Wolf Captured (15 page)

Even so, compared with the tailored knee britches he’d worn in Hawk Haven, the trousers did feel very full—almost uncomfortably so. The shirt reminded him of the smocks he wore when doing heavy work. However, compared with his few ventures out in New Kelvinese robes, he was comfortable, and he had to admit that the loose cut was perfect for the damp warmth of the local weather.

And it is still yet spring
, he thought.
What will the weather be like when summer comes?

Firekeeper, as was her wont, had not bothered with shoes, but Derian found that footwear had been supplied. There were both a pair of full-foot-covering leather slippers and a pair of sandals of the simple type that are held on with a thong through the two largest toes. A dark brown ribbon had been supplied for binding back his hair, set on the table before the mirror along with both comb and brush.

Derian chose the thong sandals and combed his hair, and though the reflection in the mirror looked very strange to him, he thought he looked a great deal better than he had in salt-stained, not too frequently washed, sailor’s togs.

Barnet seemed to agree, for he hurried to take advantage of the bath immediately after Derian came out, emerging some time later in an outfit identical to Derian’s, but that shirt and trousers were dyed in shades of blue that went very well with his fair hair.

“Tailors must not make too good a living here,” Barnet commented, slinging himself down into a chair again. “These shirts and trousers could be made in advance and all one would need to do is choose the length trousers that would best suit. Even those have some leeway because of the extra fabric.”

Derian nodded. “The weaving is excellent, though, and they must have some trade for silk—or the ability to grow it themselves. This fabric is cotton, I’m pretty sure, but Harjeedian had silk in his clothing.”

“Or something like it,” Barnet agreed. “I wonder if some enterprising Waterlanders have made it this far south?”

Derian hoped so. Waterland was neither friend nor enemy of Hawk Haven, and a Waterlander ship might be willing to take them home on promise of future reward.

Home,
he thought, wondering why the word wasn’t as sweet as it had been. Unbidden, Rahniseeta’s image came to mind. He shook his head violently to clear it away. Surely he must have been charmed!

From where she lounged on the floor next to Blind Seer, Firekeeper looked at him curiously.

“Fly in my ear,” Derian said, a trace lamely.

The wolf-woman nodded.

“Now what?” she asked simply.

Derian glanced at Barnet, but the minstrel only shrugged.

“Now,” Derian said, taking a deep breath, “we wait.”

BUT TELLING FIREKEEPER TO WAIT and making her do so were two completely different propositions. A full day away from the pitching of the ship’s decks, a few meals that didn’t threaten to come up almost as soon as they went down, and she wanted out of the confines of the courtyard. Derian realized how awkward their position was becoming the second night after their arrival.

Barnet snored, loudly and robustly, as befitted a man of good lungs and voice. Even the insect netting and the rich carpets scattered on the tiled floors could not keep the sound from reverberating. The first night after their arrival, Derian could have slept through anything. On this second night, a day of relative inactivity combined with the memory of Rahniseeta’s dark, liquid eyes made sleeping through Barnet’s snoring impossible.

Rising, Derian pulled the light coverlet off his bed, tossed it over his shoulder, and headed out into the courtyard, deciding that snakes were a far better option than sharing a room with a thunderstorm.

He found Firekeeper there before him. She had climbed up onto the biggest planter and was testing whether the ornamental fruit tree planted within would bear her weight. Blind Seer stood below, looking up intently, no doubt calculating his own chances if he were to leap from that raised platform onto the roof tiles.

The blue-eyed wolf greeted Derian with a lazy sweep of his tail, and Firekeeper looked down almost immediately.

“Hey, Fox Hair,” she said softly. “No sleep with thunder? You can use my room. The snakes are little fish eaters.”

He understood the leap between the sentences. Having assured herself that the snakes were not dangerous, Firekeeper didn’t mind, in fact probably preferred, sleeping under the open sky. He ignored her generous offer.

“What are you doing up there?”

“Wanted to go on roof. It is not too slant, and Harjeedian did not say we could not go top of the rooms.”

Her teeth flashed in the moonlight, her smile seeming quite like Blind Seer’s at that moment.

