The Black Wolves

by Kate Elliott

  He nodded, as unruffled as still water. In this same way Atani had absorbed information without any sign of agitation. “Yes, it is a concern of mine.”

  “Is that why you travel with such a large company?”

  Again he glanced at the men in attendance, then back to her. “No. This is more in the way of an honor guard. I am on my way south to the province of Olo’osson. My mother the queen expressly desires me to stand in attendance on her behalf when the new Beltak shrine is anointed. It has taken five years to build.”

  “The first of several holy complexes going up these past few years,” she said. “Your great-grandfather Anjihosh and your grandfather Atani confined Beltak shrines to a few major cities. I can understand building a shrine in Olo’osson since it is near the border with the empire, but I hear shrines are being built even in market towns like River’s Bend by the Weldur Forest where most people still worship the seven gods.”

  He opened his hands in a gesture of peace. She was not quite sure if he was mocking her or sharing his mockery with her. “My mother and my brother concern themselves with religious matters. Queen Chorannah, my blessed mother, is a very holy woman who prays devoutly and listens to the wisdom of the Beltak priests. She wishes to bring the peace and righteousness of Beltak’s worship to people who do not yet know of the Shining One’s kindness and truth.”

  Dannarah looked around the tent. Four servants waited nearby. The two reeves she had confronted loitered by the entrance. The shorter one looked so Sirniakan that Dannarah was pretty sure he had no Hundred blood in him at all, not like the other who looked as Hundred-bred as Reyad and Tarnit. The reeves wore Argent Hall green. Two soldiers stood guard inside the tent. A clerk sat in the back with a portable writing desk atop his lap, brushing words onto a scroll. Where Jehosh always traveled with his friends and cronies around him, Farihosh appeared far more isolated, or maybe he just had a more solitary nature.

  “For a man who travels to represent the king at the dedication of the holy shrine, do you not find it curious that you have no priests in your retinue?” she asked.

  His smile killed. The hells! The young man had a dimple, and a surfeit of charm, just like his father, Jehosh. “I pray you, Aunt Dannarah, never mention it within the palace, but I am one who grows weary of preaching. Not like Tav. He can’t hear enough of it.”

  “Then why not send Tavahosh to the Olo’osson dedication instead of you?”

  His shrug revealed an unspoken message, but since she did not know him she could not guess what it might be. “I am obedient to the command of my blessed mother, Aunt. Does that not meet with your approval as an honored elder?”

  What a sly dig. Oh, he was a clever one, and she liked him already. That was her problem. She made up her mind about people within a few breaths of meeting them and thereafter could not shake her opinion no matter what other side of them she saw.

  She took up a rice ball and popped it in her mouth. It was delectable, moist, and with enough burn to really savor. “I can see a great deal of my brother Atani in you, Prince Farihosh.”

  He inclined his head. “I’ve heard it said that I sat upon my grandfather’s knee and was quite attached to him, but I fear I do not remember him at all.”

  Such a rush of painful recollection assaulted her that she sucked in a breath, wincing.

  “Aunt Dannarah? Have I offended you?”

  “Not at all. I do recall it. Atani cherished you, Farihosh. He liked nothing better than to make you laugh.”

  “They say he was a good king, fair-minded, patient, and able to tell if any person lied to him. Is that true? It would be a vital skill for a king to have, do you not think?” He refilled her cup in a gesture appropriate for any young person toward their elder. “But perhaps I talk too much about things you do not wish to remember.”

  “No, you do not talk too much. It is true that Atani knew when people lied to him.” Except when she had lied to him, on his last day.

  He tapped fingers together, then glanced at her. “Might I persuade you to take supper with me, Aunt Dannarah? Tell me stories of my grandfather Atani? My father rarely speaks of him, and since he does not, no one else in the palace will.”

  He might as well have stabbed her and been done with it, for she could not move from the gush of emotion that flooded through her. “Of course I will stay.”

  So she did, sending out one of the reeves to flag down Tarnit and Reyad for the night. Farihosh proved to be an excellent listener, plying her with questions that loosened her tongue. His genuine interest freed an old ache in her heart. For once she could remember Atani with love and generosity instead of with the endless caged pain.

