Wolf Captured (3 page)

“Rarby, hang the lantern up,” the dark man said. He spoke Pellish, the language common to Bright Bay and Hawk Haven, but with an accent Firekeeper had never heard before. “I may need your assistance.”

“Right, Harjeedian,” Rarby said.

Rarby was a big man, both tall and broad. The bright blue-and-white-striped sweater he wore emphasized that breadth. His accent was familiar, though with more of the sound of Bright Bay to it, Firekeeper thought. Not surprising, since he and his companion were both obviously sailors and Bright Bay traditionally followed the sea.

The other man resembled Rarby closely enough that Firekeeper guessed they were brothers. This second man was a touch taller, but not as broad as Rarby. He wore a knit cap in the same blue and white, pulled tight to his ears. His chin seemed both pale and reddish. Firekeeper realized after a moment’s thought that he must have very recently shaved off a heavy beard.

Then she recognized him. The newly shorn man was the one who had lured her from the dancing. Rarby was the man who had cut Derian. She swallowed a growl. They must think her weak.

Harjeedian saw Firekeeper move and crossed to stand in front of her cage. Firekeeper noticed that he stopped an arm’s length away. She didn’t think this was accidental. In the lantern light, she got a far better look at him than she had at their first encounter.

He was of medium height, his build slim, though lithe and muscular. His jet black hair was very straight, parted in the center, left to hang loose to just above his shoulders. The blunt weight of it emphasized the sharp angle of his cheekbones and the tilt of his eyes, so that the eyes seemed squashed to slits between cheekbone and eyebrow. His skin was a deep, warm brown, without the extensive weathering evident on both the sailors, so she thought the darker color must be natural.

“How do you feel?” Harjeedian asked in his precise Pellish.

Firekeeper paused before answering. Let them think her slow.

“Not good,” she said. “They worse, though. Fox Hair stink and Blind Seer no wake.”

“Put your arm through the bars where I can reach it,” Harjeedian said. “I need to feel the pulses.”

Firekeeper had seen Doc do this, and knew degrees of health could be read through the art. She had tried to learn it, but never was certain she felt any pulse but her own. Reluctantly, she thrust her arm through the bars, determined to seem cowed.

Harjeedian grasped her wrist in one long-fingered, lightly callused hand, positioned his fingers, and stared at nothing.

“Somewhat fast,” he said, “but nothing to worry about. Does your head hurt?”

“Much,” Firekeeper lied.

“Hmm. I thought I judged the dose better than that. I understood that you did not drink alcohol. I must have misjudged the relative ratio of muscle to fat.”

Firekeeper stared at him. The words were Pellish, but made little sense to her. All she was certain of was that Harjeedian didn’t think she should have a headache.

“I’m thirsty,” she whined.

“That could account for the headache,” Harjeedian said. “Shelby, draw water for Lady Blysse—while you’re at it, draw enough for all of our guests.”

The man in the knit cap nodded and left. His steps were quick, and Firekeeper was certain he was glad to be away.

What is he afraid of?
she thought.
Me? I am locked. Perhaps he fears Harjeedian. Harjeedian gives the orders
.

Harjeedian let her hand drop and stepped back from the cage.

“Has Derian Counselor or the wolf awakened?”

“Derian did, for a little. Blind Seer, no.”

She heard the worry in her own voice. Harjeedian looked pleased.

“The wolf still sleeps? Very good. I will look to him last. First, the king’s counselor.”

He walked to where Derian lay sprawled on the deck, knelt, and lifted the young man’s head. As before, Harjeedian spoke his conclusions aloud, though Firekeeper was uncertain just who was intended to be his audience. Rarby never responded to anything said, nor did Harjeedian seem to expect a response.

“Breathing. That’s good. A bit shallow. Vomit on mouth and face, but not sufficient to choke him. The purge worked as planned then, but there must have been too much alcohol already in his blood.”

Derian moaned, stirred, and tried to sit up. Harjeedian did not restrain him, and Derian succeeded in propping himself onto one elbow. The chain securing his ankle clanked as he moved.

