Daughter of the Wolf (Pathway of the Chosen Book 2)

by Cat Bruno

  His shoulders dropped as he relaxed, fighting a smile that she could read in his sky-colored eyes. Next to him stood Sharron and Gregorr, both clad in new clothing as well. They were all in dark, unmarked clothing, with little to identify from where they came. Gregorr’s long, silver hair was braided and knotted at his neck, hidden by the hood of his cape. His skin, unmistakably green, was nearly all covered, and his hands were gloved. Only his face was visible, yet, beneath the hood, most would think him a child, slight and shy as he was.

  Taking the babe from Sharron, who had replaced her healer’s robes with well-fitting pants and a thick tunic, Caryss hardly recognized the other Northerner. But, she herself must have looked similar, as they had both dressed in clothes that Conall had given to them. Except for the babe, they appeared as a hunting party, not unlike any other that they might encounter as they traveled east.

  With Syrsha in her arms, Caryss dropped her gaze, knowing who stood just beyond the others. As if he wore a skin of night itself, shining and sleek, reflecting the early morning sun, Conri waited. His face was pale, his hair falling about it, a black frame around a nearly perfect face.

  Unable to call out, she approached him, forgetting the others, forgetting all else. Nearly forgetting that the babe was in her arms.

  Had she been watching, Caryss would have noticed the others turn away as she came upon the High Lord. As they busied themselves with their own packs, she closed her eyes and sighed, letting the air escape her body as if it had been caged. In her arms, the babe kicked at the blanket that had been wrapped tightly about her. Perhaps she knows, Caryss thought.

  When she next looked up, Conri’s eyes were on her. Dark eyes, thick with blood, yet still his own.

  Her own eyes burned as her vision blurred, until tears dripped from the bottoms. With one hand tightly holding Syrsha, Caryss wiped at her cheeks with the other, angry that she had allowed the tears.

  In a shaking voice, she told him, “She will find a way to visit you.”

  For a moment, Caryss hesitated, then, quickly, before she could change her mind, handed the sleeping infant to the High Lord.

  As he held his daughter, for what they all knew would be the last time, Caryss looked away. Near the others, whom she finally remembered, stood Nahla, heavy with her own child, a son of the Wolf.

  “Will Nahla be safe here?” Caryss asked with downcast eyes, uncertain why the Islander had decided against going with the rest of them.

  Gregorr had sent word to the fennidi for help when it came time for Nahla’s babe to be born and had assured Caryss that his kin would arrive soon. With Conri’s permission, a few would stay with her for a moon or more. Yet, Caryss still felt as if she was abandoning the woman who had done so much to help her. Without Nahla, they would have never made it out of the King’s City.

  When Conri still had not answered, she pressed him again, asking in a louder voice, “What will come of Nahla and the boy?”

  “You have seen the boy, have you not? They will be fine.”

  His words were short and sharp.

  “Blaidd will be a child of the Wolf, just as my own is. And Nahla has done much for me. Keep them safe, Conri.”

  In a voice softer than she thought him capable, he told her, “Conall’s son will be Tribe, but he will be half-breed and not god-touched. It will not be an easy life for him here.”

  “He will be kin and ally to our own daughter,” she retorted.

  “He is Wolf, but his path is his own to walk, and none know what his powers might be.”

  “Your father will not want him?” she whispered, knowing how he did not like to speak of Nox.

  “The boy will be accepted and welcomed,” Conri shrugged. “Conall already speaks of his plans for him, and he will raise him as his only son. But, no, he will not be marked as the girl has been.”

  Still unsatisfied, she asked, “What of the other Tribes?”

  “None know of him, Caryss. He is no threat.”

  With a sigh, Caryss finally understood and said, “Keep it that way then, Conri.”

  Standing in silence, the High Lord gently rocked the small babe swaddled and sleeping in his arms as Caryss watched. Unlike Syrsha, Conri could not time-walk with ease. Each time he had visited her, it had been in flesh.

  “Will you be able to visit us as the girl does?”

