Wolf's Blood (63 page)

“You say ‘Virim,’” Firekeeper said. “Then you do not believe he is dead?”

“Let us say rather that if he is dead, I do not believe I killed him. Those who stand as Ones in his place could hear our plea.”

Firekeeper considered. There was a certain comfort in the idea of returning the world to the one she had grown up believing existed: a world with no magic in it but the magic of little talents; a world safe from the distance-shrinking power of gates; a world where no one could make lightning do their bidding or take over the minds and wills of the helpless.

But she remembered, too, the pain and suffering of querinalo. She thought of those in whom magic almost certainly lay dormant—like Ynamynet and Skea’s daughter, Sunshine. Reawakening querinalo to its full power would be sentencing her and others like her to a horrible and painful death.

And she thought of Blind Seer. Would a new querinalo leave him safe, or would the recrafted curse destroy even those who had survived it once?

She shook herself. Perhaps if she had never known querinalo’s bite, and not seen those tormented by its fevers, she might have been seduced by this idea that they could go backward. But in her deepest heart she did not believe going backward was possible.

“Such begging should be our last answer,” Firekeeper said at last. “I think it is time for us to return and confront the Bound.”

“So we continue as before?” Blind Seer asked.

“Never as before,” Firekeeper replied. “We go with eyes opened and teeth bared. We will walk into lies and fight our way to the end of querinalo.”

“And if we make matters worse in the end?” Blind Seer said, not as one who doubts, but as one who accepts that no decision is without consequence.

“Then we will deal with that then,” Firekeeper said. “Rabbits are caught when they freeze in terror. I no longer am sure what is right and what is wrong, but I am sure of one thing at least. You and I are not rabbits; we are wolves. Bruck and these others have long known only the Bound, and with their vow to Virim acting as a leash, these are more dogs than wolves. Let us remind him that a wolf is not a dog.”

“And how fiercely wolves can bite,” the blue-eyed wolf agreed. “And how fiercely wolves can bite.”

ISENDE WAS SLEEPING on the sheepskin rug in the front room of Derian’s house when the knock came at the door. The young woman was so exhausted—or perhaps caught up in one of her visions—that she only stirred, then settled back into sleep.

Heading to answer the door, Derian stepped over her, leaving her to rest. Odd as it seemed, the discovery that Isende had some magical talent, might even have the capacity to cast spells, had not distanced them, but had brought them closer. Knowing that she, like he, carried the taint of magical ability had made Derian feel less like he was contaminating her with his very presence.

Derian opened to door to find Tiniel and Plik standing there. Plik’s expression was neutral, but from the way Tiniel darted glances around Derian, both were aware that, despite the lateness of the hour, Isende had not returned to her own rooms.

Swinging the door open, Derian indicated his sleeping guest before lighting a candle lantern and stepping over the threshold to join them outside.

Summer had brought pleasant warmth with it. The same ocean breezes that in winter made going outside a challenge had mellowed so that they merely made his candle dance playfully, and kept the air from growing humid and heavy.

“Isende fell asleep while helping me review some of Wort’s supply lists,” Derian said. “Unless you need her, let her rest.”

Tiniel shook his head. For the first time Derian noticed that he held a bone message tube.

“Let ’Sende rest,” Tiniel said gruffly. “My business is with you. An osprey brought this through the gate from the Setting Sun stronghold earlier today. The tube is addressed in Pellish, I think. Since I couldn’t read it, I went and asked Plik if he’d speak with the messenger. He did, and the osprey said the message was for you.”

“If you’re down here, who’s in charge of the gateway hills?” Derian asked.

Tiniel looked insulted, as well he might, given that Derian had all but accused him of neglecting his duty.

“Enigma brought the osprey through, and I asked him to stay and watch. When I went to get Plik, I found Verul in the kitchens. He’s up there now.”

“Great,” Derian said, trying to make his tone his apology.

He couldn’t exactly apologize directly, after all, not without admitting that he’d suspected Tiniel of being careless because the message gave him an excuse to check up on what his sister might be doing in Derian’s house so late.

