The Wolf Age (37 page)

The irredeemables looked embarrassed on Morlock's behalf, the goldtoothed bodyguards amused at his lack of sophistication.

"There are more unmated males than females in the wild packs," Wuinlendhono explained. "Every female knows she can get a mate by leaving the city. Not that many want to."

"Would all the female prisoners over a stretch of five years or more be salable on those terms?" asked Morlock coolly.

"Depends on how desperate they are out there, Khretvarrgliu," Runhuiulanhu said philosophically. "You should see some of the stale biscuits, male and female, they have down at the day-lairs off the market. But people pay for their company all the time."

"Never you, of course," said a gold-tooth slyly.

"Yes me, you stupid bag of marrow-sucked bones. Me with my monkey hands and feet, even when all three moons are up, and everyone knowing about it on account of they call me Ape-fingers. You think females are lining up to mate with me? If I get it, I have to pay for it."

"Couldn't you find a female in the same condition?" asked Morlock.

"Mate with an ape-fingered female?" cried ape-fingered Runhuiulanhu. "I can do better than that!"

"Shut up, for ghosts' sake," Rokhlenu hissed. "We'll have the Sardhluun down on us and there's no point to that, now."

"Be quiet, by all means," the First Wolf agreed. "But," she continued, this was not a fool's errand. That book will be very useful. Very useful indeed."

Confused looks on most faces except Morlock's-he may have been still pondering the plight of the ape-fingered werewolf for all Rokhlenu knew. But light began to shine in Rokhlenu's understanding. "Not every female sent here was to serve a life sentence. No female was sent here for a death sentence. People will want to know what happened to them."

"There's that," Wuinlendhono agreed. "Then there's the money. The Sardhluun have been taking money every year for tending to the city's pris oners. The citizens of Wuruyaaria will be curious to know how that money was spent."

Nods all around, fierce grins. Morale had been falling ever since they found the prison was an empty stone box; now the warriors were standing straighter. His intended was good at chieftainship, Rokhlenu thought (not for the first time). It was one thing to realize what she had said; it was another thing to know that her fighters needed to hear it.

"Then we can declare victory and get out," he said aloud.

"I'd better get that pulley," Morlock said. "It'll look bad when they see we broke into an empty prison."

"Not worth the time-" Rokhlenu began, thinking of Morlock shuffling up and down all the stairs above them, but Morlock was already headed out the front gate.

The werewolves followed him out. Morlock walked over to the lines hanging down the wall, found one of the knots in the rope, and pulled it apart.

"Stand clear," he said belatedly, standing clear himself.

The long cord began to fall, piling up on the dark ground. A few moments later, the glass pulley landed in a shower of bright fragments. Morlock quickly stowed the fragments in a bag he had been carrying on his back, coiled up the rope, and did likewise. He looked up to see the werewolves staring at him.

"I don't like strangers handling my stuff," he said.

This was a universal instinct among werewolves, and they all nodded sagely in agreement. But what Rokhlenu had really been wondering was how Morlock had gotten the pulley to fall into pieces. He must have shattered it somehow beforehand, but kept the fragments from separating with some spell. Now the spell had been broken and the pulley followed suit obligingly.

"Morlock, you're the best of makers!" Rokhlenu said. "Ulugarriu can yodel up his own tail, if any."

"Like to see them fight it out," Yaarirruuiu said. "Morlock against Ulugarriu in a maker's challenge."

"Yes!" cried Hrutnefdhu, his eyes shining with admiration. "What a game it would be! Skill against skill, with life and bite on the line."

The gold-toothed guards looked sidelong with disdain at the pale castrato's enthusiasm, but the irredeemables chuckled and Yaarirruuiu clapped him on the shoulder. They liked the ex-trustee, and even respected him a little, though he would not wear (or could not keep) honor-teeth.

"Shut your noisy word-holes, my champions," Wuinlendhono said cheerily. "Let's get clear of this place so that the Sardhluun can start paying for our fun soonest."