  Shaking his head but not taking his eyes from the babe, he answered, “If necessary, I could. However it is best that I do not know where you have gone. He will ask. Caryss, there is much you must teach faela, and she must understand the danger she faces when she time-walks. And she must learn of her enemies.”

  “Faela?”

  “Wolf-pup. She is not queen yet. She will need to earn her name.”

  He was not wrong, and Caryss said nothing in reply. The sun was fully visible now, and the others had finished readying their supplies. The time had come to depart. Conall, she knew, had argued with Conri about letting her leave unaccompanied, yet they all were aware of how it would appear for their group to be traveling with the High Lord, or any other Tribesman. Their only safety was in anonymity, without affiliation to Tribe or crown.

  It was best if none found her, Conri had repeated often, demanding that Aldric keep them well warded.

  Her arms, heavy and paralyzed at her sides, began to tingle as she struggled to lift them. Across her chest hung a blanket that Nahla had weaved into a sling to hold the babe as she rode. Beneath it, her life pulse struck against her chest, insistent and hurried. Her hands, glowing red under the morning sun, trembled as she reached for the babe. Caryss half-expected the babe to cry as Conri gently handed her off, yet she slept still, as if nothing had changed.

  Quickly, she cradled her against her chest, tucking her into the sling, and wondering if the wolf-pup could feel how her life pulse quaked.

  For a long moment, Caryss waited, unsure what to say. There was much between Conri and her, yet words would not come. Unbidden memories, lost to her for so long clouded her thoughts.

  Images of her parents, dead at his hands. The fog across her eyes shifted, faded as her heart slowed.

  “What were my parents’ names?”

  Her words were faint, unexpected and sudden.

  “Your father was called Iain and your mother Morra.”

  Caryss turned then, dry-faced and steady, and walked to where the others waited. Nahla rushed to her, hugging her and the babe, as they were still one, and whispering words of her own tongue into Caryss’s ear.

  Words of prayer, from the Great Mother. Lullaby and blessing both.

  Wanting to assure Nahla that the fennidi would be arriving soon, Caryss opened her mouth. Yet no words came. When she freed herself from Nahla’s embrace, she just nodded, knowing that the Islander would understand.

  As she carefully climbed atop the gelding, Caryss realized that the last moon year had been spent in travel, with more departures and farewells than she could recall. And soon, she would leave Cordisia for the second time, knowing not when she would return.

  Kicking at the sides of the gelding, she grabbed the well-worn leather reins and turned the mount, kicking harder until he trotted free.

  Not once did she look back.

  *****

  “It took me a quarter-moon to find you.”

  For a moment, he wanted to lie, to tell the man nothing. Yet he was dressed in healer’s robes, trapped with the Prince’s army. The Tribesman shined as he stood in Pietro’s tent; his black cape moving as if it had been weaved from water. The man’s eyes were dark, too, although there was little light to see them clearly. In his hands pulsed a small orb-light, although Pietro had not needed it to know who had stolen into his tent without notice.

  The lie was on his tongue, but, before he could answer, the man crossed the tent and grabbed him by the throat.

  Hissing as if his voice was smoke, the Tribesman seethed, “Have you found the girl?”

  With a stutter, Pietro chokingly cried, “You think Prince De
lwin informs me of his plans? I am nothing to him, only here to nod my head once he does find her.”

  “If you do not tell me what you know, you will not even be able to do that, fool!” the Tribesman half-screamed, throwing Pietro onto his small sleeping mat.

  Rubbing at his neck, he mumbled, “Our course changed yesterday evening after scouts showed up at camp. We rode through most of the night, and, even now, we have only been given three hours to sleep. Soon, we will be astride again. Something must have happened, but, like I mentioned, I am not privy to Delwin’s plans.”

  “You should have used the rune to call me. Take me to him.”

  Breathlessly, Pietro said, “He will kill you.”

  With a laugh that seemed to rip through the sides of Pietro’s small tent, the Tribesman spit, “If he is fool enough to try, I would welcome the fight.”

