In a Wolf's Eyes

by A. Katie Rose

  I smiled. Eyes may be disguised, hair dyed and a beard grown, but no one could hide such natural grace of movement.

  Wolf the gladiator.

  Alive.

  “Unbelievable.”

  I shot a quick glance at Kel’Ratan. He must have followed my gaze, for he too stared at the slave and his companion.

  I realized with a jolt that I recognized his friend as well. Unlike the slave, he hadn’t bothered to hide his appearance. Perhaps he thought he looked ordinary enough. Those wheaten locks, amber eyes and arrogant bearing proclaimed his identity as thoroughly as Wolf’s graceful power. So they still shared company. Rygel, the renegade wizard, bent slightly at the waist to speak to the serving girl. One graceful hand gestured toward the stairs while the other traced lightly down her back. Was he ordering a meal served in their room, along with her company, perhaps?

  He appeared thinner than I remembered. Gaunt, even. His clothes hung on him, his cheeks hollow and his wheat-colored hair lank and lifeless. Yet the beaten-dog aspect of him I noticed in Lionel’s court had vanished. From across the room, I saw he had a new air of confidence about him that had been absent from him before.

  The girl disappeared into the kitchens. He turned to the slave, and the two spoke briefly. Wolf nodded. Then Rygel mounted the stairs to the upper chambers while Wolf remained in the hall. A small band of mercenaries cleared the way for him without seeming to, allowing him a corner table to himself. The innkeeper herself brought him food and a tankard of foaming ale with a wide smile. Obviously, she found favor with the runaway slave. I wondered if she knew who he was.

  “Interesting,” Kel’Ratan muttered.

  “Surely, she doesn’t know who he is,” I said, watching him eat.

  He’s going to catch you staring, dolt, I told myself.

  I forced my eyes from him and lowered them to my own table. I resumed eating, but my appetite vanished. I wanted to believe he could not have recognized me, in my dyed-dark hair and priestess’s guise. Yet when I recalled our eyes meeting briefly, I sensed how wrong I was. He knew me.

  “I doubt it,” Kel’Ratan replied out of the side of his mouth. He, too, kept his eyes on his meal. “If she did, she’d be in as much danger as he is. Brutal would flay her alive for harboring them.”

  “I wish we could trust them,” I muttered. “We could use some good allies.”

  “He’s dangerous, Ly’Tana,” Kel’Ratan said. “We must kill him. He cannot be allowed to live, he might report us to the Federates.”

  I shook my head. Remembering his deadly skill with a blade and his catlike speed, I knew it would take every one of my warriors and the Nephrotiti’s own luck to accomplish that. How many of us might die in the attempt? I cringed at the thought of presiding over yet another funeral. I shot a glance at Witraz and Alun, knowing full well that taking down The Wolf and his magical sidekick might cost them their lives. I shook my head again.

  “He’s not likely to report us,” I argued. “He’d be recaptured instantly and put to death. If we pretend we don’t know him and move on, he may let well enough alone.”

  “One word from him to the innkeeper and we’ll have every one of the High King’s troops on us,” he replied.

  “I don’t think he will.”

  Kel’Ratan snorted. “How can you say that? Can you foresee the future?”

  “He saved our hides,” I snapped. “Without either of them, we would never have escaped the palace. We’ll repay that with murder? What was it you said about murder? Heh?”

  My cousin ran his hands through his red hair in disgust and resignation. He pushed his plate aside. “I know, I know. That bloody slave is a danger to us. I feel it in my bones.”

  “Your bones don’t know one end of a sword from the other.”

  Kel’Ratan scowled at me. “I should paddle your holy bottom.”

  I sniffed, disregarding his threat with a toss of my head. Witraz and Alun watched our argument with wide-eyed attention, like children witnessing their parents squabble. I winked at them and resumed. “We’ll avoid both him and his friend. We have no choice. The others must meet us here and it’s too late to find somewhere else.”

  “Do you know how much I hate it when you’re right?”

  I smiled and patted his cheek. “Someday you’ll learn I’m always right.”

  “Was there ever a time when you two didn’t argue?” Witraz inquired with a lift to his brow.

