Wolf's Blood (88 page)

“At least we know the fleet is here and in fighting trim,” said Kynan of Hearthome, coming up to take his place in the circle. “I have been questioning one of the few prisoners we managed to take, and it seems that King Hurwin sent a force ashore yesterday. The Nexans took some injuries, but drove off the landing parties.”

“Drove them off?” Bryessidan said in disbelief. “But surely they outnumbered the Nexans.”

“The prisoner seemed to think the landing parties were more a test, rather than an actual attack. Doubtless, King Hurwin was waiting to see what we would do.”

“I thought I saw ship’s boats being readied,” said Merial of Azure Towers, who had trailed up as Kynan was speaking. “Perhaps even now the Nexans are in combat with King Hurwin’s marines.”

The generals looked at each other, for a moment in perfect harmony as they shared the thought of their opponents being battered to a pulp just on the other side of that white wall. Then Aridisdu Valdala shook her head.

“The auguries are against such an action, at least not for the immediate future, although they are unclear why.”

Fromalf of Tavetch arrived in time to hear this, and offered comment on Aridisdu Valdala’s statement by way of greeting.

“King Hurwin certainly had long-glasses focused on the island. He could not have missed seeing when the fighting began on the hill here, but he would also have seen the shield go up. If I were him, I would have recalled any boats he had ready to launch until he had some idea of what was going on.”

“I agree,” Bryessidan said reluctantly. “King Hurwin is brave, but he is not impetuous. He wouldn’t have lived to become a grandfather if he was. He’ll attack, no doubt, but probably not until tomorrow at the earliest.”

“But we don’t need him, now, do we?” said Kynan of Hearthome with a mocking smile. “We have gates to seven different nations right here, and ample Once Dead to activate them. Whatever we desire is ours for the asking.”

“What I’m asking,” Bryessidan said, “is how to break this shield.”

“And how to do it,” Aridisdu Valdala added, “without unintentionally making it stronger.”

Kynan, whose cousin was now the lump in the shield’s otherwise uninterrupted smoothness, colored, but Bryessidan couldn’t guess whether in embarrassment or indignation. Queen Iline’s relatives—all of whom viewed themselves, unrealistically, as her prospective heir—did not tend to get along.

“Research is being done.” Merial of Azure Towers said confidently. “Talianas of Tishiolo will not be joining us for that very reason. She has gone to her ruler to request access to archives that are normally kept sealed in the hope that they will contain the information we need.”

Talianas was one of the few of the commanders who was also a Once Dead, although she was talented, rather than being a spellcaster. Her superior attitude continued to make Bryessidan’s skin crawl, so he was just as glad not to have her there. Her second-in-command was much more tractable.

“Even if we do not find out how to break the shield,” Kynan of Hearthome said, “surely the Nexans cannot maintain the shield indefinitely. Something must give: either their supplies or the concentration of their Once Dead.”

“I agree,” Bryessidan said.

But even as he tried to answer with appropriate confidence, the king wondered if it did. His youth had been spent surrounded by Once Dead, and although he did not have a trace of talent himself, he had learned a great deal of their lore.

If this shield was indeed artifact generated, rather than a spell, it might be possible for it to be maintained for quite a while with what had already been given to it. As for breaking down the shield, he wondered if that would be possible.

Surely those who had originally created the shield had taken into account that they would be enclosing one or more gates—and all the resources those gates could bring—within the shield.

We’re lucky that they created a shield that permitted air to pass,
he thought morosely,
but they wouldn’t have wanted to risk suffocating those they might need to send in to deal with a problem. How long before we find ourselves being dealt with? We must find a way to take the initiative!

He raged at himself for some timeless time, half listening as his allies articulated their own thoughts and frustrations. One thing was clear, even though it had never been openly discussed. He was not the only one to feel that their conquest would be incomplete until they held the entirety of the Nexus Islands.

“We’ll do it!” he said aloud. “It may be a day or a week before we can join battle again, but we will do it, and this time we will win. For now let us quarter the troops here, and have food and drink brought to them. If the siege continues, we can rotate them back in groups.”

“Siege,” Aridisdu Valdala said thoughtfully. “Yes. That is precisely what this is, a siege. It is a very strange siege indeed, for each group holds a castle, and each stands without, yet it is a siege for all of that.”

“Strange or not,” Bryessidan said, and he took confidence from the sound of his own voice, “a siege is what we face. All of us understand the tactics of a siege. We know that the ones who win are the ones who have the better supply lines and higher morale among their troops. Who would that be?”

He had raised his voice, so that the nearest of the gathered troops could not fail to overhear him. A rushing murmur, a rough-edged wind rushing through a human meadow, carried his words to those out of earshot.

Someone began to cheer, and the cheering became general.

I’ve won,
Bryessidan thought in satisfaction.
It’s only a matter of time, now. Although the Nexans do not realize it, the battle is already joined, fought, and won.

XLIII

  CITRINE HAD GONE ahead to see how the sea monsters reacted to Grateful Peace’s request. Now she came running to meet them, intercepting them on the path to the harbor where the fishing boat was anchored.

“I think … I mean. You’ve got to come here and see this.

Firekeeper blinked at her. The polished young woman Citrine had become had vanished, and she seemed closer to the eight-year-old Firekeeper had originally met. Citrine must have realized she had been less than clear, for she pulled herself up, literally straightening and squaring her shoulders, and met Firekeeper’s gaze.

“The sea monsters,” she said. “They have a message—for you, I think. Maybe for all of us.”

