Through Wolf's Eyes (3 page)

"Yes, all the way from the gap in the mountains, not far from where you came to us."

Firekeeper nodded. She knew the place. There was good
hunting in those meadows come late summer when the young deer grew
foolish and their mothers careless. There was also a burned place,
overgrown now, but hiding black ash and hard-burnt wood beneath the
vines and grasses. Every year when the pack hunted in that region the
Ones told her how she had come from the burned place and reminded her
of her heritage.

"I remember the place," Firekeeper answered, mostly
because she knew the One would want to hear confirmation, not because
she thought he needed it.

"The Strangers Strange are two-legs, like yourself," the
One
continued. "A falcon has been following them by day and she relays
through our scouts that the two-legs go to the Burnt Place, seeking
those who were there before I was born."

"Oh!" Firekeeper gasped softly. Then a question drew
a line between her dark, dark eyes. "How does the falcon know where
they are going?"

"When this falcon was young she was taken from the
air while on migration," the One explained. "I don't know how it was
done, but the Mothers of her people say it was so and I believe them."

"Like knows like best," Firekeeper said, repeating a wolf proverb.

"Remember that," the One Male said, then returned to
his explanation. "This falcon lived for a time with the two-legs and
hunted for them. During that time, she learned something of their
speech—far more than the few words they used to address her. From their
speech and from the direction they are heading, she believes that these
two-legs are not hunters come for a short time to take furs."

"The wrong time for that game, certainly," Firekeeper said. "Your coats are shedding now and make me sneeze."

"That is why those fingers of yours feel so good," the One Male admitted. "Pull out the mats as you find them."

"Only if you remember," she teased with mock hauteur, "not to bite off my hand!"

"I promise," he said with sudden solemnity. "As all of us have promised not to harm our strange little sister."

Made uneasy by this change of mood, Firekeeper
occupied herself tugging out a mat, worrying the undercoat loose with
dexterous ease.

"Why did you summon me to tell me of the two-legs?"
she asked at last. "I know less of them than the falcons do. They are
strangers to me. The wolves are my people."

"Always," the One Male promised her, "but since
before I was born each One has told those who may follow that there is
a trust held by our pack for you. When your people return, we have
sworn to bring you back to them. It is an ancient trust, given, so our
tales say, to your own mother."

Firekeeper was silenced by astonishment. Then she blurted out indignantly:

"I was never told of this!"

"You," the One Male said gently, "have never been
considered old enough to know. Only those who may one day lead the pack
are told of this trust, so that they may vow to keep it in their turn."

The human admitted the justice of this, but hot tears of frustration and anticipated grief burned in her eyes.

"What if I want nothing of this trust, given to a mother I cannot remember?"

"You will always be a wolf, Firekeeper," the One Male
said. "Meet the two-legs. Learn of them. If you do not care for their
ways, come back to the pack. A wise wolf," he continued, quoting
another proverb, "scouts the prey, knows when to hunt, when to stay
away."

"If I did less," Firekeeper admitted, wiping the
tears away with the back of one hand, "I would be less than a wolf. Let
me begin by scouting the two-legs. When I have learned who leads, who
follows, then I will make myself known to them."

"Wise," the One Male said. "The thoughts of a wolf and the courage as well."

"Tell me where to find them," Firekeeper said,
rising. "Call my coming to our kin along the trail that they may guide
and protect me."

"I will . . ."

The One Male's words were interrupted by a husky
voice from the den's opening. An elegant head, pure silver, unmarred
with white or black, showed against the shadows.

"Go after tonight, Little Two-legs," said the One
Female. "Tonight I will bring out your new brothers and sisters so that
you may know them and they you. Then, fully of the pack, you may be
heartened for your task."

Overcome with joy, Firekeeper leapt straight into the air.

"Father, Mother, may I cry the pack together?"

"Do, Little Two-legs," said the One Female. "Loud and long, so that even the scouts come home. Call our family together."

"W
E PASS THROUGH
the
gap tomorrow," announced Race Forester as they gathered round the fire
after dinner that night. "Then, we will need to slow our progress. Earl
Kestrel . . ." he dipped his head in respectful acknowledgment, "has
collected reports from the trappers and peddlers who had contact with
Prince Barden. They all agree that he did not intend to go much further
than the first good site beyond the mountains. He wanted to be well
away from settled lands, but I suspect not so far that trade could not
be established later."

Derian, full, warm, and pleasantly weary, asked, "But no one has heard from him since he crossed the Iron Mountains?"

"No one who is admitting it," said Earl Kestrel.

From where Derian sat, the earl was just a solid,
hook-nosed shadow. He was not a big man. Indeed, he was quite small,
but as with the kestrel of his house name, small did not mean weak or
tame. The furious lash of his tongue when he was roused was to be as
feared as another man's fist— more so, to Derian's way of thinking. You
could outrun a bully, but never escape the wrath of a man of
consequence.

He wondered, then, if that had not been precisely
what Prince Barden of the House of the Eagle had been trying to do when
he left Hawk Haven for the unsettled lands beyond the barrier of the
Iron Mountains.

Prince Barden had been a third child and, by all
accounts, roundly unhappy about being so. Although King Tedric had his
heir and his spare, he resisted having his youngest son attempt any
independent venture. Enough for the king that Barden learn to sit a
horse, fight well enough for his class, and perhaps dabble in some
court tasks.

