Wizard's Heir (A Bard Without a Star, Book 1) (6 page)

It took almost a week for Gwydion to feel like himself
again. Math asked very little of him during that time, although Bran came to
his room every day for a short training session. The exertion helped Gwydion
get used to his human body again, and working with Bran made him exercise his
mind as well.

Gwydion went to the tower after
he felt completely human again, and Math gestured for him to come up on the
dais beside him. Like a whisper close in his ear, he heard,
Can you
hear our voices?

He turned to look at the old
man. “Did you say something?”

The corner of Math’s mouth
twitched. “Are you ready for your next lesson?”

With only a moment of
trepidation, Gwydion answered, “Yes, uncle.”

Math pulled the rowan wand from
his sleeve, and touched it to Gwydion’s forehead again. The pain of transformation
made him scream, which turned into a loud, keening whine. He felt new senses
take hold, especially smell. He had to exert all his willpower to keep from
sniffing everything in the room, and ended up on his haunches, scratching his
ear.

Math said, “You are now a wolf,
nephew. Again, no harm will come to you. Explore to your heart’s content, and
try to remember your true self this time.”

With a wave of the rowan wand,
Gwydion found himself in the woods again. He tried to determine if they were the
same woods that he had roamed as a deer, but the change in perspective was too
great; he was lower to the ground, and none of the smells were exactly the same
as he remembered as a deer.

In the distance, he heard a
howl, and without thinking, he answered it. More howls answered, each on a
different note, and it made a very satisfying music in his ears. The wind
brought him tantalizing whiffs of the pack, but the howls indicated that they
were moving downwind from him, and he understood; they wanted to know who he
was as much as he wanted to know about them.

He sat back and waited,
tracking them by sound. He had made out at least five before he had lost their
scent, which struck him as a strong pack. As they closed in on him, he began
to get nervous. What if they decided he was an intruder? He heard two yips
close on his left side, and by the time he turned, they were surrounding
him.

He had been wrong. Six wolves,
all male, watched him silently. Gwydion turned around slowly, looking at all
of them in turn, but ended up looking at the one that had to be the pack
leader. The leader cocked his head to the side and gave a short yip. Gwydion
was shocked to find he could interpret it to mean, “What are you intentions,
wolf who is not a member of our pack?”

Trusting his instinct, Gwydion
replied, “I seek to join with you, pack leader.”

“Are you prepared to accept
your rightful place?”

“I am.”

“Then it is time for you to be
judged.” The leader nodded and the smallest wolf attacked Gwydion.

Despite being caught off guard,
Gwydion quickly rallied, and ended up on top of the younger wolf, his teeth
clamped on his neck just hard enough not to break the skin. The wolf struggled
for a minute, then went limp, and Gwydion released him, knowing he had won. As
soon as he stepped back, though, the next wolf attacked.

Gwydion felt like his life had
become a blur of fur, fang, and claw. He fought for his life, and at the same
time, he knew he was not in any immediate danger; he was really fighting for
his place. They gave him no break and no breathing room, and it took all of
his strength and skill to keep himself upright, especially when they started
coming at him in pairs. And just as suddenly as it began, he found himself in
the center of the ring again, with all the other wolves watching him silently.

Panting and covered with dozens
of scratches, he faced the leader. “You have fought well, wolf who wants to
join,” the old wolf said. “But you have yet to battle me.”

Gwydion expected a pounce, but
the leader began to circle him instead, stiff legged and growling. Gwydion
mirrored him, wondering why they were posturing when the other attacks happened
so fast. The answer came to him—the leader was seeing if he had any weak
areas—when the leader was upon him.

Like when he fought the buck,
Gwydion felt his mind analyzing the situation rationally, humanly. The leader
was a good fighter, obviously very experienced. He used cunning and guile as
well as brute strength. Gwydion could see flaws and weaknesses, too, and he
was about to start using them when he remembered Bran’s lessons about
controlling the battle. He knew if he won, he would be the new pack leader.
He also knew he was not prepared for such a role.

Gwydion began giving ground.
He acted more tired than he was, and he favored his small wounds. The leader
pressed him harder, took advantage of every opening Gwydion showed him.
Gwydion rallied once, showing his mettle, and quickly faded. He ended up on
his stomach, tail between his legs, feeling the leader’s hot breath and sharp
teeth on his neck. It was not hard to act submissive.

The leader let him go and
stepped away. “You fought well, young pup.”

Barely moving, Gwydion said, “Thank
you, my leader.”

“You still have a strange
scent, but not too strange, I think.” He walked around Gwydion, who remained
prostrate. “And I can see we won’t have to teach you manners. Do you have a
name?”

Gwydion tried to say his name,
but what he heard was: “Moon Howl.”

The leader nodded. “And I am
Long Claw, leader of the Moss Stone wolves. Welcome to our pack, Moon Howl.”

The other wolves swarmed him
again, but with nose and tongue instead of claw and tooth. Gwydion felt
enveloped by love, and was surprised by how wonderful it felt.

A sharp bark from Long Claw brought
them all to their feet. “Our family still waits for food,” he said. “Shall we
hunt, brothers?”

Everyone, including Gwydion,
howled in return. They set off at a lope through the misty forest, spreading
out rapidly, though Gwydion could still smell them and hear the soft padding of
their feet. Long Claw appeared beside him.

“There is much about you I do
not understand,” he said.

“You are my leader,” Gwydion
replied. “Ask me and I will answer.”

“Where did you come from?”

“A land far away, full of men.”

“Ah, men,” Long Claw said. “We
know of them, but they are rare in our demesne.”

“That is good,” Gwydion said. “Men
often kill wolves.”