“The gate,” she added, seemingly without connection, “has metal thorns on top, and at the end of the hall—walkway—just happen to be guards standing. Blind Seer sniffed them, but I heard Rahniseeta talk to them when she went last.”

Derian was glad the wolf-woman couldn’t hear how his heartbeat quickened at the mention of Rahniseeta’s name.

Horse in a windstorm! Sure he’d been celibate shipboard, but Eagle’s Nest had been home ground and several women he knew had been in a holiday mood. What was his problem ? You didn’t fall in love with a woman after a couple of meetings. That was just the meat and bread of minstrels’ tales, the kind of stories Elise would have mooned over back when they first met. Look where that kind of thinking had gotten her—engaged to a complete scoundrel. Only luck had saved her from a very bad marriage.

Derian saw Firekeeper grinning at him, and wondered if he’d somehow given himself away.

“Well, come down from there,” he said sternly. “No matter how you want to interpret your parole, I don’t think Harjeedian included the rooftops in his definition of limits.”

Firekeeper leapt down, springing lightly as a cat—though given some of the things he’d seen Blind Seer do, Derian thought she was also probably moving as lightly as a wolf. She was serious now, and hunkered down in the attitude that meant she wanted to talk.

“Fox Hair, I not like this parole. It is all Harjeedian’s way, none mine. I promise to not escape and still I am locked up in here. I not like it at all.”

Derian slid into one of the chairs near the table. Barnet’s continued snoring was ample testimony that they had some sort of privacy—in many ways, the first privacy that they had been given since their escape attempt. Parole or not, Derian had noticed how one or more of the sailors just happened to be working near them when they were out on deck. If the sailors weren’t near, one or more of the captain’s small children always seemed to be playing nearby. Barnet might have been pleasant and interesting company, the language lessons a good way to fill the empty days on the seemingly endless ocean, but he, too, had been a guard of sorts.

“I don’t like it either, Firekeeper, but I don’t know what other option we have. We’re in an unfamiliar city, unknown distances from Hawk Haven. If we ran north, the first country that we’d know would be Stonehold, and I don’t think we could expect much help there.”

Firekeeper shook the dark tangle of her hair.

“If we go other side of mountains, then we is in my people’s land. Different packs, yes, but they could cry the call north and they would help us.”

Derian wished he was so confident. Local wolves—if there were local wolves—might help Blind Seer and Firekeeper, but he couldn’t resist the feeling they might think he was to be numbered among the enemy. He’d heard tales of what the Royal Beasts could do to those they declared against, and he didn’t wish to invite any opportunity.

“I think,” Firekeeper went on, “that from roof I might see where mountains are.”

She looked suddenly forlorn, and Derian wished he could comfort her, but comfort—and encouragement—were the last things she needed.

“Firekeeper, from what Rahniseeta said today …”

There,
the thought underlay his spoken words,
I said her name as casually as I would Elise’s or Dami’s.

“Tomorrow is going to bring a change. Harjeedian has been making some sort of report to his teachers. That’s why we haven’t seen him. Rahniseeta says he is coming to see us tomorrow soon after breakfast. Listen to what he has to say. Then, if you must, ask him about changing the terms of our parole. All I ask is that you let him have his say first. He may give you what you want without asking.”

“Not unless he let us go free,” Firekeeper said, “is he letting us have what we want. Still, I listen.”

Derian had to be content with that, and since Firekeeper didn’t show any inclination to climb back up on the roof, he gave a mental shrug.

“Were you serious about letting me have your room?”

“Of course.”

“Good night, then.”

“Sweet dreams,” she replied, and Derian blushed, for he heard the laughter in her voice.

WHAT DERIAN APPARENTLY HADN’T GUESSED was that Firekeeper had already been up on the roof. What he had caught her about was trying to find a good route by which Blind Seer could join her. She hadn’t intended to try and escape—certainly not while Derian slept—but she thought that checking her options was a good idea.

