Wolf-speaker (4 page)

High overhead glided three creatures with
human heads and chests, and great, spreading wings and claws. Daine knew from bitter experience that their birdlike limbs were steel, wrought to look like genuine feathers and claws. In sunlight they could angle those feathers to blind their enemies. They were battlefield creatures, living in human legend as monsters who dishonored the dead. Eyes cold, she aimed at the largest of the three.

Numair put a hand on her arm. “Try to keep an open mind, magelet,” he whispered. “They haven't attacked us.”

“Yet,” she hissed.

Brokefang looked back to see what was wrong, and saw what they were looking at. These are harriers, he said. They help the soldiers and the mages.

Daine relayed this to Numair as the wolves moved on, to wait for them in the trees on the other side of the clearing.

“Stormwings that work in conjunction with humans,” the man commented softly. “That sounds like Emperor Ozorne's work.” The emperor of the southern kingdom of Carthak was a mage who seemed to have a special relationship with minor immortals, and with Stormwings in particular. Some, Numair included, thought it was Ozorne's doing that had freed so many immortals from the Divine Realms in the first place. He had his eye on Tortall's wealth, and many thought he meant to
attack when the country's defenders were worn out from battling immortals.

“Now can I shoot them?” Daine wanted to know.

“You may not. They still have done nothing to harm us.”

The Stormwings flew off. Vexed with her friend, Daine fumed and waited until she could no longer sense the immortals before leading the way onto the trail once more. They were halfway across the open space when Numair stopped, frowning at a large, blackened crater down the slope from them. “That's not a natural occurrence,” he remarked, and walked toward it.

“This isn't the time to explore!” Daine hissed. If he heard, he gave no sign of it. With a sigh the girl told the horses to move on. “The wolves won't touch you,” she said when Spots wavered. “Now go!”

Follow me, Cloud told the horses; they obeyed. Daine, with Kitten peering wide-eyed over her shoulder, followed Numair.

Blackened earth sprayed from the crater's center. Other things were charred as well: bones, round metal circles that had been shields before the leather covers burned, trees, axheads, arrowheads, swords. The heat that had done this must have been intense. The clay of the mountainside had glazed in spots,
coating the ground with a hard surface that captured what was left of this battle scene.

Numair bent over a blackened lump and pulled it apart. Daine looked at a mass of bone close to her, and saw it was a pony's skeleton. Metal pieces from the dead mount's tack had fallen in among the bones. Looking around, she counted other dead mounts. The smaller bone heaps belonged to human beings.

Grimly Numair faced her and held up his find. Blackened, half-burned, in tatters, it was a piece of cloth with a red horse rearing on a gold-brown field. “Now we know what happened to the Ninth Rider Group.”

Daine's hands trembled with fury. She had a great many ties to the Queen's Riders, and the sight of that charred flag was enough to break her heart. “And you stopped me from shooting those Stormwings.”

“They don't kill with blasting fire like this,” Numair replied. “This is battle magic. I have yet to hear of a Stormwing being a war mage.”

“I bet they knew about this, though.”

Numair put a hand on her shoulder. “You're too young to be so closed-minded,” he told her. “A little tolerance wouldn't come amiss.” Folding the remains of the flag, he climbed back up to the trail.

TWO

THE VALLEY OF THE LONG LAKE

Three days after leaving the cave, the wolf pack led the humans and their ponies through a gap in the mountains. At its deepest point they found a spring, where they ate lunch; from there they followed a stream downhill, until Brokefang stopped.

You must look at something, he told Daine. Leave the horses by that rock—they will be safe there, with the rest of the pack to guard them.

Daine, with Kitten on her back in a sling, and Numair followed him up a long tumble of rock slabs. When they came to the top, they could see for miles. Far below was the Long Lake. Daine noticed a village where a small river—part of the stream they had followed—met the lake. Not far offshore, linked to the village by a bridge, was an island capped by a large, well-built castle.

Numair drew his spyglass from its case. Stretching it to full length, he put it to his eye and surveyed the valley.

What is that? asked the wolf, watching him.

“It's a glass in a tube,” Daine replied. “It makes things that are far away seem closer.”

“This is Fief Dunlath, without a doubt.” Numair offered the spyglass to Daine. “I can't see the northern reaches of the lake from here. Is that where the damage is being done? The holes and the tree cutting?”

Most of it, Brokefang replied. That and dens for the soldiers, like those they have at the south gate.

“Soldiers at the northern
and
southern ends of the valley?” asked Daine. “Then why not here, if they want to put watchdogs at the passes?”

Most two-leggers follow the river in and out, answered Brokefang. Few come here as we did. When they do, usually the harriers catch them outside, as they did those Riders you spoke of.

Numair listened as Daine translated. “This is not good,” he muttered, squinting at Dunlath Castle. “There is no reason for this fief to be heavily guarded. Under law they're only entitled to a force of forty men-at-arms….May I see that again?” He held out a hand, and Daine returned the glass.

