"And has anything ever happened to them when they do?"
“No, not as far as I know. But they don't venture far into the mountains, and perhaps the Kassid are more tolerant of them than they would have been of us. After all, they have lived peaceably as neighbors for many centuries.”
"Then you’re saying that the Baleks aren’t really afraid of the Kassid?”
“Oh, I think they fear them—or perhaps respect is a better word. But they don’t seem to worry about being attacked.”
“That’s strange, don’t you think—given the fierce reputation of the Kassid?"
“From all I have heard, the Baleks in that area regard them as being men of honor who would never attack unprovoked.”
Interesting, she thought. But she still didn’t trust them. How could anyone trust a race of sorcerers and warriors? One would have been bad enough, but they were both.
“What else do you know of the Kassid?" she asked.
"All the usual stories we were told as children— that they are powerful sorcerers who employ magic along with their great skills as warriors.”
“And what about those stories that they can turn themselves into wolves?”
"Most of the Baleks seem to believe that those stories are mere myths. There are many wolves in those mountains, so it’s easy to see how such stories could get started.”
Jocelyn felt considerably better after hearing that, although the thought of traveling into wolf- infested mountains certainly did not please her.
After all, she’d lost a brother to wolves. But a wolf that was truly an animal, no matter how fierce— and a wolf that was actually a man in disguise were two very different matters.
"Do the Baleks have any information about how the Kassid live?" she asked. She envisioned them as being a very primitive race, although that was based on pure conjecture. And she knew that such people often had tribal councils—which could mean that she’d have more than this Daken to deal with.
"I was told a story, but I have no way of knowing if it was true,” he replied. "I was told that the Kassid elect their leader and that he then appoints a council of advisors.”
"They elect him?" she asked in surprise. "You mean all of them, or just certain nobles or tribal leaders?”
"All of them, if what I heard was true. Even the women, though I cannot bring myself to credit that." He stopped abruptly, then stammered slightly. "I ... I meant no offense, milady."
"None was taken, captain," she replied quickly, certain that what he said was not true. Surely these were just more myths.
But she continued to think about such a society. How could the common people be trusted to make such a decision? Wouldn’t they elect whoever gave them the biggest bribe?
It wasn’t very comforting to think that she could be dealing with a man whose behavior might be
more base than that of the worst of her own nobles.
* * *
The days and nights passed. Jocelyn ached all over, often tumbling into bed at night in total exhaustion, only to drag herself out again in the pre-dawn darkness. But at least the inns, having been alerted to her arrival, provided her with maids, however ill- trained.
Soon, she wouldn’t even have that small luxury. They were already nearing the end of their journey on the Western Road and would soon be traveling the narrow, winding trails through the hills of Balek.
Those hills had been growing in the distance ever since the end of their first week on the road. In this far western comer of Ertria, plains had already given way to gently undulating hills that were higher than anything she’d ever seen—and the Balek hills in the distance were higher still.
Jocelyn found it very disconcerting to see the land wrinkled like bedcovers in the morning, and she wondered just how much higher the Dark Mountains could possibly be. When she had put this question to the captain, he had smiled and told her that the Dark Mountains were quite beyond imagining. So she stopped trying to imagine them, just as she’d stopped trying to imagine the sorcerers who called them home. She simply rode westward, determined to achieve her goal without yet bothering herself with the details.
The Western Road was heavily traveled, and what might otherwise have been a tedious journey was enlivened by the various people they encountered.
About a week out of the city, they came upon a
group of Sherbas, a strange sect Jocelyn hadn't seen since her childhood, though she knew they were in the city regularly.
The Sherbas contrasted sharply with the other travelers, dressed as they always were completely in black, with black horses and black-painted caravans. Although they’d been around for centuries and were known to be Ertrian, no one had ever seemed to know much about them. They kept completely to themselves as they journeyed about the country, carrying all their belongings in their caravans and selling precious herbs. Even the royal physicians sent servants out to purchase these items from them.
She asked the captain what he knew about them, and he shrugged.
“There aren’t many of them, milady, and they always keep to themselves. As far as anyone knows, they have no real homes. They trade their herbs and potions for their needs, and I've heard that they have gold as well. We keep an eye on them, but they never cause any trouble.”
"But does anyone know what their beliefs are?” Jocelyn asked curiously.
"No one I’ve ever talked to knows, but there've been stories that they worship the Old Gods.
"Someone told me a story once about coming upon a group of them who had been attacked by bandits—back before we succeeded in clearing those vermin from the Western Road—and one of them had been stabbed. When they tried to help the man, they saw a strange symbol carved on his left breast, just over his heart. But the man refused their help, so they never learned anything about it.”