Actually, Tiniel had made a good choice when asking Verul to cover the gate watch. Although Verul owed his crippling injury to Firekeeper’s knife, the experience that had scarred his soul had come from having the very Spell Wielder he had been trying to defend view the wound Verul took in his service as nothing more than a convenient conduit from which to draw blood to power a spell. The callousness of the action had made Verul more determined than most to keep the gates from falling into the control of the remaining Old World Once Dead.

“I’ll head back up,” Tiniel said stiffly. “Verul was coming off his own watch when I asked him to cover for me.”

“Thank you for bringing this,” Derian said.

After Tiniel had departed, Derian looked down at the message capsule again. The handwriting on the outside was tiny, as it must be to fit, but he thought he recognized it.

Plik was making no move to depart, and Derian realized that whatever Plik had learned from the osprey had piqued his curiosity. He thought about sending Plik away, but the maimalodalu had given him good counsel before, and even without unrolling whatever missive the tube contained, Derian had a feeling he was going to need counsel.

“The osprey said,” Plik commented casually, “that the message is from your friend Lady Archer. He also said to reassure you that he had seen the baby in her mother’s arms, and—as best as he could judge, not knowing much of human infants—the child was fine.”

Derian had not realized that he was delaying opening the message just from some such dread—usually he tore into messages from his absent friends and family with alacrity—but now he relaxed.

“Sometimes I think everyone knows me better than I do myself,” he said. “Let’s step into the stable to open this. I really don’t want to wake Isende, but there’s enough breeze to carry off a piece of paper.”

Plik accepted Derian’s invitation, glancing around the stable as if checking for friends.

“Eshinarvash is back on the mainland where the grazing is better,” Derian said. “Enigma will open the gate for him in the morning. My father would never believe it—a horse actually letting a puma draw his blood, or a puma using a single claw more delicately than any surgeon does a scalpel.”

Plik grinned, raccoon eyes twinkling above a very human mouth. As Derian hung the candle lantern from a copper bracket, he couldn’t help but think that there was a lot about his current situation Colby Carter wouldn’t believe.

My mother might
,
though.
Derian thought, unscrolling the paper and bracing the top with a heavy-nailed hand that he no longer automatically winced at when his gaze chanced on it.
Vernita Carter taught me to look beyond our comfortable lives. I wonder what she’d think about this life I’m living now
.

Elise’s letter managed to be both polite and direct, very like the lady herself. Her writing crowded the light paper with tiny but easily deciphered pen strokes.

Derian—I hope this finds you and Firekeeper well, wherever you are and whatever you’ve gotten yourself into now. I’m writing to tell you that Doc and myself (and Elexa) are traveling south of u-Seeheera now. We’ve been through u-Vreeheera, and through many of the towns on the road to the border with the city-states. In fact, I think you would recognize our route. It is quite similar to the one you and Firekeeper, followed when going south.

Derian looked up at Plik. “I have a bad feeling about this. You know already, don’t you?”

Plik merely gestured to the letter. “I believe humans consider it bad form to keep a lady waiting. Finish your letter. Then we’ll talk.”

Grumbling mild protest, Derian obeyed.

Ostensibly, our task is diplomatic. Ambassador Sailor received suggestions from home that we not restrict our southern contact to either the Liglimom in u-Seeheera or to the Liglimom themselves. I have seen the documents in question, and certainly he could have delayed until winter made such travel more pleasant—I have never, ever been so hot!—but he chose to use them as an excuse for sending someone—me—to find out whether you are absent without leave or really doing something that can be argued as benefitting Bright Haven.

I am certain then you will be delighted to learn that I am writing this from the city-state just north of Gak. Gak, as you may recall, is the point where you, effectively, disappeared. Or, as Ambassador Sailor now believes more firmly than ever, went haring off after some young woman.

Disturbed as he was by the turn Elise’s letter was taking, Derian found himself inadvertently grinning at Elise’s phrasing.

“If she’s not careful,” he muttered, “she’s going to turn out just like her grandmother.”

“What?” Plik said, perplexed. “Who?”

