Wolf's Blood (92 page)

Discussion continued along those lines for some time. Then Skea turned to Ynamynet.

“I’ve been wondering about the shield. Is it possible for you to open just a single area? It would be so much easier to take one or two sections at a time.”

Ynamynet was shaking her head even before he finished speaking.

“I wish we could, but we can’t. It’s quite possible that the shield contains that capacity, but if so we haven’t figured out how to implement it. We were lucky Urgana and Harjeedian’s research led us to the shield. We barely managed to work out how to raise and lower it. I’m not willing to attempt refinements.”

Skea shrugged. “I’m not criticizing. I just thought I’d ask.”

Ynamynet nodded wearily. “Believe me. We had the same thought, but right now it’s all we can do to keep watch within the shield and to keep it solid. If this goes on much longer, we’re going to have to ask for donations.”

Derian didn’t need to ask donations of what. Blood. It always came down to blood in matters of Old World magic. No wonder all the spellcasters looked so worn. They were probably using their own blood whenever they needed to watch within the shield.

To distract from the uncomfortable matter of donations, Derian asked, “What have you seen within the shield?”

“I recognized several of the people Urgana mentioned as commanders. They have had meetings much like this one, and I have seen Bryessidan speaking with various of the Once Dead. There is some traffic through the gates, but that mostly seems to involve transporting the wounded and bringing supplies. They’re crowded in there, but as of now they haven’t started rotating the troops back to their homelands.”

Firekeeper asked, “New World gate. Have they used that?”

“No. They have guards on it, but no one has activated the portal.”

There was an audible sigh of relief at this, and Derian thought the faces of the listening Nexans lightened a bit at the knowledge their children were safe.

For now,
he thought.

“Our line of vision is less than complete.” Ynamynet went on.”The shield has ‘eyes’ or patches of greater sensitivity at various points. There is also some sort of link to areas within the gate buildings themselves. This only makes sense, since otherwise the shield’s designers would have badly crippled themselves. I will say, I have no idea how they managed it. The complexity of the spell is beyond anything we could do today. It’s almost more than we can do to use it. My mind, at least, does not like sorting through so many simultaneously received images. That’s why we’ve been taking turns.”

There were other questions, about the Nexan prisoners, about the apparent morale of the troops trapped beneath the shield. Isende pointedly did not ask about Tiniel, and equally pointedly no one else did either, although there was a discussion of what the invaders might have learned from the captured Nexans.

Either that means everyone trusts Isende and is trying to spare her feelings, or they distrust her and don’t want her reminded why.

Derian was about to suggest that they move to discussing specific tactics, when Plik indicated that he would like to speak. Most of the speakers had stood, but for Plik, perched up on one of the benches, that would be counterproductive, and there was a chuckle as those on the outside of the circle realized this.

“You all certainly realize by now that although Firekeeper has done something amazing in bringing the Bound to serve as reinforcements, and although we are five times blessed that Grateful Peace’s communication with the sea monsters has eliminated the threat offered by King Hurwin’s navy, we cannot win this war merely by force of arms.”

Skea, who had been quietly reviewing the report Urgana had given him and making notations of his own along the bottom, looked up offended.

“I am afraid I don’t realize that, Plik. By my calculation, we may indeed be able to win. We can encircle the gateway hillside and attack not only from all sides, but from above as well.”

He drew in a deep breath and rose, clearly prepared to sketch details of his battle plan out on the smooth dirt at the center of the circled benches. Plik flicked his ears in an annoyed gesture that reminded Derian that boar raccoons were considered formidable fighters, even by creatures much larger than them.

No trace of annoyance or aggression showed in Plik’s voice as he continued.

“I don’t doubt you can come up with a plan that might let us win this battle. However, they can bring in reinforcements. We have reached our limits.”

“We have other gates,” Skea said. “There might be others on the lesser islands. There are the three blocked up ones in the basement of the headquarters building. We could open those.”

“Even if we could,” Plik said, “would we have time to open negotiations with potential allies? We were fortunate in that Firekeeper and Derian already had close ties to Grateful Peace. Those cellar gates open into the Old World, where we have no friends. If there are other island gates—and we cannot be at all certain there are—they might go to places as isolated as Virim’s stronghold.”

Skea, who for all his military ardor was still a reasonable man, nodded.

“Are you saying then that we should just surrender?”

“Not at all,” Plik retorted. “I am saying that we must consider what will happen after we win this battle.”

Derian liked how Plik did not say “if.” Morale was shaky enough without it being undermined here.

Plik went on. “We win and recapture the gateway hillside and the gates themselves. Can we hold them? We know from the prisoners that we face an alliance of seven nations. Surely even if a few decided to withdraw from the alliance as a bad job, there would be others who would be equally stubborn about continuing. We did our best to defend the gates, and yet the iron cages were broken through.”

Firekeeper said, “And if we break all the gates, is all that problem from before when we think about breaking them. We has learned that Virim made little gate. Who also do this? I want to run, but I know there is nowhere to run. But Plik, what can we do?”

“Seven.” Plik said, “is a large number of nations to make trust each other. From what we have been told by the historians and scholars among us, these seven nations have rivalries among them. Only the suspicion that we were a worse threat brought them together. What if we gave them reason to believe that they could regain use of the gates, not as an alliance of seven, but as individual nations?”

“We might destroy the alliance,” Skea said, his voice tight with eagerness at the possibility of an approach that might defeat their enemies for well and for good.

