Wolf Captured (5 page)

Firekeeper wasn’t sure exactly what Derain’s reaction would be. Anger, certainly. Revulsion, probably, along with self-hatred for his inability to prevent the act. Then, too, there would be the loss of hope, for if Roanne was dead, so was any hope it would be realized they were missing. Doubtless their gear had been carried away as well. With no trace of them remaining, everyone who knew them would assume they had begun their journey west.

“Do you tell Derian?”
Blind Seer asked, cracking into the leg bone and licking out the marrow. He had gone hungry often enough to not pass up a meal, not when his fasting would do no good for Roanne.

“I think we must,”
Firekeeper said,
“but not until he has a chance to digest the food within him. He was very ill and might vomit up what he has eaten if we upset him now”

Blind Seer grunted agreement and went back to his meal. Firekeeper made herself a bed on the side of her cage closest to the wolf. She couldn’t touch him, not even if she stretched her arm to its full length. However, there was a reason other than proximity for putting her bed here. When she had tested the bars of the cage, several in this area had rattled a little. While she thought how to tell Derian about Roanne, she could loosen them.

Firekeeper had concluded one thing about their captors. They—or at least Harjeedian, and the other men followed their master’s lead—were fairly certain Blind Seer could understand more than the usual wolf. However, either they had not heard tales of her own abilities or they had discounted them as the exaggerations of traveling minstrels.

She must take advantage of this. They must attempt to escape before the boat reached the ocean. If she could break out of her cage, then she thought she could break Blind Seer out of his. Derian was chained around his ankle, and Firekeeper was not strong enough to break an iron chain. However, if the chain was anchored in wood it might be worked free.

“Derian,” she said, breaking the silence.

“What?”

“I ask before. What is your chain tied in?”

There was a clanking noise as Derian traced the iron links down to their base.

“It’s set in a big timber, screwed into the wood.”

“Is at all loose?”

More clanking.

“I don’t think so. I gave it a good tug and it didn’t budge.”

“Ah …” Firekeeper thought. “Can unscrew?”

Clank. Silence except for grunting.

“Maybe a little. It’s pretty snug.”

“Can you reach cabinet? I not see butter knife go up.”

Derian dragged his chain behind him, stretched to his full limit, the long, lean length of his body extended along the floor. A moment later he made a satisfied noise.

“It’s here. Not much of a weapon, but it might hack loose where the iron anchor is set in the wood.”

Firekeeper returned to working on the bars of her cage, patiently wiggling the hard iron against the wooden socket so that friction wore away the wood. Her captors had taken her knife, but not her strength. After a long while she was able to rub one area thinner than the surrounding socket. Impatiently, she tugged, trying to break through that thinner edge. Nothing.

Firekeeper continued her methodical rubbing of iron against wood, grateful for her callused hands. Finally, she sufficiently thinned the wood so that a single, focused jerk broke through. A bit of twisting, and the bar came loose from the upper socket and could be drawn out. Now she had both weapon and tool.

“Derian,” Firekeeper called softly, her voice holding a touch of a musical wolf’s howl. “Look.” When he turned from his labors she showed him the gap in the bars of her cage, hefted the bar triumphantly.

“I push through,” she said, demonstrating, glad she wasn’t more thickly built, “and put the bar back if must hide what I have done.”

Derian grinned at her, his first cheerful expression since he had awakened. Firekeeper hated the idea of taking his rising morale from him, so resolved to hold the news about Roanne a bit longer.

“Now,” she said. “I come and see your work.”

Given that all he had to work with was an old butter knife, Derian had done very well. The bolt had been driven into the wood fairly recently, and the timber had not been of the finest or driest, even before Derian had begun his ministrations.

Firekeeper hunkered down next to Derian, focusing lest the persistent queasiness in her gut get the better of her. She grasped the anchor bolt where the chain ran through the loop at the end and twisted. The bolt moved, just a little. She wrenched again and this time the bolt emerged slightly from the wood, leaving a faint haze of sawdust in its wake.

Behind her, Derian cheered under his breath.