  “What of the mages?” Pietro moaned.

  “Had they any skill at all, they would have already known I was here.”

  With no other choice, Pietro exited his tent, his fingers near his burning throat. The sky was gray-black, although there were hints of orange on the horizon. Around them, others were preparing for the day’s travels, although, much to Pietro’s amazement, none noticed as he and the Tribesman walked toward Delwin’s tent. Even when they were just outside the Prince’s large enclosure, the two men were not stopped, or even acknowledged, Pietro suddenly realized.

  When the Tribesman pushed the hanging door open and entered without comment, Pietro followed, as if he walked in his sleep. Through foggy eyes, he could see Delwin, wearing only his underclothes. Beside him was a squire, a boy moon years still from adulthood. Neither looked toward them, despite being just steps away. He knew not what the Tribesman had done, but his presence was not yet known.

  Until, in a voice high and shrill, the Tribesman cawed, “Has the girl been found?”

  The squire shrieked, dropping the blue and gold jacket that he held. Delwin turned, with speed, and looked straight at Pietro. Then, as he looked to the healer’s right, saw the Tribesman. With eyes wide, Delwin scrambled for his sword, which was leaning against a nearby chair.

  “Your weapons will have no effect on me, Prince.”

  Giving little heed to the words, Delwin lunged for the sword and held it in front of him as he asked, “How did you get in here? What have you done to my guards?”

  With a wave of his hand, the Tribesman replied, “They are where you left them, just outside the tent. Let us not waste time, Delwin. I know the boy here told you of me. We share a common goal and can be considered allies. I am not here to harm you, or you would have been dead before your fingers curled around the hilt of your sword. I am here for the girl, and no more than that. You have been long searching for her. Too long, although I have heard that you are finally near.”

  Pietro’s legs were shaking as the prince looked at him, as if seeking an explanation. When the healer opened his mouth to speak, the Tribesman’s gaze silenced anything he would have said. Instead, he waited, until Delwin answered.

  With feigned confidence, Delwin explained, “Days ago, my men located a small party traveling through the western Faelan Mountains. There is a particularly tough spot to pass, and my men have been camped there for nearly a moon. Just south of Arranwain, there is but one trail fit for human travel. It was here that my men saw who they believe is the healer. They reported seeing a woman with hair the color of fire and a man near my father’s age being pulled in small wagon. From there, they tracked her heading east.”

  “They are still following her?”

  “At a distance, yes. But, even if they lose her, I now know where it is that she goes.”

  The two now spoke as if they had forgotten whom the other was, and Pietro’s mouth dried and his heart pounded. Against Tribe and Rexterra, Bronwen had no chance.

  Do no harm, he thought, silently cursing himself and swallowing the bile that was thick in his mouth.

  “And where would that be?” the Tribesman asked, his voice growing louder.

  Grabbing his coat from the pale-faced squire, Delwin said, more calmly than Pietro thought possible, “With her travels a man I once knew well. He is cousin to me, but on his father’s side there is Northern blood. One of my guards recognized him and sent word. I believe they will seek shelter with his father’s kin, who live less than a day’s ride from here.”

  Pietro watched as what could pass for a smile crossed the Tribesman’s face, raising his arched cheeks high. Trembling, Pietro hurriedly looked away.

  With the same strange smile, the Tribesman said, “What nice timing. I will accompany you, Prince Delwin, and once the girl is found, I will see that she is punished for her treason.”

  Half-collapsing, Pietro reached for a wooden table that had been set up near the center of the tent, steadying himself as the two stared across the tent.

  “The girl will be brought back to the King’s City and jailed for her crimes!” Delwin roared, as if he no longer feared the Tribesman.

  “She is with child,” the Tribesman told him. “While I care little for the healer, her child is Tribe and belongs to my people. What you do with the girl once the babe is born is little concern to me, and you have my word that I will deliver you the girl after the babe is born.”

  Delwin’s cheeks flushed red and, through gritted teeth, he hissed, “This girl kidnapped the rightful king and had her own guards murdered, as if they were animals and not men. I do not know what you want with this healer, but she must return to Rexterra for trial.”

