“And what, then, is their proposal?” Hawk leaned forward with his forearms on his knees.
“They want the Shadowlands. They say they will stop preying upon the People, if they are given this world as their own.”
Hawk was shaking his head. “That did not look like negotiating they were doing with Wolf. And what of that? That was Walks Under the Moon I saw with him.”
Alejandro spread his hands. “Perhaps she, also, came to persuade him to return? In any case, the crowd is dispersing.” He got to his feet. “The Portal is clear.”
Hawk looked at him with narrowed eyes full of questions. “You will carry the Hunt’s proposal then?”
Alejandro took a deep breath in through his nose. “You may do so, if you wish. I made no promises, whatever the Hound may think. I follow my fara’ip.”
“Well, at the least you are not Hounds, nor do you bring any.”
Alejandro had automatically raised his hands to shoulder height at the sight of the armed guards who greeted them on their emergence from the Portal, but lowered them again when he saw that Hawk had not raised his. Evidently, his long stay among humans had had more impact on him than he had realized.
There were five guards in the circle surrounding them, all with weapons at the ready. Two of them were Wild Riders, their gra’if showing as a glove here, a torque there, bright against the worn leather of their clothing. The Starward Rider who had spoken was smiling, but as Alejandro had long before noticed, weapons cannot smile.
Hawk spoke. “Star at Midnight, you know me. You have been my escort before. I am Nighthawk, my mother is Flyer in the Dusk, and the Dragon guides me. This is my friend and companion, Graycloud at Moonrise.”
It took a moment for them all to exchange formal greetings—afterward it was only Star at Midnight’s mother, Northern Light, and his Guidebeast, the Basilisk, that Alejandro remembered.
“Do you say a Hound came through here—” Alejandro asked as soon as he decently could.
“Do not be concerned,” Star at Midnight, his gra’if sword now sheathed, had pushed his helm back from his forehead. “We dispatched the Hound, and the two Riders who brought it—spawn of the Basilisk Prince, as was evident from the company they kept.” Star made a flicking motion with his fingers that Alejandro suddenly remembered was the Rider equivalent of spitting in disgust. “As surprised as we were, there are still three of us here with gra’if, and as soon as their prey cleared out of the way, we dealt with them.”
“This ‘prey?’ Two other Riders? Walks Under the Moon, and Stormwolf? And a human girl with Sunward coloring? They are safe?” Alejandro looked around him, but the mountain meadow in which the Portal was set on this side was empty except for the three of them, the guards, and their Cloud Horses.
“I thought that was Lady Moon,” Star said. “As soon as they were clear of their pursuers, they Moved again.”
“A good thing, too,” said one of the other Riders, this one a Moonward in flame-colored clothing. “Left us a clear field to kill the Hound.”
“So the Basilisk’s spawn is allying with the Hunt in the Shadowlands? It explains why so many are trying to use the Portals,” Star at Midnight said, flaxen braid swinging with the movement of his head.
“We have news of this and other matters to take to the High Prince,” Hawk said.
“I would find the human girl. Valory Martin is her name, and she is friend to the High Prince. Do you know where she was taken?”
“Were you not listening, my friend? They were here and gone before we could even be sure who they were. Perhaps they will return, when they realize the danger is past.”
“Perhaps.” But would they? Could he risk waiting? Would Valory be worse on her second exposure to the Lands?
“Alejandro.” Hawk had taken him by the arm. “They are likely gone to the High Prince. Moon to her sister, Stormwolf to his benefactor. Valory will be with them, and as safe as she can be here in the Lands.”
Alejandro nodded. He knew Hawk must be right. And yet the knowledge sat like a stone in his belly.
Cassandra raised her hand and knew that the Riders with her stopped when she did, even though she was not looking at them, her eyes being attuned completely to the tapestry that was the dra’aj of the Lands. A new thread had appeared. Two. One she knew immediately for her sister, Walks Under the Moon, and the other she knew perfectly, from having Healed it. Stormwolf. And between them a thread so faint, so fine, that even Cassandra could not be certain it existed.
