Wolf's Blood (78 page)

Something warm and wet hit her foot. and she noticed that using her bow had started her wounded arm bleeding again. The flow had completely soaked the bandage wrapped around arm, but the blood-briar ointment was doing its job and she felt no pain.

The Meddler’s voice in her head said in the equivalent of a whisper, “Firekeeper, your blood. It’s wasted. Give it to me, and I will owe you … serve you. Help you win this war. I promise.”

“Promise,” she demanded, as a counter to her revulsion, but she knew that was a frail enough demand. What could she do if the Meddler refused to honor his oath? “Promise or the blood in you will turn as sour and empty as your word.”

Firekeeper was already moving closer to the bound mountain sheep when the Meddler’s whispered voice in her head said,
“I promise, by the love I hold for you, by the blood you give to me, I promise.”

Firekeeper undid the sodden bandage on her upper arm, dropping it where the mountain sheep could reach. For good measure, she let some fresh blood run down her arm, between her fingers, into her cupped hand. This she flung directly at the mountain sheep. The wet mass landed between the creature’s horns, seeping into the wool on the face. accenting the ornate patterns of the curling wool.

When the fresh blood touched the mountain sheep. Firekeeper felt a strange reverberation, a vibration of forces so powerful she staggered. Yet, not one of those fighting on the shore paused for the least instant, nor did the ravens and gulls falter in their flight.

Firekeeper drew her own conclusions from this. Rather than trying to see what she suspected was a purely internal battle, she drew her Fang and cut the rope that bound the diamond-horned mountain sheep to the tree.

She half expected the creature to run away or to collapse, but it did neither. Instead, the golden hooves remained rooted, the legs leading up to the heavy, compact body slightly splayed. The mountain sheep’s curved-horned head swung back and forth, catching the sunlight and giving back rainbows in which sanguine hues dominated.

The reverberation faded, and Firekeeper stepped clear and methodically rebound her wounded arm. She felt lightheaded, but that was only to be expected. Her canteen contained only a few swallows. Drinking these meant she had to leave her wound unwashed, but she smeared on more of the blood-briar ointment before binding the wound with a fresh bandage.

Her bow lay on the ground a few paces away. She picked it up and was setting an arrow to the string when the diamond-horned mountain sheep spoke in a purely human voice with the Meddler’s familiar intonations.

“I’ve won, for now. Firekeeper, I can’t do too much, but I can do a little. What do you want?”

Firekeeper checked down the slope. Wort’s force had succeeded in its small battle, and the raven’s cries told her that elsewhere on the Nexus Islands the landing parties were currently in retreat.

“I do not wish to waste what favors you owe me,” she said bluntly. “Can you end querinalo?”

“I can and cannot. It is a complicated matter to explain.”

“Save,” Firekeeper said. “But remember, you are bound to me by blood. Do nothing to undo that binding. For now, I will go and help the others. Later, we will talk.”

The mountain sheep’s mouth should not have been able to shape the Meddler’s sardonic smile, but somehow it did so.

“Ever trusting, dear Firekeeper. Ever trusting.”

But Firekeeper had no words for him. A lean grey streak was racing toward her over the sands, up the rocky rise. Blind Seer, blue eyes glowing in triumph, checked himself in mid-leap when he caught the scent of her blood.

“We have won!” he howled. “The boats are leaving. And you, dear heart? I smell your blood, but you still stand.”

“I stand.” Firekeeper said. “barely. And I have much to tell.”

“I am certain,” Blind Seer said. “Ynamynet said she sensed great magics being worked here. Is there a tale?”

“A tale and again,” Firekeeper replied. “Shouldn’t it wait until we have helped the wounded?”

Blind Seer’s ears flickered flat. then rose again.

“I spoke too quickly when I said we had won.” he admitted. “Rather, we have respite. Others must pick up the wounded and gather the dead. We who live and lead are commanded to gather and plan the next stage of this hunt.”

Firekeeper let her hand fall onto the wolf’s strong back, taking comfort in his closeness. Then she turned to the diamond-horned mountain sheep.

“The Meddler has taken rulership of Virim.” she said. “for now, at least. He is sworn to aide us.”

Blind Seer did not look in the least surprised. and Firekeeper wondered what his newly attuned sense for magic had told him.

“Do you come with us,” he said to the Meddler, a growl underlying his words, “or do I drive you as dogs drive the sheep?”

“I come,” the Meddler replied, “most humbly. My word is given to Firekeeper, and although she may not believe me, I would not disappoint her for all the world.”

Firekeeper, remembering confessions of love, knew she was blushing, but she ignored her skin’s betrayal and struggled for composure.

“For all the world?” she challenged mockingly.

“Well,” the Meddler admitted, falling into step beside her and Blind Seer as the blue-eyed wolf led the way to where the Nexan leaders were gathering, “perhaps for all the world. After all, wouldn’t I then have everything—and everyone I desire?”

XXXVIII

  PLIK DID NOT need his lost sense for magic to tell him that things had changed with the mountain sheep, nor that Firekeeper, blood-smeared and disheveled as she was, was coming to the hastily gathered conference with something other to report about than. her small corner of the battle.

Yet she was not swaggering as Plik had seen the wolf-woman do when victorious. There was a tension about her that was at odds with the chattering energy displayed by most of the humans coming to the gathering that was being held on a sheltered section of open hillside.

Here is one
, Plik thought,
who will not need to be convinced that this one small victory does not mean we have won the war
.

Firekeeper had borrowed a canteen from someone and was taking long swallows. She seated herself on the ground between the reclining mountain sheep and Blind Seer. Without comment, she had unbound her upper arm and pulled back the leather of her sleeve to expose a nasty slice.

