Queen Valora recognized Waln's abilities as soon as he brought himself to her attention. Her first award to him was the title "lord"—with hints that he might be promoted to baron or even duke when she had decided how to reassign territories within her new holdings. Intellectually, Waln knew that a title and a promise cost Queen Valora nothing, but he was pleased nonetheless.
Lord Waln's first major duty for his new queen was diplomatic and quite dangerous. About the time that Bright Bay was preparing for the marriage of Crown Prince Shad to Crown Princess Sapphire, Waln sailed north on a fast, light ship. In the dead of night, he debarked at First Harbor, Waterland's capital.
Waterland had not yet decided the status of the newly made kingdom of the Isles, but in this well-watered land wealth was the supreme ruler. One of Waln's trade contacts could be trusted to stay bought, and she arranged for him to travel west, to cross the Sword of Kelvin Mountains, and finally to reach Dragon's Breath, the capital city of New Kelvin.
The tales Waln brought back from that trip—of houses made of glass and crystal, of veiled women wearing silk and gold to the market, of horses wearing helmets designed to make them look like strange beasts from forgotten legends—would make him popular around any fireside, even among a sailing people who pretended to be jaded beyond any wonder. Yet the first tale that Waln told after returning from that journey was one of failure.
The New Kelvinese rulers would not meet with him—not even when he presented his credentials as ambassador for the Queen of the Isles. He thought he had caught a glimmer of interest in the eyes that gazed out at him from the fantastically dyed and painted features of the official who interviewed him, but he couldn't be sure.
Only when Waln whispered a hint about what business had brought him so far and through such hardships at a time of year when many travelers stayed close to home was Waln certain of the interest. Even the official merely recited in cadences that turned his accented speech into strange poetry:
"You speak of sorcery, Ambassador, but you have no taste of that sacred art about you. We can no more speak of sorcery with you than we could discuss color with one blind from birth. Return only with one who has eyes to see those arcane hues, return only if you bear with you that which you wish to discuss. Otherwise, cross not our threshold again. Be warned. The penalties for disobedience would make you welcome death."
No matter how he blustered, bribed, or even—just once—bullied, Lord Waln could get no better answer. He returned to Thunder Island to report his defeat and found Queen Valora in a curiously cheerful mood.
Queen Valora was a lovely woman, neither tall nor short, but some feminine compromise of the two that permitted her to be both slender and strong. More than one figurehead had been carved with her upper torso as inspiration, but although buxom, Valora was not in the least bovine. Her aristocratic features were framed by golden hair just touched with a warm glow, like the first touches of a glorious sunset. Eyes the clear blue of the sea saw deep into a man and then right through him.
Seated next to his queen at a council table, Lord Waln felt his height and strength transformed into awkward bulk. His expensive clothing—including a waistcoat cut from a New Kelvinese brocade purchased in one of their markets and of an ornate beauty never before seen on the Isles—became the mere gauds adorning a rusty feathered crow.
In short, Valora's heritage as a daughter of monarchs reduced Walnut Endbrook to what he had never ceased to be deep inside—a prostitute's child who had never known his father and whose mother was perhaps an even greater mystery.
Queen Valora listened to Lord Waln's report with perfect composure. They were alone—even her secretary and bodyguards had been told to wait outside. When Waln finished, the queen touched his hand lightly, a gentle caress that made his weathered skill tingle.
"You tried, Waln," she said gently, "and made a long journey with gull-wing speed. You are to be commended."
"But I failed you, Your Majesty!" Waln heard the plea in his own voice and wondered briefly at his own desire for this woman's approval.
"Failed? No, you brought us back information. We now know that the New Kelvinese will treat with us—only on certain terms, but that is better than nothing."
"Those terms, Your Majesty!" Waln shook his head. "They might as well have said 'Bring us a dragon's egg and a griffin's heart.' Where can we find a sorcerer? None have been known for a hundred years!"
