Zara the Wolf (9 page)

"No, I mean the ability to quiet your mind. That is
what those that enter the Trasslat Monastery are taught. Many succeed to one
degree or another. The degree of success is what separates the student from the
Monk. We believe one with the talent to be a Monk was overlooked or
intentionally hid his or her true talent and was erroneously dismissed. That
individual collected other rejected students with some degree of talent and
formed a secret society—sort of like a combined assassins and thieves
guild except they seek power and not just money."

"I agree. I could never have withstood the pain or
learned enough to keep from being crippled or killed if I hadn't found I could
retreat into myself. I never thought of it as a gift, but you're right. It is.
I've found it particularly useful in dealing with the nobility," I said,
and instantly regretted it. The Monk worked for the duke …

He laughed quietly. "I agree with you, Zara. The
nobility are very ordinary people but with enormous power. It makes them
believe they are smarter than everyone else and justified in punishing those
who disagree with them. You're right to be careful around them and to worry
about rejecting the duke's offer. He could destroy your life if he chose,"
the Monk said, confirming my worst fears. Royalty got what they wanted, or
someone paid for their disappointment.

"But he wouldn't in your case," the Monk
continued. "We have been calling the new secret society Sirens, since they
have the ability to twist men's minds. The Cheyo Monks, Duke Wetzel, and a few
others aware of the situation don't believe the Sirens know they have been
discovered. It has only been their recent penetration into the nobility that
has alerted us. If we send the wrong person, not only will the Sirens be
alerted, but we will be in jeopardy. We would be vulnerable, because we don't
know enough about their organization, members, or the extent of their power to
stop them from assassinating us over time."

"What would you expect me to do?" I asked.

"Just what you did before—go and look." He
held up a hand to stop me responding. "We are not asking you to kill or
arrest anyone. Just to tell us what you find. Of course, like with freeing
Shelly, this is not without risks."

"What are the … Sirens capable of?" I asked. The
risks dealing with the tribes I understood, as well as physical confrontations.

"Their talents will vary by individual. Worst case,
they can cast illusions and control anything your mind does. For example, blind
you, render you deaf, cause pain in your arms, legs, or head, or deaden your
sword arm," he said, again confirming my worst fears.

"What chance do I have against them? If they can
control my body, I can't even kill them with a knife or sword." Sweat trickled
down my forehead at the thought of facing one of them.

"A quiet mind is your only defense. If you are willing,
I will work with you so you will know what to expect and how to combat it. Then
we will know if you are capable of surviving and whether you wish to accept the
duke's offer. It's very dangerous, but it may help you find what you are
seeking." He paused. When I didn't answer, he continued. "If you
choose not to accept the duke's offer, he will be disappointed but will
understand. For now, return to your room. The servants will get you whatever
you wish to eat. Spend the time considering whether you wish to at least explore
the possibility. If you do, return here tonight at midnight. The castle will be
quiet then, and it will be easier for you to concentrate. If not, you can tell
the duke tomorrow. I will support your decision."

* * *

Shortly after I entered the room, Melisa arrived.
"Mistress Zara, I'm told you would like something to eat. What can I get
for you?"

"Have you eaten, Melisa?" I asked, needing company
and information.

"No, Mistress," she answered hesitantly.

"Good. Pick out what you would like to eat and double
the amount. I'd like to know more about life in the castle. If you don't mind,
we can share the meal and you can tell me what you are comfortable saying."

A smile slowly appeared on Melisa's lips as she envisioned
the upcoming meal. "Yes, Mistress." She curtsied and hurried out the
door.

Like with the Ojaza, I needed information, and who better
than a servant—like a slave, the perfect spy: present but ignored. She
returned sometime later with a platter loaded with food of every kind, smiling
and struggling not to laugh.

"Sit, Melisa," I pointed to the table where I had
pushed two chairs. "And eat. I can serve myself." I sat slowly
sampling the variety of food she had brought and enjoying Melisa's obvious pleasure
with the food.

Eventually, she sat back and smiled. "What would you
like to know, Mistress Zara?"

"I've never lived in a castle and would like to know
about your life and about the nobles." I thought I'd learn more if I just
to let her talk rather than ask specific questions.

"The nobles spend most of their time enjoying
themselves—except for the duke," she added quickly. "He and his
ministers manage Calle. But most have little to do. They're served their meals,
their rooms are kept clean, their horses fed and groomed, and clothes made for
them. They spend much of their time being entertained or hunting or shopping … "
She blushed. "I didn't mean—"

"I understand, Melisa. I must work for my living
too," I said, indicating I was a commoner like her. That relaxed her, and
she spent a couple of hours candidly talking about castle life. A hard life, as
most of the nobles thought the help little better than slaves. After she left,
I sat quietly letting my mind sort through the past week. I had panicked and
made myself vulnerable. It was my ability to stay detached that had saved me as
a slave. If I were to survive in the civilized world, I would need that same
detachment. Baron Hillard provided a good example of the potential dangers. As
with the Ojaza, being right or cooperating was no guarantee of
survival—right tended to be subjective, depending on who had the power.

When the moon looked to be right for midnight, I made my way
to the Monk's room, knocked, and entered when he answered.

"Welcome, Zara. I thought you would come. You are not
one to let fear control you. Sit." He pointed to a small mat several paces
away. "The symbols you see are the eight precepts on the path to becoming
a Monk. I'm not going to teach you to be a Monk, but you must understand each
to combat the Sirens," he said and paused. I spent a few minutes examining
the symbols, but they were like nothing I had ever seen before.

"Unless I'm wrong, you understand most of them. You
learned them to survive. Hate drove you then. If you are to survive the duke's
assignment, you must have an equally compelling reason." He stopped
talking, and suddenly a giant of a man in full armor stood in front of me. I
reached for my sword but I wasn't wearing one. "Still your mind,
Wolf."

I fought to calm myself as I had learned when fighting. As I
did, the image slowly became transparent then disappeared. The Monk then produced
image after image, each one more aggressive and threatening than the last. Many
caused me to try to roll out of the way. Finally, I learned to dissolve each,
coming to think of them as harmless.

"They can't hurt me; they are just
illusions—" I was saying when a muscular man grabbed me around the
throat. I struggled to remove his hands to no avail as I began to lose
consciousness. Then he was gone and I could breathe again.

"It's complicated, but as I just demonstrated, they can
hurt you. When you and another create images to do mental battle, it depends
how much of yourself is invested in that image. A Monk can create images with
minimal investment; those with less talent can't. As a result, if your creation
gets stabbed in the heart you could die. Conversely, if a Monk were stabbed in
the heart, he might feel a slight pain in the chest, because he would have
little invested in his creation. Changing images does not cancel any damage you
received in the previous image unless you weren't invested when the wound
occurred—or you were changing images at the time. "

He spent the next several hours until morning light creating
illusions for me to detect and combat. It was easy when he gave me time to
settle myself, but almost impossible when the illusion appeared unexpectedly
and in a new or strange form, like thousands of ants crawling over me and into
my nose, ears, and mouth. By the time he stopped, my clothes were soaking wet
and I was exhausted.

"Enough for now. Except for your Ojaza gift, it would
take several years to get a student to your present state of awareness. But
that isn't enough. As you know from sword fighting, if you only defend yourself
and do not counterattack, you will eventually lose." He smiled.
"Tonight at midnight."

* * *

"Close your eyes, Wolf. You will not need them for what
comes next. In fact, your eyes will distract you from seeing what the Siren is
doing," he said, beginning our session. I did close them, but it took a
long time for me to quiet my mind, as I didn't know what to expect. Then the
room became bathed in a blue light. The Monk sat naked on a large rock in the
middle of a stream; I sat among wild grass. Then a man appeared in armor,
drawing his sword as he strode toward me. As I thought about rising to defend
myself, an image of me rose, drawing my sword. We fought; I won with several
quick strokes to legs, stomach, and neck and the image disappeared.

"Very good. If you see multiple images, you need to
find the one he considers himself. Attack!" he said, and another soldier
appeared and another and another. I fought my way to him. "Good. That was
easy for you because you know how to use a sword." Instantly, a large
mountain cat charged me. Instinctively, I created an image of a wolf.
"Excellent!" Again the session lasted until sunrise, and I exited
feeling more exhausted than my most grueling training day with the Ojaza. Each
day, Melisa brought us dinner and I learned more about castle life and a few
interesting stories about the resident nobility. The routine continued day
after day until I lost track of time.

A knock at my door interrupted my morning quiet time when I
reviewed the previous session with the Monk.

"Mistress Zara, Lady Shelly wishes to speak with
you," Melisa said, peeking through the partially open door. I rose,
pleased to see her but confused as to her presence. "Show her in,
Melisa."

Shelly entered smiling and to my surprise gave me a hug and
kiss on both cheeks. "No, I didn't bring my uncle," she gave me a
mischievous laugh. "The duke invited me. I've been here two days. I would've
stopped in sooner, but the duke said you couldn't be disturbed."

