“Quite well, thanks,” I replied, feigning a sleepy stretch. My spine popped audibly. That felt good. Raising my hands high over my head, the yawn that erupted wasn’t entirely fake.
Bringing me warmed bread and roasted beef to break my fast, Alun bowed as he placed the meal in my hands. Yet, his fingers lightly brushed my cheek, and his lips pursed in a swift air kiss. If I managed to fool Kel’Ratan, I certainly didn’t fool Alun. Did that damnable Shardon give him lessons on reading me?
“Good,” Kel’Ratan said heartily. “Very, very good. We have a long way to go today.”
Somehow, I reckoned he saw through me after all.
That might be why he stuck to my side all through that day, and those that followed, as though bound there by chains. Perhaps that was also why Silverruff and Thunder loped to either side of Mikk’s stirrups, forcing me into unwanted laughter. Through Rygel’s interpretation, Silverruff told a wild tale of his first hunt, of how his father, Tuatha the Elder, set him up to track a wild bull. Only the bull, in rut, not only knew he was there, but lay in wait. As Elder laughed his ass off, the bull chased Silverruff an entire league before finally giving up.
What’s the big deal? So I couldn’t sleep, missed that big, black-haired boor, wanted to kiss him and kill him both. Did I suddenly require a babysitter? While I wanted to snap at Kel’Ratan, at Shardon, at Witraz, who also brought unwilling grins to my face with his lewd jokes, my mood eased under the attention. I snapped less and less, laughter closer to the surface than my scowls. I didn’t want to feel better, dammit, but I did.
Why then did I still find panic my best friend? By day I rode, laughed, jested, and displayed a smiling and uncaring face to the world. Inwardly, I shook with a dread that owned no name. I rode myself into exhaustion, rested little, and dreaded the nightfall. I feared to sleep. What will I see in my dreams? How could I see him, hear his voice, speak to him without words, all from a hundred or more leagues away? I did. We did. Somehow, that frightened me more than anything.
Supper eaten and cleared away, Yuri and Warrior Dog on watch, I sat, cross-legged by the fire. My bridle didn’t need mending, but I mended it anyhow. Kel’Ratan frowned as he rolled into his blanket, but I pretended I didn’t see the significant message he sent: go to sleep. Arianne, yawning, took Tuatha into the tent we shared as Rygel saluted me and sat across the roaring conflagration from my spot. I caught him watching me, a small frown on his aristocratic face, more than once.
One by one, my boys eyed me sidelong while pretending not to, and sought their rest around the fire. Those wolves not interested in hunting curled into furry mounds to sleep the dark away while their hungry brothers loped into the night and vanished like spirits.
Silverruff sat near me, interested in neither sleeping nor hunting, but gazed into the dancing fire as though absorbed. Thunder, too, kept me company, pushing his head under my hands in a quest for an ear rub. His constant, and annoying, need for affection tossed my unrepaired bridle into the dirt more than once. Bar lay down next to the tent, his lion tail coiled about his haunches, the black-tufted tip flicking back and forth.
Sitting cross-legged on his pallet, Alun broke out his flute. Fingering its silken wood, he tested its wind for several moments. My heart thumping in thick slow strokes, I watched. My pretend task idle in my hands, Thunder’s head across my lap, I held my breath.
Like my emotions, Alun played his instrument.
His haunting melody rose on the night air, making me wish he’d broken the bloody thing. I shut my jaw tight against the raw grief that rose to swamp me. Dammit. Why now? After all these months of silence did he choose now, of all times, to immerse himself in the music he loved? As he grieved for the one he lost, as I grieved for the one I lost, he offered up the haunting notes like a sacrificial goat. He played for us both, his ethereal music wafted upward on the dark breeze. His melancholy song drifted like lingering shadows against the light of the moon, rising higher and higher. Unable to stop him, demand he put his instrument away, I shut my eyes against the stinging tears. Sele, Raine – I’m so sorry –
A warrior to the core, Alun yet owned the sensitivity of a poet, a dreamer. In years past, he often gathered an audience of us young warriors-to-be and created tunes to entertain us. Not to be undone, my father often commanded he play at court, lulling the greedy nobles and aristocrats into thinking they held the upper hand during sensitive negotiations. By dawn’s break, those idiots discovered the King actually took advantage of their negligence and, not only stole their inheritances, but by doing so he expanded his royal influence.
