Through Wolf's Eyes (44 page)

Although technically part of Hawk Haven, Hope had changed hands so frequently—even since the Civil War
ended
some hundred and five years before—that its residents viewed the entire
issue of citizenship with a cynical eye. If they felt a strong kinship
with any group they felt it for the citizens of Good Crossing, Hope's
sister city across the Barren River. There had been times when Good
Crossing, too, had been part of Hawk Haven, times when Hope had been
part of Bright Bay.

An even greyer area of loyalty was Bridgeton, a
massive stone bridge on which shops and even houses had been built.
Before the end of the Civil War, there had been a bridge here—the "good
crossing" for which the original town had been named. In the century
since the end of the war, the original bridge had been widened
repeatedly until the small midriver islands on which the pilings were
set had all but vanished.

Bridgeton was dominated by the Toll House in the
center. Although no attempt was made to stop river traffic, enough
commerce passed over Bridgeton's mighty span to keep it mended strong
and its coffers full. Neither monarchy had attempted to restrict
Bridgeton's business, for the bridge was ideal neutral ground for
negotiations. At less peaceful times, the army that commanded the span
also commanded the perfect place from which to police the river.

Prince Newell rather liked the locals' cynicism. Hope
and Good Crossing both were home to dubious segments of the population,
men and women who found a close, easily crossed border extremely
convenient. It was home to deserters, thieves, smugglers, practitioners
of doubtful customs, and just plain free spirits. The more law-abiding
citizenry—which were the majority—put up with the scoundrels because of
the money they brought in, and because people who had nowhere else to
go would accept taxation (a rarity elsewhere in Hawk Haven) and poor
treatment.

The law-abiding elements also delighted in the
economic benefits derived from the permanent army garrison on the
eastern fringes of the town. The army officers, aware that alienation
of the townspeople was a good way to find themselves fighting alone if
an invasion attempt was made, turned a blind eye to anything that did
not clearly threaten Hawk
Haven's border. In
return, the underworld regularly supplied information about troop
movements in Good Crossing and elsewhere in Bright Bay. It was an
arrangement that worked for all.

Not wishing his presence to be known quite yet,
Prince Newell had Rook arrange for rooms in the Silent Wench, a tavern
with many doors and a reputation for discretion. Although this
reputation was well earned, Newell took no risks. Both Rook and Keen,
his assistant, were ordered to disguise themselves and give false
names. Newell went the further step of never venturing out of the
tavern before sunset.

In many towns in both Hawk Haven and Bright Bay such
behavior would be either foolhardy or a guarantor of boredom. Hope was
not a typical town and with diplomatic contingents from the rival
nations converging upon it, even those rules it usually upheld were
broken.

Following a long day's sleep, sorely needed after
journeys on water and land, Newell Shield sauntered down to the
conveniently dim-lit tavern. He doubted that his own mother could
recognize him in this light, but nonetheless he kept a greasy leather
hat securely on his head, the wide brim shadowing his eyes. Slouching
in a corner booth, calling for food and drink in harsh accents, he
trusted that no one but Rook and Keen would know him for the widower
prince of Hawk Haven.

While he ate, he listened to the gossip, but the
Silent Wench was renowned for her discretion and those who stayed there
were not the type to give much away. Paying in guild tokens which Rook
had acquired back in the port and at Eagle's Nest, Prince Newell
ventured into the night. A soft cough from the shadows told him that
Keen trailed him, but Newell looked neither right nor left.

Keen was a round-faced, slightly soft-looking man in
his late twenties. By preference, he wore his straight brown hair loose
to his shoulders and cut blunt across his brow rather than pulled back
in a fashionable queue. Keen's close-cut beard had the same glossy
sheen as an animal's coat and his large, brown eyes seemed guileless
and gentle. That was all deception. Violence brewed beneath that
innocent gaze, as
more than one woman lured into Keen's bed had discovered. Newell found him very useful.

Those who walked alone through the streets of Hope at
night were either drunks or fools or very confident of their own
strength. Newell clearly did not belong to either of the first two
categories and so no one bothered him.

He strolled along, noting that the Night Roost Inn
displayed the scarlet eagle of the Hawk Haven royal family. Here, then,
stayed the advance guard for the king. The laughter he heard through
the taproom's open window was doubtless that of their guests, locals
wined and dined to make them glad to grant favors on their monarch's
behalf.

It took Newell longer to find Stonehold's presence,
for although Stonehold was no more at war with Hawk Haven than was
Bright Bay, when there had been war, Stonehold had regularly supported
Hawk Haven's rival. Discretion regarding their representative's
presence in Hope was wise, for only the most open-minded could believe
that it would be to Hawk Haven's benefit. But Newell found the
Stoneholders by snooping among stables and kitchen yards, swapping tall
tales with burly men with soldiers' bearing yet conspicuously out of
uniform. Many were deserters or mercenaries, but at last he found those
whose telltale accents gave their origin away.

Having found Stonehold, it didn't take more than
another hour to find those who were spying for Bright Bay. These hid
their accents, refrained from the nautical jargon with which even the
most inland-dwelling salted their language, and dressed as neutrally as
he did himself. They were ready with their money, buying drinks and
food, encouraging conjecture and speculation in the hope of learning
something to their advantage.

