Lady of the Haven (Empire Princess Book 1)

by Graham Diamond

  Yet apart from these and several others, there were many that Stacy did not know at all. There were Newfoundland wolves all around, their black-and-gray-flecked pelts blazing wetly as soft flakes fell upon them. They were larger than most of the others, eyes seeming to signal an awareness that this terrain, this forest, was alien to them. They were wild wolves, free to march across the highest peaks of the Empire, often taunting even the great cats with their presence — and even daring to battle with them over some fine caribou or moose.

  As Stacy slipped among them all, hardly a head turned, so used to her presence had they become. Some of the finer ladies of the Haven often laughed and snickered that the reason Stacy was able to move so freely among wolves was that she smelled like them. But there was more to their poor joke than they realized. Although to men such a scent could not be recognized, to wolves it was obvious long before she had reached the lair. Her scent was carried by Aleya even as she first entered the forest. And Casca was waiting to greet his sister.

  “Welcome, Khalea,” he growled lowly as he moved from among the crowds to her side.

  Stacy knelt down on one knee and ran her fingers through his fur. “I would have come yesterday, with my father, but he —”

  Casca nodded. “I understand. Your father did as he had to do. He has been with grandfather all through this day.”

  Stacy looked about. “Where is he now?”

  “In grandfather’s lair. But you must not go, Khalea. Not now. Only the sage and your father can be there.”

  Stacy’s mouth opened slightly, and her eyes began to water. “Am I not permitted to see Hector before he passes into Fara’s kingdom?” she cried.

  Casca shook his head sadly. “No one is allowed. Even I cannot go.”

  “But a lord need not die in solitude,” Stacy protested. “There is no law against his loved ones being close by!”

  “Only your father is permitted, Khalea. Believe me, my sister, I am sorry. The sage has begun the chant. Now we must all remain here and wait, listen to our own thoughts and rejoice in the knowledge that we were beloved by him.”

  Stacy made a noise, a brief high-pitched squeal, the way wolves do when they are in pain. A few heads turned.

  “Please, Casca, let me see him. Only for a moment.”

  Again Casca shook his head, only this time with an air of finality. He was lord of the pack now, Stacy saw. She was only a huntress. Casca’s word was law.

  From among the Newfoundland wolves Athena came. Her head held high, eyes wet from crying, she nestled close beside Stacy. “Come rest with me,” she said. “I have a warm den nearby. We can wait together, if you like.”

  Stacy nodded sadly. Athena led Stacy along the stream, moving upward toward the ridge. About halfway up, almost hidden by the bushes and snow and by a stately spruce, there was a long, narrow tunnel dug at a slight downward angle into the side of the hill. Across the floor was a smattering of twigs and dead leaves, which made the ground somewhat dry and comfortable. Here and there Stacy smelled the fresh scent of pines. A few fallen branches had been dragged into the den recently, she knew. And she wondered if Athena had not dug this place especially for her.

  Stacy followed Athena to the farthest wall and then slumped down on the floor forlornly. And there, in the dark and solitude of Athena’s den, she buried her face in her hands and began to weep — not the long, mournful cries of the wolves but the deep, wrenching sobs of girls; young human girls who, for the first time, have had to come to grips with death. At that moment her wolfishness was totally gone; there was no feeling of joy that Hector would find new happiness with Fara in her wood, only the harsh reality that a friend, almost a second father, was actually going to die — to be buried in the earth, and neither she nor anyone else would ever see him again.

  After quite some time, Stacy drew a small handkerchief from inside her coat and dried her eyes. Athena sat on her hind legs, mouth open, eyes fixed on her. She smiled kindly.

  “Do you feel a little better, Khalea?”

  Stacy nodded and blew her nose. “I’ll be all right now, Athena. Really I will. But thank you for bringing me here and giving me a place to let out my —”

  Athena smiled. “Human emotion?”

  Stacy tried to laugh. “Yes, human emotion. I guess this all came so fast. I woke up this morning to find my father already gone and my mother in tears, and I ran out of the house like someone crazed. Then the road was snowed in. I had to ride across the foothills to get to the forest, and, once here, I almost killed myself racing through the snow to reach the lair. I’m afraid I was in a bad way before I even arrived.”

