Wolf's Blood (35 page)

Tiniel couldn’t figure out quite why he was so bothered by Derian’s apparent immunity to Isende’s charms. After all, he didn’t like the other man, so why should he want him to notice his sister? Tiniel told himself it was because Derian’s thick-headedness was an insult to Isende, but sometimes late at night he wondered if it was because Derian’s lack of attention to Isende robbed Tiniel of an excuse to get into a fight with the other man.

And now Firekeeper’s leaving,
Tiniel thought, hope flaring in him anew.
No matter what Plik says, surely Derian will go with her. She’s hardly competent anywhere in civilization. She barely speaks her own language, much less Liglimosh. He’s fluent in two languages, and has a smattering of that New Kelvinese. Certainly, he’ll go. Plik’s probably just indulging in wishful thinking.

Lately, the large hall in the headquarters building had been kept clear, used for dances or dramatic performances, even as a playground for the small children, for the weather on the Nexus Islands did not always invite outdoor games. Now, however, it was furnished much as it had been in the days when the Once Dead ruled. Rising tiers of seats were arrayed about the edges, providing ample seating for the entire community, even allowing for the various yarimaimalom who were attending.

A long table had been set up front and center, and a small knot of people were seated there, including Derian, Ynamynet, and Wort. Wort had once been among those set to guard Isende and Tiniel. Now he had become the quartermaster, managing the Nexus Islands’ limited supplies.

Off to one end of the long table, pen and ink in hand, sat Frostweed, one of the few Once Dead to survive that strange battle when the Once Dead’s own magic had turned against them. Firekeeper and Blind Seer were sprawled on the floor to one side of the head table, part but not part of this ruling cabal.

No translators were provided, for unlike at the meeting some moonspans ago at which the current Nexan government had been formed, a marked effort had been made to make sure that everyone present shared at least one language. Liglimosh had been chosen, because all the New Worlders, and many of the Old World residents, already spoke or understood at least some. All those who didn’t speak it already had been teamed with one or more who did, and progress had been astonishingly good, fueled by the awareness that in a very real sense the Nexans now had only each other.

Tiniel located Isende with almost supernatural ease. She was seated down front, off to one side, helping tend—as usual—her neighbor’s small children. She was bouncing one small, round-cheeked creature of indeterminate gender on her knee, probably crooning something sweet in its ear, but Tiniel noticed her gaze was fixed on the front table where, oblivious of her adoration, Derian was going over some final notes with Ynamynet.

Soon after Tiniel and Plik settled down, the last arrivals trickled in and the large doors were closed. As best as Tiniel could tell from an informal census, no one was missing, not even the head of the kitchens, who rarely left the heated, steamy rooms back of the common cafeteria, or the tall, gnarled Tavetchian who nearly lived on the small vessel from which he checked the traps and lines he had strung around the island.

Ynamynet rose from her seat, and the buzzing chatter in the room stilled.

“Most of you know why this meeting was called,” she said with her usual cool bluntness. “A moonspan and a half ago, it was decided that we needed to learn what we could about querinalo in the hope of finding a way to defeat it. After many, many days of researching, and several long trips between here and our new allies on Misheemnekuru, we have gathered the information we need to begin the next stage of our search.”

She continued, summarizing what had been learned about the mysterious figure known only as Virim, and their suppositions as to his motivations in creating querinalo. She did not, Tiniel noticed, mention the Meddler or that he had contributed several of the bits of information that had strung the entire complicated web together. Tiniel didn’t blame her—or even Derian—for leaving the Meddler out of the picture. Events were complicated enough without trying to explain the contributions of a ghost whose antecedents were, to say the least, untrustworthy.

Besides, Tiniel was all too aware that he had been one of the Meddler’s playing pieces, and he was just as glad that particular matter didn’t come up for discussion.

“Within the last few hours,” Ynamynet continued, “we have received information that makes us fairly certain that a search if not for Virim himself, at least for where he once resided, might be successfully undertaken. We have found several mentions of a fastness in the mountains of the far, far north in the New World. We now think that we have sufficient information that someone might be able to locate it. There is just one problem. Derian?”

