Sherwood Smith - Wren 1 - Wren To The Rescue

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Wren to the Rescue

Sherwood Smith

[Wren 01]

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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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Sherwood Smith - Wren 1 - Wren To The Rescue

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