Wolf's Blood (56 page)

“Now I asked myself. why would you care for a cure? My first thought—which I do not think is completely right—was that you did not care for the cure. You cared, instead, for what we would find when we sought the cure. Virim. His pack. His fort. The last group of spellcasters in all the world untainted by the weakening and corrupting effects of querinalo, the last spellcasters who knew how to use magic as the art had been developed at its height, rather than as it has been rediscovered.

“And I asked myself why you would want these. After all, had it not been spellcasters who had locked you away? At first I thought you might wish to destroy them, or perhaps that you hoped that my allies and I would destroy them for you. Then I had another thought, one you yourself gave me, although you meant it to turn me away from Blind Seer.”

“Ah?” the Meddler didn’t quite ask.

“I thought you might have a use for these spellcasters, but as you showed me, you cannot get beyond the barriers they have put up against intrusion by bodiless spirits such as yourself. Now what use might you have for spellcasters? Were you not their equal or perhaps their superior? Superior, certainly, for humans rarely go to great lengths to harm those they can dominate. Those they use.

“But for all your knowledge and all your power, these spellcasters have one very important thing you do not. They have bodies. They live and breathe, whereas you, at least in physical terms, are dead.”

The Meddler said nothing, and Firekeeper drew herself up and challenged him.

“Tell me!” she said. “Tell me the truth, or I swear that as soon as I awaken I will turn my feet from this place. Blind Seer and I have taken Bruck, and perhaps he has answers enough for us. We can bear him away to New Kelvin, then to the Nexus Islands. Perhaps when invasion threatens him as it threatens Derian and the others, Bruck will find a way to enable us to defeat the invasion.”

“You mean that,” the Meddler said in mild amazement. “You’d really turn back, just because you don’t trust my motives.”

“Yes,” Firekeeper said. “And fight and probably die, because the stories say the Meddler acts from good thoughts, but does not think what they will bring. I would go to my death and even bring Blind Seer to his rather than be a little crystal figure you move about here and there.”

The Meddler raised his hands in a theatrical gesture of surrender.

“Very well. I will confess, and I think in this place you can sniff truth from evasion. You are correct. I wanted you to come here. I suspected that at least some of Virim’s cohort still lived. You are even correct in suspecting what I wanted from them. I want a living body. Spirit life is interesting, more versatile in many ways, but I need a body if I am to have even the slightest chance of gaining what I now realize I desire more than anything else.”

“What?” Firekeeper asked. “Tell me. I cannot risk setting you free to do harm. I am sorry, for I do believe you when you say you have not meant much of the harm you have caused, but I must look out for my pack.”

The Meddler looked at her and his gaze was sad.

“I’ll tell you,” he said. “You would learn soon enough in any case. You see, my darling little Meddler. I believe I have fallen in love with you. I want to live and breathe again so that I may try and win your love in return.
”

XXVII

  BRYESSIDAN CONSIDERED WEARING his father’s armor to his first meeting with the other men and women who would serve as generals of the gate forces, but decided against it. True, reminding them that he came from a line revered for proven military prowess would help with his campaign to be named commander in chief, but there were other ways to achieve this than marching in wearing the form and face of their old enemy.

Bryessidan’s initial impulse toward wearing the armor had less to do with providing a reminder of his military lineage than with showing what might be done to enable a leader to be armored and yet provide minimal distortion for those nearby who must use magic. However, again there were other ways he could do this, although they would be more pedantic and less visually impressive.

So he arrived at the meeting in Hearthome clad in white and green as king of the Mires, nothing more. He rapidly learned that he was the only other reigning monarch leading a gate force, and considered this a good omen for his ambitions for overall command. Since King Hurwin was commanding the fleet, surely some parallel structure would be in order. It wasn’t as if the other monarchs—or whatever title the allied ruler claimed—had been dissuaded from donning armor and carrying sword into battle in the name of the cause.

Perhaps not liking the possible consequences if they chose not to participate in the venture, all five nations on the Pelland continent had chosen to take part in the invasion of the Nexus Islands. In addition, two other nations—Tavetch to the north and u-Chival to the south—had chosen to participate. Several other nations had expressed a willingness to join in, but as they did not possess a working gate, and such was necessary to send in forces, they had been encouraged to either contribute to the fleet or train up forces against the unlikely eventuality that the Nexans would successfully resist the initial invasion.

So now Bryessidan and a few advisors took their seats in the council chamber Queen Iline of Hearthome had made available for this meeting. Perhaps in an effort to show her complete confidence in her chosen general—an older man who was not, contrary to popular speculation prior to the appointment, one of her sons—Queen Iline was not attending the meeting. She did, however, provide a lavish spread of refreshments, and no one doubted that any or even all of the bustling attendants present were her spies.

No matter
, Bryessidan thought.
It’s not like we’re going to be discussing anything we don’t want her—or any other of the monarchs—to hear.

Given that Hearthome was the host for the meeting—a choice based on its relative geographical centrality and good harbors, nothing more at least according to Bryessidan’s way of thinking—General Kynan of Hearthome took it upon himself to open the meeting. After a small speech of welcome, he offered each of the other generals an opportunity to introduce themselves and their attendants, then turned to the aridisdu from u-Chival who was head of that nation’s contingent.

“Aridisdu Valdala,” he said, “I believe you have recently read the omens regarding the progress of the fleet. Would you be so kind as to share a report with us?”

