Wolf's Blood (93 page)

Lord Edlin felt him move and spoke reassuringly, although not without forgetting to keep his voice low.

“Yarimaimalom, what? Strange word. Wise Beasts. Firekeeper calls them Royal. I say, though, magnificent creatures, especially when they’re on your side, and these are most definitely on ours. If you’re thinking about knocking into me and running, I wouldn’t. The yarimaimalom like chasing things that run.”

Lord Edlin sounded pleased, and for a moment not in the least foolish. They moved around the looming hulk of the building to where the opening of a door would not show light up to the gateway hillside.

Even as it doomed him, Bryessidan had to admire the planning that had gone into this operation. He and his fellow commanders had forgotten one key strength the Nexans had at their advantage—and the prisoners had not said anything to remind them.

They had overlooked the fact that Nexans’ Beast allies could see in the dark, and therefore an attack by night was not as unlikely as it would have been against merely human opponents. Night was traditionally a time when battles ended and the troops retired from the field. With that in mind, Bryessidan and his allies had arranged themselves with the goal of getting through the long wait and hoping that their troops would be sane by morning.

The guards that had been posted had been meant mostly to keep order within the camp, not to worry about what might come from without, for why should the Nexans eliminate their greatest advantage when they could not take advantage of it? But they could, they could, and Bryessidan tasted the bitterness not only of defeat but of feeling distinctly foolish as he allowed Lord Edlin to move him toward their destination.

He tried to hearten himself with the thought that the chance of an overcast night had been in the Nexans’ favor, for otherwise someone might have noted the shield going down, but that was slim enough comfort. Later, with added bitterness, Bryessidan would learn that the cloudy night had not been a matter of chance at all.

Lord Edlin conducted him inside the building. The entry foyer was so dimly lit that even if the door had faced the gateway hillside, Bryessidan wondered if the glow would have carried.

They’re careful, so very careful
, he thought with reluctant admiration mingled with dread.
I suppose it is because they have so little advantage.

And he wondered if he and his fellow commanders hadn’t been made a little heady, a little careless because their home bases and all the resources thereof were so close.

We are like children playing at camping out,
he thought, remembering a game his own children loved to play when they visited their Tavetch relatives.
We settled onto our bedrolls, secure in the knowledge that no matter what the night brought, a safe haven was close by. That shield seemed so solid that we forgot that those who had raised it could lower it at any time—and that the choice was not ours to make.

Lord Edlin was speaking to a young woman in armor who was clearly waiting to take over custody.

“Citrine, may I have the honor of introducing you to King Bryessidan of the Mires. King Bryessidan, Citrine, daughter of Grateful Peace, Dragon’s Eye of New Kelvin.”

The formality of these introductions was rather ruined when he added, “My cousin, too, what?”

Citrine, a young woman with reddish gold hair whose coltish lines showed she still had a good deal of growing to do, rolled her eyes and gave Edlin a gentle shove between his shoulder blades.

“Get out there. Firekeeper probably has someone else by now and she hates being kept waiting.”

Then Citrine turned to Bryessidan.

“Your Majesty,” she said politely, “please follow me, and don’t cause any trouble. I’m not alone.”

She gestured, and for the first time Bryessidan noted that a pair of ravens and a small falcon were perched on carved woodwork that ornamented the upper reaches of the entry hall.

“Bitter, Lovable, and Farborn. Farborn is feeling particularly angry tonight, so please don’t give him any reason to go for you. Our doctors are too busy to bother with your injuries.”

Lord Edlin had slipped out as Citrine was speaking, and Bryessidan decided to take the young man’s confidence that his cousin was safe in the bird’s care as the final proof that they would indeed attack him if they felt it was warranted.

Moreover, there was something cold in the young woman’s tone when she alluded to the injured that chilled him more than the glittering eyes of the three birds. He went along the corridor she indicated with alacrity that he hoped would show his willingness to cooperate.

Citrine told him to stop in front of a pair of impressively carved double doors. Bryessidan recalled that the doors led into a large reception hall, and so it proved. The chamber was furnished with risers along the sides, and so was probably used for public meetings.

