Heart of the Wolf

by Saranne Dawson

  "I think that Daken intends for you to remain on the throne and for you to rule the empire. But I believe he intends to demand that you make good on your promises to him of reforms."

  After another pause, Hammad went on in a musing tone. "I think we will be able to guess his intentions when we leam the truth about our own history. If the Sherbas are right that the Kassid once ruled all this land, then the reason they gave it up is of great importance. If there is one thing I have learned about Daken and the Kassid, it is that they are true to the history of their people. They walked away once—and we need to know why.”

  "The Sherbas claim not to know," Jocelyn said distractedly as she thought about Hammad’s words.

  “But we haven’t talked to the Sherbas. We’ve only heard their tales from our own people."

  "Then I will invite their leaders here, and we will ask them."

  Jocelyn had expected that the Sherbas would refuse to meet with her and had ordered that no coercion be used, but to her surprise, their leaders agreed to come to the palace.

  The meeting was set for late in the evening, allowing Hammad time to rest from his ordeal and also allowing for the greatest possible secrecy. In the city and at court, the festivities had commenced, and the Guards brought the Sherbas in through their garrison and a backstairs route used only by them in their mission to protect their empress.

  Hammad arrived at her suite just before the Sherbas. Jocelyn felt greatly relieved to see him looking much better. They talked about Daken’s pursuit of Arrat without concern for his safety or success, and Jocelyn finally smiled ruefully.

  "We both believe the Kassid to be invincible, don’t we?"

  Hammad nodded. "As they have always been. That is why we must learn the reason they chose to walk away before."

  Then the Guards arrived with three Sherbas— two young men and one very old man who moved slowly, but stared at her with bright, curious eyes before accepting the seat she offered.

  She assured them that they were her guests and under her protection and thanked them for coming. Then she explained that there were rumors about in the city regarding the Kassid, with whom, she said, they appeared to have "some bond.” Would they be willing to tell her about their history—and about their knowledge of the Kassid?

  To her surprise, they were quite willing to do so. The old man’s voice was strong and his bearing, despite his great age, was proud. Neither did he ramble as he told his story.

  And as Jocelyn and Hammad listened in rapt attention, the history of their people was re-written.

  The Kassid had indeed ruled the world ever since the departure of the Old Gods. They were, after all, the children of those gods. Because their empire was vast and contained many different peoples, they had encouraged local autonomy, contenting themselves only with resolving disputes that arose between various tribes.

  Fortresses were erected in various areas, and the Kassid kept some troops in each to put down unrest and act as courts to resolve disputes. But most Kassid lived in their ancestral home in the Dark Mountains.

  The Kassid, he told them, were fair and just, but the men who gained power under their loose rule were not. The result, as time passed, was corruption, greed and ever-increasing wars. More garrisons had to be built and more Kassid had to leave their beloved mountains to battle first one tribal ruler and then another.

  Always, the worst trouble was in Ertria, the largest and richest of all their lands. Because the other lands were more peaceful, the Kassid withdrew from them over a period of years, remaining only in Ertria—and in its neighbor Balek, sparsely populated then as now, but a land of considerable wealth that had long ago caught the eye of greedy Ertrians.

  “The Kassid built a great fortress in Ertria,” he went on, "and kept a large force there. But if there were no outright wars, there were many assassinations. As soon as one family would seem to be gaining ascendancy, members of another would kill their leader.”

  Finally, the Kassid had apparently had enough. It became clear to them that they would have to choose the best from a bad lot and set that man up as a strong ruler.

  "The man they chose was your ancestor, milady," the old man said. "And once they had chosen him, they abandoned their fortress and went home to the Dark Mountains. It was said that they acted on the whispered advice of the Old Gods, who called them home after their long ordeal."

  The man made a gesture and went on. “The rest you already know, milady. No sooner had the Kassid departed than war broke out again, as the new ruler of Ertria sought to add to his lands.”

  “But the Kassid did not return?" Hammad inquired.

  The old man shook his head. "The gods had spoken—and I think too that they were weary. You, milady, have seen their home, so perhaps you can understand why they chose to remain there."

  "Yes," she said. “I can understand that.”

  "But where do you fit into this?" Hammad asked. "How did the Sherbas come into being?"

  "The name ‘Sherba’ is an old Kassid term for ‘Faithful’—and that is what we were—and are. We are the descendants of those who continued to hope that the Kassid would one day return to bring peace and justice to this land again. We were hounded and often killed by the new rulers of Ertria, and when it became too bad for us, we sought refuge in the Dark Mountains. The Kassid allowed us to live there for a time, until we were largely forgotten by the Ertrian rulers. Then we ventured forth again and became the sellers of herbs you see now. The Kassid provide them to us and give us gold as well.

  “We wear black because that is the color of the Kassid’s sacred land, and many of us carry a piece of that stone with us. Many wear a mark as well— the old Kassid symbol for The Faithful. And we wander because we have vowed not to settle on this land until Kassid peace and justice once again prevail here."

