A Forthcoming Wizard

by Jody Lynn Nye

  “Please put me near my aunt,” she begged. “She will need me.”

  The two nodded at each other. “It will be as you ask,” they said.

  Inbecca sat calmly as the werewolves tied bonds around her upper arms, but left her hands free. Sharhava was less than five feet from her, secured in the same fashion. The abbess held herself taut, like a bowstring, refusing to look at anyone else. To be captured twice in one night must have taken a toll on her aunt’s notorious pride.

  They were in a campsite, laid out by practiced travelers. Unlike the last. Once the knights were secure, Patha’s people disappeared into the array of colorful marquee tents pitched at the edge of the clearing. Around them, a new contingent of werewolves went about their business, as if unaware that they had a coterie of angry humans in their presence. There were no young but, Inbecca realized, it was long past midnight. Children, even lycanthropes, were almost certainly in bed. Or did they stay up nights when in their wolf-skins?

  A young female with brown-gray fur who might be close to Inbecca’s own age noticed her scrutiny and smiled at her. She approached her, squatting down to eye level with her, and placed a bowl on her lap. It was half full of water, the warmth of which was welcome to Inbecca’s cold fingers. The girl added a small cloth and a chunk of soap.

  “Thank you,” Inbecca said. “I would be glad to wash.”

  “Are you hungry?” the girl asked. “We have good food. Meat? Cheese? Soup? What is your pleasure?”

  “Anything,” Inbecca said, relieved. “But, please, take care of my aunt, first.”

  “I will eat nothing prepared by monsters,” Sharhava said, pitching her voice to carry.

  “That is absurd, Aunt,” Inbecca said. She smiled at her server. “If you please, I would be grateful for anything hot to drink. The night is chilly.”

  “Autumn is here, is it not?” the girl said. “We have cider.” She whisked away.

  “Lar Inbecca, I will not have you consorting with the enemy!” Inbecca turned to Sharhava, but the abbess was still staring intently into the heart of the fire. Inbecca frowned.

  “I am not consorting. I am being practical, Aunt. A starving mind is a desperate one. If you choose to see it as a weapon, then eat what they have and use it as a means to feed your strategy.”

  The sea-blue eyes turned to her for a moment. “If you are mocking me . . .”

  “I am not mocking you, Aunt,” Inbecca said with a sigh. “They are not mistreating us. They have offered us food, which any decent people would do . . .”

  “These are not people!”

  Inbecca had a terrifying flash of memory, of the hairy beast-men in the north, reduced to animal intelligence by an act of will.

  “Yes, they are people,” she said calmly. “Levrenn has traded with the werewolves for millennia. My bride’s gift from Eremi came from them.”

  “I have never approved of consorting with the lesser beings,” Sharhava said.

  “I know you haven’t, Aunt, but they are a fact of life. Some of them have been loyal friends to Levrenn.”

  “Hmpph! Friendship of convenience. How could anything they do be true?”

  Inbecca tried not to show her impatience or her embarrassment.

  “How are our horses?” Inbecca asked her hostess when the girl returned with a bowl of soup and a plate on which bite-sized morsels of meat and cheese had been laid, alongside thick slices of buttered bread. Her ears were twisted at a curious angle, which Inbecca knew to be the equivalent of an embarrassed flush in humans. She could not have helped but hear what Sharhava had been saying. No one in the camp could.

  “I will find out for you,” the girl said, grateful for an excuse to glide away.

  Washbowls and food were being brought to all the other knights that Inbecca could see on her side of the fire. It seemed that there were many more werewolves here than just the few who had captured them above the bridgehead. Now the knights were truly outnumbered. Loisan might think of escape from here, but it would be more difficult.

  She glanced at her fellow humans. This was her place, now. She was a member of the Scholardom.

  She would have given anything to abandon her oath there and then, but she knew she had done the right thing, even if she had decided in haste. Eremi had given her the choice—several choices, in fact. There had been no time for careful deliberation.