  “Aye,” Kel’Ratan snorted, his blue eyes fierce as he stared down at me. “Then she outgrew swaddling clothes.”

  Even Alun chuckled.

  Taking a small bite of the bread still in my hand, I chewed absently, surveying the crowded inn again. Once more, I nearly choked on it. I coughed, catching Kel’Ratan swift attention. He cursed. Witraz and Alun, more discreet than my cousin, glanced in the direction I stared, and quickly looked away.

  Three soldiers in the purple and gold uniforms of the royal troops stood in the doorway, silhouetted against the harsh daylight outside. Two more stood at their shoulders, waiting their turn to step inside. Their heads turned this way and that, seeking, searching, surveying the inn’s crowd of patrons.

  Looking for someone.

  I hastily turned my face away, praying they sought a red-haired princess in warrior leathers, not a dark-haired priestess of Osimi. One by one, the inn’s customers ceased their low-voiced chatter and grew silent. They, too, feared the royal troops and their errand. Kel’Ratan caught my eye and grimaced. He lifted his mug to his lips as though drinking, half-hiding his face.

  I seized Alun’s wrist. Before his hate could erupt and call down the wrath of the Federation on us. He halted in his rise from his chair and glanced back at me. With my eyes, I urged him to sit back down and swallow his lust for revenge. I knew it was a great deal to ask, but as Alun loved me, he would obey. He half-shrugged and returned to his seat, pretending he saw naught. He and Witraz hunched their shoulders over their meal, but as their backs were to the troopers, I doubted the troopers could recognize them.

  I glanced toward Wolf. I dropped my bread.

  He was gone. He had vanished as though he had never been there in the first place. At his corner table now sat a small family of four, drinking water and nibbling crusts. Dressed in torn and much weathered clothing, they looked to be peasants. Yet another family of refugees fleeing the riots and fighting. As I watched, the serving girl Rygel had fondled brought them a small bowl of withered fruit. I looked around wildly. Nowhere in the room towered a huge blond man who moved with lithe wolfish grace. Exchanging a frantic glance with Kel’Ratan, I saw him shrug, helpless. Two minutes ago, I saw Wolf seated at the corner table, placidly eating his dinner. Not more, not more, than two minutes later, he disappeared into smoke. No one, no one, could disappear within a crowded inn taproom that fast.

  In near panic, I hid my face in my shoulder and looked again at the Federates. By now, all five walked through the tavern, looking sharply into faces, their hands on their swords. Lady’s blood, they started in my direction. I gnawed on my knuckle. Five against four, I thought. We could take them. They’d know us, but we could take them.

  Kel’Ratan put my dropped bread back into my hand and jerked his chin. Toward the troopers. I glanced at them sidelong, without turning my head very far.

  The first three surrounded a small table in the center of the room. The other two stood back, ready to jump in if trouble arose. At the table sat a big man with thick black hair, dressed and armed as a mercenary. Like most mercenaries, he wore leather breeches, a plain cotton tunic, armbands of copper and wristbands of steel. Funny, he dressed very much as Wolf did before his vanishing act. I found the similarities rather interesting. His two companions, also dressed in merc fashion, gazed up at the royals with real trepidation on their rough, unshaven faces.

  The big man, not quite as big as Wolf, stood up. The royals took his action as a threat. The three pounced on him, taking him to the rush-strewn floor in seconds, a blur of motion
and tangled limbs. His friends, if they were friends, stood back, arms raised in surrender as the other two Federates drew their weapons.

  “I didn’t do nuthin’!” the big fellow on the floor bellowed. “I didn’t do nuthin’!”

  The troopers, with swift precision, bound his hands behind his back and seized his blades. His non-friends backed away, clearing the way for the troopers to lift their prisoner to his feet. With the pair guarding the non-friends and any who might wish to protest the big man’s arrest, they hustled him away. Out the door and into the bright sunlight, the inn’s doors shutting them and the light out.

  Damn and blast, how in the name of Nephrotiti did he know? How did he escape so fast and so thoroughly? With my heart finally slowing its frantic thudding, I blew out a gust of tension, blowing my hair out of my eyes.