The queen snorted softly. "The New Kelvinese think otherwise. Didn't they as much as claim themselves knowledgeable about those lost arts?"
Waln nodded reluctant agreement.
"And if a skilled trader like yourself says that he thinks there was a glimmer of interest, then I'll believe him."
"They paint their faces so strangely," Waln reminded her. "I could have been mistaken."
"I think not. Leaving out poetry and pomp, I see two terms have been set. You must return with someone skilled in sorcery and with the artifacts we wish to be taught to use. Simple as dragging a seine, Ambassador."
Waln sipped from his wine—a dry white from Stonehold, part of a shipload of interesting and valuable gifts that strange nation had sent to Queen Valora shortly after her arrival.
"I don't see that we have a choice," the queen continued. "King Allister has made no move to retake those royal treasures, but as soon as spring brings safer sailing, we may find ourselves pressed—if not by Cousin Allister, then by the Waterlanders or even by old King Tedric. Too many people know those artifacts exist. If we cannot use them to our advantage, we will lose them.
"And," she continued, emphasizing her point with a stab of one long-nailed fingertip, "if we do not learn to use them, then someone else will. And then…"
Her blue eyes became stormy. Waln was reminded of gossip prevalent in Thunderhead, the recently anointed capital city of the Isles, gossip that said that Queen Valora had paid for assassins to kill the royal families of both Bright Bay and Hawk Haven.
The tap of Waln setting down his wineglass shook the queen from whatever angry reverie into which she had descended.
"We know of one skilled in sorcery," Queen Valora said. "At least, she claims to be skilled in sorcery. You must convince her to accompany you to Dragon's Breath. Prepare to sail on the next advantageous tide."
"And where shall I tell my ship's captain to sail?" Waln asked. He felt a fleeting regret that he would not have more time with his family, but soothed himself with the thought that he was acting in their own best interests.
"To Port Haven in Hawk Haven," the queen replied. "From there you will ride west to Eagle's Nest and attach yourself to the diplomatic party I have sent to attend this ridiculous second wedding. No one will notice one more member more or less. Do not make a secret of your wealth or status in the Isles, but I think it would be best if you didn't mention your recent trip into New Kelvin."
Waln surrendered his pride. "Your Majesty, I beg you, tell me who am I to seek when I get to Hawk Haven?"
The queen smiled slowly, reminding Waln uncomfortably of a shark.
"Her name is Lady Melina Shield. She is the mother of Crown Princess Sapphire."
Waln remembered that the princess's mother had caused quite a scandal by failing to attend the Bright Bay wedding—claiming as thin excuse to be in mourning over her husband. She could not so easily avoid attending this domestic affair.
"One of Lady Melina's brothers," Valora continued, "was Prince Newell, the widower of King Tedric's late daughter Lovella. Newell was friendly to my court."
Waln knew why his queen used the past tense to refer to the prince and did not interrupt.
"Lady Melina's own actions make me think she might be amenable to accompanying you to New Kelvin," Valora mused. "I wish you to sound her out. If my guess about her character is correct, convince her to accompany you to New Kelvin."
"Yes, Your Majesty," Waln said, swallowing a superstitious dread of sorcery, the Old World's shadow over the New.
"Now," the queen said, "w
e must work out the details: what you can offer Lady Melina, what securities we must demand, how we may preserve the artifacts from those who will be more than ready to grab them from you."
She opened a box and took out paper, pen, and a flask of purple ink.
"Then there will be some letters to write…"
Her next words sealed his devotion.
"And since I must steal you from your lovely wife and children, I will beg them to call on me while you are away. I have so few friends here in these Isles. I fear I neglected these lands, even when I was their queen. Your fair lady can advise me on how to repair my errors. Do you think she would, Baron?"
The newly made Baron Waln Endbrook could only nod, marveling over his good fortune.
Without Firekeeper to look after, Derian was free to rejoin his family immediately upon his return to Eagle's Nest. True, Earl Kestrel had offered him a room at the Kestrel manse, but Derian politely declined.
