Sherwood Smith - Wren 1 - Wren To The Rescue
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Wren to the Rescue
Sherwood Smith
[Wren 01]
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Copyright © 1990 by Sherwood Smith
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or
transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical,
including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and
retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Requests for permission to make copies of any part of the work
should be mailed to: Permissions Department,
Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, Publishers, Orlando, Florida 32887.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Smith, Sherwood. Wren to the rescue/by Sherwood Smith.—1st ed.
p. cm.
“Jane Yolen books.”
Summary: With the help of a prince and an apprentice wizard,
Wren strives to rescue her best friend, a princess named Tess, from
the fortress of a wicked king.
ISBN 0-15-200975-2
[1. Fantasy.] I. Title.
PZ7.S65933Wr 1990
[Fic]—dc20 89-19841
Design by Camilla Filancia
Endpaper map by Anita Karl and Jim Kemp
Printed in the United States of America First edition
To Janis Marie Robinson
because long ago, when she was eight and I was eleven,
I promised
and to T.K.K.
in affection and gratitude
for twenty-five years of
friendship, laughter, and Belief
Wren to the Rescue
Chapter One
^ »
Wren stared at Tess in amazement. “You’re a what?”
“A princess,” Tess said again.
“Oh, I get it. A new game.” Wren clapped her hands. “So how do we play? Am I
a princess, too?”
Tess shook her head. “It’s not a game.”
“Tess,” Wren said slowly, “if this is supposed to be a joke, it’s not working.”
The two girls stood under the spreading branches of their favorite tree and looked
at each other in silence. Wren studied Tess’s familiar face above the plain gray dress
that all the girls at Three Groves Orphanage wore. She saw no hint of a smile on the
curved lips, and Tess’s blue eyes gleamed steadily and solemnly back at her. In
front of Tess’s white apron, her long hands clasped each other tightly. This wasn’t
any joke.
“Long lost?” Wren asked in a tentative voice. Images flitted through her mind,
and she just had to add, “Lost… stolen away by the Iyon Daiyin, perhaps? And
you’ve been rediscovered—here?”
Tess smiled at last, her own sweet smile that transformed her long face into
something very beautiful indeed.
“Not long lost. Just—hidden.”
Wren saw a glitter in her friend’s straight blue gaze—a sheen of tears Tess was
not going to let fall. If she just found out she’s a princess, Wren thought, the news
doesn’t seem to be part of a happy ending. To make her best friend smile, Wren
gave a loud and dramatic sigh of disappointment. “Well, then I’ll still have hopes
for me.” She plumped down on a tuft of long green grass. “So you’ve had a secret,
and now you’re telling me. Can you tell me any more?”
Tess rubbed one of her hands up her sleeve and down again. “Yes. Mistress Leila
is my aunt, and a princess in her own right. She’s really Leila Shaltar—”
Wren knew as well as any child in Siradayel the names of Queen Nerith’s
offspring. “Princess Leila Shaltar, the Queen’s youngest daughter? The one who
was supposed to have gone off traveling and settled out of the country?” At Tess’s
nod, Wren’s light blue eyes grew round as icebird eggs. “Are you a secret ninth
child—”
Tess shook her head. “No. I’m the daughter of Princess Astren—”
“Third daughter of Queen Nerith!”
“—and King Verne Rhisadel, of Meldrith.”
Perplexed, Wren frowned. “I thought… well, I guess I never thought much about
Meldrith—it being so far away—but I remember, somehow, hearing that there
wasn’t any heir.”
“There is an heir. Me. But I’ve had to live here in secret except for a short trip
every year to see my parents. On my birthday, which comes day after tomorrow.”
“I thought your birthday was in summer, just after Gerrin’s—oh! That was a
pretend one?”
Tess nodded slowly, solemn again.
Wren sighed, sagging like a cushion for a moment. She was a short girl, with a
square face and small hands and feet. Her only remarkable feature was a great
quantity of brown and blond streaked hair, as if—Zanna the orphanage pest said
once—two scalps of hair had had a fight for possession of her head and both had
become attached. Wren’s braids were long and thick and heavy and seldom
remained neat. In contrast, Tess’s waving, shining auburn hair never seemed messy.
Wren looked up at her friend. “So you’re leaving for good, is that it? That’s why
you’re telling me?”
Tess said quietly, “I think my parents might try to keep me in Cantirmoor this
time if nothing happens.”
“Nothing happens?” Wren repeated, bouncing up from the ground. “A curse? Is
that it? You’ve been under a curse?”
Tess nodded, her eyes now distinctly unhappy.
