Heart of the Wolf

by Saranne Dawson

  "You get used to it after a time, milady. I figure maybe there’s just less air up here."

  Jocelyn thought that a very strange statement. How could there be less air? It was all around them. More than likely, it was a combination of the unaccustomed cold and that closed-in feeling they all had after lifetimes spent in wide, open spaces.

  Or perhaps, she thought with yet another shiver, the Kassid have put a spell on this place, to make it difficult for strangers.

  Now that she knew they were truly encroaching upon Kassid land, Jocelyn could no longer ignore what lay ahead. It would be bad enough, she thought, to meet such as them in familiar territory, but to meet them in this wild, forbidding place . .. She shivered again.

  By early afternoon of the following day, they had reached a high valley—and Jocelyn saw her first

  waterfall. Tanner had described them to her, and now she stared in wonder at the cascade of sparkling water rushing down from a sheer wall of black where small firs clung to a precarious existence.

  There was a little pool at its base, from which a thin mist rose into the clear air. She bent and dipped a hand into it cautiously, expecting to find it icy cold, as the streams had been. But she gasped in amazement when she touched warmth. What she’d believed to be mist was in fact steam; the water was close to bath temperature.

  Tanner nodded when she exclaimed over it. "I’ve run across them from time to time, but a lot of them smell bad—like eggs that have gone rotten.” He gave her an impertinent grin.

  "Perhaps milady would like a bath."

  He’d read her mind. She glanced at the captain, who nodded.

  "I’ll keep the men away, but we'll be close enough to hear you if you call.”

  After they had withdrawn, Jocelyn hesitated, scanning the area nervously. She did indeed want a bath, but undressing out here in the open made her uncomfortable. Fastidiousness vied with modesty, and the former finally won as she hurriedly stripped off her layers of clothing and slipped into the shallow pool.

  With the men's voices carrying clearly to her from just beyond a tree-covered rise, she relaxed and let the water's warmth soothe and cleanse her. The air was cold, but as long as she stayed submerged she was quite comfortable.

  She lingered as long as she dared, then left the pleasurable warmth and dried herself quickly. She dressed before the lingering heat could dissipate and had just pulled on a thick woolen top when she glanced up—and saw the wolf!

  It stood there on a ledge off to one side of the waterfall, some twenty feet above her. It stood seemingly at ease, but its pale blue eyes were fixed unwaveringly upon her.

  Jocelyn was paralyzed by a mixture of fear and fascination. It crossed her mind briefly that the creature was somehow less ferocious-looking than the drawings in her old books. It’s those eyes, she thought as she returned its stare—those uncannily human-looking eyes. The color drawings had always shown wolves with burning red eyes.

  It was also larger than she’d expected, with a broad, powerful chest. And its dark gray fur, tipped with white, was thicker and softer in appearance than the furs she'd seen.

  Neither of them moved as they stood there staring at each other for what seemed to her to be an eternity. The sound of laughter floated over the rise, and the wolf shifted its gaze briefly in that direction.

  Jocelyn was roused from her stupor by those sounds and began to back away slowly, hoping to put enough distance between them so that it couldn’t leap on her.

  The wolf shifted its gaze back to her but didn’t move otherwise, except to bring its pointed, white- tipped ears erect. She backed still farther, trying to gauge when it would be safe to turn and run. And then she could stand it no longer and whirled about to flee, crying out at the same time.

  Tanner was the first to appear, followed quickly by the captain and several other men. Jocelyn pointed and managed to gasp the single word, "Wolf!"

  Later, when the captain brought her her cloak and boots, he said that Tanner had been the only one to catch a glimpse of it. Then the guide himself appeared, saying he’d seen it just as it climbed out of sight around the cliff s face.

  Jocelyn shivered beneath the heavy cloak, only now realizing how close she had come to certain death. "I thought they would have red eyes," she told the guide. "The drawings in my books always showed them with red eyes. But its eyes were pale blue. And it was much bigger than I’d expected.”

