Wolf Captured (58 page)

Firekeeper puzzled over this. Why would wolves—and she was certain that Dark Death had said he was taking her to his birth pack—choose to live near human ruins? Bats would favor the artificial caves. Hawks might choose to nest at the top of some ruined tower. Small animals like mice and rabbits might den among fallen rocks, but neither bats nor hawks nor the little diggers were a wolf pack’s chosen prey. Perhaps deer grazed in the meadows?

Dark Death sensed her confusion and clarified.

“You asked about the maimalodalum. From what you and Blind Seer have told us, the humans who colonized this land and those who colonized further north were alike in one thing at least. They relied upon arts that permitted them to manipulate Magic’s power, but they did not teach those arts lightly to those born in their colonies. Nor did they wish their subordinates to easily observe the inner workings of their craft. The place to which we are going, where you will find those who can answer your questions about the maimalodalum, is the primary place in Liglim where the magical arts were done.”

Despite herself, Firekeeper felt awe and a surge of fear. She had been suppressing that fear ever since she had learned of the maimalodalum and knew they achieved their goal through magic. Even more than their human neighbors, the Royal Beasts had reason to hate and fear magic, and Firekeeper had been suckled on their tales. More recent events had done nothing to quell her fears, but she could not give in to them without giving up her hopes.

“That follows as certainly as fresh eggshells mean fledglings,” Firekeeper replied. “I simply had not thought the matter through.”

Her belly rumbled loudly, reminding her that magic or not, she needed food.

“No wonder,” laughed Dark Death. “I could not think clearly if my belly was shouting so loudly. Will you catch fish?”

Firekeeper glanced at her surroundings. There was willow aplenty.

“I’ll make a fish trap,” she said, “and while I see if the fish are fooled, I’ll forage. If humans lived here once, their crops may have reseeded. Then, too, some fruit trees live a long time.”

“I scent fresh water,” Blind Seer said. “While you make your trap, I’ll find a source free of salt There must be many if humans made a village here.”

Moon Frost hadn’t decided whether she envied Firekeeper for her omnivorous habits or despised her just a little. However, though she had teased Firekeeper, she had always kept her teasing just this side of good manners. So she spoke now.

“And in case the fish aren’t to be fooled by traps, and the trees will not give fruit, I will sniff out a rabbit or so. These humps of vine and stone must hold as many warrens as the sky does stars. It would not do for Firekeeper to dine on crickets.”

“I’ll join you, Moon Frost,” Dark Death said. “Even if Firekeeper’s hunting is successful, I would not turn away a hot mouthful or so.”

They went their separate ways. Firekeeper wove a crude fish trap in very little time. She stilled the worst of her belly rumblings with a few handfuls of fresh watercress, then climbed a tree to see if she could locate in the rise and fall of the tree line where there might have been an orchard. Even her superior night vision could see little more than dark against darkness, but she had learned how to understand what she was seeing.

Despite her hunger, Firekeeper felt very relaxed. The warm air was a caress and the calls of Dark Death to Moon Frost as they harried the rabbits she found as comforting as Derian did the rumble of carriage wheels over city streets. Then a sharp, shrill cry, more yap than howl, broke the easy pattern of night sounds. It cut off far too abruptly.

Firekeeper was down from the tree almost before the sound stopped echoing against the air. She knew that voice. It was Blind Seer’s.

Swift as the wolf-woman was, the other two wolves were swifter. They came from different directions, for they had been seeking to drive the game from hiding. Firekeeper saw them leaping over the broken remnants of walls, heard them crashing through bracken and vines, sacrificing stealth for speed.

There was good reason for their choice. Other than that one sharp cry, there had been no further sound from Blind Seer. Wolves, like humans, are very vocal. Unlike humans, wolves suffer beneath no burden of false pride when it comes to asking for aid. Blind Seer should have been crying for help. The only reason he would not were if he were being prevented—or if he were unable.

While Dark Death oriented on the sound, Moon Frost dropped her nose to the ground, casting about for Blind Seer’s trail. As this slowed her some, it was Moon Frost that Firekeeper caught up with first.

They exchanged no comments, none of the “What happened?” or “Did you hear what I heard?” that might have colored a human meeting under similar circumstances. Moon Frost followed the scent trail while Firekeeper followed Moon Frost. At the same time, Firekeeper kept an eye in the direction from which the cry had come. Dark Death had stopped and head-raised, was sniffing the air, his golden eyes still and unfocused as he used this much more reliable sense.

Moon Frost slowed as she drew near, pausing with a tangle of vines between her and Dark Death.

“Freshly turned earth,” Moon Frost reported, “broken stone, torn plants, and water. Blind Seer’s scent is mingled with these, but fainter.”

“I smell it this way also,” Dark Death said, moving to join them.

Too late Firekeeper recognized what the nose-oriented wolves had missed. As Dark Death stepped forward, the tangle of vines between them bowed beneath his weight. He scrabbled, but the springy vegetation gave him no purchase—and there was nothing beneath the vines that could hold his weight. He fell, giving forth an abbreviated yap far too similar to that which had been the last sound from Blind Seer.

Firekeeper attempted to leap back, but the force of Dark Death’s weight had been sufficient to tear loose the already precariously balanced earth beneath her feet. She felt the dirt shift as the rock it rested upon gave. Then she was falling. The last thing she did was make herself limp so that the landing might be easier.

After that, there was only darkness.

FIREKEEPER CAME TO HERSELF with a throbbing head, a sharp ache in her backside, and a lesser one in her shoulders. She heard motion in the darkness around her and took some small hope from it.

“Who’s there?” she asked.

Dark Death replied, “I am. I can smell the others, but I have not heard them move. I smell blood as well.”

“Hot blood or cold?” Firekeeper asked.

“Cold and hot both,” Dark Death assured her. “I hear two breathing, though the note is ragged.”

“Hold, hunter,” Firekeeper said. “I will try to make a light so that we can move without harming ourselves.”

“Firekeeper,” came the reply, the notes colored with honest admiration. “I had forgotten.”

Normally, Firekeeper would have felt some pleasure at this, for Dark Death was guide, but not really friend. Now all she felt was worry for Blind Seer. She didn’t know for how long she had been knocked out, but she knew that however long that had been, Blind Seer had been unconscious longer. Dark Death’s report was slim comfort in this situation.

Firekeeper opened the drawstring bag she wore about her neck, locating flint, steel, and tinder by touch. She had made many fires in the dark, but rarely with so little idea of whether once she had the flame would there be anything for her to burn. She could feel bracken all about her, but all nearest to her felt green and flexible.

She tugged off her cotton shirt, wincing at the pain in her upper back. When she had fallen, she must have hit first on her rump, then her shoulders, and lastly her head. The back of this was tender, but there was no blood.

When she had the shirt off and placed to one side, Firekeeper set to work striking sparks. At last a few began smoldering in the tinder. Then a pale flame arose. She fed it with strips torn from one sleeve. Using that increased light, she found drier pieces of wood within the litter of vegetation surrounding her.

Her entire world became that hungry little flame. Her breath existed only to fan it, her reason for being keeping it fed, making it grow. In the surrounding blackness, Dark Death sneezed as the smoke trickled upward, but he had watched her make fires before and knew a little of what she needed. He carried over twigs and hanks of dried vine, augmenting her supply before she ran low.

Firekeeper accepted these offerings automatically, never speaking, saving her breath for nursing the single flame into many. Eventually, the fire was strong enough that she could mix greener material into the fuel. This made for more smoke, but slowed the fire’s consumption, made it chew its food rather than swallow it whole. Finally, there came the moment when she could raise her head and see what the darkness had hidden.

Broken slabs of stone canted up from heaps of dirt and vines. Bracken was sprinkled over the whole. On one side, water seeped from a segment of wall. Near this lay Blind Seer, half buried in stone and dirt. Moon Frost was closer to Firekeeper, also partially buried in material that had fallen with them, but it was to Blind Seer that Firekeeper went.

“Don’t move anything,” she cautioned Dark Death, for the wolf had moved to sniff Moon Frost. “We must look carefully else more may fall on us.”

“Remember your own warnings” was the other’s reply.

Smoky firelight proved to be enough to reassure Firekeeper that Blind Seer did indeed breathe. She bent her head and smelled his breath. Once she had assured herself that it carried the odor of neither bowel nor blood, she relaxed slightly.

