The Mage

by Inbali Iserles

  “I know,” the lordess agreed. “But this close to the attack, we can’t be too careful.” Her muzzle crinkled. “Ratok, clear a space.”

  The under-wolf sprang to attention, dashing to a mound of snow and hastily digging a shallow trench. The others ignored him.

  “It has to be before the Eve of Maha,” the female went on. “Their ancestors are powerful. They’ve held that land for generations. We cannot cross the soil as their spirits reawaken.”

  The wolf with the gray paw shook out his fur. “Is it true that their king is dead?”

  “Not dead yet … ailing,” said the female. “It’s the perfect time to strike. None in his own Bishar would launch a challenge while he lives, and meanwhile he’s too weak to defeat us.”

  Crouched beside me, Farraclaw let out a low growl.

  I nudged his shoulder with my nose. “It’s just talk.”

  “No.” Farraclaw’s voice was choked. “She’s right. We are vulnerable. They are free to attack.”

  I tried to remember what he’d told me back at the Bishar of Claw. I hadn’t long arrived and it was all a blur. “I thought … Aren’t the wolves of Claw stronger? You could beat them in a battle.”

  “Silence,” hissed Métis. “They’ll hear us.” He edged along the boulders.

  Farraclaw threw the Black Fox a withering look. He spoke to me in a low voice. “I don’t think you understand. The leader of a Bishar may challenge a rival king to fight. If the other king refuses—if he is too weak, or too scared—if he cannot be found, the fight is surrendered.”

  Now I remembered. “You mean …”

  “I mean,” replied Farraclaw, struggling to control the panic in his voice. “That the wolves of Fang have learned that our king is sick. Their king will challenge my fa to combat. You have seen what that fox has done to him—he will not be able to fight. The Bishar of Fang will seize our lands and none will be able to stop them.”

  Cold crept through me. I thought of the pups in their den.

  The female wolf was addressing the others. “I was only a pup when King Birronclaw killed King Garrùfang.”

  “A terrible thing,” uttered the male with the gray paw, and the other wolves echoed their agreement.

  The under-wolf had finished digging. He approached the female at an angle, belly sweeping the ground. He lowered himself in front of her. “Lordess Bezilfang, I have dug a space.”

  The female wolf spoke over him, as though he was invisible. “Our revenge has been a long time coming,” she told the other wolves. “If it hadn’t been for our helpful defector, we might have been fooled. Their king would have died, and the prince anointed before we had time to attack. But fortune shines on the Bishar of Fang.”

  The under-wolf dropped back. At length, the lordess padded over to the low trench. As she passed him, she called out absently. “Ratok, survey these lands.” The under-wolf dipped his head. He started sniffing around the Ice Razors, shoving his head between them, then retreating.

  The lordess made herself comfortable as the male with the gray paw, a perfectly white male, and another female with a dark face sat down next to her. The four wolves huddled in the trench were still talking, but I could no longer hear what they said.

  The under-wolf was sniffing along the columns of ice, but was unable to pass between them. He wound back toward the spruce and disappeared from view.

  There was thunder in Farraclaw’s gaze. He started to rise.

  “Sire, what are you doing?” whispered Lop.

  “‘Helpful defector,’” spat Farraclaw. “You were right, Lop. One of our own Bishar told the wolves of Fang about my fa. If I hadn’t heard it with my own ears, I would never have believed it.” He shook his head. “I must find out their plan. I need to know who’s betrayed us.” He started around the back of the boulders.

  “Wolf, are you insane?” snapped Métis. “You’ll bring death to all of us!”

  Farraclaw turned on him angrily. “To you, I’m Prince Farraclaw Valiant-Jowl, the eldest son of Queen Sableclaw Valiant-Jowl and King Birronclaw Valiant-Oolf. It is he who is mad, and it’s your fault. Your fault he cannot defend our realms. Your fault the Bishar of Claw will fall.”

  Métis flinched, dropping his gaze. His long brush curved around his flank.

  Farraclaw shoved past him.

  “Stop, it isn’t safe!” I bit his tail gently, trying to tug him back.

  He shook himself free. “I’ll be careful.”

  I scampered in front of him to block his way. “Let me go,” I begged. “I can slimmer. They won’t be able to see me! Let me find out what they’re planning.”

