The Dragon of Despair (14 page)

Derian digested this.

“And if they don’t?”

Firekeeper frowned, looking across to where a small girl was toddling to her mother.

“I think they then die.”

FIREKEEPER’S HOMECOMING HAD NOT BEEN
at all as she had imagined. She had dreamed of lazy afternoons sleeping in the sun, of hunting with Blind Seer. Of showing off how her newly won skill with a long bow made her more of a match for her seniors—at least where game like deer was concerned. She still didn’t think she could take an elk without help.

Instead there were all the complications brought on by the presence of Ewen Brooks and his people at Bardenville. The council held the night of her arrival was only one of many such. Others of the Royal Beasts came to scout the humans and to discuss what should be done with them.

From any and all of these—even from those who should perhaps feel some gratitude to Firekeeper for her service to them the winter before—the wolf-woman met the same mixture of hostility and guarded acceptance that had been her portion from Northwest. That these conferences were held under the lowering eye of the comet made Firekeeper feel no better about them or about how quick the Beasts were to see her as a human now, and not as one of their own.

Despite her unease, Firekeeper helped the visitors wherever she could. She answered their questions about humans, and reminded the Beasts of what she herself had once forgotten, that the humans tracked by eye more than by nose. Often she went with various of these four-legged ambassadors when they spied on the humans. Following behind, she took care to wipe away any incriminating tracks as Race Forester had taught her to do back when she scouted for King Tedric on the eve of King Allister’s War. Thus the humans were kept in ignorance of just how closely they were watched.

Arguing this same need to preserve secrecy, Firekeeper convinced the Ones to forbid hunting of the humans’ domestic animals. Scorn had been her greatest ally in this matter, and soon not one of the young wolves would have been caught with even a whiff of chicken or beef upon their breath. Such hunting, so the Ones declared, was for the toothless and the stupid, not for strong, fine wolves. The visitors from other packs or even from other bloods within the Royal Beasts respected the Ones in this matter.

Firekeeper suspected that Northwest still slunk within the human camp, searching, most likely, for evidence of those great powers the Beasts all feared. If he took a chicken or duck then, he was careful to wash thoroughly before returning to the pack, and her nose, at least, was not sensitive enough to know if the poultry that Dawn regularly missed—no matter how tightly sealed the carpenter made his coops—fell to Northwest or to another.

But from some of Blind Seer’s sly comments, Firekeeper suspected that foxes and weasels did not hold all the blame.

So Firekeeper made her mute apology to Dawn and the other farmers in the form of wild bird eggs. The chicks and ducklings that hatched—being more stupid than rocks, in her opinion—gazed upon the creature that had hatched it and thought they were looking upon their mother. So it was that mallard ducklings waddled after chickens and quail trailed in their busy way after confused ducks. Eventually, Dawn took care to foster like with like, but the initial errors remained.

Among the humans, Firekeeper made few friends, but both Dawn and Ewen went out of their way to show her welcome, and their community at least gave lip service to that welcome.

Firekeeper liked Dawn far more than she liked Ewen. Ewen was what Derian called a man of vision. That meant, as Firekeeper understood it, that Ewen saw as much the image of how things would be as he did the place before him. Thus, even as he walked rutted muddy paths, he saw tightly cobbled streets. Even as he perched on a stool, he felt himself in a high-backed chair.

Or perhaps a throne? Firekeeper didn’t care for that image at all.

Dawn was like a young tree trying hard to drive deep roots to hold her for the winter. Before coming west with Ewen she had been a miller’s wife, for Ewen had followed in his parents’ craft. She had learned something of the art, but her three children—the eldest barely six—had been her main occupation. What energy she had left went to tending to her household and small garden.

Ewen had refused to have his old mother live with them—planning as he did to leave and not being willing to abandon a dependent—so Dawn had all the labor to herself. She knew much about the basics of cooking, sewing, cleaning, child-rearing, but she was equipped only with theory in matters such as beekeeping, farming, and all the myriad tasks that fell to her now. True, there were others in the community with those skills, but since Ewen was the One among them, he insisted that his wife lead as well.

Firekeeper admired Dawn’s tenacity and helped with her efforts, often tending to the little ones—Dawn’s and others—so the women would be free to do other tasks. The one thing the colony was sorely lacking were the children of middle years who would usually do such tasks. Most of the colonists’ children were much younger.

“In a year or two,” Dawn would say, brushing her pale hair from her face. “Then we will have children grown enough to tend the smaller ones, for now…”

“In a year or two…” That was Dawn’s constant refrain, usually said bravely, but sometimes Firekeeper heard the weariness in her voice.

So she watched the squalling brats. The job was not unlike what she had done with litter after litter of new emerged pups—for such nursemaiding always fell to the younger wolves, so the wiser and stronger would be free to hunt. However, always Firekeeper must remember how fragile these little humans were and how dependent.

Gradually, this nursemaiding made Firekeeper friends among the parents, but it increased the resentment the young hunters—mostly male, rarely parents themselves—felt for her. They reminded her so much of young bucks with the velvet barely off their first set of antlers that Firekeeper had no problem understanding why Derian named them so. Proud in the flush of their first strength, these bucks thought they should do little but flaunt it. They liked not at all that Firekeeper—who was as strong as most of them—should humble herself to child-rearing.

Nor were the bucks flattered that she was indifferent to their charms. She could smell the sexuality of them in their sweat as they strutted by her, and so was careful with them as she had not had the wisdom to be careful with Derian a year before. Her Fang never left her in any case, but she bid Blind Seer to take his rest within call, and never did she casually remove either vest or trousers lest her nakedness be taken as invitation.