“Now,” Firekeeper said, “you keep working it loose. I go see what I do for Blind Seer.”

“Firekeeper, do you mean to try and escape?”

Derian did not sound upset. He was only doing as humans always did, confirming what common sense should have told him.

“We must,” Firekeeper replied. “I think we must try first time they come to look at us after we are free of chains and cages. This food time they not bring bows. They not lock door. Food time will be our time.”

But perhaps I will not eat,
she thought.
I do not think eating will make me strong. I do not like how my gut feels.

“But someone may rescue us,” Derian said.

She could tell from the man’s tone that he didn’t believe this was likely, but felt he must make the prudent suggestion, so she only grunted in response.

Firekeeper knelt alongside Blind Seer’s cage now, testing the bars, seeking out the loosest ones. With the iron bar as a tool, breaking away the wood should prove easier. The ship itself made so many noises—timbers popping and creaking, sails snapping—that as long as she didn’t pound too loudly or too rhythmically, her working should pass undetected.

The wolf-woman decided that the best place for Blind Seer to emerge from his cage would be the open side away from her cage. The backs of both cages were bolted to the side of the ship. If she concentrated her efforts on the side with the door the sailors might see evidence of the damage she had done. Besides, the alley between their cages was wide enough to separate them, but not so wide that the wolf could maneuver easily. Straw bedding could be shoved over the base of the cage bars in an emergency, and so hide what she had done.

Firekeeper got to work before resuming her conversation with Derian.

“Derian, no one come looking for us. No one worry we is gone for many moons turning.” She took a deep breath. “Roanne is dead. The meat they bring Blind Seer is her.”

Derian made a sound somewhere between a choke and a sob.

“No,” he said in a voice full of pain, but Firekeeper knew he wasn’t accusing her of lying, only trying to deny for a few minutes longer.

“Yes,” she said, crossing to him, putting her hands on his bent shoulders. “Blind Seer knows and tells me.”

Had she been human, she would have made up some comforting lie about the wolf being sorry, but she knew Derian wouldn’t believe her. She settled for letting him hear her own sorrow and anger, hoping that would be enough. Beneath her hands she felt Derian shaking, not only with tears, she thought, but with rage.

“Put anger-strength into the bolt,” she said, “and we will be free.”

She left to her own task before Derian could reply, knowing he would not want her to see his tears, and knowing as certainly as she now heard rain falling on the exposed upper side of the deck that he was weeping.

DERIAN SHOVED THE BUTTER knife into the wood, gouging out a chunk and exposing a bit more of the bolt’s base. He blinked back tears. Somehow, he didn’t think Firekeeper would think the less of him for crying, but she was being so strong in the face of their shared adversity that he didn’t want to seem less.

He grasped the bolt and felt it turn, took a new hold and made slightly more progress. A third attempt did nothing, and he returned to hacking away with the butter knife. Tears blurred what vision was permitted by the dim light that seeped through the decking, so he stopped, forcing himself to face his grief.

Roanne had been among his first really good purchases. He’d spotted her potential when she was a newly weaned foal, hardly more than long legs made to seem longer by the snow white stockings that reached to just below her knees. Her dam was unremarkable, and her sire could have been any of several studs kept by the sloppy breeder, but Derian had known Roanne was special. He’d purchased her from his earnings as a hand at his parents’ stables, trained her himself, and refused several good offers for her. Roanne was going to be his mount, proof that the Carter talent for judging horseflesh had been passed to the new generation.

Over time, Roanne had become more than a pride piece. During the journey west over the Iron Mountains Roanne had been Derian’s confidant, his friend when he felt out of place among Earl Kestrel’s men. When he went north to the Norwood estate, Roanne had been a touch of home. When their travels had taken them into New Kelvin, Roanne had been someone reliable in increasingly unpredictable surroundings.

Now she was dead, slaughtered for dog food. Colby Carter, Derian’s father, had tried repeatedly to convince his son to breed Roanne and begin a line of gleaming chestnut foals. Putting her image on the sign for the newly rechristened Prancing Steed Stables had been a bribe to get Derian to see things his father’s way. Derian had refused, wanting his horse with him. Colby’s most recent try had been last season, but had Roanne been bred then, she would have foaled this spring, and Derian, who had already suspected he’d be traveling again, had not wanted to relinquish his favorite mount.