  “More foxcraft?” The look he gave me chilled me to the marrow. “I don’t think so.”

  But someone else had pounced in front of Farraclaw and was creeping around the boulders.

  Lop.

  The under-wolf looped around the crags. To my amazement, he padded down them, in plain sight of the watch group. His ears were pricked—a casual glance would reveal nothing unusual about them. His tail curved between his legs.

  He sniffed around the edge of the Ice Razors, just as the other under-wolf had. I saw him pause, his head slightly cocked, before creeping on a little, his snout close to the frozen columns.

  Farraclaw’s eyes were fixed on Lop, though he stayed beside me, concealed behind the boulders.

  I found I was holding my breath. How long could Lop’s luck hold out? But the lordess ignored him, and so did the other wolves as he appeared to busy himself at the Ice Razors.

  No one sees the under-wolf.

  Lop was following the columns in our direction. With a glance over his shoulder, he trod alongside them to slip between the crags. A moment later, he stood between us.

  Farraclaw stared at the small wolf. “That was brave,” he whispered. A new respect crept over his face.

  “Just doing my duty, Sire.” Lop drew in his breath. “The news isn’t good. They intend to attack. The whole Bishar will be there. They believe they’ll have the element of surprise. King Orrùfang will challenge your fa. They know he cannot fight back.”

  “The fiends,” spat Farraclaw.

  “Soon. They didn’t say exactly when.”

  “Where will they launch the attack?”

  “I don’t know,” Lop murmured.

  “Who betrayed us, did they say?” pressed Farraclaw.

  “They didn’t.”

  “I need to find out more.” Farraclaw stepped past me.

  “Sire, please don’t go,” begged Lop. “They will see you!”

  “I’ll be careful,” muttered Farraclaw.

  I started after him but felt a paw against my flank. “There’s nothing you can do,” Métis warned. “The fool will get us all killed.”

  I watched helplessly as Farraclaw edged away from us toward the Ice Razors. If the wolves of Fang turned, they would spot him. With his proud stance and the thick tumble of his mane, he looked nothing like their under-wolf.

  I shuffled back behind the boulders, exchanging an anxious look with Lop. He gave me a comforting lick on the head. I craned my neck. I could see the white female was still talking. I caught only the occasional word. “Claw … Ruin …”

  Farraclaw appeared behind the group of wolves. He’s too close. But the wolves of Fang didn’t look his way. I saw his ears prick forward and a dark look cross his face. He must have heard more about their plans. I hoped he would leave it at that.

  Howls rose from the wolves, sharp on the morning breeze. Were they laughing about the Bishar of Claw? Bragging about what they’d do to their rivals?

  To my horror, Farraclaw was moving toward them, tracing the jags of ice. Don’t go there! You can’t fit between the columns.

  Suddenly, the female sat up with a growl. The wolf with the gray paw raised his muzzle, then paused. His eyes darted to the Ice Razors. “Intruder!” he barked in shrill staccato.

  Their heads shot around and they stared at Farraclaw. Panic ripped through me. There was no
where for him to run.

  The wolves of Fang bounded up to him, hackles sharp, lips peeled back so far that their gums were exposed above giant fangs. They closed around Farraclaw as Lop and I watched in horror.

  “Well, well,” snarled the white female. “A trespasser. Speak fast, if you wish to live.”

  Farraclaw stood tall. His body did not betray the fear he must have felt. “I am Prince Farraclaw Valiant-Jowl. I seek peaceful passage through your lands. In the spirit of Noble King Serrenclaw, I invoke the Custom of Serren.”

  The snow wolves were awestruck.

  “Did you hear that?” yelped the gray-pawed male. “Prince Farraclaw himself! This far into our territory. How did he manage it?”

  The lordess snorted. “Peaceful passage? The Custom of Serren? I don’t think so.” She sprang forward and landed a bite on Farraclaw’s back leg. Her jaws tore deep, and I cringed against Lop. To my surprise, Farraclaw didn’t fight back.

  The gray-pawed male followed her lead. He sprang on Farraclaw, sinking his teeth into his neck. “Spy on us, would you? You’ll pay for that!”