  Calmly, the Tribesman smirked, “I did not know that the Tribe was known for mercy.”

  When Delwin did not reply, the man added, “I could kill you now, Prince, and find the girl on my own. You have told me enough to know where she is. Yet, I will not if you assure me that the babe is mine.”

  “The babe has been born already. My men reported seeing the healer riding with an infant strapped across her chest.”

  The words were half-whispered, part anger and part fear, Pietro realized.

  With a cackle that again crashed around the tent, the Tribesman laughed, “Even better. Promise me the babe, and the girl is yours.”

  Delwin’s gold-rimmed eyes stared across the tent, and Pietro knew that a red haze was burning hot behind them, but he coldly replied, “The babe is yours. Now let us ride.”

  He had said nothing while the two men talked, nor could he speak once they had finished. Pushing himself from the desk, he followed as Delwin and the Tribesman walked from the tent, keeping stride with the young squire. As they crossed the camp, men gasped, yet none spoke.

  Among them was a Crow.

  *****

  27

  “When I was a child, I would visit Eirrannia for the summer, doing little more than riding and exploring. Sometimes, I would leave just after the sun rose and would not return until midday. These fields were home to me, and, with a few of the local boys, we would stay gone all day. On a morn like this, Caryss, we would ride under the clear sky, as if we had no troubles or concerns.”

  “I’m not certain that we have no troubles, Willem,” she said, but a small smile covered her face. “How much longer until we reach your father’s brother?”

  Looking around, Willem hesitated, before finally saying, “A few hours perhaps. If I am correct, we will come upon a small stream soon, and, following that will lead us to his house.”

  “It was with this uncle that you spent your summers?”

  “Yes, Mihal is a fine man and taught me much of the North.”

  “Does your father ever return to Eirrannia?”

  His large stallion was next to her gelding, and when she turned to face him, the smile had faded.

  “He is Rexterran now and to return would displease my mother.”

  With a sigh, Caryss asked, “Were we not too isolated at the Academy? To know nothing or so little about the rest of Cordisia seems so strange now. I knew not even of how Eirrannia is viewed in the south.”r />
  Nodding, he told her, “The Academy is like no other place and welcomes all whom seek learning. I do not think it should be any other way.”

  Caryss agreed with him and added, “It is an easy place to miss.”

  “What of your foster mother? Have you sent word of late?” Willem asked.

  She dropped her eyes, and, quietly, answered, “I should have never left her there. What if something has happened to her since you departed? The Prince must have sent men to Litusia. What if she was questioned, or worse?”

  When Willem’s brow wrinkled in thought, Caryss knew that she was not wrong to be concerned. For moons, she had not written to her foster mother, nor did she ever make mention of the babe. Before arriving in the King’s City so many moons before, Caryss had written occasionally to Sheva, mostly of matters of little importance. Yet since she had taken the King, she no longer wrote, fearing what would happen if Crispin or Delwin found the woman.

  “I must find knowledge of how she fared this last moon,” she pleaded, thinking on Willem’s assurances to her when he first arrived.

  After a few moments, Willem told her, “There are but two options. Either you contact Conri for help, or you wait until we are free of Cordisia and hire a courier.”

  “Send a Tribesman to her door?” she gasped. “Then she will not only have Rexterra on her heels, but Crow as well.”

  “Then we wait until we reach Cossima.”

  Knowing she had little choice, Caryss kicked at her horse, urging the beast to canter faster.

  Otieno and Jarek rode at the front of their small pack, silently pacing the group. When Caryss’s horse galloped up to them, it slowed, unaccustomed to being the lead.

  With a curt nod to Otieno, she asked, “Can we quicken the pace? I am ready to be gone from Cordisia. The sooner we are without the King, the sooner we can make for the coast.”

  “What does Willem say? Are we close?”

  Each time the Islander spoke, Caryss heard salt and sea at the edge of his lilting words. The words, like a song, were rough, although not unpleasant, she thought.