Wolf Captured (62 page)

She made this suggestion calmly enough and hoped her scent would not give away her fear. After all, not so long ago Moon Frost had tried to kill her. It seemed that Moon Frost, too, thought of their battle, but in a different way.

“I understand. I will ride your back as you rode mine. It will be awkward, but I have seen how strong you are.”

Firekeeper had been long enough among humans that she was astonished by the wolf’s trust, but after a moment she accepted it. In the wolf way the beaten one knew her place. Someday Moon Frost might challenge Firekeeper again, but not here and not now.

Indeed, that I help her when she is injured makes me even more her senior. I had forgotten. The strong assist the weak, not the weak the strong.

Even with Moon Frost cooperating as best she could, the climb was arduous. Firekeeper’s shoulder throbbed and every bruise in her body shouted its complaint. Moreover, wolves grow hot when they are frightened and Moon Frost could not have helped being afraid, especially since the movement had to hurt her broken leg. She panted alongside Firekeeper’s face as the wolf-woman carried her upward, and Firekeeper thought she would smother in the hot moist air.

As she climbed, the wolf-woman paused to rest several times. Just as she was thinking she could not do more, that they must find another way, the weight across her back grew less. At first Firekeeper thought Moon Frost was losing her hold. Then she realized that the wolf was sliding upward. It was a strange sensation, but Firekeeper held herself steady and when Moon Frost’s tail dragged over her head, she looked up.

Dark Death was looking down, panting laughter.

“I dragged her by the scruff of her neck as a mother does a puppy. She weighs a bit more, but we got her up without harming her.”

Firekeeper mounted to the top of the ladder and punched Dark Death in the shoulder.

“Clever,” she said. “Now cool water for me. When does your tide lower enough for us to swim across?”

“Later tonight,” Dark Death said. “Rest this afternoon. I will hunt for all of you.”

“Stay away from the ruins,” Firekeeper said. “I don’t know if I’m up to getting anyone else out of a pit.”

“Of course you are,” Dark Death said, wagging his tail in admiration. “You know how to build ladders.”

XXVI

WALN HAD FEARED THAT A DOSE of freedom would diminish Tedgewinn’s enthusiasm for his plan to raid a ruin or two on Misheemnekuru and then return home in triumph. Nor was he comforted when he learned that both Tedgewinn and Wiatt were making inquiries into the possibilities of doing business with the Liglimom.

Relief came when Waln realized that Tedgewinn and Wiatt were looking into business opportunities not because they didn’t plan to go home but precisely because they did. They wanted to return to Liglim with ships loaded with goods that would sell. Wiatt was even toying with the idea of an inn that would provide northern-style meals and comforts for what he thought would be a steady stream of business.

“And once I get it running well,” Wiatt said, daydreaming aloud, “I can go home during the worst of these summers and come back in time to spend the winter here.”

For Waln, whose dreams included an order of knighthood, his title restored, and his wife and daughters waiting on the queen, inns and curios seemed small beer, but he was glad enough to encourage such if it kept the sailors working with him.

Then Shivadtmon came with an interesting rumor.

“There is talk a ship is being outfitted to take you people back north before the worst of winter,” he said.

“How certain is this rumor?” Waln asked.

Shivadtmon gave a quietly superior smile.

“So certain that I should not call it rumor. You know how closely our temple is associated with the sea. Who else would be asked if the omens favor such a venture? Then, too, we own several of the best vessels.
Fayonejunjal
is partly owned by our temple.”

“I didn’t know that,” Waln said, feeling that he had been given another piece of the puzzle.

He had always wondered why Shivadtmon so strongly disliked Harjeedian. Now he realized that Shivadtmon—and indeed all his temple—must have been offended at having an aridisdu of the Temple of the Cold Bloods chosen over one of their number to serve aboard
Fayonejunjal.

“It is so,” Shivadtmon said smugly. “We have many good shipbuilders among us.”

“So a ship is actually being outfitted?” Wain asked. “Are we being sent home?”

Shivadtmon shook his head. “The matter is not that settled. However, there are those who think that your return to your homelands would be a good thing. To make these content, the ship is being readied, so if a decision is reached there will be less delay in taking action.”

“Wise, wise,” Waln mused aloud. “The heart of winter is a nasty time for sailing, as is early spring. If a ship wasn’t ready, we might be forced to remain until later spring.”

Wain couldn’t believe his luck. He was almost inclined to believe in the deities. One of the weak spots in his plan had been exactly how they would acquire the necessary vessel to carry them home. The Liglimom had ample fishing vessels, and Waln had thought he would need to beg, buy, or steal one of these. Indeed, he had already taken to walking the docks in the evening so he might inspect the ships as they came in.

If a ship is being readied for the purpose of taking us home,
Waln thought,
we’ll hardly even be stealing it. I must find out who the crew members are to be. Certainly some of them will be those who have made the voyage before. I can sway them to serve under me—especially if I have wealth with which I can pay them.

Aloud, Waln said, “I wonder who the disdu for the voyage will be? Have you thought of asking for the post? I would so enjoy having the opportunity to show you my homeland as you have shown me yours.”

Shivadtmon smiled a tight-lipped smile.

“I have offered my services,” he said, “but the iaridisdu of my temple reminded me that the voyage is far from a certainty—and that in any case, who will serve if there is a voyage will be chosen by the will of the deities.”

“So true,” Wain said. He made a great show of pulling out his chair and readying his books.

“Well then, be seated. I know a busy man like yourself doesn’t have all day. Let us apply ourselves to Pellish. After all, a gift for languages was all Harjeedian had going for him when he was chosen. With a little hard work, we can make the deities’ choice obvious.”