  “We have to help him,” I whimpered.

  Lop’s paw tensed on my shoulder. “We can’t do anything now.”

  I watched as the wolves of Fang circled and tormented Farraclaw, nipping, barging, and snapping at him.

  “King Orrùfang will be pleased to see you,” growled the white female. “An honor for all who have caught you.” She looked around. “Are there others here? Surely a Prince of Claw wouldn’t travel without attendants?”

  “I am alone,” said Farraclaw in a loud, clear voice. “I do not require a whelping ma.”

  “Don’t believe him,” snarled the other female, springing forward to snap her teeth around Farraclaw’s leg. “Where are the others?”

  “I have already told you. I am alone.”

  “Liar!” Another bite and Farraclaw stumbled. But he didn’t cry out, and he didn’t fight back.

  “Where are they?” hissed the white lordess.

  “I have already told you. I am alone. I have invoked the Custom of Serren. I have nothing more to say.”

  The white wolf slammed against him. He stumbled but quickly rose to his paws. “Well, that is a shame for you,” she spat. “A bold wolf, no doubt, and arrogant with it. But even you cannot win against all of us. Though I should like to see you try.” Her ears flicked back as she baited Farraclaw. With a pounce, she landed another cruel bite on the prince’s flank as the dark-faced female butted him.

  The wolves fell back with a snarl. Bites at the prince’s shoulders and flanks gushed red with blood. It was ghastly against his snowy coat. He set his muzzle. “You are breaching the ancient customs that bind us as neighbors and kin.”

  “Alas, he will not fight,” said the lordess, addressing the others. “Not yet, anyway …” She ran her tongue over her bloodstained teeth. “King Orrùfang will know what to do with him. He is not inclined to mercy.”

  “I should gladly speak to your king,” said Farraclaw.

  “Then show some respect to his lordess!” roared the gray-pawed male, slamming his head against the prince’s muzzle. The wolves closed in on Farraclaw, snapping at him, shunting him toward the aspens. For a moment, I saw him in profile. His gaze was set over the tundra. He didn’t cry out or ask for help. He never glanced back at the boulders where I trembled in terror—where Lop whimpered and Métis watched in silence.

  Though they bullied and beat him, taunted and mocked him, Farraclaw didn’t betray us.

  With a stretch, Métis rose to his paws. “So long, Wolf,” he said to Lop. “Foxling, come. We need to get back to the Wildlands. I’ve been away too long.”

  My muzzle wrinkled. “I’m not going with you.”

  The old fox scowled. “You must. You have good maa, don’t you? We shall need it. Why do you think the Elders sent you?” He gave his brush a shake. “A foxling. I still can’t believe it,” he muttered to himself. “They might at least have sent Siffrin.”

  My heart pitched. “Siffrin’s back in the Wildlands. Jana wouldn’t let him come.” Had the red fox known of Jana’s trick? For an instant I held my breath, thinking hard. Siffrin had argued against my journey to the Snowlands, and later offered to come with me. I doubted he knew any more about it than I had. I let my breath out slowly. “I’m not going with you. I’m going to find Farraclaw. We can’t just leave him to be killed!”

  Lop was gazing beyond me across the tundra. “We’ll have to track them at a distance. We have no idea where they’re taking him.”

  “Rubbish,” snapped Métis. “What fools wolves are. I know exactly where they’re going.” He extended a black foreleg. Perhaps it was glossy once, but the fur was tatty, clumping in dirty tangles around his paw.

  Lop turned to him. “What do you mean?” There was a warning glint in his eyes I’d never seen before. He may have been the under-wolf, but he was huge compared to Métis.

  The Black Fox swallowed. His dropped his paw. “The lordess said they’re taking your master to their king. He rules over the Ice Palace at the heart of the Bishar. It’s circled by a scorching stream. Below it the wolves have dug out a dungeon—a frozen cave where their enemies are tortured and killed. That’s where you’ll find your wolf prince.”

  I started forward. “We have to go there.”

  “And do what?” I sensed the depth of judgement in Métis’s green eyes. “Think for a moment. The entire Bishar will be there. Your prince of Claw is a prized prisoner. Guards will be watching his every move.” His long ears twisted forward. “You cannot save the prince. And why would you wish to? Have you failed to grasp the peril we face in the Wildlands? Do you care more for these wolves than your own kind?” His snout crinkled, though his eyes flicked warily to Lop. Beneath his contempt, I sensed fear.

