Through Wolf's Eyes (18 page)

The blue-eyed wolf silently glided beside her as she was bending her head to drink from the nearby brook.

"If I were a mountain cat," he said, "I would have broken your back."

"If you were a mountain cat," she replied, punching him
on the shoulder, "I would have smelled you a mile off. How is the hunting?"

"Good," he answered. "Even the latest of winter's
sleepers are long awake. The deer grow fat on the new grass. I grow fat
on the deer. Do they feed you well in your stone lair?"

"Enough," she said, "though much of what they eat
tastes odd. Did I tell you that Fox Hair insists I eat as he does now?
He's so slow! I could clear the platters while he is spreading butter
on his bread."

"Two-legs are not wolves," Blind Seer replied practically. "Their ways are not ours."

"True."

They sat for a while, watching the play of moonlight on the rippling waters of the brook.

"For how long does your trail go with mine?" she
asked, suddenly interrupting the silence. "Hawk Nose sent a message
this morning and since then Fox Hair has smelled of bitter sweat. I
heard him giving orders for supplies to Steward Daisy. When we went out
for a riding lesson, he spoke with the groom about the readiness of the
horses for the road. I think that soon we three outliers get called to
the human pack."

"Do you want my trail to follow yours?" the wolf
asked, leaning against her. "You've lived in that great stone lair one
moon's death and another's new borning. Surely you've confirmed what
the Cousins told me. Two-legs do not like wolves, even little ones like
the Cousins. I don't think that they will like me at all."

Firekeeper flung her arm around his great furry neck.

"They will be terrified of you," she said with great
confidence. "Never doubt it. Still, I would have you run with me
longer. I can dance a few dances and prattle in their tongue, but my
blood is a wolf's blood for this veneer of humanity."

"Wolf's blood has always run beneath your naked hide," Blind Seer affirmed. "But I have no wish to see
my
blood spilled by one of those arrows Race shoots so straight."

"No," Firekeeper considered. "This is a problem, but I think, from what Fox Hair has shown me, from the tales he
has
told me, that where the two-legs den together, there are many such
buildings as the keep. There you may not be able to hide from their
eyes as easily as you have done here. Best that they know you are my
companion. They hold some odd respect for me. It may extend to you, as
fear of the adult wolves protects the pups."

"Perhaps," Blind Seer said. "We must think further on this."

"But not for too long," Firekeeper said. "A season is
changing, not of the world, but in my life. I cannot turn from the
humans until I know more."

"And I," admitted Blind Seer, "cannot turn from you, even if following you should mean my death."

D
ERIAN HAD ANTICIPATED
having difficulty getting Blysse ready for the journey. What he had not anticipated was having trouble with the horses.

On the morning of their scheduled departure, however,
the young woman was calm and collected, but the equines were edgy,
requiring the assistance of two grooms to calm them while Derian
inspected girths and pack straps.

Chestnut coat burnished and glossy from several weeks
of easy living, Roanne snaked back her ears and tried to nip the groom
standing nearest to where she was tied.

Race's buckskin and Blysse's grey were hardly any
better behaved, though the latter, having been chosen specifically for
his placid temper, continued to chew a wisp of hay while rolling a
white-rimmed eye at anything that moved.

Lady Blysse, dressed in her favorite battered leather
vest and hacked-off trousers, came out of the keep, carrying the
saddlebags the kitchen staff had packed for them. Her dark eyes
sparkled, dancing with what Derian hoped was anticipation. Seeing the
curve of her lips, he feared that it was mischief.

"Give me those packs," he said, surreptitiously eyeing them to see if she might have stolen something.

She did so, and as he was loading the bags onto the
pack mule, Blysse cocked her head, catching some sound of which he was
unaware. Then, the smile broadening across her face, she loped across
the cleared kill zone surrounding West Keep toward the forest.

Race, who had been chatting with Steward Daisy, come forth to see her guests safely on the road, shouted after her:

"Come back here, Blysse!"

The young woman slowed, waving her hand to indicate that she had heard, but kept going.

"Blysse!"

This time she halted right at the edge of the scrub
growth bordering the meadow. With her left hand, she made an elaborate
beckoning gesture toward something in the woods; with her right she
made the sign for Race and Derian to wait where they were.

Derian's heart began to beat faster. He wondered if
there might have been more truth to Earl Kestrel's tale of Blysse's
survival than even that facile politician had ever dreamed. Could
Prince Barden be out there in the forest, ready to emerge only now that
he had been assured that his daughter would be treated well?

Derian glanced over at Race and saw that the woodsman
had grown pale, his breath coming fast and shallow. Doubtless, being
more superstitious than Derian, he feared not a living prince, but a
vengeful ancestral spirit. Surreptitiously, Race fingered a talisman
hanging from his belt, invoking his own ancestors' protection against
this imagined threat.

Oblivious of their reactions, Blysse repeated the
beckoning gesture more urgently, drawing forth whatever lurked within
the suddenly mysterious trees. Several pounding heartbeats later,
without the least whisper of motion, an enormous grey wolf slipped from
the cover to stand at the young woman's side, so close that his fur
brushed her leg.

A more usual wolf's head might have reached to her waist; this beast's reached nearly to her chest. Moreover, his eyes
were not the more usual tawny gold or deep brown of a wolf, but instead a brilliant blue.

Steward Daisy screamed once and would have again, but
Race smothered her mouth with his hand. One of the grooms began
muttering invocations for ancestral protection. Derian looked at Race
and found that, like him, the forester's shock was melting away beneath
the glow of comprehension.