This strongly appealed to all of them, and Rokhlenu had no trouble ordering them for a quick run back to the ropes they had left hanging from the Long Wall. He put Morlock and Hrutnefdhu at the end, where they would wind up anyway, ape-fingered Runhuiulanhu at the front, in case the ropes were gone and they had to rescale the walls, and Wuinlendhono carrying the book in the center of the company, where it was safest.

The ropes were still there and apparently had not been discovered. No one was lying in wait for them, anyway. Rokhlenu was standing on the top of the wall, preparing to climb down the other side, when he noticed light and noise coming from the north and east, along the straight road to Wuruyaaria from the Long Wall. He signalled that the others should keep crossing over while he kept his eyes and ears on this interesting if indistinct disturbance.

Wuinlendhono clambered up the rope. The prisoner book from the Khuwuleion was dangling from one shoulder bound in neatly knotted rope. "Thanks for the help," she said pointedly after (in his absorption) he failed to help her.

"Look!" he said.

"Election," she said briefly. "That's why we're here tonight, remember?"

"It's outside the walls! A primary election would be held on Sardhluun ground."

"Yurr. Yes, you're right about that."

"It's a general election rally."

"Must be. Yes, I agree. And it must be against a pack who has no hope of beating them, so they're risking a rally now, and hoping to live down the defeat before election season is over."

"Only they're going to get some help."

"Not tonight, cutlet. We're not ready."

"They're not ready."

"Can't talk you out of it, can I? Oh, well. You're the gnyrrand."

Yaniunulu was just passing over the wall between them, and Wuinlendhono said, "Yaniunulu. Give it to him."

The frizz-haired red werewolf paused to goggle at her. "High Huntress," he said, "with respect-"

"Listen, I'm not sure who you think you're talking to, but I am sure your respect means less than nothing to me. When I told you to give it to him, I meant for you to give it to him. So give it to him."

Silently Yaniunulu took a staff hanging from his belt and handed it to Rokhlenu. He proceeded down the far side of the wall without another word.

The staff was wrapped with a black covering. When he pulled that loose, he found that the staff was a flagstaff: around it was wrapped the green-andgold banner of the outliers.

"It would be better if all the other nominees were here," Wuinlendhono said, "but I thought it might come to this. Now you can fight under our banner."

Rokhlenu mulled this over for a moment, then said, "You knew there would be a general election rally tonight, and you lied to me about it."

"I still don't think we're ready to intervene in the general election-we don't even have an ally in the treaty packs yet. And I didn't lie; I just didn't go out of my way to correct your mistaken impression. Oh. Oh, ghost. I hate it that I just said that."

After a moment of tense thought Rokhlenu said mildly, "We'll have to do better."

"You're right," she admitted frankly. "I'm not used to this partnership thing. I'll go with my guards and get the wedding ready; I have my brideprice," she added, shyly tapping the prison register. She scampered down the rope before he could kiss her good-bye.

Hrutnefdhu was coming up the rope now. Morlock, the last of the group, climbed up when Hrutnefdhu started climbing down the outer wall.

He caught Morlock by the arm and hauled him up-not that Morlock needed the help; he climbed better than Runhuiulanhu.

"We're going to be fighting after all," he said to Morlock.

"Some sort of rally?" Morlock said. "I heard you talking. Won't it go against you with the treaty packs if you break up an election rally?"

Rokhlenu looked at him with astonishment he was unable to mask. "Have you ever seen an election?" he asked.

"Many," Morlock said. "They didn't usually involve fighting." He paused. "At least, not on purpose." Another pause. "Actually, I'm not sure about that. Anyway, it doesn't matter. Tell me about your election rallies."

The your stung a little. But Rokhlenu had almost forgotten that Morlock was a never-wolf; there was something so wolvish about him.

"Once the packs elect their nominees," he explained to his old friend, "pack meets pack in a series of rallies all through the election season. They speak and they fight; citizens come to watch. The pack that speaks and fights better gains bite. The other loses bite. The nominees with the most bite at the end of the election season lie down in the Innermost Pack of the city."

