She glanced at her aunt. Sharhava had said very little since the night of the attack. She was vulnerable as never before. Tildi was right to fear the horror of the thraiks. Sharhava’s attempt to take the Great Book from Tildi had left her with a legacy she had not foreseen, nor accepted the warnings that the smallfolk girl had given. It was one of which the Scholardom must not have been aware, though the wizardess and the others seemed to know. The thraiks did indeed seek out and attempt to carry out anyone who had made contact with the book. If the curse could be undone, the Scholardom did not know how. Inbecca had seen her imperious aunt scan the skies with a look of fear in her eyes. Who knew when the greasy-skinned monsters might reappear and try again to carry the abbess away?
The other knights were as solicitous as they could be at a distance, but Inbecca was more worried than they. Her aunt might conceal her personal fears from her knights, but Inbecca knew her. Sharhava feared being helpless. She craved authority that was denied her as the second daughter of Levrenn’s dowager queen. Her position as abbess gave her a force that would follow her commands and protect her in case her fearsome will was not enough. Now that she had touched the book she was vulnerable to the thraiks. No measure of discipline or stern glances could drive them away. With the book gone she lacked the power to fend them off. It was a blow to her pride that she had had to accept help from people whom she scorned. She watched the skies at twilight, the thraiks’ preferred time to hunt. The creatures saw her as their lawful prey, and she was right to fear them. Inbecca was grateful that the werewolves’ protective amulets worked. A few of the knights understood, too, and showed their hosts open respect. Sharhava did not, but neither did she revile them as she had before.
Four children, ranging in size from little to large, ran across the encampment, shrieking with laughter. The first one came to an abrupt halt almost at Inbecca’s feet, and the others piled onto her. They rolled together upon the ground like dogs, play-gnawing on one another’s arms and necks. They were in their human forms, but they growled in the rough wolf-language. Inbecca couldn’t help but smile at them as the littlest boy pretended he was injured and yelped in pain. The others all stopped fighting to see what was wrong, and he sprang out of their reach, sticking out his tongue. The rest of them gave chase, and the melee removed itself to another part of the camp. Inbecca laughed with delight. A masculine chuckle came from a few feet away. Inbecca looked across Sharhava to see Auric, the oldest knight, with a grin on his face.
“I’d never seen the children before,” Inbecca said. “Traders come to our court in packs, but always the adults.”
“They fear humans will be hostile to them,” Auric said. “The children stay in the camps. I’ve studied them over the years. Know the enemy, ’tis said.” He shook his head, and Inbecca knew he didn’t mean the werewolves, or at least they were enemies no longer. Inbecca was glad. Some of the knights had come around to his understanding. Not all, by any means. They were constrained by their abbess’s words to behave cordially. Sharhava herself, when she was forced to speak to one of them, followed her own orders, though Inbecca saw that it took bone-deep effort. Yet some were of Auric’s mind. They were becoming enlightened.
She caught more than one knight watching the werewolves going about their business. Once the midday meal had been served and the dishes and leftovers dealt with, a group consisting mostly of women each brought a big bag to the center of the clearing. They dumped them out onto a spread canvas, and Inbecca realized she was looking at the camp’s mending. The elder women sat on the rounded stones, but the younger ones sat with their legs drawn up to one side like does. They gossiped and laughed like Inbecca’s ladies-in-waiting did sitting around the big tapestry frame in her room, while doing fine embroidery together in the queen’s chamber, or while fletching arrows or cleaning their horses’ tack in the stables. Inbecca felt suddenly homesick.
Inbecca glanced at her aunt, where she sat tied to her tree. Her face was stony, but her eyes looked at everything. Emotions played across her face, then faded into an expression of pain. Inbecca thought her mind must also be going back to that other place. Sharhava had seen it as her greatest triumph in her many years as abbess.
“Aunt,” she asked gently, “are you all right?”
“The magic is gone,” Sharhava croaked hoarsely. She turned to Inbecca, and her eyes burned. “I cannot follow the order’s rules any longer. The book is gone. We had the treasure. It was ours! That is the worst thing that could ever have befallen me. We must have it back. We have to have it back!”
