Lady of the Haven (Empire Princess Book 1)

by Graham Diamond

  The sage growled discontentedly. “Can a man be a wolf?” he barked. “Can this girl be of the pack, as she claims?”

  Suli shook his head ruefully. “I do not know, my lord. But your question can be answered if you ask her.”

  “I intend to, young hunter. Go now. You have said what had to be said.”

  He turned to Stacy as Suli left. She felt a cold shiver run down her spine. The sage narrowed his eyes.

  “Do you know who I am??” he asked.

  Stacy nodded. “I do, my lord. You are the sage.”

  There were literal gasps from the lords, who now heard her speak the canine tongue for the first time.

  “You have understood all that has been said here?” asked the sage.

  Stacy nodded once more. “I have, my lord.”

  “What is your name, daughter of men?”

  She raised her chin proudly. “I am called Khalea.”

  “You know why you have been brought to us?”

  “To answer questions. I, a child of men, have sought your shelter. I seek to be known as one of your own. You are here now to deem whether or not I am worthy.”

  The sage kept a solemn face and nodded slowly. But his heart pounded with astonishment. Here before him was this creature who looked as a woman, yet spoke and acted as a wolf. “How came you by the name Khalea? Do you know its meaning?”

  In true humility she bowed her head. “It is an honored and revered name, my lord, one that I have tried to be worthy of. When I was a cub, the tests were given to me. I was sent alone into the wilds. I returned a huntress. The name Khalea was bestowed on me by the greatest lord of the Northern Forest, Hector the Gray.”

  “We know not the name you speak of, Khalea. Nor the wood of which you tell. But Fara’s kingdom is vast. Far beyond our mountains are dense forests. Is it from there you have come?”

  “No, my lord. The forest of which I speak is to be found only across the great waters men call the sea.”

  Here the sage’s eyes darkened.

  “You spin a strange tale for us, Khalea-of-the-Forest. How came you across the Great Waters?”

  “Upon a sailing ship. A mighty vessel that carried us to your shores.”

  “The ship of men!” barked a warlord in wonder.

  Grim eyes flashed to the wolf who had spoken. The sage paused and glanced back and forth from him to the girl. “You have seen this ship?”

  The warlord growled. “I have, my lord. A strange thing. A man-thing. Like a foul serpent it rests beside a cove near the Lowland hills.”

  “That’s the one!” cried Stacy. “Then you must have seen my friends who came with me! Wolves from my own land, with coats of blazing red, others as black as night.”

  The warlord growled again. “I have seen these things,” he said. “Wolves, yes, yet not like wolves at all. They aid and serve men.”

  There were gasps again from the Circle of Lords. The sage drew back. “They aid men? Do man’s bidding?”

  “Not as servants, my lord, but as friends.” Stacy protested. “In my land there is friendship between us.”

  “Now the truth is plain!” shouted another. “She belongs not among us, my lord, but among men! Her ways are those of deceit and lies! She can never claim the free rights of a huntress!”

  Howls of agreement filled the air.

  Stacy saw that the Circle of Lords was heavily against her. “Am I to be treated as an outsider without benefit of trial?” she growled. “Will I be judged by what others think with no search for truth? I ask for pack justice! I ask the right of the test, my lord.”

  “Another man-trick,” barked the warlord. “She cannot be trusted and can never be of the pack!”

  The sage snarled angrily. Against the shadows he looked awesome, his eyes glowing, his massive frame tensed as if ready to strike. “Enough! The one who calls herself Khalea has asked no more than she deserves. Are we barbarians, or are we of the pack? If we send her to her death without search for truth, would we still be worthy of the gifts Fara has bestowed? I think not, good lords.” He looked at her gently. “You know what will happen if you fail the test?”

  She nodded glumly. She would be at their mercy. The looks on their faces assured her they would tear her apart. The law of the pack demanded as much.

  As the sage pondered his first question, she did her best to stay calm and prayed that all she had been taught had not been forgotten. She cursed herself for recalling so many days when her lessons had not been given full attention. Those lessons now could either save or cost her her life. It would only take one mistake, then the warlord would call her out as an imposter.