  “With what respect you mention your father, the great Anjihosh!” Farihosh remarked. “You knew him, spoke to him, were taught by him! Is it really true he rode as an exile into the Hundred with only two hundred Qin soldiers and yet single-handedly defeated the demons who were burning and murdering the population? That he brought peace to the land, and made himself king?”

  “It is true. He and I often discussed the campaign and the choices he made.”

  “He must have been a brilliant strategist to accomplish so much with such modest resources. How did he do it?”

  His enthusiasm was irresistible. She hadn’t spoken so much about her father in years.

  Very late she refused a pallet in the tent and went to sleep outside with her reeves, as was always her custom when out on patrol. Reyad slept but Tarnit was still awake, chatting with a reeve she had trained with as fledgling reeves twenty-four years ago.

  She left the fire to join Dannarah under a rough lean-to of canvas set up in case it rained. “So I was talking to my old friend Herard. You’ve met him once or twice. He’s been posted at Argent Hall for years. He says in the last few years everything at Argent Hall has been turned upside down. Most of the veterans have been sent elsewhere, and Herard says he lost track of a number of them. Herard himself was attached two years ago to Palace Hall atop Law Rock. Besides flying patrol around Toskala he has mostly flown messages for the palace ever since. He’s not happy about being turned into a courier. Maybe you should see if you can attach him to Horn Hall, too.”

  Dannarah rubbed her forehead, wishing the last of the headache would dissipate. “Argent Hall has taken a turn for the worse since Auri moved his headquarters from Palace Hall to Argent Hall, that’s for certain.”

  “What’s even more interesting is that the chief marshal pulled an entire flight of eighteen reeves to escort Prince Farihosh on this trip. They wear Argent Hall green but with two extra gold stripes to mark them out, like an elite flight. Don’t you find that odd?”

  Dannarah glanced toward the tents and their pacing sentries. On a cloudy night like tonight the sky breathed darkness the way palace alcoves breathe gossip. “I was never given notice that a prince would be moving through territory Horn Hall is responsible to patrol. What do they fear on roads that have been safe since my father made himself king? Surely they don’t need so many soldiers to guard against a few disgruntled escapees from the work gangs.”

  “What did those Hasibal players say?” Tarnit asked as she rolled out her bedroll with the ease of long practice.

  “What Hasibal players?”

  Tarnit paused, giving her an odd look. “The ones you landed to talk to as we were flying out of the Elshar Valley? Reyad and I remained aloft, and then you joined us afterward?”

  “Oh. Ah.” She rubbed her forehead again as the ache intensified. “Nothing of interest. They performed for the village and the soldiers. The Ri Amarah don’t hold with that sort of entertainment. They hadn’t seen any criminals or had any trouble.”

  Tarnit relaxed, and sat on her bedroll to pull off her boots. “That’s good. What is the prince like?”

  “He reminds me of my brother.”

  “Ah.” Tarnit’s fingers brushed Dannarah’s arm, a gesture few would have dared make.

  Dannarah smiled at her. “My thanks, Tar. Funny ho
w much it still hurts.”

  After a silence, Tarnit asked, “Do you think we’ll find anything in the Wild?”

  “The Wild? Why would we find anything there?”

  “You said we were going to the market towns by the Weldur Forest to look for redheart wreaths.”

  “Did I?”

  Tarnit’s hand closed around her wrist. “Are you well? We should go back to Horn Hall.”

  Wind tore apart the clouds, revealing moon and stars. “That’s right, the redheart wreath,” she said, wondering why the moon looked so bright. “I’m tired today. Never mind it. We will go to the Wild. I have a hunch we’re going to find something important there.”

  14

  The very best days were when Lifka and her papa, just the two of them, left at dawn for the skirts of the Wild to collect wood. First there would be an exhilarating argument with Mum as they got ready to leave.

  “Pull back your hair! You’re not fit to be seen with it all sprung out like a bush! What will people say?”

