Five Portraits (17 page)

“That would be an unusual liaison,” Wulfha agreed.

“No, I mean she was odd for an elf. She was large, and her ears were pointed, and she had four fingers on each hand. She rode him like a steed.”

“There was surely an interesting story there,” the bitch said.

“There surely was.” Astrid had hoped that Wulfha might know something of the matter, but evidently news of the outside Xanth did not penetrate the realms of Storage.

“With accommodation spells, all things are possible.”

“What kind of spell?”

Wulfha smiled. “You're a basilisk, so would not have had much use for them. They enable widely divergent creatures to mate, even apart from a love spring. Thus a huge giant and a tiny imp could make it, if they chose. Certainly an elf and a wolf.”

“I am impressed.”

“It is one of the useful incidental spells, when different species wish to associate. I understand they are popular with goblins and trolls.”

Astrid began to appreciate how the goblins and trolls had been able to ravish their captives without killing them. “I suppose so. Not to my taste, however.”

“Tastes vary widely.”

The children linked hands briefly in a seeming bedtime ritual. Then Win came to Astrid to kiss her goodnight, the wind blowing her intoxicating perfume away. “Danger,” she whispered.

Oops. “From the wolves?” Astrid whispered.

“No. They're okay. A raid. We think trolls.”

“Settle down quietly. I will alert the wolves.” Then Astrid kissed the girl quickly on the cheek and packed her off, like an affectionate mother.

She approached Wulfha. “The children have a sense,” she murmured. “There is danger. A possible troll raid, while you are distracted with guests. Do trolls have a taste for were bitches, with accommodation spells?”

“They wouldn't dare,” Wulfha said.

So she did not credit children's fears, understandably. But the threat was real. “Then let me talk to that interested male, though this is not what he seeks.”

Wulfha withdrew, and in a moment a muscular male approached. “Let us walk apart a little, and talk,” Astrid said. She had not dressed since losing her clothing earlier, and knew he was looking. He couldn't help it; he was male.

He was glad to agree. “I am Wolfram, lead wolf warrior of the Pack.”

A female canine was a bitch; a male canine was a wolf. “You are the one I need to discuss this with. It is possible that you and I are being magically watched, so we want to look affectionate, though you need to understand that this is not real. My perfume will first intoxicate you, then kill you if you do not escape it quickly. If you bring your face close to mine, hold your breath.”

“I understand, with regret,” he said, trying not to make his study of her body too obvious.

“Wulfha doubts it, but I am satisfied that a real threat exists, perhaps a raid by trolls who seek to surprise you while you are distracted by guests. I believe you need to be on guard tonight.”

“Because children fear?”

“They are not ordinary children. They have anticipated danger before, and it has come to pass. If you do not prepare for a raid, I will have to move the children to a safer place for the night.”

“I will prepare for a raid. We value our children too.”

“Thank you. Hold your breath.” Then she kissed him on the cheek.

Plainly pleased, Wolfram departed. She knew she had impressed him as much by her body as her words, but that would do. Soon she saw him quietly conferring with other males. Wulfha might be the Pack leader, but the warrior took any threat more seriously.

They settled down for the night. Astrid changed her mind and retained her human form, so as not to give any indication that she thought anything was amiss.

Myst dissolved into mist, floated across, and reformed beside Astrid. “It's close,” she said.

“The wolves are ready.”

“Maybe not.”

This was bad news. But before Astrid could decide what to do, there was a whistle in the air, followed by an explosion. White gas puffed out.

“Get away from it!” Astrid cried. But already several wolves were waking and choking, and wolf cubs were whining, terrified. It was a gas attack!

Then several trolls charged into the camp. “Get the children!” one called. “And get out before the wolves mobilize!”

A troll grabbed for Santo—and fell back, a hole through his body. Another caught up to Myst—and his hands found nothing but fog.

Then there was a concerted growling from behind the trolls. Five large wolves attacked, teeth snapping viciously. Suddenly the troll raiders were the prey.

