Children of the Wolves (29 page)

Though he seemed calm and confident as he hailed the sentries, Jelena knew he was anxious about returning to the tribe; he had much to explain. He had told her of the ruse with Rodrigo; that would not go well with the elders — or Teresa.

She clicked her tongue at the wolves and they settled back on their haunches to wait for his return. The snow had stopped falling and the sun shone on a crisp, cold day. She watched as Michael spoke to one of the sentries and gesticulated in her direction. Finally, he turned and waved her forward. She stepped down from the sled. She planned to lead the wolves and make sure there weren't any ill-considered actions on anyone's part.

The sentries seemed surprised to see her — she supposed everyone expected she'd be dead by now, but all they did was murmur her name in greeting. They stepped back as the wolves moved into the main compound.

Just inside the fence, she paused and turned to Michael. Stepping inside the gate felt oppressive, like a heavy weight had settled on her shoulders. She tried to shrug it off and when she spoke gave no sign of her discomfort.

“Why don't you bring the saddlebags in? I'll give the wolves a rest. Okay to use Isolde's cabin? I'll get them bedded down, then join you in the main hall.”

Michael agreed, then thanked her and grabbed up the saddlebags. He walked into the main hall as Jelena brought the wolves around to Isolde's cabin. She made sure they were comfortable in their old den, then fed them from the pack on the sled. She'd get them a special treat from Bertha's kitchen tonight.

She gave them each a long expression of appreciation, which required a great deal of petting, rolling around on the floor, licking (on the part of the wolves) and scratching of bellies. Satisfied that they would be reasonably safe in the cabin, she took her leave, pulling the front door shut behind her.

With a lighter heart, she set out for the main hall. At first, she thought she might go in the kitchen door to say hello to Bertha but the imp of perversity made her decide to make her entrance in style — front door and all.

The elders had gathered around a long table in the dining hall. Michael had dropped the saddlebags in a corner of the room and was explaining what had happened, describing Rodrigo's death and mentioning about the map that might show them where to find the caves they sought. Jelena approached and Michael looked up, his jaw relaxing as he saw her.

“Without Jelena and her animals, I wouldn't be here now,” he said.

The elders regarded her coldly. Finally Cara spoke up. “We thank you for your — kindness. And of course we will repay you for your consideration.” Then she turned her back on Jelena.

“Jelena deserves more appreciation than that,” Michael said softly. “She lost one of her beloved animals bringing me home.
I
was the one who made the error of judgment that cost Rodrigo his life.”

The front door slammed open and Teresa stalked into the dining hall.

“Where is Rodrigo?” she demanded shrilly. She stormed over to where Michael stood and grabbed his shoulder to make him face her. He resisted the effort, calmly pushing her hand away. “You lying, treacherous swine!” she shrieked. “What have you done?”

“We were attacked a few days north of here,” Michael said. “Rodrigo was killed.”

“No,” Teresa said, the color draining from her face. “You wouldn't — you didn't — you killed him, Michael!
You killed him!
”

“Teresa, I'm sorry about what happened. And it is my responsibility for bringing him with me. But I didn't want to leave the tribe unprotected. That was why I convinced Rufus to stay. I knew Rodrigo wasn't ready to lead the riders. Putting him in command would risk not just his life but the lives of everyone in the tribe.”

Jelena saw the lines of fatigue on his face, the deep lines of care and worry, the distress and despair in his blue eyes. Did no one else see what she saw? Why did they let Teresa abuse him so?

“You killed him,” Teresa said.

“Teresa, you — none of you — understand what it means to fight, to defend — ”

“You killed him,” Teresa repeated. “And you dare to bring this traitor into our midst!” Teresa flung an accusing hand at Jelena.

Jelena couldn't even imagine what the other woman was talking about. She glanced at Michael. His jaw tightened and he narrowed his eyes at Teresa. What had Jelena ever done to earn her hatred, to be called a traitor?

