Wizard of the Grove (38 page)

Raulin came, looked over Jago's shoulder, and whistled through his teeth. “Big bugger,” he said, carefully noncommittal.

“Big bugger? That's it? Look at the depth of that print!” Jago put his fist against the snow and pushed. “This stuffs damp under the trees; it compacts. This wolfs gotta weigh more than it should.”

“I hate to break it to you, junior, but that's not our biggest problem. There's a track as large on the other side of camp that wasn't made by any wolf.”

Jago stood, brushing snow off his pants, his eyes beginning to look a little wild. “Then what?”

“Looks like a cat.”

“That big?”

“Uh-huh.”

“You know what I think?”

“Uh-huh. You think you should've stayed home and found honest work.”

“How did you know?”

Raulin draped an arm around his brother's shoulders. “It's what you always think when our ass is in the fire.”

“Do we tell Crystal?”

“Only if you intend on living to an honored old age.”

“Good point.”

They took one more look at the oversized print, at the whole line of oversized prints, and headed back to camp.

When told, Crystal looked thoughtful.

“What is it?” Raulin asked, buckling himself into the harness.

“I don't . . .” She shook her head and bent to pick up the other trace. “I've got the feeling I'm forgetting something very important. Something someone once told me.”

“Oh, that's very definite.” Raulin watcher her shrug the harness on, leered, and reached out a hand. “Let me help you settle that strap.”

Crystal grinned, the thoughtful look vanished, and she slapped his hand away from her breast. “Is that all you ever think of?”

“Yes!” Jago called from his position behind the sleigh. “It's all he's thought of since he turned thirteen. Now, can we get going before our visitors return for breakfast?”

One silver brow rose. “Thirteen?”

Raulin threw his weight forward, straightening out his trace with an audible snap. “So what're we going to do, just hang around here all day? Let's go.”

Except that the way was easier than any they'd traveled for some time, the morning passed no differently than others they'd shared. The quiet of a world muffled in snow soothed ragged emotions and, gradually, night terrors faded. They made good time, pausing only once to rest, and covered nearly ten miles.

“Hey!” Crystal yelled at the brother's backs. “Let's stop for lunch, I'm starved.”

“. . . and a huge conservatory . . .” Raulin spread his arms, deep in his favorite topic of conversation: spending the gold he knew they'd find at the tower.

“What do you want a conservatory for?”

“For plants . . .”

“I know that's what it's for, you uncultured boob, I just couldn't figure out why you'd want one.”

“Guys! Food?” Crystal tried again as Raulin swung, Jago ducked,
and neither heard her. She sighed, they'd never hear her now. A strong tug and the metal prongs of both brakes dug deep into the snow. The sleigh stopped cold and she used just enough power to ensure it couldn't move farther.

Raulin, being heavier, kept his balance. Jago's feet took a step his body couldn't complete, his arms wind-milled, and he sat down.

“Oaf,” Raulin said fondly and extended a hand to help him up.

Back on his feet, Jago turned to face Crystal, who shrugged, and smiled.

“It got your attention,” she pointed out. “Let's eat.”

Jago's stomach chose that moment to loudly express its agreement. His mouth, open to deliver a blistering retort to Crystal, closed. He unbuckled his harness. “Well, I guess that's my vote. Raulin?”

The older man squinted into the sunlight then along the direction they had to go. “We're making such good time . . .”

“We won't get anywhere if we feint from hunger.”

“True enough.” He tossed his harness on top of his brother's. “I'll be back in a minute.”

As he walked into a nearby copse of trees he heard Jago say, “You notice how he only has to go when there's work to do?” Distance cut Crystal's reply down to a musical murmur. Raulin grinned, the sound reminding him of murmurs into his chest, inarticulate expression of contentment. He swung behind a scruffy jackpine.

Crack!

The grin vanished and he froze, the image of giant tracks in his mind's eye. The hair on the back of his neck lifted and he felt himself watched. In the silence he could hear the tree's needles rub together, a faint
shirk shirk
that now seemed sinister. He managed to do what he had to—the sound was not repeated—then backed slowly out of the trees.