  My voice was a growl. “I already told you, they helped me across the Bishar of Fang. If it wasn’t for Lop and Farraclaw, I wouldn’t have made it to the Ice Razors. I wouldn’t have freed you.”

  Métis limped to the edge of the boulders. “Consider me grateful,” he rasped, sounding nothing of the kind. He paused, his forepaw trembling. With a wince he swung around to face me. Exhaustion was etched on his face. “Give me maa,” he said suddenly.

  I blinked at him.

  Lop was treading warily beyond the boulders. “They’re almost out of sight. We have to start trailing them.”

  Métis spoke over him. “Hurry up, Foxling. I must get home.” He looked at Lop. “There’s no point trailing them—doing so will only get you caught as well. I told you where they’re taking your prince. You can’t free him, give it up.”

  “We will free him,” I said. “Come on, Lop.”

  We started bounding over the snow.

  “Stop!” yelped Métis. “I must have maa. I won’t survive without it. They need me—those foxes back in the Wildlands. I can’t let them down.”

  I froze in my tracks. Flint and Karo had been pleached. Simmi and Tao had run to the Free Lands … Others like Rupus and Mox were killed by the Mage’s skulk.

  “I’ll help you,” he added quietly. “If you give me maa, I’ll help you free the wolf.”

  Lop glared at him. “What can you do?”

  Métis swallowed. “Foxcraft. If I have enough maa.”

  I stood uncertainly. The Black Fox was supposed to be the wisest fox of any age. Farraclaw was in trouble. I hadn’t been near the Ice Palace, but if it was anything like the Frozen Fort it would be impossibly well guarded. How would we enter without being seen? How would we lead Farraclaw past the guards?

  With a shake of my head, I padded back to Métis. “If I give you maa, do you promise to help? No tricks.”

  “No tricks,” he conceded.

  Lop had turned, his floppy ears catching the breeze.

  Métis blinked his green eyes. “Why have you stopped, Wolf?”

  “You said …” Lop scanned the tundra, where the watch group had disappeared, taking Farraclaw with the
m. “You said there’s no hurry, that we already know where they’re going.”

  “To the Ice Palace.” Métis stared at Lop as though he was an idiot. “But you aren’t going there. You couldn’t get close before they caught you.” Métis gave him a hard stare. “You’re not royalty. You’re not even a warrior. What are you, the Claw under-wolf?” How did he know? “What value are you to the wolves of Fang? They would kill you before you could even howl.”

  “How dare you!” I hissed. “Lop is the smartest, fastest wolf in the Snowlands.”

  Lop’s floppy ears sank even lower. “I cannot leave my prince to their mercy,” he growled.

  “Neither should you,” said Métis wearily. “Can’t you see? You are needed now more than ever. This foxling says you are fast. Are you fast enough to warn your Bishar before the wolves of Fang arrive? You are perfectly white, and the snow hasn’t thawed. You have the benefit of camouflage. Can you run along the foothills without being seen?” Métis spoke with purpose. I couldn’t help but lean forward, and I saw Lop do the same. “Leave the foxling, she will only slow you down. The wolves of Fang don’t know that you expect an attack—they won’t waste time looping over your domains. They will strike head-on, where the territories meet. Your Bishar must be prepared. They should all be there as a show of strength, or Fang will think you weak. You must call upon your king to reach the boundary between the Bishars. If he fails, your lands are forfeit.”

  The truth of this struck me.

  Lop nodded slowly. “And you will free Prince Farraclaw?”

  “We will,” I found myself saying, though I had no idea how.

  The under-wolf raised his muzzle. “One Bishar, united under Queen Canista’s Lights. For friendship. For honor. Forever.” He turned abruptly, without even saying goodbye. He tore over the icy ground, a streak of white fur at the foothills.

  Métis sank onto his belly. “Maa,” he said. “Hurry.”

  Although I’d received the Elders’ maa, I had only shared my own with Siffrin. That was different … I hardly knew Métis, and what I knew, I didn’t like.