Astrid herded the children, including several wolf cubs, away from the gas and the battle. But it was brief; the trolls were soon routed, and fled, except for the one with the hole. He was dead.

Santo was crying. “I killed him!”

She hugged him briefly. “It was self-defense.”

“I never killed before.”

“You did what you had to do. You may have saved the other children.”

“Yes,” Squid said, hugging him. That did seem to comfort him somewhat. Then Squid hugged two of the bitch children, as they too had been traumatized by the violence of the attack.

The wolves returned with blood on their teeth. They nodded to Astrid before moving on to the nearby stream to clean up.

Wulfha approached. “Now, belatedly, I believe. Our children would have been subjected to brutal ravishment and consumption. We owe you, Astrid.”

“No. I fear it was our presence that invoked the raid. The trolls thought you would be distracted, and there were extra children to grab.”

“Perhaps.” Wulfha looked down at the dead troll. “Holed through the center. Your boy did that.”

“It was necessary,” Astrid said. “Santo had no choice. He's only eight years old.”

Santo was still crying. Wulfha went to him and took him in her arms, as Astrid could not. “You have been blooded, Santo,” the bitch told him. “You may have saved one of our cubs from fates worse than death. You're a hero.”

He simply cried into her bosom. Astrid stifled her fleeting jealously. She couldn't comfort any of the children like that, lest she kill them.

The gas dissipated. The males returned, no blood remaining. Wolfram assumed man form. “I admit I doubted, but we prepared, perhaps because of your intoxicating kiss. We owe it to you, Astrid.”

“You owe it to the children,” Astrid said. “They saw it coming.”

“And had we meant to be untrue to our truce, they would have seen that coming too,” Wulfha said.

“They knew you were true to the truce.”

“They are remarkable children. Can we persuade you to stay with us?”

“I regret, no,” Astrid said. “We are seeking an escape from Storage, so we can return to our own group.”

“I thought as much. You have earned our respect.” Wulfha stroked Santo's head. “You will grow to be a remarkable man.”

“Thank you,” Santo said, his tears abating. The comfort of the werewolf bitch had evidently been potent.

The rest of the night passed uneventfully, but there was a camaraderie that had not been there before. The truce had become meaningless; the werewolves were now their friends.

In the morning Wulfha led Astrid out to a rocky section of ground. Astrid was not concerned about leaving the children alone; they were quite safe with the wolves. “He should be along soon.”

“I am ready.”

“Astrid, if you do not find your way of out Storage, please return here. We will welcome all of you, and I would like to be your friend.”

Astrid liked the warrior bitch. “I think you are already my friend. If we can't escape, we will return here. It would be a good environment for the children. But we have to escape if we possibly can.”

“There,” Wulfha murmured.

The cockatrice came into sight. He was not at all furtive; he had no fear of any living thing here. That was of course part of the problem. He had become arrogant in his ignorance. He looked to be about nine years old, in human terms: right between Firenze and Santo.

Astrid walked toward him. “Cockatrice!” she called.

The creature paused, glancing her way. That was mischief already; he had not learned to avoid possible eye contact unless he meant to kill.

“Do not look directly at me,” she said as she approached him.

He responded by staring directly into her face. She was sure he understood her; he was being rebellious.

Annoyed, she strode right up to him and kicked him in the tail. “Stop it!”

He hissed and launched at her, jaws gaping. She caught him around the body, whirled him around, and flung him to the side. “Behave, or I'll stomp on your head.”

The cockatrice rolled back to his feet, unhurt but amazed. He had Stared her, and she hadn't been affected. He had attacked her, and she had fearlessly dumped him. Had he lost his power?

“Enough games,” Astrid said. She shifted to basilisk form and Stared.

He rocked back. As a basilisk he was largely immune to her Stare, but not completely. He was juvenile; she was adult. It made a difference. Her mature Stare was difficult for him to handle; he had surely never experienced the devastating power of an adult before. It was a humbling experience. As with the harpy, she was talking his language.