Branches, he knew, often cracked in the cold. He really wished it was cold enough for that to be a valid explanation.

Crystal looked up from the small blaze that heated the ever-present teapot, and frowned. “Raulin, are you all right?”

Jago snorted and tossed his brother a hunk of leftover rabbit. “Probably left it out too long and it froze.”

“Something was in those trees with me.” He kept his voice matter-of-fact; no sense in causing panic by frothing at the mouth.

Crystal stood to kick snow over the fire, but Raulin stopped her.

“We still have to eat. And the fire's a weapon if we need it.”

Acknowledgment at last!

Shut up, Zarsheiy!

Conversation was strained and no one felt the urge to linger over tea.

They hadn't traveled more than a couple of miles when Jago held up his hand for a halt. “Raulin,” he called without turning, “did you by chance
see
what joined you in the trees at lunch.”

“No. Heard something. Why?”

“Because something is pacing us, something big and black. I've caught sight of it a couple of times now.”

“Last night's visitor?”

“Could be.”

Crystal's eyes flared as she tried to see through rock and trees and get a good look at their companion. Finally she gave up. “Wolves hunt at night.”

“It isn't hunting, just following.”

“Well, if it decides to move in . . .” Raulin unstrapped an oilskin bundle and laid it carefully on the snow. Squatting, he cut free the lengths of tarred rope that held it closed. As he opened it and lifted free what it contained, his expression was bleak. The crossbow was a soldier's weapon, easy to manufacture, easy to use. Raulin had been a soldier. He'd hoped he'd never have to be one again. Memories of men and women screaming and dying stirred. With an effort, he pushed them back.

“Are you sure . . .” Jago began, recognizing his brother's discomfort, knowing the source.

“Yes.” He stood, slinging the deerskin quiver over one shoulder, and shoved the oilskin on the sleigh where the weight of his pack would hold it securely. Letting the head of the bow fall forward, he hooked
the heavy bowstring with the cocking lever and shoved the toe of one boot into the iron bracing ring. A hard pull and the string snapped safely behind the trigger.

“Loading it too?”

“An unloaded bow is a fancy club.” He heard the armsmaster's voice in that and his lips curled into a mixture of a snarl and a smile. He slipped a quarrel into position and laid the bow carefully on top of the load, the head pointed toward the trees at the left, the stock inches from where his hands rested on the crossbar of the sleigh.

He looked up and met Crystal's eyes; met not unearthly power, only concern and a question. So he smiled, a real smile this time, and answered it.

“I'm okay.”

She nodded and reached out her hand. Although the length of the sleigh separated her palm and his face, he felt her stroke his cheek, leaving a residue of warmth and comfort behind.

“If you don't watch that,” his smile quirked up into a grin and he waggled his brows suggestively, “I'll start howling myself.”

The geography of the valley limited the sleigh to two directions; forward the way they'd been going, following a river course now buried under half a winter's accumulation of snow, or back the way they'd come. They went on. Crystal and Jago each kept one eye on their path and one eye on the trees and scrub that lined their path. Raulin followed blindly, trying to watch both sides of the trail at once.

As though aware it had been spotted, the creature pacing them took less care to remain unnoticed. They heard it on occasion, the crack and crash of a heavy body forcing its way through the brush, and once or twice saw sumac sway and shake off its load of snow as something unseen pushed past.

The sun sank lower in the sky, the trees began to thin as the forest they'd followed for so long began to end, and they reached a place where the slope to the valley's edge ran clear.

“Higher ground might not be a bad idea,” Jago suggested as they paused to consider their next move.

“Maybe,” Raulin agreed, “but that slope'll . . . Chaos!”

A huge black wolf stood in the clearing. Teeth bared, it growled.

It stepped forward and the growl grew louder.

Raulin's hand dropped down to the crossbow, rested a moment on the stock, and lifted back to the sleigh when the wolf moved no closer. Unless it attacked, he wouldn't fire. He wasn't sure he could. “Let's move it,” he said quietly, throwing his weight against the crossbar and almost running the sleigh up the back of Jago's legs. “Just keep it smooth and quiet and I think we'll be all right.”