The despair in her voice tore at Inbecca’s heart. She regarded Sharhava with sympathy.
“It’s no longer ours, Aunt. It is far away.”
“I cannot bear it! Our trust was to protect it.” Sharhava wrenched at her bonds. “We must follow those misfits and retrieve it. These people trust you, Lar Inbecca. Compel them to let us go! The book must be in our hands. We will protect it. We are the only ones who can. It is our mandate.”
Privately Inbecca thought the Scholardom had been doing less to protect the Great Book than rejoice in having its power, but saying so would only reapply the whip already belaboring Sharhava’s back.
“The Scholardom did protect it, for a while,” she said soothingly. “Now it is in the hands of others. They will see it safely back to its resting place. Be satisfied with that.”
“No!” Sharhava said. The plaint came out as a wail. “It was entrusted to us! We have failed.” To Inbecca’s horror, her impervious, unbreakable, unshakable aunt began to cry. Her chest heaved a few times as though trying to contain her sorrow, but she could not. Tears dripped down her cheeks, made haggard by sleepless nights. She raised her right hand to wipe away the bitter drops, but the sight of her burned hand in its ragged bandages brought forth fresh sobs.
“Oh, Aunt, please,” Inbecca said helplessly, pulling against her own bonds. She longed to put her arms around Sharhava and comfort her, as if she were a child. “Please. What can I do? Please don’t cry.”
“What is troubling her?” A man stopped to squat beside Sharhava. Inbecca recognized him as the healer Dunnusk only by the medallion he wore about his neck. “Does your hand pain you?” Very gently, he took Sharhava’s hand in both of his and unwrapped the bandages. She did not protest or pull away. He let out a sharp breath at the sight of the blackened, shriveled fingers. “What a terrible wound! I can treat that burn, my lady. Your hand still may not regain all its function, though. I am not the healer my grandfather was, but I can help.”
Frantically, Sharhava pushed him away with her good hand. The man scrambled backward, but reached out once again to her. The abbess cradled the blackened limb to her chest, keeping it out of his reach.
“No, don’t touch it! Don’t touch . . . I am the only other living being who has touched the Great Book. I . . . touched it.” Her eyes were filled with the wonder of that memory, but she still looked downcast. “I hoped it would understand my devotion. It burned me. It mortified my flesh. Look at my hand! I have served the book faithfully all my life, and it injured me. But it exists. I will bear this pain with joy, knowing that my beliefs have been proved true.”
Inbecca was touched to the heart. She had never really believed the depths of her aunt’s feelings. She had thought of her instead as being in love with her power as the head of her order, but Sharhava took her faith deeply to heart. She reached out to her aunt, but the bonds caused her arms to jerk to a halt in midair. Dunnusk came to Inbecca’s aid and slashed the ropes holding her. She scrambled to kneel at Sharhava’s feet and put a hand on her knee.
“The Great Book is just a thing, Aunt, truly. A thing of great power, perhaps, but a thing. It couldn’t really know anything. It would not understand your devotion. That comes from your heart.”
Sharhava shook her head fiercely. “The girl said it talked to her. She heard voices in it. I wanted it . . . I wanted it to speak to me, too.” Her seablue eyes were despairing. “Inbecca, if you could only k
now how we all longed for that day when the Great Book would be truly with us. And now it is gone, out of our reach, forever. All we wished to do is serve.”
“It didn’t sound like that, to be truthful, Aunt,” Inbecca said, shocked.
Sharhava’s proud shoulders slumped. “I know. The power was too heady. It was more than I could resist. I lost all my good sense. When in your life have you ever seen me lose control that greatly?”
“Never,” Inbecca said, and was glad to be able to say it honestly. “You have always held firm before this.”
Sharhava held her head high, but tears began to spill from her eyes again. Inbecca put her arms around her, and found to her amazement that her aunt, who had always seemed a huge and towering figure, was no bigger than she was. Sharhava’s spine stayed erect for a moment, then she rested her head on Inbecca’s shoulder.
“You will be a good queen,” she said. “Give mercy to your enemies.”
“You are not my enemy. I love you, Aunt.”
“I have not shown mercy,” Sharhava said. Inbecca looked down at her. “Those creatures,” and Inbecca did not need to ask which ones she meant. “I did what I thought was best. Then I went too far. Your betrothed was right. I didn’t believe him at the time. I could not. You must know I have seen the horrors every night since then. Every dream I have is about them, but the damage is done. I cannot undo it, but I will regret it all of my life. I would not admit that before. Pride. Pride should have no place in service to the book. These people here”—she stretched out the black-clawed hand—“these are people.”
It had cost her something to make that admission. Inbecca’s heart went out to her. “Yes, they are. You haven’t ever really known any werewolves before, have you?”
“No. I have been in the order since I was many years younger than you. We held ourselves apart from any but true humans. You know what we believe. It is wrong. We must go back to the first precepts of the order. The book is to be protected. That is all. The secondary laws, laid down by the first abbots, were different. They passed along to us their certainty that we must also turn back the changes.”
“They meant well,” Inbecca said. “And at the time, who knows if it would not have been better to reverse the transformations made by the Shining Ones? But in the context of years it cannot be right.”
“No. It is too late,” Sharhava said miserably. “It is centuries too late. I see that. These, these people have all taken on a life of their own. I have come to realize it. It goes against my training, but for decency’s sake we must learn to let time pass, as Father Time orders in the faith of my childhood. We scholars have remained in the past. That’s not only against Time but Nature. These people live in the same world as we do.”
Inbecca was deeply touched. She said nothing, but squeezed her aunt’s arm.
The werewolf doctor was sympathetic. “I know it is hard for you to give up your beliefs, Abbess, but it is better for you. Your heart cannot hold hate and remain healthy. It is good for you to let go. Allow me to care for your pain.” He took her hand gently in his, and held the amulet above it. He closed his eyes and murmured softly to himself. To Inbecca’s relief, the shrunken flesh filled in somewhat, but the skin gradually changed from black to scarlet. She knew she looked shocked, and the healer gave her a weary smile. “Blood supplements the spirit within it once again. In time it should regain its normal color. It has been terribly damaged, but it will serve her now.” He set the hand down on her knee and patted it. The fingers trembled as Sharhava squeezed the fingers slowly toward the palm. Inbecca let her shoulders relax. It was the most movement she had seen in the injured hand since the injury had occurred. “I hope that is all that pains you.”
“Thank you for your skill, Doctor,” Sharhava said sadly, looking at her hand, “but you cannot give me the one thing I need.”
Dunnusk’s brows lowered over his yellow eyes. “I wouldn’t give you that big book again, no matter what.”
“Not for myself,” Sharhava said, her eyes meeting his with equal fervor. “The girl will need us. The enemy, the true enemy, is still there, watching, he who is master of those . . . those monsters. One elf woman, one wizard, two soldiers, will not be enough to stand against a host of thraiks. Who knows what other fiends he has at his command? You must let us go. We have to catch up with them. This time I swear we will protect the book. I will make no demands as to its disposition. I am not fit to make that decision, but our order was created to protect it, and we should fulfill that precept. We must go. Can you help me? Will you help me?”
Dunnusk stroked his chin. “That is a worthy goal. I will see what I can do.” He rose and strode away.
Sharhava was filled with impatience all the while Dunnusk was gone. The fingers of her restored hand fidgeted upon her knee. Inbecca, her arm around her aunt’s shoulder, could feel energy thrill through her as though she had been struck by lightning. She had a new purpose, and her fount of energy longed to be free to pursue it. Auric looked a question at Inbecca behind the abbess’s back. Inbecca gave him a noncommittal look of concern. She did not want to reveal her aunt’s request lest the werewolves refuse it. No sense in giving the other knights hope that would cause trouble for their hosts. If Sharhava had truly had a change of heart, they could do so much good. But would Tildi trust them? If she was in the smallfolk’s place, she wouldn’t.
The sun had tilted from overhead to an acute angle before Dunnusk came trotting back with Patha in his wake. The silver-haired chieftess looked stern. She wasted no time on niceties.
“Why should I give you freedom before it is time?” she snarled. “The entire purpose of your confinement is to prevent what you say you want to do. I have heard all the stories of your treachery. You have contrived at the death of one entire race and threatened the lives of another. What has changed that will make me believe that you do not want to pursue that cursed book for your own purposes? Who is to say that if it falls once again into your hands you will not come back here and harm us as well?”
Sharhava met her gaze straightforwardly. “Do you know the purpose of my order?”
“Yes, to denigrate and destroy all things that speak that are not humans,” Patha said, her yellow eyes ablaze. “We in the south have heard of you for many centuries. Our children are made to obey with threats of the humans in blue-and-white coming to take them away.”
Sharhava’s face turned as red as her healing hand. “We deserve that. But that was not our original mandate. The Scholardom was formed to find and protect the Great Book from harm. It has more power than any other object ever made by humankind. No matter what you have heard, we helped Tildi Summerbee come this far. If not for us, she might have been set upon anywhere between Oron Castle and the riverside.”
Patha said dryly, “Fewer beings might have suffered, had she not traveled in your company.”
“I do not dispute that. I have regretted my actions ever since that day. But it was you and your people who showed me our long-held beliefs have no place in my order, not today. Not so long after the fact. You saved me. I will never forget that. We have strayed from our purpose. I would make amends. We will put ourselves into Tildi Summerbee’s service.”
“She will send you away.”
Sharhava bowed her head. “So be it. It may be we cannot catch them now. She and her teacher are wizards. They can fly. They could be all the way to Sheatovra by now.”
Patha’s eyes glinted, and she jerked her head as though she had come to a decision. “They are not.”
Sharhava’s head flew up in startlement. “How could you know that?”
Patha made a rueful face. “I know where they are going, and how. If your aims are sincere, Abbess, I will break my promise to Irithe and give you aid. She Who Gives Life knows that I do not wish that book to fall into the hands of anyone else. Do you swear that is your goal?”
Sharhava held out her hands, red and white, palm up. “I swear by all I have ever known and all I hope to be. My knights a
nd I will defend the book with our lives. I hope that I might die without seeing another sunrise if I lie.”
Patha’s mouth drew up on one side in a vulpine smile. “Then I will see to it that you may fulfill your goal.” She stood up and let out a sharp yip. Every werewolf in the camp turned at once to look at her. Patha growled out a series of orders in their harsh guttural language. All over the camp, the tallest and strongest bore down upon the knights and slashed the bonds that held them to the trees. Patha herself cut the ropes on Sharhava’s arms and helped her to her feet.
“Now,” Patha said. She beckoned to the eldest of her people, Grolius, Dunnusk, and three others. The six of them leaped together, changing in midair into their wolf shapes. They bunched together, their long noses brushing one another, as Patha literally barked her orders to them. Grolius and the others who had not been privy to the conference began to yelp protests.
The knights hurried to Sharhava and clustered around her, clamoring for information. Auric hushed them.
“She’ll tell you in good time! Hold your peace!” the old knight declared.
The others outshouted him, peppering the abbess with questions.
Their voices were drowned out as Patha and the others lifted their noses to the sky and began to howl.
The plaintive cries split the air, like an approaching windstorm strong enough to tear down a fortress. The high tones cut right into Inbecca’s brain. She covered her ears and hunched her shoulders. Goose bumps broke out all over her skin, and she found that she was panting in terror. She well understood how the bloodcurdling noise struck fear into ordinary men who had no assurance of the werewolves’ motives.
Did she? she wondered.
The howls filled the entire clearing, gathering in strength, riding the harmonics until they formed a single pillar of sound that cast the humans to the ground like ninepins. Then, as if the sound was a solid living being with wings, it lifted high into the air and resounded down the valley.
A Forthcoming Wizard Page 31
