The Wolf's Call

by Anthony Ryan

  “Maggots work on wounds to the extremities,” Sherin said, reaching for one of her saddlebags. “Where the infection can’t get too deep. Try them on an injury like this and there’s a chance they’ll eat their way into his gut. It’s fortunate your healers didn’t kill him.”

  She extracted a small thin-bladed knife from the bag along with a number of bottles. “I need more light in here,” she said, glancing around the small tent. “Also, a steady supply of freshly boiled water, preferably in copper pots. Plus sheets of gauze, or any fine material to ward off the flies.”

  “You’re going to cut him?” Varnko asked.

  “Some of the infected flesh needs to be cut away.” Sherin pressed a hand to the boy’s feverish forehead and grimaced. “But his chance of survival lies with the curatives I’ve brought, and it slips further from his grasp with every second I waste talking to you.”

  * * *

  ◆ ◆ ◆

  “You have a name?”

  Vaelin looked down at the flask the Skeltir offered him and decided refusing would be impolite. The liquid it held was both surprisingly pleasant and familiar. “Cumbraelin red,” Vaelin said, handing it back. “You have expensive tastes.”

  “So that’s where you’re from. The Land of Wine, my people call it. Not very original, I know, but they only heard of the place recently. Tell me, is it true it rains there every day?”

  “Not every day. Just most.”

  The Skeltir grunted and drank again, turning to regard the large herd of horses in the corral. Having left Sherin to her ministrations, the Jade Princess had abruptly adopted a demeanour of regal authority and announced she would be taking up residence in Varnko’s tent, demanding refreshment and attendants as she strode away, nose held at an imperious angle.

  Varnko watched her go and called out instructions to a nearby Stahlhast, the man swiftly mounting up and riding off towards the town. “He’ll find a maid amongst the slaves,” he said, then frowned and corrected himself. “The artisans, I mean to say. You strike me as a man with a good eye for horses. Come take a look at mine.”

  Vaelin had to admit the horses were remarkable, all tall at the shoulder and long of leg and neck, mounts suitable for both hunting and war. “See the grey,” Varnko said, pointing. “Derka, the pride of my herd. The finest blood runs in his veins. Centuries of breeding to produce the perfect mount.”

  “An impressive beast,” Vaelin agreed, watching the way the other horses veered from the grey’s path, long silver mane trailing as he galloped back and forth with the energy of a youth.

  “He was to be Lotzin’s mount in time.” Varnko’s gaze darkened as it tracked the stallion. “My son.”

  “He’ll ride your horse,” Vaelin assured him. “My friend is very skilled.”

  “Friend?” Varnko’s eyebrows curled in amusement as he drank again. “That what she is? The way she looks at you reminds me of my first wife. Got a scar an inch north of my cock from where she tried to geld me. She did catch me fucking her sister, so I suppose she had cause. Always felt it a bit on the excessive side though.” He laughed at Vaelin’s evident discomfort and drank again. “Still haven’t heard your name, I notice. Any reason for that?”

  “Vaelin Al Sorna.” He turned and gave a formal bow. “Tower Lord of the Northern Reaches and Humble Servant to Queen Lyrna Al Nieren of the Greater Unified Realm.”

  “The Fire Queen,” Varnko said with a shrug, turning back to the horses. “Heard of her at least.” He fell silent, Vaelin sensing a brief hesitancy before he asked his next question. “Why did you come here, Vaelin Al Sorna? I know you rode with the Merchant King’s soldiers, but you’re no more in thrall to him than you are to me. It was for her, wasn’t it? The healer.” He shook his head and drained the last few drops of wine from his flask, tossing it aside with a sigh. “Came a very long way for a woman who can’t stand the sight of you, if you ask me.”

  “Some debts have to be paid,” Vaelin replied. “Regardless of distance, or price.”

  “That they do.” The Skeltir rubbed a hand over his chin, stepping closer. Vaelin took note of the fact that his hand lingered close to his mouth to conceal the shape of his lips as he spoke. “As you said, he’s a fine horse,” he said, eyes flicking to the grey stallion. “Could carry a man many a mile before dawn.”