But Moon and Wolf were definitely in the Lands.
Chapter Seventeen
FOX STRODE ALONG the crowded sidewalk, heading north on Yonge Street, and feeling a small pleasure from the way the prey moved out of his way without even noticing they were doing it. They were passing through the milling crowd of shoppers and commuters at Dundas Square when he reached out and grabbed a dark-skinned man by the upper arm. At first the man hunched his shoulders and began to turn toward him, but the aggressive look faded from his face even before he stopped turning and looked down, puzzled.
“Was that necessary?”
Inwardly cursing, Fox flexed his hands, and smiled at the Rider walking next to him. Control. That was what he demanded from the Pack, and what he should practice himself. Not that he would let Sunset on Water know.
“Maybe not, but I thought you’d like it better if I fed from a human than from one of my other options.” He showed the Rider his teeth, but this one was made of hard stuff, and looked away only after smiling. He didn’t move farther away, either, though he clearly understood what Fox had implied.
Fox didn’t want Sunset to know, but the availability of the dra’aj, the ease of access, was sometimes more than even he could resist. Like now, for example.
“I’m Pack Leader. I need more than the others.” He smiled again. “And I deserve more.”
“If Stormwolf’s offer changes the stakes between us, you should say so now.”
Fox’s hands formed fists. How dare he? How dare he? A woman shied away, her eyes rolling sideways at him as she crossed the pavement. Like she could feel the heat of his anger. Though he wasn’t sure who, exactly, he was angry with.
“Stormwolf’s got nothing to offer.” It was so typical of Wolf to suggest that there was something wrong with him, something that needed to be cured. Couldn’t bear to see Fox in charge. Friggin’ know-it-all. Well, not anymore. “The Hunt’s the Hunt,” he said aloud. “Always was, always will be. It’s natural for some to be Hounds and some to be prey. There’s no cure for what’s natural.” Sure there were some among the Hunt who suffered, some who were driven to the point of madness by their condition—but those were the weaklings, the dregs of the Pack. Wolf himself had always been a bit sentimental, but Fox figured his brother’s attitude was just a kind of nostalgia for their old lives. All pups looked back fondly on the days when all they did was play. He did himself.
But accepting a “Healing,” allowing himself to be ordered around by prey—even when the Basilisk Prince had used the Horn to compel them, it had been compulsion. They’d been left unaltered, their Pack intact. Now his brother had become the willing servant of some soft, dra’aj-filled Rider.
Fox drew his lips back, unsure whether it was a smile or a snarl. These weren’t thoughts he would ever have entertained when Wolf was Pack Leader. Sentimental or not, Wolf hadn’t tolerated rebellion. But he wasn’t Leader now, was he? With the Basilisk Prince gone, and Wolf stranded in the Lands, Fox had stepped into his brother’s position, maintained the integrity of the Pack. A position that he filled much better than his brother ever had, in his humble opinion. It wasn’t Wolf who’d discovered the potential in the human dra’aj, nor Wolf who’d conceived of the plan to make the Shadowlands their own, to reject the world of the People once and for all. These were Fox’s triumphs, and he had no intention of letting them go.
“Not everyone in my Pack has my strength of purpose,” he said now to the Rider walking at his elbow. “I wouldn
’t advise you to go strolling alone with anyone else, and you should tell your own Pack the same.”
“There is something I wished to mention, since we are talking of our agreements. That which took place prior to my arrival, that is behind us. But there will be no new turnings. No new Hounds. At least, not from among my people.”
Fox stopped, ignoring the humans who parted to walk around them. They were past Dundas, now, and the sidewalks had narrowed again. Some passersby looked like they were going to complain, but something stopped them, and they went on past without speaking.
“We’ll assist you. Ally with you against the new Prince. But nothing more. That is my condition.”
“Hey, you know perfectly well we didn’t start anything.” Fox would have given anything to refuse—this Rider was prey. But right now he needed allies. “The Basilisk persuaded quite a few of you to follow down the path he was taking himself. What should I do with the ones who are too far along to turn back?”
