Wolf's Search

by Jane Lindskold

  He patted the goat, who was thoughtfully gnawing at one of the railings, although his yellowed teeth were not causing any damage as far as Firekeeper could tell. She let her gaze drift to Blind Seer. The wolf had sat, rather than remaining standing as would be more usual in an unfamiliar and dangerous environment, and from this she knew he was very tired. Still, he did not appear drained. Therefore, Wythcombe had not abused the trust Blind Seer had extended to him. She hoped that Ranz would not suffer for taking Arasan’s—or rather, the Meddler’s—aid but, given that they would have been forced to retreat without Ranz’s intervention, she couldn’t help but feel that Arasan’s assistance had been warranted.

  As she ate her share of the journey cakes and hard cheese Arasan distributed, Firekeeper considered the return journey with dread. Then she put the thought from her. Time enough to worry about going back once they had actually arrived.

  “So,” she said, “shall we cross and learn of Kabot’s fate?”

  Now that Wythcombe no longer needed his aid, Blind Seer padded along the span to Firekeeper’s left side. Firekeeper’s light touch was greeting and thanks, but like him, she was on watch, so more effusive greetings would need to wait. Although Blind Seer could scent no danger, that very lack made his hackles rise. Surely the gate Wythcombe had mentioned should produce some lingering scent of mana—especially since it remained partly open.

  Behind them, the bridge vibrated under the humans’ heavier tread. Ranz and Wythcombe came next, in case magic should be needed, then Laria and Arasan, then, the determined clip of his hooves creating their own unique cadence, Rusty guarding their backs. Farborn rode on Rusty’s pack facing behind, fluttering his wings into almost flight as he battled the urge to fly. Valor, however, was tempered by increasing wisdom. The little bird had learned a great deal this journey.

  Without waiting for verbal acknowledgement of what they already knew by scent and sensation, the two wolves moved soundlessly forward, setting their pace just a little faster than that of their followers, so that if warning of trouble came, the humans would have time to react. When his paws first touched something other than the bridge planks, Blind Seer drew a deep breath, but caught no scent of anything amiss. He felt Firekeeper’s nearly imperceptible pause as she waited for him to give warning, then together they moved forward.

  Ahead, the looming presence that had blocked the lightning took shape in the fog, revealed as the curving edge of a natural caldera. The roiling heart of this volcano had not been molten rock, but mana sucked from the surroundings. Blind Seer caught not even a faint whiff of what should have been enormous latent mana. He growled, but so softly that only Firekeeper heard him. Since he did not slow, she did not either, though he heard her fingers shift around the haft of her Fang.

  Blind Seer guided them less by scent or sight than by how the currents of air changed when they flowed over the worked surface of a nearly invisible path. As they spiraled down into the caldera, the clouds hung heavy above, grumbling protest but no longer shooting lightning. For all but the two wolves, visibility was dimmed to near darkness. Arasan stumbled and softly cursed.

  Wythcombe spoke. “It should be safe to light a lantern. Will you two bide a moment?”

  “Let me know if you need me to strike the spark,” was Firekeeper’s reply. “Everything will be very wet.”

  As Arasan managed to set the light, Blind Seer wondered if Ranz and Wythcombe caught the impatient, prideful burst that was the Meddler’s mana. Then, with the lantern’s glow to illuminate their footing, they continued down what was now revealed as a pathway bordered in rocks, most of which had probably been moved to create reliable footing in this one place. As had the trail up, this path also maintained a spiral. Once Blind Seer would have thought this was only to allow for a more gradual slope, but now he had learned enough to realize that the curve helped to contain the mana, causing it to attenuate as it followed the coil, rather than blasting forth along a straight channel.

  Yet still he scented no mana. He stopped and sniffed deeply. This time he found two faint sources. Neither were large, but they were definitely present. He reported this to Firekeeper who passed it along to the humans.

  “You have a keen nose, Blind Seer,” Wythcombe said. “Everyone take care what you touch.”

  “Is this what you expected?” Laria asked. “I mean, like it’s been before?”

  “Not entirely.”

