Dagmar had seen the sugar before, and had begged her father for it. But he would never give it to her. He said that she could go to the kitchen for a sweet. And she knew she could have, but the fact that there was something that her father held back from her had always hurt. Now that she saw it for herself, she could not help but think that King George cared more for the horse than he did for his daughter.
Was this why he had so easily allowed another child to take the place of the true princess? Because he did not love his own daughter, either? Did he only love animals?
The horse ate the sugar quickly, and then made a whinnying sound.
The king answered it with his own stomping of feet on the ground.
Unnatural, thought Dagmar. Did his people see him like this? Did he not understand how wrong it was?
And what of Lord Morlieb? He watched and Dagmar thought she saw a hint of disgust in his eyes, though he covered it immediately with a false, wide smile.
Did her father realize that he was trusting a man who felt like this about him?
Lord Morlieb turned back to Dagmar. He seemed to see her anew, and then reached for her. As soon as his hand touched her arm, she took a breath. Fear rolled out of her muscles. She trusted Lord Morlieb absolutely.
“Would you like to ride him now, Your Majesty?” asked Lord Morlieb.
“Do you think it wise?” asked the king.
“A rider as experienced as you are would have no fear on that front. You have already acquainted yourself with him. What is there to fear?”
As Dagmar watched, the king saddled the horse and put on reins and brought him out to the mounting block. Lord Morlieb stood close by as George pulled himself up. Then Lord Morlieb whispered into the horse’s ear.
“That did not sound like the language of horses,” said George.
“Oh, it is not,” said Lord Morlieb. “It is an old language that I have learned in bits and pieces. Animals seem to understand it a little, for it is like their own tongue in certain ways. But I believe that it is the original language of all animals, from generations ago, before they learned to be separate species. And before humans left the forest and thought themselves above animals.”
“I didn’t know there was such a language. I thought all languages were developed much later,” said King George.
“There are many things that those with magic in your kingdom do not understand about the past.”
“Well,” said the king. He leaned forward and the new horse took a few steps and then began to trot, then to canter. Soon he was galloping.
The horse went over the fence on the far side of the castle grounds, and headed for the forest.
“And now I will follow him,” said Lord Morlieb. “But you must stay here, my dear.” He touched her arm one more time, and Dagmar nodded docilely to him. She stood there by the stable, watching Lord Morlieb shrink in the distance, until she could see not even a speck of him in the distance. She remained there until she heard a shout from Lord Morlieb and she heard her father’s men running for the forest.
Something was wrong with her father, she realized. He had been hurt on the horse that Lord Morlieb had given him, the horse that he had whispered to before they headed out. She stumbled back inside the castle, overcome with exhaustion as she had been before. A maid caught her and helped her into her bedroom.
“My father. The king,” muttered Dagmar. She knew that something was terribly wrong. “Lord Morlieb,” she whispered.
But she had no energy to say more than that, and feel quickly into a deep sleep. She dreamed of her father falling from his new white horse and Lord Morlieb standing over him, whispering to him in the language that he had said was the oldest language of all. Dagmar could not understand it, but from the expression on Lord Morlieb’s face, she was terrified of him.
In the morning, Dagmar woke, her head pounding, and the first thing she thought of was her father. She did not bother to dress herself, but put a robe over her shift and hurried out into the corridor. She went to the guards stationed by the throne room and asked if her father was hurt, if he had come back from the forest.
They told her that Lord Morlieb had made sure that her father came back alive, that it was all due to Lord Morlieb’s courage and foresight that the king was still living. King George was in his bedchambers and had broken his leg. He was feverish and the royal physician was with him, even now, watching over his recovery.
Dagmar hurried to her father’s bedchamber upstairs. She met her mother at the door.
“Is he—?” she asked, her voice trembling.
Her mother caught her and held her tightly. “He is not in danger any longer,” she said. “He sleeps.”
Dagmar sighed relief. Then she began to think again of Lord Morlieb, and how she felt when she was near him. That rhythm in her mind, like music, it was dangerous. It made her believe him and trust him. But clearly, he was not a man to be trusted. He had sent her father out with a horse that had thrown him. Her father—the man whose animal magic was so powerful he could transform animals—to be thrown from a horse? It should have been impossible.
Lord Morlieb claimed he had little or no magic of his own, but he had spoken to the horse in that ancient language. And after that, the horse had run off.
“Mother, is Lord Morlieb with him?” asked Dagmar.
“He is,” said Queen Marit.
“I think there is something wrong with him. I think we should not trust him,” said Dagmar.
“I know you are right. I sent messengers to Tirol, after he first arrived. That is why I have been so frequently absent these last few days. The messengers returned last night, after your father left for the stables. I met with them in the village, and they told me that Lord Morlieb is not known to the king of Tirol, and that a man of his description was seen with Warrior, your father’s horse.”
“He made the horses kill,” said Dagmar.
“I think he did,” said Queen Marit.
“Then you must tell Father. Immediately. You must send Lord Morlieb away. Ban him from the castle.” She pushed forward, but the queen held her back.