  Athena nodded knowingly and growled, “Have you eaten? Your strength must not be diminished.”

  Stacy shook her head. “Nothing since last night. But I can’t eat now, Athena. My stomach’s in knots.”

  “It will all be over soon, Khalea. The chant has begun.”

  “I know. Casca told me.”

  “Then you know that the end will come at any time. The howls will begin across the forest and will last until morning.”

  “And if Khal is bright at morning,” said Stacy, “then we’ll know that Fara has taken him into her arms.”

  “And if Khal hides,” whispered Athena, “it will mean that Hector was found unworthy.”

  Stacy smiled. “That won’t happen, Athena. You and I know it won’t. As certain as Lea shines tonight, Khal will greet her at dawn.”

  And no sooner had Stacy finished her thought than there came a loud wail from the lair. Stacy bounded up to see what was happening.

  “It’s the sage,” said Athena. “The chant is done. The grandfather will be gone in moments.”

  Stacy put her hand to her mouth; she felt her heart pounding like a drum. She wanted her father to be here now, to comfort her. But that was impossible. If there was one thing she was certain of, it was that Nigel would stand by Hector’s side until the end.

  *

  Slivers of pale moonlight filtered dimly into the den, giving only the faintest light. Nigel’s coat was off, placed under his knees as he leaned over the still body. With his left hand he stroked Hector’s fur, with his right he nudged gently at the wolf’s muzzle. The body stirred for an instant, then went limp again. Nigel sighed. All day he had tried to bring a moment’s recognition into the glassy eyes, and all day he had failed. Not for an instant had the wolf known that he was there. But now time was getting short, he knew. Hector’s breathing had become laborious, his nostrils dry and stiff. With a tear in his eye he leaned over to Hector’s ear and whispered, “I’ve come to see you, old friend. Will you not wake from your sleep to say goodbye?”

  And from somewhere within his pain-wracked mind the wolf heard these sweet words. The eyes opened and stared hazily. He tried to raise his head but couldn’t. “Ah, Nigel,” he sighed in the barest of whispers, “is this a dream?”

  Nigel shook his head. “No, my friend. I’m here. I’m really here.” His voice began to crack with grief. Hector looked evenly at him and smiled. And in his eyes Nigel caught a glimpse of their old luster and sparkle.

  “You look well, my friend. Forgive me that I was not able to greet you when you came. I have another appointment, you see. One I fear that cannot be delayed.”

  Nigel raised his head and turned his eyes away from the wolf’s. “Fara is a jealous lover,” he said. “I know she —”

  Just then Hector began to cough violently, and his body began to shake. With the back of his sleeve Nigel wiped Hector’s mouth. “Are you in much pain, my friend? I brought something with me that I can give you, something to lessen your hurt.”

  Hector slowly shook his head. “Fara would be angered. She would meet me as I am. You understand that, don’t you?”

  Nigel wiped away a tear. Yes, he understood. “And tell her that when my own time comes, I’ll expect to see you standing at her side.”

  Hector began to speak but was racked by another spasm of coughing, one that left him barely able
to whisper. “That...much...I promise, Nigel. But now you must forgive me, old friend. I hear her call and I must hasten to answer.”

  Nigel stood in the shadows and heard the wolf sigh deeply. Hector’s eyes began to close, and his ears picked up as if he were listening to something or someone far distant. But to Nigel and the old sage, who was sitting meekly in the corner, there was nothing to be heard but silence.

  “Good-bye, my guide and companion,” whispered Nigel. “I’ll not make you keep her waiting any longer.”

  The wolf forced his eyes open and tried to smile. “Kiss...Khalea...for me.” Then the old head slumped across his outstretched paws, the body gave a small jerking motion and the bushy tail wagged. And then it was still.

