Wolf's Head, Wolf's Heart

by Jane Lindskold

  Certainly, their situation didn't seem to trouble Elise nearly as much as it did him. Derian wondered if that was because everything about this journey—from spending the day mostly in the saddle to doing without a personal maid—was weird and different.

  After the first two days of travel, the farms had been markedly smaller, devoted to kitchen gardens, poultry, and flocks of sheep or, later, goats. Terraced fields challenged the mountain slopes, revealing the extent of the labor needed to grow anything at all in this inhospitable land. Had it not been for Firekeeper and Blind Seer, their band would have been reduced to eating goat cheese and turnips—that being all the inns had to offer, or at least all they were willing to sell to foreign travelers.

  Rooms seemed to be in short supply as well, but Derian had made certain they would be prepared for camping. Usually Elise could find out which landowner wouldn't be offended by their pitching tents. Yet, although food and shelter could be dealt with, Derian was almost overwhelmed by the burden of being quartermaster, guide, and, by default, leader of their expedition.

  Doc might have had seniority, but except in medical matters he was not inclined to take charge. Elise possessed noble rank but was completely inexperienced. Firekeeper was Firekeeper-impossible and unpredictable—one moment as tractable as a lamb, the next vanishing for hours.

  As the road to Dragon's Breath became lonelier and the winter skies more overcast and bleak, Derian realized he was beginning to rely on Wendee Jay as something like a second-in-command. Wendee, at least, had lived on the road without servants—she was, in fact, like him, more a servant than a master. Without a second thought she would comb and braid Elise's long hair, chivy Firekeeper into line, stir a supper pot, and handle a hundred other small tasks that weren't evident until they went undone.

  She was also far better than Derian at delegating responsibility—ordering Doc and Elise to attend to jobs Derian would have taken on himself. Somewhere deep inside, Derian was still in awe of those two, not so much for themselves as for their titles and noble connections. Wendee seemed to feel no such awe, telling Elise to mind the fire or sending Doc to fetch water from a stream.

  Moreover, Wendee was an accomplished entertainer. When the monotony of travel grew too great, Wendee would recite from plays or poems, tell them anecdotes—some rather risque—from her days in the theater, or, often in response to Firekeeper's pleading, relate what she knew about New Kelvin.

  She was doing just that one afternoon as the horses and mules toiled their way up a particularly steep stretch of road that would eventually lead through a tight pass that Derian privately worried would already be snow-blocked. A trader back in Gateway had told him that this was often the case, but Firekeeper had been impatient to arrive in Dragon's Breath, not wanting to take the longer route that would avoid this particular pass.

  Derian considered sending someone ahead to scout. Blind Seer would have been his first choice, but the wolf had vanished, as he often did near midday. Elation was drowsing atop one of the packs. He could ask Firekeeper to send the peregrine ahead to report, but the bird saw things differently than the humans did and had proven a poor judge of the needs of the ground-bound.

  He weighed his options. If he asked Firekeeper to send Elation, the wolf-woman might decide to go off on her own initiative. Derian decided that he didn't want Firekeeper straying too far off in this unfamiliar land. In fact, if Wendee's stories could keep the wolf-woman close rather than wandering off to find Blind Seer, all the better.

  "They paint their faces," Wendee was saying when Derian stopped worrying and paid attention again, "in many patterns, most of which have deep meanings, though I think some are simply for decoration. The tattoos are different—at least if I've understood the plays rightly. Tattoos mark some big decision, an unchangeable course of action."

  "Like a marriage?" Elise asked.

  Derian noted that though she didn't color, she also made a point of not looking ahead to where Doc was riding point.

  Wendee laughed lightly. "Oh, far more permanent than that, Lady Elise. Marriages end—mine did."

  "Did your husband die?" Elise asked. Derian could see she was already feeling sorry for the other woman.

  "No," Wendee replied, "we divorced. Turned out we didn't suit."

  Elise looked rather shocked. Derian grinned. For all her worldliness in some things, the heir to the Archer Barony could be rather naive. Divorce was not unheard of, even in the upper classes, but he supposed it was more easily arrived at by those who were not merging large amounts of property and great names in addition to the lives of the people involved.

