Laria laughed. “There you go again, trying to get rid of us. But, seriously, Firekeeper, you’re forgetting. We can leave a note for whoever lives here, then all go where Blind Seer’s nose takes us.”
Firekeeper looked sheepish. “I do always forget, and I am not trying to be rid of you. I am just wishing to keep you safe.”
“Then keep us near you,” Laria retorted, “where you can protect us.”
Arasan pulled out his notebook and, leaning against the porch railing, wrote a short note, which he then read aloud: “We are visiting this city and yours is the first tenanted residence we have seen. We are going to the large building at the other end of this road, but will return no later than dusk.”
When everyone nodded their approval, Arasan said, “I’ll copy this over in Pellish, Liglimosh, and a few other languages, just to show willing. If you could find me a rock or a reasonable facsimile of such to use as a paperweight, I’ll put the note in front of the door where it can’t be missed.”
Finding a rock proved impossible, but Firekeeper did find a chunk of ice that was being used to border what, in a more usual town, would have been a flower bed.
That done, they turned their feet away from the palace district, walking briskly across town until the street ended at a building far less ornate than the palace but, in its own way, no less impressive. Blocky and solid, with a steeply pitched roof and numerous chimneys, it stood five stories high. Large windows gave the impression that the interior of the building would be brightly lit, as well as spacious. The main entry was wide enough that a carriage could have passed between the intricately carved double doors.
Laria was trying to interpret the bas-relief sculpted on the doors when Blind Seer growled. The great grey wolf was standing stiff-legged, his hackles slightly raised.
“I smell smoke,” Firekeeper said in the deep voice she reserved for Blind Seer. “The wood is very dry, of the sort that creates little smoke when it burns.”
Firekeeper then said in her own voice, “What about the scent trail you followed? Does it grow sharper here?”
Blind Seer nodded.
“Which direction?”
In reply, Blind Seer turned so that his nose pointed around the left edge of the building. Farborn whistled a comment, then launched himself directly up before leveling off and soaring around the left side of the building.
Scouting, Laria thought, but taking care to be outside of easy arrow shot.
Moments later, the merlin glided down to land on Firekeeper’s outstretched arm.
“Farborn say,” Firekeeper translated, “that around the side of this building, coming from the wall, is a little chimney from which comes heat. What little smoke there is goes quickly in the breeze.”
“So someone is there,” Arasan said. “Someone who needs heat. Shall we go investigate?”
One of those “Why are you stating the obvious?” expressions flickered across Firekeeper’s face before she replied.
“This is what we think. Farborn will fly up and over roof, to where he can see down. I go around this side. Blind Seer goes to other. He stay out of sight, since he causes fear in humans who don’t know him. I go to the closed door and knock, then we see what happens.”
“A good plan as far as it goes,” Arasan replied, “but you wouldn’t be my first choice as an ambassador. You tend to frighten people as much as does Blind Seer.”
“Maybe once I do,” Firekeeper said, “but for this I be so very mild.” She folded her hands in front of her and looked meek. “I know you think you should go in my place, but you cannot—or so you say—understand Blind Seer and Farborn.”
“I don’t just ‘say,’” Arasan replied, “I really can’t.”
“For this, someone who can understand the Beasts is best,” Firekeeper stated, and since she was right, not even the Meddler argued.
Laria cut in. “Why don’t I go with Firekeeper? Two young women will look less threatening than one alone—especially if that one is Firekeeper. That leaves Arasan as backup. The Meddler, too. If Farborn soars down to get you, you could come to the rescue.”
“As Blind Seer would come if I call,” Firekeeper agreed. “I like that. Laria and me, just like sisters.”
She batted her eyelashes, and did her best to look cute and girlish.
Arasan sighed gustily, but it was plain he wasn’t going to argue further. There was the unspoken point that if Firekeeper were in danger, Blind Seer would be at her side in an instant, but he might delay if the one endangered was the Meddler.
Which is really pretty terrible for Arasan, Laria thought.