  “He must have the devil’s own luck,” Kel’Ratan muttered, wiping sweat from his brow.

  I shredded the bread in my hand, unable to eat, feeling sick to my stomach. Lady’s blood, that was a close call. Witraz and Alun exchanged a quick glance, but still had appetite enough to continue their interrupted meal. I envied them.

  “Somehow,” I said slowly, watching the family of four eat what was probably the best meal of their lives, “I doubt luck had anything to do with it.”

  Chapter 9

  Of Legends and Blood Brothers

  “She’s here.”

  “Who?” Rygel asked from his seat at the small table made from a single slab of cedar wood.

  “That red-haired princess. The one we danced with at the stable.”

  He flapped his hand, disinterested. Since our return from the riverside campsite yesterday, he had been exhausted and constantly hungry. After sleeping on the ground where he lay for a few hours, he had managed to heal me of my more serious injuries, but his own strength was gone. Still in pain and on the verge of exhaustion, I half-lifted him onto his black gelding and led the beast back into Soudan while he dozed in the saddle. Last night, we arrived back at the inn and our room reserved for us in spite of the many that might have paid handsomely for it.

  Neither of us did much in the last twenty-four hours save eat and sleep. The nourishment and rest worked its usual wonders on my body. After alternating between sleeping and eating, I felt better than I had in days. Rygel, too, gained back a few lost pounds and the gauntness slowly left his face. Although he could not magically heal himself, his self-inflicted wounds healed with amazing speed. The deep cuts on his throat now appeared to be naught more than light scratches. He still ate everything in sight, and slept soundly for hours afterward.

  Rygel the charmer definitely had a way with women. After Leoda’s initial screech when she saw the damage done to her inn by Rygel’s magic, it had taken all of Rygel’s sweet-talking to calm her down. That, and a jewel cut from Lionel’s sword, we paid for a new bed, a table and restored hearth. We returned from the forest to a clean room with two new beds, a new table, fresh logs for the hearth and a never-ending supply of the delicious and plentiful food.

  Feeling the need to hide from curious eyes, I urged Rygel to remain upstairs as much as possible while I went below to bring food up. Naturally, he ignored my advice and insisted on seeing Tia. Despite his lack of tros and honorable decency, he still liked the girl’s company. After I quietly informed him he could hardly wander about with two broken legs, Rygel obeyed me at last and retreated out of sight. Nevertheless, not before the Kel’Hallans at a table across the room spotted us.

  “I didn’t see her,” he said, filling his mouth with a chunk of roast beef, washing it down with foaming ale.

  “You were too busy fondling Tia’s backside,” I said. “She wore white. Despite being disguised as a priestess of Osimi, I’d know her green eyes anywhere.”

  “You think she recognized us?” he asked, stuffing his mouth with a chunk of bread, lavishly coated with butter.

  From the generously heaped platter, brought by Leoda herself, I took a large piece of black bread, a handful of raisins and a slab of roast meat, and a mug of ale I reserved for myself. With my own meal at hand, I sat in the room’s only chair by the window. “Of course she did.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “I felt her watching me the whole time I was in the hall. I’m quite sure.”

  “We should leave then,” he said. “Get out of this bloody Federation while we still have our hides.”

  “You aren’t strong enough yet.”

  Rygel tried to wither me with a scornful stare, but I merely stared back until he shrugged and resumed eating. I was grateful that for once he did not argue. It did not take me long to learn Rygel loved to argue. Irascible, moody, tempestuous, he could argue endlessly for hours about naught.

  “How long then?” he asked.

  “A week.”

  Rygel rolled his eyes. “We’ll have a jolly good time lurking about in here for a week. We’ll be carving each other up within two days.”

  “Brutal will give up looking for us about then, I expect.”

  “Why is she here?” Rygel asked around a mouthful of roast. “She’s supposed to marry him.”

  “By the way they lit into the Federates at the palace,” I replied, “I’m guessing she broke her engagement. I’ll bet you any money he’s hot to avenge this insult to his manhood.”

  “She’s smart. I myself doubted she’d survive for very long, married to him. I rather liked her, as much as I’d like any woman. She is a tough one and I like tough women. But I draw the line at hiding from one.”