“Who the … What?” Derian managed rather incoherently. “Firekeeper?”

He blinked and his hazel eyes focused on Harjeedian. He paused as he registered the unfamiliar face, Rarby standing a few paces beyond, and Shelby coming from above with waterskins slung over his shoulders and a bucket in one hand.

“Who are you?” Derian asked, sounding more angry than afraid.

“Harjeedian will do,” the man said, leaning forward to grasp Derian’s free wrist. “I am your escort.”

“Escort?” Derian wrested his wrist free and pulled himself into a sitting position. “Kidnapper is more like it! Escort where? To whom? Did you ever think about issuing more usual invitations?”

“The ones who sent me do not think that way. They desire something, and what they desire will be acquired for them. You will learn more of this in time.”

Harjeedian smiled and Firekeeper was uneasily aware that this man was dangerous.

She was also unhappily aware that Harjeedian had spoken of whoever it was he served as “they.” In the back of her mind she had thought that their enemy was somehow connected to Queen Valora of the Isles, but Valora would never be mistaken for more than one. Her husband was most definitely not a power who could be spoken of in one breath with her as one might Princess Sapphire and her consort, Prince Shad.

Harjeedian extended his hand for Derian’s wrist.

“Cooperate with me and I will do what I can to eliminate any physical discomfort you are feeling. The dosage of the drug my agent administered to you could only be estimated. I could not account accurately for the alcohol in your system and though I took measures to ascertain that you would not be harmed, I could not …”

“Who are you!” Derian roared, surging to his feet. “I want answers.”

“You want something for your headache,” Harjeedian said, rising with effortless grace. “You want a bath and clean clothing. I can obtain these things for you, but only if you cooperate.”

Derian stared down at Harjeedian, but for all the difference in their heights—Derian was a very tall man—to Firekeeper it seemed that Harjeedian was the larger. Perhaps Derian too felt the force of the dark man’s personality. Perhaps he simply became aware of Rarby standing ready a few paces away, or felt the weight of the chain around his ankle, but Derian suddenly held very still.

He thrust out his arm, wrist turned upward. Harjeedian smiled slightly and took it.

“Quick and erratic,” he commented. “No great surprise there.”

He raised a hand to Derian’s forehead.

“Damp. Fever broken, though. You are a strong young man. I think even without my assistance you would soon be in good form. Shelby, did you bring sufficient water for washing?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Pour a little into this cup, then give a wet rag to Counselor Derian. You can handle the deck.”

For Firekeeper, the next few minutes were almost dreamlike in their ordered practicality. Derian washed, then was given a change of clothes, and a cup into which Harjeedian had mixed some powder. Shelby thoroughly scrubbed the stinking deck; then the damp area was covered with a heap of clean straw. A blanket was placed over that, and Derian was invited to sit. He did so without comment, his movements so contained that Firekeeper wondered if he were feeling ill once more.

“There is a covered pail for waste behind you,” Harjeedian concluded. “I suggest you use it, if at all possible. Now I shall look to the wolf.”

From inside his shirt, Harjeedian pulled a chain that glittered gold in the lantern light. He removed one key from a small assortment that hung upon a ring and tucked the rest away again.

“Rarby, Shelby, ready the crossbows. Rarby, orient yours on Lady Blysse, Shelby, on the wolf.”

As much as Firekeeper hated Harjeedian for his foresight, she also had to admire him. There was a distinct possibility that if Blind Seer attacked their captors he could take out all three men before any injuries he took significantly slowed him—and although she hated to admit it, his devotion to her was such that he might well risk his own life to win her freedom.

Rarby moved to where any shot from his bow would be instantly fatal for Firekeeper.

“Ready, Harjeedian.”

Shelby grunted his own readiness.

Harjeedian turned to Firekeeper before stepping close to Blind Seer’s locked cage.

“I think he is still asleep, but if he is not, I suggest you tell him of my arrangements.”