Now there would be no copper-bright chestnut foals, no dynasty claiming proud foundation in Roanne. All that would remain would be her image, swinging from the iron support in front of his father’s office.

Derian ground his teeth together, finding anger easier to admit to than grief. He grabbed the bolt and twisted. This time it turned so easily he was surprised. He twisted again and the length of metal worked free from the wood.

“Firekeeper,” he called softly, hearing the surprise in his own voice. “I got it loose.”

“Good,” Firekeeper said. “I almost have one of these free. Two and Blind Seer can push through. Can you get the chain from your ankle? I can give you iron bar to help.”

Derian inspected the chain. It was fastened to an iron cuff. The cuff fit loosely enough on the outside of his trousers to prevent chafing, but not so loosely that he could slide his foot free. The first link of the chain was attached to a loop in the cuff, and with the use of the iron bar, Derian thought he might be able to force apart that link or one close to it.

Firekeeper handed him an iron bar, reminding him that she would need it back if the sailors returned before she had finished freeing Blind Seer.

“Light’s going,” Derian said. “Either they’ll be back soon or we may not be fed until morning.”

Firekeeper grunted.

“Is raining, too,” she commented. “Maybe they not want to get wet.”

The sailors did not return that night, and when Derian complained of hunger, Firekeeper offered him a piece of stale and straw-adorned buttered bread.

“I not hungry,” she said in a curt fashion that forbore disagreement. “Wolfs not eat so as humans.”

Derian, who had seen Firekeeper tuck in as if every meal might be her last, wondered at this, but didn’t comment. He ate the bread, picking off the straw as best he could and washing the whole down with water.

He was adjusting to the idea of Roanne’s death, determined to somehow get revenge for her. He didn’t know just how he’d manage, since, if they escaped, relocating Harjeedian and his allies would not be easy. Nonetheless, Derian made his promise that Roanne’s death would not go unrevenged to the Horse, his society patron and the guardian of all equines.

The vow was an empty gesture, but it made him feel better.

Derian was just swallowing the last of the bread when Firekeeper gave a grunt of satisfaction.

“There!” she said softly. “Blind Seer is now free. Let me do what I can with your chain. Have you had luck?”

“I managed to separate it a little,” Derian said. “Not the link closest to the cuff—that was too near to my foot—but the next one. I kept hitting myself after the light failed. Can you see anything?”

“Not much,” Firekeeper admitted. “I see better when is at least a little light. Still, if you trust, I go by touch.”

“I’ll trust,” Derian said. “I want out of here.”

He felt Firekeeper warm next to him, then the bigger, furrier warmth that was Blind Seer.

“You’ll both be able to get back into the cages if we hear them coming?” he asked.

“Blind Seer hears better than we,” Firekeeper said. “He warn.”

Derian knew this was true, but he grew edgy waiting there in the darkness, feeling Firekeeper tugging at the chain, dreading that any moment the sharp tap of feet on the deck above would announce the sailors.

What if Blind Seer dozed off? What if the wolf didn’t hear the sailors coming because of the rain? The storm was picking up, thunder crashing and rain trickling through the boards where light had come before. The straw on which he sat was damp and the air smelled of wet human and wetter wolf.

The boat tossed in the storm and Derian felt a cessation in Firekeeper’s efforts and heard her groan.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“My gut,” she managed, then he heard her retching.

After what seemed like a long time, she stopped.

“Water?” she asked in a weak voice.

Derian handed her his bottle.

“Drink slowly,” he said, “or you’ll have it up again.”

He heard her swallowing and simultaneously a lapping sound. When he realized what it was, he wanted to retch himself. Blind Seer was cleaning up after his pack mate.

“Did Harjeedian drug you after all?” Derian asked when Firekeeper put the waterskin back into his hands.

“I not taste it,” she said, “Blind Seer not either. I think it is how the boat moves.”