Wolf-Speaker

by Tamora Pierce

  We’re going back to our friends in the dark? asked Flicker.

  We must.

  He sighed. I know you wouldn’t ask it of me if it weren’t important. I just hate the dark.

  The meager daylight was gone and torches were lit when the mess call was sounded. The lamp in the commander’s office continued to burn, but the commander emerged to join the flow of men to the mess. Daine and Flicker waited until everyone but the guards in the towers had left the yard, then raced to the headquarters. Swiftly they climbed in the window through an open shutter.

  Like its counterpart, this fort had slates with the duty roster nicely laid out in white chalk. I love soldiers, Daine confided to Flicker. They always try to do things the same as every other soldier. She read what was on the board, counting forty soldiers, four corporals, four sergeants, one captain.

  More soldiers because of the two-leggers entering this way? asked Flicker.

  Has to be, she replied. Come on. Let’s get out of here.

  Their return took longer than the trip out. Flicker was almost as blind in the dark as a human, and more nervous than Daine had ever seen him. Each rustle and squeak was an owl, a bear, a bush dog, or something worse come to eat him. Daine nursed him along as patiently as she knew how. Flicker had done great things for her, things no squirrel would dream of, and that knowledge kept her gentle when he made one of his many stops to hide. She stayed with him up the face of the ridge and over its edge, rather than leaving him to do it alone.

  He nearly expired when a huge shadow moved and snorted. Hello, squirrel, said Cloud. Bad night?

  Flicker sat down against a tree bole, shuddering. It was terrible, he told the pony. How can you stand walking in the dark?

  Daine knew Cloud would ease the squirrel’s shattered nerves if the two were alone, so she thanked Flicker again and left him, to open her eyes in the shelter.

  There was no light anywhere, only noises, the sounds of large bodies moving nearby. Nervous, she looked around, ears twitching. Now she could see a little, but what she saw was not reassuring. Two monstrous shapes moved just outside the shelter’s door, one tall and thin, the other wide across the shoulders and slumped. Between them was a smaller but still big shape.

  A whistle by one of her ears nearly deafened her, and a face thrust itself near hers. It was long and sharp-toothed on the end. Large, faintly glowing eyes with catlike pupils looked her over. She squeaked and tried to back away.

  The smaller of the big shapes turned, showing a face like a pale blur in the darkness. Its owner crawled toward Daine on hands and knees.

  It was very strange to find Maura so much bigger than she was.

  “Oh, dear,” the girl said, “Uh—Daine, you, um, you shrank.”

  Tell me something I don’t know, Daine said: it came out as angry squirrel chatter. She looked at her hands and feet. They were still human, but a fine gray fuzz covered them, and the tips of her nails were now black claws.

  She closed her eyes and tried to remember who Daine the human was. It was easier to remember her wolf self, or her bat self. Who was she?

  An image appeared before her eyes, a pool of copper fire with a central core of white light. Between core and pool lay a wall of clear power, like glass, flickering with sparks of white and black fire. The white core was her inner self; the sparkling wall was the barrier Numair once put between her self and her magic, to stop her from forgetting her humanity.

  Start there, she thought. She found memories of Ma, of Grandda, of the house where she grew up. Next were the Snowsdale humans who tried to kill her for running with wolves. She saw Onua, who gave her work in Galla and a home in Tortall. Here were others who filled important places in her life, a mixed bag of nobles, commoners, warriors, and animals. So that’s who I am, she thought, pleased to have so much that was good in her human life.

  She opened her eyes.

  EIGHT

  FRIENDS

  Maura sat with her back to Daine. “I can’t look anymore,” she was saying. “Tell me when she’s done.” The nearby, cat-eyed shape was Kitten, who made a questioning sound. Daine lifted the dragon into her lap, then looked at the bigger shapes at the opening of the shelter. One was unmistakably Tkaa. The other was a stranger.

  “I’m done,” she announced.

  Maura turned and gasped. “You’re you! I mean, you were always you, but you were starting to look kind of—squirrelish.”

  I’m sorry I missed that, commented Flicker from outside the shelter.

  Tkaa said, “It is good you have returned. We have a guest. Iakoju, this is Daine, the human Maura spoke of.”

  The stranger nodded. She was an ogre, clad only in a short, ragged tunic in spite of the damp. “Are you cold?” Daine asked. “We have a horse blanket somewhere.” She found one and offered it to the immortal.

  “I said Daine would welcome her,” Maura informed Tkaa. To Daine she added, “Iakoju’s our friend. She wants to help us get rid of Yolane and Tristan.”

  Iakoju stared at the blanket, pointed ears twitching back and forth. At last she took it. “Thank you,” she said quietly, and bowed from the waist.

  Maura helped the ogre drape the blanket around her shoulders. “She’s running away,” the ten-year-old explained.

  Placid eyes met Daine’s without blinking. Despite skinniness and poor clothes Iakoju was clean, and smelled of soap, earth, and something vaguely spicy. Daine sniffed, trying to identify the spice odor. “Are you eating something?”

  Iakoju smiled. “Maura give me candy.”

  Maura blushed. “Well, she looked so scared when I found her, and I remembered what you said, about people being mean to them and maybe if somebody was nice…”

  There’s one for your side, Badger, thought Daine.

  “Did you succeed at your mission?” asked Tkaa.

  Daine nodded and found her water canteen. Politely she offered it first to Iakoju, who shook her head and held up a gourd water bottle of her own. As Daine drank, Maura said, “Iakoju thinks some of the ogres will help us.”

  “Why?” Daine sat by Tkaa, where she could see their guest. Kitten and Flicker joined her, Flicker curling up on one shoulder, Kitten on her lap.

  “Stormwings and Tristan lie,” Iakoju said flatly. “They say, come through gate, we give you farms to keep, so we come. Only farms here are rock farms, under ground. We say, don’t want mines, where are farms? Tristan say, you farm what we say farm.” She scowled. “Ogres are angry. They send me from valley to find kin clans. Kin clans come help, bashing lying men on the head.”

  Flicker yawned and nearly tumbled off Daine’s shoulder. She slid him into the crook of her arm and asked, “Didn’t you have farms in the Divine Realms?”

  Iakoju shook her head. “Too many ogres. No room. We come here for farms.”

  Maura frowned. “I don’t understand. If you’re peaceful—if you really only like to farm—how come you’re called ogres’? Ogres are monsters, aren’t they? And how come your people are always fighting with ours?”

  “We are big,” replied Iakoju quietly. “Ugly. Our color different from men color. No all ogres are same, either. Some take what they want. Some fight with men. My people, kin clans, we only like farming, not fighting. Some ogres only like fighting. Are all men the same?”

  “No,” Daine said thoughtfully. “Of course not”

  Maura poked the dirt with a stick. “It’s a shame the lake’s east shore can’t be plowed. It’s too steep.”

  Daine sensed what her young friend had in mind. “The fief is Yolane’s. I don’t think she’ll approve of ogre farms on the east shore.”

  “Under law she forfeits her lands for treason,” argued the ten-year-old. “And the fief isn’t all hers. Half is mine—Papa willed it to me, and maybe the king would let me keep it. The way it was supposed to be, Yolane would buy my half when it came time for me to marry, so it’s my dowry. That’s why I got the eastern half. It’s mostly uphill, though,” she said with a sigh.


  Iakoju’s eyes lit. “We make farms. Find ridge, dig out cup, pour in growing dirt. Make small valleys up and down, grow corn, beans, flowers. Peas, herbs—we like growing. If ogres help you, will you give us farms?”

  “Maura cannot promise,” Tkaa reminded her. “It may be she will lose the land. Her sister, whose holding this is, plots against the Crown.”

  “Tkaa’s right,” Maura told Iakoju, hanging her head. “I guess I can’t promise, not if it might not come true.”

  The ogre looked at her, at the basilisk, then at Daine. Her mouth curved in a smile. “Maybe I don’t leave Dunlath. I go with you instead. We will talk.”

  Daine was about to object, and changed her mind. The badger’s words were still very fresh in her memory. In any event, it couldn’t hurt. Before she slept, she wrote a report for Numair, using a glowstone from her belt-purse as her light. Once the report was done, she napped uneasily, dreaming of hurroks.

  The company awoke at dawn. The clouds had gone, and the day promised to be lovely. Daine’s enjoyment of its beauty was soured by the knowledge that winged patrols would be aloft today. Cloud told her, We had best take another route to the pass, one with lots of trees. Iakoju will stand out like a bear in a puddle.

  A nearby stag told Daine of trails lower on the slopes, ones that skirted the mines and lumber camp and passed almost entirely under the trees. She led the way to them with a thank-you to the stag. The tip was a good one. The path was wide and much-used, taking advantage of every bit of cover the forest provided, perfect for much-hunted animals like deer.

  As the morning ended, the path took them by the round meadow, past Flicker’s tree and the Coldfang statue. Daine passed it with a shudder. Twice since meeting the creature she had awakened with a pounding heart, sweat-damp hair, and the feeling that something icy advanced on her, slowly and relentlessly. She would be glad if she never saw another live Coldfang, and it pleased her to leave the stone one behind. One other fear, that Flicker might choose to stay, faded when the squirrel made no mention of returning to his home.

  An hour later she heard an animal’s call and signaled for the others to halt. Where are you? she asked. What do you want?

  A dog broke from the pines fifty yards ahead and raced up to her. It was the huntsman’s head dog, one of the wolfhounds Daine had met at the castle.

  Dismounting, she said, “I’m sorry—I didn’t get your name, before”

  I am Prettyfoot, the dog replied. Daine covered a smile with her hand. It is the name the man gave me, the wolfhound insisted. It is a good name.

  “It’s a lovely name,” Daine replied soothingly. “How may I help you?”

  Please come, the hound begged. The man is hurt. The wolves did it.

  Daine looked at her friends. “Something’s up. I have to go with this dog.” To Prettyfoot she said, Is it complicated? Will it take me awhile to help?

  I don’t know if you can help at all, Prettyfoot said, dark eyes sad under wiry brows. Our pack could do nothing.

  “Tkaa, will you take this to Numair?” Daine asked, pulling the letter she had written from her shirt. “I think the sooner he gets it, the better.”

  “Very wise,” the basilisk said, lifting Kitten from his pouch. “When it is delivered, I will walk back this way to find you again.” He took the letter and set off down the trail, long legs carrying him quickly out of sight.

  “We go with dog now?” asked Iakoju.

  Daine nodded. “His master’s in trouble, he says.”

  “Tait?” Maura said, alarmed. “Then what’re we waiting for?”

  Prettyfoot led them onto a new trail, explaining that his pack had been calling for help for a day and a night. No matter what they or the man did, there was no way to take him from the hole. In a small, rough clearing crossed by the trail, they found the rest of Tait’s dogs beside a pit. They came running to bark greetings to her and Maura.

  Going to the rim of the hole, Daine peered in. Tait, coated in mud, leaves, and filth, sat at the bottom. Suddenly she knew what the wolves’ plan for Tait had been. “Huntsman,” she said. “You’re in a fix.”

  “Laugh all ye like, girly,” he said tiredly, “but get me out of here.”

  “I don’t know,” she drawled. “May I ask if this was a wolf pit, to start?”

  “It was a lot smaller!” he bellowed. “And the trail marks I put here t’ tell me where the damned thing was got moved! If that was your work—”

  “I haven’t been next or nigh this spot,” she retorted, “so don’t raise your voice to me!” She was tempted to leave him there. Maura had told her, during the morning’s ride, that Tait had killed the last wolf pack to live in Dunlath.

  Do not be angry, begged Prettyfoot. He is cold and wet and hungry. And he smells.

  Daine turned to Iakoju. “I have a rope. Can you pull him out?”

  The ogre went to the rim of the hole and leaned over. A sound like a yelp rose from the pit. “It’s all right, Tait,” called Maura, trotting over to stand next to the large, aqua-skinned immortal. “She’s with me.”

  “Lady Maura?” the captive said. “What kind of company are ye keepin’ now?”

  The ten-year-old scowled. “Better company than is at home,” she snapped.

  “And what’s that supposed to mean, miss?”

  “Never mind. I’ll tell you later.”

  Iakoju looked at Daine and nodded. “Man not too fat. I bring him up.”

  With a sigh, Daine got the rope and gave it to Iakoju. “I’m not doing this for you, Tait,” Daine called. “I’m doing it for your dogs.”