I have learned more of humans,
she thought,
but I do not care for what I am learning.

Yet she knew that wasn’t true. For every annoying young male there was someone like Dawn, and so, when she felt the mood of the Beasts’ councils shifting from curiosity and fear toward violence, she knew she must act.

Now she struggled to explain why they must leave to a clearly puzzled Derian.

“These days since we come and before, the Beasts have watched this place. They know the humans stay, and they think that more come to stay. They think before the log wall is strong, before there are many within with bows, make them go.”

Derian frowned. “You said that the people here might die if you can’t get King Tedric to make them go. Do you mean the Beasts might kill them?”

Firekeeper nodded.

“It would be easy and if they no come back, then…”

Derian stared at her, horrified at the thought of such slaughter.

“We must warn them!”

“That would be their dying,” Firekeeper said, shaking her head, “for if the Beasts found themselves hunted, they would surely attack. For now there is still fighting among the leaders as to if this killing is the thing to do.”

Derian frowned. “But if we don’t warn them, then Ewen and his people will die without a chance to defend themselves. This way they’d at least finish the walls and set defenders on them.”

Firekeeper knew Derian was thinking of human tactics and felt her heart flood with pride for her people and scorn for human limitations.

“The Royal Beasts are no fools,” she said. “Why should they do armies fight or battles? By night the wingéd folk could carry and drop hot coals, then tents and straw would burn. Is there any wall to defend from fire from the sky? When the fires burn, those who flee into the dark night will meet the owners of this land.”

She was careful not to share her own suspicion, never confirmed, that something like this might have been the end of Prince Barden’s colony. Only the fact that the wolves had saved her gave her hope that her suspicion was not valid.

Derian looked narrowly at her.

“Has this been done before?” he asked bluntly.

Firekeeper shrugged, deliberately ambivalent.

“Not in my knowing.”

Derian bit into his lip.

“Anyhow,” he said slowly, “where would birds get fire? I don’t suppose you would be here kindling it for them.”

Firekeeper waited until he met her gaze.

“I won’t,” she said, “but they get fire if they need it. They steal it from the humans if they must.”

Derian nodded.

“I see why you want to leave now, but I don’t think that’s wise. How about this? I’d indicated that I didn’t plan to leave before the end of this moonspan so I’ll need to make some excuse…”

He finished currying the mule he’d been working on when she arrived, moved to the next.

“I think I’ll tell Ewen that I need to leave because his young bucks don’t like me and I’m afraid that if I stay much longer there’ll be trouble. He has to have seen the tension and I think he’ll accept it. I’ll sweeten the pot with a gift of both mules. The mountain horses can carry my gear and provide me with remounts.”

Firekeeper nodded.

“That is good,” she replied, relieved. She’d been worried that she might need to leave Derian behind. “Tonight you tell?”

“Tonight,” Derian promised.

DERIAN’S PROMISE GIVEN
, Firekeeper next sought counsel with the Ones. At first they were indignant, even angry, when they learned she had confided so much to Derian, but they calmed when Firekeeper explained why she could trust him to keep a still tongue.

“Derian will not say of what I told him,” she said, “except maybe to warn Ewen of the danger of hunting wolves and Ewen will think this simply Derian’s indulgence of me. I told Fox Hair that if the humans hunted us, then that hunting would unleash the very killing he fears. He knows me. He knows Blind Seer and Elation, and has the wisdom to know this is true.”

“You know this Fox Hair best,” the One Male said, “and we will take your promise for him, but I assure you, you did not exaggerate the humans’ peril. Already there are many of the Royal Beasts who follow Northwest’s trail and would exterminate the humans before they become too numerous or too strong. Though you run quick foot to try to enlist this human One in our cause, you may still be too slow.”

“Have you any thoughts, Little Two-legs,” asked the One Female, “on how we might stem the slaughter? Much as I have no desire to have humans dwelling within my lands and ruining my hunting, I would be content to see them leave of their own accord. Is there anything in human ways that might drive them back to their own lands so we do not need to kill them?”

Firekeeper paused, considering everything she had learned about humans and their needs.

“My great wish,” she began, wishing to emphasize her point, “is to make these humans see and obey the will of their One, and so go from here for now and for ever. If we drive them away in any other fashion there is nothing to stop them from returning in another season.”

“We understand,” the One Female assured her, “but if the choice comes to rest between slaughter or some other method, what do you advise?”

Firekeeper framed her thoughts carefully, knowing that what she was about to suggest might still lead to deaths, especially among the young and fragile, but knowing that any other course of action would be fatal to all.

“Take away their foodstuffs,” she said. “These humans have more than game to sustain them, but game augments what they can grow and what they have brought with them. Start by driving the game animals to distant pastures. It will make leaner hunting for us, true, but wolves can range farther than humans and even the bravest of the human bucks will hesitate to travel abroad when wolves sing in the night.”

The One Male snapped his teeth gleefully.

“That could be fun,” he admitted. “We had considered moving the pups in any case. For now we can split the pack. One part will stay here and sing to the humans. The others will drive away the game and provide for our little ones.”

The One Female huffed her agreement.

“With all those who come to see the humans,” she said, “there will be no end of voices for the chorus. Tell on, for I think this is not the end of your plotting.”

Firekeeper nodded. “If still the Beasts worry, then have the browsers and the grazers come by night and eat the young plants as they grow in the fields. The humans rely on these as squirrels do their stored nuts, to feed not only themselves, but their livestock.