She left him, but True did not bother to follow her. He only waited long enough to be sure that she would not come back.
Then he moved to the trapped animals that she had shown him. He tried to set them free, but as soon as he came close to them, they attacked him viciously. It was the same in every one of the warrens he tried. He did not speak their language, and so he could not tell them what he meant to do.
In the end, all True could do was to open the barriers that kept one kind of animal from another. Then he called to them in his own language and lured them out.
But instead of fleeing, the animals began to attack each other, more than they had their own kind. True tried to stand in front of one, then the other, to shove them toward freedom, but they only snarled and snapped at him. He pulled his arm from the mawl of a bear and slipped away as best he could.
Perhaps he should have left them as they were. They would still be alive, at least, when Golda returned. But no, he decided. Better for them to have their own choices, one last time, than to be in thrall to the Olde Wolf for the rest of their lives.
And what of Golda? When she came back with her father, would she be blamed for what True had done? Would her father punish her in some way? True did not think she would escape his wrath, whether she was his daughter or not. But even that True doubted. She did not look like the blue wolf except superficially. She certainly did not act as he did.
For a fleeting moment as he ran, True wished he could help Golda get free of her father. If he had remained, he could have waited for a moment of weakness in her father and then tried to kill him.
But who knew what damage might be done by then to others? True wished the best for Golda, but he had to think of the rest of the forest. And more than that. He had to think of the whole world, animals and humans. He had to take as broad a look as the Olde Wolf himself did. The future depended on him.
The forest seemed changed to True as he made his way back. It was too quiet. The animals the Olde Wolf had taken were missing here. And there was something else. True did not know what to call it, but it felt heavy. The air itself seemed harder to move in and out of his lungs, and the sun seemed dimmer. The more the Olde Wolf gained in power, the more the forest would darken.
At last, back near the pack’s territory, he barked for his mother. There was no sign of the rest of the pack, but when he huddled toward the back of the main cave, he could see her, crouched near him.
For a moment, he was afraid that she was no longer breathing, that she had died before he could ask for her advice. Now what would he do? His mother knew humans better than he did, and True suspected he would need their help before he continued this battle against the Olde Wolf.
But then he saw her chest move again, and True took a breath of his own.
“Mother, I need your help.” He moved closer to her, on all fours.
“You have found her, haven’t you?” asked Fierce.
“Yes, I found her,” admitted True.
“But—what is wrong? You do not look happy. Would she not speak to you? Does she think you are beneath her because you are a hound?”
“It is about her father,” said True.
“He will not let you have her? You must convince him. Prove your worth to him,” said Fierce.
That was the last thin True wanted to do. “He wants to destroy humans,” said True. And explained all the rest.
“Oh. I must get up and come with you to the castle. I have friends there. They will listen to me.”
“But Mother, you have no strength,” True protested.
I must find the strength.” Fierce surged forward, then sagged back..
True had to carry her part of the way, and go very slowly the rest. But at last they reached the edge of the forest and True could see the human castle in the distance.
Chapter Eleven: Dagmar
One week later, the news of her betrothal had been announced to the kingdom by Lord Morlieb at Dagmar’s side in the throne room, and by messengers who went far and wide.
Queen Marit was gone from the castle and no one spoke of her. No one dared to, Dagmar thought. She had been placed in her mother’s bed chambers and Lord Morlieb eyed her father’s crown. He had not yet put it on his head, but only because King George was so beloved and was known to be still alive.
He was failing rapidly however, and every time Dagmar saw him in Lord Morlieb’s company, he seemed closer to death.
“Your father is awake now and ready to see you,” Lord Morlieb announced at breakfast. The royal physician only reported to Lord Morlieb and thus it was only when he allowed it that Dagmar was able to see her father.
“He can only speak for a few moments. He is very weak,” said Lord Morlieb.
Dagmar had already begun to think of weaknesses in Lord Morlieb. He disappeared in the evenings and the guards saw him heading into the forest. Dagmar suspected this had something to do with the magic he seemed to use to make everyone believe in him. But he always returned before dawn, and he never seemed to be tired. No one had ever seen him sleep.
She could leave the castle, she supposed. It was something she considered. Her mother had gone, and if nothing else, Dagmar could hope from outside the castle to fight Lord Morlieb—or King Morlieb, as he was likely to become soon enough.
But it seemed that her mother was already spreading word through the kingdom of what Lord Morlieb was. Lord Morlieb sent out his guard every morning after hearing their reports, to deal with “unrest in the kingdom,” as he called it. No doubt it was those who were her father’s supporters and saw him as a threat.
Dagmar’s task was to remain here and make Lord Morlieb believe that she was as completely under the spell of his magic words as anyone else in the castle. She spent every day with her mouth muscles aching from smiling so much. She tried to look besotted with him. And even more than that, she tried not to listen to his words when he spoke.
She could not plug her ears with wool, for that would be too obvious. She simply had to listen to him and tell herself another story completely than the one his words told. She reminded herself again and again that this was a man who wished her father dead. This was a man who wanted to destroy not only her father’s animal magic, but the animal magic of all those in the kingdom.