  Vaelin’s gaze tracked from Varnko to the array of tents as the sense of being observed increased. This man was supposedly the leader of these people and yet he made efforts to conceal his speech.

  “You wish me to leave,” Vaelin said, turning his back to the tents. “Out of concern for my well-being, perhaps?”

  “No.” The Skeltir also turned to face the corral, his words softly spoken. “You killed my kin so I’d happily shit on your bloodied corpse. But I know this for certain: no good can come from you meeting the Mestra-Skeltir. The Stahlhast will suffer for it.”

  “And how do you know this?”

  Varnko shifted in discomfort, fingers stroking his lips in a manner that reminded Vaelin of Nortah when the thirst was upon him. “Suffice to say that I trust the source completely,” he said. “Wait for darkness and take the horse. No one will stop you. Leave the women with me and I will honour our bargain. Come the dawn there will be nothing I can do.”

  His voice had now fallen to a fierce, urgent whisper, Vaelin seeing a glint of desperation in his eyes. It was clear he believed every word he said, and the belief frightened him.

  “The Mestra-Skeltir,” Vaelin said. “He is the one they call the Darkblade, is he not?”

  “The artisans do. And his own Skeld, other Stahlhast who believe his legend.”

  “And you do not?”

  “Some of it, because I’ve seen it. As for the rest.” He let out a snort. “A man cannot be a god. The Unseen are not of this earth and so they deserve our worship. A man who eats, shits, bleeds, and fucks like the rest of us does not.”

  He turned and stalked away, leaving Vaelin in silent regard of the grey stallion. As if sensing his scrutiny the animal came to a halt, turning his head to meet Vaelin’s gaze. Breath streamed from his flared nostrils as his forehooves scraped the ground.

  Little older than a colt and the herd is already his, Vaelin thought, seeing how the other horses shied away in anticipation of the beast’s ire. How fierce you must be.

  The grey snorted again and spurred to a sudden gallop, letting out a shrill whinny as he charged. Vaelin stood his ground, continuing to meet the stallion’s gaze as he drew ever closer. Dust rose in a thick pall as the animal came to a halt barely a few feet from the rope that formed the edge of the corral. He reared and stamped, teeth bared as he whinnied once more.

  Vaelin gave a small laugh as he dipped under the rope and approached the horse at a slow walk, both hands held out to his side. “You remind me of an old friend,” he said, the grey betraying a small measure of alarm now, his stamping ceased as he stood, muscles twitching. His eyes grew wide as Vaelin’s hand reached out to smooth the hair on his neck. “Are you a biter, I wonder?” Vaelin murmured, watching the grey’s mouth open and close reflexively. “I’d wager you are.”

  The grey’s teeth snapped and he wheeled away, hooves pounding the earth as he sped back into the ranks of his fellow horses. Fast and strong, Vaelin thought, making his way back to Varnko’s tent. Strong enough to carry two, though riding whilst bound hand and foot won’t be comfortable.

  * * *

  ◆ ◆ ◆

  “Will he live?”

  “The curative seems to be taking hold.” Sherin blinked tired eyes and wiped a clean cloth over one of her tiny-bladed knives. “It seems I was right about the poison. A nasty concoction I haven’t seen before. Luckily it was similar enough to nightshade to enable me to formulate a counter.” She glanced over her shoulder at the sleeping boy behind the veil of silks she had erected around his bed. “Youth is on his side, and he
’s a strong lad. However, it’ll require a few days’ observation before I know for sure.”

  Vaelin stepped closer, ignoring her forbidding frown and lowering his voice to a murmur. “We don’t have a few days. It’s time we were gone from here.”

  “I have a patient to care for. And a mission, unless you’ve forgotten.”

  “Your part is done. Varnko will take the Princess to meet their man-god. She can sing her song perfectly well without you, or me.”

  Sherin sighed and met his gaze squarely, speaking in soft but intent tones. “Understand this, Vaelin. I am not leaving her. We began this journey together, and we’ll end it together.”