Firekeeper did not say a word. She had resolved some time before that her early attempts to convince humans of the intelligence of her Royal Beast companions had been an error. What she would not admit to in the company of allies she would not do in front of enemies.

Harjeedian’s thin lips shaped a small, humorless smile. Without further comment, he opened the cage and went inside.

Almost without volition, Firekeeper found herself drawn close to the bars of her own cage, as close as she could get to the wolf. She heard Derian gasp, and knew that her movement must have startled Rarby as well, but the crossbow remained unfired.

Harjeedian placed his hand on Blind Seer’s head, peeled the lid back from the wolf’s eye and inspected the pupil, grunted something, then inspected the gum, pressing the skin above the shining white fangs. He pushed back fur to expose the skin below and pinched there, then lifted the bushy weight of the tail and inspected beneath. Examination completed, he rose to his feet and left the cage.

After Harjeedian had locked the door behind him, he said, “The wolf is somewhat dehydrated, not surprisingly, given the amount of time he has slept. It will be to your advantage if you convince him to drink when he awakens.”

“You not,” Firekeeper asked, “make him sleep again?”

“Not yet, at least,” Harjeedian replied. “There would be no advantage in that. You will be fed and given fresh water to drink for the duration of our voyage. Later, there will be opportunities for exercise as well. However, let me make clear here and now that the quality of the food and the quantity of the exercise will be awarded in proportion to your good behavior.”

Firekeeper blinked, tilting her head to one side in confusion.

Derian gave a dry cough of a laugh. “You’ll get fed better if you don’t give them any trouble.”

Harjeedian gave him a nod of thanks.

“We will be going now. Food will be brought later. You have sufficient water.”

Rarby raised a hand to take down the lantern.

“Wait!” Derian said. “Surely you can leave us some light.”

Harjeedian paused, considering.

“I think not. Fire is a dangerous thing to leave untended, especially on a wooden vessel with all this straw about. Your eyes will adjust to what daylight comes from above.”

With that the three men departed, lowering the trapdoor above and shooting home the bolt.

II

“FIREKEEPER?” DERIAN SAID into the grey darkness.

He started to ask, “Are you there?” but stopped himself in time. Of course she was there. Where could she go? Articulating the question would only emphasize their captivity.

“How do you feel?” he asked instead.

“Not so bad as you,” she replied. The slightest hint of a chuckle underlay her words, so Derian suspected she knew what he had been about to ask. “How feel you?”

“Better than when I came around the first time,” Derian replied. “Whatever else he is, that Harjeedian knows his doctoring. The powder he gave me has pushed back most of the headache.”

“You hear what he say?” Firekeeper asked. “We are on boat. Where do we go? Who is this man? The other two could be Bright Bay or maybe Isles, but him is strange.”

The speech was a long one for the wolf-woman, and for once Derian felt no reflex impulse to correct her grammar.

“I have no idea who Harjeedian is,” Derian said, “except that he’s in charge of this operation. I’ve never met anyone who looks quite like him. His eyes remind me somewhat of a Stoneholder’s—one of their Alkyab—but I don’t think I’ve ever seen skin that color.”

Stonehold, a kingdom to the south of Bright Bay, was populated by two groups with wildly different physical appearances, the big, fair Tavetch and the petite, dark-haired, ivory-skinned Alkyab.

“Skin not stained, as in New Kelvin,” Firekeeper added. “I look when Harjeedian is close. Is his own color.”

“I may have seen a few people like him at a horse fair once, years ago,” Derian said, “but I can’t be sure. To tell the truth, my attention was all for the horses. I didn’t spare much for the people.”

The Carter family ran a successful livery stable in Eagle’s Nest, with affiliated stables in several other Hawk Haven cities. Until a few years ago, Derian had imagined he would inherit the family business and had been quite content with the prospect. Like all his relations, he had a sense for good horses, and enjoyed their company. He hoped that the farmer had found Roanne by now and sent the mare back to his parents.