Already, Lord Morlieb had begun to imprison those in the castle he knew had animal magic. He claimed that it was for their own safety, because he had heard reports of people trying to burn those with animal magic at the stake, as they had before King George took the throne. But there was no safety in the dungeons. Once someone had been sent there, they were never heard from again.
This morning, Dagmar rushed to her father’s side and pressed her face to his chest. Her tears wet his tunic and she could see how quickly he had lost weight. She had always known him as a strong, healthy man, but now his muscles were dying after nearly two weeks in bed, eating nothing but the fluids that Lord Morlieb had approved of: broth and doubly watered wine.
“I love you so much, Father,” said Dagmar. “How are you?”
“I love you,” said King George. “I am well enough for now.” He puckered his lips together, but he could not lift his head to kiss her. The effort of lifting his head an inch left him breathing heavily and closing his eyes.
“Don’t lose hope, Father. You will get better,” said Dagmar. She held tightly to his hand. She wished that she could shield her father from Lord Morlieb’s pernicious words. Dagmar suspected that Lord Morlieb spoke of King George dying every time they were together, and now the king believed it himself.
“I think not,” said the king. “Lord Morlieb knows the truth, but has agreed not to spread it widely in the kingdom. Not yet, at least. I will never recover fully from weakness, and the people deserve a ruler who is strong and healthy.”
“But—I am so young, Father.” She did not want the throne. Not like this.
“But you will have Lord Morlieb to guide you,” said her father.
Dagmar looked at
him and forced herself to smile. “Of course, Father. Of course.”
Lord Morlieb leaned forward. “We will rule well together, and for many years. King George will never be forgotten, but we will be known for a new age of glory.”
Dagmar felt as if she had a dagger between her teeth, but still she smiled. “Yes, Lord Morlieb,” she said. If only she could speak to her father alone. “I never thought—” she whispered to him. She was so afraid that he would die and then she would be left alone with Lord Morlieb.
King George patted her hand. “I know. I remember the moment when I realized I would have to take my father’s place. It was overwhelming. But once you are married, the nobles will have no reason to stand against you, and I think there is no one in the kingdom, magical or not, who would not look at him and think twice about saying a word against the throne.”
“Do you know, there were times when I worried that you would not develop into a queen. You were so shy and uncertain as a child. But now—I have no doubts any longer. Lord Morlieb has changed you. Transformed you.”
Dagmar was not so sure that she was as different as she had been. “Can I get you anything?” she asked, thinking that a few moments away from him and she would be able to gather her feelings together. “Another blanket? A special tea? A book from your own rooms?”
“No. I need nothing. I am perfectly happy here, to look out the window into the woods. I am content.”
This was not like her father at all. Dagmar could not remember a moment in her life with him when he had not had a long list of things that he hoped to get done that day, and which he never finished. He used himself up for his people as king. And now he was shrunken to this. It was that one thing that Dagmar hated Lord Morlieb most for. Strangely, she would have given away her kingdom to him, if only she could have saved her father from this.
“There is one thing,” he said softly.
Dagmar had to lean forward and ask him to repeat himself before she understood it. “Yes?” she said.
“Your mother. Marit.” Her father shook his head as if to clear his mind. Then he grimaced in pain and held still.
“What about Mother?” asked Dagmar. Did her father not know that her mother was gone away?
“I—she has not—to see me,” King George got out, and then had to take deep breaths. His face was red and Dagmar looked up at Lord Morlieb, wondering if he had done this.
“I will tell her that you are better. I am sure she will come to see you soon,” said Lord Morlieb, in that same he always had, of adding strange sounds at the end of every word. It made her feel sick and hot now, though she remembered that the feeling of fever had once been pleasant to her. She could feel a rhythm drumming in her ears, like a dance, but she had never felt less like dancing.
“I will take good care of you, you can be assured of that,” said Lord Morlieb, and he led Dagmar out of the bedchamber, then ordered the guards to make sure that the king was not disturbed for the rest of the day. They did not question him. No one questioned him.
Dagmar walked down the long staircase with him and into the throne room. It was empty of people. There were only the two thrones there, her father’s large one and her mother’s slightly smaller one next to his.
Lord Morlieb signaled to the guards to close the doors and he moved closer to the king’s throne. He did not sit on it, but he put a finger on the arms and ran it up and down, as if to smooth it out and warm it. After a few minutes, he stepped toward Dagmar and put the same finger on her neck.
“We must marry soon. Before your father—succumbs to his illness,” he said.
Again, the rhythm of dancing, though there was no music. Dagmar felt as her head were whirling around her, but she kept her eyes focused firmly on Lord Morlieb.
“We should wait,” said Dagmar.
“But why? It would be better for the kingdom to be assured of the succession. The people would not want a queen without a king.”
“I do not see why not. My mother was always a fine queen if my father was away, or indisposed. I never heard complaints of her.”
