When Laria finished her tale, she was shaking and her mouth was as dry as death. Firekeeper thrust a water bottle into her hand. When Laria did not attempt to drink, the wolf-woman nursed a few swallows between the younger woman’s inexplicably chapped lips.
“Blind Seer ask,” Firekeeper said, her voice even huskier than usual, “why the other land—that which makes the barren border to this plain—why is it already dead? If we understand your tale, we stand in the hours before the contest between this brother and this sister.”
Laria answered without needing to think, the answer welling up through her, although she had not known it before. “That land was killed as border beyond which the contestants’ magic would not pass. The river was meant to be the other border, but, well, that almost wasn’t enough.”
She blinked, seeing her companions rather than her vision for the first time since she had given herself over to relating it.
“Those two people—the brother and sister—their parents killed themselves to create the contest barrier. The parents weren’t good people, not precisely, but they realized the horrors they had created by encouraging their son and daughter to compete against each other. That land’s hunger… It’s hard to explain. The parents were hungry for vindication, angry that they had to die. The barrier took its shape from those feelings.”
“I wonder,” Arasan said, obviously trying hard to sound as if this was a normal discussion, “who ended up with the estate with both heirs dead?”
The Meddler snorted, but his attempt at derision couldn’t hide his fear. “Do we care? Now that Laria has revealed what the future holds for this place, we need to get out of here. Where’s that falcon?”
Farborn shrieked a conversational response from a tree bough overhead.
“He says,” Firekeeper translated, “that you may have two lives, but both of those are clearly human, for humans never remember to look up. Farborn has been sitting on that bough long enough to hear most of Laria’s tale. He wishes to compliment her, for it explains much that had puzzled him when he scouted what we had previously believed were armies.”
The Meddler made a wide, sweeping gesture with one hand. “Good to hear. Now, what does he make of our chances to escape from this most elegant trap? I haven’t striven for a new body to lose it so quickly.”
Arasan gave a dry cough, somewhere between a reprimand and a laugh. “As this is my only life, and one that I have not lived nearly as long as I might wish—no matter how venerable I may seem to our young companions—I am also reluctant to die. But take care if you choose to flee. I am not likely to welcome you back.”
The Meddler was clearly about to retort, but Firekeeper interrupted.
“We—Blind Seer and I—we think there is another escape to this trap, one that may best prove us to those who created this challenge. Rather than sneak and skulk away, why don’t we stop this sibling battle before it can happen?”
“What?” Laria and Arasan chorused.
Arasan added, “How do you expect to do that?”
“Simple,” Firekeeper replied. “We will steal these focus objects.”
The argument that followed was fierce, and took place mostly between Arasan and the Meddler—voiced aloud, since each wished to sway the other members of their group. Blind Seer let his eyes drift half-shut. As the proverb said: “A loud howl does not mean a true hunter, only an open mouth.”
The Meddler persisted in his view that running away was the only rational option. Arasan didn’t disagree, but he was willing to consider Firekeeper’s plan. That meant much cross-examination of both Laria and Farborn, assessing their information, then exploring the likelihood of success.
If, as they assumed, the Rhinadeians were observing, Blind Seer thought with considerable amusement that the entire situation must seem insane. A man heatedly arguing with himself. A woman who was apparently delusional, since she claimed to be translating for both a merlin and a wolf.
Or maybe it doesn’t seem crazy at all. Did the Rhinadeians meet the yarimaimalom in their day? Does this land have them as well? Somehow, I don’t think so. Varelle didn’t seem to recognize that Farborn and myself are more than pets.
In the end, as Blind Seer had been sure he would be, Arasan was won over to Firekeeper and Blind Seer’s plan.
“There’s a perverse sideways element to it that appeals to me,” he admitted. “Laria is certain those foci are unique. Moreover, these sibling rivals will be hoarding their power—and that of their acolytes and sacrifices—against tomorrow’s contest. With that in mind, I think we can feel assured that those with magic are either asleep or in deep meditation, so as to be as strong as possible for tomorrow’s contest. The sacrifices should be neutral. When viewed in that fashion, the contest should be relatively balanced—the three of us humans, a wolf, and a falcon against the small groups of humans who will be on watch.”