  At length the sage looked to her sternly and said, “If you are truly of the forests, Khalea, then you will know its five natural wonders. Name them for me.”

  She bit her lip pensively and thought carefully before answering. “First is Phebe, the rain, for without her there is nothing. Second comes Lutilla, the grasses from which all things grow. Then mighty Sythera, the trees, whose boughs and leaves protect all Dwellers. Fourth, sweet Jasmine, the wild flower whose petals bring beauty to the wood. And last is Aleya, the wind. Fickle sister of Fara, who sends us warning of our enemies.”

  The sage seemed pleased, the lords surprised. She had handled the first question as easily as any of them could.

  “And tell me, Khalea, what are the three major tongues of the forest. But take heed! The tongue of cats must not be mentioned lest we invoke Fara’s bitter memories.”

  Stacy nodded. She understood. This one was easy for her, though. Later would be tougher.

  “There is Raith, the chatter of all winged creatures; Erusia, the dark tongue of beasts; and Loire, the canine tongue in all its forms, jackal, hyena.”

  “That will do,” said the sage gruffly. “You need say no more than is asked. Fara has given to us, and all other Dwellers, many gifts. Of all she gave, tell me the five basic wits.”

  A difficult question, Stacy knew. There would be many variances of the same gift; she would have to search her memory for only the basics and not make the mistake of combining any of them together.

  “The five basic wits,” she said. “Common sense, cunning, memory, intelligence.” She held her breath, then blurted the last. “Skill of the hunter!”

  The sage hid a pleased smile. Stacy breathed a long sigh of relief.

  His face became stern again as he posed the next question. “Can you read Dalaka?”

  She nodded slowly. “I know some of the readings, my lord, as any huntress must know. But only a sage can read them all.”

  “That is true, Khalea. But rest assured that I will ask only that which a huntress must know to earn her position. In Fara’s universe there are a thousand-thousand stars. Recount for me the seven that the pack turns to for its needs.”

  Stacy shifted slightly. She closed her eyes and thought deeply. “In reverse order of importance?” she asked.

  “Of course. Otherwise it is useless.”

  She frowned. That would make it harder. But still she was confident. “Solange, the one also known as Mars of Anger. Next in reverse order of importance would be Lycia and Sham, the Twins. From them we glean our way through the night until dawn.” That was three. From here on it was easier. “Sabrina, the North Star, which burns brightly from its fixed position in the heavens. Then, of course, AnaFara, daughter of Fara, the star to which a huntress turns in time of need. Then Lea, the moon, and most important of all, the source of all warmth and joy, Khal the sun.”

  “Khal and Lea,” whispered the sage. “From which you received your name.”

  Stacy smiled. She saw that the Circle of Lords was impressed.

  “You have done well, Khalea-of-the-Forest. But I am not quite done. The next question will be the most important of all. For it is from this we govern our very lives. One who would be of our pack must live it and breathe it every moment. Do you know of what I speak, Khalea?”

  “I do, my lord. You speak of Fara’s works of mer
cy.”

  The sage nodded. “As your final question I ask you to recite these works for me.”

  “Fara demands her works of all Dwellers,” she began, recalling days long past when Hector had sat beside her in the sun and made her recite them aloud time and time again. “We must tend the ill, feed the hungry, shelter the destitute and homeless, visit with the motherless and the afflicted and always remember with our prayers those who have passed into her arms.”

  The sage sighed, closed his eyes and nodded. She had recounted the works totally, without hesitation. “Your teacher taught you well, Khalea,” he said somberly. “You should be proud.”

  Tears welling, she replied, “I am, my lord. Very proud. Lord Hector is worthy of Fara’s kingdom. His memory lives with me always.”

  The sage nodded. He turned to the Circle of Lords. “The daughter of men has proved herself to be of us. I find her above suspicion, to be as equal as we before Fara’s eyes. How say you all?”

  One by one the wolves began to nod their heads in assent. If she had proven herself to the sage, they reasoned, there was no doubt that she was worthy, even though her shape and form was that of a woman.