  Like a small child, Nigel bent down on his knees and banged his fists into the cold dirt, all the time weeping and sobbing unashamedly. And from the hill came the howls. At first a single long cry that pierced the forest for a mile; then it was joined by others and then by still others. Soon every wolf at the lair joined in the ritual. They wailed and sang their mournful song until the very sound became so overwhelming that no Dweller remained unmoved. Nigel stayed beside the limp body of Hector and shivered uncontrollably. There was no doubt that a part of him had died with the wolf; the bonds between them were just too close for it to have been any other way.

  Chapter Seven

  It had been a long night, a painful night. But now it was over. Just as Stacy had predicted to Athena, Khal came bright and strong with the new dawn. Khal climbed high into the early morning sky and bathed the forest with the most warmth they had known in months. It was more like a mild day in spring rather than midwinter, and the wolves rejoiced, for Khal was again happy because Fara had stirred briefly from her slumber, pleased by the arrival of Lord Hector into her fold.

  The hour of sadness and mourning had passed; the hour of joy had begun. Indeed Lord Hector had been well received. Now the wolves must get on with the matters of this world, lest Fara be angered at them for not getting back to the task of protecting the forest.

  Stacy lay sleeping peacefully inside Athena’s den. Using her long coat as a blanket, she had stayed snug and warm through the lengthy and difficult night. The early morning sunlight filled the den with its brightness; its warmth pressed against her face and made her stir. Bleary-eyed, she sat up, yawned and looked around. At her side she found the leather pouch she had left in her saddlebag. Someone, obviously her father, had fetched it for her. Gratefully she opened the straps and pulled out a handful of dried corn, which she ate slowly.

  Before she was finished, Athena poked her head inside. There was a contented smile written across her face. “It’s done,” she said with a sigh.

  Stacy looked at her curiously. “What’s done?”

  “The sage and the other elders have appointed Casca as lord of the pack. The meeting was held before dawn.”

  “That’s wonderful,” said Stacy, forgetting last night’s tears for the moment. “You should have wakened me. I’d have liked to have been there.”

  “Your father asked that we let you sleep, Khalea. But now that you’re awake I can bring your visitor.”

  “My visitor?”

  Before Athena could answer, another wolf slipped by her and slunk slowly into the den. His fur was dark red, paws large. His eyes glowed. It took a few long moments for recognition to come, but when it did, she smiled.

  “Cicero! I never expected to see you here. I mean not all the way from Rhonnda.”

  Cicero lowered his head, bowed wolf-fashion and waited politely for Stacy to gesture for him to sit beside her. “I wasn’t at Rhonnda,” he growled. “There had been some trouble among the mountain packs. Not much really, just some petty squabbling among wolves and a few Newfoundland farmers who took it into their heads that the herds of caribou belonged to no one but them. It could have been a nasty situation if things weren’t calmed. Seems these men were actually ready to fight.”

  Stacy pressed her lips together. “Fight? Men against wolves?” She was incredulous.

  Cicero nodded. “But don’t be concerned. An agreement was reached. I helped to mediate the matter along with one of your Valley soldiers. A good chap, actually. In fact I think you met him. Trevor’s the name.”

  Trevor! In all that had happened these past days, Stacy had all but forgotten. “Of course I met him. He left with you and Elias. Tell me, Cicero, was Elias successful? Did he manage to barge the hardwood up to Rhonnda?”

  The wolf smiled slyly. “Elias never makes promises he can’t fulfill, Khalea. I think the rapids gave him more problems than he bargained for, but nevertheless Elias is a resourceful man. I’m told he made three trips before the snows came.”

  Stacy whistled. Elias’s profit would be a pretty penny, indeed.

  “Anyway,” continued Cicero, “one of Casca’s hunters, Pireaus, reached the mountains early yesterday with the news. I set off on my own at once to be here. I never knew Hector myself, you know, but like any hunter, tales of his deeds had filled my head since I was a cub. And I knew that no matter what, I’d have to make it here in time.”

  “And did you?”

  “Alas, no, Khalea. Heavy snows across the mountain pass made the going slow. I arrived here a few hours ago.”