  “What people always say! Why does it coil up like that? Can I touch it? That never changes!”

  “That’s not what I mean, which you know as well as I do, so watch your tongue, young woman, just because you’re taller than me now! You will be neat and you will be clean when you go out of this compound. We don’t concern ourselves with other folk’s bad manners. We do what is right.”

  “I’ll shave it all off!” Lifka threatened.

  Mum kissed her on each cheek, which always disarmed her, then slapped her so hard on the butt that she jumped. “You will not cut your beautiful hair. Do you want me to tie it up under a scarf for you?”

  Lifka was too old to admit that she did so she yanked her hair back and wrapped it with leather cord.

  Mum shook her head with a wry smile. “Before you reach the river you’ll be regretting you didn’t let me fix it properly. Go on, then!” She handed Lifka her staff because no one in the family left the compound without the means to defend themselves. “Your father’s waiting.”

  Papa had already loaded the hatchet, the ax, the sledgehammer, and three wedges into the empty bed of the wagon. She climbed up on the driver’s bench beside him. The cart dogs Yap, Goblin, and the Runt leaped up. The mules, Courageous and Steadfast, were eager to go. She rubbed her forehead because her hair was pulled so tight it strained her skin.

  “Might as well cut it short like the lads,” remarked Papa.

  “Girls and women don’t cut their hair short. Mum would have a seizure.”

  “Wish you could, though, don’t you? Strange to think you can’t, when all it would take is a razor.” He whistled a brisk “hee-up” and flicked the reins. The mules ambled forward, taking the measure of the cloud-ridden day.

  “You give a thought to what you want to do, now you’re a young woman? You want to go to your mother’s clan and walk the roads as a caravan guard with your aunties and uncles? See the Hundred? I thought for sure you’d go with Ailia last year when she went out to them.”

  “No.”

  “Any lads you’ve a mind to marry?”

  “No. I like the lads well enough but I don’t want to marry yet.”

  “We might apprentice you out, if there’s a trade you want to learn—”

  “Papa, I’m happy at home. Can’t I just work with you like we always do? Are you trying to get rid of me?”

  His smile teased her, as if he was about to say he was, but after a moment his gaze softened. “Never that, Lifka.”

  “Heya! Heya!” Her brothers Alon and Denas and cousin Nanni came running. “You said you’d let us ride to the work site!”

  “I didn’t say I’d wait for you laggards.” Papa did not slow down but he did not speed up, either. The lads slung their tool bags and staffs into the back and swung on, laughing.

  “Leaf, you look like your face is being pulled off. Let me do it over.” Denas scooted up.

  The Runt bared his teeth at him, and Denas showed teeth back. Ears flattening, the Runt curled his upper lip back a bit more. Lifka and Alon and Nanni all watched with interest to see if the young dog would snap but he gave way by pressing against Denas’s leg, stub tail wagging apologetically.

  “You’re so impatient, Leaf.” Denas unwrapped the cord, got her hair under control, and braided the leather cord into such a clever loop that Nanni and Alon praised the ornamentation although just by feeling at it she couldn’t quite suss out what he’d done.

  “Think there will be work today?” Papa kept his eyes on the road, careful not to seem like he was pressing his sons and nephew over a problem they could not influence.

  “The usual promises, now the rains are fading.” Alon rubbed a hand over his shaved short hair in the nervous habit he had when he got to thinking about things that worried him. “Digging out the ground for foundations for forty vey for the day, a day’s labor in the brickworks for thirty, or twenty for hauling dirt.”

  Papa’s rare frown flared. “Tssh! Same wage my father got when he was my age. Yet rice costs twice what it did then. How is a family to eat with the king’s tithe to hand over out of what little we manage to earn?”

  None of the lads answered. The wagon moved alongside a stream of local men walking toward town for work, so it wasn’t safe to say the things they might speak inside their compound. No one wanted the Beltak priests to get wind of complaining. Complaints could get you rounded up for a work gang and sent away to another part of the Hundred.

