Wolf-speaker (28 page)

They waited for her where bridge and land met. She raced to join them. Let's go, she said when they would have greeted her all over again.

Brokefang stood in front of her, ears and tail erect, upper lip barely skinned back over his teeth. Are
you
going to lead the hunt? he demanded.

She looked at him as if he were crazy. You know more about hunting this way than me, she retorted. I'll follow you.

Very good. The upper lip went down. He turned and cast around in the dirt for a moment. She watched, impressed. How can he sort through these incredible smells? she wondered. There were dozens here, a baffling patchwork of scents.

Come, Brokefang ordered, and trotted away. Daine let Frostfur go next, standing well back in case the chief female decided to bite. She followed them and the other wolves strung out behind her. Outside the village, she picked up the first clean scent of gardenia and horse. It was the newest odor on a road littered with yesterday's droppings. For the first time she was glad that the humans had chosen to remain out of sight today: it made Yolane's trail stand out all the more.

At the crossing with the north road they met Spots and Mangle. The horses went to the side of the road farthest from the wolves and waited for them to pass, ears flat, eyes rolling. It was only because they knew these wolves that the horses stayed on the road at all.

She halted. Spots, Mangle, she called, It's me. Don't be scared.

Daine?
Mangle took a hesitant step closer. It really
is
you!

Daine? Spots also took half a step closer, badly confused.

Numair's at the castle with Cloud, she told them. Go on—I'll see you soon.

Come
on
, ordered Brokefang. You hold up the hunt!

With a sigh Daine followed.

Time passed, how much she could not say, as they followed the scent and the road to the western
pass. Brokefang kept them to a strict schedule of short gallops broken up with longer periods of easy trotting, much as the palace training masters directed those periods of torture known as “cross-country runs.” Daine gloried in the power of this strange/familiar body. In her own skin she had been tired; now she was not. She could run all day if the weather stayed like this, with a touch of crispness in the air.

The pack had reached the tree-covered shoulders of the mountains when she began to feel an ache build in her paws.

They are tender because you are new. That was Sharp Nose. You must build up your pads and your wind to stay with a pack. You will have to practice.

We had to do that, Runt called from the rear of their column. You can, too.

Daine licked a paw, then had an idea. Wading into the stream by the road, she let the water bathe, then numb, her sore feet. I never thought of that, Short Snout commented.

So two-leggers are good for something, retorted Daine. He nipped playfully at her, and she at him.

Stop, Brokefang ordered. And behave. He had checked each horse pat in the road: this time he called for them to join him. They gathered around the dung, tails wagging, to confer. The spoor was only an hour old. The horse was young, healthy, female, and beginning to overheat.

The pack speeded up. Daine panted as she ran, the day catching up even with her wolf shape. When they next stopped to inspect the mare's leavings, tails wagged harder than ever. This pile was soft and wet, barely five minutes old. Nearby a splash of heady horse sweat marked the ground. The mare's rider was pushing hard. She hadn't rested her mount on the climb to the pass; perhaps she even had tried to make the horse go faster. She had thrown away the advantage of her long head start on the wolves.

They moved out. Now their noses caught the mare's odor on the wind, mixed with saddle leather, oil, and gardenias.

The road topped a crest. When the pack reached it, they saw the horse and rider below. Dark with sweat, the mare was drinking too fast from the stream. Ironically, they had stopped where the trail to the caverns crossed the road.

Spreading out to form a horizontal line, the wolves began to run. With the quarry's scent in her nostrils, Daine forgot her aching feet and ran with them. They knew the mare had to catch their odor soon, but this was a good spot to circle her. She could only run west, and Daine already was calling the marmots to block the road. On either side the horse was walled in by rock and loose earth. Footing that would cripple her was not a problem for the wolves.

The mare smelled them and spun, white showing all the way around her eyes. Yolane, riding sidesaddle, was nearly thrown. She kept her seat and tried to whip her mount into flight. The wolves streamed over the rocks to either side of horse and rider, and surrounded them.

Daine's blood was up. A run meant a hunt to her wolf self; a hunt meant a kill. She wanted to leap for the mare's throat, to bring her down and feast, but caution held her, though she fought it. The mare was shod in hard metal. To lunge in would be to court broken ribs or a broken head. If Yolane had not been riding her, the pack never would have gone after such dangerous prey.

The wolves drew away from those hooves and waited. The mare held still. Yolane screamed and kicked, flailing at her mount with her riding crop. The horse staggered and came within jumping distance of Daine.

Forgetting the danger, the girl-wolf lunged. Battle slammed against her side and knocked her down. Stupid! the pack told her as one. You will get your brains bashed in, and we will lose a hunter!

Sheepishly, Daine flattened her ears and whined, backing to her place in the circle. Once there, she turned to lick her ribs, and thought, What am I doing?