Though Newell drank wine and ale as offered, tonight
he said nothing beyond commenting on the weather or the quality of the
local vintages. Tonight he was taking the pulse of the situation and
finding it racing. Humming to himself, just slightly drunk, he ambled
back to his room at the Silent Wench.

T
HE FIRST NEWS
that
King Tedric's party received when they arrived outside Hope before noon
on the fifth day of travel was that Bright Bay's contingent was not
expected in Good Crossing until late the next evening. This advantage
of a day and a half did not mean that there wasn't plenty to do.

King Tedric, along with his closest advisors and
personal staff, would stay within the permanent fort to the east of
Hope: the Fortress of the Watchful Eye. Although the great stone-walled
structure could contain more, the king told his commanders to set up in
the surrounding open zone surrounding the fortress. No one complained,
for the late-summer weather, though sometimes muggy for marching, had
been so clement that camping was a pleasure.

Earl Kestrel ordered that his personal encampment be
set up at the fringes of the field, on the side nearest the cultivated
areas. Part of his reason was a desire to keep Blind Seer away from the
bulk of the army, part because the cavalry companies were stationed on
the other fringe, near to the river where the horses could be watered
with ease. The earl's light mount, Coal, had joined Roanne, Patience,
and Dusty in grudgingly accepting the wolf and thus Norvin could skirt
the larger army encampment and ride between his areas of responsibility
with relative ease.

Derian was assisting Valet and Ox with setting up
tents when Race Forester arrived. More than willing to show off his
skills to those who could appreciate them, Race had accepted a
temporary scout's commission, reporting directly to Earl Kestrel. He
looked good in the brown trousers and green shirt of the scouts, the
Kestrel arms—a shield divided top to bottom into narrow blue and red
bands, blazoned with a gold hunting horn—over his heart.

Race's ego had not been hurt at all during his association
with the scouts and he was swaggering a bit when he joined the others, evidently bristling with gossip.

"Lend a hand," Ox said with the good humor that rarely left him, "and tell us what you've learned."

Race grinned and grabbed a tent pole. "Half of Hope's
folk already believe they know why we're here. The other half claims
not to care. My gossips say differently, that Hope is glad to have us
here. Whatever happens with the negotiations, they expect to come out
the victors. The wine and ale merchants have been importing from
anywhere they can get it, anticipating that once the troops are in
place commerce will be slowed."

"As it will be," Ox said. His back muscles bulged as
he hauled the earl's pavilion onto its frame. "Before Earl Kestrel
dismissed me this afternoon—saying with his usual kindness that he'd be
in meetings until sunset and there was no need for me to just stand
about—I heard enough about security precautions to know that no one is
getting near any place King Tedric will be without careful searching."

"Well," Race commented, "tonight will be the last
night without rules. The army commanders have permission to release up
to two-thirds of their troops for a night on the town. Those who
volunteer to stay back will get bonus pay."

"We're not eligible for that," Ox said, pointing at
Valet and Derian with his bearded chin, his hands being full, "as we're
personal retainers. Are you for a night out or bonus pay?"

Race shrugged. "I haven't decided. I thought I'd learn if Earl Kestrel has any preferences."

Pausing in his own work, Derian glanced skyward,
located Elation soaring on the warm winds, and knew that Firekeeper was
safe. He'd gradually come to rely on the peregrine for such signals and
suspected that they were offered deliberately, that the bird knew how
difficult it was for him to track the wolf-woman and was assisting him.

Despite how he had defended Blind Seer's intelligence
to his mother, the thought made him uneasy, as if he were standing
outside of a door into a new world. If he accepted that a falcon was
voluntarily helping him do his job, he must
accept
that many things he had thought simply old tales just might be true. If
you accepted beasts that were as intelligent as humans, then were the
horrors and wonders told of in some of the other stories far away?

Idly, Derian waved one hand in greeting and was certain he saw Elation dip wing in acknowledgment. To distract himself he said:

"I suppose the negotiations themselves will be held on Bridgeton?"

Race nodded. "That's right. Advance parties agreed to
that easily enough. They'll be using the Toll House and traffic under
Bridgeton itself is being halted entirely during the meetings."

"I bet the guilds love that!" Derian whistled. "And what is being done about the shops and residences on Bridgeton itself?"

"On our side," Race said, raising his eyebrows
eloquently on the word "our," "advance negotiations have succeeded in
renting space on rooftops and in front of shops. I understand they
tried to get everyone to agree to shut down, but the guilds were having
none of it. I expect that Bright Bay did no better."

Ox grumbled, "Two towns—three if you count
Bridge-ton—united in nothing but their desire to oppose the forces that
surround them."

Valet said softly from where he was stirring the fire, looking for embers to heat his iron:

"And I, for one, don't believe for a moment that
they're not interested in these negotiations. If ever Bright Bay and
Hawk Haven make peace, the first casualty will be this arrogant trio.
We must not forget that."

Race stared at him in amazement, then said, "Valet, you don't say much, but when you do, you sure say a mouthful."