Perhaps when Crown Prince Chalmer had married and fathered a child or even when Princess Lovella was similarly
settled,
then Barden might finally have been superfluous enough to be permitted
his freedom. Or maybe not even then. King Tedric was said to be a very
domineering father.

Ironically, because Prince Barden had been the least
noticed and least dominated by his father, he was the most like the
king in temperament. Prince Barden decided he would not see his life
frittered away while waiting for his siblings to marry (a task, to be
fair to them, made more difficult in that King Tedric wanted a hand in
that choosing as well), to breed heirs, for his father to die. Thus,
Prince Barden began quietly laying plans for a venture of which his
father was certain to disapprove.

Sometimes Derian wondered at the younger prince's
ambitions. Himself an eldest son, Derian was all too aware of the
pressure of his parents' hopes and expectations. How much easier life
would be if they would just leave him alone! Oh, they were loving and
kind—nothing like King Tedric— but sometimes Derian thought he would
rebel if he heard one more "Derian, have you practiced your . . .
handwriting, riding, fencing . . ." The list was endless.

Even when he wasn't being set to his books, there
were quizzes. "Quick, son, tell me whose crest that is!" Or "Don't hold
your knife in that hand, Derian Carter. A gentleman holds it like so."
Lately even his dancing, which had made him the delight of the
womenfolk since he was old enough to leave the children's circles, had
come into question. "Don't skip so! More stately, more graceful!"

No doubt his parents had dreams of him rising into
the lower ranks of the nobility, perhaps by marriage to some
impoverished noble's plain daughter! Derian groaned inwardly at the
thought.
He
fancied the baker's pretty second daughter, the one with the round cheeks and the saucy smile.

Maybe, now that he considered it, he was more like
Prince Barden than he had thought. Both of them had found their
parents' expectations a bit more than they could take, but the
difference was that Prince Barden had defied his father. Quietly and
carefully he had gathered a cadre of men and women who, like himself,
longed for more than what Hawk Haven and her endless sparring with
Bright Bay could offer.

Only after the expedition was planned, supplied
(largely from King Tedric's own pocket—he didn't believe it good policy
to stint too greatly on his children's allowances), and on its way did
the king learn that Prince Barden, his wife, and his little daughter
had not stayed at their keep in the foothills of the Iron Mountains,
but had gone beyond the gap to the other side.

The steward of West Keep delivered the news himself,
bringing with him a letter from the prince. Barden's plan had been well
laid. Almost every lesser guard, groom, gardener, cook, or maidservant
at the keep had been of his party. The steward, left with only his core
group, had not dared pursue them and leave his trust untended.

By the time King Tedric learned of Prince Barden's
departure, attempting to drag him back would have been futile. Instead,
the king disowned his younger son, blotting his name from the books and
refusing to let it be spoken by any in court or country. However,
Derian knew, as did all the members of Earl Kestrel's expedition, that
even in his fury the king had left himself a loophole.

Lady Blysse, Barden's daughter, had not been blotted
from the records. She, if the need arose, could be named to the
succession. Prince Barden could even be named her regent if her
grandfather so wished. In those long-ago days, it had not seemed likely
that King Tedric would ever so wish.

But things change, and those changes were why Derian
Carter found himself one of six select men seated around a fire,
preparing to go through a mountain pass where, to their best knowledge,
no human had gone for twelve long years.

He shuddered deliciously at the thought of the
adventure before them and turned his attention again to the informal
conference around the fire. Earl Kestrel was finishing his diatribe
against those who might have defied King Tedric's wrath and made
profitable and secret trade with Prince Barden's group.

"It would be to their best interests," he said, "to never speak of their doings. Why risk royal censure?"

"Why," added his cousin Jared, "risk having to share a closed market?"

"Indeed," the earl agreed approvingly. "Forester, as
we move deeper into unknown territory, Barden's people may not take
such care to hide traces of their comings and goings. Keep a sharp eye
out for them."

"Ever, my lord," answered Race promptly and humbly.
Then, "My lord, when we find them," (he didn't say what he had said
frequently to Derian and Ox, that he thought Barden and his party all
dead or fled to some foreign country), "how shall we approach them?"

"We shall scout them," Earl Kestrel said, "from
hiding if possible. When we have ascertained their numbers and whether
Prince Barden is among them I will choose the manner of my approach. If
we find an abandoned settlement, then we shall remain long enough to
discover whether Prince Barden and his people are dead or if they have
merely moved elsewhere.

"Any information," he continued sanctimoniously, "will be of help and comfort to the king in his bereavement."

And you'll find a way to turn it to your advantage
, Derian thought sardonically.

That there was an advantage to be gained Derian did
not doubt—neither had his father and mother. This was why they had
insisted on Derian's accompanying Earl Kestrel as one of their
conditions for setting a good rate for pack mules, a couple of riding
horses, and a coach for the early stages of the journey.

As all Hawk Haven knew, King Tedric's paranoia
regarding heirs had proven well founded. Crown Prince Chalmer had died
as a result of a questionable hunting accident. His sister, Lovella,
the new crown princess, had died some years later in a battle against
pirates. Neither had left legitimate issue. Prince Chalmer had been
unmarried. Princess Lovella had been careful not to make that mistake,
but she had delayed bearing a child until she felt she wouldn't be
needed as a general.

Now, as King Tedric, still a fierce old eagle of a
man, aged, potential heirs buzzed about the throne. The genealogical
picture was so complex that Derian was still working out who had the
best claim. There was even a member of
the royal family of Bright Bay with factions agitating for King Tedric to name him heir.