"Well," Race said, his taut voice betraying his tension. "Now we know where she's been going every night."

Derian nodded, feeling a grin split the stiff mask of his face. "And is Earl Kestrel ever in for a surprise."

But Norvin Norwood, Earl Kestrel, was not the only
one due for further surprises. Even as Lady Blysse took her first step
toward them, the great wolf pacing at her heel, a shrill scream pierced
the morning air.

A blue-grey blur plummeted out of the sky, resolving
into a perfect peregrine falcon the size of an eagle. The bird circled
once about woman and wolf, then came to rest atop the baggage packed on
the mule. Ruffling its feathers, it shifted from one foot to the other,
cocking its head so that it could study each of the humans from
brilliant golden-rimmed eyes.

This critical inspection proved too much for Steward
Daisy. Sobbing, she fled into the safety of the castle walls. Using her
departure as an excuse, the two grooms hurried after; ostensibly to
comfort her, in reality to put solid stone between themselves and a
woman whose companions were giant beasts out of legend.

Having long since relegated these to a subordinate
position in her private hierarchy, Lady Blysse seemed indifferent to
their reactions. Her dark gaze was upon Derian and Race. The tightness
in her shoulders relaxed only slightly when she saw that neither of
them had made any offensive move.

Race's dog Queenie had not been so much the coward as
to flee from her master, but as the wolf closed the distance, she
cringed and whined. Derian fought back an urge to do something similar
by speaking to Race as if this encounter were the most usual thing in
the world.

"I'd forgotten until now," he said, "that when I first spotted her footprint, there was a wolf's print beside it."

Race nodded.

"I hadn't wanted to remember," Race admitted, "not once we found her to be but a girl and so ill used."

"Then there were the wolf's howls we heard each night while we were west of the gap."

"Fewer and more distant," Race added, his voice back
to normal now, "once we crossed, but still out there, as if they were
watching us."

"I guess they were," Derian said, "or at least they were watching her."

"And the falcon," Race continued, "it sure looks like the one that attacked me when I tried to put a rope on Blysse."

"It does," Derian agreed, remembering pushing Race
out of the striking range of those talons. "I wondered then, but
there's been so much else to wonder about."

"I didn't want to wonder," Race admitted. "I didn't like where that wondering led me."

Listening to their conversation but not commenting,
Lady Blysse halted her advance before the horses' panic at the
proximity of the wolf reached the point where they might do themselves
harm.

Derian wondered that the equines showed even this
much control, then realized that they must have been aware of the
wolf's presence for a long while, far more aware than the humans had
been. What to him was a complete surprise was to them a long-borne
menace.

"Well, Blysse," Derian said, "are these your pets?"

"No," she said, shaking her head vigorously and giving Queenie a disdainful look. "Queenie pet. Wolf and falcon are my friends."

Her careful speech showed Derian how important it was
to Blysse that he and Race understand her. Even with his constant
badgering, she still tended to drop what she viewed as nonessential
words. If she was specifying that these animals were friends, rather
than pets or property, it was an essential distinction—at least to her.

"Friends," he repeated, taking in a breath so deep that his lungs ached. "Well, I guess you had better introduce us then."

Blysse nodded solemnly, then indicated the wolf. In
some distant part of his mind, Derian was amused to see that she used
the little court mannerisms he had been careful to teach her.

"This is Not-Seeing Seer," she said carefully.

By this point, Derian wouldn't have been at all
surprised if the wolf had spoken with a human voice. It did not.
Instead, it took a step forward and stretched out its forelimbs in a
credible, non-groveling, bow.

Automatically, Derian bowed in return and Race gave a
short jerk in imitation. Smiling now, Blysse gestured to the peregrine
falcon.

"This is . . ." she paused, as if having trouble translating the bird's name, "Fierce Joy in Flight."

The falcon didn't bow. Instead it made a soft, mewling cry, quite conversational in tone.

"Pleased to meet you," Derian responded solemnly.

"The same," Race said. To himself he muttered, "I must be dreaming this!"

"No dream," Derian said. "Though it would be easier if it was."

He looked at Blysse. "I suppose that the wolf and the falcon are coming with us."

She looked puzzled, then worked through the essential parts of the question to get at its meaning.

"With us, yes." She put her hand on the wolf's head. "He my kin. Falcon is friend. They go with me."

"The city," Derian said, trying to dissuade her,
though he already knew the attempt would be futile, "is not a place for
wolves."

"City can be place for wolves," she said stubbornly. "I go to city. Wolf goes with me."

Derian surrendered. Maybe once she saw a town or two she would change her mind. He doubted it, but it was a pleasant fantasy.

"Shall we go, then?" he asked. Then he mused to the air, "The horses aren't going to like this at all."

"I can run with horses," Blysse replied. "Not-Seeing Seer will run near me."

She laughed. "Maybe then, someone think he dog, not wolf."

"There's a chance of that," Race admitted, speaking
for the first time since the introductions had been concluded. "At
least they'll give a second thought before shooting."

"True."

Derian worried about whether Blysse could keep up
with the horses now that the party would be traveling on roads rather
than navigating rough woodland trails, but he put the worry by. Either
she could or she could not. They'd deal with that problem when it
became a problem.

"Well," Derian said, "I'll loosen the girth on your gelding, but he'll be ready if you get tired. Is that all right, Blysse?"

"Yes. No."

She bit her lip, her expression showing the
frustration she so often felt when her grasp of the language was
insufficient for her needs. Derian waited, knowing he would only add to
her frustration if he tried guessing at what she needed to say. After
consideration, she began again: