Valdemar 11 - [Owl Mage 03] - Owlknight (33 page)

The river was
unbelievably
cold.

Darian gasped as he hit the water, shocked by the temperature. He rose spluttering to the surface, and struck out for the shore, but the shock had driven most of the air from his lungs, and he had to fight to get another full breath. Darian realized that it was the life-sapping cold that they had not figured into their calculations. In no time he was numb and shivering uncontrollably; it was hard to get air as the muscles of his chest clenched from the cold.

He was too busy watching out for Hywel, swimming and fighting for air to think; the swim was a nightmarish experience that required every fragment of his attention. His focus was split between Hywel thrashing along beside him and his own next breath, the next stroke of his arms, and kick of his legs.

Then he was on the other side; Steelmind and Keisha hauled him out onto the sloping shelf of stone. Beside him, Shandi and Wintersky pulled out Hywel. They both staggered to the land, and dropped to the ground, shivering and coughing.

But as soon as Darian could manage to
think,
despite gasping like a stunned fish, he seized the nearest ley-line and used the magic—unshielded—to create heat. Without the shielding, the spell created more heat. The
dyheli
crowded dose, steam rising from their coats, and the humans relaxed and stopped shivering. Hashi moved out of the way and shook himself vigorously, then trotted back into the zone of warmth. The heat made an enormous difference; as it soaked into them, and they stopped shivering, it was easier to catch their breaths, easier to regain lost strength. Steelmind returned with an armful of driftwood and twigs, quirked a smile as he realized what they were doing, then dropped the bundle in place to join the group.

It was while they were still drying off that Kuari hooted a warning from somewhere out of sight. Darian's head snapped up, and the
dyheli
snorted in alarm.

:Men coming!:
he told Darian.
:With bows!:

They all scrambled to their feet; Darian dismissed the spell and readied a trip-up, a variation on the first bit of magic he'd ever used in combat, to make people's feet stick to the ground just long enough to trip them. With their backs to the river, they waited for the strangers to approach—weapons to hand, but not at the ready.
Would
they approach, or would they slip up to the newcomers to their land? And if they did, would it be with intent to examine, or to ambush?

The warriors must have realized immediately that the strangers had been alerted to their presence, for they did not even try to approach unnoticed. They came openly, but very, very silently—by Northern standards.

Not by Tayledras standards. Darian, Steelmind, and Wintersky heard them long before they appeared among the trees; the crinkle of dead leaves, and the sharp snap of a twig betrayed them. The
dyheli
snapped their ears forward at each sound until the Northerners emerged from the forest, then they parted to show Kelvren lying at his ease in their midst.

The Northerners froze in mid-step, one by one, as soon as they saw the gryphon. They were clearly taken aback to see what to them must seem a monster lying like a pet dog beside the strangers.

Before anyone could move or speak, Hywel suddenly brightened and stepped forward. “Hiyo! Warriors of Gray Wolf, I greet you!” he said cheerfully. “I am Hywel, a warrior of Ghost Cat, and these are my friends, come to trade!”

That made all the difference. Some of the tension ebbed out of the group, and one of the warriors stepped forward.

“What, then, is—that?” asked the warrior, who boasted a headpiece made of a wolf's mask, with the rest of the fur serving as a cloak. He pointed to Kel, who stood up—slowly.

“I am Kelvrrren, a warrriorrr of the tribe of Sssilverrr Grrryphon; we arrre allied with Ghost Cat,” Kel said genially, and cupped his wings. The warrior of Gray Wolf looked dubious, but wasn't inclined to dispute the word of anything as large and dangerous-looking as the gryphon.

Finally, though, the Gray Wolf fighters came forward. Although the Gray Wolf tribesmen still walked carefully around Kel, giving him wary glances, it appeared that they were ready to give conditional welcome to everyone.

“What have you to trade?” asked one, looking at their saddlebags curiously.

“Dye,” said Hywel, and grinned. “Your women will bedeck you in colors of scarlet and blue, if you have amber or gold to trade for it.”

That got their interest; Northern men were even more color-mad than the women, if that was possible. Hywel extracted samples of thread dyed with Keisha's colors and passed them around, causing the stalwart warriors to croon like happy girls over the brilliant shades. That loosened the mood considerably, and when Hywel remarked casually that they were trying to find the Great Pass to get to the north and Raven tribe, one of them commented that it would be no great matter to show them the way. In fact, once roughly a candlemark had passed, they were ready to do what no other tribe thus far had been willing to do—they offered to guide the group to their own encampment.

“From thence, we will take you through the mountains to the Great Pass,” one of them said to Hywel. “If that will serve.”

“Good; Snow Fox told us that the Great Pass will lead us to Raven,” Hywel replied, as the others gathered up their baggage and the saddles that had been removed for drying and began tacking up the dyheli and Karles. Darian was very pleased with the way that Hywel was handling the contact, and had decided to leave him nominally “in charge” at least for now.

If Hywel hadn't been there, he might have hesitated in accepting the offer of Gray Wolf hospitality, but Hywel was perfectly confident with these folk. He even asked about specific individuals, and got answers—something that increased Darian's comfort level.

“And Shaman Rogare? Wisewoman Awhani?” Hywel continued with his interrogation as they took to their saddles and the whole cavalcade started out. “Have you had more trouble with the Summer Fever and Wasting Sickness, and have they learned of a cure?”

That certainly captured the Gray Wolf folks' attention ; the fellow who appeared to be the leader (with a headdress made of an entire wolf-head, skull and all, and a cloak of several wolf-skins), and who hitherto had held himself somewhat aloof, suddenly addressed Hywel directly.

“Is it true, then, that Ghost Cat has found the cure for the Wasting Sickness?” he asked sharply—and anxiously.