Straightening, she called, Hoof-sister!

The mare faced her, quivering. You are not hoof
kin, she said, breath coming hard. You are a hunter. I will not have you in my herd!

I'm not a hunter, not a
true
hunter. The girl freed some magic to connect her to the horse. Briefly her form shifted, trying to develop hooves, but she gripped her wolf shape and held it. Hoof-sister, she said, Dump the human. Run to your stable. You will be safe. It is not you that we want. It is her.

The mare hesitated. Enraged, Yolane struck her mount's tender ears.

The horse had borne enough. She bucked the human off and raced for home. Those wolves between her and the village moved aside and let her pass.

Yolane lay white and still on the ground. Daine trotted over and put her nose close to the woman's face. Her keen ears heard the soft drag of breath: Dunlath's lady was alive.

The pack made themselves comfortable, keeping their circle around Yolane, and Daine walked over to the stream. Sitting down, she began to recover her true shape. It was harder than she had expected. Her body
liked
the wolf shape. Bruises and hot feet notwithstanding, the wolf shape felt good, even natural. The girl had to fight a sense that she was meant to stay a wolf. Every little distraction—birdsong, the pups romping, the call of a distant horn—meant she had to stop and begin again. At last she found her two-legger self and slid into it.
Opening her eyes she made an unhappy discovery.

Her clothes were gone. All she wore was the silver badger's claw on its leather thong. “And why am I still wearing you and nothing else?” she demanded.

Where is your flat fur? Are you taking a bath now? asked Runt curiously.

Luckily she had left most of her packs in the nearby caverns. “I'll be right back,” she told the wolves. “Don't let her go anywhere.”

When Daine returned, wearing clothes she had wanted to wash before she put them on again, Yolane was conscious. She greeted Daine with a flood of bad language.

Daine listened until the woman began to repeat herself, then said, “Shut up.” As it went against the grain to be so rude even to Yolane she added, “Please.”

To her surprise, Yolane gulped, then fell silent.

Much
better, Brokefang said. The wolves had not moved from their circle around the captive. Will you take her alone, or shall we drive her? I think you will need our help.

“On your feet, milady,” Daine ordered. “We're all going to walk back to the village. If you behave yourself, you'll be fine. Just don't try to run, or my friends will bring you down.”

Yolane got to her feet. “If they're going to eat me, get it over with.”

Daine sighed. “They don't eat humans.”

We could try eating one
once
, Short Snout offered. Just to see what she tastes like. It seems this one isn't doing the human pack much good as she is. He walked closer to the woman, grinned up into her face, and licked his chops. Yolane backed away so quickly she tripped on her skirts and fell.

Don't help, Daine chided her friend. “Let's go,” she ordered as the noblewoman got to her feet once more. “You walk in front of me.”

Yolane dusted her rump and passed the girl, nose in the air. Daine followed. The wolves ranged around the humans as they turned east. It was plain they did not mean for the walk to be pleasant for the captive. They often darted in at her to snap heavy jaws close to her hands, then dashed away. Short Snout liked to draw close to sniff and nibble on Yolane's skirt.

Daine chose not to call them to order: they had worked hard, and they needed a bit of fun. As far as she was concerned, the woman who had helped to bring so much destruction on Dunlath needed harrying.

Halfway to the village, riders came to meet them. In the lead were Numair, the King's Champion, and Sir Raoul. The knights wore armor marked by the day's hard fighting. The warriors behind them, a mixed company of the King's Own and Riders, also looked the worse for wear.

Alanna grinned at Daine when the two groups met. “I hear you can shape-shift these days.”

“Any ill effects?” asked Numair.

“I didn't have my clothes when I changed back. Luckily we were by the caves. How are Tkaa and Maura and Tait and Flicker?”

“Waiting at the castle,” said Numair. “The squirrel needs some of your help.”

Sir Raoul dismounted and ruffled Daine's hair with one gauntleted hand. “Good work,” he said with a grin. “We'll make a king's officer of you yet. Speaking of which—” He went to Yolane and put a hand on her shoulder. Voice formal now, he said, “Yolane of Dunlath, I hereby arrest you in the name of King Jonathan and Queen Thayet of Tortall, for the crime of high treason.”

The pack lifted their voices in a triumphant howl. Yolane shuddered. “I am guilty as charged. Now will you get me away from these monsters?”

“They have a different idea of who's the monster here,” retorted Daine. “And I think
they
have the right of it. Will someone give me a ride? My pads—my feet—are killing me.”

EPILOGUE

Daine was in the castle orchard petting Blueness and Scrap one last time when Maura found her. The girl's eyes were red and puffy. “I wish you weren't leaving,” she commented, and sniffed.

Daine smiled. “You'll hardly know I'm gone. You've been that busy, what with Belden's funeral, and working things out so the ogres have farms and all.”