Sunset shrugged. “Destroy them. I do not need them, and neither do you.” The Rider had a toothy smile of his own. “They are just more mouths to feed.”
“Okay.” It was easy enough to agree. For now. Fox couldn’t deny that just now he needed the other’s support against the High Prince. But once the Portals were closed, all bets were off. These Riders had no gra’if—the Basilisk Prince, not far off becoming a full-fledged Hound himself, had forbidden any of his followers to use it—so those left behind, like Sunset on Water, had no natural defense against the Hunt. It’d be easy enough to deal with them later, if he had to. No way Fox was going to be a subordinate in this new world.
And no way he was going to leave his own brother in the hands of prey—maybe even to be eaten himself, one day. Hounds did occasionally prey on Hounds, usually when fighting over the leadership of the Pack, when the loser literally fell prey to the winner.
But once or twice an injured Pack Leader had just stepped down voluntarily, and stayed a useful member of the Pack, if he behaved himself. Fox grinned. So Wolf could be like that. And the Pack could keep his skills, his knowledge—even his sentiments, so long as Wolf kept them under control. He could be useful. Even if he had to be forced. It could be done.
Fox would take care of it.
A cure. He snorted. Like he needed it.
There were no Cloud Horses under the trees this time, and hardly any armed Riders in the camp, not even the guards around the perimeter.
“I thought they were practically under siege? Anyone could walk in here.” Alejandro looked around the almost deserted camp with a frown. Even dealing with Riders—perhaps especially when dealing with Riders, who could Move—guards were of the utmost importance.
“I would not be so sure.” Hawk gestured with his right hand, as though he were greeting someone, and the trees nearest them bent their branches in response.
“Trees.” Alejandro breathed out the word so softly even he could not be sure he had spoken aloud. He walked toward them with his hands outstretched, not flinching when branches reached out for him, wrapping his wrists, caressing his arms, his face. Trees. Living Trees. It had been so long, he had almost forgotten.
“Welcome,” he heard in his head.
“I greet you, Older Sibling. I am Graycloud at Moonrise, my mother was Starwalker, and the Hippogriff guides me.”
“We knew your mother. We remember you.” The vines and branches clinging to his arms became a woman’s hands, a short woman with mottled brown skin, dark green eyes, and hair like cooked leaves. “You will return again, Graycloud. Until then.” And the Tree Natural loosened her grip and faded back into the foliage that was herself.
Alejandro took a step back toward his companion, his eyes still on the Trees.
“That was certainly unexpected.” Hawk appeared at his side. “What did she say to you?”
“That she knew my mother, that she remembered me.”
“And do you remember her?”
Alejandro found himself nodding. “She is Glinde’in. She grew to the west of my childhood home.” He looked around him. Had the Natural walked here, in the manner of her kind, or was this actually the site of his home? Alejandro saw nothing familiar about the spot in which they stood. “I had forgotten about her, but I had not forgotten her.”
“Well.” Hawk’s voice was solemn, and he still looked out into the forest. “Now you see why no perimeter guard is really necessary. The Wood Naturals have no love for the followers of the Basilisk Prince, and have an uncanny knack for knowing them, however cleverly disguised.” Hawk clapped him on the shoulder. “But come.” Alejandro followed, his eyes still turning from time to time toward Glinde’in.
They were almost at the Prince’s pavilion before they were hailed, and then it was by the Guardian Prince himself, coming forward to shake hands with them both as if they were meeting on the streets of Madrid, and not a few paces away from a Wood.
“Is the High Prince within?” Hawk said, once introductions were complete.
“I’m afraid not,” Max said. He tapped the torque at his neck. “But I can get her at a moment’s notice, if it’s urgent. Why don’t you tell me what this is about?”
“Perhaps you should fetch her,” Hawk said.
Max raised his eyebrows.
“Nighthawk, you speak to the Keeper of the Talismans, the Prince Guardian,” Alejandro said, quietly.