“But of course, they would not tell you of the complaints. Your mother is a strange, cold woman. She has never been well liked. I am sorry to tell you this, but it is true. It is for that reason that I think our marriage should take place in the next several days. We cannot celebrate, of course, but a woman alone should not be on the throne at a time like this.”
He was beginning to suspect her, Dagmar thought. He realized that she was fighting him and he was speaking more quickly. There were more whispers with every tone.
She bowed her head. “Of course.” What could she do to stop the marriage? Pretend to illness herself? Find a dagger and stab him when she was closest to him, when he was speaking to another and not looking at her? Dagmar did not know what would hurt him, if anything would. He could not be invulnerable, surely. And she had to do something.
“As you say, then. We will be married as soon as you like,” said Dagmar, forcing a natural, happy tone to her words.
“Good,” said Lord Morlieb, moving a finger down her neck to her back.
She wished he would not touch her. It made her want to scream and run, as if an animal were attacking her.
But he leaned forward and gave her a kiss. Perfectly proper, though Dagmar was afraid of the heat she saw in his eyes. What would it be like to be married to a man like this?
“Then it is settled. We must do it quickly, I fear. Before your father is too far gone to give you away. I do not know that it can be as public a ceremony as you might have wished, but a few witnesses, in your father’s bedchamber. What do you think?”
“Whatever you think, I agree,” said Dagmar.
And Lord Morlieb nodded, expecting her agreement.
“A private wedding, then. We need not send out invitations for the ceremony itself, but afterward, when there is more time, we will have all the nobles of the kingdom come for a celebration. After your father is—well, after he is gone, of course.”
“After he is gone,” Dagmar murmured.
“I will leave you now, then.”
“One more thing,” said Dagmar. “I would like my mother to be at the wedding. Could we wait until she can be found?”
The story Lord Morlieb had let out was that Queen Marit was out hunting, and no one knew when she would return. No one questioned him about the particulars, however strange this seemed.
“I will do my best to abide by your wishes,” said Lord Morlieb.
“A princess wants to have her mother and father at a wedding,” said Dagmar, hoping that this much rebellion would not alert Lord Morlieb to her plans. She only wanted a little delay.
“And you are still so young,” said Lord Morlieb. “And so alone.”
“Yes,” said Dagmar, as Lord Morlieb drew her into his arms. “So alone.”
Lord Morlieb left that evening when it grew dark, as he so often did. But this time, Dagmar slipped away from her own bed chambers and followed after him. She was careful to keep far from him.
She saw him go to the stables first, and two horses followed him. Then he went to the kennels and after a few minutes, several hounds followed after him. Every step he took, he collected more animals, it seemed. They did not attack, but there was an undercurrent of anger that Dagmar felt and heard. As Lord Morlieb whispered in his own language, the animals snarled and snapped at each other.
But as angry as they were, they remained tightly coiled around him, like a rope he had wrapped around his own arms. They were under his control as completely as the humans in the castle, Dagmar thought. And with so much power, she did not know how anyone human or animal could stop him.
Chapter Twelve: True
Before they reached the castle, Fierce and True saw a man walking toward the forest. There were many animals following after him and there was a low murmur that penetrated to True’s heart. It frightened him.
“They are angry,” said Fierce. “But it is not their own anger. It is his.
Can you see how it comes from him like a dark cloud, and surrounds them all?”
True looked, but he did not see any cloud. He saw only a tall human with animals around him like they had surrounded the Olde Wolf.
But the more True looked at the human, the more he was aware of the ways in which he seemed to move more like the wolf.
It was there in his hands, which he moved like claws. It was in his eyes, which looked for movement and not color. It was in his nose, long and large, always held in front of him, for it was the most telling of the sense for a hound. Or a wolf.
“It is the Olde Wolf,” said True aloud.
“He has the magic to take human form,” said Fierce nodding. “Ah. That is how he understands them so well, and how to defeat them. It is always best to understand as much of the enemy as possible. To see as the enemy sees, and smell as he smells. To pass through his territory and find what matters to him.”
“Why do the humans allow him here, in the heart of this kingdom, in the very castle itself? Can they not tell what he is?” asked True. The smell of him was—wrong.
It was similar to what Golda had said about the humans. “If they don’t believe him when he inside their own territory, why will they believe us when we speak against him?” said True. That was what they were here for, wasn’t it?
“Because they know me,” said Fierce. “And they know I speak the truth.”
“But—” True stared at her.
Fierce gave him a wide hound grin, all teeth and tongue. “Just because you do not remember events in the past does not mean they are forgotten. I know the king himself. King George is his name. And Queen Marit is well acquainted with hounds. They will hear us.”
“And what if we never reach the castle?” said True. He had brought his aging mother here, where there was terrible danger. Now he wished only he could take her away, back to the forest, back to where the Olde Wolf had not yet turned his attention.
“No hound wishes to die in a dark cave, away from the sky, away from the hunt,” said Fierce, her bark rough, but clear. “You remind me of a human now and again, my son.”
The Princess and the Wolf (The Princess and the Hound) Page 10