There wasn’t much of a delay between creation and instigation of the plan. Farborn was skimming the rise of the roof to get into position as Laria was leading the way around the building. Even over the snow, which crunched under Laria’s feet, Firekeeper managed to move almost noiselessly, so Laria had to fight an urge to look back and reassure herself that the wolf-woman was indeed there.
Once in front of the door, Laria drew in a deep breath. Then, trying to imitate the manner in which Arasan had knocked on the door of the house in the palace district, she rapped on the translucent pane of ice that served as a window on the door’s upper panel. She hadn’t been aware that there were faint sounds from within until they stopped. Then a shadow passed behind the ice pane. Finally, very slowly, the door eased open wide enough for a voice, nothing more, to come out.
“Who’s there? Is it you, Wythcombe?”
Laria blinked in astonishment, then replied. “Uh, no. It’s Laria. And Firekeeper. We’re traveling to see Wythcombe, though. Do you know him?”
The door opened a little more, enough for Laria to tell that the speaker was taller than her. Belatedly, she registered that the voice had been male.
“Wythcombe. We’ve met. Know him? Does anyone? Even he himself?”
Abruptly, the door opened the rest of the way, revealing a slim but muscular young man. His aquiline features were clean-shaven, dominated by unruly black hair that he kept from his pale grey eyes with a dark-green headband tied around his brow. His attire was dominated by practical earth tones, although his green belt matched his headband, hinting at some awareness of his appearance. The young man stared at Laria for long enough that she felt a blush creeping up her neck.
Then he reached to pull the door closed. “Go away. Tell my parents I’m not coming back until Wythcombe agrees to talk with me.”
Blind Seer hated having to hang back while the much more vulnerable humans went into potential danger. Carefully, he crept forward so that if any threat should be offered to his companions, he would be only a leap away. While he waited, he studied the lingering scents. Cold dampened them, but he was accustomed to reading them even so, as any wolf who hoped to live through his first winter must learn to do.
When the door opened, the scent sharpened, confirming to Blind Seer that this was indeed the person whose elusive scent he had been tracking through the city. He pricked his ears so that, even as he listened to the humans’ talk, he would not miss anything creeping up on them.
Blind Seer heard when the young man began to close the door, knew from the crunching of boots on snow when Laria—with perhaps more courage than sense—raced forward to keep the door from becoming a barrier between them.
“Wait!” she said. “We’re not here from your parents. Seriously. I told you we’re looking for Wythcombe. Please!”
This wasn’t the eloquent speech Arasan would have managed, even on short notice, but it had the desired effect.
“Maybe that’s true,” the youth responded not quite rudely. “Certainly I’ve never seen you before. But this could be a trick.”
“No trick,” Laria said. “Really. Hey, it’s cold out here. Can we come in?”
There was a long pause during which Blind Seer made his mind up. It was likely the humans were about to go inside, and he wasn’t about to be left behind to worry. Perking his ears and holding head and tail up in imitation of dogs
he had seen, he trotted out, went to Firekeeper’s left side. There he sat, opening his mouth in his most doggishly appealing pant.
“Idiot,” Firekeeper said affectionately, but she dropped her free hand and fondled his ears. Then she spoke to the young man. “Us. Me and her, this one, and another—a man. And a bird. You might not wish the bird to come in. He poops.”
Farborn shrieked his opinion of that insult and soared down to land on her shoulder. He lifted his tail as if he would indeed poop, then let it drop. Arasan approached last, smiling his most engaging smile.
“It is cold,” he said by way of greeting. “But if you won’t have us as visitors, we’ll move on and continue our search for Wythcombe. The area outside of this valley seems to have escaped this premature winter.”
His voice invited confidences. From the youth’s scent, he was caught between uncertainty and a little bit of something even harder to define—delight? Yes. He was glad for company, even such peculiar company as they were. What was missing was fear, which was strange for one human alone.
To Firekeeper, Blind Seer said, “I smell no fear from him. There was a trace, but once he believed Laria that we were not sent by his parents, that vanished. I am used to being feared by humans, but either he has accepted me as your dog or there is more to him than it seems.”
