Wolf Captured (25 page)

Barnet nodded. “I’ll stay here and field questions.”

“Thanks.”

As Barnet began translating Derian’s explanation into Liglimosh, Derian found his path no longer obstructed. He hurried outside, feeling almost unwilling kinship with the minstrel. Here in the foreign land the differences that had separated them—including the political enmity between their countries—didn’t seem to matter as much as the similarity of language and culture.

I wonder if I’ll start feeling friendly toward Waln Endbrook next?
Derian thought, but remembering what Waln had done, he didn’t think this likely.

He found Firekeeper sitting with Blind Seer next to a clump of highly scented white flowers. He entertained a fleeting thought that to something as nose-oriented as a wolf, this might seem like hiding, but dismissed the conjecture as ridiculous. Firekeeper was the first person to call herself “nose-dead.”

He dropped onto the grass next to them.

“So, what do you think about Ahmyndisdu Tiridanti’s offer?”

Firekeeper bit into her lip.

“I think,” she said, “I must see with these eyes what the wolves are like.”

Derian nodded.

“Do you want me to come with you?”

Firekeeper blinked.

“Tiridanti, Varjuna wish you here.”

“Firekeeper, I may remember my social graces, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to do everything someone else tells me they think is best. You are my friend. If you want me with you, that’s where I’ll be. If you think it is best I stay here …”

He shrugged.

“I think,” Firekeeper said slowly, “you must make this decision for you. Why not go and see what this Varjuna offer? Then we consider together, best each for each.”

Derian nodded.

“You have something there.” He got up, brushed grass off his trousers. “Varjuna’s still in the reception hall. I’ll go talk to him. Where can I find you?”

“Tiridanti say we can go anywhere in temple places,” Firekeeper replied. “These gardens seem better than snake place. I will be here, or if not, somehow I will let you know where I am.”

Derian grinned at her.

“It would be a whole lot easier to leave a note if you’d learn to write.”

“Paah …” Firekeeper said, but he knew she agreed with him. From how Blind Seer thumped his tail on the grass, Derian suspected the wolf did, too.

FINDING VARJUNA WAS EASY, and in a very brief time they had separated themselves from the surrounding group and were headed toward what Varjuna called u-Bishinti, or the Stable. It was easy to tell the place must be important because the word shared the same “u” prefix that changed “liall” from the mere number five to a title of respect, so Derian did not expect to be taken to any usual housing for horses. However, he was certainly not prepared for their destination.

First Varjuna took them to a very nice little carriage with two seats before and a higher seat behind. The ikidisdu must have sent word ahead, for a handsome bay gelding was being set between the shafts as they arrived. The stableboy made numerous gestures indicative of deep respect as he handed the reins to Varjuna, but these didn’t distract him from sneaking several long, curious looks at Derian himself.

“I’ll drive,” Varjuna said, as the stableboy climbed up behind. “Do you mind sitting alongside me?”

“Not at all,” Derian replied, quite happy not to be relegated to the passenger seat. “Easier to talk this way.”

“We have a bit of a drive ahead of us,” Varjuna said. “U-Bishinti is outside of the main city, so there is ample pasturage.”

“My parents’ business is outside of Eagle’s Nest for the same reason,” Derian said. “That’s the name of our city,” he added when Varjuna looked puzzled.

They talked about the difficulties of maintaining a large horse facility in an urban center while Varjuna took them out of the temple district. Then Varjuna shifted to affable tour guide, pointing out buildings of interest and mentioning historical events that meant nothing to Derian. He tried to take note of everything though, in case, as with Rahniseeta’s story about the origin of the gods there proved to be something of importance buried in the rambling tales.

Before leaving the city proper, Varjuna drove to a point from which they had a clear view of the bay.

“Those are Misheemnekuru, the islands where the yarimaimalom dwell,” he said, pointing with the butt of his driving whip.

Derian would have had no trouble finding them, even without Varjuna’s pointer.

“They’re huge!” he said, looking at the curving green outlined by sparkling blue waters.