An odd choice for a prison,
Bryessidan thought.

The room was well lit by blocks set in the walls. At first, he thought it was empty. Then he noted a restless, interested movement from higher up, and realized there were more birds up there. Large ones. More ravens, at least one eagle, hawks, and from a flash of blue, at least one jay. White bird droppings streaked the woodwork, so he guessed that this was not the first time the place had been used as a roost.

Citrine motioned the king to a table surrounded by a dozen chairs situated at the center of the vast space. It was furnished with a pitcher and a couple of drinking vessels and nothing else.

“You can sit there,” she said, “and you can take off the gag. Edlin probably didn’t knot it too tightly. He’s good about that kind of thing, for all he seems a fool. There’s water for you to drink and if you need to relieve yourself, you’ll find a pot in that corner.

“Don’t try to leave, please. Many of the yarimaimalom are out helping with the extraction, but there were others who couldn’t be of much use, and they’re patrolling the building. There are humans here, too, of course, and we’d hear an alarm. But, honestly, I’d worry more about the yarimaimalom.”

She turned to go, and Bryessidan tugged off his gag and spoke quickly, his voice flat as it came through the cottony dryness of his mouth. “Lady Citrine, please. I know I am a prisoner, but what is intended for me?”

“Citrine,” she replied. “I may have a New Kelvinese father, but I’m not interested in that unzoranic nonsense. Your Majesty, you are a prisoner, and soon you’re going to have company. Then some of the Nexan leaders are going to talk to all of you and give you a choice. If you’re smart, you’ll take it. That’s all I can tell you right now. I hope you’ll be smart and wait patiently.”

“Company?”

“Your other commanders,” Citrine said. “Firekeeper went for you first, because we heard you were commander in chief. Derian and Plik are extracting others. We hope to get all of you, but that’s probably not likely. Still, even four or five should be enough. Now, please be patient.”

She left through the heavy door, and Bryessidan heard the bolt shoot behind her. Dazed, he walked over to the table and poured himself some water. The drinking vessels and pitcher were all made from a lovely, light glass that would shatter if he tried to break it and use it as a weapon. Even the pitcher’s handle was hollow and would likely shatter.

He wandered around the room. There were other doors, but all were locked. The birds made not a sound, not a squawk, but whenever he darted a glance upward, he saw the glitter of their watching eyes.

He tried to feel good that the Nexans had considered him the most important of the seven commanders, but he couldn’t take much comfort in that importance. He wondered who they would bring next. He wondered if they would try to extract the prisoners. That would be harder. They’d been moved to the Mires, where Amelo and his associates could use magic to question them.

After what seemed like a very long time, the door opened. Citrine gestured in Kynan of Hearthome. Almost immediately after, a young man with very dark skin whom Bryessidan had not seen before brought in Merial of Azure Towers. She had scratches on her face, and would not admit where they had come from.

The young man, his voice still unbroken and holding great amusement, said in musically accented Pellish, “She think that because Plik is little and fat he is not ferocious. This is always a mistake to make. The little ones must be fierce. You should all remember. The little must be fierce.”

It was a warning, and Bryessidan knew it, a warning that because the community on the Nexus Islands was not large, they should not be underestimated. It was a warning Bryessidan no longer needed, but from how Kynan and Merial both winced, he thought it was only now coming home to them.

I should have remembered,
he thought. hiding his anger from the others by turning away to use the pot.
The Mires were not the largest of the Pelland nations, but my father used his mind and for a time everyone feared us. How could I have been so careless?

Valdala of u-Chival came next, escorted by Citrine. With them came a great cat of some sort. Its build was heavy and low-slung. Its coat was like nothing Bryessidan had ever seen before: the black of burned wood ornamented with spots shaped like living flame. The great cat’s eyes were white, the slit pupils pale blue, but it seemed to have not the least trouble seeing.

When Citrine departed, the great cat remained, lounging on one of the raised benches that lined the edges of the room and studying them all with typically feline arrogance.