Wren said longingly, “Oh, how I wish it were me.”
This made Tess laugh. She sank down onto a low rock and laughed almost
soundlessly. Wren stopped bouncing about and regarded her with a mixture of
mischief and concern. To Wren, Tess’s laughter sounded uncomfortably close to
tears. “I guess I shouldn’t have said that—” Wren began.
Tess lifted her head. “Why should you stop saying what you wish?”
Wren spread her hands, giving her friend a funny, lopsided smile. “Well, things
have changed.”
“Do you think I’ve changed?”
Wren looked at Tess’s intense face. “You haven’t, but your place has. Unless
you’re about to tell me that I’m a princess, too.” Wren made her voice and face
sound comically hopeful.
Tess smiled again. “I wish I could. In fact, truth to tell, I wish we could trade
places. You want a life of adventure—how many times we’ve talked about it. And I
don’t, really.”
Wren was silent for a time, thinking over the past. She had been sent down to the
larger Three Groves Orphanage from a small, overcrowded one in the high border
mountains three years ago. There, orphans were trained to obey orders and to be
good general helpers, and when they prenticed out on their twelfth or thirteenth
birthdays, it was nearly always for unskilled labor. The mountain folk were very
close: weavers, clock-makers, and other skilled artisans tended to take prentices
from their own families first. No one in the mountains had much need for scholars or
scribes. So it had not been thought necessary to teach Wren and her fellow orphans
to read.
When she had been near nine—reckoning from the day she was first found—the
Keepers had met with the Village Council, who had decreed that there were too
many children and not enough jobs.
Wren was among those sent down to the larger village of Three Groves. She’d
been happy about the change—hoping she might now be allowed to do what she
wanted—but at Three Groves she’d found that, despite the larger numbers of
children, the available positions were much the same. True, a small number of
children, mostly girls, were trained to serve as scribes or governesses for noble
families in the local great houses, but Wren was told that she was too old to learn the
many skills needed. And traveling players? Three Groves children were prenticed out
for respectable jobs! So Wren was once more employed in the garden, laundry,
kitchen, and more and more often at the pottery.
At first she had not noticed Tess, not until she caught Zanna and her two toady
friends picking on her. Wren had intervened, and later, in the course of conversation
about bullies and how to handle them—there had been four or five of them in the
mountains—Tess and Wren discovered some common likes and dislikes.
In a burst of confidence, Wren had admitted her secret desire to become a stage
player. Tess had a revelation of her own: that she owned a book of historical plays.
She volunteered to teach Wren to read them. That had sealed their friendship. Now
Wren looked up. “You always knew, didn’t you? You were living in disguise.”
Tess smiled. “Aunt Leila told me when I was five. Before then we made those
yearly visits, but I didn’t know who the strange man and woman in the pretty clothes
were.”
“When you go there, do you get to put on jewels and a crown and have people
wait on your every wish?”
Tess got up and stared through the hanging willow leaves to the tumbling stream.
“No. Nice dresses, but otherwise my visits have always been much like life here. No
children, of course. I had to be kept in secrecy, and I was always on my very best
behavior…” Tess hesitated, then stopped, shrugging suddenly. “It was not exciting.
It was—strange. My parents are strangers, my true home strange as well.”
Wren’s quick ears heard the struggle against sadness under the soft voice.
Mistress Leila, teacher of writing and deportment at the orphanage, had coached
Tess to speak clearly and well, to never raise her voice. Tess had also learned to
hide her feelings. Looking at her now, Wren realized that she didn’t really know
Tess. She’d thought her best friend a quiet, ordinary girl, content with things as they
were; content with Wren being leader in everything they did.
“And here you’ve been spending all this time listening to me pretend to be people
in history and watching me juggle and tumble,” Wren exclaimed. Then she
remembered the import of Tess’s words and winced. “So I guess you’ll be going
away now. Is that why you’re telling me? For good-bye?”
Tess said quickly, “I believe I am to go back for good, but Aunt Leila said I
could tell you, in case you might like to come to Cantirmoor with me?”
Wren sighed happily. “Would I!” She wrinkled her nose. “Or would I have to be
your maidservant? I will, if I must— but I don’t know that I’d be a very good one.
You know how they’re always getting mad at me in the kitchen, and garden, for
daydreaming.”
Tess shook her head. “I wouldn’t want you to come as that. I know you
wouldn’t be happy. Aunt Leila said we have to leave here as just Wren and Tess. No
one here’s to know. She said that there will be plenty of opportunities for you to try
other things in Cantirmoor.”