“He is with your father even now. The king trusts him.”
“Then we must get him away. It only works while he is close by,” said Dagmar.
“Yes. So I hope. But your father already sent me away. He will not allow me into the royal bed chambers again. He will hear nothing against Lord Morlieb.”
Dagmar stopped and looked up at her mother. “He will not allow you—what has he done?” she asked, breathless.
“He has taken the crown from me. He has commanded that I will no longer be called Queen Marit. I am to leave the castle and never return. Be careful, Dagmar, of what he will say of you if you turn against Lord Morlieb.” Her mother, the strongest person she had ever known, was weeping silently.
“But we can’t—we have to stop him. We have to get Father to see the truth.”
“You must do it alone, my child,” said her mother.
“I can’t. You have to help me.”
“I have done what I can. Now I must go away. If he calls for me, I will be ready to return at a moment’s notice. But until then, Dagmar, it is up to you,” said Queen Marit, and she began to walk away.
Dagmar was torn between chasing after her mother and demanding that she stay, and going to her father. She turned to her father at last.
“Ah, Princess Dagmar,” said Lord Morlieb when Dagmar entered.
It was all Dagmar could do not to turn and smile at him. Fight against it, she told herself. She realized that when he spoke to her in the language of humans, there were other words under his breath, barely whispered. Dagmar did not know what they meant, but they seemed to be part of his power.
“Lord Morlieb. And my father—is he well?”
“He will wake soon. He was given a sleeping draught. But he will not be able to do all his duties as king, because he cannot move from his bed with his leg in this state.” Lord Morlieb gestured to the bedcov
ers which hid the broken leg.
“He has asked me, therefore, to take his place. With you at my side, of course. For last night, as we waited for help to arrive, I spoke to him of my feelings for you. Even in his great pain, he wanted the best for his daughter. He agreed to the wish of my heart, Dagmar.”
She stared at him, mouth open, the sound of his heart beat in her ears even as she pushed it away from her as best she could. She could hear two words for every one that she understood, a whispered counter-melody to the beat of the drum in her heart.
“He has agreed to our betrothal. You and I are to be married as soon as possible. Is this not wonderful news?” said Lord Morlieb.
“Wonderful,” said Dagmar. A part of her was happy because Lord Morlieb was happy. The other part of her was horrified. But she could not let that part of her show.
She leaned into Lord Morlieb and let him kiss her gently on the cheek.
“You are his heir. When we are married, you and I will rule together,” said Lord Morlieb.
“But my father is still living,” said Dagmar.
“So he is. For now,” said Lord Morlieb. He kissed Dagmar again, and she did her best not to shiver away from him.
The queen trusted Dagmar to do what must be done to save the kingdom and her father and herself. Dagmar did not know how she would do it, without any magic to fight against Lord Morlieb, but she would do what she could.
“Dagmar,” her father murmured, his eyes opening.
She hurried to his side, kneeling at his bed and putting her hands to him.
“Did Lord Morlieb tell you the good news? That you are betrothed?” he asked.
“Yes, Father, he did. But how are you? Are you well?”
“It hardly matters now. You are the future of Kendel. You and Lord Morlieb. My time is nearly finished.”
“It can’t be. You must get better soon, Father,” said Dagmar. She had to think how to get Lord Morlieb away from her father without suspicion. Even now she could hear Lord Morlieb’s strange words sussurating around her.
Perhaps it was because she did not have magic that they did not have as great an effect on her. Or perhaps it was because Lord Morlieb was no longer directing them at her. He thought that she was already his, and that was exactly what Dagmar wanted him to think.
Chapter Ten: Hans
Hans followed the scent of the Olde Wolf and it led to a stone edifice in the forest that stank with darkness. It caught him by surprise and sent him to his knees, retching. It felt as if the darkness were seeping into Hans himself. And he could not fight against it. He would either die of the darkness or he would become one of the Olde Wolf’s creatures.
And so now I know, Hans thought grimly. This is how the Olde Wolf has been able to survive for so long against the Order. If Hans went back now, he could tell about the stone edifice here. Sieg could study the records, discover how this was done, and then Hans could return, armed with the knowledge of how to destroy them. But Hans could not move.
This stone edifice kept both humans and animals away from this place. Humans because even if they were not as sensitive to the darkness as Hans was, it must touch them in some way. The darkness was the old world, the way things had once been, and humans would instinctively stay away from that. As for animals, the darkness must feel to them like another kind of animal, one that they could smell but not identify, one that was dangerous.
It was a clever way for the Olde Wolf to keep himself hidden and safe, and it might even be that he could take the darkness with him and move it to other stones in another forest. An animal who had lived for thousands of years, who could think of this—Hans felt a new fear of him that he had not before. This was not like facing another human, who thought like he did and had motives like his own. Nor was it like facing a horse filled with darkness that had been injected into him.
The Olde Wolf was unfathomable, and yet as cunning as any human. He had only one hope, and that was to kill as many humans as he could, however he might. He was still at war with humans, and wished to convince as many animals as he could to continue the old war with him.