In later years, Sele often sat beside him, her eyes shut, listening to the haunting melodies his flute inspired. His natural talent for bringing music from a slender piece of wood enthralled all who listened, and brought comfort where comfort was needed. Sele’s love brought the music out in him. He felt no despair, no agony of the spirit, no hate and no remorse as he bewitched the King’s court and witnessed his love blossom and grow.
Funny. He hadn’t played his flute since Sele died.
So why did he choose to play it now? For Sele? For me? For Raine? However hard I tried to dismiss it, his sweet attentions smoothed my troubled nerves and set my bed to calling. Tired. I was so damn tired. Surely I’ll sleep tonight, without the dreams.
His soothing notes lulled my aching heart, just as he intended. His song drifted over the quiet camp, rising on the smoke, and wafting gently to the heavens. Do you hear him, Sele? He plays as much for you as he does for me.
Comforted, feeling Alun’s love caress me, I shut my eyes and permitted myself to flow along the gentle song’s currents. Nor was I the only one. Around me, whispered voices ceased, restless tossing in bedrolls halted. The wolves drew heavy sighs in their sleep. Music hath charms indeed.
Despite Alun’s best, I dared not sleep. What danger will I see Raine in if I close my eyes? Should I see him killed, I know I’d will my heart to cease its healthy beat. To die, with him, meant I’d spend eternity at his side. I’d easily embrace death than live a barren life without him.
I gave up the pretense of trying to fix my bridle and crawled into the tent to lie down on my pallet. I turned over, uncomfortable, Arianne’s soft snores mingled with Tuatha’s steady breathing. Stubbornly keeping my eyes open, I yawned. I won’t sleep, I won’t –
Of course, my willpower collapsed under the sweet melody from Alun’s flute. And sheer exhaustion. Dozing off, I slid deep into the depths of refreshing, healing sleep.
I dreamt yet again of the huge black wolf I loved.
I saw him, lit by fires in his huge handsome human form, fighting both Khalidians and Tongu assassins. Bodies piled up at his feet as he cut, stabbed, sliced, and ripped his enemies into bloody pieces. Blood and gore covered him from head to toe. So savagely did he kill, the surviving soldiers and assassins backed away, afraid. They lowered their weapons, and feared his skills, his blade, his rage. I wanted to cheer, to scream, and shriek my own defiance into the teeth of his enemies. I tried to cry a warning – look out – when a Tongu archer aimed his bow. Raine’s wolfish snarl of rage roared forth the instant the arrow struck him –
I woke, barely preventing the scream in my throat from erupting.
I managed it. Though I don’t know how I accomplished it, none woke from their slumber by my outraged cry of anguish and grief.
I blinked, panting. Sweat turned the cool night into a torment. Arianne’s body warmth added fuel to a fire already over-spilling its bounds. Hot. Too hot. I kicked the blanket off me, and sat up.
The fire had burned down low, and only the glowing embers cast a weak light over the slumbering camp. My warriors still lay rolled into their blankets, oblivious to the night and my distress. Furry mounds of sleeping wolves, humorously resembling bundles of tied laundry waiting for maids to pick up, basked in the dim light. No few buried their muzzles under bushy tails. Perhaps they dreamt of the easy hunt, for no few paws twitched, uneasy.
In the tent, Ar
ianne slept on, her light snores loud in my ears. I tried to quash the irritation that rose within me, but failed. Between us, Tuatha half-woke when I did, his questing muzzle seeking my hand. I gently pushed him back into the warmth of Arianne’s side, dropping her limp arm over him.
He settled immediately back into slumber, allowing me the freedom to crawl under the tent’s flap and sit cross-legged outside. I shivered in the chilly, late-night air as the night-sweat cooled rapidly. Dragging a fur to cover me, I sat by the nearly-dead fire, adding wood to its coals and built it up. My chattering teeth eased a fraction as I warmed under the flames.
Only Shardon lifted his head from beyond the firelight. I met his sympathetic gaze and dropped my chin in a quick nod of acknowledgement.
“Are you all right?” he asked, his voice so light and soft I knew none but I heard it. Not even Alun, on watch several rods away with Black Tongue at his side, caught his words.