  "Blue eyes, you say?” Tanner asked with a frown.

  She nodded. “Why? Is that unusual?”

  He shrugged. ‘I’ve never seen one with blue eyes. Mostly they have dark eyes. And it was a big one, from what I could see."

  "Its eyes were definitely blue," she stated. "They seemed almost human."

  As they set out once more, Jocelyn noticed that the usually talkative guide had become very quiet. The Captain had to ask him twice why he thought the wolf hadn’t attacked.

  Rousted from his thoughts, Tanner merely shrugged again. “Prob'ly wasn’t hungry, that’s all."

  The captain cast her an anxious look, as though apologizing for the guide’s rather abrupt answer. But she barely noticed because she was thinking about how she'd known somehow that it wouldn’t attack her. Or was that merely the bravado of a survivor?

  Tanner’s continued silence convinced her that he had something on his mind and that it was connected to that wolf, so she waited until they had made camp for the night, then approached him as he sat alone in front of his tent, smoking a foul-smelling pipe.

  "Tanner, something about that wolf troubles you—and you certainly know a lot about them. What was it?"

  He shifted about uneasily, not quite meeting her gaze. By the time he finally spoke, her blood was turning to ice. She knew what he was going to say. Hadn’t that same thought been lurking deep in her own mind from the moment she’d first met that pale gaze?

  "Well, milady, it’s them old stories. Mind you, I don’t credit them, but . .

  “You mean the stories about the Kassid being able to turn themselves into wolves," she stated flatly, doing her best to ignore a chill that was now bone-deep.

  "Yes'm, them's the ones. Like I said, I never seen one with blue eyes myself—but my daddy did once. He was making a fire one night and he just looked up and there it was, just staring at him the way you said. It coulda got him easy enough—but it just turned and walked away.

  “When he told us about it, he said that the old folks believed that the blue-eyed ones was really Kassid—that there was other stories like his, and the blue-eyed ones never attacked."

  "Do you believe the Kassid can turn themselves into wolves?" she asked.

  “The solemn truth, milady? I just don’t know. Wolves are fierce creatures, the only ones in these mountains that will come after a man. So it's hard to credit one just turning away, even if it ain’t hungry at that moment.

  "And somethin’ else, too. Wolves travel in packs. But all the stories about the blue-eyed ones, they were alone—like the one you saw.

  "But I’ve met the Kassid. They prob'ly saved my life. And I know they ain’t exactly like the rest of us, but that don’t mean they can turn themselves into wolves. That's a sight more than I can believe.”

  I wish it were more than I could believe, Jocelyn thought as that icy fear wrenched about in her gut. How in the name of the gods could she possibly negotiate with a man when she feared that at any moment he might turn himself into a creature like that?

  Later, as she lay awaiting sleep, she wondered why it was so much easier for her to accept the possibility of the Kassid’s other talents. After all, wasn’t she here because she believed they had magic—magic that could prevent war or bring them victory?

  But changing one's very shape seemed so much more than other forms of magic—not just awe-inspiring, but deeply primitive and beyond fear.

  Anyway, she told herself firmly as she finally drifted off to sleep, it isn’t really that I believe in their sorcery; it’s the fact that our enemies m
ay believe in it.

  * * *

  Jocelyn awoke slowly from a deep sleep. She could hear the men’s voices, although it seemed too dark for them to be up. She burrowed deeper into her quilts to escape the frosty air.

  And then the screams began!

  She jerked herself upright, both galvanized and paralyzed by terror. Outside her tent, the shouts and screams grew louder.

  Wolves! They were being attacked! Her worst nightmare had come true! With her heart pounding noisily in her chest, she crept over to the tent flap, dragging a quilt with her as though it might afford protection from the creatures.