  “You are a free member among us, Khalea-of-the-Forest,” said the sage. “All dens will be so advised. You may come and go as you will and find your shelter wherever you choose. Let the lords decide who will take you in and into which of the packs you shall prosper as a huntress.”

  “I am humbled and honored before you,” she said gently, bowing low with her arms outstretched on the earth. “You have saved me from the savage barbarian men and given me food and shelter and warmth. Now you have accepted me as one of your own.” Soft tears ran down her face, and the Circle saw that her humility was sincere.

  “The sage has called you one of our own, Khalea,” growled another of the warlords. “We will accept his word. But you have yet to speak of why you came here from the tunnels. Was fear of the barbarians the only reason? Or is there another?”

  Stacy dried her eyes as she sat up. “I have come a stranger from a faraway land to seek your aid.”

  “What is it you ask, Khalea?” asked the sage. “How may we help you?”

  She glanced at their faces and knew how difficult this would be. “In the time I have been in this land I have seen the shadow of war grow even darker across the sky. Those I love are in grave peril. I ask that you help in saving their lives.”

  The Circle of Lords began to stir uneasily. Many whispered among themselves. “Do you speak of the dark-furred wolves who came with you across the sea?” she was asked sternly.

  “Yes, my lord. And also the men. They know not what threatens and will be led like lambs to slaughter if they are not helped.”

  One sharp-eyed warlord growled at her fiercely. “You are asking us to fight for men? Men are our enemies! What happens to them is of little concern to us!” Growls of agreement filled her ears.

  “But these are not the barbarians! These are men of peaceful ways, friends of the pack.”

  The lords looked at her as though she were mad. The sage frowned. “If men and apes wish to battle one another, what business is it of ours? They are all a scourge upon the earth!”

  Stacy bit at her trembling lip and glared up at him. “And what of those of my ship? They have never harmed you. Are they to die for the blame of others? When the wars begin...”

  The first warlord glanced sharply at the sage. In reply the sage nodded to him and gave him permission to speak his truth.

  “The war you speak of has already started,” he said glumly. “Seekers have tracked the barbarian army from the Far Lands. They have laid siege to the shala known as Kuba and have swept down upon the city in great numbers. Kuba has fallen.”

  Stacy winced. Kuba destroyed! No wonder Sumavand had so hastily left his shala to direct his defenses across the river! By now things would be swarming through the tunnels, and his army would be committed against them. If the Nomads attacked Satra, the shah would be defenseless against their onslaught from above. Satra won’t be destroyed. This new war would be the last.

  In desperation she cried, “Satra must be saved! If it falls, then the Nomad armies will conquer all the land!”

  The sage sighed and arched his head toward the ceiling. “It is Fara’s will. Satra is doomed.”

  “Fara would not will such terrible destruction,” she cried. “You say these things because there is fear in your hearts. Every one of you!”

  The warlord stirred angrily. “Who are you to say these things to us?” he barked. “We who have fought men since the creation! Is it not enough that we have saved your life and taken you among us? You are safe, Khalea. No harm will come to you.”

  “Great harm will come to me and to all of us if the Nomads have their way! Gates of Fara’s kingdom! Don’t you see? Are you all so blinded by hatred? When Satra falls, who will blunt the thrust of the dark armies? Things will clamor from their dark tunnels, Nomads will sweep from the plains to these very mountains!”

  “You howl like a jackal,” snarled the warlord.

  The girl fumed and bared her teeth. “If I do, it’s because I am forced to deal not with wolves but with dogs! Common dogs!”

  The insult was too much to bear. Every lord felt stung, every lord growled viciously and bared his fangs at the outrage.

  But the calm voice of the sage prevailed. “Do you think so little of us, Khalea?” he asked softly.

  Stacy lowered her head and let her tears flow freely. “You are not the wolves I was told of,” she whispered, “Not the mighty race of white brothers I expected to find.”

  “Then go back to whence you came!” hissed the warlord angrily.

