Through Wolf's Eyes (49 page)

"I can't!"

"The doe dies for nothing?"

"Let the wolves eat her!"

"Why them and not you? Why are you less worthy of life?"

"I . . ."

"Drink! The heat and liquid will do you well. You are nearly starved from your stubbornness."

"Let the wolves have her!"

"Foolish human! Very well! If the wolves are to have
her,
if the wolves are to live, then I name you a wolf. Be a wolf. Forget
that ever you were human. Your heart is a wolf's, your appetite a
wolf's, your memory a wolf's. Strange wolf you may be, but if only a
wolf may live, then you must be one!"

Hot blood, slowing to a trickle. The wolf dips
her human head, laps at the stuff, sucks deeply, finds an appetite for
life in the blood. Chews hungrily at the still-warm flesh, finds
strength for living. Only when she is sated does she stop growling the
others back from her right. Only then do her parents call the rest of
the pack to share the bounty.

When they are finished, there is doe no longer,
not even bones, for these have been cracked for their marrow and the
splintered segments chewed into dust. A single doe isn't much to the
hunger of a wolf pack. Before the night is over, they will hunt again,
a two-legged wolf running beside them, eager now to be in on the kill.

A
FTER THREE DAYS' RESIDENCE IN HOPE
,
Prince Newell Shield flattered himself that he understood the budding
political situation better than any of the central players. Although a
century of sporadic warfare following hard upon the chaos of civil war
had brewed hatreds between Bright Bay and Hawk Haven, largely these
were personal—hatreds for the ugly deeds done in battle or of one
person for another—not the terrible abstract fear and horror with which
both night fears and some enemies were regarded.

Perhaps this was because legends of the Old Country
monarchs who wore crowns carved from skulls and wielded scepters worked
from human thighbones remained fresh—real enough to raise thrills of
terror when some old grand could say, "It was in my own grandmother's
day that this was so," and be right.

Perhaps this lack of hatred was because the goal of
these battles, skirmishes, and frays had always been reunification, not
conquest. When monarchs strove to bring the errant sheep back into the
fold, they could not resort to the rhetoric of hatred and alienation
lest this raise doubts in their people's minds as to the wisdom of
reunification. With eager predators prowling on the fringes, neither
Bright Bay nor Hawk Haven could risk razed countryside and slaughter of
local inhabitants. Too easily then would the conqueror find itself
in danger of conquest as it sought to solidify its expanded holdings.

Did anyone but himself realize that those who feared
and hated were the very allies who supported one side or the other
while really supporting none but themselves?

Prince Newell sniggered into his pewter tankard of
ale. Blind! Blind! That was what both Tedric and Gustin IV were. As
their predecessors had done, they accepted aid from nations who in
their most secret hearts desired not their allies' success but their
failure.

Still laughing quietly to himself, Newell rubbed his
fingers along his temples, delighting in the clarity of his vision. He,
he alone had wisdom! The rest were as blinkered horses dragging their
burdens through crowded city streets, as sheep who blindly followed the
slaughterhouse goat to their own deaths!

Should such willfully ignorant creatures have the
rulership over thousands of souls? Ancestors, refuse! He knew his duty
and had already taken steps to achieve a position from which to carry
it out.

First there must be newly awakened doubt between the
various factions for Hawk Haven's crown. He had hoped that Sapphire
Shield's death would do the trick. The men Keen had hired to follow her
and Jet had been told to make it appear that an animal had savaged her.
Ostensibly this had been to draw suspicion away from human hands—Keen
had been posing as a love-maddened, rejected suitor when he contracted
the thugs' services.

Needless to say, there had been a better reason for
such theatrics. Newell himself had intended—if no one else arrived at
the conclusion—to hesitantly suggest that young Lady Blysse had
murdered the one regarded by many as her greatest rival for the throne.
Blysse's habit of slipping off into the night was well known by now.
Not even her faithful lackey Derian Carter would be believed if he
swore that he knew where she was every hour. His laxness regarding her
had been commented on, even by those who knew that Blysse had the
king's favor.

Sapphire's death should have weakened Blysse's support
as
well as eliminating one of Newell's own rivals. He was still
disappointed that the thugs had bungled. Keen, however, had made
certain that they would not live to tell tales.

After going bail for the two survivors—not a
difficult a thing to do in Hope, where the local authorities did not
wish to seem to care more about assault on a noblewoman than on a
commoner—Keen had murdered the men and tossed their bodies into the
Barren River. If any wondered about the deaths, they should end up
thinking that one of Sapphire's legion of admirers had done the deed.
Newell would make certain they thought so even if they didn't on their
own.

Although he had been less than successful in the
first part of his plan, Prince Newell was progressing with the second
part. This was to make at least one of the allies betray that its
deepest loyalties were to none but itself. After consideration, he had
elected Stonehold for this role for the logical reason that it was
Bright Bay's ally, not Hawk Haven's. For now Hawk Haven provided the
foundation for Newell's own prestige and influence. He did not care to
weaken that, though neither Waterland nor New Kelvin were any more
honest in their motives for alliance.

For the third part of his plan to work there must be
conflict that would bring the prince shining to the fore. Newell
fancied a battle would do the trick, one wherein Stonehold would show
its true colors. Perhaps weakened by loss of their ally, Bright Bay
would join forces with Hawk Haven. Alternatively, the battle could take
place between three armies. In either case, Hawk Haven's army should
come forth victorious—they must, for they alone would be unweakened by
the defection of a traitorous ally.