The fire needed feeding, so reluctantly Firekeeper moved back. Once she had it burning brightly, she moved to Moon Frost.

Dark Death crowded next to her.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his nose snuffling next to hers.

“A friend who is a healer taught me something of his art,” Firekeeper said. “Smelling the breath tells you if bowel or lung has been broken.”

“And what good will this do?” Dark Death asked. “If something is broken, it is broken. Lungs and bowel are both beyond hope, unless one of the talented is near.”

Firekeeper held herself from striking him. She knew Dark Death wasn’t callous. His way was the practical—even fatalistic—one of the wolf.

“Then you may be pleased to know that neither Moon Frost nor Blind Seer seem to be so harmed. We must uncover them carefully, though, for I cannot tell merely by sniffing if bones are broken or bent. We may do damage if we are not cautious.”

“I thought,” Dark Death said, “to seize them by the scruff and pull them free.”

“No,” Firekeeper insisted. “That might cause further injury—or cause further falling of things from above.”

Again she moved to tend the fire, thinking over what she had learned from Doc. Perforated bowel was indeed almost certainly fatal. This was because the bowel carried shit out of the body. If the bowel was broken and the shit contaminated what was within, nothing short of a miracle could save the victim.

Lungs were not as bad, for they might mend without spreading contamination, but if they were too badly broken they would collapse and refuse to carry air. Firekeeper did not think any damage had been done to either Blind Seer’s or Moon Frost’s lungs, but Doc had warned her that sometimes a wound to the lungs was temporarily closed by the very thing—such as a bit of rib—that had made it. This then was one reason for moving the injured ones slowly.

Another was the possibility of broken bones or deep cuts. These also might be concealed or temporarily bandaged by the fallen dirt and stone. Better to be ready to treat them before they were found.

“Are you injured?” she asked Dark Death.

“I ache,” the wolf replied, “but the vines held me in their grasp for a moment and I fell more lightly for that. Even so, I hit hard enough that there is a confused space in my memory.”

“I am glad you were not more severely hurt,” Firekeeper said. “I, too, knew I was falling and so saved myself from the worst. I broke nothing, but I think I will be well bruised.”

She began ripping her shirt into bandages, hoping there would be enough fabric. It was fortunate that the Liglimom liked loose clothing.

“Can you scent dawn?” she asked.

“Not from here,” Dark Death replied. “My nose is full of dirt.”

“Then we had better not await light to move them,” Firekeeper said. “I go to get the dirt off of Blind Seer. Can you do the same for Moon Frost?”

“Let me watch you,” Dark Death replied. “As I said, I would simply have grasped her by the scruff and hauled her free. You seem to follow other trails.”

Using a flat piece of stone, Firekeeper moved a portion of fire nearer to Blind Seer. Once this was settled and fed, she began scooping dirt away, checking as she did so for signs of fresh blood. In several places flat segments of stone or tile—most not much larger than the span of her two hands—had also landed on him. These she removed carefully.

In the few places where she found bleeding, she wiped the blood away and checked to make sure its source was nothing worse than a scrape.

In time, Dark Death moved away and began uncovering Moon Frost. Several times, he called Firekeeper over to inspect the nature of a wound. None were fatal, though it was clear the lower long bone in one of Moon Frost’s forelegs had been snapped in two.

Blind Seer was stirring by the time this discovery was made, and Firekeeper whispered in his ear.

“I am here, dear heart. Moon Frost has broken a leg and I must go set it. Wait. Be still.”

He raised his head sufficiently to lick her face, then laid it down again as if that had been the greatest effort he had ever made. Somewhat reassured by his understanding her, Firekeeper went to help Moon Frost.

She, too, was coming conscious. Crazed from the pain in her leg, she tried to bite Firekeeper when the wolf-woman moved to touch the injured member.

“Sit on her head,” Firekeeper ordered Dark Death. “We have assured there is nothing broken there, and she will hurt herself if she struggles.”

Dark Death obeyed, and Firekeeper straightened and splinted the leg, wrapping it with what remained of her shirt. She had thought she might need to sacrifice some of her arrows for the splint, but the debris that had fallen among them included numerous pieces of wood.