Through Wolf's Eyes (77 page)

But in this case, fire and the chaos it had
engendered actually helped Derian. Once he slunk past the closest
guards and entered the Stonehold camp, most people didn't look twice at
him. His light armor wasn't banded with any crest. Rubbed with soot as
it was, Derian looked as if he'd been fighting the fire.

That's just what he did as he darted through the
camp, Valet a few steps behind. He stomped out a grass fire where a hot
twig fell, tipped the kettle of socks—somehow forgotten until now—onto
a heap of burning laundry. He was just a red-haired youth with a scared
look on his face, running toward the fire. The enemy was outside.

Am I the enemy?
Derian thought.
Not to those horses
.

Others had noticed the horses by now, but they were
more interested in combating the fire rather than dealing with the
massed equine terror. One grizzled sergeant actually gave Derian a
quick grin of praise when he saw him heading into the corral.

"Take care, son," he shouted, never turning from where
he was throwing water onto some hay. "They're fair panicked and won't know friend from foe."

I certainly hope they don't
, Derian thought.

Glancing around with a practiced eye, he quickly
spotted a horse that seemed marginally calmer than the rest—a big,
black gelding with white stockings and a broad white blaze. Derian
could feel the horse's strength when he grabbed his halter and tugged.
The horse balked and Derian, remembering what he'd been taught, grabbed
a rag—doubtlessly used to rub down the horses—and blindfolded the
animal.

The horse didn't magically become unafraid, but now
it was at least willing to be led. Even better, several of the other
horses, seeing that there was a human in charge, seemed inclined to
follow.

Derian grabbed Valet by the arm and shoved him at the black gelding.

"Take this one out!" he ordered, shouting over the
crackling of the fire and screams of the horses. "I'll see what I can
do to urge the others on."

Ever efficient, Valet produced a bit of rope from
about his waist and slipped it through the horse's halter as a
makeshift lead line. Feeling the tug at his head and Derian's hand slap
his haunch, the black permitted himself to be led by the small man.

Derian's self-appointed task was nearly impossible,
but Derian had been around horses since before he could walk. His
mother had carried him slung from a saddle when he was an infant—him on
one side, a saddlebag on the other. His first job had been in the
stables, the first present he could remember had been a pony. There
were times Derian believed he could think like a horse—and he tried to
think like one now.

Horses feared and hated fire like any intelligent
creature should. Derian offered them a way out. He pulled at their
halters, turning their heads away from the nearby flames, urging them
away. They might not understand his words, but they understood that a
human was taking charge. And being herd animals, once the first few
were heading somewhere, the rest wanted to follow.

Ancestors!
Derian thought.
We're actually getting away with this!

"What do we do with them?" Derian asked Valet when
the little man returned to help. "Won't the Stoneholders just recapture
them when the fire's out?"

"I suspect," Valet said, slipping his lead rope
through another halter, "that the local farmers will be happy to give
the horses new homes."

Derian nodded. Although his eyes streamed from the
smoke, he could see that the newly released horses were heading into
the stubble of a harvested oat field on the west side of the road,
equal parts eager to escape the fire and to settle down to some
interesting foraging. Stonehold might reclaim a few of their horses,
but not many—not if the farmers who owned that field and others like it
had any say.

As he eased the last horse out of the corral, Derian
glanced back over his shoulder. The Stoneholders were getting the fire
under control. The fodder for their horses was gone, though, along with
bedding, many tents, and a good bit of food. There were dead guards on
the ground, too. Not all of the raiders had contented themselves with
stealing horses.

Not all of the raiders had gotten away, either,
Derian learned when he and Valet rejoined the others at the barn that
had been designated as their meeting place. Joy Spinner was dead; so
were three other scouts whose names Derian hadn't even learned. Jem was
missing; so was another of the scouts.

Race was there, his arm in a rough sling. Thyme lay
on a stretcher made from a horse blanket and the shafts from two
spears. He was unconscious and there was blood on his lips. Most of the
other raiders bore wounds, though none so grave.

Derian was surprised to find that his broken
bowstring had raised a huge welt across his face and that he had burns
on his hands. He hadn't felt any of it during the action. Still, he was
better off than many of the others.

Taking one end of the stretcher holding Thyme, Derian tried to keep his tired feet steady as Race led them back
toward the river road. Several of the scouts had their bows out, ready for ambush. None came.

The battle still raged and the fires still burned.

I
N THE INFIRMARY TENT
,
Elise wrapped a bandage around a newly stitched wound in the forearm of
a cavalry officer from Duchess Merlin's company. The face she saw in
front of her was not that of the wounded woman, but of her cousin
Purcel as she had seen him only a few minutes before: still, white, and
dead.

He had been brought in by bearers from the
battlefield. A glance at the blood soaking the stretcher's taut canvas
and running from the young man's slightly parted lips had told the
story, but the bearer, perhaps knowing her Purcel's cousin, perhaps
merely to assuage his own grief and shock, had blurted out:

"He was alive when we picked him up, Lady Elise.
Laughing a little even, trying to buck up our spirits. We moved him
careful-like, very careful. Then he gave a soft cry and coughed. Just
like that, he was gone."

Elise had started to cry, had wanted nothing more
than to sit there beside the still, cooling body. Who would tell Kenre?
What would Aunt Zorana do? A firm hand had touched her arm. She had
looked up to see one of the field medics, a man she didn't even know by
name though today they had worked as closely as brother and sister.

"I'm sorry," he had said, "but you could best honor
this man by saving some of those who served with him. We are so very
short of trained hands that we can't spare even a pair."