"Lady Shelly, you look … recovered," I said still,
trying to deduce why the duke had invited Shelly. I doubted it was a coincidence.

"It was an unpleasant experience but one I'm glad I
had," she giggled. "But don't tell anyone that. I've learned what it
feels like to be powerless; I've learned what it means to live someone else's
life; and I got to meet you. You've shown me my time with the Sheqn can be a
tragedy to suffer all my life or a useful learning experience. It's opened my
eyes, and I feel I've matured well beyond my years."

"Does the duke know you're here visiting me?" I
asked, hoping she wasn't defying his wishes.

"Oh, yes. He sent me to get you." She grabbed my
hand and pulled me toward the door. I quieted my mind as we walked, enjoying
seeing Shelly well and happy and thanks to the Monk's training, content not to
anticipate what was to come. As we approached the duke's office, one of the
guards opened the door for us to enter.

"Well, Zara. You look much better than the last time I
saw you. Sit." He waved toward the three chairs that had been arranged
around a small table, loaded with cheeses, breads, sweets, and a variety of
drinks.

"Thank you, Your Grace," I said and bowed to the Monk
sitting off to the side against the wall. "I feel much better."

"Since you haven't run off, I assume you are at least
considering my offer," Wetzel said, taking a sip of wine as he watched me.
I nodded, realizing the truth of what he said. "My Monk tells me you have
the ability to defend yourself against a Siren based upon what we currently
know. Lady Shelly has agreed to provide you a cover story, without any coercion
on my part, I may add. You would be her escort to visit Duke Phipps in Kariso.
She and you will have letters from me—Shelly as being under my
protection, and you, Zara, as responsible for her safety. That will ensure you
can stay close to her at all times. And lastly, I will be disappointed if you
refuse my offer, but I give you my word I will not hold it against you. What
I'm asking has great risk … " He smiled. "And great rewards, in
addition to my gratitude."

I knew the sessions with the Monk had certainly helped,
since I should be panicking but I had managed to stay relatively calm and to quickly
quiet my thoughts. I believed the duke when he said he wouldn't take any action
against me, which meant refusing his offer was a real option. So the real
question was whether his offer helped me find my place in … civilization. I
would never be a noble, so did mixing with them help me? On the other hand,
nobles were a ubiquitous part of life in civilization and understanding them
might. And what if the Sirens came to rule? How would that affect me versus the
status quo? Both wanted the same thing—power. Maybe my place in
civilization was helping others: Ethel, the Manola community, Raigosa, Shelly,
the duke. I would never know those answers unless I accepted.

"I accept, Your Grace."

"Thank you, Zara," Wetzel said with visual relief
and turned to Shelly. "As nobility, you must be seen as in
charge—"

"But Zara is in charge." She nodded to the duke.
"I trust her with my life, or I wouldn't be going along." She grinned.
"She may still be learning our ways, but she's shrewd like the wolf she is
named after. I expect she is going to teach me to be a duchess."

The duke laughed and turned toward the Monk.

"They are well matched and will make a good team,"
the Monk said quietly.

* * *

The next week was a blur of activity. The duke chose eleven
of his royal guard to accompany Lady Shelly's caravan: a lieutenant, two
sergeants, and eight corporals, all with years of service.

"For this mission, Zara is Lady Shelly's personal escort
and in charge of her security. You will follow Zara's orders without
question," Wetzel said to the assembled eight men and three women.
"Zara?"

"Our responsibility is Lady Shelly's safety first and
foremost. Your own safety secondarily, and the caravan a distant third," I
said by way of clarification.

"Our safety?" the lieutenant asked, frowning. He was
tall, muscular, and looked to be in his thirties and to have seen action,
judging by the scar that ran from his forehead to his right ear.

"Yes, dead heroes make poor guards. We can discuss it
more later, but I expect you to fight smart. That means remembering your
objective is to protect Lady Shelly, not to be a martyr." I felt
encouraged at seeing several nods of agreement.

A cook, four men to manage the mules, and two ladies in waiting
completed the caravan's compliment. While the caravan was being assembled, I
was sent to the dressmaker's for the clothes I would need to accompany Shelly
at various functions.

Shelly and I negotiated over each article: she attempting to
dress me properly for each occasion, while I attempted to maintain my image or
rather avoid being made into something I wasn't. I think we arrived at
reasonable compromises since neither of us was happy. The outfits were a blend
of male and female wear, silk and leather, beautifully made and
expensive—like an eccentric noble or a flamboyant mercenary.

The morning we were to leave, the duke summoned Shelly, Lieutenant
Eaton, and me to his office.

"Lieutenant Eaton, you are in charge of the troopers
and responsible for protecting Lady Shelly, the caravan, and the servants; however,
you will defer to Zara on all matters. I know that is unusual, but this trip is
not about Lady Shelly visiting Duke Phipps. Zara is on a mission for me. That
information is for you only. Is that understood, Lieutenant?"

"Yes, Your Grace. What about protecting her?" he
asked.

Wetzel turned toward me.

"I will help you and your men if trouble arises, and I
would expect the same from you, but only if protecting me does not jeopardize
Lady Shelly. You must think and act as if Lady Shelly is the only reason you
and I are along," I said.

After a minute, Eaton nodded.

"Lieutenant Eaton, meet Zara the Wolf. She managed to
single-handedly free me from two hundred Sheqn Indians. I trust her."
Shelly smiled at me.

"I do also," the duke said into the silence. "Shelly,
this letter explains the trip to Kariso and authorizes you to commit money or
services in my name for your needs. That will indirectly establish your importance
and earn you special treatment." He handed the parchment to Shelly.
"And this letter, Zara, will acknowledge you as my hand-picked companion
for Lady Shelly. That should give you unrestricted access to her and the
nobility."

"Thank you, Your Grace. You have been very patient and
generous." I bowed. He could have ordered me to do his bidding, but he
hadn't. He had made his Monk available, waited while I debated the issues, and
was gambling his reputation on me—maybe his life.

In the courtyard, we mounted our horses and Shelly gave the
lieutenant a nod to start the caravan moving. The ride through the city was
made at a walk, and the citizens paid us little notice—just some noble
going someplace. I waited until we had left the city gates to talk. I doubted
anyone on the streets would have heard our conversation or cared but best to be
overly cautious.

"Well, Lady Shelly, have you worked out our itinerary?"
I asked, interested now that I had made the decision and we were on our way.

"Actually, the duke made our itinerary. He wanted
us
to visit specific places on our way
to Kariso. Salman on the Black River is our first stop. It's a six-day trip
inland. Earl Pelote is the ruling noble, in service to Duke Wetzel."

"It's rugged country ripe for bands of thieves and
close to the Vulture Mountains, which has Indian tribes who occasionally raid
the smaller communities. As a result, the earl maintains a larger than normal
military garrison," Eaton said.

Interesting,
I
mused
.
The duke had included a
lieutenant to command ten men when a senior sergeant would have been
sufficient. I wondered if he hadn't given him and Lady Shelly special
instructions. Were we each told to
go and
look
for something different: the lieutenant among the military, Shelly
among the nobility, and me the Sirens? If so, I'd wager the duke hadn't shared
that information.

"I understand you lived among the Indians in the Black
Mountains," Eaton said as he sat down next to me that evening as we
gathered around the campfire.

"Yes, the Ojaza."

"I heard rumors that you are very good with that sword,
and you saved the Raigosa caravan from a band of mercenaries."

"I disrupted their sneak attack," I said, hoping
this wasn't leading to a challenge.

"I heard it was more than just disrupted, and you claim
the savages are better trained than our soldiers," Eaton's voice dripped
with scorn. I needed the lieutenant as an ally if we were going to succeed at
whatever the duke had planned, and therefore chose not to defend myself directly.

"What do you think, Lady Shelly? You spent a year with
the savages." I hoped he would take her assessment better than mine.

"Much better. Any six-year-old savage can use a bow and
hit the target. At ten, they are given a sword and begin training. Black and
blue bruises are common, even deaths," she said, eyes downcast as if
reliving the scenes.

"What makes them so dangerous to the average sword
fighter is their approach. We are used to matches; one-on-one contests where
there are rules. They are trained for clashes where the object is to wound or
cripple, knowing the next warrior will finish the kill," I added.

"That doesn't sound ... effective." he said hesitantly.

"Even against equal numbers, it is." I said. "The
frenzy of the attack freezes the opponents. They charge, slash at you, wounding
or killing you, and keep on going to the next person. But it is even more
effective when your opponent outnumbers you. Imagine twenty mercenaries are
attacking us. If you meet each in a match, then soon it will be two or three to
one, and you'll lose. However, if you charge each person in a one or two-stroke
clash and continue on, you can't be tied up and the person behind you will
likely encounter a wounded or dazed opponent and have an easier kill."

"Like a cavalry charge without the horses." He
laughed. "I see what you meant when you said you disrupted the mercenaries,
and it makes sense of the rumors I heard."

"It may be something to consider, Lieutenant Eaton.
It's going to be a long way to Kariso, and if we are attacked by a large group
of mercenaries or Indians ... " Shelly left the consequences to his
imagination. She was a smart girl, understanding the lieutenant would be much
more amenable to suggestions from her than me.

"Alright, I'm interested. Would you mind a
demonstration, Zara?"

"No," I said.

Eaton picked his best fighters, two sergeants and a corporal,
and stationed them about twenty steps apart as I had with the troopers at the
Manola compound. I was sure they’d keep their swords readily
available—unsheathed.

I walked about forty steps away and lay hidden behind a clump
of bushes.

I waited for well over an hour and then jumped to my feet,
screaming an Ojaza war cry. I raced toward the nearest, Sergeant Dagan. As I
suspected, he had been lying with his sword in hand. I’d only run a few paces
when he stumbled to his feet, but his sword tangled in his bedroll. He fumbled
it free and swung at my head as I reached him. I dodged and slashed his belly
as I ran past. The second sergeant was up with his sword ready as I ran at him.
I caught his blade on mine and forced his blade high. I jerked my blade free
and slashed his arm.

The corporal stood frozen as I charged, screaming. He managed
a weak block to my downward slice at his neck. We locked sword hilts. I punched
his belly with the pommel of my knife. He doubled over, heaving.

I strolled back to where Eaton and Shelly were standing,
with the three troopers following.

"Damn, you're fast," Sergeant Dagan said, rubbing
his stomach.

"And scary," Corporal Fagin said, holding his
stomach in obvious pain.

"She's right, Lieutenant. I was expecting a duel when
she arrived, but she was past me before I could recover from the initial
contact. It wasn't a fatal cut, but I wouldn't have been ready for another one
coming behind her." Sergeant Buzza ruefully rubbed his arm.

"That was impressive, Zara. I'll admit I didn't believe
you and agreed to the demonstration only to embarrass you." He gave a wry
smile. "Could you teach us?"

"Yes, with some practice. It is more of an approach
than a special technique. While you are attacking an opponent, you have to know
that Sergeant Dagan or Corporal Fagin is running behind you and will finish
your opponent if you don't. You are a team, not individuals." We talked
for several hours, and I felt a little more accepted by the time we retired for
the night.

When we reached our bedrolls, Shelly whispered, "How does
your demonstration help me?" She smiled. "My job is to convince
everyone I'm on my way to Kariso to visit Duke Phipps for reasons of my own,
and that you are my chaperone and security. The duke also wants me to evaluate
the nobility while I'm providing you a cover story. And I want you to mentor
me. So, how is your demonstration applicable to me?" She gave a soft laugh
while I lay speechless.

"Mentor you, Lady Shelly? I'm still working on becoming
civilized."

"I've spent time with you. You see people for what they
are, and that helps you deal with them realistically—like the tribes, the
soldiers, warrior Ohnee, my uncle. The nobility see the Indians as savages and
stupid. You see them as people, ignorant in our ways but smart in their own
way. I want you to help me do the same." She smiled. "And it's Shelly
when we are alone."

"I'll try, Shelly." I didn't know if she was right
or not, but maybe just hearing a simple slave turned commoner's perspective of
life would be helpful to a noble.

"The savages' real advantage is our ignorance. We
assume we are better fighters, that we are smarter than them, and that they are
cowards because they raid small settlements. We judge them against our
standards: they can't read or write, can't make fine clothes, don't have permanent
houses, don't farm, and on and on. But they are hunters and nomads who have no
need for those things. And raiding is just another form of hunting. We ignore
the fact we don't have the knowledge to survive in their environment. They
consider us ignorant," I said, thinking it obvious but knowing it wasn't
to most people, especially the nobility and soldiers.

Shelly laughed. "Like my uncle, who wanted to send sixty
soldiers to kill the savages and free me." She shook her head. "He
would have gotten me and the soldiers killed. He would never have thought of
trading a mule and swords for me, or that they had honor."

"So I guess the lesson is: the better you know your
opponent, the better prepared you are to succeed. And surprise gives you an
advantage. Do you carry a knife, Shelly?" I asked

"No. I can, but why would I? There are guards ... "

"A precaution. You are spying for the duke. You may
discover things worth killing for." I shrugged. "If you carried one
openly, it would be of little value since you weren't trained to use one. But
if you carried it hidden, you would have the element of surprise, which could
be better than knowing how to use one against a trained fighter."