  "Then you're raising your children alone?" Elise prompted tentatively, as if she were prying into a great secret.

  "That's about the measure of it," Wendee agreed, apparently feeling no discomfort at discussing the topic. "The girls live with me and when I must be away, I make arrangements for their care."

  Firekeeper tugged at the cuff of Wendee's trousers.

  "You were telling about tattoos," she reminded.

  Wendee gave the wolf-woman a tap on the head.

  "And you shouldn't interrupt."

  Firekeeper looked offended.

  "Elise did first! You were talking about tattoos."

  Derian intervened, swallowing his own laughter.

  "Firekeeper does have a point, Wendee, and minimal tolerance for small talk."

  He was surprised at the chiding look Wendee Jay turned toward him.

  "Well, she'd better acquire some then, shouldn't she?" she asked tartly. "If Lady Firekeeper's going to accept the advantages of being an earl's daughter, then she'd better learn more about social graces than that it's not polite to snatch the meat off someone else's plate."

  Derian was angry—all the more so because of the trust and reliance he'd vested in the relative newcomer. He'd worked hard to get Firekeeper to even that point! He'd like to know if Wendee could have done as much with the snarling, inarticulate, nearly naked wolfling masquerading as a fifteen-year-old girl that the earl had thrust on him!

  "You think you know…" he was beginning when Doc interrupted.

  "Heads up, folks," he said in the strong, level voice he normally reserved for critical medical emergencies. "I saw something—maybe human—moving in the rocks ahead of us."

  Firekeeper bounded from where she had been trotting at Wendee's stirrup to Doc's side.

  "Where?" she snapped.

  "Left," he said. "Near the rock shaped like a bear."

  The wolf-woman darted off the road and vanished into the rocks. Elation shrieked once and sprang into the air after her.

  An arrow struck the road in front of them almost before the two were gone. It quivered there, impaled in the dirt, the danger it implied seeming an impassible barrier.

  "Grab the mules," Derian ordered, shouldering Roanne up alongside Doc's horse. He didn't pause to see if anyone obeyed.

  "Warning shot," Doc said tersely. "Bandits will want our horses and mules. The rest of us aren't so safe."

  Derian nodded and swung out of his saddle. None of the others had waited for orders to do the same.

  "Keep a horse between you and them," he said rather unnecessarily. "We'll have to trust Firekeeper."

  "Should we back up?" Elise asked. She was very pale, but her voice didn't tremble.

  Derian started to nod; then he saw the two bandits who stepped out into the road to block their retreat.

  They were as ugly as ogres from a tale meant to scare a child into good behavior. Their faces were painted the sickly greenish-yellow of an overcooked egg yolk; their eyes were rimmed in hangover red. Black lines gave one curling cat whiskers, the other bat wings that "masked" the upper half of his face.

  The whiskered one said something in rhythmic New Kelvinese. Derian didn't need a translation to tell him that the bandit was ordering them not to move; the gesture he made was universal. What hurt was that he was laughing at them.

  More bandits were coming out from hidin
g now. At least six were visible, each with features painted in some horrid pattern of red, green, and black.

  Bat Mask jerked a mule's lead rope from Wendee's hand and shouted something to someone out of sight. Then he turned to them and spoke sharply in New Kelvinese. At the conclusion, he cupped his hand alongside his mouth and made a beckoning gesture with his free hand.

  Elise translated in a low, flat voice.

  "He says to call back the boy—I think he means Firekeeper—call her back or he'll, he'll…"

  Her voice quavered. Wendee finished.

  "He'll gut the carrot-head boy."

  Derian swallowed hard. He wished Elise and Wendee hadn't translated anything. They might have played dumb. On the other hand, the long knife in Bat Mask's hand looked very sharp and he might have decided to demonstrate just who his threat was directed against. Derian was acutely aware that only he could be called "carrot-head."

  The bandit made a jerking motion with the blade and said something else.

