Through Wolf's Eyes (7 page)

Accustomed to such jests, Firekeeper sprang on him,
forgetting stealth in the joy of the puppy game. Only when they heard
the shrill huffs and screams of the not-elk, the shouts of the
two-legs, did they think about the consequences of their actions.

"Oh, well," said Blind Seer, mouthing her arm
affectionately as they sat up on the leafy ground. "We have frightened
them. Let us hunt, then go ahead to where they go. There is no need for
this slow progress when we know the trail's end."

"I agree," Firekeeper said. "The not-elk have our
scent now and the two-legs will move more slowly if their pack mates
are afraid. I want to see what will happen when they find the Burnt
Place."

"The beasts are quiet now," Blind Seer observed.

"Then away with us."

They melted silently into the brush and were well
away before Jared Surcliffe, coming with great trepidation to
investigate the commotion, found their watching place and gathered from
a low-slung briar a grey hank of wolf's fur.

D
ERIAN
C
ARTER WAS IRRATIONALLY RELIEVED
when they caught up with Ox and Race. Irrational because this glade was
no safer than any other place, but relieved nonetheless because his
nerves were still on edge from the ferocious snarling and growling that
had broken the woodland peace a few hours before.

Not that he was afraid of the wolves—or whatever the
noise had been. In fact, he'd been amusing himself by imagining his
return home wearing a wolf-skin cloak.
"This?"
he'd say to Heather, the baker's daughter.
"Oh,
I slew it when it attacked the horses. Mad as the Ravening Beast of
Garwood, so our guide said. It had been trailing us for days. We'd hear
it howling at night, slavering for our flesh . . ."

He had the story all scripted out, so carefully
refined that sometimes he had to remind himself that the encounter
hadn't taken place. Still, he'd been glad enough when the earl had
decided to increase their pace.

Earl Kestrel's reason for wanting speed hadn't been
fear. It had been eagerness. Race's horn blast had signaled that he and
Ox had found something. It couldn't be the prince's settlement—in that
case, signaling was strictly forbidden lest it ruin the earl's
opportunities for an advantageous approach—but it was something.

Now Derian looked around the open meadow wondering
just what Race Forester had found and what it would mean to their
quest. However, until the horses and mules were untacked and groomed,
he wouldn't be free to join the conference.

As a compromise between duty and curiosity, Derian moved to where he could eavesdrop.

"Yes, Race," Earl Kestrel was saying. "Evidently
there was a settlement of some size here. Now that you point it out, I
see where the palisade must have been. Those mounds
of vines and suchlike, those must have been buildings."

"Yes, my lord," Race replied. "Fire did for the place
pretty thoroughly, but until we do some digging we can't tell if the
fire came before or after the people left."

"How can we tell?" called Ox from where he was helping Valet pitch the earl's tent.

"By what's left behind," Race said. "If we find most
of their goods or bones, then we must face that the fire happened when
they were here. Graves, too. Survivors would have buried their dead
before moving on or left some sort of marker."

"To do less," Jared agreed from where he was tending the cook fire, "would be an insult to the spirits of the departed."

Derian nodded thoughtful agreement. Ancestors were
the means by which the living petitioned the natural world. Even if the
dead had no blood kin among the living, they still would be the
ancestors of the settlement group, meant to be revered even as Hawk
Haven still shared with King Tedric and his family reverence for the
spirit of Zorana Shield, who had won the kingdom its freedom following
the Years of Abandonment.

Since the discussion had become general, he asked:

"Will we start looking for signs while we still have light?"

"No, Derian," Earl Kestrel replied. "Long enough has
passed for vines and young trees to sprout from the houses. Almost
certainly, the settlers dug cellars and wells. We do not want to
stumble into these in twilight. Tether the horses well away from the
ruins of the palisade and check for anything that might harm them."

"Yes, sir. And, my lord?"

"Yes?"

"If we're going to remain here some days, we should
make a corral for the horses and mules. Pickets can be ripped up when
the ground is soft like this and I dislike the idea of tying them when
there are wolves about."

"Good thought. Will hobbles do?"

"For some, perhaps, but not all."

"Very well. Tomorrow, you can begin constructing a corral. I want Ox for the excavation."

"Yes, my lord."

Mentally, Derian kicked himself for making more work;
then he kicked himself again for acting like a child. Taking care of
the mounts and pack animals was his responsibility and he had done a
good job so far, hadn't lost a single beast. Let the earl and the
others dig through the ruins and make the great discoveries.

Suddenly he cheered up.

That way they'd be the ones to disturb any angry spirits.

T
HE MORNING AFTER THEIR ARRIVAL
at the Burnt Place, the two-legs began rooting about like young beavers
with an undammed stream or bears scenting a honeycomb in a hollow tree.

