Through Wolf's Eyes (9 page)

I
NITIALLY, DERIAN'S CLAIM WAS DISMISSED
as a prank. Only when he convinced Ox to go look for himself and Ox
called Race and the two men confirmed that the footprint was both real
and too small to belong to any of their number, only then did the
others begin to share his excitement.

"Why would I lie?" Derian said indignantly when they had regathered around the fire.

"No reason." Jared Surcliffe shrugged apologetically.
"Our disappointment spoke, not any disbelief in you. After so much
pain, so much work for nothing, it was easier to believe you were
suddenly given to boyish pranks than to feel hope awaken once more."

Ox grunted agreement. Race nodded. Valet gave a ghost
of a smile, and Earl Kestrel, seated on his canvas camp chair, simply
brooded over the implications of the discovery. That was all the
apology Derian was likely to get, but it warmed
him
strangely. He'd started out this journey the youngest and most untried.
Now they gave him no more consideration than they would to any man.

After a time, the earl cleared his throat and said,
"Of course, Derian's discovery changes everything. In the morning, we
must begin searching. Race, you are the most skilled in woodcraft. Who
would you assign to the search?"

"You, my lord, and Sir Jared know something of tracking, but the one I would choose . . ."

Derian straightened, hoping that Race saw some promise in him.

". . . is your valet. I've watched him. He misses nothing."

Valet blinked, then refilled his master's teacup before reseating himself and continuing to darn a holed sock.

"He does that," Earl Kestrel said with the closest
thing to affection Derian had heard in his dry tones. "You may have him
if you wish."

"My lord!" Valet said in protest, alarm widening his brown eyes.

"My comfort can wait," the earl insisted. "Come dawn,
the four of us will divide the search under Race's direction. Derian
and Ox will tend the camp and, if their other duties permit, continue
excavating the ruins of the settlement."

Murmured agreement was almost drowned out by the now nightly chorus of wolf howls.

"Poor lost soul," Jared said softly, "out there alone with the wolves on his trail."

"I
COULD FAIR HIRE
out as a tailor when this journey's done," grumbled Derian, as he took
up yet another pair of riding breeches and settled his palm shield into
place.

"Derian Tailor doesn't sound bad," Ox replied. He set
aside the burned roof beam he'd been shifting and wiped his forehead
with his hand, leaving a large black streak on the pink skin. "Though I
myself would go for Saddler or Sail-maker. You're working leather now
and, by my way of seeing things, those are more interesting jobs than
making shirts and breeches."

Derian glanced at Ox and confirmed that the big man was teasing him.

"Well, you would. . ."

His ready retort stuck in his throat for, across the meadow, something—someone—was emerging from the forest.

His first impression was of woodland shadows come to
life, for the figure was all browns and blacks. Then it resolved into a
person clad in a rough cape of poorly tanned leather; a knife hung from
an equally crude belt.

"Ox," Derian hissed softly. "Move slowly. Look to the west."

His caution was merited, for when the big man started to turn, the person moved slightly, poised now to flee.

"Great Boar," Ox whispered. "We've found him!"

"Or he us," Derian replied in equally soft tones. "What do we do?"

"I frighten even those who know me," Ox said, "on
account of my size. You handle him and I'll hunker down and keep my
movements slow."

Derian nodded, wishing for a moment that Earl Kestrel
were there, then with a startling insight glad that he was not. The
severe earl with his sharp commands and ordered plans would only
frighten this shy creature away.

Carefully, Derian set his sewing aside and rose to greet the newcomer.

"Hello," he said, speaking in the gentle tones he reserved for a frightened horse. "Welcome."

The person showed no sign of understanding, but he
didn't bolt. Encouraged, Derian deliberately extended his arms, palms
upward, showing that he bore no weapons.

The newcomer mimicked the gesture and for the first
time Derian saw that the deeply tanned arms and legs were silvered with
countless scars, some just lines, others puckered and seamed. Pity now
mingled with his excitement.

"He's been badly used," Derian said softly to Ox.

"He. . ." Ox paused, carefully lowering his voice,
though excitement vibrated in every note. "He! I think it's a she,
Derian. Look more closely."

Derian did so and for the first time noticed the visitor's
nearly hairless arms and legs, the smooth curve of the throat. Either this was a young boy or a woman.

"If you say so," he said uncertainly. "It's hard to tell. That cape is so heavy it hides the body."

The person now took a few hesitant steps closer. Her gait was light and graceful; her bare legs rippled with muscle.

Derian, well aware that the woman could vanish into
the forest without warning, matched her approach step by step. Compared
with how she moved, his dancer's gait seemed awkward and clumsy.

She stopped at two arm-lengths' distance, studying
him with intelligent eyes. Her nostrils widened and fluttered slightly
as if she was taking in his scent as well as his appearance.

Derian halted when she did, studying the stranger as
she did him. She was of fair height, taller than Earl Kestrel, but then
he was short for a man. Her exposed skin was so deeply tanned and
weathered that he could not guess what its original color might be, but
he guessed from the lack of freckles that she was not as fair as, say,
himself or Ox.

He would bet that her dark brown hair had been cut
with the knife that hung from her belt. That and a pouch around her
neck seemed to be her only belongings—unless one counted the rough hide
garment. Wildness emanated from her like a wind from an approaching
storm, but her gaze showed rational judgment.