When the captain had finished his tale, Jocelyn turned in the saddle to stare at the small, black- clad band, as they disappeared over a hill. She felt a sudden chill, although the day was quite warm. But she shrugged it off quickly. There was already quite enough strangeness ahead of her, without allowing a small, harmless sect to trouble her.
The party also regularly came upon the convoys of huge carts pulled by teams of horses that carried coal to the city. The royal party had the right-of- way, but when the captain explained to her the difficulty of maneuvering the heavily laden carts off the road, she insisted that they be given the right of passage.
Occasionally, they passed smaller carts carrying gold and silver from Balek's other mines. The owners frequently accompanied them, wearing more of the precious metal on their persons than even the gaudiest of her courtiers would dare. A few even had fine chains of gold and silver decorating their horses.
And then, from time to time, she also saw those who brought these riches up from the earth. They were thin, unhealthy-looking men who lived with their equally ragged families in small villages where it seemed to her that only the close proximity of other houses held up their tumbledown shacks.
These, she thought, are the people I want to help—if I can prevent this war. She knew that if even wealthy nobles like Eryk would suffer from the war, these least fortunate would suffer more.
Aloud to the captain, she said, "There is too much poverty here, for all the wealth this land produces.”
"Yes, milady. But the mines belong to those dandies we passed earlier." His tone was clearly one of disgust.
Jocelyn eyed the captain with growing respect. He wasn't afraid to speak his mind. Hammad had told her that he foresaw a bright future for this man and planned to bring him soon onto his personal staff.
“Is that the solution, do you think—to give them ownership of some mines? I had thought about trying to improve their wages and their living conditions.”
"Land would be better, milady—just as it would for the farm workers. But the other improvements may be more possible.”
"You sound like a politician, captain,” she smiled.
"The gods
forbid,” he chuckled. "I am happy with my life in the Guards.”
"Are you married, captain?"
"Yes, milady. We have two daughters, and we hope to have a son."
"And what do you want for your children?"
“A better life—and a peaceful one." Then, as though he feared that he might have offended her, he hurried on.
"But their lives are already far better than mine was. My father was a farm worker. And at least I know that if anything should happen to me, my family will be provided for. None of these people have that.”
Jocelyn nodded. Pensions for families of men at arms had been started long ago, and with Hammad heading the army, she knew that the money was getting to them, too—which had not always been the case in the past. Only in the army did there seem to be no corruption. But it proved that with good men in charge, the same could happen elsewhere.
And it also proved, she thought, that there were those among the peasantry who, like the captain, could attain far more than their families had before. Hammad had long ago begun the practice of seeking out talented men among the peasantry and sending them at a young age to the army's schools.
She became accustomed to the stares of other travelers and of the people in the villages, and she also became less concerned about her appearance. Many women out here rode as she did and wore the same loose trousers. And it was doubtful in any event that they knew who she was, despite her accompanying guards. To the rural Ertrians and the Baleks, their ruler was a distant being, far removed from their lives. They lived and died as subjects of a power they never saw.
Still, Jocelyn was glad for the opportunity to see this land and these people, and she understood now why her father had always undertaken journeys to the distant parts of his realm on a regular basis.
From now on, she thought, when I make my plans, I will have real people and real places to think about. But those plans depended upon the success of her mission.
They passed over the border between Ertria and Balek, a border marked by ancient stone cairns. The land itself changed quickly. From rolling hills and wide valleys, they rode into a rapidly changing landscape of steep, tree-covered hillsides and deep, narrow valleys.
It was the morning after her first night spent in the open that Jocelyn first saw the Dark Mountains. A steady drizzle had fallen all the previous day from heavy, leaden skies—but the morning brought sunshine and bright blue heavens. They crested the highest hill she’d yet seen—and there they were, outlined starkly against the sky, stretching from horizon to horizon before her.
She felt a sharp jolt of deeply primitive fear as she stared at that dark line that separated land from sky. The hills through which they’d been riding had a smoky, gray-blue cast to them when seen from a distance, but the Dark Mountains were pure black. She’d never seen anything so forbidding.
“Why are they so black?” she asked the captain, taking care to keep her fear out of her voice.
"There are two reasons, milady. First of all, the forests are all a type of very dark fir of a variety I’ve seen nowhere else. And the stone itself is black— so black that it seems almost to swallow light. I’ve never seen its like either."
A stone so black that it swallowed light. His description stayed with her as they rode on toward the Dark Mountains. An old memory stirred, something she hadn’t thought about in years. But she could see it now with surprising clarity—that secret room deep in the palace cellars that she'd seen only once and had never told anyone about. The stone in that room had been just such a black, covered with that strange gold writing.
She'd never been able to return to that room. When she’d emerged that day after her explorations, several servants had seen her and had, of course, passed along the word about her wanderings until it had quickly reached her mother. She’d been strictly forbidden to go back down there, but her mother must have known she would ignore the warning, because when she’d sneaked back down a week or so later, a new wall had been erected to seal off the unused portions of the cellars.