And in that battle Prince Newell planned to lead. His
would be the great deeds. Based upon them, he would be hailed the new
king of Hawk Haven by popular acclaim. Rook and Keen were already
sounding out the gathered armies for those soldiers who could be easily
bribed or influenced to shout Newell's praises loudly—and at the proper
moment.

Among the many deserters who resided in Hope and Good
Crossing
there were those who could be bought and instructed to insert
themselves among the troops when added numbers would be welcomed, not
questioned. Their voices would shout loudly for Prince Newell, for he
would promise them pardon and honor. With the army firmly behind him
and the added weight of his own noble title, none would dare resist him.

Then graciously would Prince Newell offer the
conquered (or newly weakened) Bright Bay a chance to come under his
sweeping wing. He smiled, imagining the meeting with lovely Gustin IV,
perhaps grief-stricken from her husband's sudden death. Surely he could
arrange that little detail if it seemed meet. If Queen Gustin suspected
assassination, so much the better, for then she would fear him and the
power he wielded off the battlefield.

There was, of course, the small problem that King
Tedric still lived and must continue to live until the very day of the
battle in question. The mad old man had secured his succession while
leaving his prospective heirs spatting. All to the good for Prince
Newell, for united in their distrust of each other they would not look
to him as a rival. Once Newell was the hero of war and peace a mere
name scribbled by a quivering hand on a piece of parchment would not
bear the weight of his deeds.

But King Tedric must not die too soon.

The sound of a cautiously cleared throat brought Newell from his revery.

"Master," murmured Rook, "all is prepared for your
departure. Keen is sweating the horses even now. Rumor has confirmed
that the two diplomatic parties will meet at a reception in Bridgeton
this very evening—a reception hosted by the citizens of Hope and Good
Crossing."

Newell's lips curved in a cruel smile at this news,
for he was the one who had inserted such an idea into the minds of the
Guild Heads and other influential residents of the twin towns. It had
been easy enough to join the fringes of their meetings, for they
usually met in public houses. It had been easy enough to make a
suggestion from some shadowed corner
of a crowded room, even easier to play upon the emotions of the ambitious or fearful.

The prince doubted that even now any of those who
were busy supervising the decoration of the Toll House's central
courtyard—watching as trays of sweets and meat pasties or kegs of wine
and ale were set into place—were in the least aware that the idea to so
subtly emphasize Good Crossing and Hope's own power was not solely
their own.

"Very well." Prince Newell rose, drawing up his hood
to hide his features. It would not do to become careless when the game
was nearly won. "Let us go. I believe I shall call upon my
father-in-law before the festivities begin. I am certain that he will
want me at the reception to support him in this time of trial."

"Who else can he trust?" Rook answered seriously, but
a wicked gleam in his bright eyes belied that sincerity. "Who else
among our noble king's contentious court has only the best interests of
the nation at heart?"

Laughing then, arm in arm like two roisterers who had
supped too deeply of an afternoon, they stumbled from the tavern. None
noted their going but the barmaid who gathered up the coins left in
payment for their drinks; none even thought of them thereafter.
Certainly none equated the one who laughed hardest with the
salt-stained and road-dust-coated prince who rode into the Hawk Haven
encampment late that afternoon on a tired horse, his entourage only a
single servant, so great had been his eagerness to reach his
father-in-law's side at this time of crisis.

F
IREKEEPER WAS DRAWN FROM
happy dreams of her childhood by Derian's voice saying things she had long dreaded to hear:

"Rise and shine, Firekeeper. Formal attire for the reception
tonight. Earl Kestrel expressly told me to make certain to scrub your feet."

Dragging herself from joyful participation in a full
pack hunt, Firekeeper reluctantly rolled over. Late-afternoon sunlight
was spilling down through the oak leaves. Absently, she noticed that
the edges of some of the leaves were turning orange and yellow. Despite
the present heat, the trees knew that autumn was coming.

Feeling a bit like one of those trees herself, Firekeeper pulled herself to her feet.

"I have never slept so before,"
she commented to Blind Seer.
"I didn't even hear old heavy-foot Fox Hair coming."

"I heard him,"
the wolf reassured her,
"and knew his step. Otherwise, I would have awakened you."

Elation whistled in shrill laughter and launched into
the sky. Waving to the bird in thanks, Derian looked at Firekeeper with
what the wolf-woman now recognized as an affectionate grin on his face.

"Stop growling and groaning," he said. "You've bathed
daily, I know, but a good scrub won't do you any harm. Valet has a
kettle on over the fire and we've permission to use Earl Kestrel's
pavilion for your ablutions. I've even bought you some lavender scent."

Firekeeper bristled. Among the human customs she
couldn't understand was that of covering one's own perfectly good scent
with something derived from some tree or shrub.

Derian laughed. "You don't have to use it if you don't want to. I'm certain Ninette or Lady Elise would be happy to have it."

"You think I should?" she asked, brushing leaves from her hair. "Wear scent? Will Earl Kestrel be happier?"

"He might be," Derian allowed.

"Then I wear," she said, adding hastily, "a little only."

Derian clapped her on the shoulder. "You're becoming a real lady, Firekeeper."

Remembering Elise's lecture on social graces,
Firekeeper was quite pleased. She was sitting on one of the campstools
in Earl Kestrel's tent, scrubbing the black from her bare feet with a
boar-bristle brush, when Elation's shrill cry announced
that
Lady Elise was coming, accompanied by Ninette. A few moments later,
Elise herself was raising the tent flap and requesting entry.