They wrestled for a bit until Blind Seer had pinned her against the duff and bracken, his paws planted on her chest, taking his penalty in sloppy licks across her face.
"Venison stew," he declared. "More heavily seasoned than is to my taste, but then I like my meat blood-hot."
"And from your sloppy bathing," Firekeeper said, shoving him back and tugging at a bit of matted blood his wade in a stream hadn't quite washed away, "I can tell you had it. Have you found the pack?"
"I have and they bid me bring you to them," the blue-eyed wolf replied. "They would have howled, but this year's pups are yet small and some of those young huntersùif what humans do can truly be called huntingùhave shown too much interest in learning where we are staying these days."
Firekeeper held up a hand, again aware that this was a human gesture she would not have used a year before.
"This year's pups?" she asked. "When last we spoke with the One Female she said she did not intend a litter this year, that there were pups enough to rear."
Blind Seer's ears flattened slightly in an expression of confusion.
"I had forgotten that," he said, "and was simply pleased to see the fat fur-balls looking so healthy. There are four this litter: two males, two females."
Firekeeper put her question away as yet another one to ask the Ones and instead asked:
"You say the humans have been looking for where the pack dens. Have they found them?"
"Not yet," Blind Seer scoffed. "Those younglings are not as woods wise as they believeùnot even as woods wise as Edlin and far from as expert as Race Forester. Nor has the pack made it easy for them. Some of our own yearlings have been going out to distant points and singing their own praises, leaving trampled paw prints in the mud where these trackers may find them, and otherwise confusing the signs."
"Wise," said Firekeeper, rising to her feet and brushing some of the mess from her clothes and hair, "for I do not think there is any great love for wolf-kind among those in the new Bardenville."
"So they remember the prince, then," Blind Seer said. "That's interesting."
"Their One," Firekeeper said, "this Ewen Brooks, has taken Barden's dream for his own. I think Derian was right. These people are like young wolves full of the urge to disperse. They saw nowhere to go until…"
She fell silent, her fingernails digging into her palms.
"Until?" Blind Seer prompted.
"Until my return showed them the trail."
"Don't blame yourself, dear heart," the wolf replied. "Even if you had not returned from here, Earl Kestrel and his folk would have done so. The end would have been the same."
Firekeeper nodded, but remained uncomforted.
Would the wolves have let Earl Kestrel return if they had not promised her motherùthat forgotten human womanùthat they would give Firekeeper a chance to know her human heritage? Kestrel's small companyùDerian, Ox, Race, and Valetùwould have been easy hunting even for her relatively small pack, and had Kestrel's expedition not returned, then the fear that had held the humans to their side of the mountain would have remained undiminished.
Such thoughts did nothing to assuage the unhappiness that had plagued Firekeeper since first she had realized that humans were moving west. As Blind Seer led her to this season's denning place, she felt like a young wolf who had been caught trying to steal a bone from a bigger, stronger wolf-certain she was about to get a drubbing.
But the only drubbing she receivedùinitially at leastùwas the roisterous greeting of the wolf pack. The spring before, when Earl Kestrel had led his expedition west, the pack had consisted of eight adults, six pups, and Firekeeper. By the time she had visited the following autumn, two of the puppies had died, and an adult male had dispersed, ranging elsewhere, perhaps to find a mate of his own.
Nor had the internal dynamic of the pack remained unchanged between the autumn of her departure and the spring of her return. The Ones continued to reign unchallenged, but the younger ones had grown. The four surviving pups had become leggy wolflings. The Whinerùonce the weakest yearling in the packùhad grown stronger and more confident. With the dispersal of the adult male, the hierarchy of the remaining adults had shifted.
Now, once the flying romp of fur slowed to a panting whirl, Firekeeper was surprised to see two strangers among the pack. These had not greeted her as the others had, but had hung back, neither unfriendly nor familiar.
