“Back to the meadow!” she yelled at the pups. “Hide!” She ran for Kitten, who had yet to stop screeching. Stooping to grab the dragon, she saw what Kitten was looking at, and froze.
Over a dip in the ground appeared one clawed hand. Another hand followed. The claws were bright silver, the mark of an immortal. They groped for a hold on the flat of the ground; finding one, they gripped, digging into the earth.
The creature’s head topped the rise. It was reptilian, pointed, with slits for nostrils and deep-set, shadowed eyes. It swung to the right, quite slowly, then to the left. At last it returned to the center of its field of vision: Daine and Kitten.
Daine was cold—very cold. Her breath, and Kittens’s, formed small clouds in the air. Neither of them could move. Frost grew everywhere between them and the stranger, as if an entire winter night had been crushed into a few moments.
The monster dragged its long, heavy body over the ridge, taking its time. Its skin was beaded in colors that ranged from emerald to fiery gold, passing through bronze and jade green on the way. Daine shuddered: in mortal animals, such bright markings usually meant the wearer was poisonous.
Slowly it advanced, moving right fore and left hind foot, then left fore and right hind, in a gait that was half skip, half waddle. The tail that dragged behind it bore a knobbed bone rattle, like that of certain desert snakes.
When it had crossed nearly half the distance between them, the creature opened its mouth and hissed. Its teeth were silver, curved and sharp, predator teeth. Worse, when it hissed, two fangs dropped down on bone hinges. At the tip of one a small drop of silvery liquid formed, grew large, fell.
A shaggy body flew out of the brush to fasten on the green creature’s wrist, but jaws that could make quick work of elk bone barely dimpled the green creature’s flesh. The pup she’d named Runt snarled defiance as he hung on. Leaper grabbed the creature’s other forepaw. Chaser and the pup named Berry darted at the immortal’s sides, yapping furiously, while Silly went for the rattle on its tail.
Silly went flying, the rattle broken off in his mouth. Now the immortal used its tail for balance as it rose onto its hind legs. Upright it was barely taller than Daine, though powerfully built. With quick, efficient blows of its head it knocked away the four who attacked from the front.
Kitten darted forward when the creature’s eyes left hers. When it swung at her, she seized its paw and bit down, hard. The wolves’ jaws had not marked the thing, but the bite of another immortal had more effect. Dark blood welled up to drip on the leaves, hissing where it struck the ground. With a snarl, the thing hurled Kitten into a clump of mountain laurel ten yards away.
That gave Daine the angry strength to break its hold on her mind. She flung herself to one side and yanked a large rock from the earth. “Pick on someone your own size.’” she yelled, and threw.
The stone hit the creature’s muzzle and shattered. Daine rolled, scrabbling for another rock, but the immortal was on her. Seizing her by the back of her shirt, it lifted her clear of the ground. She had no way to avoid its eyes. Its power caught and held her again. Details fixed themselves in her mind as her captor opened its jaws: dark blood welling from the cut left by her rock, the greens-and-spice scent of its breath, the high, singing note that cut through the harsh jangle in her mind.
Then she heard a sound such as she had never before heard in her life, a rumbling, ear-bursting shriek that make her think of rocky avalanches. Her captor released her; she crashed to the ground. Free, she scrambled away without understanding any of what was taking place.
The jangling sound of the fierce immortal was gone, leaving only high singing in her mind. Gasping, she turned to find the enemy. It hadn’t moved from where it had dropped her, and it was no longer green. It had turned gray and dull, looking for all the world like a statue. It was not breathing.
“Horse Lords,” she whispered in awe.
Seeing movement in the corner of her eye, she spun. A new immortal walked by, intent on the statue. Taking him in, the girl decided she must be dreaming. She had seen many strange creatures since coming to Tortall—ogres, trolls, winged horses, unicorns, griffins, and more—but the green thing and this one were entirely outside her experience.