Shivadtmon’s face grew tight. For a moment Waln thought he might have pushed too hard. Then the aridisdu relaxed.

“You have an odd way of stating things, Waln Endbrook, but I believe your desire to help me is sincere. By all means, let us study Pellish. However, would you care to tour the harbor with me this evening? Several ships are being considered for the journey, and I would like the opinions of a talented sailor like yourself as to which might best serve.”

Fighting an urge to drag the man to the harbor that very moment, Waln nodded.

“I would be delighted,” he said with a smile. “Delighted to be of service.”

ESHINARVASH SLOWED TO A CANTER when u-Bishinti was well behind them.

I wonder if Eshinarvash put on the burst of speed to make sure I’d be out of range for any easy retreat?
Derian thought.
Does this mean I’ve been kidnapped again? Or is he just showing off?

Now that they had slowed, Derian felt more comfortable taking a look at their surroundings. They were moving through an open valley, the green fields interspersed with clumps of deciduous trees. In the distance he saw a small lake spreading like a mirror to catch the sun.

There was no sign of any of the Wise Horse herds, but he glimpsed a doe and fawn watching them from one of the clumps of trees. Another time he caught a flash of red that had to be a fox. Birds were present in countless numbers, from little seed eaters to the occasional wind-riding hawk circling lazily above.

The whole area had a managed look, and Derian wondered if the Wise Horses permitted periodic human incursion. Elsewhere untended land rapidly went over to young forests intertwined with vines and scrub growth. Then Derian had a startling thought.

What if the Wise Horses manage it themselves—they and the other yarimaimalom? Saplings that sprout where they are not wanted could be trimmed by browsers and grazers. Beaver are always cutting down trees for their dams. Overgrazing is only a problem when the animals are penned and too stupid to move on. What if the herds discipline themselves?

It was an interesting theory. Derian found himself looking for indications that he might be correct, but Eshinarvash was moving too swiftly for easy inspection. This forced Derian back on his own thoughts for company.

Why am I out here? Varjuna told me about the different factions, and most of them don’t seem to like us much. What if the yarimaimalom have factions, too? They’ve run the shop here for a long time. There have got to be those who don’t like the idea of changing the way things work. If there’s one thing Firekeeper has let slip, it’s that the Beasts—call them Wise or call them Royal—are no more perfect than we are.

Unlike the night of his first ride with Eshinarvash, Derian found it hard to nurse such apprehensions. If the Wise Horse wanted him dead, he could have thrown and trampled him long before. Moreover, though the summer day was hot, Derian was washed with a cooling breeze. The surrounding landscape was lovely, and, perhaps most important for Derian Carter, he was riding the most magnificent horse he had ever seen.

After a time, Derian realized that they were closing on a clump of trees large enough to be termed a small forest. Eshinarvash was slowing, confirming that this was their destination. A stream meandered out of the shadowy coolness, and at the sound of running water Derian realized that he was thirsty—hungry, too. He usually took his morning ride before eating breakfast and the handful of sugared nuts he had snagged on his way out the door had long since been burned away.

When Eshinarvash stopped, Derian didn’t need the slight shivering of the horse’s skin to tell him to dismount. He slid to the ground, noting as he did so that both he and the horse were rather sweaty. He was also quite stiff. Riding bareback used different muscles than did riding with a saddle, nor did the shape of a horse’s spine agree with a human backside.

He stretched up, then out, trying to work out the kinks.

“If you drink there,” Derian said, pointing to a small pool, “I’ll take my water from above. Don’t worry. I won’t muddy it.”

But though Eshinarvash must have been thirsty, he did not move to drink. Instead he walked slowly back and forth in the shade.

He’s walking himself cool!
Derian thought in astonishment.
I guess I never thought about it, but even a Wise Horse would be subject to colic. I wonder what they do about stones in their hooves?

Derian resolved that, if Eshinarvash would permit, he’d check him over just as he would any other riding horse before they went any farther. Meanwhile, he’d tend to his own needs.

He had been forced to leave without much more than he kept hanging on his belt, but that meant he had a knife and the belt wallet in which he kept various useful sundries. None of these included a cup, but his hands served. He splashed off the worst of the horse and man sweat, then set about considering possibilities for breakfast.

A blackberry bramble supplied several handfuls of tart fruit, but this made him rather more hungry than otherwise.

If I had fishhooks, I could try for fish, but I don’t, and anyhow, I don’t know for how long Eshinarvash plans to stop here. I’m sure both of us have frightened off any small game—even if I had the means for catching it. I’m no Firekeeper to make a snare from a few bent twigs. Maybe I should have paid better attention to Race and Edlin.

Derian compromised by eating some young sassafras leaves. They were slimy when chewed, but tasted nice and gave the impression that he had something in his stomach. When he returned from his foraging to find Eshinarvash grazing on the thick grass closest to the stream, Derian felt positively jealous.

He resolved not to show it, but rounded out his repast with several more handfuls of water.

“Let me take a look at your feet,” Derian said to the horse. “You’ve done a lot of running.”

Eshinarvash nickered in what seemed a conversational fashion. He didn’t say “yes,” but then he didn’t shake his head “no” either. Derian walked over and lifted the near front hoof. With a few minutes’ inspection, he learned a great deal more about the Wise Horses.

They differed from domesticated horses in more ways than their intelligence and wildly patterned coats. The walls of their hooves were thicker, the frog less vulnerable. Cracks and splits wouldn’t be common, nor would strains.

Derian ran his hand along Eshinarvash’s foreleg and could feel the strength of the bone. Somehow he could sense the density. The weight of the bone was what he would have expected in a much larger horse. Whatever the Wise Horses’ origin, they were well adapted to their lives.