Firekeeper stood, her hand still buried in the One Female's pale furùfor the One Female's coat was silvery, like new-fallen snow in the moonlightùand felt as shy before these lupine strangers as ever she did before humans. She felt more shy in a way, for among humans she entertained a vague sense of superiority that she did not feel when among wolves.
The One Female took mercy on her, saying:
"Firekeeper, this is Sharp Fang, who has come to us from further west and north. Since we now have our own Sharp Fang…" She indicated the Whiner with some pride. "… we call our visitor Northwest."
Northwest was a male, his fur white around jaw and muzzle, but mixed grey-brown around his eyes, over his ears, and down the back of his neck where the same grey-brown made a saddle over the lighter fur of his underbody. Her recent visit to New Kelvin had made Firekeeper all too aware of masks, and she couldn't help but think that this male looked as if he wore one.
Northwest's eyes were yellow-gold, their gaze so penetrating and analytical that Firekeeper felt like a bug on a rock. She locked her gaze with his, unwilling, even though Northwest was quite large and looked as if he could knock her down without half trying, to abase herself. She didn't know the stranger's standing in her pack and wasn't about to accord him the same automatic respect she had always given those who had cared for her.
The One Female did not demand she do so, but indicated the other newcomer.
"Do you remember Wind Whisper? She was with us many years ago, when you were very small."
Firekeeper studied the she-wolf. Wind Whisper's coat was equal parts silver-grey and charcoal black, the black clustering in the vicinity of her ears, muzzle, and legs, the grey blending in elsewhere, though the tip of her otherwise grey tail was black. Her eyes were the color of old pine-tree tears and her bearing was strong and lithe, with no trace of age.
For the first time, Firekeeper found herself wondering how old the Royal Wolves might grow to be. She had never much paid attention to the passage of time, but humans seemed to do little else. From them she had learned that her tenure among the wolves had probably been between ten and twelve years. She herself remembered no time she had not been a wolf, except sometimes, perhaps, in dreams.
A sudden panic squeezed her heart. She had heard Race Forester speak of one of his bird dogs as growing old at twelve years. Did Royal Wolves age at the same rate? She knew that Blind Seer had celebrated his fourth year early this spring. Numbers still were not her strong point, but she knew that twelve was just beyond two hands and that four filled one hand almost entirely.
There had been three One Males in her memory. Was this replacement a result of aging on the part of the wolves? Did they become unfit for their places just as age was rendering King Tedric unfit for elements of his? A human king might delegate others to lead in battle. Tedric had done just that last autumnùotherwise the war might have been called King Tedric's War rather than King Allister's.
A One never delegated another to lead. Either they were slain by a competitor or beaten so sorely that none doubted they were past their time.
Suddenly Firekeeper felt afraid of a human life, afraid that its length might take her beyond all those she loved. Then she shook herself. She herself was a wolf, no human to be coddled by servants in a castle as was King Tedric or by children and grandchildren in a cottage as was Holly Gardener. Death was more likely to find her than was old age.
And perhaps it was proof that she was a wolf at heart that this thought gave her comfort. Perhaps it was only proof that she was very young.
Firekeeper remembered her man
ners and recalled her attention to the One Female's question.
"I do not remember you," she said to Wind Whisper. "But puppies have no memory beyond their last meal and no dreams beyond the next."
Wind Whisper panted with laughter.
"True enough," she said, "and you were a very ill pup. How we struggled to make you to eat, but the fire had badly damaged you. If it had not been for…"
Wind Whisper stopped, snapping at her haunch as if after a fly. When she resumed, it was as if she had forgotten what she had been about to say.
"Well, you've grown into a fine young creature. Nicely spoken, too, and lighter on your feet than any of the two-legs I've seen over in that smoky nest they've built themselves."
Blind Seer wagged his great brush of a tail, pleased at this compliment to his friend.
"When did you leave this pack?" he asked Wind Whisper. "And where did you go?"
"Long before you were born, Blue-Eyes," she replied, "even before your mother came to rule this pack."