The tall redhead rose. Behind him and to one side Wort started unrolling what Tiniel realized was a piece of canvas on which a rough map had been painted with broad brushstrokes of dark brown ink.

Derian took a pointer from the table, and, looking very self-conscious, began to indicate areas on the map.

“Right. This map shows the New World, so the Nexus Islands aren’t on it. This here is the location of the Setting Sun stronghold, where our one gate to the New World is. Here is Gak. Here is the river that acts as the border between Liglim and the city-states.”

He moved the pointer up a bit north, tracing the coastline. “Here is u-Vreeheera, one of the major Liglimom cities. Here is u-Seeheera, their capital city. Out here, in the bay, sort of flanking both, is Misheemnekuru, where our allies the maimalodalum dwell. Everyone with me?”

Heads nodded, a light wind blowing through a field of multi-hued flowers. A few voices spoke encouragement.

“Good.” Derian turned back to the map and placed his pointer on the location of the Setting Sun stronghold again. “Before I go any further, I want to talk a little about distances. See how short this line is?”

Murmurs of agreement.

“That’s the distance between the stronghold and Gak. Even without wagons or horses to slow down progress, covering that distance takes a couple of days. From Gak to the border takes about a quarter of a moonspan. From Gak to u-Seeheera, even if the travelers in question are Firekeeper and Blind Seer, who don’t bother with baggage or gear, the journey takes four or five days. Let me stress that travel time is based on not stopping for long hunts, just eating what they could scrounge along the trail. They didn’t sleep much either. A more reasonable estimate would be eight or even ten days for more usual travelers.”

There was a small titter of laughter at this last comment, but most of the Nexans looked appropriately serious. A few nodded, or whispered comments to their closer neighbors.

Derian waited for this information to sink in. When the small conversations around the room had stilled, he moved the pointer again.

“See this broad, deep inlet? That’s what divides the northern lands where I was born from these southern lands. That inlet is a large part of why there was so little communication between these parts of the New World after the coming of querinalo. It’s rough and hosts nasty weather patterns. Crossing it isn’t easy. Better is crossing out here, on the main ocean.”

Again the pointer moved. This time it touched on the northern mainland.

“Here are the northern lands: Stonehold here; across the Fox River are Bright Bay and Hawk Haven—lands that in a few years will join to become the kingdom of Bright Haven, ancestors willing. Here, even further north, is Waterland, down east by the ocean. Lastly, there is New Kelvin in the middle-northeastern uplands.”

Derian swept his pointer in a great swath across the expanse of canvas, emphasizing the distance involved. It was vast. Tiniel thought he knew where this discussion was headed, even before Derian put his pointer on the map again, indicating an area to the west of New Kelvin, west of a jagged barrier of mountains.

“Out here, somewhere, probably in the western foothills of these mountains, is where our research indicates that Virim established his base, a fastness guarded by mountains on one flank, and by wild lands which may even have been inhospitable to the Royal Beasts. I have told you something of the time involved traveling between the Setting Sun stronghold and u-Seeheera.”

He indicated the map again, and Tiniel had to grudgingly admit that the setup had been well done. In contrast, the distance looked minuscule.

“Traveling from the south to the north across the divide provided by the inlet can take a moonspan or more by sea—and that is if a ship is ready. We know that the journey can be done by land—or at least that it was done some fifteen years ago. We also know that the person who made that journey was gone for years, for he frequently had to backtrack in order to find a clear passage. Even after the inlet has been crossed, the journey is not over. Even for Firekeeper and Blind Seer six or seven moonspans, quite possibly more, would pass before they would be in the right general vicinity to begin their search.

“You know that winter comes earlier the further north you go. You may also know that the cold winter weather grows more vicious in the highlands. Here and now we are in late spring. It is hard to imagine how quickly winter will come there—or maybe for those of you who have seen how quickly the warm weather leaves these islands it is not.”

Derian shrugged and put down his pointer.