I merely offered him a half-shrug in reply, and huddled beneath my fur to await the sun and the new day. For I dared not sleep again, fearing what I may see in my dreams. Was he dead even now, killed by the soldiers and the Tongu? I quaked inwardly, fearing to wake Rygel and ask him if Raine still lived. For he’d, of course, want to know how I knew Raine was in danger in the first place.
I didn’t want to share my visions of him with the others. They’d think me crazy, disbelieve me and insist my dreams were just fantasies conjured up by his absence. I feared to admit to them that I saw him in truth. They didn’t need to know that I heard his voice as he spoke to me over the massed leagues between us. Or that he heard me cry my longing as I slept and he loped north.
This should stay between Raine and me.
As the sun’s first rays shot, orange, pink and purple, over the horizon, my boys rolled out of their blankets. Stretching, grumbling and yawning hugely, they greeted the new day with far more enthusiasm than I. Alun and his new pal wandered in from their watch, Alun’s hand tickling Black Tongue’s chin as the huge wolf danced, tail waving, at his side.
“I detest mornings,” Kel’Ratan muttered sourly as he sat up. “Rising this early ought to be banned.”
Nahar, his tail wagging happily, licked his cheek before Kel’Ratan fended him off with a coarse oath. “I also detest folk who like rising this early.”
My fears from the night’s dream interfered with the witty comment I might have uttered. Instead, I huddled under my hide covering and watched, bleary-eyed, as Tor started his early chores of feeding us all. My boys, wolves wagging happily beside them, took horses to water. Shardon ambled along after them.
Arianne crawled out of the tent, yawning mightily, with plump Tuatha tumbling out from under the flap. Her midnight hair, snarled from sleep, cascaded around her like a shroud. Unable to avoid it, she stepped on it with her knees and her feet before she could rise and walk. Straightening her gown, she tossed the heavy mass behind her and smiled like the rising sun as her loves sauntered across camp to greet her.
I stifled a scowl. Arianne mourned Raine’s disappearance for perhaps two hours before delighting in the attention both Rygel and Darkhan offered. I half-wondered if she even remembered she had a brother. I bit my tongue on a caustic comment.
She remembered her duties, at least, and ceased hugging and kissing on her pair of adoring worshippers. She waved them off, murmuring of chores and tying her midnight wealth back, out of the way. Bending, she tried to pick Tuatha up.
With a snarl no less fierce for his small size, Tuatha snapped his needle teeth within an inch of her hand before she jerked it back.
“Tuatha,” she cried as Darkhan growled.
Tuatha snarled again, his baby fuzz stiff and erect along his rounded spine. My boys halted to stare, open-mouthed, and Tor almost dropped his load of meat and bread into the fire. Silverruff woofed, but, as usual, I had no clue what it was he said and no one translated.
I alone felt no surprise at his savage behavior.
Of all of us who loved Raine and missed him sorely, Tuatha alone couldn’t get past his loss. He’d refused to eat the previous day, dozing in his sack for much of the day. Arianne, too fond of the attention she received, offered Tuatha little in the way of the care he obviously needed.
“Tuatha,” I said quietly.
Still growling, his fur rigid, the pup turned around and tottered toward me. His growls coalesced into sharp whines of grief as he crawled into my lap. I enfolded him into the warm hide and my arms, feeling his uncontrollable shiver.
Arianne huffed in insulted irritation before turning away to assist Tor with breakfast. Rygel offered me a one-shoulder shrug and a half-salute before glowering down at a growling Darkhan.
“What was that all about?” Kel’Ratan asked. He still sat, but he’d raised his knee and rested his left arm across it. Blue eyes considered me and Tuatha with kindness and compassion.
“He grieves,” I replied, soft. “He lost his papa.”
“Poor bugger.” Kel’Ratan groaned his way to his feet. “He’s taken to you, obviously. Maybe you should be his mama.”
Me? Take the place of his mother? Obviously, Arianne couldn’t control him and Tuatha didn’t want her to. I couldn’t see Corwyn, Tor or any of my warriors coddling the grieving pup, or caring for him, or coaxing him to eat. Nor would Rygel. That left me, the most unwolfish of all present.
I couldn’t even understand his speech, for goddess sake.
“You and me, baby,” I murmured. “We’ll get through this together, eh?”
His low growl, rising on a whine, answered me. Promise?
“Promise.”
