creature had been fixed by intelligent purpose.

So beautiful it was that she gasped. Hylle put it into the hands she had involuntarily stretched forth and she turned it around and around, studying it from all angles. Ysmay could not be sure whether the creature within was a small bird or a large insect, for it was new to her, perhaps something which had long gone from the living world.

“What is it?”

Hylle shook his head. “Who knows? Yet once it lived. One finds such in amber from time to time. Still this is unusual.”

“Sister—what have you?” Annet crowded in. “Ah, that is indeed a thing to look upon! Yet—one cannot wear it—”

Hylle smiled. “Just so. It is a wall ornament only.”

“Take it,” Ysmay held it out. “It is too precious to finger lightly.” At that moment she coveted the flying thing greatly.

“Precious, yes. But there are other things. Lady, Would you trade your amulet for this?”

He had stood the cylinder on the flattened palm of his hand, balanced it before her eyes to tempt her. But the moment of weakness was gone.

“No,” she replied evenly.

Hylle nodded. “And you are very right, Lady. There is a virtue in such amulets as yours.”

“What amulet, sister?” Annet crowded closer. “Where got you any amulet of price?”

“Gunnora’s charm which was my mother’s.” Reluctantly Ysmay opened her hand to show it.

“Amber! And Gunnora’s! But you are no wedded wife with a right to Gunnora’s protection!” Annet’s pretty face showed for an instant what really lay behind it. She was no whole friend, nor half friend, but really revealed herself as—unfriend.

“It was my mother’s and is mine.” Ysmay pushed the charm back under the edge of her bodice. Then she spoke to Hylle.

“For your courtesy in showing me this treasure, Master Trader, I give thanks.”

He bowed as if she were the favorite daughter of a High Lord. But she was already turning out of the booth, uncertain of where to go or what to do. She was sure that Annet would now work upon Gyrerd to take her only treasure from her.

Yet Annet, upon her return to their tent, said nothing of the amulet. Rather she was displaying with open joy a bracelet of butter amber, its bright yellow contrasting with clasp and hinge of bronze. That she had purchased it with her single piece of silver she took as a tribute to her bargaining skill. And Ysmay hoped she was now fully satisfied.