"I am eager to see my family," he told the earl, and Norvin Norwood dismissed him graciously.
"Call on me any time over the next few days," the earl said at parting. "I will be staying in the capital until after Princess Sapphire's wedding."
Derian promised that he would and, after saying good-bye to his friends in the earl's entourage, he took his leave. He'd said his farewells to Elise when they were approaching the city, having noticed that Baron Archer was not overly fond of his daughter's familiarity with the unmarried—and less than perfectly eligible—young men in the group.
Elise, too, had invited him to call. Her family owned a nice house with fine gardens in Eagle's Nest—a gift from the Wellwards to Aurella when she made her marriage to Baron Archer. Derian did not plan to call, but neither did he refuse. He preferred to keep his options open.
But for now, Derian's thoughts were far from the manses of the noble folk. His family's main stables were not far from the east gate of Eagle's Nest.
"Gate" was an accurate term only in the loosest sense of the word. The city of Eagle's Nest had long ago outgrown the sturdy stone walls that had surrounded the original city—though those walls were maintained by order of the Crown and by law no home or business could be constructed in such a way as to impede their effectiveness.
However, land within the walls could be expensive and horses required ample space if they were to be well kept. Therefore, the Carter livery stables—the business had long ago grown beyond mere hauling—were outside the walls.
Roanne broke into a brisk trot of her own accord when she realized where they were heading. Indeed, Derian had to hold her back from breaking into a canter. Six days of leisurely travel along decent roads had not tired the spirited chestnut even a bit. In very little time, Derian caught sight of the familiar stables and outbuildings.
Unexpected tears clouded his vision, so that it was a good thing that Roanne knew her way. She came to a halt, blowing slightly—more from excitement than from anything else—in front of the handsome building from which Colby Carter directed operations.
The building was wood-framed, painted white with lucky red trim around the door and window frames. A prancing horse stepping high was painted within a circle and hung from a signpost over the door.
As always, Derian admired it. Roanne had been the model, and last winter they had officially changed the business's name from the simple "Carter's Services" to "Prancing Steed Stables."
Colby Carter was out the door to greet his son as soon as Derian was out of the saddle.
"Outriders and gossips have been coming through all day," he said, hesitating between pumping Derian's hand and hugging the young man and settling for doing both. "King Tedric's return is big news. I'm glad you're home safe."
Colby had just finished this speech—a remarkably long one for him, though when need arose he could talk the near hind leg off a donkey and make decent inroads on the remaining limbs—when a stocky whirlwind blew up.
"Brock!" Derian said, grabbing his brother around the waist and swinging him in the air. The eight-year-old laughed gleefully.
"Did you bring me anything, Deri?"
"Maybe," Derian teased. In fact, one of his few independent ventures into the town of Silver Whale Cove had been to buy gifts for his family members.
"I'll get your saddlebags," Brock offered.
"Better not," Derian said. "They're heavy. Dad, where can I stable Roanne?"
"Try Number Three barn. I told them to have a loose box ready for you there. She'll be between Brock's pony and old Hauler, so Roanne won't need to show off to everyone just how important she is."
Derian got the impression that his father was pleased that Derian himself hadn't tried to show how important he was. After all, a man must wonder how a son who has been consorting with nobles will act when he comes home again.
Well, I may have been consorting, Derian thought as he led Roanne to the indicated building, but most of the time I'm just some sort of glorified servant.
Fleetingly, he thought of Firekeeper, of the look she had given him right before she left. Then he turned his attention to the boy trotting along at his side. He could do nothing for the wolf-woman; better to attend to those for whom he could do something.
After stabling Roanne and admiring Brock's new saddle, Derian returned to where Colby waited beneath the sign of the prancing horse. All around him there was activity: grooms walked horses, stablehands wheeled loads of manure or hay, drivers worked over rigs to have them ready when called for. Some of these last were simple wagons, others carriages elaborate enough to suit the most fussy noble.