Wren clasped her hands. “The stage players.” She danced across the grassy
space, then did a cartwheel. “Not those old, mean traveling players, but real players,
with beautiful clothes, speaking poetry, and performing before the toffs.” She struck
a proud pose, then grimaced. “Though I thought you had to be beautiful. And no
matter how much I try, I will never be able to sing.”
“You’d do well, I should think, because your memory for long poems is so
good,” Tess said loyally. “And you know by heart all the plays in my—”
In the distance, a bell clanged.
“Dinner.” Wren groaned.
Tess got up and straightened her skirts with smooth, automatic movements.
“Aunt Leila said we could come here to talk privately just until dinner.”
Wren looked around the small space where they’d shared so many games.
“Nobody knew! But why… how… your parents—” Wren stopped and drew a deep
breath. “I think my head is going to pop from all the questions growing in it. Let’s
begin with one. The curse.”
“Not a curse, precisely—a threat,” Tess murmured, pushing aside a curtain of
leaves. “Does the idea frighten you? Would you rather not come?”
Wren said fervently, “Not likely!”
“Then let’s talk more tomorrow, as soon as we can find time alone.” Tess waited
until Wren passed, then let the leaves fall. “We’d better go to dinner now, or we’ll
be missed.”
Wren’s answer was a muffled groan of impatience as she bounced up the rocky
slope behind their Secret Tree. Tess smiled and followed more slowly.
Chapter Two
« ^ »
Looking at her narrow bunk that night, Wren whispered almost soundlessly: “Last
time for you.”
She started to undress, stopping when she heard a shriek of rage next to her. She
turned in time to see Zanna’s golden head duck and her fingers tweak viciously at
Mira’s braid while Mira’s nightgown was still over her head. Mira gave a muffled
squawk and tried to fend off the bully, but Zanna skillfully and surreptitiously tripped
her so that she crashed into two other girls. Skipping quickly out of the way, Wren
caught Zanna’s arm just before she could duck around the side of a bunk.
“I saw that,” Wren said. “Leave Mira alone.”
Zanna glowered at Wren for a moment, then sniffed and flounced back to her side
of the room. Around Wren, the girls quickly finished undressing.
Climbing into bed, Wren thought: Strange—this is the last time I’ll defend
anyone against Zanna and her pals. Now they’ll have to learn how to handle
bullies on their own because tomorrow I’ll be gone.
A moment later the door opened, and Mistress Lith swept in, demanding to know
why there was so much noise. Voices rose, but as usual only her favorite, Zanna,
was allowed to speak. After she told her version, everyone was threatened with extra
kitchen duty if it happened again. Then Mistress Lith blew out the lamp and left.
Wren lay quietly, smiling in the dark, and listened to the familiar hasty rustlings as
the slow girls finished getting into their nightgowns, the creak of the wooden beds,
and last the soft hiss of breathing.
I’ll be gone, she thought again, savoring the strangeness of the idea. She fell
asleep trying to imagine life in a real royal palace and only worrying a little about
Tess and the curse.
The next morning, instead of racing out while braiding her hair, Wren jostled for a
place in front of the little mirror to make certain her braids were neat and her apron
and bodice laces straight.
At breakfast Tess gave her only a brief, shy smile as Wren passed by to sit with
her own dormitory.
Afterward Wren dawdled in the hall until she felt a light touch on her shoulder.
She turned to look up into Mistress Leila’s face. Mistress Leila was the youngest
Keeper, with bright red hair worn in the customary severe Keeper’s bun. Her smile
was rare and usually wry, and though she never raised her voice, she had a way with
sharp words that had earned her a formidable reputation among the children. Even
the rowdiest boys seldom gave her trouble.
She’s really a princess, Wren thought wonderingly as Mistress Leila said in a
very low voice, “Tess is waiting for you in the Keepers’ parlor. I’ll be there
presently.” Then she glided smoothly by as red-faced Master Milvar bustled in,
shouting orders at a string of youths running after.
Wren put a hand up to hide her grin. No more digging out carrots with him
bawling and squalling at me to be faster, she thought as she walked with sedate
steps to the Keepers’ parlor.
Opening the door, she looked around with brief interest. Ordinarily the orphans
were not allowed in there. The room was much like the staid downstairs parlor,
where the orphans were interviewed by potential masters when it was their turn to
prentice out. Tess was sitting by the window, staring down into the road. When
Wren came in, she looked up, smiling a welcome.
Wren plopped down onto one of the straight-backed chairs and said, “Now! Tell
me about the curse.”
Tess gave a quiet laugh. “It wasn’t a curse—I’m glad, I must say—it was a
threat. From King Andreus of Senna Lirwan.”