“Do you think the sorcerers will just leave these valuable foci lying about?” the Meddler sneered. This was his best argument against the venture, so the one to which he kept returning.
Firekeeper patiently repeated her counterargument. “No, but this makes our hunt more sure, for we only need to find the brother, the sister. One thing about humans we know—if they have a One, that One is careful to show who he or she is in ways great and small. Especially when they are about to enter a contest for head of their pack, they will not wish to be seen as part of the common herd.”
“I like that thinking,” Laria put in. “I’ll do what I can to describe them. I warn you, though, in my vision they were so elaborately costumed that the people were lost in the trappings. You know how it can be, right?”
The Meddler heaved a deep sigh but, even though Arasan gave him opportunity to speak, he had clearly resigned himself to the stupidity of his fellows.
“So, which do we strike first?” Arasan asked, rubbing his hands together briskly.
“We strike both at once,” Blind Seer said, Firekeeper translating as he spoke. “This is the only way. Once one or the other discovers their focus sphere is gone, they will howl to rattle the stars that they have been betrayed. Two teams: Laria, myself, and Farborn. Firekeeper with Arasan.”
Laria gasped. “Me, alone?”
Firekeeper growled a reproof. “No. You with two strong yarimaimalom. I would keep them for me, but I do not completely trust the Meddler. He has not agreed, you see, only stopped arguing. If Arasan finds himself battling a rebel in his own soul, then I must be near.”
Blind Seer wondered if Firekeeper still maintained her ability to control the Meddler. It was possible that it had faded when he took up residence in Arasan’s body. To this point, they had not had need or opportunity to test—and Blind Seer hoped they never would.
“When you put it that way,” Laria replied, trying to look confident, although her scent betrayed her, “I guess it makes sense. But are you sure? I can’t talk to Blind Seer and Farborn the way Firekeeper can.”
“Good thing that, I think,” Firekeeper said with a slight smile to take the sting from the words. “Humans talk too much when they are nervous. This will be a task to be done in silence.”
“But I can’t see in the dark the way you can.”
“Blind Seer and Farborn will guide you. And the camp will not be dark. There are too many humans there for perfect darkness. My thinking is that you will long for shadows in which to hide. Now, only one question is left. Do you wish the male or the female as your prey? Whichever you take, be comforted. Blind Seer has some gift for sniffing out magical workings. You will not crash blindly into wards and things.”
Laria looked startled being given a choice. “From what I felt, the sorcerer seems to be the more likely of the two to be violent. I wouldn’t be much good at dealing with that. So if Farborn and Blind Seer agree, we’ll try the woman. Anyhow, we’d sort of defeat our purpose of proving to these Rhinadeians that we’re the type of people they want to know if Blind Seer just ripped him to shreds, right?”
Firekeeper nodded. “Good counsel, that. I will do my best to make captives not corpses. Farborn says that he will scout from above for you and Blind Seer but, when he is not flying, can he ride on your shoulder?”
“Sure,” Laria replied, her smile open and genuine. “I’d be honored.”
“Good, then,” Firekeeper said, her teeth flashing white. “While we wait for dark, Farborn will scout each camp from above. Then we will make maps. Take time to rest if you can, for tonight we hunt!”
When full dark had gathered, Firekeeper and Blind Seer took a moment to be alone together. She knelt and hugged Blind Seer hard. When she let go, the wolf butted her with his head, then gave her an affectionate lick.
“You take care, sweet Firekeeper. I am not sure who I trust less—your opponent or your ally.”
“I thought about going on this hunt alone,” Firekeeper admitted, “but I like even less leaving the Meddler—especially when he is afraid—behind me. Best to keep him close and encourage his vanity. He may be helpful then. You take care of that Laria. I like her.”
