Wolf's Head, Wolf's Heart

by Jane Lindskold

  Time and again, the kestrel steered them away from the obvious path to one that—though more difficult—proved a better choice. Eventually, they climbed to where they could see the waterfall, and Firekeeper was amazed.

  "From the sound and the mist, I had thought it close enough to touch," she exclaimed, "yet we are so far away!"

  "It is like a wolf pack," Bee Biter said, fluttering a safe distance from Blind Seer, "noisy enough that one cannot judge the size."

  Blind Seer, however, was too weary to take offense at this comment. Whereas the climb had been rough on Firekeeper, at least the human had hands with which to grasp. The wolf must leap from rock to rock or scrabble up paths that showered down gravel as he struggled for a foothold. Even the paws of a wolf—surprisingly skillful at bracing and balancing—were challenged by this climb. Had Firekeeper not shoved him over some blockades and dragged him over others, Blind Seer could not have come this far.

  Firekeeper stroked him, rubbing beneath his chin and along his throat. She fancied he had lost some weight during these past several days, but then he'd had weight to spare. Now he was firm and strong, as a wolf in pre-snowfall form should be if he expected to survive the winter.

  They resumed their climb. The sound from the great torrent of water never diminished, but the time came when they looked down at it, to where its base vanished in mist. By evening, they were on level ground, but another surprise awaited Firekeeper and Blind Seer.

  "You said we were coming to a lake!" Firekeeper said accusingly to Elation. "This is no lake. It is the ocean held in the breast of the mountain!"

  Elation laughed. "If you could take to the skies at midday, little wolfling, you could see the far side of the lake. Still, I admit it is a grand stretch of water and what you see before you is only one section. The waters fill two lobes of almost equal size. One spills, as you have seen, into the Barren River. There is enough left to birth the Fox and yet even when midsummer is driest the waters recede only a little."

  "I am," Firekeeper admitted, "awed and no little bit terrified. I am also exhausted. Will the Mothers forgive us if we sleep? As I recall, we are to meet them to the west of this ocean lake."

  "They will forgive," Bee Biter said promptly. "Indeed, it would be best if you had light for the next challenge."

  "Next?" growled Blind Seer.

  "Think, wolf," the kestrel said teasingly. "Have you yet crossed the Barren River? You began your climb on her more southern bank. To go around the lake you must first cross to the northern bank."

  Blind Seer shook, more in dismay than because he was wet, though droplets did scatter from his thick coat.

  "True enough, bug-eater. At least the ground is softer here than below."

  Elation shrieked laughter, perhaps pleased that the wolf had offered the insult she had not dared. Then she spoke:

  "I will hunt for you land-bound: Lick your paws and soak your feet. Build a fire and rest. You have done a great thing for two who have no wings and only six legs between you."

  Wolf and woman were too weary to answer to whatever insults might be implied. Glad of a chance to rest where the ground was level and dry, they stretched out on the carpet of dried grass for a brief nap.

  Eventually, Firekeeper rose and found kindling among the driftwood washed along the pebbly shore. Blind Seer had eaten two rabbits—head, hide, and entrails—by the time her fire was ready for cooking her own meal, but she was glad of the blaze's warmth as much as its use in preparing food. With full darkness, the lakeside had grown cold.

  When she slept, she curled between the fire and Blind Seer. As the wolf had predicted, she tucked her bare feet beneath his belly fur for warmth.

  Chapter IX

  Even when they did so, Allister had known that he and Uncle Tedric had been pushing the limits of probability when they had set the date for the second wedding for a mere fifteen days after the first. Still, there had been little choice in the matter.

  Boar Moon shone down on late autumn, a time when the early harvest had already been gathered and most farmers were turning their energies to preparing for the first snowfalls. In the northern parts of Hawk Haven, he had heard, there would be snow before the moon finished waning. Bright Bay was enough farther south and her climate was so influenced by the great bay at her heart that winter took a bit longer growing severe, but once the cold set in it always seemed reluctant to let go.