"She's no village idiot," he said to Ox.

"Careful what you say," Ox cautioned. "Who is to say she won't understand?"

Derian was curiously certain that she did not understand, but he nodded.

After more scrutiny, the woman stepped closer. This
time Derian held his ground, unwilling to press her. His skin thrilled
as she raised a callused hand and touched first his cheek, then his
hair, then the fabric of his woolen shirt.

The feel of the last delighted her. Her expression
brightened into a wide, unfeigned, childlike smile. For the first time,
she seemed human rather than something of the woodlands given form.
Derian smiled in return.

This startled her, but only for a moment. She kept
her place and continued her tactile investigation. Derian covered his
vague embarrassment by saying to Ox:

"She is definitely female. I got a good glimpse of her breasts just now. Small, though. Young, maybe."

Ox grunted agreement. "I'd guess she's been watching
us, maybe since we came here. She seems curious but not amazed, like
she's confirming things she already knew."

The woman turned her head at the sound of Ox's voice
and studied him, but made no effort to go closer. A faint smile shaped
her lips as she compared his height with Derian's. Then she touched
Derian's clean-shaven cheek and frowned.

With a swift gesture, she mimed the line of Ox's beard, then touched Derian's cheek again.

"She wants to know why you have a beard," Derian interpreted in delighted wonder, "and I do not."

He considered how to answer, then mimed removing his knife from its sheath and putting the edge to his face.

The woman started back, considered, then tilted her
head in what was clearly an interrogative gesture. Derian repeated the
motions. She smiled and mimed taking out her own knife and chopping at
a lock of hair that hung close to her eyes.

"That's it," Derian replied. "You cut your hair and I shave my face."

She was kneeling down, perhaps to examine his
slippers, when something made her jump up and back in one fluid motion.
Then, silently as she had arrived, she vanished back into the woods.

Only after she was gone did Derian notice that the
horses were casually sniffing the air. A few moments later, moving with
a woodsman's stealth and grace, Race Forester, followed by the even
more cautious Valet, emerged from the forest.

"No luck," he called. "Any word from the others?"

Ox found his voice before Derian did. "No, but she's
been here, right here with us. She heard you coming and vanished like a
dream."

F
IREKEEPER, CROUCHED OVER
a kill she was sharing with Blind Seer, spoke for the first time since she had fled the two-legs' camp.

"I couldn't bear it!" she cried. "I was doing well
dealing with one, knowing the second was there, but when I heard the
others returning, I couldn't bear the thought of being beneath so many
eyes. Now I know how a fawn must feel when the full pack cries the
hunt."

"The full pack would never hunt a fawn," Blind Seer
said practically, "but I understand you. Still, dear heart, I think you
have done well."

"I ran," she said bluntly.

"So, go back."

"Not now, not tonight. Tonight I want to sing my
story home to the Ones, run for a time in the enfolding arms of the
dark, sleep through daylight for a change instead of crouching in a
tree like a squirrel."

"Who's stopping you?" Blind Seer asked, chewing on the gristle end of a bone.

She grinned at him, punched him in the shoulder, then
grabbed at the bone. He slashed at her, raising a slight blood trail on
the skin of her arm, but she had pulled the bone from between his paws.
Leaping to her feet, she raised it over her head, wiggling her hips in
a puppy frolic.

"Got it! Got it! Slow slug!"

He growled at her, crouched to spring. She kicked him
in the nose; he knocked her from her feet. She brought the bone down on
his head—hard. He barked in mock anger. She rolled clear. He leapt on
her. Together they wrestled, the bone forgotten, the night mad in their
veins.

Tension ebbed as Firekeeper played with the blue-eyed
wolf. She simply couldn't afford the indulgence and come close to
holding her own. Blind Seer's furiously wagging tail
proved
too much temptation for her. She grabbed it, pulled. He howled in
surprise. She rolled back, belly up, throat exposed, laughing,
laughing. . .

"I do love you!" she said when she had her breath again. "Why wasn't I born truly a wolf?"

A
FTER
D
ERIAN AND
O
X
finished their report, Earl Kestrel half-rose from his seat and bellowed, "You had her and you let her get away!"

"As soon try to grasp water," Ox said bluntly.

"But Derian said that she came close enough to touch him!" The earl's tone was not in the least conciliatory.

"She did at that," the bodyguard agreed, "but still
there would have been no holding her, even if we'd had more than a
moment's warning of her flight. I've never seen any person move so
fast."

The earl was still glowering, but he fell silent long enough for Jared Surcliffe to ask:

"How old would you guess she was?"

Derian spread his hands and shrugged. "Hard to say. Not old. I'd say young."

"Young as in thirty," Doc pressed, "or young as in eighteen?"

"Eighteen," Derian said promptly, "and maybe younger than that. She was female, but didn't have much in the way of breasts."

He'd already explained, glad that the darkness hid his blush, how he'd come to be sure that the visitor was female.

"If my records are correct," Earl Kestrel said
ponderously, "there were two young girls with Prince Barden's
expedition. One was Lady Blysse. The other was the daughter of two of
the prince's associates. I have her name written down somewhere. Of
course, there could have been others. Or the young
woman you saw could have been a child born after they were settled here."