  “No matter,” said Stacy. “It was the thought that counted. I’m sure the grandfather — er, I mean, Lord Hector, would have been pleased to know.”

  “When I saw your father and he told me that you were here, too, I was all the more glad that I came. To tell you the truth, this Trevor fellow, while we were together and all, well, he never stopped talking about you. It was Stacy this, Stacy that.” Cicero rolled his eyes around in the way that most wolves do when they are speaking of the confusing ways of men. “Anyway, Khalea, there was no way to shut the fellow up. I never saw a man talk so much. You’d think he was in love.”

  Stacy blushed. Unlike men, wolves were quite frank. When they had a thought, there was no embarrassment in speaking it. “And, er, how is this Trevor fellow? Is he keeping well?” she asked.

  “Wraps himself in blankets at night and walks about with a bear pelt for a coat in the day.” Cicero chuckled malevolently and shook his head. “The man is always cold!”

  Stacy could not contain her own laughter at Trevor’s expense. “Come on now, Cicero. That’s not nice. He’s from the Valley. You know he’s not used to the frigid Newfoundland weather. I’d be cold, too.”

  “Which reminds me, Khalea,” growled the wolf, “this Trevor fellow insists that you’ll be coming to Rhonnda. Is this true? Or is the man more out of his head than I thought?”

  Stacy paused for a moment before answering. She had promised her father not to discuss the voyage across the sea with anyone. But speaking of Rhonnda should not matter; at least it could do no harm.

  “Trevor is right,” she answered at last. “I have a sister at Rhonnda and I plan to visit with her.”

  The wolf grinned. “That is good news. And Elias will be glad to hear it.”

  “Elias?” Her eyes looked questioningly at the red wolf.

  “Another of your admirers, Khalea,” laughed Cicero. “He never speaks his thoughts like that Trevor fellow, but he can’t hide them from me. I can read him like the sage reads Balaka. I never understood these things about men. Tell me, is this time of year your mating season?”

  Stacy roared with laughter. How much more simple life was among wolves!

  “Some men are always in mating season, Cicero. But in our way of measuring years I’m hardly more than a cub. It’ll be some time before I choose my mate.”

  “Very wise, Khalea,” nodded the wolf. “But come! I’d almost forgotten. Your father asked me to fetch you. Seems he’s deep in conversation with that white wolf. Old One, is it? Whatever, he asked that you be there. He says it’s important.”

  Stacy gulped down the last of her corn. “It is important, Cicero. I can’t explain it to you just now, but it could have significance for you, too. F
or all wolves. Where is he?”

  Cicero gave a puzzled glance and pointed outside with his long snout. “He said for you to come to the hickory tree.”

  Stacy got up excitedly. “I know where it is. Will you come with me? I think you’ll find it worthwhile.”

  Cicero laughed soundlessly. “Of course, Khalea. You’ve tamed me. Lead and I’ll follow.”

  They crossed along the ridge of the hills and at length came to a small brook. It was not iced over, so the brook was a regular watering spot for all the nearby Dwellers. And at the right of it, just in front of a lumbering oak tree with bent branches that dripped icicles in the warm sun, there was the hickory. A tall old tree, probably as old as the forest itself.

  Stacy shaded her eyes and glanced ahead. Her father, red-eyed and weary looking, was sitting with his back against the trunk, legs stretched out and crossed, boots almost at the bank of the brook. Old One, beside him, was lying in the sun, beating his tail against the damp, snow-melted soil. Nigel was speaking to him in a low soft voice, and here and there she could see Old One either nod his head or shake it. Without disturbing the mood of their peaceful encounter, Stacy and Cicero slipped down near them and sat a few paces to Nigel’s left. Nigel and the white wolf looked over and nodded, then, as if no one had come to join them, continued with the discussion.

  “And this city can be reached only by crossing the plains?” asked Nigel, toying with a wet twig.

  Old One growled. “Mostly. You can cross the peaks of the Satrian Mountains, but such a route is never used by men. The big cats dwell in the mountains as well as wolves, and most of the men are loath to risk their lives doing it.”