  The first wedding had taken place on the twenty-second day of Lynx Moon, about as soon after King Allister's coronation as was reasonable, given the distances some of the guests were required to travel. The second wedding, therefore, could not be scheduled any sooner than the ninth day of Boar Moon.

  After the assassination attempt, Allister and King Tedric had discussed delaying the wedding a few more days, but they had decided against it. Already they were tempting the forces that ruled wind and rain; to delay further would tempt cold as well. Moreover, Hawk Haven was farther north. The capital, at Eagle's Nest, lay somewhat closer to the mountains.

  Yet if they did not hold the wedding in early Boar Moon, it must be delayed until winter had released its grip on the land and the worst of spring's rains were past—late Horse Moon or even Puma Moon.

  True, a hardy group might actually travel more swiftly once the snow was on the ground and wheels could be exchanged for sled runners, but it would take a deep freeze indeed to ice over the Barren, and King Allister had no wish to trust his loved ones to a semifrozen river rife with ice floes.

  Moreover, much as he loved her, he was the first to admit—perhaps second after Pearl herself—that his wife was not a hardy traveler. Women Pearl's age still commanded ships or rode to battle—she was just past forty, after all—but Pearl Oyster was not of that type. She was a settled noblewoman who never rode if there was a carriage to hand, had never sailed for herself since her sons had grown eager to take the lines, and rejoiced in a well-managed household.

  The twins were still slim girl-children, as light and delicate as the fish and flower for which they were named. Minnow and Anemone might start out finding a multiday sleigh trip exciting. (Even with perfect conditions, they couldn't hope to cover the necessary distance in less than four days.) By the end they would be shivering and miserable, their noses bright red and running, hardly the perfect appearance for maiden wedding attendants.

  But as much as King Allister loved his family—and he did so with the open heart of an unambitious man who had never needed to dream his children into anything more than the people they were—it had not been consideration for them or their needs that had made him urge King Tedric to let the wedding remain on its scheduled day.

  It had been politics.

  A delay until even Horse Moon—if the roads were not sodden with mud—would give the schemers half a year to plan and plot. Rumors would be spread that the wedding had been delayed because the truce was weakening, because Shad and Sapphire had grown to hate each other, because one or both were ill.

  In winter, rumors spread with the speed of a skater across the ice and grew around firesides like exotic plants in a New Kelvinese hothouse. Half a year of rumors could destroy his reign more neatly than an assassin's dagger. Best instead that they go ahead and finish the formalities.

  Shad and Sapphire would winter in Hawk Haven as planned—King Tedric's age and health made it unwise for his heirs to be too far away when they might be needed. In return, several of the younger members of Hawk Haven's court would winter in Bright Bay. Allister knew that Sapphire was hoping that one or more of her younger sisters would be among that number, but Lady Melina's recent behavior made that uncertain.

  Our young guests won't be hostages, Allister thought with grim humor, not really, not quite, but that won't stop those who think the worst of rulers from seeing them as such.

  So it was that on the second day of Boar Moon, King Al•lister and a fairly sizable entourage prepared to depart from Revelation Point Castle. In the back of his mind, Allister was aware that Ki
ng Tedric and his party would not yet have arrived home—and that they would not until just a few days before their guests.

  Since the trip out from Eagle's Nest had taken King Tedric's party six days, Allister had hoped that his group—which after all contained no invalids—could do it in less.

  One look at the long train of horses and carriages, baggage wagons and overburdened mules quenched that hope. Allister had not been king long enough to feel he could do as he desired—stride down that line like a captain inspecting his officers and strip those traveling with him down to bare essentials.

  Don't forget, Allister, he told himself, that they are making a brave venture into enemy territory. They'll want to make a good show, put on their best finery for our new allies. Don't ruin their pride.

  Shad, still holding his left shoulder somewhat stiffly, rode up beside Allister.

  "Don't worry, Father," he said, his words for the king alone. "We'll make it there no later than the evening of the seventh. Sapphire and I have discussed tactics, and have decided that we'll ride to the point, keeping up the pace and shaming those who would go too easy."

  Allister chuckled.

  "You can do that where I can't," he admitted. "You're still touched with the glamour of your newlywed state."

  "And what better way," the prince added, showing that he too had been thinking of how vulnerable their position was, "to quell any rumors that Sapphire and I might not like either each other or this arranged marriage than to be urging everyone on?"

  "You're a good son," Allister said almost complacently.

  "And Sapphire is a fine wife!" Shad nearly glowed in his enthusiasm.

  Allister followed the direction of Shad's gaze and saw his new daughter-in-law swinging into her horse's saddle. Gone was the elegant bride, gone the pale invalid. Here was the warrior whose appearance had enchanted the troops fighting before the walls of Good Crossing. Today she didn't wear armor or sword, only a hunting knife at her belt, but her steed was the mighty Blue she had ridden into war.

  The Blue was actually a pale grey, but Lady Melina's desire that her children be clad and accoutered in keeping with the theme of their names had extended to horses. If there were no blue horses, then one must be created—in this case, by means of dye.

  When the Blue had been relocated some days after the final battle of King Allister's War—he had fled during a particularly bad press—Sapphire had reclaimed him, treated his wounds, and then permitted her mount to go back to his former color. To her evident delight, the Blue's mane and tail turned out to be a smoky blue-grey, quite striking against his paler coat—and an ample reminder of his former gaudy glory.

  "Lead on, son," Allister said. "Gather up your lady and tell whoever Whyte has assigned to point guard that we're to get under way. There's no better way to convince the stragglers to stop straggling than to give them no choice."

  Shad trotted his own mount—a dark bay with off stockings white almost to the knee—to join Sapphire. Allister accepted a hand up into the carriage that had been prepared for him. Later, he would ride up and down the line, visiting with his companions and consolidating his reign a bit more. However, he had agreed with Whyte Steel's recommendation that to begin the journey in that fashion would be to invite trouble.

  And not just from assassins—if any are about, Allister thought. Too many would press for the honor of riding in my vicinity. The main roads of Silver Whale Cove are wide, but we'd bottleneck them just the same.

  For the first several days of their journey the weather remained clement and the king kept to his resolve to mix with his entourage as much as possible. The autumn air was crisp and his mount—a sorrel with the undignified name of Hot Toddy—was smooth-gaited at both walk and trot. Toddy's canter was like flying, but Allister rarely had the excuse to press the horse that fast.

  Instead he rode at easy pace, always dogged by one or more riders—even if his own court had not taken advantage of the king's availability, Whyte Steel would not have left him unprotected. Nor were the members of his own entourage the only ones who sought to get close. The passage of the royal group from Hawk Haven had not quelled the enthusiasm of those who lived anywhere at all near the road for spectacle.

  So many people crowded the verges, especially whenever the group passed near a town or village, that Allister idly wondered who precisely was left to get in the harvest. If the baskets of hand-polished apples and other fresh goods—from pastries to eggs—they were offered were any indication, it had been a good harvest, despite the fighting farther west.

  They were forced to turn away many of the gifts, or no people, only groceries, would have arrived in Hawk Haven for the wedding. Still, at night when the temperatures dropped, Allister found himself glad for a mug of hot cider to warm his insides.

  The day after they crossed the Barren at Rock Fort and left Broadview behind them, the weather turned ugly. Rain washed down in torrents, turning the packed road sticky with mud. The sailors among them pulled out foul-weather gear and rode on as if this were nothing more than a squall at sea. Sea chanties were bellowed out to answer the force of the wind until even the horses seemed encouraged.

  Uncle Tedric should be home by now, Allister thought as he guided Hot Toddy around the puddles. He'd long ago left the singing to those with better voices and fallen to daydreaming about what awaited them in a day or two more. And there will be fires blazing in all the hearths and thick quilts on the beds.

  That evening, when they made camp in a farmer's barns, Whyte Steel reported to the king that the people much admired his fortitude and noble bearing against the elements.

  "They're saying that you contemplate great matters of state," the guard captain said, "and so ride as if through a soft spring day."

  Allister laughed. Truly the mystique and aura of a king held a unique power if it could make people believe such nonsense.

  "Don't tell them, Whyte," he said, still laughing. "I'm just sealing my lips to keep from drinking rain by the gallon."

  "I won't," Whyte replied with frightening sincerity. "I most certainly will not."

  Walnut Endbrook hated his given name. He'd never gotten straight just why his mother had saddled him with it. Whenever he'd asked he'd never gotten the same story twice in a row.

  The worst times were when she just giggled. Other times she offered him a fanciful tale by way of explanation: walnuts had been her favorite food when she was pregnant with him or he'd been conceived under a walnut tree or his wrinkled infant face had reminded her of a nutmeat.

  Walnut couldn't ask his father, because his mother wasn't precisely sure who was his father. That lucky gentleman had gotten away from Honey Endbrook long before Walnut had been born, maybe even before he'd been conceived. There had been other men since. Many others.

  Before he was eight, Walnut had beaten bloody anyone who dared call him "Walnut." On children he used his fists. Adults he bit or kicked. "Waln"—never "Nut"—became an acceptable diminutive. He would have preferred to adopt some other name entirely, but though lots of people were nicknamed as they grew older no one ever renamed him—not even a common nickname like "Tiny" or "Salty." Perversely, the hated name remained with him as stubbornly as walnut-rind stain remained on the hands.

  Waln left his mother's home on Dog Island shortly after his eleventh birthday, sailing out as cabin boy on a merchant ship. When he returned, three years later, Honey Endbrook had vanished. No one seemed to know where she had gone or even whether she was living or dead. Far too many people in his old hometown called him "Walnut," though. Waln left, the money he had meant to give his mother as proof of his new worth heavy in his pockets.

  He used the better part of three years' wages to buy into a cargo; the profits from that venture bought him a share in a ship. By the time he was twenty, he was co-owner. By the time he was twenty-five, he owned the vessel and another beside. By the time Waln turned thirty, he let others risk storm and pirates. While he waited for his ships to come in, he established
a clearinghouse for various goods on Thunder Island.

  Waln was forty and wealthy when the news came that the Isles had just become a kingdom of their own. He had grown into a big man, somewhat fleshy but not in the least fat. Just a few years before, his light brown hair had started retreating from his forehead and thinning at the top, but he accepted this change philosophically. A peaked-brim sailor's hat hid the deficiency as well as protecting his fair skin from burning.

  He was wearing that hat, squinting out from under the brim's shadow in a way that had become habitual, while he listened to the news that had come via fast ship to Thunder Island Harbor. The royal governor appointed by Bright Bay was to be replaced by Queen Gustin IV—now to be known as Queen Valora—as their monarch.

  Waln Endbrook was a well-known man on Thunder Island. In addition to his warehouses along the docks, he owned a fine estate on the coveted high ground above the harbor. He could have stood for town major and found no one willing to stand against him, but politics would have cut into time for making money.

  He had married the daughter of one of his early partners soon after giving up the sea full-time, and now had two daughters about whom he was quite silly and a three-year-old son whose current ambition was to be a pirate. Waln had finer dreams both for his children and for himself.

  When the advance party for Queen Valora arrived on Thunder Island, Waln Endbrook was among those who met them at the harbor. He offered them rooms at his estate, and made himself quite useful in convincing the royal governor to peacefully accept his demotion from effective monarch of the five Great Isles and the numerous small. Waln even persuaded the governor that the man's own best interests would best be served by accepting the offered appointment as prime minister to the new queen.

  Prime minister wasn't a post Waln coveted in the least. He wanted to be more than a court attendant, a flunky chained down by custom and duty. He wanted to be invaluable.