Hywel started to answer, thought better of it, and looked to Darian. Darian motioned to Keisha to come up to the front of the group, and replaced Hywel himself.

“Warrior of Gray Wolf, I am Dar‘ian k'Valdemar adopted of Ghost Cat, and it is among my people that Ghost Cat found their answer to the Wasting Sickness,” he said. “What is it that you would know?”

The eyes of the Northerners widened to hear him claim kinship with Ghost Cat, and to see Hywel nod to confirm his claim.

“You have a cure?” the warrior asked sharply, showing no sign of surprise that Darian knew his tongue.

Darian nodded to Keisha, who answered the warrior with no sign of fear.

“We have a cure
only
for the early stage of the sickness,” she said gravely. “Once the fever has fled the body, little more can be done—but we have the means of that cure with us, and will share it gladly.”

The warrior sighed; a mixture of relief and disappointment. “And are you, then, a Wisewoman?” he asked Keisha, with the aloof interest most Northerners gave to the female Healers—it was beneath their dignity to give females any notice outside of the home, but at the same time, the status of Wisewoman was nearly equivalent to that of Shaman.

“I am,” she acknowledged. “And the holy
dyheli
have decreed that I am to impart what cures we have to
your
Shaman and Wisewoman, if they are able to master those cures.”

The warrior nodded, then turned back to Darian, relieved that he no longer had to pay direct attention to Keisha. “I am Chulka, the chief hunter of Gray Wolf,” he told Darian. “You will be very welcome among our people, with such gifts to impart.”

The rest of the journey was made in silence, as the warriors of Gray Wolf spread out into the forest around them, leaving only one walking beside Hywel as his guide. The two young men—for the one that had been left was, if not Hywel's age, certainly very near to it—spoke with animation to each other. Darian didn't bother to try and listen, since it seemed to be mostly a mixture of boasts and hunting stories.

Darian knew that they were near the Gray Wolf camp when the warriors began appearing again, most carrying game, to close in around the strangers as a precaution against overreaction by their own folk. By the time they reached the encampment, there were curious children running alongside them, and women peering at them from the shelter of their bark-covered houses.

This was a temporary camp, not the kind of permanent village that Ghost Cat had established in Valdemar. Gray Wolf did very little in the way of husbandry, and as a consequence moved as they depleted the resources around their camp. In winter, they moved to a place where there were many caves that they used for storage and for living space during the cold months.

What they had here were movable shelters, made of flexible willow branches and covered with slabs of bark and pine boughs, intended to keep out rain, give a certain amount of privacy, and not much more than that. There were cook fires in front of each of these homes, with pots half-buried in the ashes, much like at Ghost Cat. The one striking difference between Gray Wolf and Ghost Cat was the presence of enormous dogs everywhere—huge, easy-tempered dogs who paid no attention whatsoever to the newcomers, even Hashi, who was about their size. Darian made a mental note to ask about the dogs later.

As was the case at Ghost Cat, the homes of the most important people in the encampment were nearest the center, so the Chief, the Shaman, and the Wisewoman had plenty of time to assemble to greet the visitors.

Their guide stepped back so that the chief hunter could make his introduction; Hywel introduced everyone, including the dyheli and kyree.

And Kel, of course.

Kel came to the fore of the group and bowed to the three leaders of the tribe. “Have no fearrr of me,” he said, with a serious and sober inflection in his voice. “And do not fearrr forrr the game herrreaboutsss. I ssshall hunt upon the oppossssite sssside of the rrrriverrrr.”

“That is good to hear,” the Chief replied, just as seriously. “But it is best of all to hear that our allies of Ghost Cat have prospered in their new home. So, friends of our friends, before there is any talk of trade—will you share salt with us?”

A bowl of salt was duly brought forward, and everyone tasted it ceremoniously, even Hashi and the dyheli. That ceremony was all it took to break down the last barriers; the Wisewoman and the Shaman immediately took Keisha aside to interrogate her; Shandi went with them, and Darian, Hywel, Steelmind, and Wintersky found themselves seated at the Men's Fire, taking turns describing the journey they had taken and the condition of the land they had traveled through.

“Truly—the rumors we have heard are not rumors at all, then, but truth,” the Chief said with unvarnished satisfaction. “Blood Bear is no more—having brought the Wasting Sickness upon us, they have finally sickened of it themselves. Had there been even a single war party, you would not have traveled past Magpie unmolested.”

The warrior with the wolf-mask headpiece spat. “All the better, say I,” he growled.

The others nodded.

“What rumors did you hear?” Darian asked, grimly curious to hear the details of the downfall of his oldest enemies, the people who had nearly destroyed Errold's Grove and who had succeeded in killing his first teacher.

“After their war band failed to return, they set to breeding sons on the orders of their new Shaman,” said the Chief, his expression grim. “Girl-babies they exposed, that their women waste no time upon them. They sent out parties to capture more women to breed more sons. Then the Wasting Sickness at last struck
them,
and their new Shaman had not the cure for it.”

“I heard that at the last, they had taken to sacrificing any who were stricken,” offered the chief hunter. “The warriors took to eating the flesh of those warriors who had fallen, to take on their extra strength after their death. And that the women began to run back to their own people.”

“And so—they are no more.” There was no doubt as to the satisfaction in the Chief's voice, a satisfaction that Darian shared completely.

But he did not permit himself to indulge in it; an old Shin‘a'in saying was that it was one thing to take pleasure in the defeat of an enemy, but gloating over it for very long made you no better than he.

“So,” he said, allowing himself a single smile. “Let us talk of more pleasant things. Permit me, Chief, to show you the colors that we have brought....”