Now she hissed at him in basilisk talk.
I am here to acquaint you with the rules of interaction,
she said.
Listen and pay attention, or I will run you out of this territory and chomp your foolish tail.

Who are you?
he asked, cowed.

I am Astrid Basilisk. I come on behalf of the werewolves. Here is the thing: if you keep bothering them, behaving irresponsibly, they will come in human form wearing dark glasses and club you to death. But if you treat them with proper courtesy, they will give you the run of their territory and leave you alone. All you have to do is never look at them directly. With one exception: if they should happen to have trouble with trolls or the like, they will call to you, and you will join them and Stare at the trolls. Do you understand?

The cockatrice gazed at her, not responding.

Astrid shifted to human form, picked up a solid fallen branch, and menaced him with it. “Agree, or I'll beat you into submission.”

He now respected her ability to do exactly that. Grudgingly, he agreed.

“There are other things,” she said, setting down the branch. “Such as the company of folk your own age, even if they are of other species. Even one of our kind can get lonely. I know; I've been there. That's one reason I assumed human form: so I could interact with folk who had minds. If you hood your gaze, the wolf boys your age will hunt with you and share their kills and maybe some of their stories.” She smiled. “At present I'm sure you have no use for girls, but you might find it interesting to learn something about them too, so that when you grow up you will know what to do with a young lady basilisk, instead of fighting her. Should a wolf bitch need to negotiate with a troll, you might accompany her, so the troll would know she is protected. She might even reward you with a kiss, like this.” She leaned down and kissed him on the snoot.

His legs weakened like jelly and he sank to the ground, a small cloud of hearts orbiting raggedly. He had never before been kissed by a pretty female of any type, and her kiss was as potent as her Stare.

It didn't happen instantly, but in due course she did get through to him, and he agreed to cooperate completely. He had a small crush on her, which helped. She gave him a name, Colby, to which he would answer in the future. Then she brought him back to meet Wulfha. He dutifully avoided directly gazing at her.

“This is Colby Cockatrice,” Astrid said. “He is sorry he has caused you trouble, and will not do it again.”

Colby bowed his head submissively.

“He will avoid looking at you directly, and will not try to use his Stare on any of you. If you call him by name, he will come. And help you when you need it, such as if you have troll trouble. In return you will give him free rein of Wolf Country, to hunt and frolic as he wishes, and you will not cause him any mischief. Your children may associate with him, both wolves and bitches, cautiously. It is a permanent truce. Agreed?”

Colby bowed his head again.

“Agreed,” Wulfha said, amazed.

“Good enough,” Astrid said.

Colby went on about his business, and Astrid returned to the den with Wulfha. “How did you get through to him so quickly?”

“I spoke his language.”

“I saw you kick his tail.”

“As I said: his language.”

Wulfha laughed. “And he couldn't Stare you to stop you.”

“I suspect that did make an impression,” Astrid agreed, smiling. “I also kissed him.”

“That would have wiped him out. Wolfram's still in a daze.”

“Prettiness has its uses.”

“So you used the carrot and stick.”

“Doesn't everyone?” Astrid asked innocently.

“Not quite so effectively.”

At the den they found the children happily playing together, teaching each other new games. But it was time to move on.

The wolves escorted them to the edge of Wolf Country. “Here there be dragons,” Wulfha warned them. “All types. They are not friendly.”

“We'll handle them,” Astrid said.

“I'm sure you will. But be aware that they aren't all mindless terrors. Some are cunning terrors. The Dragon's King's castle is there, and he is powerful and unscrupulous. My friend Wesla disappeared several months ago, and a little bird reported that the Dragon King got her, raped her, and made her a lowly servant. He has devastating ways to enforce his will. I would not call it a fate worse than death, but she may wish for death at times.”

“What is this about rape?” Astrid asked, annoyed. “Does every male want to rape every female?”