They continued to examine the valley until Brokefang said, Come. We have a way to go still. Let us find the meeting place, and my mate.

Daine and Numair followed the wolf back to the spot where they had left the horses. A strange
wolf had joined the others, a gray-and-white female with a boldly marked face. Brokefang raced to meet her, tail erect and wagging gaily.

“Well, he's glad to see this one,” Numair remarked as they followed more slowly. “Who's the stranger?”

“His mate, Frostfur. The boss female.”

Where were you? Frostfur was demanding of Brokefang. What took so long? You said you were going only to the other side of the mountain and you have been gone four nights.

Daine sighed. She'd forgotten how much she disliked Frostfur. During her time with the pack, Rattail had been Brokefang's mate. A sweeter, gentler wolf Daine had never met. After her death, Brokefang had chosen her sister. The new female pack leader was a cross, fidgety animal who had never accepted Daine.

We were traveling with two-leggers and horses, Brokefang told his mate. They can't run as fast as we can.

The only two-legger you need is
her
. Why didn't you leave those others behind? We can hunt if we are hungry. We don't need food brought to us, like the humans' dogs.

At this Cloud, who stood between Frostfur and the horses, laid back her ears. Kitten reared up in her sling, bracing her forepaws on Daine's shoulder, and screeched at the she-wolf. Daine was shocked to
hear her friend voice something that sounded so rude. Frostfur looked at them and bared her teeth.

“Enough!” the girl ordered. “We're friends. That means you, Frostfur, and these horses. If you disobey, you'll be sorry.”

Frostfur met her eyes, then looked away. You are different, the wolf said. You and the pony both. I suppose you don't even realize it. The pack never was the same after you left it. How much will you change us this time?

Brokefang nuzzled his mate. It will be good, he told Frostfur. You'll see. Take us to the pups. You'll feel better when the pack is one again.

Without reply, Frostfur ran down a trail that led north. The wolves and their guests followed. The path took them on a line that ran parallel to the lake. For a game trail it was wide and, if the tracks and marks on the trees and shrubs were to be believed, used by many animals, not only wolves.

“Mountain sheep,” Daine commented, showing Numair a tuft of white fur that had caught on a bramble. “A wolverine, too—keep an eye out for that one. They're nasty when they're crossed.” Looking up the trail, she saw each of the wolves stop to lift a leg on a pile of meat. Even the females did so, which was odd. Marking territory was normally done only by males. “Graveyard Hag, what are they doing?” she asked, naming one of Numair's gods. She trotted to the head of the line. “What is
this?” she asked. “What's wrong with the meat?”

Brokefang replied, One of the two-leggers is a hunter of wolves. He leaves poisoned meat on our trails. We are telling him what we think of this. When he comes to check the meat, he will curse and throw things. It is fun to watch.

Daine laughed, and went to explain it to Numair.

They made several stops to express such opinions: twice at snares, once at a trap, and once at a pit covered with leaves and branches. Each time the wolves marked the spot with urine and dung, leaving a smelly mess for the hunter. At the last two stops, the horses and Cloud also left tokens of contempt.

“That should
really
confuse him,” Daine told Numair and Kitten. “He'll never figure out how horses came to mark a wolf scent post.”

A lesser trail split from the one they walked; the wolves followed it into a cuplike valley set deep in the mountainside, hidden by tangles of rock. There the woods opened onto a clearing around a pond. At the water's edge trails crossed and recrossed, and large, flattened areas in the brush marked wolf beds.

A challenge-bark came from a bunch of reeds, and five half-grown wolves, their colors ranging from brown to frosted gray, tumbled out. They still bore remnants of soft baby fur, and were in the process of trading milk teeth for meat teeth. Eyeing
the strangers, they whined and growled nervously, until the pack surrounded them and shut the new-comers off from view.

Another grown wolf, a black, gray, and brown male, pranced over to say hello. “He's Longwind,” Daine informed Numair. “He was baby-sitting.” To the wolf she said, “Say hello to my friends. Cloud you know.” As Longwind obeyed, the girl walked up to the pack. The moment the pups noticed her they backed away.

Frostfur said with grim satisfaction, I knew bringing strangers was a mistake. Brokefang nuzzled his mate, trying to sweeten her temper.

Fleetfoot stuck her nose under the belly of one of the male pups and scooted him forward. We know this isn't what you're used to, she told him, but you may as well learn now as later.

Russet gripped a female pup by the scruff of the neck and dragged her to the girl, adding, Daine is Pack, and if she is Pack, so are these others.

The female was the one to walk forward, still clumsy on her feet, to sniff Daine's palm. She is Leaper, Russet said, and Leaper wagged her tail. The male pup trotted over. He is Chaser, commented Russet. These others are too silly to have names. At that the remaining three pups approached timidly, whining.