  “And when you get the herbs and gold from the Kassid, you give them news of the outside world?” Hammad asked. Jocelyn was glad he forbore using the term "spy."

  The old man nodded. "Always we have hoped they would return—and they are ever curious about the world beyond the Dark Mountains."

  “And you now believe that they have come back to claim their lands?”

  He looked her straight in the eye and nodded gravely. “They have returned—and their leader has married you.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Rains lashed the city and the surrounding plains for days on end, beginning just as the victory celebration was ended. Jocelyn’s mood was as dark as the skies as she waited for Daken's return. Several times, she returned to the secret room, hoping that the strange feeling that came over her there would be clarified. But it remained as elusive as ever, though she always left the room more at peace with herself.

  She never doubted that the Kassid would be victorious and that Daken would return to her, however. So when the news came, she felt no particular elation, but rather a tense awareness that the final act was about to be played out.

  The news was carried by one of Hammad’s men. A small contingent of them had gone with the Kassid to capture the garrison where Arrat and his few

  remaining troops had holed up. Hammad brought the bedraggled messenger directly to her, so that they might hear the news together.

  "Arrat is dead,” the man told them. “Only a few men remained with him, and they too were killed. The others came out of the garrison to surrender, and Daken spared their lives.” He paused and looked rather nervously from Hammad to Jocelyn.

  "Daken said he spared them because the Men- oans had suffered such heavy losses and they needed to maintain an army for defense.”

  Jocelyn shot a quick look at Hammad, but his expression told her nothing. The messenger went on.

  "Not one Kassid life was lost—not one! There was a secret entrance to the garrison through an underground stream that provided water. The Kassid knew about it because they built the garrison. It was just like the garrison at Balek,” the man said with more than a touch of awe in his voice.

&
nbsp; “Daken himself killed Arrat, then ordered the men he spared to take his body back so that the people would know he was dead. He told them you would be sending an envoy, milady, to dictate the terms."

  I may be sending the envoy, she thought—but who will be dictating the terms? When the messenger had gone, Hammad and Jocelyn were both silent for some time before Jocelyn finally asked what Hammad thought of Daken's insistence that the Menoans should have an army for defense.

  "There’s no doubt who he thinks they must de-

  fend themselves from," she finished bitterly. "The Turveans have only the remnants of an army left themselves.”

  "He is remaining true to his history—and ours," Hammad said mildly. "If he were to leave them totally defenseless, he would be giving us an excuse to spread Ertrian rule over them as well."

  "You approve of this?” Jocelyn asked in disbelief.

  “I am merely seeing it from Daken’s perspective,” he responded neutrally, "and from the perspective of history as well.”

  “But he doesn’t trust us. He doesn’t trust me"

  "I believe he trusts your intentions—but good intentions are often not sufficient.”

  Then, after a brief pause, Hammad went on. "I think also that this proves that he does not intend to take control of the empire for himself. If he intended that, he would not be so worried about the Menoans and Turveans defending themselves."

  Jocelyn hadn't thought about that, and now she felt a faint rise of hope. But no sooner did that hope stir than she realized that if those were Daken’s intentions, he would not remain here, but would return to the Dark Mountains.

  How tangled her thoughts were! If Daken remained, she would be empress in name, but not in fact. If he left, she would never know the joy of his love again.

  After Hammad had left, she wondered for a time which she would choose, if the choice were hers to make. Would she willingly trade her throne for his love?

  No, of course not, she told herself quickly, angrily. That is the kind of sentimental groveling other women engage in—but I am an empress.

  But she thought after a time that her protest rang falsely.

  Jocelyn had always been a light sleeper, so the faint noise from beyond the door to her bedchamber woke her, though not completely. She lingered for a moment in that in-between state, then sat up quickly when the door opened, admitting a faint light from the antechamber beyond which her maids slept.

  A huge, dark form, made even larger by a cloak of dark, oiled skins, stood there—uncertainly, she thought. Behind him, she could see her maids, moving about nervously.

  "Daken,” she whispered, and knew only when she heard the agonized longing in her own voice how very much she had missed him. In the naked, raw emotion of her arousal from sleep, when she hadn’t yet remembered all her doubts and fears, love and desire poured through her.

  He turned briefly to glance at the hovering maids, then closed the door behind him. In the blackness of the room, she could see him only as a slightly different texture to the darkness. Then she heard the heavy cloak thud softly to the floor, the oiled skins crackling slightly.

  She got out of bed, intending to ask the maids to bring a lamp, but collided almost immediately with a solid wall of flesh.

  “Maiza," he groaned. “Oh gods, how I've missed you!"

  The warrior is gone, she thought as he crushed her to him. The man has come back to me!

  She struggled to free a hand, then reached up to touch his face, making a slight sound of surprise when she encountered his beard.

  “I need to bathe and shave,” he said thickly, "but I need you more."

  The lamp was forgotten as they fumbled blindly to get out of their clothing, to reach beneath it for the heated flesh they both craved. When the clothing had fallen to the floor, they tumbled onto the bed already locked in an embrace.