Now as Derian went into her room and closed the door, Firekeeper pillowed her head on Blind Seer’s flank and tried to sleep, but sleep did not wish to come. Two years of associating with humans and the fact that Firekeeper had done much of her own hunting by daylight even before coming to humans had not changed the fact that for her, night was no less usual a time to be abroad and active than day. The need for action, not the height of the sun, was what made her choices, and the very darkness seemed to cry that night would be the time to slip away.

She sighed and Blind Seer bent his head to lap her face.

“Rest, dear heart,” he said. “You need your wits about you. For all your boldness, you have hardly recovered the strength the sea sucked from you.”

Firekeeper puffed her agreement, made her eyes stop watching the stars, and, eventually, lulled by the wolf’s even breathing, she fell asleep.

Warm, aware of the beating of her mother’s heart, the rise and fall of her breathing, the baby drowses. This is the best place to be, cuddled against Mother’s softness, almost asleep, awake only enough to savor the pleasure of a full belly and warm closeness.

Mother goes about her routine, stooping and bending, but the baby is not disturbed. The swaying of Mother’s motion is what a rocking cradle poorly counterfeits, lacking as it does the soothing accompaniment of heartbeat, and the rise and fall of breath.

The baby might have slept then, her dreams intertwined with growing plants and the scent of warm leaf mold, but a voice breaks through the tranquil music of heartbeat and breath.

“Sarena? Where are you?”

A man’s voice. Familiar enough that the baby relaxes some.

“In the garden.”

Mother raises her voice and the vibrations carry through her, flesh into the baby’s ear, dimming the comforting lullaby. The baby whimpers slightly. A hand pats her, and she quiets.

The man’s voice again.

“Sarena, you’ll never believe what happened to me.”

“Hush,” Mother says. “I’ve just gotten the baby to sleep.”

The man’s voice immediately softens. “Sorry. I didn’t see her there. Want me to hold her? She’s getting heavy for the backpack.”

“I have her,” Mother says. “Yes. She’s getting heavy, but she wouldn’t settle and I had to get these seeds in. I’ve a feeling it’s going to rain tonight.”

“Ah, well, let me help while I talk.” The man’s voice remains soft, but the note of excitement returns. “I’ve got to tell you what happened when I was out checking my snares. I happened on a cherry tree where the fruit was just beginning to ripen. Little things, and tart even when ripe, but they’d be a welcome change from dried apple slices. Figured I’d get what I could before the birds ruined the rest.

“After I’d picked what I could reach from the ground, I noticed there was a good ripe batch up higher, and went after them. I’d nearly finished picking when I caught some motion from the corner of my eye. There was a hole in the surrounding tree cover—probably why the cherries had ripened at that point and not elsewhere. A big maple had gone down and, like I said, left a hole.”

His voice has risen now, but the baby isn’t disturbed. Mother has resumed her gentle motions. The sun is warm. The birds, startled to silence when the man first arrived, have now resumed their songs.

“You’ll never believe what I saw,” the man says.

“Probably not,” Mother says, and there is soft laughter under her words. “Why don’t you tell me, Donal?”

“It was a deer the size of a moose—or maybe just an elk, but a white-tail buck in every other way right down to a rack that would be the envy of any trophy room in the kingdom.”

“If you say so,” Mother agrees. “But how could you tell the size at such a distance?”

“I’d been out to that very spot,” the man says, “just a few days before. There’s a couple of boulders and I wanted to see what was denning there. I could guess the size of the buck from how he dwarfed those boulders. But, Sarena, wait—the size of the buck isn’t the best thing.”

“Go on.”

“While I was watching, the brush moved and out stepped a wolf—a timber wolf nearly the size of a pony. What do you think the buck did?”

“I won’t even try to guess. Hand me the seed sack, will you? I’m out. And go on with your story. Somehow I don’t think it’s going to end with venison hanging in the larder.”

“Here. Let me pour some seed into your basket.”

A sound with a hiss like falling rain intervenes. The baby squirms, but Mother resumes her motion and the man his speech.

“I thought to see the buck bolt, though how it had let the wolf get so close I couldn’t imagine, but I can’t say I was thinking much, just watching. The buck didn’t bolt, though, nor did the wolf spring. They stood for a moment, sniffing each other, then they stood for all the world like two men gossiping over a fence while resting from the plowing.”