Wolf Captured (45 page)

Scenting the impending fight, Blind Seer had stepped from between them and now stood a few paces away. As was proper, he neither interfered nor encouraged one or the other. Many of the other wolves were drifting over to watch, the planned hunt delayed, the evening games postponed.

Yet, although Firekeeper was peripherally aware of all of this, she did not take these watchers into account. She knew that this was a fight not between pack and pack, but between individual and individual. In such a case, no one would interfere.

Or at least so she hoped. Did the Wise Wolves follow the same rules as those who had raised her? Would they accept her as a wolf or would this challenge between a wolf they knew and a relative stranger make them alter their already tentative acceptance of Firekeeper as a wolf rather than a human? In that case, then Firekeeper would be transformed into an invader—a human who had violated the truce between wolves and humans. As such, her life would be forfeit.

These questions slid through Firekeeper’s mind, but did not interfere with her focus on Moon Frost. They slowly circled each other, pivoting around the empty space between them, each feinting, testing to see who would be first to attack, who to defend.

Their battleground was a piece of open meadow, thus robbing Firekeeper of whatever advantage she might have gained among the trees or scrub. The grass was well grazed, well trampled. The footing reliable. Darkness was falling with gradual grace, leaving neither Firekeeper nor Moon Frost at any particular disadvantage.

At last, as Firekeeper had thought she would, Moon Frost sprang. It was a compact leap, meant to bring her weight into Firekeeper’s upper torso and so knock her flat. From there Moon Frost would doubtlessly go for the throat—for the throat was among the most favored targets of a hunting wolf.

But Firekeeper was not there when Moon Frost landed. As quickly as the wolf had leapt, Firekeeper had been quicker. She had recognized the signs contained in bunching of muscle and shifting of weight. Holding her place until Moon Frost was committed to action, Firekeeper had immediately darted to one side. Then, when Moon Frost landed, momentarily nonplussed at not finding her prey where it should have been, Firekeeper swung behind her and launched herself astride.

It was a daring move, for it brought Firekeeper into intimate proximity with her opponent, but it also robbed Moon Frost—at least temporarily—of the ability to easily bring her fangs into play. Firekeeper gripped hard with her knees, holding as Derian had taught her to do when astride a horse—a thing quite possible, for Moon Frost was the size of a pony. Firekeeper was very strong, and the pressure she could bring to bear with her legs was considerable. Moreover, the sensation was unfamiliar to Moon Frost and momentarily disconcerted her.

Wolves mount and clasp each other when wrestling, but never had a wolf possessed a set of bony knees with which to grasp and hold. A Cousin wolf might have sunk beneath Firekeeper’s weight, but Moon Frost was a Royal Wolf, large for her size, and would not give way, especially when giving way was so like surrendering.

Firekeeper knew her advantage would not last more than a moment, and readied herself. With her left hand, the wolf-woman grabbed hard onto Moon Frost’s neck scruff. With her right, she held her Fang ready. She did not particularly want to kill Moon Frost, but she knew she must be prepared to do so.

For a single trembling moment, Moon Frost stood holding Firekeeper on her back. Then she twisted, bending her neck to bring her fangs into play, aiming for the leg so annoyingly pressing into her midsection. She was so fast that her teeth ripped through the fabric of Firekeeper’s right trouser leg, tearing it apart and grazing the skin beneath.

Firekeeper ignored the flash of pain and brought her Fang down onto Moon Frost’s skull. Gone were thoughts of not killing the other. The sharpness of those teeth reminded her how easily she could be the one who was killed.

The blade of the hunting knife sliced through fur and hide, but skidded when it met solid bone. Firekeeper regained her grip before the blade could do her any injury. In that moment of correction, Moon Frost adapted her tactics. She no longer held Firekeeper clear of the ground, restricting her own motion with the wolf-woman’s weight, but dropped almost limp.