“Don't you think,” Teresa said, speaking to the elders, “that it was quite a coincidence that she ran away — forcing Michael to follow her? And that we then heard rumors about her — rumors that lured the riders away from the village?”

“Teresa, you cannot make these accusations — ”

“And you!” Teresa exclaimed. “You just happen to be traveling north with Rodrigo and look! You meet up with Jelena, who has somehow miraculously survived what no one else ever has.”

“Michael,” Maurice said, leaning forward, his brow furrowed, his eyes troubled. “Michael, you would not betray us?” But the question in his voice belied his words.

“He might — for the sake of that woman!” Teresa was nearly screaming now. “Don't you see? Rodrigo is dead. Our
warrior
is dead. How was that accomplished, I ask you? It is because Michael was jealous. Eaten with jealousy, that Rodrigo would be everything he was not!”

Jelena stared. The elders didn't try to contradict Teresa. And yet they'd known Michael all these years, known who he was and how he sacrificed for the tribe. She looked at Michael, whose face was ashen, to Teresa, triumph etched in every line of her body. The council members gathered around the table were listening to Teresa. Jelena opened her mouth to correct Teresa about Rodrigo's true calling, and then closed it again when Maurice spoke.

“Michael, she makes serious and credible accusations,” Maurice said.

“If, after all these years, you believe me capable of that kind of treachery, then there is nothing I can say to dissuade you,” Michael said.

Maurice drummed his fingers on the table. “Yes, that is true. Many years of service. And I don't believe you are … err … a
bad
man,” he said, looking around at the other elders to see if they agreed with him. “But perhaps — misguided. Led astray.”

“
What
?” Jelena demanded. “I don't understand why you let Teresa sit here and fill your ears full of bile and spite — ”

“Teresa has never been anything but a good, productive citizen,” Maurice flared. “I'll not have you say anything against her.”

“Are you formally accusing me — ” Michael interjected.

“Of course not,” Cara snapped. “We believe you are at heart a good man. We merely believe you have been seduced from the Way.”

“They mean me,” Jelena said. “They're blaming all of this on me. Michael, this is just as before, with the wolves. They must take the easy explanation — ”

“You will be silent!” Maurice thundered. “You will not address the council in that tone!”

“I don't recognize the authority of the council,” Jelena said, and turned to leave. She was seized from behind before she could take a step. She looked up, startled to see that the sentries had come in. One blocked the door. The other had her by the arm and forced her to face the council.

“The council recognizes their authority over you,” Cara sneered. “And we have just discovered that owing to you, we are under constant threat and have been attacked.”

Jelena didn't even know what to say to that accusation. “I'm even more competent than I thought. Traveling all of that distance, fending off the Jackals and starvation — and, according you, plotting treachery against the Wudu-faesten. I've been quite busy.”

“Jelena,” Michael said and she heard the warning in his voice. She glanced at him, shaking her head. “They've made up their minds and nothing I can say will change that.” She shrugged. “Well, then, let them pronounce the dōm. I'll be exiled first thing in the morning and I'll go back home.”

“But the dōm for treachery and treason is not exile,” Michael said. “The dōm is death.”

• • •

“You will kneel before the council and you will remain silent while the dōm is pronounced,” Maurice said.

Jelena remained standing, though she braced herself for what was coming. Ah, here it was: the sentry planted a foot in her back and sent her stumbling forward. But she did not fall. Yanking her away from the table, the sentry swung his sheathed sword against the back of her knees. This time her knees buckled and she did fall.

Her eyes never left Michael's face. She kept her own face free of expression. His sapphire eyes held hers and she mouthed one word: “Topaz.” She didn't follow Michael's movements as he slid into the kitchen where she believed he would ask Bertha to release her wolves so the villagers wouldn't hurt them.

She couldn't bear to think her wolves would be hurt. She'd lost Garnet, who died defending her; she couldn't think of her wolves being killed by the villagers out of superstitious fear. Her wolves loved her and protected her and trusted her and she had led them into this peril. She had known this place was ruled by the weak and easily led, and yet she'd allowed herself to be lured back, subject to their laws.

She let her gaze fall on Teresa's face, staring at the other woman until she unwillingly met Jelena's gaze. The gloating look on her face sickened Jelena but she showed no emotion. She held Teresa's gaze and the gloating look passed.

You cannot win
, Jelena thought, looking at Teresa.
You cannot win because the enemy you seek is in your own heart. But you refuse to look there.

“Jelena the unawakened, you are accused of the heinous crimes of treachery and treason.”

She wasn't going to be asked her opinion about anything. She turned her gaze to Maurice, who squirmed under it and looked away.

“The council has examined these charges and holds that you are guilty as accused.”

She sensed a movement behind her as Michael slipped back into the room. She met his eyes and he nodded once. She felt her shoulders slump in relief. At least the wolves were free.

Jelena gritted her teeth as she waited for the pronouncement. Surely they wouldn't — and Michael would have to act, wouldn't he?

The faint sound of a disturbance reached her ears. The sound of hoofbeats in the courtyard. Then she heard a squeal of alarm from a child. The sharp smell of burning thatch and tinder snaked into the hall.
The Sithans
, she thought.

The sentries must have thought the same thing, for they wheeled out of the room, Michael fast on their heels. In the confusion, Jelena leapt to her feet and ran into the kitchen, pausing only to grab a kitchen knife from the block. The thunder of hooves grew louder as she darted outside, ducking behind the nearest outbuilding, glancing over her shoulder to see Emma herding the children towards the caves of the saved, shouting, “To the caves! To the caves!” The frightened villagers scattered in all directions, the iron shod horses thundering across the compound.

Jelena grabbed the threshing flail from the wall as a villager fell beneath the hooves of a Sithan horse. Darting around the corner into the main courtyard, she saw the child she'd heard scream, now motionless on the ground, her chest crushed by the weight of horse and rider.

The horror welled in Jelena's throat and then a Sithan rider was upon her. She pivoted and slashed at his thigh with the kitchen knife. The flail spun in her hand as she blocked the sword thrust, deflecting it and causing the startled Sithan to drop it. She grabbed the hilt, swung the sword high in an arc and sliced into the shoulder of the nearest rider.

A horse went down, its rider tumbling to the ground. He scrambled quickly to his feet. She spun the flail in one hand and held the sword in the other. She feinted with a flick of the flail, then stabbed forward with the sword, pulling it across the warrior's body, eviscerating him. She barely paused before reversing the sword and thrusting behind her. The attacker there dropped to his knees before she spun around and finished the job.

She dropped the flail and picked up the fallen warrior's sword. Her teacher had fought with two swords, one in each hand. The echo of a voice said,
and if a fat old man can do it, a young agile woman should have no problem.

She hefted the new sword, testing the balance experimentally. She had aiki, impassive mind. She hoped for nothing, she feared for nothing. She remembered standing on a hill in a foreign land, practicing the empty handed forms, hour after hour — the simple, silent dojo with the tatami mats where she would practice with the wooden sword against the wooden dummy, the training matches with live blades that bit into her flesh.

A black horse thundered down on her and she stepped nimbly aside. She dimly heard a cry and the sound of a dozen more horses and riders joining the fray.

The black horse wheeled and she saw the rider settle in the saddle and prepare to run her down. Jelena smiled and remembered,
you use the high kick to knock them off their horses
.

With pleasure, she saw Marguerite go sprawling, tumbling from the horse. She turned to parry a curved scimitar blade. Marguerite screamed for her comrades' aid. Two figures slashed at Jelena; she parried the thrusts, a sword in each hand. She kept the two warriors off with skilled movements of her wrists. Then she ducked and rolled, slashing the tendons in the back of their legs as she went. Both fighters fell as she sprang to her feet.

A warrior loomed in front of her but her swords were not in position. She heard the thwack of a released bow, saw the arrow slam home and turned in relief to see Michael astride his horse. He reached down and grabbed her up with one hand, settling her behind him on the horse. They drove forward, forcing the intruders away.