Wolf-speaker (7 page)

“Oh, Ozorne,” the newcomer scoffed. “No, I felt too—restricted, serving him. I'm my own man now—have been for a year.” He and Numair shook hands.

“Tristan, you know our guest?” The lady rose from her chair and walked toward Numair, as graceful as a dancer.

“
Know
him?” replied Tristan. “My lady, this is Master Numair Salmalín, once of the university at Carthak, now resident at the court of Tortall.”

Yolane offered Numair a hand, which he kissed. “How wonderful to find such beauty in an out-of-the-way place,” he said gallantly. “Does King Jonathan know the finest jewel in Tortall does not adorn his court?”

The lady smiled. “Only a man who lives at court could turn a compliment so well, Master Salmalín.”

“But Tristan didn't call you that,” Lord Belden said coolly. “He called you Arram something.”

“I was known as Arram Draper in my boyhood,” explained Numair.

Tristan grinned. “Oh, yes—you wanted a majestic,
sorcerous
name when you got Master status. Then you
had
to change it, when Ozorne ordered your arrest.”

Yolane and Belden looked sharply at Numair. “Wanted by the emperor of Carthak?” the woman asked. “You must have done something serious.”

Numair blushed. “The emperor is very proprietary, Lady Yolane. He feels that if a mage studies at his university, the mage belongs to him.” He looked at Tristan. “I'm rather surprised to see
you
here. You were the best war mage in your class.”

War mage, Daine thought, startled. That's who Numair said blasted the mines and killed the Riders.

“I brought the emperor to see reason,” Tristan replied, looking at Daine. “I'm sorry, little one—I didn't mean to be rude. Who might you be?”

“May I present my student?” Numair asked. “Master Tristan Staghorn, this is Daine—Veralidaine Sarrasri, once of Galla.”

Yolane's lips twisted in a smirk. “
Sarras
ri?”

Daine turned beet red. The lady knew it meant “Sarra's daughter,” and that only children born out of wedlock used a mother's name. She lifted her head. She was
proud
she was named after Ma.

“Are you a wizard?”

Maura's question startled Daine: she'd forgotten the girl was even in the room. “No,” she replied. “Not exactly,”

A manservant entered and bowed. “Ladies and lords, if it pleases you, your meal awaits.”

Numair offered his arm to Yolane. She accepted it and guided him toward a door in the back of the room. “Would you explain something? We heard you were at the attack on Pirate's Swoop last year. Wasn't it from an imperial fleet? I was surprised His Majesty didn't declare war on Carthak.”

“He nearly did,” replied Numair. “They used Carthaki war barges, but the emperor claimed they were sold to pirates. As the king was unable to prove we were attacked by anyone other than pirates, he was forced to drop it.”

Tristan offered Maura his arm with a mocking bow. The younger girl sniffed and took it. Belden, who appeared to spend much of his time in a brown study, followed them and left Daine to bring up the rear alone. For the first time in many, many months, she felt like a complete outsider. She did not like the feeling.

The dining hall was large enough to seat a household. Daine had been in many homes in the last year where servants and lords ate together, but tonight, at least, Dunlath's nobles dined alone. Four other guests were already seated at a table placed lower and at an angle to the main board. They rose
and bowed when the nobles entered. Daine saw Numair halt, dark brows knit in surprise.

Tristan said, “Numair, I think you know Alamid Mokhlos, and perhaps Gissa of Rachne?” A man in a silk robe and a dark, striking woman bowed to Numair, who hesitated, then bowed in return. “They were on their way to the City of the Gods and stopped to pay me a visit.”

“My lord's hospitality is so good, we fear we shall be here forever,” the woman said in a heavily accented voice. “It is good to see you again, Arram”

“Not Arram anymore,” Tristan corrected her. “Numair Salmalín.”

“That's right.” Alamid had a high, cutting voice. “We'd heard you were the Tortallan king's pet mage.”

Tristan introduced the remaining two men in plain tunics as Hasse Redfern and Tolon Gardiner, merchants. Yolane and Belden had taken their places at the main board, and waited with polite impatience for the introductions to end. A maid gave Daine a seat beside Maura, at a table across the room and opposite the four less important guests. Tristan steered Numair to a place next to Yolane. Daine was interested to see that Numair's seat was so far from Alamid, Gissa, and the others that he wouldn't be able to talk to them during the meal.

Her own place beside Maura was entirely out of the stream of conversation. If they strained, they
could just hear what was said by the adults on the dais.

“If you're waiting for them to talk to us, you have a long wait,” Maura informed her at last.

Daine came to herself with a jerk. It occurred to her that she was being rude. “I'm sorry,” she apologized, and tasted her soup. It was cold.

Maura correctly interpreted the face she made. “My sister doesn't want servants eating here, as they did when our father was alive. She says the king doesn't eat with his servants, so we won't, either. That made the servants angry, so they take their time bringing meals.”

A mouse was exploring Daine's shoe. She broke off a scrap of bread and fed it to him. When he finished, he whisked out of sight. “Why should the way the king eats decide how you take your meals here?”

“We're his closest relatives—third cousins or something like that,” replied Maura, eating her soup. “Yolane says if he hadn't married and had children, she might be queen today. If you're from Galla, why do you live here? And what was your name again?”

Daine looked at her dinner companion,
really
looked at her, and smiled. The girl's brown eyes were large and frank under limp bangs, and freckles adorned her cheeks and pug nose. Perhaps to preserve her ivory skin Lady Yolane never went into the sun, but her sister was a different kind of female.

“I'm called Daine, for short,” she replied. “And it's a fair long story, how I came to Tortall.”

“It's to be a fair long meal,” said Maura, “
She
insists on having all the courses, just like at court.”