Like her attacker, this immortal was similar to a lizard. Walking on its hind legs, it held its long tail off the ground, reminding her of ladies raising their little fingers as they sipped tea. It was taller than Daine’s sixty-five inches, taller even than Numair’s six and a half feet. Slender and graceful, it had long, delicate paws, fragile-looking bones, and silver talons. Its beaded hide was the pearly dark gray of a thunderhead, with paler gray belly scales.
Stopping at the newly made statue, the stranger broke off a finger, sniffed it, then nibbled. The finger crunched like gravel in its jaws.—Too raw.—The voice sounded like a whisper of flutes.—They really must weather for a decade or so before they lose that acrid aftertaste.—
Kitten had recovered from her unexpected flight. Chattering frantically, she galloped to the newcomer on all fours and halted by its knee.
“Kit, no!” Daine called, but her voice emerged only as a squeak.
The immortal cocked its head.—Little one, you are far from home.—Something about that sounded male, and fatherly.—Where is your mother?—
Kitten rose onto her haunches, gripping the stranger’s leg as she peered up into his eyes. From her throat spilled a variety of sounds Daine had never heard her voice before, in tones that rose and fell like genuine speech.
The immortal looked at Daine. His eyes were deep gray with slit pupils, impossible to read. Neither was there any emotion in the voice that spoke in her mind:—The little one says you are her mother. You have not the appearance of a dragon. Did an experiment go wrong, to trap you in a mortal shape?—
Daine knelt to cuddle Berry, who had crept to her with ears down, whining. “You’re a brave wolf,” she told the pup. To the immortal she said, “Kit’s real ma was killed defending my friends and me soon after she gave birth. I’ve been looking after Kitten—Skysong, her name is really—ever since.”
The immortal looked at Kitten as the remaining pups joined Daine.—What did you take from the humans, Skysong? Or is it this mortal who stole?—
Kitten squawked indignantly; Daine’s fading blush returned in full strength. “We didn’t steal anything!”
—Then you were foolish to stand between a Coldfang and thieves.—The immortal’s tone was one of cool interest, not anger or scorn.
Hearing that, Daine calmed down. She pointed to the statue. “What did you call it again?”
—Coldfang. They track thieves in all realms, divine, mortal, or dead, and will guard a thing until the end of time. Men brought this one to the camp where they cut trees, last night. I followed her to see what is going on. She picked up a trail there and kept to it since dawn.—
Daine was about to protest the new hint of theft when she remembered the pack’s way to put a stop to lumbering. She took a deep breath and said, “You saved our lives. Thank you.”
—I did not act for you, but for my young cousin.—The creature reached down to tickle Kitten’s nose. She rubbed it against his paw.
“You’re family?” Daine asked, alarmed. The thought of losing Kitten was scarier than the Coldfang.
This time she felt a patient sigh behind the response.—Only in a remote sense are basilisks and dragons kindred, yet both acknowledge a bond.—
She gulped. While Coldfangs were new, she had heard of basilisks, immortals who turned their enemies to stone.
A whine made Daine look for her charges. The pups were huddled together nearby, anxiously watching the basilisk. “Are you going to attack us?”
Kitten shook her head vigorously. A wrinkle in the basilisk’s face might have been a frown.—I am a traveler and an observer, not a killer.—
Daine looked at the Coldfang statue: it seemed dead enough to her. Still, she knew she could trust Kitten’s judgment. She went to ch
eck the pups. Silly was worst hurt, his head cut to the bone and one eye out of focus. Runt limped on a sprained paw, and several back molars were loose. Leaper, Berry, and Chaser had only bruises to show for their tussle with the Coldfang.
Daine knelt in front of Silly. “No more tail grabbing,” she ordered, calling up her magic. “He almost knocked you sillier, if that’s possible.” The young wolf whined and licked her face. “Enough,” she told him as she cupped his head in her hands. “We’ll have you fixed in no time.”
This was quicker work than the squirrel had been. Infection barely had touched the open wound. She seared it in an eye-blink, and brushed through his brain to heal the inner bruises that had put his eye out of focus. The knitting of cut muscle and skin took less than a deep breath, and she was done. She touched the new scar. “I’ll let you keep this,” she teased. “The young lady wolves will think you’re dashing. C’mere, Runt.”