"Then," said Morlock, and climbed down the outer wall.

By the time Rokhlenu reached the ground, Wuinlendhono and her guards were gone. The werewolves and Morlock were standing with weapons drawn, waiting for him.

He shook loose the green-and-gold banner and handed it to Hrutnefdhu.

"Don't lose it," he said.

"Won't," said the pale werewolf in a strangled tone.

Banner-bearer was a position of high honor and Hrutnefdhu was the male of lowest bite among them, but the irredeemables were for it. "Ha!" said Yaarirruuiu. "You'll have some bite after tonight, plepnup." The irredeemables growled their approval.

"Or we'll all be plepnupov," Hrutnefdhu snapped back, and the irredeemables hooted. The ex-trustee was judged the winner of that exchange.

"Let's go," Rokhlenu said, and they ran side by side into battle.

Mercy was the weakest of the Strange Gods, and her visualizations were often less than complete. So she was surprised when War manifested himself along side her on the road to Wuruyaaria. He wore his now-favorite form of a decapitated man, holding his severed head like a lamp. She wore the form of a woman without a mouth, carrying a white lotus flower in her hand.

"Going to the rally?" the decapitated man signified, flapping its gray lips with a hint of mockery.

"I am," Mercy confirmed. "I am surprised to see you there. Will your friend Death also be watching it?"

"My visualization doesn't embrace that," War admitted. They had hated each other so long that they had reached a state where it was pointless to lie to one another. "She is stranger than ever, in recent event-series. Even when she signifies directly to me, I have trouble disentangling her symbols. They seem almost random, empty of meaning."

"There may be no deaths at this rally, anyway," Mercy signified. "I hope not."

"I care not. You may be right; you may be wrong: the Sardhluun are ruthless bastards. They are stupid, though, and rarely amuse me."

Their manifestations overlapped the nexus of space-time where the rally was occurring.

The gnyrrand of the Goweiteiuun, a citizen named Aaluindhonu, was standing with his slate of candidates under a banner of blue and red, telling a parable of a man with five sons. The man asked each of his sons to take an arrow and break it. They did. Then he took five arrows, bound them together, and told them each to try and break the bundle. None could, and this showed, the gnyrrand said, that strength came through union: of brother with brother, citizen with citizen, pack with pack. The Goweiteiuun Pack was for the strength of the city through unity. The gnyrrand slouched back among his dozen or so followers without waiting for the crowd's applause.

There wasn't much applause to wait for. The crowd of spectators, gathered in the open area between the two bands of candidates, was not particularly impressed. The arrow story was trite; the lesson was the sort of la-di-da their den mothers and teachers had been yowling at them for as long as they could remember. It might be true, but it bored them. They turned with relief to the Sardhluun band.

The gnyrrand of the Sardhluun Pack was not present; this wasn't an important enough rally for him to appear. His second-candidate, Hwinsyngundu, gave the Sardhluun response, standing under a banner of black and green, in front of fifty volunteers wearing the same colors. He was a burly, broad-shouldered werewolf, his fat neck wholly covered with thick bands of honor-teeth. He stepped forward and reached out one hand. A werewolf in Sardhluun colors put five arrows in his outstretched palm. Hwinsyngundu gripped the bundle with both hands, held it over his head, and-without a word-he snapped the bundle in half.

The crowd roared. This was better than the truth. This confirmed their irritation with the old truism-scratched the itch they had long felt.

"That was clever," War signified generously. "It was prearranged, of course."

"Yes," Mercy signified. "Aaluindhonu, the gnyrrand of the Goweiteiuun, betrayed his pack. The Sardhluun threatened to kill some of his semiwolf kin who live in Apetown unless he cooperated with them. He is fond of his kin, even if they are semiwolves, and has little hope in the elections anyway, and so he submitted to the Sardhluun demands."