Aridisdu Valdala, a stocky, heavyset woman whose broad shoulders left no doubt that she could wield sword or spear as easily as she did whatever tools she used for divination, rose politely in acknowledgment of General Kynan’s request. Before speaking she pressed her hands together in a gesture Bryessidan knew meant that she was replying as equal to equal, not acknowledging any authority on Kynan’s part. Bryessidan wondered how many of the others here gathered caught that subtlety, and felt again how well suited he was to serve as commander in chief.

“The omens,” Valdala said, “show the fleet to be on course and intact. They should arrive at their goal in approximately a moonspan, as was planned.”

Since the fleet hadn’t been gone much more than a couple handspans of days, Bryessidan might have made the same prediction himself, but Amelo Soapwort had assured him that the auguries of the u-Chival had been tested for accuracy, and were often astonishingly accurate.

Kynan acknowledged this report with gravity, then turned to the assembly as a whole.

“Before the fleet departed, the date set for the invasion was the second day of Bear Moon. Are there any objections to continuing with that date?”

Aurick of Pelland, a lean, red-haired man whose sharp gaze seemed to challenge anyone to say that he shared the reputed fondness of those of his nation for drug dreams, was the only one who did more than nod agreement.

“I have no objections, as long as the omens remain favorable. However, that raises an interesting question. What do we do if the omens are not favorable? What if they seem to show that all or most of the fleet has been destroyed? Do we press ahead or call off the venture entirety?”

Talianas of Tishiolo, the land that supplied the Pellanders with their drugs, smiled at Aurick in such a way that Bryessidan felt certain that the two men were old rivals. Not enemies, perhaps, but certainly they had butted heads in the past. Doubtless Aurick disliked what drug use had done to his people, while Talianas might feel it was a harmless form of amusement—and one that enriched his people besides.

Aurick frowned at Talianas and said, “Well? I’m sure someone other than myself must have thought about this.”

Bryessidan decided that he had been silent long enough. He must seem decisive if he wanted command.

“I have considered the matter.” he said. “and I think that we should go ahead, even if the omens for the fleet are not good. For one, what if the aridisdum reading the omens receive different replies?”

He glanced at Aridisdu Valdala and made the hand gesture that indicated he was not attempting to give offense, only saying what must be said. She nodded, dipping her head in acknowledgment of his courtesy.

Encouraged, Bryessidan went on. “The aridisdum are very skilled, my own Once Dead assure me of this, but errors do happen. Perhaps if only one or two nations had chosen to join King Hurwin and myself in this venture to regain control of the gates. I might feel less certain, but we are seven nations strong. Seven forces. Seven gates. From what the maps show, our gates do not open into one area of the gate complex, but are spread out.”

He paused, not because he didn’t have more to say, but because he wanted to see the reaction to what he had already said. Implying that the entire venture had been his and King Hurwin’s idea had been daring, but he thought it merited.

Fromalf, King Hurwin’s choice for leader of the land force, and one of Gidji’s cousins, was nodding agreement with Bryessidan’s opinion.

“I also agree that we should plan on making our assault, no matter what the omens are for the fleet. I firmly believe that King Hurwin will bring through most. if not all, of those vessels under his command. If they are not there before us, they will come soon after we have established our base. We owe the fleet our support. Also, we cannot forget that the fleet has taken far greater risks than have those of us who have remained behind. Although they are well provisioned, the intention was for many of the marines to return to their homelands through the gates, and for the ships to be reprovisioned via the gates before they began their voyage home. If we fail to make our assault and hold the land, then we will disappoint these brave men and women who are counting on us.”

After Fromalf’s speech, no one spoke for a long moment; then Merial of Azure Towers broke the silence she had kept to this point. She was a niece of the current queen, Anitra, and had fought and politicked in her aunt’s service for many years.

“I agree,” General Merial said. “We go ahead, even if the omens for the fleet are bad. I also agree with the chosen date of the second of Bear. I believe we need to refine other matters, such as the precise time to make the transition, and whether there is any way to assure that all of us will transition within a fairly close sequence.”

“In the days before the Sorcerer’s Bane,” Bryessidan said, “there were ways of measuring time with close accuracy. However, even in those days the presence of arms and armor could skew the accuracy of such devices. Therefore, I suggest we work with the one accurate clock we all will have at our disposal.”

“The sun,” responded Fromalf, with a sailor’s sensitivity for such things.

“The sun,” Bryessidan agreed. “And as backup, because we cannot count on the second day of Bear Moon being clear, we should all burn watch candles. We should purchase them here in Hearthome, from the same chandler, and make certain they are poured from the same batch of wax, and wicked with the same material to make certain they are as close to each other as possible.”

Kynan spoke up, quickly, as if aware that his dominance of the meeting was slipping. “I know just the shop. I will order both full-day and half-day candles for further accuracy.”

“Good,” Bryessidan said. “So, noon on the second of Bear is our target date. Now, I think we need to know precisely what type of forces each of us will be able to supply.”

That took a while because, although for obvious reasons no one was supplying calvary—the advantages to be gained from mounted troops on a relatively small island whose surface was known to be rocky would be minimal—what the seven allied nations had to spare varied greatly.

The Mires, barred from anything but a local peacekeeping force by the terms of the treaty that had ended King Veztressidan’s war, had managed to raise a small but sturdy force from the hunters and fishers who made their living from the swamps and marshes that made up the majority of the kingdom’s terrain. For the rest, they were supplying healers of various types.

Hearthome and Azure Towers, as a result of their fairly continual border sparing, both had good-sized armies, but for that same reason they were unwilling to deplete those forces overmuch. A great deal of time was spent negotiating exactly how much of what type of troop either was willing to commit, and then balancing that against the forces offered by the other.