Firekeeper didn’t ask her to clarify. In her opinion, humans spent far too much time talking about things they could learn by running a few paces. She broke into a trot, glancing back to make certain the Meddler was following. He was, and she noticed that he looked a little younger than he had earlier. There was nothing definite; perhaps his beard was a bit more full. His skin was no less lined, but it seemed thicker, more supple.

Watch him,
she thought
. He looks human, smells human, but he is less human even than you are. Though perhaps when it comes to being human he is even more so. Humans are not wolves. They cannot be trusted.

But she turned her back on the Meddler, knowing that Elation and other of the winged folk soared overhead, and that the Meddler would not act against her under so many searching gazes. Retribution would come too quickly for him to benefit, and from the tales she had heard told, the Meddler understood personal benefit better than he did anything else.

They crested a rise overlooking the water, and what Firekeeper saw put all thoughts of the Meddler—or anything else—from her mind.

Even at their first manifestation, the sea monsters had not seemed like any creatures Firekeeper had seen before. Now their likeness to things with blood and bone, sinew and hide had vanished completely. They were sparkles in the water, flashes in the foam. They were crystal and mist-shimmer—and they were also a bridge. A bridge like no other Firekeeper had ever seen that stretched over the tossing ocean waves, one end anchored on the main island, the other on the shore of the peaked island that was their destination.

It was transparent and translucent, as if crafted from ice or pebbled glass, or water running over stones. It moved slightly, not from force of wind or tide, but because the creatures that had woven it from themselves were alive.

Firekeeper had the feeling that they were turning, looking at her, wondering what she thought of them and of this thing they had made, and she let a smile blossom on her face, a smile as bright as any she had ever shaped, a smile like the cry of the pack when the lone hunter returns.

“A bridge!” she said, and felt the words inadequate.

“I wonder,” said a sardonic voice over her shoulder, “if Grateful Peace told them you get seasick.”

Firekeeper turned to glower at the Meddler, but it was Grateful Peace, still leaning on Edlin’s arm, although he seemed somewhat stronger than before, who gave reply.

“I did not,” he said. “I simply asked that they give passage to those who would go and bring reinforcements, and passage to those reinforcements in turn. I thought they would simply still the sea so the fishing boat could pass safely. This marvelous creation is all their idea.”

“They want us to move quickly,” Firekeeper said. “This may not be easy for them to make. We go.”

She paused to touch Grateful Peace lightly on one arm.

“Thank you. Now, I go so all your hunt not go to rot.”

Grateful Peace nodded. “Thank you.”

Firekeeper glanced at the Meddler.

“I’m ready if you are,” he said with an engaging grin. “Off to the rescue.”

The surface of the bridge the sea monsters had shaped was like nothing Firekeeper had ever felt before. She had expected it to be wet and slick, like walking on ice or rain-wet stone. It turned out to be perfectly dry. More startlingly, it moved under her feet, hastening her pace so that when she walked her hair blew back from her face as if she were running.

She grinned over at the Meddler.

“I tell you they want us to go fast. You can maybe run in that clothes?”

She indicated to his robes. They ended a finger’s breadth above the tops of his soft leather shoes, but she wasn’t sure he still might not get tangled in them.

“These are more natural to me than that mountain sheep’s body ever could be.” he replied, breaking into a jog. “And the footing is amazingly good.”

They crossed to the peaked island in less time than even a swift boat could have carried them, and Firekeeper’s stomach was much more steady. She watched the Meddler with care as he prepared the spell for opening the gate. For the two of them, they did not need a great deal of blood, and the Meddler supplied it from his own arm, neatly knotting up the wound with a bit of bandaging he produced from a little bag at his waist.

Despite all this evidence of cooperation, Firekeeper watched him carefully. By now, she knew the complex routine of the spell as well as she knew how to string her bow, and she was certain the Meddler neither omitted the least element, nor added any of his own.

For the final step, she and the Meddler each drew their own blood, and smeared the drops within the rounded form at the appropriate side of the gate.

The stone shimmered, and Firekeeper nodded to the Meddler. They stepped forward and were back in the small gate room in Virim’s stronghold in the northwestern forests of the New World.

Firekeeper took two brisk steps in the direction of the doorway that would lead into the outer room and found that she could not take a third.

She tried again and found that while she could turn, blink, swallow, and breathe, she could not move a limb, not even her head upon her neck. She suspected that she could speak, but she did not. Instead she waited, immobile and increasingly furious.

There was no need to ask who had done this, no need to shout in anger and frustration. no one to whom she might howl for assistance. She was alone, alone with the creature who had made her captive, and she waited for him to cross into her line of sight.

He did so, reaching out and brushing her cheek with his hand. The fingers were smooth and soft, too soft, without the least trace of callouses or weathering.

Why would they be?
she asked herself
. That body is new, perhaps newer than Elise’s new baby. It makes sense that the skin would be fresh.

Nonetheless, she trembled at the unnaturalness of it, but the paralysis that kept her from moving hid her shame.

“You haven’t asked any questions,” the Meddler said, “but I’m going to tell you how I managed that. I’m rather proud of it, actually. Remember when you gave me some of your blood, back there when we were watching Wort and his soldiers fight?”

He paused as if expecting her to give him some light, conversational reply, but Firekeeper said nothing. The Meddler shook his head and looked just a little put upon.

“Most of the power in that blood went to subduing Virims, just as I had indicated it would. I held a bit back, though. You really were bleeding very freely, you know. Some went to help me reach through Virim’s memories until I found the key to his human form. I hated being a mountain sheep. A wolf I could have borne—you might have even found me attractive—but never a sheep.