  There was no softness, no gentle exploring, no slow stoking of the fires of passion. His hardness slid into her melting softness immediately, driving them both over the edge and into that other plane, where nothing existed except an all-encompassing need. In the darkness of deep night, they broke through to a realm of brilliance, then clung to it until the darkness once again enveloped them.

  They slept and awoke to remembered love, then renewed that love and slept again. And when Jocelyn opened her eyes to the morning light, she wanted to close them again and recapture the magic of the night.

  One of her maids had crept into the room and was standing there uncertainly. Jocelyn raised a hand and sent her away, then lifted herself to stare down at Daken as he slept on.

  At first, it was the face of a stranger she saw— one that sent a quick chill through her. His heavy beard was more black than gray, giving his rugged features a darkly menacing cast. But then, even as she stared at him, his lashes fluttered—and she was staring into those pale eyes.

  He smiled and reached for her sleepily, drawing her back to him with a murmured endearment. The warrior vanished again. When he didn't move, she thought he had fallen asleep again. Her head rested against his chest, the bristly hairs tickling her skin that was already raw from his beard.

  Then he began to caress her slowly. "Did I hurt you?" he asked in a fearful tone that was at odds with his menacing appearance.

  She laughed against his chest. “Not permanently."

  "The guards gave me no trouble, but those accursed maids of yours tried to stop me," he growled.

  Jocelyn doubted that, but remained silent. Her maids were terrified of him, and she knew he resented their presence here.

  “Hammad’s messenger arrived with the news?" he asked as he continued to run his big, calloused hands over her.

  "Yes.” She didn't want to talk about this now. She didn’t want to talk about anything.

  “I do not want this again, maiza. I may be Kassid, descended from a long line of warriors—but I do not want to fight again."

  "There is no reason you should," she said, hoping that was true.

  "Is there no place we can go to escape from your court and those damned maids for a time?"

  She should have thought of that, she realized. "There is a small summer palace on one of the islands, but it is early to go there."

  "Let’s go anyway—without the servants.”

  "But. ..’’ Jocelyn thought about the usual contingent of servants that went along, less than half the number required here, but too many, she knew, for him. She laughed.

  “Daken, I cannot cook for us. I don’t think I’ve ever even seen the kitchens at the summer palace.”

  "We’ll manage. Tell them to pack food, then get us a boat. I want to go today."

  And so they did. Jocelyn was quickly caught up in his need for them to be alone. She issued orders to her shocked majordomo and sent orders to the captain of the imperial boat, an arrogant man from whom she half-expected to hear a refusal.

  Daken went to have a bath and a shave, and Ham- mad joined him to hear the details of the siege of the garrison. With the low murmur of their voices in the background, Jocelyn supervised the packing. She felt like an excited child again. She hadn’t been to the summer palace for two years, since her father’s health hadn’t permitted the boat trip. But she'd always loved the place, with its airy rooms and the soft sand beach almost at its doorstep and the soothing sound of the sea to lull her to sleep.

  When the packing was done, she summoned her senior advisors and informed them of her plans. They were predictably aghast, but she gave them no opportunity to protest, and in any event, the words they might have spoken died on their lips when Daken appeared.

  The weather had cleared overnight and a stiff, warm breeze was blowing. As they rode to the harbor, Jocelyn recalled how the weather in the Dark

  Mountains had changed so dramatically just before the Turning festival and wondered if Daken could have been wrong when he’d stated that the gods paid them little attention.

  Jocelyn loved the sea, but her pleasure this time was even greater a
s she watched Daken. He made no attempt to hide his enjoyment and plied the captain with endless questions. That formerly unpleasant man underwent a dramatic transformation, answering Daken and even offering more information about wind and weather and the art of sailing.

  Everyone, she thought as she watched them, has fallen under the spell of the Kassid. And when Daken then left the captain to walk across the deck to her, she forgot all about the threat that posed because she too was under the spell of this man. The only difference was that while others saw great warriors, she saw the passionate man who had said over and over again during the glorious night just past that he needed her.

  Several hours later, as they sat in the comfortable chairs on the deck watching the sails billow with the stiff breeze and eating cheese and fruits, Jocelyn spotted the faint smudge on the distant horizon and pointed excitedly.

  “There is Saba! Do you see it?’’

  He did, and they finished their meal as they saw the island grow larger, And then they were there, stepping from the boat onto the long pier as the crew unloaded their belongings and food supply. A short time later, the boat was gone and they were alone.

  In fact, as Jocelyn explained to Daken, they were not completely alone on the island. There was a small fishing village on the far side, and the captain would call there to arrange for fresh fish to be delivered to them during their stay.

  "Of course, we may be forced to eat it raw," she told him, teasing him gently about his refusal to bring servants.

  "I can cook fish,” he replied, looking about him with obvious pleasure.

  Daken carried their things into the low, rambling structure, designed by a great-great uncle of Jocelyn’s nearly a hundred years before. It was considerably less luxurious than the palace, but more than made up for that with its high, airy rooms and many windows open to the sea.