Firekeeper corrected her balance quickly enough so that Moon Frost did not succeed in rolling on top of her as she had intended. Even so, Moon Frost’s fangs nipped her heel as she pulled herself free. Now Firekeeper was bloodied in two places, but neither wound was severe. Moon Frost’s cut scalp ran blood into her fur, matting the silvery-grey dark. Doubtless her head would ache come morning—but morning was far away.

The two opponents reoriented on each other, circling as before. Moon Frost was not likely to make another dramatic leap. Wolves had many tactics for bringing down their prey, and Firekeeper’s bleeding heel and the slight limp that resulted from it had reminded Moon Frost of another.

Belly flat to the ground, Moon Frost rushed forward, intent on hamstringing Firekeeper. Firekeeper had expected this—indeed, she had exaggerated the damage to her foot in order to encourage it. When the wolf’s long snout was near, Firekeeper kicked up, catching Moon Frost beneath the jaw. The impact hurt, but as Moon Frost had been close to the ground, Firekeeper was not unbalanced.

As Moon Frost snapped air and bowled back from the sudden pain, Firekeeper crouched and brought her bunched fist, hardened by the hilt of her fang, into the wolf’s throat. The impact knocked the wind from Moon Frost, and her tail dropped for a moment.

Firekeeper didn’t let her alertness falter, but she knew she had given away some valuable information to her opponent, if Moon Frost was able to analyze what she had learned. The hilt of her knife had given Firekeeper’s blow a solidity it would not have had alone, but the blade could have opened Moon Frost’s breath to the wind. Would Moon Frost realize this? And would she take the information as Firekeeper intended?

There was no time for further assessment. Moon Frost had recovered and with less calculation than before had lunged forward. Firekeeper was ready for this and rolled to one side, coming up and slashing Moon Frost a long cut on one flank. This hit no vital organs, but it clearly hurt. Blood sprayed, gluing hair and blood onto the knife, forcing Firekeeper to adjust her grip.

The wolf-woman did not press her attack, but waited, knees slightly bent, for Moon Frost’s next move. The other shook as if the blood on her head and side were rain that could be shaken off at will, but the pain from both injuries reminded her that it could not. For a long moment Moon Frost stared at Firekeeper, her golden-brown eyes wide with a mingling of astonishment and pain. Then very deliberately, she crumpled onto her uninjured side and rolled onto her back, exposing vulnerable throat and belly.

Firekeeper saw fear in Moon Frost’s eyes, and heard a whimper that would not have been expressed were Moon Frost surrendering to a wolf of her own pack. The fear was that, after all, Firekeeper was not a wolf and would not honor surrender.

Firekeeper approached and let the bleeding wolf lick her hands and feet.

“Up with you,” she said gruffly to the quivering Moon Frost. “You’ll get elk shit in your cuts and the pack will be deprived of a fine hunter.”

Moon Frost rose trembling, her head low, her gaze downcast.

“I know something of mending bites as well as of making them,” Firekeeper said. “Come with me and I will make sure you do not take lasting harm.”

Together the former combatants limped off to the nearby stream, and no one, not even Blind Seer, followed.

XIX

HARJEEDIAN GREW VERY TENSE and sharp-tempered in the days following Rahniseeta’s less than conclusive visit to u-Bishinti. She was secure enough in her knowledge that she had done everything that could have been expected of her not to worry that his current mood was somehow her fault.

However, after several days, she was quite tired of being snapped at for the slightest reason. That the outburst was almost immediately followed by an apology did not help, and so when Rahniseeta reached the point that she realized she was making excuses to leave for her room almost as soon as Harjeedian arrived in their suite, she grasped the snake firmly behind the head.

“Harjeedian, what is wrong with you?”

“Nothing,” he said.

He had been about to take a seat in his chair at their dining table, but now he made as if to rise and leave. Rahniseeta moved behind her brother and pressed him down into the chair.