"You've a good many people working for you now, Dad," Derian commented. "How many?"
"Two dozen or so, if you don't count the drivers and the folks at the warehouse," Colby replied a touch complacently. "Planning on throwing up a new stable out by Number Two. Land inside the walls is getting so expensive that there's a profit to be made selling it, so we're getting more boarders."
"Sounds good," Derian replied, "for us."
Colby nodded. "I think the trend will continue. Some of the nobles are buying up a house or two, tearing them down and converting the lot into a mini-estate with pleasure gardens."
Derian thought of the family home that was securely within the walls.
"You and Mother aren't…"
"No," Colby chuckled. "Home's safe. We may be buying some acreage by the Flin and shifting some of the horses there."
"A second livery stable?"
"That's right. Mostly for boarding now that the nobles are learning the pleasures of having someone else take on the flies."
While Derian was still chuckling over his father's joke, Colby was shouldering into his coat.
"Toad!" he called.
An older man Derian had known for years came out of one of the wagon sheds in answer to the summons. He beamed when he saw Derian and offered his hand.
"Welcome back, Derian! Good to see you! When you've settled in you must come and tell about the princess's wedding. You were a guest, weren't you?"
Derian shrugged. "As a trusted servant might be."
"But you saw the ceremony with your own eyes and…" Toad paused, eyes shining. "And what followed. The tales the post-riders brought back could hardly be believed. We heard that…"
Colby interrupted, bluntly but not rudely.
"There's enough time for that later, Toad. Derian hasn't yet seen his mother or sister. I'm going up to the house with him and Brock. If there's anything you can't handle, send up a runner."
"There's just a few carriages to go out and a few mounts to come in." Toad's grin didn't fade as he contemplated the evening's work. "I'll try to leave you a quiet night at home, Colby. Good night, Derian. Night, Brock."
Father and sons left the stables and walked slowly up a gradual slope into the more densely populated parts of the city. Brock, burdened by one of Derian's saddlebags—which he had insisted on carrying over his brother's protests—trudged happily along, trying to get a peek at what was inside. C
olby and Derian talked easily about nothing at all.
Derian had lived in Eagle's Nest all his life. Its sounds and smells were as familiar and as little considered as the pulse in his wrist, but moons had waxed and waned since he had walked these streets in this easy manner.
Surrounded by ordinary things made precious by homecoming, Derian found himself relaxing as he had not since before his parents had decided that their eldest son's attendance should be a condition of permitting Earl Kestrel to rent the mounts for his expedition west. Now the expedition was over, the matter of the king's successor settled, and Derian wanted to believe his life was back to normal.
The heavy thud of the ruby ring he wore on a chain around his neck warned him that, as much as he might wish it, there was no going backward.
Vernita and Damita Carter greeted them at the front door of the big brick house that had been in their family for several generations. Derian grinned and threw open his arms to both mother and sister.
Fleet-footed Horse! Derian thought joyfully as he hugged them to him. It's good to be home!
Chapter X
When Firekeeper awoke the next dawn, there was frost on the grass and the lake waters nearest to her were rimed with ice. She, however, was quite comfortable—reluctant indeed to leave her warm nest against Blind Seer's flank. Embers from her fire still glowed. She vaguely recalled waking just enough to add a bit of wood, but the stack she had made the night before was almost gone. Had she used that much wood?
Answering the question written on the wolf-woman's thought-wrinkled brow, Elation swooped down from her perch in a nearby tree and picked up one of the chunks of wood as lightly as if it had been a rabbit. With artistic control, the peregrine dropped it onto the embers, fanning them into a blaze with the wind beneath her wings. Young flames licked the dry wood and caught easily.
"So I nursemaided you through the night," Elation squawked. "Bee Biter has flown ahead to tell the others of your coming. When will you be ready to begin?"
Wolf's Head, Wolf's Heart Page 16