  The scene before hervms a nightmare—but there were no wolves in sight. In the flickering light of the big campfire, she saw the grotesque silhouettes of men fighting, many of them only half-clothed. The firelight gleamed off drawn swords, some of them already darkened with blood. Bodies were strewn about, and even as she watched in horror, still more screamed in agony and fell on those already lying inert. One man stumbled back into the fire as he fought off another, then cried out piteously as his clothing was set ablaze, sending sparks into the black night.

  Paralyzed by shock, Jocelyn clutched the edge of the tent flap, trying to understand what she was seeing, knowing she must do something—and realizing, finally, that she herself was in danger.

  Then she saw the captain, his sword drawn, fighting off several men as he tried to make his way to her tent. Suddenly, he cried out and his body arched, then fell forward. She saw the shaft of an arrow protruding from his back, surrounded by a rapidly spreading pool of dark blood.

  Involuntarily, she cried out, then thrust her fist into her mouth to stifle the sound. The death of the brave and good captain roused her as perhaps nothing else could have. She scuttled backward, looking about wildly for her cloak. She had to get away. There was nothing she could do here, and she owed it to the captain to save her own life, as he had been trying to do.

  She pushed the heavy cloak out the back of the tent, then crawled out herself, paying no attention to the hard ground that scraped her flesh beneath its light woolen shift.

  The thick forest rose just behind her tent. She started to scramble up the hill, then stopped when she heard the anxious whinnying of the horses and realized they were tethered only a short distance away.

  She peered back at the tent fearfully. There was no sign of anyone in it and the sounds of the battle continued unabated beyond the row of tents. So she moved sideways along the hillside until she reached the horses, then untied the first one with shaking hands and led it quickly up the hillside.

  The trail lay at the top. They had descended into the ravine to make camp in what the captain had thought would be a safe place. The captain! She let out that cry of anguish now as she struggled up the hillside.

  When she reached the trail, she lept onto the horse's back, sparing a moment to be grateful to her brother for having taught her to ride bareback. She gathered up the reins with trembling fingers, then kicked the animal into a run and flew along the trail. Several minutes passed before she realized that she was going the wrong way—heading deeper into Kassid territory instead of fleeing back toward Balek.

  She was about to rein in the horse when she realized that if they came after her, they would be expecting her to head back toward Balek. So perhaps her unconscious choice had been correct, after all.

  She shivered beneath the cloak as the horse galloped along the dark trail. The sounds of the battle faded away quickly. And then the moon came out from behind some clouds, bright and glowing in the black heavens. Finally, she pulled the horse over to the side of the trail and listened for sounds of pursuit. But the silence was broken only by the horse’s heavy breathing.

  She tried to think about her situation. Anger began to bum away inside her, temporarily driving out the terror. How dare they do such a thing? How could her father—and all the others—have been so wrong? Men of honor, they'd called them. What honor was there in attacking a sleeping camp? What honor lay in killing people who had clearly come in peace?

  But then she reined in her anger, knowing it wouldn’t serve her well now. She would find a way to avenge this crime—but first, she had to survive.

  She stared around her at the moon-drenched landscape. She was sure they would come after her

  sooner or later. Did she dare leave the trail? Where could she go in this wild land?

  Then she remembered the little stream at their campsite. It had to be down there somewhere in the darkness. If she found it and then stayed near it, she could make her way back to the camp. Surely not all of her Guards had been killed. Perhaps by now, they’d even managed to subdue the enemy.

  It was only a hope, and she knew that. But for the moment, she could not face the possibility that they were all dead and she was alone in the mountains with those evil sorcerers.

  So she wrapped herself in that hope as she urged the horse down the steep slope, then finally dismounted and led it as the way became too steep. Sharp stones gouged her bare feet, but the numbing cold kept the pain at bay. The heavy cloak impeded her progress, so she took it off and flung it over the horse’s back. She was shivering, but her exertions made her less aware of the cold.