Firekeeper had admired how quickly they had rebuilt
their portable dens and created a little nesting place for themselves
at the edge of the meadow. However, when Fox Hair began his day felling
small trees and piling them on each other, she was completely puzzled.

Elation clarified his actions for her.

"They plan to stay awhile," she shrieked. Then more
calmly, "The fallen trees will cage their riding beasts so they do not
stray. Fox Hair is their keeper."

"Oh." Firekeeper was confused; then she thought of an
analogy. "Just as a young wolf acts as nursemaid to the pups. I
understand. I did think he was junior among them, for all that he is so
big."

"And the others," Blind Seer asked with a lazy yawn, "those who root in the heart of the Burnt Place. What are they making?"

"Nothing," Firekeeper replied with certainty. "They
are looking for traces of those who once denned there. Didn't Elation
tell us that they sought them?"

"True enough." Blind Seer yawned again. "I will sleep while they dig. Wake me if you have need."

"I will," she promised, her gaze drawn irresistibly back to the two-legs.

Today Firekeeper climbed a towering evergreen which
oozed strongly scented sap onto her hands and feet. She would have
preferred an oak or maple, but their pale green, still growing leaves
offered little concealment.

Hidden by the thick, dark green needles, Firekeeper had a clear view of all that went on below. Elation perched nearby.

Sometimes the falcon was able to clarify some
incomprehensible behavior; sometimes she admitted herself as confused
as the wolf. Sometimes, when the scene below became tedious, she dozed
or hunted mice.

Even though the two-legs kept watch around them, they
never looked up, never saw the watchers. Firekeeper didn't hold this
against them. When she remained still there was nothing to be seen.
When she climbed higher or lower, she was careful to wiggle the
branches no more than a squirrel might. Moreover, there was a stream
between her tree and the Burnt Place. As none of the two-legs or their
animals had crossed this natural barrier, none caught her scent on the
ground.

That night she climbed down to join Blind Seer,
careful this time to keep their greetings relatively quiet. The
two-legs had gathered round their fire and she could hear the rise and
fall of their voices as they discussed something—quite likely the
results of their day's hunting.

She wished she could understand them, but the sounds
they made meant less to her than the hoots of the owls awakening for
the night or the sleepy chirps of the day birds settling in to sleep.

B
Y THE TIME DARKNESS FELL
that night, all the expedition was subdued and depressed. Race had
pulled out his flute, planning to play for them as he had many nights
along the trail, but the instrument dangled unused between his fingers.
Even one day's excavation had provided evidence that at least some of
Prince Barden's expedition, if not all, had died in this place.

"Human bones," Ox said heavily. "No doubt about it.
Even if there was doubt, little things confirm that the settlement
wasn't systematically evacuated."

"Little things?" Derian asked. He didn't remember ever seeing the big man so depressed.

"Pots scattered where they fell," Ox explained, "a
tool kit, a sword with bits of the scabbard burnt hard around it.
Things they would have taken with them if they were merely resettling
elsewhere."

Race glanced at Earl Kestrel. "We could do some systematic salvage work here."

"Looting, you mean!" the nobleman said sharply. "No!
There will be nothing of the kind. Cousin Jared, to what society did
your parents give you when you were born?"

"The Eagle," Jared replied uncomfortably.

Derian wondered at Doc's apparent embarrassment, then
realized that by giving their son to the society patronized by the
royal house, Jared Surcliffe's parents had been openly soliciting royal
favor. That would be an embarrassment for a man who took such obvious
delight in making his way through his own skills.

"I thought that was what I recalled." Earl Kestrel
nodded somberly, apparently immune to his relative's embarrassment.
"Eagle joins heaven and earth with his flight; therefore you will take
charge of the funeral rites for those who died here. Also, if anyone
can be identified, you will keep records of the proof."

Doc lowered his head in acquiescence, but there was a frown visible on his lips.

No wonder,
Derian thought.
What the earl means is: "You will do your best to discover if Prince Barden is among the
dead." How does he expect Doc to learn that from old charred bones?

Surcliffe voiced some of the same doubt. "I will try,
cousin, but unless the body was miraculously preserved or wears on its
bones some bit of jewelry or insignia that has survived the fire, the
best I can do is count skulls and pieces of skulls and hope to guess
how many died here."

"Very well," Earl Kestrel said heavily. "Men, retrieve not only bones but also anything that might have belonged to the owner."

Race Forester was obviously unhappy about this
situation. "I didn't hire on to dig up people's bones," he muttered,
almost, but not quite, mutinous.

"I hired you to help me find the missing prince,"
Kestrel replied sharply, "but if you are afraid of digging, you can do
Derian's work with the horses and keeping the camp. Derian, consider
yourself reassigned!"

"Yes, my lord!"