Aridisdu Valdala tugged the gag from her mouth, but what she said made little sense: “Ahmyn! Ahmyn!”

She would say nothing more, and huddled in a corner away from the others, obviously deep in prayer. As if silenced by her intensity, what little conversation that had occurred between the others died away into tense silence.

When Aurick of Pelland came in, his arms were twisted about his back and tightly bound. His ankles were hobbled, and his skin was bruised and scraped.

Citrine had been his escort, and in addition to Aurick, she also brought a carafe from which she refilled the pitcher.

“He was stupid,” she said. “He fought. Derian is stronger, though. Some of his soldiers are fighting now. I wish they weren’t. King Bryessidan, do you think you could make them surrender?”

Bryessidan looked at Aurick, remembering the prideful arrogance of the Pelland nobles, and their drug-addled minds.

“I think not,” he said, and left it to Citrine to wonder if that was an admission of his inability to control the Pelland army, or his refusal to cooperate with the Nexans in any way. Let the others wonder, too.

Fromalf of Tavetch didn’t walk in under his own power, but was dragged in by Firekeeper, unconscious, bleeding from his mouth, and with both eyes bruised and swelling. The wolf-woman looked unharmed, but her eyes shone with barely contained excitement.

“He not so smart,” she said conversationally. “I think he let his One do all the thinking, and his One is on a boat. I hope you all is not the same. I hope you is Ones.”

The wolf-woman straightened and surveyed them.

“In a little, we come, we come to talk.” She looked over at Aurick. “Your people stop fighting now. Too many died. Is not smart to fight Beasts in darkness. Is not smart.”

Aurick held his head up defiantly.

“Are we to understand that you hold the gateway hillside?”

Firekeeper shrugged. “You is to understand that we has always held it. You just stood on it for a time.”

WELL AFTER SUNRISE the next morning, Firekeeper helped move the tables and chairs, then settled into her usual position on the floor alongside the table where representatives of the informal ruling body of the Nexus Islands had taken their seats behind the table. Her bow was across her knees and her quiver near to hand, but she didn’t really expect to need them. They were a warning, nothing more.

Blind Seer was with her, for once, sprawled on the floor, close enough that his fur brushed her arm. The Meddler sat in a chair off to one side where Firekeeper could keep an eye on him. He hadn’t caused any trouble since his attempt in Virim’s stronghold, but she was not taking any chances.

The seven captured commanders—the set had been completed when someone named Talianas had been taken as she was returning back through the gate to her homeland—were seated on comfortable, straight-backed chairs set in a line where they could easily see the Nexan leaders. Unlike the Nexan leaders, they did not have a table in front of them, and Firekeeper understood that this would leave them feeling more vulnerable.

The line in which the captured commanders sat was so straight that they could not see each other without craning their necks, and their chairs were spaced widely enough apart that they could not pass any sign by touch without being observed.

Those of the Nexans who were available to attend the meeting had taken seats in the risers at each side of the room, but these seats were not as full as they might have been. Despite their current ascendance in the struggle for control of the gates, the Nexans were stretched rather thin.

Formal introductions were made, and then Ynamynet cleared her throat.

“You seven must be wondering about the current status of your troops and of the Nexus Islands in general. This is how matters stand. Last night we succeeded in capturing most of the allied commanders with minimal losses to our own forces. In several cases, the troops were unaware that you were gone at all.

“When, with our attempt to extract Aurick of Pelland, the alarm was finally given, our attack moved into its second phase, that of securing the gates themselves. This was made rather easier because of several elements.”

She held up a slim hand and began itemizing. “One, despite having dealt with the yarimaimalom earlier in the day, most of your troops still expected human opponents.

“Two, darkness was in our favor. In order to learn what the commotion was, many of the soldiers who were standing gate watch rushed from their posts. Our forces slipped in behind them, and the gates were secured. Darkness also helped, not only by limiting your soldiers’ ability to see, but also by making them reluctant to use distance weapons.