  The reply was so curt that no one asked more. Hearing Wythcombe thump his staff as if prepared to push to the front, Blind Seer and Firekeeper stepped forward. The trail dropped another full turn, then another before ending on a relatively flat surface over which were scattered rocks ranging from the size of a human head to the length of Blind Seer’s torso. During their slow descent, they had had ample time to study trail’s end from all angles and knew before they stepped off the path that no one was here.

  No one and nothing. Of the gate Wythcombe had described, no trace remained but the rocks and boulders that had been positioned to define its limits. These were scored with the incised marks that had created the gate, but these marks were blurred, as if the magic they had contained had burnt the very stone that held them into grit and ash.

  “They’re gone,” Wythcombe said, his tone an indescribable combination of disbelief and resignation. “I… There is no doubt. They are gone.”

  “Where?” Firekeeper asked, ever practical. “Did the gate fail or something else?”

  “A good question. Bide and I will see what I can learn.”

  The small group waited in almost perfect stillness. Laria drank from her canteen. Rusty chewed his cud. Arasan shifted once, as if about to offer help, then seated himself on a boulder and leaned against the wall. Ranz simply watched, his gaze so intent that one would have thought his fate, not that of some rebel spellcasters generations his senior, was being investigated.

  And maybe in a sense it is, for whatever conclusions Wythcombe reaches will reflect on the power of those assumed to favor the anathema art.

  At last Wythcombe stopped his pacing and tracing, patted his belt until he found his canteen, and, only after he had taken a deep draught of what was not water within, did he speak.

  “I believe the spell that held them in place for so long was somehow completed. Whether that activation took them to their destination or not, I cannot tell. Blind Seer, could you indicate to me the mana sources you detected? I have also found some, but I would like to know if they are the same as yours.”

  Blind Seer rose from where he had reclined so he could lean against Firekeeper, letting her keep watch while he rested. Breathing in deeply, he again caught the two scents. One was set near the base of the path along which they had descended, the other originated in some sorcerous runes deeply inscribed in one of the boulders. Curiously, these runes showed none of the burning and crumbling that had marred the others.

  Wythcombe nodded. “Your nose and my art showed the same.”

  Wythcombe lowered himself stiffly to the floor near the boulder that held the fresh-seeming runes, and closed his eyes for a long moment. Then, as Firekeeper drew breath to prompt him, he began to speak.

  “Here’s what I learned,” Wythcombe said, slumping back, his exhaustion suddenly evident. “We will be safe here. Would anyone care to make some tea? Ranz kept the worst of the wind and rain from us, but still I’m chilled to the bone.”

  Arasan chuckled and whistled for Rusty. “Start talking. Making tea will take a while, and Firekeeper’s starting to bristle.”

  Laria glanced over at Firekeeper, but the wolf-woman didn’t appear in the least bit impatient. From how she leaned back against a large boulder, one arm buried in the fur along the length of Blind Seer’s back, she might have been about to fall asleep. Farborn had taken a perch higher up where he could hear what went on below, but keep watch along their back trail as far as the bridgehead.

  “Let me start with this,” Wythcombe said, pointing to the inscribed rock nearest to him. “I suspec
t this contains a message for me. Why? Because what is written there is one of my nicknames from so long ago that few other than Kabot would have known to use it. The inscription by the base of the path was set in place by the mages of Rhinadei. It is a one-use recall spell. If—as I now suspect—Kabot and at least some of his allies were able to escape their entrapment, they could not have dispelled it without a high risk of activating it. Apparently, even after all this time, they did not wish to return, so they did not choose to take the risk of doing so by accident.”

  Ranz pointed to the boulder Wythcombe had said was inscribed with his nickname. “Are you going to see what that does? It might not be a message at all. It could be a trap.”

  Wythcombe scrubbed at his nose with the back of one hand. “Very true. That is why I am being frank with you all. I do plan to activate it. You have every right to retreat as far as you wish. The bridge should be safe enough. After, even if something had gone amiss, you could return here and activate the recall. That was enchanted so that no additional mana would be needed to use it.”