“Relax, Alejandro.” The Prince Guardian did not look offended. If anything, he seemed about to laugh. “Hawk isn’t being disrespectful, he’s just used to me being Exiled—you know, hanging around useless, while someone else did all the work.”
“My Prince, it was not my intention—”
But Max was waving away Hawk’s apologies. “Never mind, Hawk. For all that Alejandro is being so correct, I can see that he’s wondering how long this dance is going to take.”
“Forgive me, my Prince.” Alejandro inclined his head. “It is just that while we stand about, my fara’ip is ill, and possibly in danger.”
“Valory? Isn’t she with Wolf? MOON!” Max turned into the opening of the pavilion and called again. “Moon!” A rustle of silks and the young Starward Rider Alejandro had seen with Valory and Wolf at Union Station emerged from the pavilion entrance. There was a more than superficial resemblance to the High Prince, Alejandro saw. Enough that they must have had the same mother, something rare, but not unheard of, among Riders. The Starward one’s glance flicked from one face to another, her pale brows drawn together in concern as she looked between Alejandro and Hawk.
“Moon!” Max drew her attention, a note of impatience in his voice that was echoed in Alejandro’s heart. “What’s this Alejandro tells me? Is Valory ill?”
“She said she would be ‘okay.’ She purchased ‘Grav-all’ to take with her.” She looked once more at Alejandro. “She said it was medicine for a sickness brought on by the Lands.”
“That isn’t exactly—”
“Why did she do this?” Alejandro felt his impatience rising. “Why did you not return her at once to her home? To me?”
“What else could we do?” Moon’s tone was cool, and Alejandro gritted his teeth. She did not answer to him; that was undeniable. “Wolf has the knowledge we need to find the Horn, but buried deeply inside him. Valory is the key to that knowledge, and only she can reach behind the walls of his life as a Hound.” Moon put out her hand, and Alejandro found himself taking it. “She wanted to do this,” the young Rider said. “It is her own choice. She said that you would understand.”
Now Alejandro did smile. A small thing, a twist of the lips merely that was almost painful to him, but a smile nevertheless. Valory was correct; he did understand. For the first time, she was acting on her own, using her talent as she wished to, even putting herself at great risk, and all from her own choice. From the first time he had seen her, she had wanted freedom. This was what freedom meant.
“I would be with her,” was what he said now. “To help her if I can. To help them both. She
is my fara’ip. Send me after her.”
Moon glanced at Max, and Alejandro’s heart sank. What was coming would not please him; that much was obvious.
“But Graycloud—Alejandro.” Moon stumbled a little over the human name. “We do not know where they have gone. We have no way to send you after them.”
Alejandro took a step back, away from the others, and tried to breathe. Why did his lungs feel so tight? He heard the Guardian Prince speaking, but could muster up no interest in his words.
“What did you need Cassandra for?”
From the distance of his own isolated heart, Alejandro heard Hawk explain the proposals of the Hunt, the closing of the Portals, the abandonment of the humans. He knew he should pay more attention, be ready to offer his own arguments—against, never for—but his thoughts still whirled.
He had only known Valory for a pair of years, less than a blink in the lifetime of a Rider, even one separated from the Lands as long as he had been. But he had made her his fara’ip. As close or closer than his own blood—none of whom still lived. At the time they met, he had come close to the human emotion of despair, had begun to wonder why he should further prolong his existence. Then he had found her with the Collector, and she had asked his help and given him a reason to go on.
He blinked and drew in a breath. Valory was still alive, and so was he. She would return from her quest—or she would not. In the meantime, it was for him to do whatever he could to further that quest, in trust that she would return. With an effort he returned his full attention to the Guardian Prince.
“What we need more than anything else at the moment is time,” Max was saying. “We’ve got to give Wolf and Valory as much time as we can.”
“How?” Hawk’s tone was more respectful now, Alejandro noted. Perhaps he had only needed to be reminded once that this was no longer the Exile, his memories gone, but the Keeper of the Talismans.
Shadowlands Page 30