As the wolf and the path from the valley fell behind, Raulin felt cold fingers brush against his spine. He knew those golden eyes continued to watch and he kept his own locked on the silver sway of Crystal's hair, fighting the urge to turn and walk backward, keeping the enemy in sight.
Enemy,
he snorted to himself.
Try to think of it as a big dog. You'll be happier.

A flash of black among the trees to the left and they knew they were accompanied still.

“There!” Crystal called, and pointed.

A smaller gray wolf sped across a clearing on the right and disappeared into cover.

“Two,” Raulin grunted.

From the left a howl, and from behind an answer. And then another. And then another. And then the valley filled with sound. As the last echo died away the sun slipped below the valley's edge and suddenly, although true night was still hours away, shadows ruled.

“Run!” Raulin barked, catching up the crossbow and ramming his shoulder against the sleigh. “We're too out in the open to fight.”

So they ran. With wolves to either side and wolves behind. Jago floundered on a patch of soft snow and almost fell, but Crystal grabbed his arm and yanked him back onto his feet. Forced off the river's path, they scrambled up hills, heading due north into the rougher going of the mountains.

Why don't they attack?
Crystal wondered.
What are they waiting for?
Sleek shapes, just on the edge of her vision, kept pace but came no closer. The power needed to protect Raulin and Jago would weaken
the shields and free the goddesses. She could only hope that in leaving Zarsheiy would do more damage to her enemies than to her friends.

Ahead of them waited a jumble of rock and a cliff-face that rose eight to ten feet out of the mountain.

“The cliff,” Raulin panted. “Get our backs against it!”

With the end in sight, they managed another burst of speed.

The front curve of the right runner caught under a rock and the sleigh slewed to a stop. The leather straps dug into Crystal's breasts as dead weight caught up to her and she plummeted to one knee, gasping, all the air forced out of her lungs. Jago's runner kept moving, spinning sleigh and Jago to the right, whipping both feet out from under him. Raulin's chin slammed into the crossbar and he bit his tongue. His eyes filled at the impact but he stumbled forward, half blind, grabbed Jago, and pulled him to his feet.

“Crystal!” He yelled. “The harnesses!”

A flash of green and the harnesses split.

Raulin pushed his brother on ahead and turned back to help Crystal.

“The cliff, it's our only chance!”

Plunging forward, they almost crashed into Jago who had stopped and stood staring at their intended refuge. “I think not,” he said quietly. Raulin and Crystal rocked to a halt beside him.

The black wolf stood on the cliff top. Its teeth gleamed white even in the dusk and its open mouth made it look almost as if it laughed. Then it leaped.

Raulin raised the crossbow and pulled the trigger.

The wolf's scream, when the quarrel drove into its haunch, sounded like nothing out of an animal's throat and when the body hit the ground almost at Raulin's feet, a young man snarled up at them—a young man with thick black hair that grew to a peak in the front and down to the center of his back like a mane, with fierce golden eyes, with very white teeth, and with a crossbow quarrel through one muscular thigh. As they watched, he warped and changed until the great black wolf crouched and worried at the arrow. A little blood matted the fur, but the shaft blocked most of the bleeding.

Jago's mouth worked, but no sound came out. Even Raulin seemed to have nothing to say. And Crystal finally remembered what had nagged at her all day.

Morning council in the queen's pavilion the day after Halda had fallen to Kraydak's Horde; Kly, the Duke of Lorn's daughter, had tried to reassure Mikhail that his sister, Halda's queen, still lived. “The mountains have hundreds of caverns and passageways, milord,” she had said. “The wer have used them for generations.”

“Wer,” she repeated aloud. “He's wer.”

“Good guess, wizard. Jason, come here.”

Still snarling, the wolf rose and trotted past them on three legs, the uneven gait detracting not a bit from his strength. Their gazes never left him and they turned like puppets following his direction.