  Men who could afford a vey for a ride clambered up into the back and pressed the copper coin into Alon’s hand. Yap and Goblin ignored these passengers; they kept their gaze on the countryside and their noses to the wind, proper guard dogs seeking wicked bandits just like in the Tale of the Carter and His Barking Dog. The Runt eyed each new interloper with a quiver of his muzzle but pressed closer to Lifka until his head was practically buried against her leg.

  Men talked about the weather and the fields. The rice fields were draining as they did at this season with the stalks growing tall. Lantern-berry shrubs and mulberry trees lined the embankments, bright with flowers or green fruit. It smelled like promise, the hungry weeks of the Flood Rains finally passing and the hope of a few hearty meals and extra vey coming into each household from day labor. That would happen only if the men could snag work at the new building site on the other side of the river.

  “I hear they’re not hiring because they brought in a new work gang, all of them criminals from Toskala,” said a neighbor youth, one of Lifka’s occasional lovers. He was all frowns now. “How are we meant to eat if we can’t work? Yet the Beltak priests grow fat while we starve.”

  Papa stiffened. “The wind hears all.”

  Lifka knew he was thinking of how badly Aunt Ediko had died.

  In silence they reached the ferry crossing. Each man paid a vey to board. Lifka and Pa held the mules’ heads as the barge was hauled across the river on its cable. Downstream beyond the river’s curve rose the town of River’s Bend, where the district archon lived.

  Midway across the old ferryman left his nephew at the windlass and made his way over to Papa. The noisy slap of water against the hull drowned his words from anyone more than a step away. “Just a word of warning, Geron,” the old man said to Papa. “Yesterday the archon called me into town to tell me the priests are taking over both ferries as soon as the shrine is completed.”

  “How will your clan live?” demanded Papa. “Your people have always maintained the ferries.”

  The old man looked weary and defeated. “Maybe they will sell us a license to operate it. I don’t know.”

  “We lost our livelihood because of the new licenses needed to transport goods on the roads,” muttered Papa. “The king’s officers and the Beltak priests are grabbing everything for themselves.”

  “Hush, talk is dangerous,” said the old man as the barge bumped onto the landing on the eastern shore.

  The Weldur Forest with its ancient trees and impenetrable depths rose before th
em. The interior was accounted sacred by the people who had lived in this area since time out of mind. People known as wildings lived there as keepers of the forest’s heart. But the Beltak priests had decided to build a shrine right up against the forest.

  In the old days the archon was elected by the town council, but now he was appointed by the king, and their current archon had no interest in respecting the old customs kept by those who worshipped the Hundred’s seven gods: Hasibal the Merciful One, Kotaru the Thunderer, Sapanasu the Lantern, Taru the Witherer, Atiratu the Lady of Beasts, Ilu the Herald, and Ushara the Merciless One Who Rules Over Love, Death, and Desire.

  The building site cut a scar into the earth with turf cut up and underbrush slashed back. Fires smoked where stacks of wood were being burned for charcoal. The shrine grounds were marked out by rope and posts. Ditches marked the foundations. The outer wall was going up first, to hide the mysteries of the god’s architecture from those who could not be admitted within the walls. A file of men roped together waited at a food line. Each had a criminal’s brand inked on his right cheek so no one could mistake him for a free man.

  The men hopped off. Her cousin and brothers left last with farewells that rang in her ears with false cheer.

  “Do you think they’ll get work?” she asked Papa. “Or have to walk home empty-handed?”

  “Don’t stare, Lifka. The priests don’t like it.”

  “Will we have to give offerings at their shrine when it’s finished? Will the priests stop us from giving offerings to the seven gods?”

  “Shh, lass. Not here, where the wind may have ears.”

  Too late she remembered that the wind might have ears. Aunt Ediko had a bit of demon’s blood in her, just enough that she could see things others couldn’t. She had claimed the priests used the tethered ghosts of the dead as spies. The mules plodded stolidly on. They did not like the stench around the shrine and wished to reach greener pastures north of the ferry landing, where local people were permitted to forage for downed wood. As the building site began to fall behind, Lifka let out a held breath.