Wren felt her jaw drop. “Truth?”
Tess nodded.
Even in the orphanage, Wren had heard of the wicked King Andreus of Senna
Lirwan, though orphanage children were given only the scantiest lessons in history or
current affairs. She had listened eagerly, however, whenever rumors or fireside tales
were told in the village. She had also enjoyed sneaking glances at the single, ancient,
much-repaired map in the scribe students’ room, imagining adventures as her eyes
roamed over the orange-painted Great Desert lying far to the west. Now she shut her
eyes and pictured the map in her mind: Senna Lirwan, land of the wicked King
Andreus, lay across the high mountains to the southeast of Siradayel. Like Siradayel
and Meldrith, it was landlocked. She recalled bits of gossip about how the wicked
king was trying to expand his country at the expense of his neighbors.
“Why did King Andreus threaten your father?” Wren asked.
“It has to do with something my father did. Aunt Leila told me only that he once
rescued someone from Andreus’s castle. She said my parents will tell me
more—when they think I’m old enough.” Tess wrinkled her upper lip a little, and
Wren snorted in agreement. “All I know about the curse is that Andreus threatened
to take any child that my father had as a return for this rescue that happened before I
was born. That’s all I know— now. I’ve planned for a long time to look in the
records as soon as I can and find out what happened.”
“So they think the threat is over now?”
“Well, that’s what they hope. Aunt Leila told me he did try to steal me away with
some kind of magic spell just after I was born. Luckily Halfrid, the King’s Magician,
was ready for that. But they decided to send me away soon after.”
“But why here? I thought those magicians have places where nobody can get in.”
Tess shook her head. “Like the Free Vale? But other magicians can get in. Aunt
Leila told me, when I asked her that same question, that most rulers don’t trust any
magicians besides their own. If I were sent to one of those faraway magic
strongholds, my father would worry that any ambitious magician could grab me. But
nobody knew about Three Groves except my parents and Aunt Leila. Anyway,
nothing has happened on any of my visits to my parents in Cantirmoor, so they’re
going to try to keep me. But, at first, no one is to know who I am. Aunt Leila told
me last night.” Tess smiled lopsidedly. “People are going to think that you and I are
new heraldry prentices, sent to the palace from the north country. It happens
sometimes. That’s if anyone sees us. We’re going to be kept away from people for
a while.”
“Ah!” Wren exclaimed. “Is that why I’m to go, too? As a kind of disguise? What
fun!”
“We’ll be able to read all the history records and plays that we want—” Tess
broke off as the door opened.
Mistress Leila came in. Closing the door behind her, she studied Wren for a
moment with steady dark gray eyes. “Well, Wren, would you like to come to
Cantirmoor as a companion for Teressa?”
“Yes, Mistress,” Wren answered promptly.
Mistress Leila’s eyebrows were long and slanted, and when she smiled as she did
now, they slanted even more steeply. There was no mistaking the humor there,
though her mouth stayed serious. “You understand that you will have to be
circumspect. That means you must talk to no one until you are given leave. You will
also have to behave like a young scribal prentice: no acrobatics when you think the
adults aren’t looking, and no juggling pieces of fruit, or glass weights, or whatever
you might find handy. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
Mistress Leila nodded once. “Very well. Let us go.”
“Now? But won’t everyone know we’re going?” Wren exclaimed.
Leila smiled. “Did you ever notice us going in the past?” After Wren shook her
head, she went on, “And can you tell me where everyone in Three Groves is right
now?”
Wren shook her head slowly. “Maybe some—but mornings are always so henlike
around here.” She flapped her hands crazily.
Mistress Leila laughed. “Exactly. But I know where they all are. And they all think
the three of us are somewhere else. So now, if I may request a pause in the
questions, we will go.”
She gestured for the girls to stand up. Tess’s hand reached for Wren’s and held
it; her other hand slipped into Mistress Leila’s. Tess gazed out the window, her
shoulders braced stiffly. Wren watched in amazement as Mistress Leila made a quick
gesture with her free hand, then spoke two words very softly.
A sudden sense of light and wind and sound all at once nearly overwhelmed
Wren, but almost as soon as it began it stopped. She blinked and discovered that
they now stood in a room with high, round-topped windows down one long wall. All
around the walls of the room were low shelves with books in them, more books than
she had ever seen. At each end of the room round glow globes, set on spindly silver
rods, gave off soft light, adding to the light that streamed in the windows. Under her
feet lay a carpet, but Wren noticed that it was distinctly threadbare. The walls were
plain whitewash unadorned by any pictures.