“Strange way to show your liking,” Blind Seer teased, “to send her off into a crazed sorcerer’s camp.”
“With you, best beloved, to guard her. That is great liking. You might well handle this hunt alone, but she will give you human hands should you need them for this hunt. Now, which of us will be the first to succeed? Shall we bet it is me?”
Instead of making his own boast, the wolf drooped both ears and tail in worry.
“You don’t think we’re foolish to try this?” Blind Seer asked.
“Not one bit. Whether we are really in times past or only in a seeming of such, we must prove to these Rhinadei humans that we are brave, clever, and to be respected. Only then will we stand a chance of winning the knowledge that is our goal.”
But for all her confident words—and her honest belief that they were acting from wisdom, not brash overconfidence, as the Meddler still insisted—Firekeeper felt a desire to let loose a mournful howl as her partner slipped into the tall grass, Laria’s hand resting on his shoulder where Firekeeper knew her own should rightly be. She swallowed the howl and turned to Arasan.
“Ready?” she asked, then, without waiting for an answer, led the way.
Although Arasan didn’t have Firekeeper’s ability to see in the dark, the wolf-woman had no doubt that the Meddler had a few tricks and would use them for his own safety, if for no other reason.
Farborn had done an excellent job of scouting. As Firekeeper guided their small group over the route they’d traced out on maps in the dirt, she felt a curious sense of moving over familiar ground, though she had not paced it before. They encountered no wards nor more mundane traps. From this, Firekeeper felt confident that they had been correct in their assessment that the two sorcerous siblings did not expect any attack this night.
Once they reached the edge of their encampment, their easy progress slowed. The night air carried many scents and sounds: restless horses; the crackling and smoke from a large bonfire; the rhythmic stomping tread of guards as they paced their rounds. Pervading all of these was the acrid stench of fear sweat and the soft wails from humans who knew they were to be sacrificed in a few hours. Despite their fear, Firekeeper found them surprisingly calm.
The Meddler had an explanation. “They’ve drugged the sacrifices, not enough to make them fall unconscious—that would diminish the power in their blood—but enough that the slaves will find coherent thought difficult.”
Firekeeper felt glad that their plan did not include—as had been suggested at one point—causing a distraction by rousing the sacrifices to rebellion with whispered promises of freedom.
Better we be swift and silent, she thought. Now to seize this sorcerer’s focus, then away from here. Laria and Blind Seer may need our help.
IV
LARIA WALKED ALONE through the darkness beneath strange stars. Beside her paced the great grey wolf, Blind Seer. On her shoulder perched the merlin Farborn but, even so, Laria felt terribly alone. How could she have ever agreed to such an insane plan? Sneaking into the camp of a sorceress who was—as only Laria herself really understood—truly terrible. And why was Laria here? To serve as hands for a wolf who his… What to call Firekeeper? “Mistress” was an unsettling word in this context, holding heretofore unconsidered elements beyond that of owner and pet. Sister? That was what Firekeeper said they had been raised as. Brother and sister. Pack mates. But now? What to term the pair?
Whatever Firekeeper was to Blind Seer, Laria knew she herself did not hold that place in the wolf’s esteem. Could she trust him to protect her as he did Firekeeper? Was she just a tool to him—a pair of dexterous hands? Laria thought of how animals eagerly awaited those who tended them. She’d always thought of the relationship as one where the human was nurturing caregiver, the animals childlike dependents. Why hadn’t she ever before seen that, to the animals, the humans were as much tools as the animals were to humans? Openers of feedbags. Blenders of mash.
Laria stopped in mid-step, memories rising from her bitter childhood as the daughter of those who served the Once Dead who had ruled the Nexus Islands. The islands had been too small to support livestock other than that used for food. Humans had done the work of beasts of burden, hauling and carrying. Humans had served as pets, too. As Laria had grown nearer to adulthood, she had been aware that her first “real” job might be to serve as one of these pets. Worse—or better—if she served willingly, she could earn favors for her family. If she refused or acted less than enthusiastic—that would have repercussions for her family as well.