The sprained paw was easy, the loose molars less so. She had never rerooted teeth before, so she worked slowly and carefully to avoid mistakes.
—Is this a new thing, this relationship of humans and wolves?—the basilisk inquired when she was done.—I would not have expected men’s dealings with the People to improve.—
Daine smiled. In many ways he sounded like Numair. “No, sir. I’ve just had a fair knack with animals since I was a pup myself, and then it turned to magic. Well, my teacher says it was magic all along, but I only learned to use it just a little while ago.”
—I have heard of wild magic.—The basilisk looked down at Leaper, who had crept around until she was a few yards downwind. Her nose was up, nostrils flaring as she breathed in the immortal’s scent. Her tail waved.—Except for bird-folk, most of the People fear me. Your wolf friends are unusual.—
Daine smiled wryly. “You should meet their folks.”
—I would like to do so, if you will permit it,—was his reply.—I would enjoy meeting the parents of such brave offspring, if they will not run away.—
“They won’t,” the girl assured him. “They’re fair unusual themselves.”
—Have you a name, woff-girl?—
“Daine. My full one’s Veralidaine Sarrasri, but that’s too much of a mouthful for everyday use.”
The basilisk looked at her, large eyes cool and unblinking. Not for the first time and not, she was sure, for the last, Daine wished she could read an immortal’s thoughts as she could an animal’s.—My full name you could not pronounce, either. You may call me Tkaa.—
Silly raced off, followed by three of the other wolves, as Leaper continued to watch the basilisk. Her litter mates soon returned. Silly, ears and tail proudly erect, bore the Coldfang’s rattle, broken off when the monster sent him flying. He dropped it in front of Daine and barked.
“For me?” she asked, picking up the rattle. “You shouldn’t have,” She wiped it on her breeches. It was silvery and cold, shaped in knobs like the rattle of a mortal snake. She gave it a shake and jumped when the thing buzzed. “Tkaa, you say these things hunt thieves? How much of a trail do they need?”
—None. They know where a thief has passed, and follow that awareness.—
Daine shuddered. “We’d best return to camp, then. I must warn the pack.”
The wolves raced through the trees and over the meadow, playfully nipping each other’s hindquarters. Kitten followed at a swift, ground-eating gallop on all fours, while Daine and Tkaa brought up the rear.
FIVE
THE TRAP
In the clearing by the pond, the girl introduced Tkaa to Cloud. As the pups took a nap, she groomed the mare and packed. Tkaa occupied himself with Kitten, speaking in the chattering tongue she used to address him, and listening gravely to her replies. The girl fought to understand what was said, with no success.
—Is something wrong?—Tkaa wanted to know.—You are frowning.—
“I just don’t see how Kit can have a language, and actually talk in it, but I can’t understand. I almost never have trouble talking to immortals.”
—Your magic permits you to speak mind to mind. Skysong is not old enough for that. On the other hand, the spoken dragon language is one they are born knowing. My people are renowned for knowledge of all languages, mortal and immortal. Before humans forced us into the Divine Realms, we walked everywhere and spoke to all.—He looked around.—
Now I wander the mortal realm again, the first basilisk to do so in four centuries, thanks to that yellow mage.—
“What yellow mage?”
—The one who brought me here. He did not mean to bring me, of course, I sneaked through in the wake of the Stormwings he had summoned.—
Daine stared at him. “Where was this?”
—Here. He lives on the castle island. I can see the aura of his power there, brighter than that of the other mages who live inside those walls.—
More than ever, Daine wished Numair had not left so abruptly. Goddess, let him return soon, she thought. He needs to hear what Tkaa can tell us. She also wanted Brokefang to come, so they could leave the area of the pond. The thought of another Coldfang making its slow, relentless way up from the lumber camp made her skin prickle and her stomach knot.