“Of course,” Varjuna said. “They must be to support the populations there—not only the wolves, but great cats and small foxes, bear, raccoons, deer, elk, and more. There are several islands, most close enough that the larger animals can swim between them. Most of the islands possess high ground as well, so that the animals can get to safety in storm season.”

Derian nodded, noticing that no matter how close the islands were to each other, they were still far enough from land that he wondered if anything without wings could leave them. Otters and beavers might, but wolves?

He held his thoughts, moving to a safer topic.

“How about horses? Are there wild herds?”

Varjuna shook his head. “Not there, though there are some in a preserve near u-Bishinti. We do not let our domestic horses roam, of course. The farmers complain enough about the deer and rabbits.”

“Sounds like home,” Derian chuckled.

But u-Bishinti, when he saw it spread out in the green vale outside the city, was nothing like home.

Prancing Steed Stables was a good working stable, but its stables and storage barns were built for function, not beauty. Even the building where Colby Carter had his offices had begun life as a hay barn, and over half of it still served as a tack room. Probably the most ornamental thing about it was the portrait of Roanne that decorated the wooden sign that swung outside of Colby’s office.

Derian felt a familiar tightness in his chest as he thought of the chestnut mare and his absent family, and concentrated on the complex rather than remember. Varjuna had chosen to approach via a road that provided an overlook, and Derian knew from the expectant quiet with which the other drove that Varjuna was waiting for him to comment.

“It’s incredible,” Derian said, glad that Barnet’s language lessons had included a few superlatives.

“Begun in the days when the Old Country rulers were still here,” Varjuna said, “but we’ve added to it and maintained it. Frankly, I think even they’d be impressed.”

“No doubt,” Derian agreed.

He guessed that the small step-pyramid temple roughly central to the complex was one of the original buildings. Its surface tiles were silvery white and grass green, colors he had learned were associated with Air and Earth—even as horses were.

However, the elaborate exterior ornamentation was not reserved for the temple. Buildings that just had to be stables, judging from what he could see through the doors and windows now opened to the pleasant warmth of the spring day, also came in for a fair share of tile or enameled brick. Even the trim on the hay barns and sheds was carved with ornamental complexity.

“We have our own smithy,” Varjuna was saying complacently. “Two, actually, one devoted almost exclusively to shoeing, another for work on tack. We have a leather shop, though not a tannery. The smell upsets the horses—people, too .”

He grinned and, clucking to the bay, started the descent.

“How many horses do you have here?” Derian asked.

“Hundreds,” Varjuna said casually, “if one counts new foals, young horses being trained, brood mares, and the like. There are those which have been brought in to be tested. They stay in that pale grey stable to the right.”

He pointed with his driving whip.

“Tested?” was all Derian could think to say.

“For special gifts,” Varjuna explained. “The Wise Horses have the gods’ ear. That goes without saying, but many a lesser animal is gifted as well. Then, too, we keep an eye open for good prospects for breeding or for such mundane uses as riding and driving. Of all the temples, we are probably the only one that earns far more than it takes in taxes.”

He paused, then added in the tone of one who is doing his best to be fair, “The Temple of the Cold Bloods does very well in earnings, too, as does the Temple of Sea Beasts.”

Derian would have liked to ask about this, but they had dropped closer to the pastures, and his mouth was all but hanging open at the wide selection of magnificent horseflesh idly grazing. Any one of the horses would have been the prize of a noble’s stable, and yet from how they were set in this outlying pasture Derian had the feeling that these were the least prized of the animals.

For the first time, Derian found himself really thinking about meeting a horse who was to other horses what Blind Seer was to the usual wolf. At first he felt exhilarated, then, suddenly, very shy.

“We also have quarters here,” Varjuna was saying, “for those of us who are kidisdum of the horses. Happily, the living areas are set where the winds from the bay keep off most of the flies. There comes many a hot day in summer where I give thanks to whoever laid out the general lines of this complex. If you look up there …”

Again the whip pointed

“You’ll see them. Dormitory arrangements in most cases with communal dining—as you must have learned in the Temple of the Cold Bloods that’s pretty typical—but since I am ikidisdu I get a nice place all for myself and my family. Can’t see it from this angle, but our house overlooks the entirety of u-Bishinti and even offers a glimpse of the sea.”