  Laria knew what Ranz would say before he opened his mouth.

  “I’m staying. Even if I wasn’t curious—which I am—what sort of reaction could I expect if I abandoned you? It would just prove everything people say about me. But really I’m staying because I’m curious.”

  Wythcombe glanced at the others. Firekeeper and Blind Seer hadn’t stirred. Farborn whistled something from his perch, but since he didn’t move, the meaning was clear.

  Arasan glanced up from where he was measuring tea leaves. “Curiosity.”

  Laria said hesitantly, “I could read the stone for you, if you’d like. The one where the runes are cut, I mean. I might sense intent or a trap or something.”

  Wythcombe looked as if he was about to refuse her offer, but then he inclined his head in a gracious acceptance. Laria untangled her tired legs from where she’d been sitting cross-legged on the ground and walked over. She studied the runes for a long moment, then pressed her hands down and sent her talent into the pocked and blackened stone. After a long moment, during which the water for the tea began to boil, she pulled them away.

  “It’s empty of intent. I thought I might sense something of whoever carved the message, but there’s not even that.”

  “Likely he used a spell to do the carving,” Wythcombe replied. “Kabot always loved that sort of showy gesture. Very well. You will all be my witnesses that I am not keeping secrets.”

  “Wait,” Arasan said. “You might as well have your tea first.”

  After he had finished his tea, Wythcombe closed his eyes, summoning mana until his right index finger glowed sun-bright yellow. Moving with swift dexterity, the spellcaster overwrote the runes, adding a few lines at the end.

  “My signature,” Wythcombe explained, wiping sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief he pulled from one of his many vest pockets, then backing to where he could lean against the wall. “Necessary to activate the spell. Now we wait.”

  Laria saw the wolves were ready for trouble, Firekeeper with her hand wrapped around the hilt of her Fang. That made Laria feel a lot better about how her hand had drifted to the hilt of her sword. Ranz’s hands were raised, fingers spread. Only Rusty and Arasan remained relaxed. Laria wondered if the Meddler knew something they didn’t, or if the apparent calm was a pose.

  During the Spell Wielder’s reign on the Nexus Islands, Laria had carried message disks. The image that manifested reminded her of those, although this was sharper, hyper-real where the message disks had projected a pale facsimile of the sender. What took shape in front of the boulder seemed to hold not only the image of a man, but the force of his personality.

  Laria had expected Kabot to be Wythcombe’s own age, but this man was much younger—perhaps no more than his early forties. His sharp chin made his face seem almost triangular. His straight hair was light reddish brown, worn shoulder length, and brushed back from his forehead to reveal a slight widow’s peak centering his wide forehead. His eyes were dark brown and almond-shaped under long brows that etched an expression both wistful and inquisitive. A less likely rebel, a less likely blood mage, Laria could not have imagined.

  “Hey there, Goldfinch,” Kabot said, and his voice was just a little sad. “I wonder how long after our departure you showed up here? I’m leaving this message for you because—though you certainly didn’t realize it—I was aware of all your visits over the years. That’s right. You thought me dead but I wasn’t. I spent years—decades—with my body suspended in a sort of void in which time didn’t pass. But my mind, oh, my mind was aware the entire time. I saw you come, first frequently and in company, later alone. I wonder if you realized that your aging was the only means I had to calculate the passage of time? You were pretty bald the last time I saw you, what hair you had had gone grey, and you were oh so portly! So different than the Goldfinch who was my playmate.”

  Laria blinked. Goldfinch?

  “But I don’t have time to reminisce. About three moonspans ago, we found that we were no longer trapped. Those of us who could dragged ourselves back, only to find that Rhinadei had erected wards against our departure from this place. We found the recall spell, but we decided not to use it. Somehow we didn’t think our reputations would have improved after serving for generations as a cautionary tale. Instead, we decided to see if we could achieve the dream that had brought us here in the first place.

  “If you came here by yourself, you would have found entry easy enough, but if you came with some of your friends—friends we don’t think would feel very kindly about us—we left a little present. Sorry if you had to put up with it, but we really felt some comment was necessary. After all, no one, not even you, tried to rescue us. Too afraid of getting pulled in? Or maybe the others convinced you that Rhinadei was better off without us.