“They do not understand our
ways.”

“But our cousins the dogs call
them litter-mates.”

“They are not my cousins,” Long
Claw said with contempt. They trotted along in silence for a bit. “Did the
humans kill your pack?”

“No,” Gwydion said.

“Then why did you leave your
home and wander into the Moss Stone lands?”

Gwydion thought about the
truth, and how a wolf might see it. “My pack leader,” he said, “Wanted me to
go and seek other lands, other wolves. He said that other packs could use new
blood, and ours was getting crowded. He sent me to find a new pack, and I
ranged far and wide before finding the Moss Stone lands.”

Long Claw grunted. “I have not
heard of such a situation in many ages. Your old pack must be very prosperous.”

“It is,” Gwydion said. “But
prosperity is only one part of life, is it not?”

“A good part, though.” Long
Claw sniffed the breeze. “Deer ahead,” he said. “It is time to stay down
wind, and use guile.”

Gwydion had a momentary
confusion as the scent of deer grew stronger. He remembered being the deer, of
that scent being himself, and his current scent being one of danger. He had to
stop and shake his head, trying to clear the confusion. Long Claw looked at
him curiously, but said nothing, and simply waited for Gwydion’s fit to pass.
After a few moments, Gwydion was able to think again as a wolf, and the smell
of the deer, stronger now, made his stomach grumble.

Long Claw evidently heard it,
because he nodded once and continued leading them towards the deer. The scent
permeated the air, sharpening both Moon Howl’s hunger and his canine
instincts. With a barely audible yip, Long Claw signaled that they should
separate. Moon Howl went left, looking for a break in the brush to see the
herd. He knew it was a herd by the myriad of subtle differences in the smells,
indicating many individual deer.

He went up a small ridge, and
found a vantage point under a bush. He could see six deer in a dell below,
grazing contentedly. Across the way, he could see Long Claw, also partly
concealed. With a few ear flicks, the pack leader told him which deer he was
interested in, an older one near the center of the group. Moon Howl
understood, and began moving a bit further up wind.

The deer caught his scent and
began to look about in alarm. Gwydion reversed course and came out into the
open just below them; seeing him there, the herd began moving back towards Long
Claw’s hiding spot. Gwydion saw him tense as the herd shifted the older deer
towards the rear. With a great leap, he landed on the old deer’s back.

The herd panicked at the
surprise; some began fleeing into the woods, while some turned to fight Long Claw.
Gwydion rushed in to nip at the legs of the fighters, distracting them. Long
Claw clung tenaciously to his prey, trying to get a good bite in. The old deer
spun and jerked, lowing pitifully. Long Claw slid down and ripped at the deer’s
haunches. Gwydion saw an opening and rushed in, jumping up to rip at the neck
from the bottom.

Warm blood sprayed out, and the
deer fell to its knees. The other deer, sensing the end was near, began
backing away. Gwydion licked his chops and stared at them until they turned
and melted into the woods. Long Claw had torn the deer’s legs, hobbling it,
although it still tried to drag itself away. Long Claw moved up and bit into
its neck. Gwydion heard the bone crunching, and soon the deer was still.

Long Claw let go, and let out a
great howl. Gwydion joined him, altering his tone to a wild harmony. Soon
they heard the answering calls from the pack. Within twenty minutes, all the
males had arrived, and the females came a few minutes after that.

There were four of them, and
they stopped when they saw Gwydion. They looked from him to the deer, where
the males were already feeding. Long Claw came up and said, “This is Moon
Howl. He has joined the pack, and defeated all but me.”

There was much sniffing to get
acquainted, and then two of the females joined the feast, while the other two
sat back on their haunches and looked at him expectantly. Moon Howl wasn’t
sure what they wanted at first, but then he realized that they were both near
to going into heat. He sniffed them over again, closely, and one especially
intrigued him. He gave her a gentle nip on the shoulder, and led her to the
carcass. They ate together, and then as the pack laid down to rest, she led
him a little ways away.

“I am Smooth Nose,” she said. “Are
you bound to another female?”

“I am not,” Moon Howl replied.
“But I might be interested in being bound to you.”

“You are new to the pack,” she
replied. “Will you fight for me?”

“None other will have you but
me,” he said. “Is this agreeable to you?”

“It is,” she said with a deep
sigh. “My time has passed twice already, and none of the others was able to
mate me. But you…”

“I didn’t know I was waiting
for you until I smelled you,” he said.

“And I, you.” She barked a
laugh. “Brown Pads may be jealous, but I think she will go into heat first.
And once she has a mate, you will no longer be interesting. But will you
control yourself and let another mate her?”

“For you, I will,” he said.

They returned to the pack, and
sure enough, the other female, Brown Pads, attempted to get close to him. But
he turned her aside gently, and soon she was courting another, although she
kept glancing back at him.

He sat and watched the pack,
quickly seeing that one of the other females was Long claw’s mate, and the last
female was mated to another. Both acknowledged him, and he acknowledged them
in return, but he realized that even if they went into heat, there would be no
strong attraction. He didn’t understand it entirely, but assumed it was part
of the instincts of the wolf. Feeling his own response to things, it seemed
that the wolves had a much richer way of seeing the world compared to the
deer. Instinct was still present, but did not dominate every action and
reaction like it did in the deer.

Brown pads went into heat two
days later. Her smell was almost overpowering, and oddly enough, Smooth Nose
kept her distance from Gwydion, although she watched him closely. He felt the
desire rise in him, but he did not join when three of the younger males began
fighting for her. And when Short Tail emerged victorious, he led Brown Pads
away, and Gwydion did not follow.

Long Claw came and sat next to
him. “Short Tail is no match for you.”