Using the edge of the bandage, she wiped off the ointment covering the wound, then settled back. Blind Seer set to cleaning away the crusted blood, his tongue moving in rhythmic swipes, his ears making comment on the mingled taste of human blood and blood briar. When he finished there, he moved on to the side of her face.

None of those slowly settling in commented at this strange first aid. Plik thought you could tell who had been posted where by the degree of their injuries. Those who had been on the gateway hillside remained relatively pristine. Derian provided a marked exception. Plik knew that when the fighting had started and a group holding one of the main beaches had begun to fall back. Derian and Eshinarvash had come racing down to help.

Whether Derian’s strange appearance had turned the tide of battle, or whether his orders had rallied the frightened amateur warriors, Plik didn’t know. What he did know was that without Derian’s action they would likely not be holding this meeting.

And if some force had come through the gate then?
Plik thought.
If Derian had been needed there?

He shook the thought from his mind. No one had come through the gates as of yet. but only the most optimistic among them believed this would not happen.

Derian and Ynamynet broke from their hurried conference, and glanced about the small circle of those they had summoned.

“We’re holding.” Derian began. “and more or less alive. Skea is reviewing his forces now, reassigning and redistributing troops to cover where bands were weakened. Kalyndra is going to be transporting the worst wounded to where Doc—Sir Jared Surliffe—can hopefully pull them through. Don’t expect miracles, though. Doc possesses a potent talent. but he can’t do miracles, and the more he’s drawn on, the less he’ll be able to do later.”

Ynamynet took over. “Let’s have brief reports from each of you. Plik, what do our scouts say?”

“The winged folk report that, at least for now, the Nexus Islands remain ours. All of those who landed have either retreated, been captured, or are dead.”

There was a small cheer at this. Plik smiled, knowing how much high morale was needed.

“However,” he went on, “the invaders seem to have finally figured out who our scouts are. The gulls and ospreys report that the wind currents near the large vessels have become erratic. One gull was actually attacked by a little whirlwind and shredded to pieces before she could get away. This makes the rest of the winged folk hesitant about getting in too close.”

“For good reason.” Ynamynet replied. “Unhappily, there is nothing my small group of spellcasters can do to counter any protective magics that the fleet is using. We simply don’t have the power to strike at that range.”

Plik nodded. “That will be relayed to the winged folk immediately, and they will do their scouting from a distance.”

Derian sighed heavily and ran his hands through his hair.

“We’ll lose information, but that can’t be helped. Better not to lose any of the winged folk. My report is fairly simple. There has been no significant action at the gates. Once or twice, watchers reported thinking they saw the beginnings of an activation glow, but that never developed. I know this has given rise to hopeful rumors that something is wrong with the gates—that perhaps the iron we’ve put around them has ruined their ability to transmit—but I’m not so optimistic.”

Ynamynet shook her head. “Neither am I. I suspect instead that those were trial runs. My guess is that those who are using the gates have a coordinated time and date to activate them, but that some nervous or impatient Once Dead had to test.”

“Is such coordination possible?” asked Xaha. The young man from Tey-yo had been assigned to attend in Skea’s stead and bring the general a report.

“You came to the Nexus Islands after Veztressidan’s wars, didn’t you?” Ynamynet said. “Yes. It’s possible. Simple, mundane logistics. They probably set a date a long time back, based on when the fleet should arrive.”

“Right,” Xaha said. “My report is pretty simple. We don’t have a precise count of losses and inactives yet, but Skea thinks the shore forces can hold. He actually thinks some things—like coordination with the yarimaimalom—will work better if and when we are under attack a second time. That’s the good side.

“The bad is that we spent a lot of arrows and throwing spears warding off the first attack. We have reserves enough to manage a second round, maybe even a third, but the marines on the landing craft are going to know what to expect. Many on the longboats were slow to realize that they needed to get shields up. That’s not going to happen again.”

Ynamynet nodded thanks to Xaha, then said, “I have one thing to add to Xaha’s report. I think I know who is commanding the fleet and thus the naval assault. Some of us suspected this would be the case. but what we’ve seen today is confirmation.”

“Who?” Derian asked.

“Hurwin the Hammer, king of the Tavetch.”

“Tavetch,” Derian said. “I think that Tavetch provided the Old World rulers for part of our Stonehold. The Stoneholders are pretty martial.”

“So are the Tavetch,” Ynamynet said. “Hurwin the Hammer fought against Veztressidan. His daughter, Gidji, is married to Veztressidan’s son, Bryessidan, so we can make a pretty shrewd guess that the Mires also stands against us. Urgana has been doing what she can to identify the heraldry on the flags of various ships of the fleet, but she’s been coming up mostly blank. Now I think I know why.

“Hurwin is not one to give away anything for nothing, not even for a brag. His ships have probably been sailing under alternate banners since they left Pelland or wherever. That’s plenty long enough for the sailors to get used to the altered devices. And this way Hurwin could be sure we wouldn’t be able to guess who was where and go after them.”

“I’m not sure I understand,” Plik said. “I’m sorry.”

“No need to apologize,” Ynamynet said. “Simply put, different lands have different reputations for military ability. The Tavetch are warlike, but they are also most skilled at naval warfare. The people of Azure Towers are skilled enough at war, but mostly from need rather than inclination. They have been involved in a long, ongoing feud with Hearthome and have had little choice but to learn how to fight.”

“Hearthome.” Derian said, “is aggressive then?”

“Very,” Ynamynet said. “They faced Veztressidan first and lost. They have never forgotten that humiliation. Their queen would like to rule all of Pelland, but has to be careful how she expresses her ambitions lest she face an allied force similar to that which rose against Veztressidan.”

“Got it,” Derian said. “So this King Hurwin figures that if we knew who was on what ship, then we might target our attacks accordingly.”