She thought about that strange room as she stared at those distant black peaks. Could the stone have come from there? But why? There were many quarries just to the east of the city, quarries that had existed for centuries and had provided the mellow golden stone from which the rest of the palace had been constructed.
Why would anyone have carried stone all the way from the Dark Mountains those many centuries ago? It made no sense.
And then she recalled the drawings of wolves intermingled with the strange writing on the walls. The Dark Mountains were said to be filled with wolves. But there were stories that wolves had once lived much closer to the city, before the land had been cleared for farming.
Still, it was a puzzle that mixed uneasily with the strangeness of those mountains, leaving her with an
even greater feeling of dread as they rode steadily closer to the end of their journey.
She stared at the mountains all through that day, though by its end, the blue skies had faded to a leaden gray, and the Dark Mountains had become nothing more than a faint smudge along the distant horizon when they reached the top of a hill.
The next day was her worst yet on the road. Mornings had been cold for some days now, but on this day, the cold lingered, and a hard rain pelted them every step of the way, sometimes driven by strong gusts of chill wind. The captain had suggested they remain in camp until the weather improved, but Jocelyn knew the suggestion was being made solely for her benefit, and she insisted that they push on.
She huddled beneath a cloak made of heavily oiled skins that kept the rain itself from penetrating—but nothing could keep out the damp chill of the day. By late afternoon, when scouts had been sent ahead to seek out a suitable campsite, Jocelyn roused herself from her stupor to see small pellets of ice striking her cloak and her mare's wet flanks.
The next day was no better, except that more of what fell upon them was ice pellets. She put on the warmest garments she’d brought with her and so kept out the worst of the chill. Even the Guards had by now forsaken their sparkling white uniforms and fancy red capes for dark, heavy woolen uniforms and oiled skins.
The journey became a cacophony of coughing and sneezing and the splash of hooves as the horses trod through ever-deepening puddles. If the captain had suggested again that they remain in camp, Jocelyn might well have agreed. She had never been so miserable in her very sheltered life.
Trying to find a bright side to this, she told herself that at least she didn't have to spend the day staring at the Dark Mountains. Thanks to the weather, they could barely see to the next hilltop.
Still another day of the same cold rain followed— but at the end of this day lay a reprieve. They would reach the garrison at the edge of Balek’s largest city, a place the captain told her was really no more than a medium-sized village by Ertrian standards.
The hills grew steeper yet, and the footing was treacherous because of the mud. Jocelyn was prevented from slipping wholly into her misery by the necessity of guiding her mare carefully along the trail. Finally, when they had climbed yet another hill, the captain pointed to the mountain barely visible ahead of them.
“The garrison, milady. We've made good time in spite of the weather."
Jocelyn blinked away the wetness and stared for some time before she could finally make out the old stone fortress perched atop the hill. And then, even as she stared at it she could see a column of men on horseback moving in their direction. The captain had sent a man ahead some time ago to alert the garrison to their arrival.
"No palace could look better,” she said sincerely.
The men from the garrison reached them quickly, and their commander greeted her with grave formality, which Jocelyn found rather amusing considering her very much bedraggled appearance. Then they made their way down to the valley and up the opposite hill to the garrison.
The commander expressed his concern over the weather. "The Baleks say that we’ll have an early winter this year,
and they seem to know about such things. I wouldn’t be surprised to see snow very soon."
"Snow?" she echoed with a smile. ‘I’ve only seen snow twice."
"We see far too much of it here, milady," the commander said. “But not usually this early. It’s almost certain that you’ll see snow up in the Dark Mountains, though. Some of the highest peaks have snow year ’round.”
Jocelyn was intrigued by that thought—at least until she thought about how cold it must be there, and then about what else she would find in those forbidding mountains.
“There is a man named Tanner I am told can act as a guide for us. Do you know him?" she asked the commander.
"Aye, milady. He is waiting at the garrison. A good man. He knows the Dark Mountains as well as anyone but the Kassid. He hunts up there and earns his living selling wolfskins.”
“And the Kassid let him hunt on their lands?"
"He’s been doing it for more than twenty years, and his father hunted there before him. But I think he doesn’t venture too far into their lands as a rule.”
Jocelyn was soon luxuriating in the amenities provided for her, even though the commander apologized profusely for the roughness of the accommodations. After her days and nights on the road, a warm bath, hearty food, and a real bed were true luxuries, and all she required.
Twilight brought clearing skies, although the wind seemed even colder. The commander said that if it died down, there would likely be frost in the morning. Even though she’d been forewarned, Jocelyn was still astonished at the difference in the weather here—and not at all eager to experience the even colder weather that lay ahead.
Heart of the Wolf Page 3