The mouse had returned, with friends. The feel of their cold noses on her stockinged legs made Daine smother a giggle.

“I keep telling her, if she likes court so much, why doesn't she live there all year, like some nobles. She doesn't take the hint. Uh—Daine, don't jump or screech or anything, but there's a mouse in your sleeve.”

Daine looked. A pair of black button eyes peered up at her. “That's hardly a safe place,” she commented.

The mouse replied he liked it there.

“Who are you talking to?” asked Maura.

Daine blushed. “The mouse,” she explained. “I understand what animals say, and they understand me. Oftentimes I forget that we aren't speaking as humans do, and I talk to them as I might to you or Numair.” To the mouse she added, “Well, if a cat sees you, there will be all sorts of trouble.”

“No cats in the dining hall,” interrupted Maura. “Yolane hates 'em.”

“I knew there was something about her I didn't like,” muttered Daine.

Servants took the soup bowls, replacing them with plates laden with meat and vegetables. Daine
was glad to see steam rise from her food, although none came from those that went to the head table. She mentioned it to Maura as she coaxed her mouse friend to sit beside her, rather than in her sleeve.

“The servants like me, so they try to keep my food hot. It's just hard with soup—it cools fast.”

Daine hesitated, trying to decide how to ask her next question. While she thought, she continued to feed bread to the mice. “You two don't seem like sisters,” she commented at last.

“Half sisters,” Maura said. “Her mother came from one of the oldest families in the realm. She died a long time ago, and Father remarried when Yolane got engaged to Belden. She tells everyone my mother was a country nobody.”

Daine frowned. “Forgive my saying so, Lady Maura, but your sister doesn't sound like a nice person.”

“She isn't,” was the matter-of-fact reply. “She cares about how old our family is and how close to the throne we are, not about taking care of Dunlath and looking after our people. And Belden'ss as bad as she is. Father said he's just a younger son, so he has a lot to prove.”

Daine shook her head, thinking you could never tell with nobles. Sometimes they were normal humans, and sometimes they worried about the silliest things.

Maura watched the mice for a moment. “I don't
understand. Do they all come up to you that way?”

“Yes. They like me,” Daine replied. “I like them.”

Maura sighed. “I wish they liked
me
. I get lonesome.
She
won't let me play with commoners. All my friends in the village think I'm stuck-up now.”

“Why should it matter who you play with?” asked Daine. Go sit with her, she urged the mice silently, so Maura wouldn't think Daine felt sorry for her. She's perfectly nice, you'll see.

“I don't think it should matter to anyone, but
she
says I have to think of our house and our honor.” The girl turned a dangerous shade of pink. “I care more than
she
does.
She
thinks its a big secret, but I know what's going on with her and Tristan. Oh!” She stared at her lap. A mouse stood there on his hind feet, looking her over. “Can I pet him? Will he mind?”

“Gently,” Daine said. She felt sorry for Maura. From the look of things, no one seemed to care what happened to her or what she wanted. “They're shy. If you feed him, he should stay with you.” Won't you? she asked the mouse.

If she feeds me, he replied. Please tell her I am partial to fruit. Humans seem to think all we eat is cheese. That's boring after a while.

Hiding a smile, Daine relayed his words to Maura, who proceeded to stuff him, and his friends. They had gone to sleep in her lap by the
time the servants cleared the plates and a bard came in, carrying a lap harp. Taking a seat in front of the nobles, he tuned his instrument as the servants returned to find places around the walls. The bard played traditional songs for an hour or more. Long before he was done, Maura had gone to sleep.

Daine barely listened. Watching the adults at the main table, she realized that here was the opportunity to do what Brokefang expected her to do, deliver his request for a halt to the mining and lumber efforts. She cringed at the thought of giving such a message to these polished, self-assured humans. She also knew Brokefang wouldn't understand if she held back. Mockery and shame meant nothing to wolves.

I wish they meant nothing to me, either, she thought, making up her mind as the bard ended his last song and left the room. Forcing herself to get up, she walked out into the open space in front of the dais.

Numair looked at her, clearly puzzled. Then he guessed why she was there. He shook his head, trying to signal for her to return to her seat, but Daine fixed her eyes on Dunlath's lord and lady and ignored him.

Yolane and Belden were deep in conversation. It was Tristan who saw Daine first. Breaking off his talk with Alamid and Gissa, he looked at Daine with a raised eyebrow, then smirked. Gently he
tapped Belden on the shoulder. Numair was now pointing at Daine's seat, giving her a clear order, but she shook her head. He did not have to answer to the pack; she did.

Belden called his wife's attention to the girl in pink before them. Yolane's brows snapped together. “What is it?” she asked impatiently.

Daine clenched her hands in the folds of her skirt. “Excuse me, my lord. My lady. I've been asked to speak to you by the wolves of this valley.”

“Wolves?”
asked Belden, looking haughty. “What can they say to anything?”

“Plenty,” the girl said. “They live here, too, you see. They take food out of these forests, and they drink from the streams. They told me when they came, this place was near perfect.” She knew her face was red by now. The huge room had gone completely silent. She'd never felt so small, or so alone, in her life. “Then
you
began digging and cutting down trees. Mine trash has started to poison the northern end of the Long Lake, did you know that? And the digging and the lumbering is scaring the game out of the valley.”

To her surprise, a rough voice in the rear of the hall called, “She's right, about th' game, at least. I tried to tell ye m'self, three weeks back.”

Daine looked over her shoulder. She had forgotten that the huntsman, Tait, had come to hear the bard. She ventured a smile, and he winked. Drawing
her breath, feeling better, she went on. “The Long Lake Pack asked me to tell you they want you to stop. If you don't, they'll do something drastic.”