  Vaelin began to reach for her arm but stopped himself. However, the gesture drew her gaze to the rope he held in his other hand. “Well,” she said, eyes narrowing in understanding. “At least you’re not going to drug me this time.”

  “You can hate me if you wish, but I didn’t journey all these miles to watch you die.”

  Her eyes flashed at him. “I already died, years ago when I woke on a ship to find the man I loved had betrayed me. Ahm Lin told me the Alpirans had killed you, as I assume you instructed. I knew it was a lie, of course. I knew you lived. Through all the years it took me to come back to life, I knew you were still breathing, still somewhere on the other side of the world fighting yet another filthy war.”

  “There were reasons. Something I had to do. Something that needed doing.”

  “This needs doing. I need to be part of it and so, she insists, do you.”

  Vaelin steeled himself against the implacable resolve in her gaze and hefted the rope. “Please don’t make me.”

  Her eyes, bright with fury, slipped from his to the rope and back again. He knew there was a risk she might scream but was confident he could clamp a hand to her mouth in time, although he fervently hoped he wouldn’t have to. Finally, she looked away, taking a deep breath. “Let me gather my things,” she muttered, mouth set in a hard line as she began collecting her knives and bottles.

  “Be quick.” Vaelin glanced at the open tent flap, the Skeltir’s warning ringing louder in his mind with every passing second. Come the dawn there will be nothing I can do. “I doubt we have lo—”

  His words became a hiss as something small but very sharp stabbed into his neck. He whirled, instinctively batting away Sherin’s hand, though managing to stop himself from following up with a punch. She stepped back quickly, avoiding his flailing grip, her stern features blurring as a deep, liquid heat spread from his neck through his shoulders and into his chest. Reaching up he felt the long thin needle still embedded in his skin, positioned precisely to find the biggest vein.

  “I know,” Sherin said as his legs failed him and her face dissolved into darkness. “Hurts, doesn’t it?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  He seemed taller in my dream, like a giant.”

  “Oh, I think he’s big enough for the task.”

  “A task I thought we had agreed was unnecessary.”

  “I recall no such agreement. But then, for me our shared dream was so long ago. Perhaps the details have dimmed with time.”

  The voices were faint and discordant, as if heard through water. Vaelin attempted to blink and found he couldn’t, his eyelids having apparently become much heavier during his involuntary slumber. He could feel his body swaying as the surface he lay on moved, like the deck of a ship suffering particularly choppy seas. However, the faint squeal of a poorly oiled axle made it clear he lay in a cart.

  “You saw what I saw. He brings ruin . . .”

  “And what does your brother bring?”

  Vaelin summoned his strength and forced his eyelids open, grunting with the effort. A smear of dull grey light slowly resolved into the dry splinters of aged wood as he blinked his way to consciousness. His hand splayed on the wood, fingers numb at first but flaring with pain as he tried to lever himself up.

  “See?” the Princess said. “He’s strong. She said he would sleep for another day at least.”

  Vaelin’s arms shook as he raised himself to his knees, staying upright despite the cart’s continual judder. The Jade Princess sat opposite him, the small buds of her lips forming a smile of welcome. “My lord,” she said in perfect Realm Tongue. “I trust you are well rested.”

  “Speak in Chu-Shin, if you please.”

  Vaelin’s gaze went to the source of the second voice, finding a woman glancing down at him from the cart’s buckboard. She was a few years shy of his own age with sharp features that put him in mind of a fox, as did the reddish brown hair tied back from her face in a series of tightly woven braids.

  “I think our enterprise will benefit from shared understanding at all times,” she added to the Princess.

  “Quite so,” the Princess said, slipping back into the Far Western tongue. “I was remiss.” She smirked a little at Vaelin as the woman turned away, snapping the reins she held against the rumps of the two dray horses pulling the cart.

  Vaelin’s hands were unbound but he noted that his sword was nowhere in sight. Resting his back against the side of the cart for a second to gather his strength, he hauled himself up to look over the edge. Sherin rode alongside on her pony, sparing him a brief glance before spurring ahead. Glancing around he saw they were escorted by about fifty Stahlhast. They were garbed much the same as Varnko’s people but the subtle differences to the motifs with which they decorated their armour led him to conclude they must hail from a separate Skeld. The passing Steppe was as featureless as ever, giving no clue as to how far they might have travelled.