Thus I took him up with me, guiding Mikk with my knees, holding Tuatha in my arms as we rode. I paid close attention to his needs, his anguish, soothing his grief and fears as best I could. I felt his pain, his feelings of abandonment, for they were my own. As he slept in my arms, needing his sleep as babies did, even his rest was broken with whimpers and restlessness. I certainly related to that.
At the noon break, I spent most of my time coaxing his delicious mush down his throat. Tuatha cried and avoided the food as though fearing I’d poisoned it. I hardly ate myself, but I felt cheered when he finally swallowed down almost half of what Rygel had prepared.
Kel’Ratan nodded, his mustache bristling, his own mouth full. “It’s a start.”
Arianne, between Darkhan and Rygel, ate only a handful of meat and bread, watched me with faint hurt in her glorious eyes.
I stood up, dusting off my leathers to check on my horse. I thought to leave Tuatha behind, to seize a short nap before we rode again, but he obviously had other ideas. On stumpy legs, Tuatha marched behind me, huffing along to keep up. I reckon he doesn’t want me out of his sight, I thought, slowing my pace.
Mikk nickered in welcome as I caressed his neck and shoulder. Inspecting my saddle and girth, I adjusted several straps and retied my pack. Curious, Mikk lowered his head, his black nostrils flared to suck in Tuatha’s scent. Sitting on his butt, tiny tail swishing in the dirt, Tuatha regarded him solemnly.
“Your Highness,” Rannon said, walking up beside me.
I glanced around, seeing his new friend, Shadow, at his side. The huge silver and grey Shadow grinned at me, his tongue lolling and his tail fanning the air behind him. His head on level with my chest, the wolf wuffed his salutation.
I half-smiled, my mouth opened to greet them both when a storm broke apart at my feet. A savage sound that surely emerged from a much larger predator erupted from the vicinity of my boots. Tuatha’s fury boiled over like an overcooked stew. His baby fur stood on end as he attacked, needle teeth bared. His latest perceived enemy?
Shadow.
“What the –“ Rannon began as Shadow leapt away from Tuatha’s charge. Tuatha, as enraged as lion defending his pride, charged mercilessly toward Shadow’s dancing feet.
“Er, excuse me,” I said breathlessly, bending over and lunging forward.
Poor Shadow, bewildered and confused by the unprovoked viol
ence, jumped aside. I couldn’t help but notice he politely refrained from retaliating against his small assailant. High-stepping in a circle around Rannon and me, he kept his feet intact and out of reach. As Tuatha followed him up on quick legs, still snarling, I missed seizing his torso. I did, however, grab his tail.
He yowled and screamed, still enraged, as I dragged him into my arms. I half-thought he might try to bite me, but despite his fury, Tuatha knew better. He struggled, yapping, snarling, his sapphire eyes slitted almost shut. I held him tight to me, my palm over his muzzle and eyes.
“Um,” I said diffidently. “You better go.”
Offering me a puzzled salute, Rannon backed away. He snapped his fingers, taking Shadow with him.
Only when Shadow departed did Tuatha finally lick his lips, cease his screams of hate and rage, and calm down. Once more, Tuatha’s drama halted all the camp’s activity. Turning, I discovered a frozen tableau of serious inactivity. Warriors stood, gaping like fools, holding the reins of horses, or halted in the act of tightening girths. Kel’Ratan and Corwyn, in close discussion, stood with their bodies facing one another. Yet, their confused expressions turned toward me. Darkhan and Rygel halted their growls at one another and gawped. Arianne, among them all, scowled in dark disapproval.
“This is absurd,” Kel’Ratan grumbled, his red brows lowered over his snapping blue eyes. “Doesn’t he like anybody anymore?”
I tried to shrug, Tuatha’s heavy weight allowing for only a tiny lift of my shoulders. “He likes me.”
Kel’Ratan snorted and continued his interrupted conversation with Corwyn. With a jerk of my head, I silently ordered the others back to their tasks. Carrying Tuatha back to my spot by the fire, I sat him down, and firmly pushed him into a seated position. He yapped up at me, his blue eyes unrepentant. I smoothed his soft ears back over his head as new worries engulfed my gut.
In their happy ignorance, my people failed to recognize the deep reason behind his aggressive demeanor.
Prince Wolf Page 11