  "He says call her now," Wendee reported. "He'd rather not kill anyone. We're young and… something about Waterland."

  "Slaves," Doc guessed tersely. "He'll sell us as slaves."

  Without a pause Sir Jared then shouted:

  "Firekeeper, they want you to come back: They'll kill Derian if you don't! Be careful."

  A high, mournful wolf's howl came in reply. Then a human voice called:

  "Tell them I come."

  Derian's heart sank. If Firekeeper returned, hope was dead. If she didn't he was dead. Either way, the situation was grim.

  Their one remaining chance rested with the Royal animals—Elation and Blind Seer. The bandits might not have noticed the hawk; they didn't know about Blind Seer. Unfortunately, the giant wolf wouldn't act if doing so would endanger his pack mate. Only if Firekeeper was dead would the wolf attack, and then his vengeance would be terrible.

  Firekeeper emerged from a cluster of rocks just as Bat Mask was raising his knife to Derian's throat.

  "Stop!" she shouted. "I am here."

  Such was the force of the wolf-woman's personality that the knife did drop. Whiskers strode out to drag her over to the rest. She walked more quickly then, defying his right to touch her.

  Whiskers pointed to the sky, made a swooping gesture with one hand. Firekeeper tilted her head at him, truly puzzled.

  "Elation," Derian said quickly. "He wants you to call Elation."

  As if resenting Derian's initiative, Whiskers dropped a rough hand onto Firekeeper's forearm where a hawk would perch. She jerked away and he grabbed for her shoulder. The feral woman was faster than he expected, so all he did was bump against her chest.

  This was enough. Confusion then enlightenment were visible, even through the paint.

  He guffawed, said something to his companions, grabbed Firekeeper and poked again. She bit him on the hand. When he jerked it back, howling at the pain, Firekeeper walked with dignity to stand between Derian and the bandits.

  The other bandits were ridiculing their bitten comrade. Whiskers snarled something at them, then gave a short, angry laugh and grabbed at his crotch. Neither Wendee nor Elise translated the speech he gave then. It wasn't necessary.

  Of them all only Doc spoke and he only to curse. Slapping the healer across the mouth, Bat Mask ordered them all to silence. As the bandits herded them along the road, Derian's thoughts swirled in frantic panic.

  They know our "boy" is a girl They're going to rape the women—Elise, Wendee, Firekeeper. They might have anyway, but they'll do so now for sure. The one Firekeeper bit has to prove he has balls.

  Wendee and Elise were so pale that their own faces might have been painted pure white. Wendee looked strained, torn between anger and fear. Elise was simply terrified. Too brave to sob aloud, still she couldn't keep silent tears from rolling down her cheeks.

  She's a virgin. Derian thought. I bet she is. I don't think Jet got very far with her—that's why he was visiting the camp followers. She's a virgin. I guess Firekeeper is, too, but she doesn't know what they have in mind, won't guess until they start. Will she even understand then?

  His mind flickered to another track.

  Should we tell them? Doc said they were going to sell us to Waterland as slaves. Do virgins sell for more? Would it matter to them at this point? Judging from the way they're acting, they're horny as stallions in springtime. Wonder if they've any women in their band. Didn't see any, but who can tell through winter clothes and painted faces?

  The bandits were leading them up a track so steep the horses stumbled. Derian saw Roanne slip to one knee; he turned to help the mare, and one of their captors hit him across the face. Derian reeled back, cursing, tasting blood on his lip.

  Damn them. They'll ruin the horses. Ruin the women. Wonder what they'll do to me and Doc? Don't like how that one guy was looking at me. I thought dying was the worst thing.

  Maybe we should tell them about virgins. Might save a couple of them. Then poor Wendee…

  His thoughts shied away from the image.

  The bandit camp was in a hollow against a rock face, an open area sheltered from the weather on all sides and nearly undetectable until you were right upon it. The rock face itself sank back so deeply that it might conceal a cave. Certainly it was as good a shelter as some houses Derian had seen.