“It’s a city,” Derian said, awed, “a city dedicated to horses.”

“A town at least,” Varjuna said, obviously pleased with Derian’s reaction.

“Is there something like this for each type of animal?” Derian asked.

“Oh, no!” Varjuna laughed. “Only for the horses. There has been talk from time to time about setting up facilities for cattle and sheep, but the dominant theological opinion is that the gods are more inclined to speak their will to the wild varieties of animals. Horses have always been viewed as an exception, though. Maybe it’s because we don’t raise them in order to eat them.”

“Maybe,” Derian echoed, completely overwhelmed. “You’re going to have to explain to me which animals talk to the gods and which don’t.”

Varjuna nodded. “There will be time for that, especially if you choose to stay with us. I hope you realize that part of the reason for taking you here is that I’m going to do my best to try to persuade you.”

“That’s fine,” Derian said, and for a long moment he didn’t really care if Varjuna meant for life or just for as long as Firekeeper was out visiting the wolves. “That’s just fine.”

As they drove into the complex, Derian lost his overview, but it hardly mattered. There were more horses to look at, and he could hardly decide in which direction to turn his head. There were mares with spindly-legged foals at their sides; herds of last year’s colts and fillies, not yet seriously into their training; mixed herds of more mature animals. Here and there were horses evidently well past their prime, but still well cared-for. This last warmed Derian’s heart toward Varjuna and his people. Derian well knew how expensive horses were to feed, and most of the time his parents sold the older animals—but one or two were given honorable retirement.

In arenas and on tracks, horses were being trained for both riding and driving. Derian swallowed a grin when he saw how carefully the grooms and trainers didn’t stop work. Only a few of the older men and women waved, and these most casually. None stopped to gape at the red-haired stranger.

“So they knew I was coming,” he said to Varjuna, and Varjuna had the grace to look mildly embarrassed.

“Perhaps you have no idea how important your arrival is,” the ikidisdu said.

Derian decided to tackle this directly.

“I don’t have any idea at all,” he said. “Harjeedian says little and until this morning’s reception we saw only him, his sister, and a few servants. The servants weren’t talking, and Harjeedian and Rahniseeta seemed mostly interested in preparing us for today.”

“You heard nothing on the ship?”

“Nothing.”

Varjuna shrugged. “I am ikidisdu of horses, but I don’t make policy. It is a jaguar year, too, so we are very much out of the loop.”

Derian nodded, though he didn’t quite understand why this should be. Didn’t Fire need Air and Earth or whatever it was the horses represented? He didn’t know how to ask that in his limited Liglimosh, so he kept silent.

At last Varjuna drew the carriage to a halt in front of the temple. The stableboy, who had been riding nearly forgotten in the back, leapt down and took charge of the pretty little bay and the vehicle. Varjuna took charge of Derian.

The sun had dropped appreciably lower by the time Varjuna had finished showing fountains from which water was piped directly to the various barns, box stalls with walls padded so that the horses would not damage their coats, barns piled high with choice grain, hay, and bedding. And, of course, a sampling of the magnificent horses. With a sudden shock of guilt, Derian recalled Firekeeper, waiting back at the main temple in Heeranenahalm.

He realized he had better get back to her before full dark had fallen and she was inspired to prowl.

“I need to go back to the city,” he said to Varjuna.

Varjuna looked instantly disappointed.

“I had hoped you would dine with my family.”

Derian looked apologetic.

“I really must return to Lady Blysse. She will be expecting me.”

Varjuna spoke almost as if reciting a proverb, “Wolves are difficult to keep waiting.”

Derian grinned. “Impossible.”

“There is so much more I’d like to show you,” Varjuna said. “If I promise to return you by a more rapid road than before, can you tarry a bit longer?”

“Only a bit,” Derian said. “I really should be back before twilight.”

Varjuna nodded crisply. “I can do that without even raising a sweat on the horses. I don’t want to send you away without introducing you to at least a few of the Wise Horses.”