So who was she to think herself alone because her only companions were a wolf and a falcon? Was she really alone or should she see herself simply as a beast among beasts? One beast that padded on four paws, possessed of fangs, of senses that detected far more than hers could, and, just possibly, magic. One beast with wings, talons, and vision so keen the other two were blind by comparison. By that assessment, she was the beast with hands and a little magic of her own—the ability to scent the past.
When Blind Seer’s nose nudged her into motion, Laria straightened and again let her hand rest lightly on the wolf’s back as she had seen Firekeeper do. Together they paced over the future killing ground, around sentry posts that Farborn had carefully noted for them and that had been marked on the map all three had memorized. Three beasts with different gifts, bound by trust, they moved through the darkness until, at last, they stood on the fringes of the sorceress’s camp.
From Farborn’s report, Firekeeper knew that the sorcerer’s camp was arranged so that the intended sacrifices were penned along the edge of the plain that would become a killing ground come the next noon. Tents in a variety of shapes and sizes were arrayed in neat ranks behind the pens. Draft animals, mostly horses, but a few mules as well, were corralled farthest back—considerately away from where human slaughtering human might frighten them into uselessness.
During his overflights, Farborn had noted which tents were larger or in some way more magnificent than the others. In his ability to judge such things, he was a better scout than Elation would have been for, except for her short captivity, the peregrine had lived wild. Farborn, though, had lived his young life among humans—and not just any humans, but the status-conscious, arrogant Once Dead. When they reached the shadows near the camp’s edge, Firekeeper scanned the area, assessing and rejecting Farborn’s various recommendations as to which tent might hold their quarry.
So far I have come from that Little Two-legs who could not see why all such structures should not be called “tent.” Farborn thought that big pavilion might be where the leader dwells, but I think not. It is too close to the sacrifices with their stink and noise. Probably it holds supplies. That one nearer the center is elegant enough, but those who come and go from it act as if they move about their own lair. They would not do so if their master was within. Then where? Ah! That one, I think.
Firekeeper nudged Arasan, pointed. He nod
ded once, then again, the second nod more brisk. The Meddler agreeing with his fellow. Firekeeper longed to ghost her way alone to the chosen pavilion, but here more than anywhere she needed the Meddler and Arasan’s knowledge—especially the Meddler’s ability to see what magical defenses there might be. For several long breaths, they studied the dormant camp, noting the rotation of the guards, the actions of those who were not taking their rest. Blind Seer’s assumption that the sorcerer and his acolytes would be hoarding their strength seemed to be accurate, for most of those who moved about the camp were armed and armored or wore work clothes. She saw none clad in robes such as sorcerers preferred.
When Firekeeper felt she had the pulse points of the camp set in her mind, she spoke softly to Arasan.
“Anything other than what these eyes can see?”
“There don’t seem to be any wards, if that’s what you mean,” the Meddler replied, sounding distinctly surprised. “Let’s go in.”
One hand raised in a reminder for silence, Firekeeper led the way into the camp. They did not creep, because such motion would look odd if any saw them. Instead, they walked as if they belonged, although quietly and doing nothing to attract attention to themselves. Most of the tents were oriented with their main doors facing the field, creating the sense that the camp possessed streets running before and behind the rows of tents, and alleys that went between. Once they were in the alleys among the tents, Firekeeper felt much safer. Now it would take someone looking directly to see them—and humans rarely looked into what they dismissed as waste space.
When Firekeeper and Arasan had reached an alley that ran alongside the pavilion they had decided must be the sorcerer’s own, Firekeeper checked for stray ropes or boxes that might trip Arasan. Squeezing his arm as a reminder to remain until she signaled, Firekeeper ghosted across to a side panel of the sorcerer’s pavilion, drew out her Fang, and slit the canvas. She held her breath, waiting for someone to call alarm, but no sound came. The interior seemed dark and somehow smaller than she’d thought it would be from the outside.
Wolf's Search Page 8