  I quirked a brow. “Would you rather Her Royal Highness gave us to Brutal in exchange for her own intact skin?”

  “They had plenty of opportunity to kill us at the palace and they didn’t. Why is that, I ask? The answer is: They’re on our side.”

  “I think the only side they’re on is their own. They’ll save their own hides first. She’d strike a bargain straight enough.”

  “If you’re right, she may already have done so. We should leave now.”

  “Perhaps. If she hasn’t, we won’t invite trouble by being in her constant sight. I subscribe to the out-of-sight-out-of-mind theory.”

  Rygel shrugged, pushing away the now empty platter. I eyed it with dismay. He had eaten every crumb, leaving naught for me save what I managed to obtain. Perhaps Leoda might part with a sweet roll or two. After he fell asleep, I might venture downstairs and find out.

  “Tell me again about the trolls.”

  I sighed with resignation, but once more told him the tale of his delirium creating the trolls from granite boulders, the fires, the fight, and the walking tree that finally ended the battle. He sat back, sipped his ale, and listened with the same raptness when I told him the story for the first time, as we rode back to Soudan.

  He shook his head. “I had no idea I had it in me.”

  “Just don’t make a habit of making trolls, all right? They were bloody hard to kill.”

  “They might prove useful,” he said amiably. “That is, if I can remember how I did it.”

  I snorted, turning away to look down into the dark street. I posted the chair by the window to observe the comings and goings of the populace. Very little of either occurred. Nothing moved, for in the aftermath of the battles and riots, the citizens kept close to home and hearth. Only the criminal element and the royal Federates stirred in the street below. Neither seemed interested in The Royal Crown. After the five soldiers took away their prisoner, I had seen none since. As I watched, a cur slunk out of an ally, sniffed along the doorway of a merchant’s stall, then moved on.

  “Let’s get drunk,” he suggested.

  I looked down into my mug of ale. I had grown to like the stuff. If the Kel’Hallan beauty had indeed summoned Brutal’s troops, we would need our wits about us.

  Regretfully, I shook my head. “Nay. Not now.”

  Rygel sighed, looking bored. I could see he felt energetic now that he had food in his belly. His eyes looked brighter, his disposition su
nny, his smile less tremulous. Yet I knew his sudden surge would last perhaps an hour. Then he would lapse into a deep restful sleep.

  He suddenly eyed me with speculation. “How did you get your name?”

  I shrugged. “My parents, of course.”

  “Not Raine, fool. Why did the Khalidians call you The Wolf?”

  “Why is that important?”

  “Just humor me, all right?”

  I sat back from my window view and propped my boots on the table. Rygel watched me with ill-concealed impatience as I took a long draught of my ale. I swirled it about in my mouth, allowing my tongue to saver its rich flavor. I swallowed it and took another, again swirling and savoring. Rygel’s glare all but split my head in twain.

  At length, I gave up the pretense and shrugged. “I don’t know. Why do you ask?”

  “Because there is something decidedly wolfish about you.”

  “So?”

  “In looking at you I’m reminded of an old legend.”

  “I am a legend.”

  “Right.” He tried to wither me with a look. “A legend in your own mind.”

  “Whatever works.”

  “Get serious, will you? I am.”

  “Oh, please.”

  I drank more ale. Despite the knowledge I shouldn’t get drunk, I felt I was well on my way. I found an intense disliking for the turn Rygel’s conversation was taking. My belly felt fluttery, as though a family of rabid squirrels set up housekeeping in my stomach. The ale I’d drunk and the food I’d eaten made me feel slightly queasy. Fervently wishing he’d change the subject, I knew any hope of that was well-nigh impossible. When Rygel got his teeth into an issue, he was worse than any old terrier.

  Why should his choice of conversation subject bother me so? It should not, but something deep inside my soul told me Rygel trespassed in territory I had long since marked no trespassing. When it came to wolves and me in the same sentence, I wanted no part of it. Gods above and below, those damn wolves…

  “Long ago in Khassart,” Rygel resumed slowly, his tawny eyes fastened squarely on me, “I heard tales of men who could turn themselves into wolves.”