  They were herded off to one side of the open area into a pen clearly meant for holding human prisoners. The sides were made of wooden poles set far enough apart that the captives would always be visible, but set far too close for anyone to squeeze out. The door was made along the same lines and locked with a sliding bolt.

  Nothing more sophisticated was needed, for guards took position on raised platforms set against the rock face. From these they could raise an alarm or put an arrow through any who tried to escape.

  Moving in the easy routine of laborers returning from a job well done, the bandits settled their loot. The horses were penned on the other side of the open area. A fire was built up in the center. No one came to meet the returning party, so apparently the entire band had gone along on the raid.

  Holding one of the wooden bars in each fist, Derian counted.

  Eleven. Two stripping the gear off the horses. One building the fire. One getting water—High-stepping Stallion. I'm thirsty—three guarding us. Guess I should be complimented. That's almost one for one. Of course, they have bows and short swords, and we have nothing. Bet Firekeeper's steamed about them taking her Fang. One's wrapping the bitten fellow's hand. That's nine. Where are the other two?

  His question was answered almost as soon as he framed it into thought. The two remaining bandits emerged from the sheltering rock face carrying furs and blankets. They'd heaped these on the ground near the fire before Derian realized what this meant.

  They're going to do it in public. The girls won't even have the dignity of privacy. I've got to do something!

  Try as he might, he couldn't think of anything. Neither, apparently, could Doc. The knight stood at the edge of their prison staring out, his expression wooden. His eyes reflected the burning fire, fueling it with hate.

  He'll go mad, do something to get himself killed if they touch Elise. It's bad for me; they're my friends. Terrible for him—he's loved her practically since he met her and now he's got to watch her be… I've got to do something!

  Wendee stepped forward from where she'd been crouching next to Elise, subduing her own fear by comforting the younger woman. Her remedy seemed to have been effective. Elise's sobs had quieted. She sat crumpled on the ground, holding a confused and frustrated Firekeeper by one hand.

  "Maybe they'll want one at a time," Wendee whispered. "Give the child some hope."

  She went and leaned sideways against the fence. Despite the chill, she'd pulled back her winter coat and was showing off—as if by accident—the voluptuous curves of her figure. In the midday sun, her hair loosed from its traveling knot shone golden.

  Not long after, Whiskers crossed to their prison. All t
he others, excepting their guards, had gathered in a semicircle around the heaped blankets. A few began a rhythmic clapping, slower than the beating of Derian's racing heart. The rest joined in, standing in attentive silence that was more horrid than any rude comments could have been.

  Wendee forced her lips into a stiff parody of a welcoming smile. Knowing the door would be opened at least for a moment, Derian gathered himself to spring, saw Doc doing the same, knowing all the time that it was hopeless.

  Better than being alive to watch it happen, Derian thought, and hated himself for being a coward.

  As the bolt was shot back, Derian's blood hummed so loudly in his ears that he didn't even hear the clapping. Then, as if it had grown there, the butt of an arrow blossomed in Whiskers's throat.

  A shrill shriek at the same moment announced Elation's arrival. One of their guards tumbled from his perch above their pen, the peregrine still attached to his face, her talons raking to the beating of her wings.

  Blind Seer attacked without a sound. Turning on his heel, Derian saw the massive grey blur that impacted the second guard, knocking him off the ledge. The wolf didn't pause, but continued his spring toward the third guard.

  Doc fumbled the gate open and seized Whiskers's knife. He ran toward where the guard Blind Seer had knocked from the ledge was struggling to rise.

  "Get the bows!" he blurted back at Derian.

  Firekeeper was gone. No longer needing to worry about the guard's punishing arrows, she had swarmed up one side of their prison and dropped down on the other side.

  Derian saw her stringing the dead man's weapon and fitting an arrow to the string, her expression calm, even thoughtful.

  Derian turned to gather up Elise. The bandits were temporarily confused, but that confusion was already moderating into fear and fear into anger. Their rescuers had accounted for three guards and Whiskers. Firekeeper would doubtless kill or disable another few. Even so, that left too many, especially as they were armed and the prisoners were not.