—Calm yourself,—advised Tkaa when she cut her palm slicing cheese for lunch.—I doubt that the mortals who sent the Coldfang to hunt even know that that one is dead.—
“But the men who sent him have scrying crystals,” she protested. “They’ll look for him in those—”
—They may try.—The thought was reassuringly firm.—Did I not say Coldfangs are thief catchers? Too many thieves rely on magic. A Coldfang cannot be seen by magic, nor can one be stopped by it. They may be slain by human weapons, but—as you know—that can be difficult.—
She made a note of that as, in the distance, she felt the pack’s approach. “The wolves are here. They may be upset when they see you. Be patient, please.”
Kitten added a chirp, and the basilisk tickled her behind the ears.—I am always patient,—he said.
The wolves trotted out of the rocks and stopped, looking from Daine to Tkaa. Ears went flat; hackles came up. “No!” she cried. “He saved the pups! There was a monster coming, and he saved all our lives!” Quickly she explained the morning’s events. Tkaa held still as Brokefang gave him a cautious sniff.
The Long Lake Pack thanks you, the chief wolf said at last. We thank you for the lives of our young, and the lives of our friends Daine and Kitten. Looking at Daine, he said, It sounds as if it is time for the pack to move.
“Please,” she said, thinking of immortals who could trace thieves. “I would feel so much better if we did.”
—I told you they would not soon place another Coldfang on your trail,—Tkaa reminded her.
“No, but them that sent it might come looking for the beastie,” replied Daine, forgetting months of grammar lessons. “If they find that statue, they might be smart enough to keep looking uphill.”
I know a place we may live in for a time, Brokefang announced. There are caves by the western pass where we can den. You will like it. There are plenty of bats for you to talk with. We will go now, if you are ready. The big wolf hesitated, then added, looking at Tkaa, You are welcome to come there, too.
—I look forward to seeing your caves.—
Then let us go, Cloud said. I will feel better when we leave here.
Wait, Brokefang commanded. The tools. The saws and the axes. If we leave them here, and men come, they will find them and go back to cutting trees.
—You are the thieves?—There was surprise in Tkaa’s cool voice.—You stole men’s tools?—
They were scaring the game, Brokefang replied calmly. We made them stop.
Tkaa looked at Daine. His tone was coldly stern when he said,—This was a bad thing you told them to do. Men will hunt them and kill them for this.—
Stung by the unfairness of it, she cried, “It wasn’t my fault!”
It was Brokefang’s plan, Fleetfoot explained.
Short
Snout yipped in approval.
Battle said, Brokefang makes good plans.
—Show me,—ordered the immortal. Russet led him into the reeds. Daine shook her head and loaded her things onto Cloud. She had finished when she heard that noise again, a screech with a deeper sound of tumbling rock underneath. It lasted for only a breath. When it stopped, Tkaa emerged from the reeds. Russet danced around the basilisk, leaping like a pup with joy.
He did a good thing, the wolf said. He made the tools into rock. Now no one can lift them or use them to cut trees!
Kitten whistled in glee; Brokefang grinned broadly. The younger adults—Battle, Sharp Nose, Fleetfoot, and Short Snout—yipped happily, tails wagging. Longwind grumbled under his breath, not liking this newest change in his world.
Frostfur sneezed in irritation. If everyone is happy, may we please leave? she demanded. I would like to be far from here before men come!
Brokefang led the way through the rocks. The pack followed in single file, as Tkaa, Daine, and Cloud brought up the rear. Kitten viewed the line of march from her seat atop Cloud’s saddle, talking nonstop to Tkaa.
They had gone nearly half a mile when Daine sensed immortals. Stormwings! she cried silently to the pack as Cloud bolted for the nearby trees. Hide!
Longwind looked back at Daine. Wolves have nothing to fear from harriers, he said in his dignified way. They have no interest in the People.
Daine, joining Cloud and Kitten under branches that hid them from fliers overhead, yanked out her crossbow, and fitted a bolt into the notch. She thrust extra arrows point-first into the ground by her knee, ready to be fired.
The wolves continued their leisurely trot down the trail. Tkaa dropped back so the Stormwings wouldn’t think he was with them, but he stayed in the open. When the four winged immortals saw him, they circled overhead.
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