“Elise’s grandmother is the Grand Duchess Rosene, King Tedric’s younger sister, a fine, upstanding woman in her seventies, and a complete terror. Elise sounds just like the grand duchess here.”

“So the news isn’t good?”

“I’m not sure. Let me finish.”

We will depart for Gak in a day or so. If we do not hear from you otherwise, we will make enquiries in Gak. After all, asking after a long-absent friend is only natural. Indeed, it might seem less natural if we did not query. If you (or Firekeeper—I smell her muddy paws in this) have nothing to hide, this will not trouble you, but if you do not wish such enquiries to he made. then I suggest you arrange to meet with us or at least get us a message before that point.

I know Firekeeper well enough to suspect that she will have done her best to have one or more of her friends keep an eye on us. I think this especially so if we were to travel. I even think I have spotted who might be the likely party. Ravens are bold, but this one is particularly so—and very inquisitive. I will trust this message to Firekeeper’s friend, and hope that it permits you time to prepare for guests.

The letter was signed with a flourish,
Your loving friend, Elise.
Beneath, in another, more square and yet less legible hand was written:
I don’t know if I approve, but I have absolutely no control over her. Have I ever? Doc.

“Did the osprey get the letter from a raven?” Derian asked.

“Close enough. A raven was watching Lady Elise and her entourage as a favor to Firekeeper. When the raven realized what Elise wanted, he went and brought the osprey. Ospreys can carry more weight and have greater range.”

“Elise writes to say that she is coming here,” Derian said, “or rather to Gak, and my guess is that as soon as she talks to Layo or Amira in Gak, she will head here. It would be bad enough if she and Doc stumbled on this unwarned, but I cannot imagine that the senate of Gak would permit a visiting diplomat to go off into the wilds without an escort. Did the osprey give any idea how far ahead of them it was?”

“Not precisely,” Plik said, “but it did mention it left immediately. My guess is that we have time to make plans.”

“Great,” Derian said. “I’ve got to consult with Ynamynet, but there’s going to be no turning Elise back. If the osprey is willing, I’ll send a return letter asking Elise to wait. Then perhaps Harjeedian or Tiniel can go and escort Elise and Doc. I certainly can’t go.”

“I think the osprey would go,” Plik said, “but the distances are now within what a raven can cover easily. Send Bitter or Lovable. They know Gak from our earlier visits, and they’ll attract less attention than a seabird would. They also can act as guides if Lady Elise insists on leaving before an escort can arrive.”

“Sounds good,” Derian said. “But first I’d better talk to Ynamynet. I’ve heard a touch of grumbling about autocracy. This is not the time to generate more.”

The stable door creaked on its metal hinges, and Isende came in, still sleepy-eyed and yawning.

“I’m sorry, Derian,” she said. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep and push you out here. Is there something wrong?”

Derian patted her shoulder. “No need to apologize, and I hope nothing is wrong. Certainly, it’s going to be a complication. I need to go wake Ynamynet and consult her.”

“At this hour?” Isende said. “It’s awfully dark, must be late.”

“Unfortunately, this is a matter in which hours may matter,” Derian said. “Ynamynet has been working at least as hard as I have, but I think she’ll understand.”

“Is it the invasion?” Isende said, falling into step next to him.

“No,” Derian replied, then laughed. “Or rather it is another invasion, one that has some nasty long-term consequences if I don’t handle it right, but I think we can forestall the worst.”

He told her about Elise’s letter as they walked. He had to hold back lest he outdistance Plik and Isende, for neither had a trace of his height. Neither shared his sudden ebullience, either. Wondering at its source. Derian realized that in a strange way he was actually glad to know Elise and Doc were coming.

Unless Ynamynet had a good reason against it, he was going to tell his friends the truth, and ask that they withhold revealing what they had learned or acting upon it until the invasion was over—one way or another.

It would be good to confide in people he trusted, to know that should the Nexans fail in their effort to hold the gates, that the New World would not go unwarned as to the many and varied dangers the Old World still held. Derian thought he could die comforted, if not content, knowing that the New World would be warned that after a long dormancy the Old World was once again reaching out toward the New.