Hans stared at the stones and wondered why it was that he had ever thought he could stop him. Or do anything against him.
A human shape came out of the stones and Hans tensed, preparing himself for the end. This had to be a creature of the Olde Wolf, whatever it looked like. It would try to kill him.
But the human had a female shape, with long golden hair. She was young and there was something furtive about her movements, as if she were afraid of being caught. She held her head down and listened for every sound before taking another step. She did not know that Hans was there, and she was certainly not looking for him. So who was she? What was she doing here? What did she want?
Hans watched her and held himself as still as he could, watching.
The young human female stood tall, stretching herself, and she seemed to take in every moment. There was nothing of hatred, of the old world in her, nothing that he could scent as darkness. In fact, Hans had never seen someone so alive, so full of joy and attention.
Hans watched her dance a few steps, bowing as if to a partner, though there was no one else there. She had grace in her posture, though her movements were clumsy. She seemed to hear music and a beat that kept her in time, though she did not hum or clap her hands.
Then she sat and began to speak in the language of humans. It was as if she spoke for the sheer pleasure of it, for the sounds she made were beautifully arranged, though they did not mean anything to Hans.
When the sun rose overhead and began to filter through the tree branches, she moved closer to the light and spread out her hands to take it in. She seemed to delight in every variation of the light on her skin, turning minutely this way and that so see what it looked like.
Then in a moment, she had transformed into a wolf.
It was so smooth a transition that Hans did not realize it was happening until the moment had passed and his breath was caught in his throat.
He must be wrong.
The darkness was clearly on her now. He struggled not to choke on the scent.
Hans should attack her, kill her. It would be as much as he could do against the Olde Wolf, killing one of his followers. It was what he had been trained to do.
But he could not find it in himself.
She was so at home in her wolf form, as much as she had been in the other form, and Hans could not understand it. He watched as she made her way out past the stone edifice and into the forest without any fear now.
Hans let her go, telling himself that he could attack her later, when she returned. There was no reason for him to rush it. He had time to think about what she was, and why he had smelled both Olde Wolf on her and human magic.
If humans with magic had begun to work on the side of the Olde Wolf, the cause was lost.
He was still waiting for her when he saw the Olde Wolf himself. Hans had not expected it to look so ordinary. It was not much larger than any other wolf, though its coloring was blue-silver, and though it looked mature, it did not look old. It did not look dangerous, except when Hans breathed in and smelled the deep, rank darkness. It rippled like a wave held inside the sea of the blue wolf’s flesh and blood.
It was not prudent, but Hans could not ignore his need to destroy that darkness. He had spent his whole life trained to feel the darkness more keenly, to hate it more fully, and he threw himself forward at the Olde Wolf, his weapons ready.
He had his hand on the dagger and he did not try to move with any stealth.
He saw the Olde Wolf turn and look at him and there was a human-like smile on his face.
Hans heard a growl, but realized it was coming from his own throat.
The Olde Wolf was silent as it transformed before his eyes into a human man. Strong and fit, with dark hair and a long nose, Hans hesitated just a moment before killing a human and that was all the time that the Olde Wolf needed.
“You are regretting this al
ready,” he said to Hans, in the language of humans. But there were other sounds, as well, like heavy breathing or whispers in the night.
Hans’s dagger grew cold in his hands, but he tightened his jaw and gripped it. He had to think to make himself remember what he had meant to do, and who this human truly was.
The darkness. Breathe in the darkness. Do not forget who this is, he told himself, and what it is here for. Or what Hans himself was here for.
“You would rather go away from this forest and find a little village to live in for the rest of your life. A quiet life, for a man who does not remember his past. A life with few expectations,” said the human form of the Olde Wolf.
Was this what he had done to all the others? Convinced them to simply leave him alone? He had not killed them, after all?
One part of Hans thought that the Olde Wolf was not so terrible, after all.
Another part was terrified, because at least a man dead was a man who had done all he could do. A man who had forgotten himself was worse than dead. He was erased, as if he had never been.
“I am a human, as you are. We are the same. Do you not feel it? We breathe the same air. We drink the same cool water. We eat the same meat.”
No. The Olde Wolf would eat raw meat, fresh from a kill. The Olde Wolf would never cook it. Hans tried to keep the image of the Olde Wolf in his mind. What color had it been, again?
“You will thank me and be on your way now,” said the Olde Wolf. He looked beyond Hans, as if already finished with him, and now unconcerned.
Hans stood there a long moment, numb with indecision. There was still a dagger in his hand. What was the dagger for, again?
“Perhaps you could tell me if you have seen any wolves today. A she-wolf, perhaps?” said the human/Olde Wolf. “Or was she in another form?”
“I saw a she-wolf who was also a human,” said Hans. “She was near these stones an hour ago.”
“Ah. Good. And in which direction did she go?”
Hans gestured.
The human/Olde Wolf nodded. “I expect she will be home soon, then.” He took a step toward the stones, then stopped and looked back at Hans. “What are you still doing here? I thought I told you it was time for you to leave.”
The Princess and the Wolf (The Princess and the Hound) Page 8