Again Firekeeper was struck by the difference between how she and the wolves grew and aged. She had known both the One Male and the One Female as pups. The One Female had been of this pack, the One Male of a neighboring pack with whom her own sometimes joined for winter hunts and summer romps.
To her, now, both wolves were adults, wise and strong, yet she could recall them as fat furballs like the four who even now romped with each other in a sheltered hollow, their mock battles indulgently supervised by a couple of the yearlings. How old were the Ones now? Eight? Ten?
The thought troubled her as never before. Citrine Shield was about that age and she was a child. Firekeeper knew that she herself was still growing. She'd grown taller even over the last year. With the bounty of human larders to augment her own hunting she'd put on weight, developed breasts, and, if Holly's comments were anything on which to judge, she had more changing yet to come.
Blind Seer had filled out some, grown a bit broader through the chest. Indeed, he promised to live up to the image of his fatherùthe previous One Male, who had sired only one litter before dying in a winter hunting accident.
"You're distracted, Little Two-legs," the One Male commented.
Rip was a big silver-grey wolf with a dark streak running the length of his spine even to the tip of his tail and a broad, white ruff. He was the One Female's second mate, having won her against all comers. The Ones seemed well suited, but Firekeeper had the impression, as Northwest twitched an ear to attend to the One Male's comment, that Northwest thought that perhaps he himself would serve better as One.
Firekeeper shook herself from this uncomfortable thought by addressing the One Female.
"Mother," she said, gesturing toward the four romping pups who were now fiercely battling over a much-chewed tree branch, "when Blind Seer and I came home last you said that you didn't plan on pups this spring, yet here I see four as strong and healthy as any in the land."
Firekeeper knew from past experience that the One Female could decide not to bear pups. She wasn't certain of the mechanics of the choice, but recalled it happening several seasons over her life. Usually the reason was that enough young had survived the previous season, but that couldn't be the purpose here. The four yearlings were ample proof that the previous litter (numbering six initially) had done well.
The One Female swept her tail through the duff where she had reclined when her introductions were completed.
"Always full of questions, Little Two-legs," she said, amused. Then she grew serious.
"I had a dream," she went on, "a dream of flood. In it, a tree fell across a stream, damming it for a moment, but its trunk was too thin and the flood crashed over it and my pack was drowned. When I awoke, I felt stirring within me, stirring that had been quiet until that time, fed to fullness and settled into sleep by the growing pups. I might have fought them, I suppose, but my dream was warning and the One Male and I tied that very afternoon."
Firekeeper nodded, nor did she question the One Female's account of her dream. Its antecedents were apparent.
"Did you dream this," she asked, "before or after the humans came to the Burnt Place?"
"Before they came to settle," the One Female replied, "but over the autumn, before winter closed the gap in the mountains, a small group came and sniffed about. Perhaps these were the first trickle of the flood in my dream."
Blind Seer cut in.
"You never mentioned this to us!" he said indignantly.
The One Female growled softly.
"And since when is it my duty to inform wandering pups of the business of the pack?"
Blind Seer abased himself. His own status within the pack was ambiguous. He had left of his own desire, wishing to accompany Firekeeper. In this way he had separated himself from the pack. However, as he had never joined another pack, nor formed one of his ownùunless his relationship with Firekeeper could be taken as a pack of sortsùBlind Seer could still be said to belong to this pack, even as Firekeeper was still welcome.
The One Female licked her son's nose, accepting his apology.
"You had worries enough last winter," she said. "The One Male and I decided that this human coming should not be added to them. Indeed, those first might have been trappers or furriers more daring than the usual run, brought across the mountains by curiosity and with that curiosity fed never to return."
"Are those who came last autumn among those who returned?" Firekeeper asked, never doubting the wolves would have noted the scents.
"Yes," the One Female replied. "The One Male has made a study of them, for he was here while I was away and took better note of them."