  “I am ashamed,” she admitted. “All wolves shall be ashamed. I give thanks that the old wolf who told me of this land is not here to see what has happened to his brothers. Garth would die of such pain.”

  None seemed to know what she was talking about, but one wolf among them, an elderly lord who sat far off to the side, suddenly began to tremble. His eyes widened, and his great white tail lifted high behind him. “The name you spoke,” he whispered. “What was it?” He pushed his snout closer to her.

  Stacy looked at him sadly. “We call him Old One. He, too, is a white wolf, the first any of my forest had ever known.”

  “But the name, child! Tell me the name!”

  She appeared puzzled. “I told you. We know him as Old One, but he says his true name is Garth.”

  At this, the old wolf began to weep.

  The sage and the other lords glanced at each other in puzzlement. “What is it, Lord Remus? Perhaps your long journey has made you tired. Would you care to sleep? A den can be prepared.”

  Remus opened tired, bloodshot eyes. “I am not ill,” he growled. Then, looking back to Stacy: “I must know more about this wolf of whom you speak.”

  Stacy, although confused as the others, readily complied. “He came to our forest many, many years ago. His wanderings took him at long last to the pack of Hector, in which I was raised. His fur is as white as the snow, just as yours is. He tells of once being a bold hunter and leading his pack down from the mountains to seek plentiful game. But then one day, while out searching for his father, he became lost in a blizzard. For days he wandered, starving. He expected to die. But Fara was with him. He found himself floating one morning on a sheet of ice, and that ice took him across the sea.”

  The old wolf cried again. “He became lost searching for his father, you say?”

  Stacy nodded.

  Remus howled to the heavens, to the complete surprise or everyone. “My brother!” he barked. “My brother is alive! Fara be praised, Garth lives!”

  Stacy stared with utter disbelief.

  Suddenly the old wolf laughed. “We gave him up for dead,” he said, gasping to catch his breath. “We thought he had starved, or that he had fallen into a man-trap. But now you say he lives! What joy! Khalea, do you swear this thing? Do you give your oath?”

 
“I give it as a huntress. Your brother still lives.”

  “Is he well? Do the wolves of your pack treat him with kindness?”

  She laughed. “They do, Lord Remus. Old One is loved by all! He spends his time spinning tales for the young.”

  Remus shared the laugh, even as he wept. “That would be just like him! Even when we were young he always loved to fill the heads of the cubs with his fantasies!”

  “I share your tears of joy,” she told him truthfully, “and I want it known before all wolves that Old One still burns with love both for you and this land he was forced to leave against his will.”

  “For the tidings you have brought me, Khalea,” Remus said, “there is no price I would not pay. Come with me tonight to my dens and let me call out before all my pack that you, Khalea-of-the-Forest, the huntress from across the sea, shall become our leader when my time is done.”

  Stacy was stunned at the offer. “I am honored, my lord. And I thank you with all my heart. But I must refuse.”

  “But why, Khalea?” Remus was befuddled by her response.

  She glanced at the long faces about her. “I cannot accept because my heart cries out to those I have left behind. They need me; they count on me. I cannot turn away from their plea.”

  The warlord growled angrily at her. “Foolish girl! You have been offered great honor among us! And you spurn the offer! Why? My seekers have followed the dark tracks of this army; they have seen them deal the death blow to Kuba. You would leave here alone to fight such a force?”

  Sadly she bowed her head. “If I abandon those I love, then I am not worthy to dwell among Fara’s Chosen. Below, my friends stand on the edge of death’s shadow. Men and wolves alike. Alone I came to you, alone I must go back. Satra must be warned, my ship must be warned. A true huntress readily dies for her family. They are mine.”

  The sage nodded with deep understanding but with sorrow in his eyes. He feared for her life. “Then go with Fara, Khalea-of-the-Forest,” he said at last. “And accomplish what you must. Let Fara’s will be done.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  The burly man knelt over the body and scowled in disgust at the sight. The lad was lying flat on his back, throat slit from ear to ear. Small stab wounds covered his chest and shoulders; thin pieces of wood had been plunged under his fingernails.