  Finally, she found the stream by literally stumbling into it in total darkness as clouds hid the moon once more. She gasped at the icy cold and withdrew her foot quickly, then slid on a moss- covered rock and fell headlong into the stream. Shivering violently now in her wet shift, she threw the cloak around her and climbed back onto the horse.

  The next hours would forever remain a blur to Jocelyn. She huddled on the horse’s back, her wet shift clinging to a body that she knew dimly felt too warm. Each indrawn breath of the icy air pierced her like a knife. Her head throbbed painfully.

  The horse walked slowly along the edge of the stream, now and then splashing into it as the bank became too steep. Snow began to fall at some point, drifting down soundlessly through the firs to settle on her and on the horse.

  Her thoughts were thick and muddled. She was sure that she was going to die and thought she’d welcome that release. Then she thought of the captain who’d been so kind, and of the other good men under his command—and of her father. And she knew she didn’t want to die here in this terrible place, so far from the warm, sun-drenched plains of Ertria.

  For long moments, she was back there, riding with a warm breeze beneath sunlit skies, calling to her brother to wait for her.

  Then the scene shifted and she was walking along the palace wall with her father, in the days before his illness. He was talking about the responsibilities that would be hers one day, and she was caught between a desire to rule and a plea that that day should not come too quickly.

  Lost in these vivid hallucinations, Jocelyn was very slow to realize that the night was giving way to the soft gray of early dawn. A tentative light began to steal through the forest. The snow trailed off into a few fat flakes, although clumps of it fell on her as she brushed against heavily laden branches. Some birds began to call in the tall trees.

  She was still only vaguely aware of all this when her horse suddenly lifted its head and gave a soft, questioning snuffle that jolted her back to cold real-

  ity. She reined it in quickly and listened. Voices! She must be close to the camp!

  Relief began to flood through her. Perhaps the slaughter she’d imagined hadn’t happened. All those bodies could have been Kassid. As she began to edge forward cautiously, she even allowed herself the hope that the captain's wound hadn’t been as serious as she’d thought.

  But she was still wary enough to strain her ears for confirmation that what she heard was her Guards. Then she stopped as the voices became a bit clearer. Just ahead of her, the stream made a wide curve around a hill.

  She listened to the voices—and her hopes died. She still couldn't hear what they were saying, but the rhythms of their speech were alien. They weren’t her Guards, and the fact that they seemed to be talking in normal tones told
her that the worst had happened—either her men were all dead or those who remained had been taken prisoner.

  Tears rolled down her cheeks and she made no attempt to wipe them away as they stiffened against her cold skin. They were gone—all of them. Ham- mad chose only the best for the Royal Guard, and from that elite group had chosen the very finest to accompany her. And she’d led them to their deaths at the hands of the very people they’d hoped would help them save the empire.

  Her thoughts spiraled once again into the black abyss of despair. She felt herself once more beginning to lose her grip on reality. But even as she stared into that abyss, a part of her began to pull

  back, to remind her that so much depended upon her—a sick father, an empire, all her people.

  There was within Jocelyn’s fragile body a very powerful will, the kind of strength that had made her a rebellious child and then a woman determined to do what no woman was believed capable of doing—ruling an empire.

  So she sat there quietly for a moment, stroking the horse’s withers to keep it quiet, gathering in that strength and ignoring the shivers and pains of a body driven past its endurance. Then she slid off the horse’s back, ignoring the tremors in her legs as she tied it loosely to a tree.

  She began to drag herself up the hill, certain that the camp must lie just beyond the bend in the stream. Halfway up, she gave up her attempts to keep the heavy cloak wrapped around her and dropped it, then climbed the rest of the way in her still-damp shift. She no longer seemed to mind the cold, but each breath continued to stab at her lungs.

  The crest of the hill was covered thickly with firs, and she paused to lean against one of them, listening once again to the voices below her. She could hear their words now, but the language was unknown to her.

  As she crept carefully across the top of the hill, every tale she’d ever heard about the Kassid flashed through her mind. And then, at last, she saw them.