The One Male, who had been gnawing a thick bone much as a man might have smoked a pipe, cracked it along its length and licked out the marrow before speaking.
"Not only," he said, carefully arranging his thoughts, "are there those who are the sameùthough, of course there are more nowùbut the male who serves as One in their pack was the leader of those who scouted."
Firekeeper bit her lip.
"The humans call him Ewen Brooks," she said. Then she recounted Ewen's history as she had heard him tell it to Derian. Sensing the wolves' interest, she went on to detail Ewen's raptures about the potential of these western lands.
"So it is as we suspected," the One Male said, and he sounded not in the least surprised. "Human ways may be strange to us, but the winged folk who came to look at them said that the two-legs were showing denning behaviors. Indeed, we had thought so even before the birds offered their opinions, for why else would the humans fell trees to make sturdy places to live and bring their young with them if they didn't intend to stay?"
He rolled the shattered bone beneath his paw, but Firekeeper was certain his forlorn expression had nothing to do with having licked it clean of marrow.
"It is good," he said at last, "that you chose to come home. We were thinking about sending for you."
Firekeeper didn't need to ask why and didn't waste breath doing so.
The One Male went on. "There are many and mixed feelings regarding the coming here of these human folk. Do you remember the tales you were told last autumn, the tales of how the Royal Beasts first met two-legged kind?"
Firekeeper nodded. "At first there was some balance between the four-footed and two-legged kind. Then the humans became territorial. They fought themselves and they fought our people. In the end, because the humans had great powers we did not, we retreated across the mountains where they did not like to come. They did not follow us because they did not like the mountains. Also, a sickness came over the humans, burning to death those who had the most power. In the end, so many humans had died that they no longer had to fight each other for land. We in turn decided to stay where we had come and leave them the lands east of the Iron Mountains."
It was a short form of the elaborate tale she had been told, but served to demonstrate that she remembered the high points.
The One Male thumped his tail in approval.
&nb
sp; "Good enough, Little Two-legs, though you condense the time over which events occurred. Remember that this rivalry and fighting and the time of the sickness happened over many long years."
"I," snapped Northwest, "do not see why how much time it took matters at all! What is important is that these humans now are different from those humans then. Those humans then had great powers. The Ones of my pack tell of lightning drawn from the sky, of fire burning through the air and catching onto fur and flesh, of senses so acute that not even the stealthiest among us could go unnoticed.
"These humans have none of these powers. Two nights ago I crept into their settlement, ate one of their foolish birds as she slept on her nest, pissed on their doorposts, and the only ones among them who noticed my coming were their silky-haired foxes and these cringed from my least growl. They at least knew their master."
"Dogs," Firekeeper said inconsequentially. "The humans raise them as they raise their horses and mules. They come in many sizes and shapes. Some of the larger, indeed, might give a wolf second pause."
"But not these," Northwest challenged.
"No," Firekeeper agreed. "These have been bred for tracking by scent and for bringing back prey felled by arrows. Hunt more often in their chicken coops and Ewen Brooks might bring from the east dogs meant for the hunting of bear and wolves."
"Cousin-kind," Northwest sneered.
"True," Firekeeper said, "but enough of these Cousin-kind hunting dogs might give even a sharp fang like yourself trouble."
Northwest grumbled, but did not debate the point further. Instead he said:
"But you agree that these humans have none of the great powers that eventually drove the Beasts of old to flee west of the Iron Mountains?"
Firekeeper frowned. "Most do not, but last winter Blind Seer and I went into New Kelvinùthe human land north of the White Water Riverùand there we saw things that make me think we cannot dismiss human powers so easily."
"You wish to protect them!" Northwest snarled. "They are naked, hairless beasts like yourself. You think if we take them as our prey you will no longer be safe among us, no longer safe to swagger beneath your pack's protection. That is why you speak of them as if we, the greatest hunters in all the forests of all the world, should fear them."
The Dragon of Despair Page 8