And Elise had staggered to her feet, knowing that
Purcel would understand. By the time she reached the infirmary, she had
blinked the tears from her eyes, but their stiff, dry tracks remained.
Remained as she picked up bandages and began
wrapping
fresh wounds, remained as she murmured calming words she didn't even
hear, remained as if they had been seared onto her face.

Suddenly, Elise's patient drew her breath in sharply.

"Did I hurt you?" Elise apologized, fearing that in her preoccupation she had been clumsy.

"No!" the woman gasped. "Behind you. A wolf!"

Similar murmurs, whispers, and even a few screams
sounded beneath the hospital canopy. Elise turned and saw Blind Seer
standing at the edge of the canopy, his head up and his tail wagging.

Everything about the beast shouted: "I am not here to
hurt," but Elise saw hands searching for weapons and several of the
wounded trying to get out of their beds.

"Stay still," she called, remembering her own first reaction to the enormous blue-eyed wolf. "That wolf is a friend."

Leaving her patient, she crossed to Blind Seer.
Behind her she heard the regulars, those who had been with King Tedric
since he left the capital, explaining to the new arrivals: "That's Lady
Blysse's wolf. He's safe. Well, not safe, but he won't hurt
us
. See how he wags his tail at Lady Archer?"

Elise ignored them and spoke directly to the wolf. "What do you want? Where's Firekeeper?"

Blind Seer whined, groveled, then tugged delicately at the edge of her skirt.

"I'll come with you," Elise assured him. Immediately,
Blind Seer dropped the fabric and began to trot toward one of the
surgeries.

These were partially enclosed tents meant to keep out
dust and distraction, not like the convalescent shelters, which were
left open to light and air. Not until they ducked through the door of
one did Elise realize who Blind Seer wanted. Sir Jared was busy with a
critically wounded man. His face was strained, as he pressed his hands
to a savaged abdomen and visibly willed the sutured flesh to heal.

Healing talent can help, but not when the person is already dead,
Elise thought.
Oh, Purcel!

Sir Jared turned just as Blind Seer nudged her and whined.

Elise called to him, "Sir Jared?"

Hearing her voice, to her amazement, Jared Surcliffe actually smiled.

"Yes, Lady Elise?"

"Blind Seer wants you rather urgently. Please come or I'm afraid he'll drag you with him."

Sir Jared did not ask questions, but obeyed. A few of
the other physicians looked as if they might protest, but the combined
prestige of baronial heir and knight silenced them.

Outside the tent, Blind Seer barked once and trotted
in the direction of the king's tent, Sir Jared at his heels. Elise was
about to follow when a familiar voice—almost shrill with strain—shouted:

"Elise! Sir Jared! Medic!"

Sir Jared hesitated, causing Blind Seer to growl, his hackles rising. Elise pushed the knight between the shoulder blades.

"Go!" she urged. "I'll handle this."

Grabbing one of the emergency kits from a long line
stacked on a bench, Elise hurried toward the voice. Wounded were being
carried off the battlefield on every side, but one pair crystallized
her attention. Sapphire Shield was helping a young man off the field.
It took Elise a moment to realize that her cousin's companion was Shad
Oyster.

Sapphire's showy armor was streaked with blood—at
least some of which seemed to be her own—caking field dust into clumps.
Shad was nearly unconscious. Still, his limbs were all intact and he
was not gushing blood, making him, no matter his social standing, a
lesser priority than many others.

Elise guided them to a prep area explaining, "Unless he is in danger of death or of losing a limb, he must wait."

"Right," Sapphire said, and assisted Shad to
something resembling comfort on the dirt. Folding her cloak under his
head, she patted his hand reassuringly.

"The Blue and I were on the south flank," she said,
turning some of her attention to Elise. Words spilled from her lips,
though her gaze remained distracted.

"We fought for I don't know how long. Then there was
one of those gaps that happen. I heard someone saying that Lord Tench
had been shot. I looked in the direction of Duke
Allister's
command center. Everyone there was taking cover, but I didn't like the
look of a group of Stonehold cavalry that was pushing that way. Earl
Kestrel didn't either and shouted for us to get between them.

"We did. Somewhere in that, I was unhorsed. The Blue
panicked—I hope he got away. I kept my sword and shield, though and
kept backing toward the command center. That's when I met Shad doing
pretty much the same thing."

She started helping Elise undo Shad's armor. When
they lifted the breastplate off, Elise was relieved to see no evidence
of an abdominal wound. She'd already learned how ugly those were—and
how hard to treat.

Purcel!

Sapphire continued talking as she worked. Elise
wondered if the flow of words was meant to stem similarly horrific
thoughts. Did Sapphire know yet that her father was dead? Did she know
about Purcel? For the first time, Elise remembered that Jet, too, was
out there on the battlefield. Love must be dead—if ever it had
lived—for her to have forgotten him so entirely.

With an effort, she focused on Sapphire's words:

"Earl Kestrel and his group stalled the cavalry
charge or I wouldn't be here, but some Stonehold infantry took
advantage of the horses kicking and milling to slip around the edges.
They were heading for the commander again and no wonder. Duke Allister
may have taken his training at sea, but he has tactical sense. Our side
might have cut and run if they learned he was down—nearly did when the
rumor came that he had been shot. Shad, though, he bellowed just like
he was on deck in a storm, telling everyone that Duke Allister was
alive."

Mopping blood from the young man's pale face, Elise
found it difficult to believe that Shad could summon that much force.
He looked exquisitely fragile now. Still, there was no blood on his
lips and his gut was sound.

"How can I help?" Sapphire said, interrupting her own account.