  Twice in the same season she acted on impulse. Her mother would shake her head in disbelief to see her careful daughter behave so recklessly. She was doing the right thing by keeping an eye on the knights.

  And at last, she now believed in the cause. The book must be protected and kept aloof from society, perhaps only in the hands of those who would use it well. She was all the more certain that her aunt was one of those in whose hands it should not be. As a guardian of the Great Book, it was Inbecca’s responsibility to keep Sharhava away from ever coming close to it again. If that meant an undefined term of captivity, so be it. Tildi was away and safe, and Eremi with her.

  How hard it was to think that these fierce creatures were the same ones who had made that delicate silver piece he had given her. She had known few werewolves, and none well. The ones who visited her mother’s court did not mix much with the humans. She often heard them fighting among themselves, as they were there in their encampment. She could hear but not see several on the other side of the fire from her who were engaged in a squabble. A few of her fellow knights cringed at the rising snarls and howls, but Inbecca knew the argument would be over as swiftly as it had begun.

  They were good cooks, though. She supped the warm broth from the bowl, then spooned up a piece of fragrant white root vegetable. As her hunger was sated, she began to feel drowsy. She fought against it, needing to stay awake for her aunt’s sake.

  With the prisoners—for that was what they had been, in spite of her aunt’s high-minded words—gone, the knights’ care went to the abbess and to herself. Many of them were Levrenn-born and knew her as the crown princess. Former crown princess. Inbecca regretted having taken the oath at all now. Who would take her place on the She-Tiger’s Throne? One of her younger sisters or female cousins, most likely. Who had the greatest tact? Her mother would look for diplomacy before any other characteristic. Tact and patience were vital in such a thicket of thorns as a royal court.

  Impatience was how she had gotten herself into this situation—impatience and hurt pride.

  Patha came out of her tent, wearing a clean gown of soft slate-blue. Her fur was clean and fluffed out, giving her the look of a well-groomed hunting dog. Inbecca hastily set the thought aside as though afraid the werewolf would have been able to see it in her eyes. The large female crouched before Sharhava.

  “You should not waste food,” Patha said. “It is an insult to those who hunted and farmed it.”

  “I would rather swallow poison,” Sharhava spat.

  “And I would feed you poison if you so chose,” Patha said, her voice a low growl. “But I have given my word to those whom I respect to keep you safe and well. And I shall.”

  “You will loose these ropes at once,” Sharhava demanded. “Free me and my knights!”

  “No. If you will not eat, you will be hungry. My people will not bring you food again until you ask. And ask nicely. We extend respect to you. We expect it in return. It is only civilized.”

  “Civilized! What could you know of civilization?” Sharhava asked. “Do you know who I am?”

  Patha spat into the dust. “Yes. You are a killer. You murdered two of my men. Two men with children! Two friends whom I will miss greatly.”

  “You speak of murder as though you are innocent of it,” Sharhava rejoined. “You killed Lar Driel.”

  Patha’s hard expression softened for a moment. Her lower jaw hung loose, which Inbecca recognized as a sign of shame. “It was not intentional. We are traders, not fighters, so we do not possess the subtleties of defense that you must be trained in. Our task was to capture you, and capture you we have. Do not
fear. We will bury him decently and sing him peace.”

  “Do not . . .” Sharhava’s voice trembled with the hatred that boiled in her. She was so red in the face that Inbecca feared for her heart. “Do not keen your unnatural noises for the loss of a true knight and scholar. Do not dare!”

  Patha inclined her head. “As you wish. He will be buried with care, then, and without song. You may give what rites to him you choose when we let you go. Until then, you must trust us that we give him all honor.”

  “No! We will bury him! You will let us free, immediately!”

  “No. That would defeat all purpose.”

  “Do you know I am the sister of the queen of Levrenn?” Sharhava pointed at Inbecca. “This is her daughter. She is the heir to the She-Tiger’s Throne!”

  Patha bowed to her. “My honor.”

  “The honor is mine,” Inbecca said sincerely. “I am truly sorry for your loss.”

  “As I am for yours. I would that this acquaintance was under other circumstances.”

  “As do I.” Inbecca felt strange, making all the correct civilized responses while tied to a tree.

  Sharhava would not let civilized discourse deter her from her complaint.

  “You cannot keep us here forever,” she insisted.

  The werewolf shrugged her shoulders. “We do not need to keep you forever, or so is my hope. Would you knowingly loose the instrument of your own destruction? We will remain your caretakers only until your object is out of reach and you realize that your further intentions are futile. Then time will tell when you may leave.”

  “Intentions? What intentions?” Inbecca asked.

  Sharhava was scornful. “To get the Great Book back, of course. To take it to the Scriptorium where it belongs. That is all.”

  “There is more,” the werewolf said. Her yellow eyes narrowed. “You have not told all to your sister-daughter.”

  “Told me what, Aunt?” Inbecca asked, alarmed.

  At her question, Sharhava looked uncomfortable. She shifted against the tree bole. She gave Inbecca a stern glance. “There is no more. She knows what her duty requires her to know.”

  Patha’s eyes blazed. She shoved her muzzle toward the abbess’s face. “You lie. The light of truth is not upon you, even if I did not already know.”

  “Tell me,” Inbecca said.

  “No! It is all lies,” Sharhava insisted, drawing herself up. “You will not listen to her, Lar Inbecca. Such are my orders, and you will obey them!”

  Patha’s gleaming eyes bored into Sharhava’s. “I have heard the truth from one who will not lie. The little one feared for the well-being of her fellow smallfolk, should she not obey you. And I, seeing your response to our intervention, would also fear for our people, should you regain the treasure you lost. I have heard what I need to about this Great Book, and I have no need to see it for myself. I can tell that it is not a fit thing for you to have.”

  Sharhava struggled against the bonds holding her, her face red with fury. “Of course you fear! What weed does not fear being plucked out? When we have the book back in our hands, you will be wiped out. I will see to it that every one of your kind is returned to base animals.”

  “Aunt!”

  “Abbess!” Loisan added his outrage from partway around the campfire. Sharhava ignored them, so intent was she on her tirade.

  “You dare not interfere with our plans. You, who are scarcely human!”

  Patha gathered herself and leaped, landing inches from Sharhava with her leathery nose nearly touching Sharhava’s bruised one. The abbess recoiled. Patha’s eyes gleamed fiercely.

  “And whose doing is that? I would kill the one who made us what we are, but we will live on when those who believe as you do are dust and bones,” she snarled. “You will stay here, and stop complaining! Otherwise, your misery will be doubled and doubled again!”

  Sharhava’s face went pale in the firelight. She closed her lips and tightened them until they were a thin line. Patha stood up and, turning her back, scratched dust toward the abbess with a scornful foot.

  A shout went up a quarter of the way around the circle. Inbecca heard sounds of a struggle. Suddenly Auric scrambled over the corner of the fire, narrowly avoiding the roasting jacks. He leaped onto the corner of the logs and bounded toward the woods. The traders were caught by surprise. Howling, a handful of the young males gave chase. Auric, in spite of his age, was tough as whipcord. He kept ahead of his pursuers for a few yards before their superior stride helped them catch him. The whole band bounded forward and brought him down. Together, they brought the struggling man back into the firelit circle and forced him back to his post.

  “Let me go!” he bellowed.

  “Tie him tighter,” the large, black-furred male shouted, coming out of his tent.

  “Don’t be so rough on him!” Brouse called. “He is an old man.”

  “He was not injured,” a pale brown werewolf said. “We are giving him good care.”

  “Check the others,” Patha commanded. “We do not want any of them escaping. It is not safe to be abroad this late.”

  The commotion gave Inbecca the chance she wanted to speak in decent privacy. Oblivious to the attempted escape, Sharhava had resumed staring at the fire. Her face was concentrated, and she muttered to herself.

  “What did she mean, you were going to attack the Quarters?” Inbecca whispered. “Aunt Sharhava! You couldn’t possibly be thinking of such an atrocity.”

  Sharhava turned furious eyes upon her.

  “No one should have been able to get through the protection spell. It had to be treachery. Treachery! It was that freak child. She had it all planned. She escaped while we are humiliated. She will pay!”

  “Pay?” Inbecca asked. “She is gone, and good riddance to her.”

  “But her people are not. She knew what the penalty would be—all I required from her was to bring the book to the Scriptorium, where it would be safe. She would have been safe. Now it is gone. She will have to live with their fate on her conscience!”

  “What about your conscience?” Inbecca asked dismayed. “How can you even think of attacking a harmless people.”

  “You forget yourself, Lar Inbecca. My conscience is clean.” But the haunted look on her face told Inbecca she had uncomfortable memories. Inbecca pressed against her bonds, moving as close to her aunt as she could. “In any case, once we have the book again, I will cause the smallfolk to cease to be. They will return to their proper state, the way they were before the so-called Makers. The same goes for these shape-changers. They will be humans again, or animals. I know which I would prefer.”

  Inbecca was terrified by the feral look in her eyes.

  “Shouldn’t you leave them alone? Look at the harm you caused one species by changing them.”

  “They laid hands upon us. That shall not go unavenged.”

  Inbecca was horrified. “Is that what the Scholardom truly is for? You always sounded so high-minded when you spoke of the Great Book. When I was a child and you wanted to convince me to follow you then, you told me that your cause was to find the book so you could safeguard it, and nothing more. I believe in that cause. It should be safeguarded. How can you reconcile revenge with your goal?”

  “You can’t possibly understand,” Sharhava said, batting away Inbecca’s words as though they were so many gnats. Her face twisted with pain. Inbecca didn’t know if it was from the memory of the beast-creatures or her burned hand.

  “Of course I can understand,” she said urgently. “But don’t you? What you propose is a deliberate act of revenge. Will you only be satisfied when there is nothing left on Alada but humans and animals?”

  “Do we not deserve our dignity?”

  “Of course, but as our host pointed out, we need to give it as well.”

  “That would be as senseless as giving weapons to a child,” Sharhava said. “They wouldn’t know what to do with it. Once we are freed from here, you will be on penalty duty, Lar Inbecca, for question
ing my orders and my judgment.”

  Inbecca leaned back, exasperated, and stared at the Pearl. How pointless it was to argue with someone who would not look beyond the end of her own nose. How right Eremi had been about her. Perhaps she should get a little sleep. She glanced around her for the young girl who had been kind enough to serve her. Maybe she could persuade her to bind her in a different position so she could lie down, though at the moment she was weary enough to sleep standing up in a snowstorm.

  A black shadow passed over the flawless white surface of the moon. Not another storm, Inbecca thought with a low groan. Her habit had dried in the front where she faced the fire, but the rest was still soggy, and her mail shirt was rucked up against her back in a crease.

  No, the shape was much too sharp for a storm cloud, nor any other kind of cloud, and it moved much too swiftly. It was joined by another shape, then another. Something that large could only mean one thing. She sat bolt upright and felt the ropes cut into her arms.

  “Thraiks. Aunt, there are thraiks in the sky.”

  “What of it?” Sharhava said miserably, slumped in her place. “The book is gone, so they will have to seek the smallfolk elsewhere.”

  “Of course, you are right,” Inbecca said. She looked up. Soon the winged monsters would pass. She hoped they were heading in the opposite direction to Tildi’s.

  A harsh cry, muffled by distance, surprised her. The three shapes wheeled against the disk of the moon, then appeared to grow larger.

  “What are they doing?” she cried.

  She was not the only one to have observed the movement in the skies. The black-furred male sent up a howl of warning.

  “Thraiks! Thraiks are coming!”

  Many of the werewolves hurried into their tents and emerged holding spears. They resembled the ones used in Levrenn for boar-hunting, with a crosspiece not far from the tip, to keep the impaled prey from pushing itself farther along the shaft in its frenzy to get to the hunter.