  “Three days,” the Princess said in response to his unasked question. “The Grace of Heaven brews a strong tea.”

  Vaelin’s hand went to his neck, feeling a small scab and the tenderness of what was surely a livid bruise but no serious injury. “She always did,” he said, inclining his head at the woman driving the cart. “Aren’t you going to introduce me?”

  “Of course, please forgive my rudeness. I present Luralyn Reyerik, Druhr-Tivarik to the Cova Skeld and sister to the Mestra-Skeltir. Luralyn, this is . . .”

  “I know his name,” the woman cut in, not turning, and adding in a low whisper, “one of them, at least.”

  “Mestra-Skeltir,” Vaelin repeated. “You are sister to the leader of the Stahlhast?”

  The woman replied with only a short nod, keeping her gaze firmly on the way ahead. The set of her shoulders told of a deep aversion to his presence that he might have ascribed to her people’s prejudice if he hadn’t heard her words to the Princess. He brings ruin . . .

  A loud snort drew his gaze to the rear of the cart. Derka, the grey stallion, trotted in the cart’s tracks, led by a long tether. Seeing Vaelin, his eyes took on a wider cast and he tossed his head in either greeting or challenge. Vaelin suspected it might be both.

  “Skeltir Varnko was suitably grateful,” the Princess explained. “The boy seemed well on the way to health when we left. The horse is yours now, in body and soul. I sang to him, you see.”

  “Sang to him?” Vaelin asked.

  “Just a small tune to bind you together. It didn’t take much. I think he had developed a liking for you already. Varnko was sorry to lose him, but felt honour demanded some form of parting gift.”

  “I have been wondering,” Vaelin said. “How you came to know of the boy’s condition, and that his father would be open to your bargain.”

  “The ways of Heaven are ever mysterious,” the Princess said, arching an eyebrow.

  “Really?” Vaelin’s gaze tracked to Luralyn’s rigid back.

  “Sherin warned me you always saw more than anyone realised.” The Princess laughed with a note of genuine delight before her humour faded and she leaned closer. “It matters not how we came to be here, only that we are.”

  “And where, exactly, is here?”

  “The Great Tor,” L
uralyn replied, hauling on her reins to bring the cart to a halt. “Heart of the Iron Steppe and home to the Sepulchre of the Unseen.”

  Vaelin got to his feet, gazing at the vast wedge of stone rising from the plain a mile distant.

  “Also,” the Stahlhast woman added with a sorrowful note, “where you will most probably meet your end, Thief of Names.”

  * * *

  ◆ ◆ ◆

  Derka allowed himself to be saddled without demur, saving his revenge for when Vaelin put a foot in the saddle whereupon the stallion reared. Vaelin managed to disentangle his foot before the grey wheeled about, but the beast still contrived to catch him with his rump. Vaelin sprawled in the dirt, much to the amusement of the watching Stahlhast.

  Swatting dirt from his trews as he got to his feet, he cast a questioning glance at the Princess. “Your song appears weak,” he observed.

  “It bound him,” she said with a shrug. “But it didn’t change him.”

  Vaelin approached Derka with a determined stride. Catching hold of the reins, he pulled the stallion’s head around, looking directly into his baleful eye.

  “Enough!” Vaelin told him, holding his gaze. Derka snorted and stamped a hoof but didn’t rear again when Vaelin mounted up.

  “You should have whipped him,” Luralyn advised, now mounted on her own horse, a tall white stallion. “Still too much of the colt in him.”

  “I think I like him as he is,” Vaelin replied, running a hand along Derka’s neck and causing him to toss his head in irritation.

  Luralyn shrugged and kicked her horse into motion, setting off towards the Great Tor at a fast gallop. Sherin and the Jade Princess quickly followed on their ponies whilst the Stahlhast guards closed in around Vaelin.

  “Beskar!” one of them snarled, jerking his head impatiently.