“Nothing, nonsense,” she said. “You’re as edgy as a snake with pre-shedding blindness. Wash the liquid from your scales and take a look.”

Harjeedian sagged into the chair, and Rahniseeta realized that he was actually relieved to have her confront him. Oddly, this worried her more than if he had continued to assert that nothing was wrong. Harjeedian was so much the older brother, so confident—and protective—that even this mute admission of need was disturbing.

Harjeedian reached for the pitcher of peach nectar set on the table and poured himself a tumbler. Rahniseeta took her hands from his shoulders and moved to her own seat. She had cadged some fresh blueberry muffins from the kitchens when on an errand there for one of the kidisdum, and now slid the plate over to her brother.

Harjeedian took a muffin, but didn’t bite into it. Instead, he sat staring at the pastry as if he might read omens from the way the blue fruit bled into the surrounding cake. Rahniseeta didn’t press him. He had stayed, and would speak when his thoughts were in order.

“Nothing,” Harjeedian said at last, setting down the muffin untasted, “has gone right since the day we took Lady Blysse and Derian Counselor aboard the riverboat.”

Rahniseeta made an encouraging sound.

“They were not at all the type of people Wain Endbrook led me to believe they would be,” Harjeedian continued. “In some ways they were far better. Wain’s report had made them out to be connivers and scoundrels. Although I distrusted him sufficiently not to take his opinion at face value, still my three captives had more honor than I expected. They were angry, yes, but they kept the terms of their parole, and Derian, at least, made a serious effort to learn our language.

“I am beginning to think that very parole is the wellspring of our difficulties. In showing them that we valued them and were willing to treat with them as equals, we permitted them to keep some sense of self-worth. Had I kept them belowdecks, fed and exercised them only when they performed as I wished …”

His voice trailed off, and Rahniseeta knew that these thoughts were not his own. Harjeedian was ambitious, but he was not cruel. He would never have answered obedience with harshness. It was her place to remind him how he had seen the situation then rather than how he saw it now, through the distorting glass of later events.

“Harjeedian, you were the teacher who taught me that one does not train a snake to dance by making it fear the swaying of the flute,” Rahniseeta said. “Why would you have done differently with these humans you wished to train? Moreover, Lady Blysse companioned a Wise Wolf. Could you have harmed her without offending the wolf, and so offending the deities? Your behavior was perfectly in keeping with the teachings of both the temples and the gods.”

Harjeedian picked a blueberry from his muffin, but didn’t raise it to his lips.

“Perhaps,” he said, “but the fact is that when we arrived here, my captives—no matter how prettily u-Liall names them ‘guests,’ they were captives—were prepared not to serve, but to negotiate. Negotiate is what they have done, and the only gain we have taken in these negotiations is a greater knowledge of their language and country—things we could have learned from the northerners already in our keeping.”

“You are too harsh with yourself,” Rahniseeta replied. “First, you speak as if that knowledge is useless. It is not. Second, I do not think even Barnet Lobster knew as much of Hawk Haven as do the other two. They also have traveled to this other land, this New Kelvin, and have told us something about that place and its customs. Barnet knew little more than fireside stories about New Kelvin. I know this for certain, for he has told me how eager he is to learn more.”

Harjeedian squashed the blueberry into his plate.

“But that is not why they were brought here!” he said. “They were brought here specifically so that Lady Blysse might teach us the language of the yarimaimalom. Not only has she failed to do that, now there is even talk that our learning such would be sacrilege—an offense to the deities and the beasts alike.”

“I don’t understand,” Rahniseeta said.

Harjeedian drew in a deep breath and finally took a drink. He seemed vaguely surprised to find the nectar warm—as it would be, after being left so long outside of the cooling thickness of the pitcher.

“What is strangest,” he said, “is that while there are several factions willing to argue that our learning to speak directly to the yarimaimalom would be sacrilege, they do not all agree why our learning to do so would be sacrilege. Indeed, some of the objections verge on being sacrilegious themselves”