“Convincing them won’t be easy.” Plik warned. “It might not even be possible, but I think it’s the only tactic that stands a chance if we want to continue to hold the gates.”

“I’m willing to try.” Skea said. “If we can manage a treaty that lasts for only a year we gain a chance to build new alliances of our own, bring in more troops.”

Firekeeper nodded, then turned to Skea.

“Skea, I have idea on how we might beat army on hill—soon, even tonight. Will you listen?”

Skea, who had been about to draw some elaborate pattern on the smoothed dirt at the center of their circle, looked at the wolf-woman as if expecting some sort of challenge. However, her body language held only that curious mixture of humility and contained strength that Derian had noted before. It was a wolf thing.

She is saying in “wolf,” “You are in charge. the One, but I have an idea that is valuable. Will you accept it without seeing me as a rival?”

Derian wondered if Skea would understand this nonverbal message. The dark-skinned man studied the wolf-woman for a long moment, then nodded.

“I’m interested. Firekeeper. What do you have in mind?”

“Night,” Firekeeper said slowly, obviously searching for words, “is a friend to my kind. Let us make her our ally.”

XLV

  BRYESSIDAN SLEPT FITFULLY on a cot set in a small tent in one of the small gardens between the wedge-shaped buildings that held the gates. That tent was a mark of respect due to his position—the other commanders had tents, too. Most of the troops slept on little more than a blanket spread out on the bare earth. Getting those through the gates, along with sufficient food and water, had been a logistical nightmare. They hadn’t planned on having to camp.

Some of the troops had been sent back to their homelands and were standing by near the other end of the gate. Bryessidan hadn’t wanted to do this, but there had been no other way. There simply wasn’t room for seven armies to lodge on a cluster of hills, hills already crowded with buildings.

Night had been heralded by the shield fading from white, to grey, then to unbroken black. Encased within darkness, many of the soldiers had succumbed to claustrophobia. Several had flung themselves into the shield in a desperate attempt to get out of the enclosing darkness. It had been a near thing keeping the rest from following. Now, even those who remained, tended to face inward, where the light from small campfires and candle lanterns permitted them to deny the darkness that surrounded them.

Bryessidan’s sleep was filled with nightmares wherein his army threw itself soldier by soldier into the shield, their blood adding to the artifact’s power until it solidified into a shell of polished stone: smooth, slick, and unbreakable. The soldiers continued bashing themselves against that unbreakable wall. Their blood coursed down the sides, dripping and pooling at the base, rising in a flood that threatened to engulf them all.

He woke immediately, with an obscure sense of gratitude and relief, when something cool and sharp pricked the edge of his throat.

A husky voice speaking atrocious Pellish came from so close to his ear that he could feel the warm puffs of breath.

“Not move. Not call. Or you is dead.”

Bryessidan had paid close attention to the reports garnered from the prisoners and from the traitor Tiniel. He knew at once who this must be: Firekeeper, the woman who thought she was a wolf, and who was accepted by the wolves as one of their own.

Had Tiniel been the only one to speak of this Firekeeper with fear, Bryessidan might have taken his chances, but not a one had spoken of her but with an uneasiness that in some cases amounted to dread. Firekeeper was unpredictable, each and every one had agreed, not because she was chaotic by nature, but because she did not think as a human did. You thought you understood her, then she did something unthinkable.

And this was the creature who knelt at the side of his cot, holding a knife to his throat. Bryessidan could not think of a single cause that would be served by his dying bravely. He could think of a good many—including the happiness of his wife and children—that would be served by his coming away alive.

He let Firekeeper gag him with a length of clean cloth, then guide him through a neat slit cut in the back of his tent. Out of deference to their positions, the seven commanders had been allocated some open space around the edges of their tents. She led him through this open area as neatly as if she could see in the dark, tugging him after her. Then she walked directly to where Bryessidan knew the cold, black edge of the shield stood.

He balked, and Firekeeper pulled. She was stronger than he had thought, and he stumbled forward into and through a shield that was not there. They progressed down the hillside at a pace so fast he nearly fell.

Bryessidan was adjusting to the idea that his army was currently enclosed in nothing but night and their own fears when Firekeeper stopped. A male voice spoke very quietly from the darkness.

“What? Got one? I say!”

“Is king. Take.”

Then the hand at his wrist was gone, but a different firm, strong hand grasped Bryessidan by the upper arm and started leading him down a pathway faintly marked by candle lanterns set so that their glow faced away from the gateway hillside.

“I say!” the young man said. “Your Majesty, and all that. Pleased to meet you. I am Edlin Norwood, Lord Kestrel, if you care for that unzoranic nonsense as King Tedric would say, and I suppose you must since you’re a king. What I mean is, I’ll be a duke someday, ancestors willing, so you’re not to feel you’re being mishandled, what?”

Despite the inanity of this Lord Edlin’s speech, he was leading Bryessidan with great purpose and direction. Bryessidan glanced around and noticed that the night sky was heavily occluded by clouds, enough that the moon did not show. No wonder his soldiers had not noticed when the shield had been lowered. The sky was only slightly lighter than the area within the shield.

Bryessidan noticed a blacker darkness against the clouded sky and guessed they were approaching a large building. There were several still standing from the times before the coming of the Sorcerer’s Bane, and he knew from the prisoners’ reports that one in particular was being used as headquarters by the Nexans. He supposed that was where they were heading.

As they moved along the path, Bryessidan became aware of the glint of many pairs of eyes caught for just a moment in the dim light of the candle lanterns. He flinched from a particularly large and glimmering set that seemed to study him longer than had the rest.