Mistress Leila murmured, “Wait here, please, girls,” and walked swiftly toward
one of the doors.
Nudging Tess, Wren whispered, “Is this the royal palace?”
“No, it’s the Magic School,” Tess whispered back through tight lips. Wren
looked at her pale face in surprise. Tess drew a slow, careful breath and then added,
“I think she’s finding out if anything has happened before we go on to the palace.”
“Are you ill?” Wren asked anxiously.
Tess smiled, just a bit. “It’s that magic transfer. Doesn’t it make you dizzy?”
“I like it.” Wren stopped talking when she saw a tall man in brown tunic and hose
meet Mistress Leila at the door. The man had a bushy beard that seemed to fluff out
as he cast a quick smile at the girls. He and Mistress Leila held a low-voiced
conversation.
So this is the Magic School? Wren thought. And that was real magic. She
stretched her hand out, trying to mimic Mistress Leila’s gesture. She remembered the
two words clearly.
Mistress Leila returned, moving with such a straight-backed briskness that Wren
decided to try practicing that walk when she was alone. It would be the way to show
a princess in disguise walking, if I ever do get to be a player.
Once again Mistress Leila took Tess’s hand. Tess’s other gave Wren’s a
squeeze. Then Mistress Leila’s free hand made a gesture in the air. This time, she
was looking away as she spoke, and the words were indistinct.
The strange sensation of light, sound, and almost-wind was faster. Wren barely
registered it before they stood in yet another room. This one was everything she had
hoped for. High, vaulted ceilings curved over them with painted green and gilt leaves
twining upward in vines along the groins. Mosaic-outlined high archways graced
each wall, and a parquet floor with different shades of wood in a wonderful star
pattern glowed clean and polished underfoot. Through some of the archways Wren
glimpsed other hallways, and on two distant walls she noticed huge tapestries.
Mistress Leila turned to face the girls. “I will not be staying with you this time,
Teressa. Your parents have made their own arrangements. Obey them as you have
obeyed me. I must return to Three Groves for a few days, until they can find a
replacement for me, then I will be back to see how you are doing. The others at
Three Groves will be told that you two prenticed out early. Remember what I said!”
This last was addressed to Wren. Then Mistress Leila walked through one of the
archways and disappeared.
Tess, meanwhile, sank down gratefully onto an embroidered sofa nearby. “We’re
to wait here,” she said.
Wren dropped happily onto the comfortable cushions beside Tess, admiring the
fancy stitchwork on the pillows—spring leaves and golden buds—that even the
Sewing Mistress at Three Groves would not have been able to do. Then she heard a
rustling of skirts, and a smiling woman in a quiet-hued gown entered the room.
“Princess?” She smiled at the girls as she bowed to Tess. “Young Mistress? The
King and Queen await you.”
Tess’s face lit with her sudden, transfiguring smile. She got up swiftly and started
after the maid. Wren followed, looking around at the fine furnishings and
decorations. At the end of a hall there was a wonderful door carved with more gilt
leaves and a splendid room with a long row of painted flowers, birds, and growing
things high on the walls, the colors of which were worked into the embroidery on the
curve-edged furniture.
Wren’s eyes went to the two people in the room—a man and a woman, both
beautifully dressed. At first they seemed impossibly handsome. But as Tess ran
forward and the woman’s arms closed around her, Wren noticed that the Queen had
a much longer face than Tess and big knuckles on her hands.
Wren hung back. She couldn’t hear the soft words the Queen murmured to her
daughter, or the replies that Tess made into her mother’s velvet-clad shoulder. Then
Tess transferred herself to the King’s arms, and she was caught up and swung round
in a wide circle.
“My brave girl!” the King exclaimed. Tall and thin, he had a short gray-streaked
brown beard. Narrow, dark eyes crinkled with good humor when he looked over
Tess’s head at Wren. “Come forward, child,” he said genially. His voice was clear
and loud, but somehow reassuring. “So, you’re the one who wants to be a pirate,
eh?”
Wren’s face went hot. “Well, only when we play adventure games.” Startled at
how different her voice sounded in the large room, she added belatedly, “Your
Graces.” And she bobbed into an awkward curtsy.
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WrentotheRescueSherwoodSmith[Wren01]EbookLiberationFrontdigitalback-upedition1.0clickforscannotesandproofinghistoryvalidXHTML1.0strictContents|1|2|3|4|5|6|7|8|9|10|11|12|13|14|15|16|17|18|19|20Copyright©1990bySherwoodSmithAllrightsreserved.Nopartofthispublicationmaybereproducedortransmittedinanyform...
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