Firekeeper stroked his head. “You wear no collar, much less a leash, but you came to my side as if brought to heel. I would fear that more than any slavering hound kept under command by force, so would any. Yet this one does not, yet does not seem a fool. I agree, he has a strength we do not yet know of, something he trusts to keep him safe.”
“That fits with his other reactions,” Blind Seer agreed. “When he thought we might have been sent by his parents, he felt fear, yes, but that was touched with apprehension—as of unwelcome tidings. Even then, he did not think we had the power to make him do other than he wished.
Firekeeper rubbed between his ears, assuring Blind Seer that she agreed with his reasoning and was poised to act if the young man offered any threat. Meanwhile, Laria had begun babbling nervously.
“Sorry about butting in. Arasan’s been complaining about the cold. Oh, yeah, that’s Arasan. I’m Laria. Behind me is Firekeeper—that’s her nickname—she’s also Blysse. And the big guy is Blind Seer, because his eyes are blue. The falcon—he’s a merlin—is Farborn.”
Blind Seer admired Laria’s diplomacy. First names, only, no titles, although Firekeeper at least could claim that of “Lady.” Giving Firekeeper’s wolf name as if it was just a quirk, offering that ridiculous human name to soften her. Chattering like what she was—a young woman who suddenly found herself face to face with a handsome stranger. But Blind Seer had seen Laria’s determination and courage, and he well knew that it would take more than a handsome face and admirable form to turn her into a fool.
When she finished her speech, Laria took a step back, as if preparing to retreat. The young man spoke quickly, “You can call me ‘Ranz.’ Please, come inside. Since I’m responsible for this cold, I guess I should offer you a seat by my fire.”
The room was carved out of packed snow but, despite the heat from the stove set against one outer wall, showed no sign of melting or even of the sort of glazing that happened when snow melted then refroze. The stove itself possessed an unusual design, for the legs ended in wide wheels. Therefore, unlike others of the sort Firekeeper had seen, this one was intended to be moved. The metal chimney also looked as if it came apart in sections.
“Your work?” Arasan asked Ranz who, with a fine sense of manners, had motioned for the eldest among them to take a seat on a roughly made stool—three sawn-off branches set in a round sliced from the trunk of a tree. He paused. “I don’t want to take your only chair.”
Ranz smiled, an attractive flash of white between nicely shaped lips. “Well, it’s that or sit on the floor. Perhaps the rest of you could sit on your packs or bedrolls. As for me…”
Again the smile, this time with a hint of pride. Then Ranz muttered some words, placed his hands against one wall, and from it carved himself a chair, complete with high back and apparently cushioned seat.
“Won’t you get cold sitting on that?” Laria asked, shouldering off her pack, then perching on it.
Ranz shook his head. “I’ve protected myself, else I couldn’t do my work.”
“Your work?” Laria asked. “This whole city?”
“This whole city. I started it after Wythcombe repeatedly refused to meet with me. I wanted to show him…” Ranz sighed, leaning his head back against the packed snow of his chair’s headrest. “It’s a long story. I won’t bore you with my problems—especially since I’m not sure associating with me is going to help you if you are trying to get an audience with Wythcombe. You could say that I’m the reason he has withdrawn from the world.”
“I want to know more,” Blind Seer said. “What Ranz can tell us might help us not to fail in our own hunt—a hunt in which I do not think we will have more than one chance.”
Firekeeper agreed. “Please, we do not mind long stories. We like long stories—especially in winter, and although elsewhere it is autumn, here you have made it the season for stories. We will listen politely. We could even hunt for your dinner or help with tasks. Do you live in that house near the palace?”
Ranz nodded. “I do. You found it?”
“This wolf,” Firekeeper rested her hand on Blind Seer’s scruff, “he led us there, then here. Your traces are faint, but he is a prince among trackers.”