  “So we’ve left. Off to find our fortunes in a part of the world that might not automatically reject us. Someday we’ll come back and let the folks back home know how we did. Sadly, you may be dead by then, having grown old while I didn’t age, which is why I’m leaving you this message. Farewell, Goldfinch. If you can, wish me and my friends well.”

  Kabot’s image gave a sweeping bow and vanished.

  “I wonder where they went?” Arasan said. “Is there any way we can tell?”

  “Not through this spell,” Wythcombe said. “As I told you, we suspected he hoped to reach the university where our ancestors trained. Azure Towers, I think it is now called. However, I may very well be wrong. Would they go where they might come up against skilled practitioners of the anathema arts? Something about that message bothers me. Kabot was not sentimental.”

  “Decades with only his own thoughts for company?” said Arasan, who as the Meddler knew something about such isolation. “Whatever Kabot was, by now he is quite likely to be utterly mad.”

  “And he is gone to our lands—Old World, New World—it does not matter,” Firekeeper said, leaping to her feet. “Wherever this Kabot has gone, we must find him and learn what he does. Stop him if we must.”

  Blind Seer pointed his nose to indicate where the recall spell was written. Firekeeper did not need to translate that he was demanding, “Are you coming with us?”

  Wythcombe shook his head violently as if to organize scattered thoughts, then gestured for their small company to gather near the recall spell. They did, even Rusty moving with purpose, clustering around the spellcaster as he set his hand over the runes.

  “I am coming with you,” Wythcombe stated, “not only to where we can report our finds to my associates here in Rhinadei, but wherever we must go to find Kabot.”

  Firekeeper flashed a very wolfish smile.

  “So you say, but remember. This is now our hunt. We will not let anything—or anyone—keep us from our prey.”

  GLOSSARY OF CHARACTERS

  Note: This glossary is intended to facilitate reading Wolf’s Search. Therefore, references to most characters from earlier novels in th
e series have been removed. A complete glossary of characters from the first six novels can be found at the end of Wolf’s Blood.

  Characters are detailed under their first or best-known name. Initials following a character’s name indicate nationality: B.B. (Bright Bay), H.H. (Hawk Haven), N.K. (New Kelvin), L. (Liglim), N.I. (Nexus Islands), R. (Rhinadei).

  Amparee: (R.) spellcaster; spouse of Payley; mother of Migyan and Ransom.

  Arasan: (N.I.) Once Dead. Called “Two Lives.” A musician. See also “Meddler.”

  Bitter: (N.I.) a Wise Raven.

  Blind Seer: a Wise Wolf; partner to Firekeeper.

  Blysse Kestrel: see Firekeeper.

  Bordyn: (R.) Chief Elementalist; member of the Rhinadei Emergency Council.

  Caidon: (R.) spellcaster; master of Uaid.

  Chaker Torn: (N.I.) captain of fishing boats; father of Junco and Symeen.

  Derian Counselor: (H.H.; N.I. ) also called Derian Carter; unofficial co-ruler of the Nexus Islands; partner of Isende.

  Elise Archer: (Lady, H.H.) daughter of Ivon Archer and Aurella Wellward; heir to Archer Grant; diplomat; spouse of Jared Surclifffe; mother of Elexa.

  Enigma: (N.I) a Wise Puma.

  Erldon: (R.) the Lore Lover; member of the Rhinadei Emergency Council.

  Eshinarvash: (N.I.) a Wise Horse.

  Farborn: (N.I.) a Wise Merlin.

  Grateful Peace: (N.K.) former spymaster, currently valued counselor to the Healed One.

  Hanya: (R.) the Dance Warrior; member of the Rhinadei Emergency Council.

  Harjeedian: (L.) aridisdu serving the Temple of the Cold Bloods; brother of Rahniseeta.

  Ikitata: (N.I.) cobbler; widow of Ollaris; mother of Laria, Nenean, and Kitatos.