  “I don’t care who ye do it fer, long as ye do it afore I turn gray!”

  Iakoju took several turns of rope around her waist and dropped the free end into the pit. Tait wrapped it around his waist in the same manner, and grabbed the rope between them with both hands. “Haul away!” he yelled.

  Iakoju backed up. With some cursing on Tait’s part, she dragged the hunter from his prison. The moment he was on solid ground, the wolfhounds surrounded him, yipping their pleasure as they nuzzled him.

  Seeing him up close, Daine winced. The pit didn’t seem to be the cleanest spot in the forest. Tait now smelled greatly of wolf urine and dung.

  “Have ye water?” he asked, petting his dogs. “And food would be fair nice.”

  Maura gave him Daine’s canteen. The first gulp went to rinse his mouth; the rest went into his belly. “Weiryn’s Horn,” he gasped, “I needed that.”

  Maura offered him sliced ham and cheese. He shoved the cheese into his mouth as the dogs watched, licking their chops. “Ye shouldn’t be here,” he said when his mouth was empty. He looked at Daine and Iakoju. “No offense meant.”

  “Berate her all you like,” Daine replied. “If you can make her go home, it’s more than I could do, or that Stormwing lord.”

  “Things are crazy here now,” the man grumbled. “The lords don’t care for land or people, bringin monsters t’ keep their servants in fear…” Shaking his head, he tore the ham up and gave it to his dogs. Seeing that Daine watched him, he looked down. “Don’t care for more’n cheese just now,” he growled. “M’ throat’s that sore from bellowin’.”

  Why, you softy, thought the girl She got more cheese and two apples, and gave them to him. For the dogs she cut up the rest of the ham.

  “Kind of ye,” muttered the huntsman.

  “They’re good dogs,” she replied shyly. “They really love you, you know.”

  “I know. They could’ve left me, but they didn’t. They run off a bear last night, when it wanted t’ come a-callin’.” He looked at Iakoju. “Give a man a hand up?” he asked. “M’ legs went t’ sleep, bein’ cramped down there.”

  The ogre held Tait by the elbows and lifted until he got his feet under him. He winced. “I need t’ get this stink off me.” He looked from Maura to Daine. “Will ye wait so I can wash? I’ve clothes and such hid by a stream nearby. I came out here with no plans to go back. Don’t like what’s hap
penin’ in that castle these days.”

  Daine smiled. With luck, she had another recruit. “Go ahead. We’ll wait for you.”

  With Iakoju to lean on and the dogs frisking around him, Tait hopped off to his bath. As they passed out of sight, Daine heard him tell the ogre, “No peekin’ once I’m out of my clothes, mind.”

  “I want to check something,” Daine told Maura. “Don’t stray.” She leaned against a tree and closed her eyes. Finding an eagle, she got permission to enter his mind. From the spot where he glided in the warm air that rose from the trees she could see glimpses of Tkaa. The basilisk was on all fours and galloping, his long, delicate limbs taking him faster than she would have believed possible. He was close to the western pass already.

  Knowing her letter would soon reach Numair, she let the eagle take her where he wished. He flew low to avoid the barrier overhead, but he was still high enough to have a good view of the valley’s heart. Not far from Tait’s pit Daine glimpsed the lumber camp. The wolves, it seemed, had achieved their aim. All work was at a halt. The camp was nearly empty; the few humans there lay idly about or walked lazily around the area.

  The eagle then flew south. Below lay the village and the castle, like toys. Smoke of an ugly green-brown color billowed out of a tower window in the castle. Every flying creature gave the weirdly colored plume a wide berth.

  Why? Daine asked the eagle.

  I do not need to fly through death to know what it looks like, replied her host. I do not have to bathe in danger when I know what it smells like. There is always something bad going on in that tower.

  We’re going to stop it soon, Daine assured him. It’s almost over.

  Good, replied the eagle. Tell me if you need help, and I will give it.

  When the bird wheeled north, Daine saw trouble. Three creatures flew in criss-crossing patterns along the slopes where she had been the night before. The eagle squinted, and shapes came into focus: the bodies and heads of horses, batlike wings as big as sails. The hurroks worked their way south, skimming above the treetops. They were hunting for something, and she had an unhappy idea of what it might be.