“Huh! I guess he is.” Ranz looked impressed. “I thought I had hidden my presence pretty much perfectly. I even covered my prints—which isn’t easy. Since you already know about the cottage, why don’t we go there? It’s more comfortable.”
He rubbed his chin with one hand. “And if you were serious about hunting… My supplies of meat are running thin. I think I’ve snared every rabbit for miles.”
Firekeeper sprang to her feet, Blind Seer with her. “We will hunt then. We will meet you at your cottage.”
VIII
WHEN FIREKEEPER AND Blind Seer arrived at the cottage some time later—she with a freshly killed yearling buck over her shoulders, Blind Seer wearing “saddlebags” in which he carried a variety of mushrooms, nuts, and wild plants that Firekeeper had gathered while he took the buck—they found their companions settled into Ranz’s cottage. That no one had been idle was evident. A stove similar to the wheeled one warmed the interior. Tea had been brewed. From how their company’s packs had been arrayed against one wall, the bedrolls hung to get the damp out of them, Firekeeper guessed that they had been invited to stay the night.
When Firekeeper showed off how successful their hunting had been, Ranz led her around the cottage to where he’d sculpted an icy locker large enough to accommodate the buck. After she had finished dressing the buck and carved some steaks that could be cooked on the stove—Blind Seer had already eaten his meal from the rich meat of the liver and heart—the wolves joined the company.
Ranz accepted the nuts and other foods Firekeeper had gathered with unmistakable gratitude. “Is it true what the others have been telling me? That you were raised by wolves?”
“Why would they lie?” Firekeeper replied. “Is all true.”
“We told him where we’re from,” Laria explained, “and a little about why we’re here, so he’d understand that we don’t know a lot about Rhinadei. That way, when he tells his story, he won’t think we’re crazy if we ask some dumb question.”
“The only dumb question,” Ranz said in a tone that made him sound very much like Blind Seer quoting some wolf proverb, “is the one that remains unasked.”
Farborn added, “They did not tell which among us wishes to be taught by Wythcombe. I believe Ranz assumes the student-to-be is Laria, and no one has explained otherwise.”
“Now that we’re all here,” Arasan said, “how about I take over the cooking so Ranz can concentrate on telling us his tale? I dare say he’s ne
arly as tired of his own cooking as he is of eating rabbit and squirrel stew.”
Ranz laughed. “True enough. I’m not a bad cook, but I won’t say ‘no’ to someone else taking over, if you really don’t mind.”
“I’ve been cooking over an open fire for days now,” Arasan replied. “Having a stove on which I can set my pans, and a table for the chopping and cutting, will seem positively luxurious.”
Before plopping down on the floor next to Blind Seer, who had laid down a distance from the stove, Firekeeper grabbed one of the bags of nuts.
“I’ll shell these,” she offered.
“Always restless, our Firekeeper,” Arasan—or rather the Meddler—said.
Firekeeper, as usual, ignored him, but fixed her gaze on Ranz and willed him to begin his tale. After a moment, he settled himself onto a stool where he could lean back against the wall and began.
“I guess the best way to start is by telling you that lots of people think I should never have been born. My mother became very ill when she was carrying me. When my father—who is skilled both in medicine and in healing magic—realized he was going to lose both her and me, he did something that is considered unforgiveable.”
Ranz paused, every line in his lean strong body showing defiance. Arasan saved him from having to actually speak the forbidden words. “Your father turned to blood magic, didn’t he? From what I understand, of all the magical arts, the one closest related to blood magic is healing magic. I understand why your father gave into the temptation. His art was just one step away.”
“You’re right, but you’re from a culture that still uses blood magic. I was born into a culture that believes blood magic is inherently wrong—even when used to save an unborn baby and his mother. I’ve spent my whole life hearing things like, ‘Nothing against you but, if we make exceptions, who knows where this will end?’ Or ‘First an exception to save a baby. Then an exception in any medical emergency.’ Or ‘So, we save a baby or a critically wounded person. Then the next step is using blood magic to prevent the injury happening in the first case. It’s not a big step from that to just about any justification you can imagine.’”
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