“I’m not much of a speaker, but I’ve done my best to show you the problem. What we wanted all of you to do here today is start working on a solution. The problem is distance and the time it takes to cover distance. The problem is how much longer do we wait to find out if we can eliminate querinalo from our lives. The problem is, the fastest solution to both these problems creates new problems. I can see from the expressions on many of your faces that you’re ahead of me, but I’ll ask the question anyhow. Do we open a gate or gates to speed Firekeeper and Blind Seer on their way?”

There was no shocked outburst, no shouting to be heard. Derian was absolutely right, Tiniel thought bitterly. Even before he asked his question, most of the adults present had already asked it of themselves.

Xaha, the dark-skinned refugee from Tey-yo, asked, “What gate and where?”

Ynamynet rose and Derian slid into his seat.

“The gate to New Kelvin, most probably,” Ynamynet said. “It would be the closest to where Firekeeper and Blind Seer need to go. We have located the entry point on this side, but we will not know until we try if the gate remains intact.”

Ynamynet glanced down at Derian, and he nodded for her to continue.

“The likelihood is,” she said, “that it will be. Almost unique among the colonies, the New Kelvinese did not move to actively destroy magical artifacts.”

Tiniel was surprised to find himself on his feet and hear his voice asking, “Will just Firekeeper and Blind Seer go? I mean, are they the best people to do this? I mean, she can’t even read. What is she supposed to do when she gets to this Virim’s stronghold or whatever?”

Firekeeper stirred from where she sat on the floor alongside Blind Seer, but she did not protest against the justness of Tiniel’s comments.

Ynamynet looked at Derian, and they changed places.

“There has been some discussion of this matter,” Derian admitted. “However, given the recent activity of the gates, we are reluctant to remove any more of our strength from the Nexus Islands than is absolutely necessary.”

Derian did not clarify exactly what he meant by “our” and Tiniel glimpsed a flicker of an ironic smile on Ynamynet’s face before she schooled herself to neutrally polite listening once more.

Derian continued, “Firekeeper and Blind Seer will be going as preliminary scouts. Blind Seer actually reads somewhat better than Firekeeper does.”

He grinned over at his friend, and she wrinkled her nose at him in an expression of mock disgust. Blind Seer beat the ground with his tail in amusement.

“Blind Seer wouldn’t be able to translate documents written in a language strange to him, or even in an archaic form of a modern language, but he can arrive at conclusions that may help them either to select documents to bring back, or to at least advise who might be best to send on a second journey.”

Tiniel nodded stiffly, and even remembered to thank Derian before he sat down. He hardly heard what was being discussed around him: arrangements for returning through the gate, how Firekeeper planned to deal with the situation if she were detected by the New Kelvinese, the likelihood that Virim’s stronghold might still be occupied. He needed all his willpower to keep his disappointment from showing.

Firekeeper was going away, but Derian wasn’t. Derian even had the gall to announce that he had arranged for the government of Ligtim—who apparently owed Derian a favor or two—to soothe the ruffled feelings of the Bright Haven ambassador, who had apparently been rather annoyed that his assistant had not returned to his post.

This revelation crashed Tiniel’s hopes that Derian would be called back to his duties, and leave the southlands, and Tiniel’s too trusting sister, alone.

By the time the meeting had ended, a vote had been passed to reawaken the gate into New Kelvin. Tiniel thought he had voted in favor. After all, Firekeeper might get herself into some mess that only Derian could get her out of. However, as the crowd streamed from the meeting hall, everyone chattering to whoever was near about the possibilities that were opening to them, Tiniel walked alone and in silence.

Never before had he felt so isolated, so imprisoned, so eager to do something, anything, to restore him to the feeling that he had control over his life.

“REMEMBER,” DERIAN SAID to Firekeeper, as they watched the preliminary stages of the ritual that would open the new gate, “from what we saw the first time this gate was opened, it came out somewhere underground. It’s possible that you’re going to be somewhere in that maze of tunnels beneath Dragon’s Breath. You know what to do if that’s the case.”

Firekeeper looked at her oldest human friend with affectionate exasperation.