Wolf Captured (97 page)

FIREKEEPER HAD SAID NOTHING during the long conference, for she felt this was not her place. However, overall she approved of the course chosen by the yarimaimalom and the maimalodalum.

Or perhaps,” she said to Blind Seer as they left the star-shaped tower, “I should simply think of them all as Liglimom, for they are alike beneath their shapes, different as all beasts are different, but alike in their worship of these deities they rely upon for guidance.”

“And you?” Blind Seer asked. “Have you decided what you are?”

Firekeeper would have answered, for recently she had thought a great deal on the matter, but Dark Death, who had been as her shadow since her return to Misheemnekuru, sometimes forcing himself very rudely into her company, now snarled at Blind Seer.

“You can ask Firekeeper that? You who claim to love her? She is a wolf, a marvelous wolf, and if you were not such a coward, she could have all she desires.”

“Are you as lost to reality as Truth?” Blind Seer snapped. “What are you saying?”

“I know a way that Firekeeper can have her dream,” Dark Death replied, and there was no hiding the menace beneath what he said. “Fight me, Blind Seer. Fight me, and if you win, Firekeeper can have my life and take my shape. We have heard today how magic works, and know what is the most powerful sacrifice, do we not? Magic’s tower may have fallen, but we know that she listens to those who give her worship.”

Blind Seer growled, his ears flattening against his skull, his eyes narrowing.

“And if you beat me?”

“Then you promise the same,” Dark Death replied evenly. “I thought you treasured Firekeeper. Do you treasure her so little that you will not help her gain what she most desires? She is a marvel of strength and courage. Her human shape lets her climb and use weapons. What might she achieve if she possessed a wolf’s shape as well?”

“Stop!” Firekeeper ordered. “I will have nothing of this. I have already said this making of maimalodalum is a foul practice.”

Neither of the males heard her, so concentrated were they on each other, locked in a conflict as old as time.

“I love Firekeeper,” Blind Seer snarled. “None will question that.”

“Then you fear me, fear losing to me,” Dark Death taunted. “That is why you will not fight me.”

“I do not fear you, nor any wolf,” Blind Seer retorted.

“Stop it!” Firekeeper shouted.

The males were circling now, deaf to any sound. Those who had been leaving the area now that the meeting was complete were drawn to the snarling, but tellingly, no one but Derian even tried to interfere.

The red-haired man ran over to Firekeeper.

“What’s wrong with them? Can’t you stop them?”

Firekeeper spared him a glance.

“Would you step between those? I would not and they claim to fight for love of me.”

Derian’s expression of shock became one of understanding.

“Still,” he said weakly. “Maybe a bucket of cold water?”

“That would work for dogs,” Firekeeper said, “but these do not fight on impulse. The matter has been long building.”

Derian accepted this without argument, but Firekeeper had no attention to spare on surprise. Her universe had narrowed to the snapping, snarling pair. Dark Death had all the apparent advantage. He had been spared the injury that had laid Blind Seer low not that long before. He was also the larger, and probably the stronger, but Firekeeper placed her hopes on the knowledge Blind Seer had gained in their travels—and then she realized how unwise she was to do this.

For two years now, Blind Seer had run with her rather than with wolves. He had missed the daily sparring that defined the hierarchy within even the best-run packs. His opponents had been other than wolves—mostly humans and their dogs. With a sudden rush of panic, Firekeeper began to fear for him, and her hand dropped to her Fang.

“Don’t,” Derian said softly. “Take it from another man. Blind Seer would prefer to lose than to win only because you fought at his side. In any other fight, he would welcome you, but unless wolves are far different from what you have led me to believe, Blind Seer would not welcome you here.”

Firekeeper looked at him, but the very stillness of the wolves who stood watching gave proof to Derian’s wisdom. Dark Death’s entire birth pack was present, and even when a well-timed slash from Blind Seer brought the blood welling up through the fur along one shoulder, not a one moved except where ears and tails flickered in comment to those who stood near.

So Firekeeper dug the tips of her broken fingernails into her palms, and struggled not to move, not to cry out, lest word or sound from her distract Blind Seer at a time when he needed every iota of his concentration.

Both wolves were bleeding now, Dark Death from shoulder and flank, Blind Seer from hip and throat. Both were trapped within the white heat of fury and would not feel anything other than a crippling wound—and that not until the limb crumpled and refused to respond.

Was Dark Death flagging? No, that had been a feint, but Blind Seer had not fallen for it. Dark Death might have hoped to lure the blue-eyed wolf close, but Blind Seer had kept his distance, and Dark Death was forced to make up momentum lost.

Blind Seer did not make this easy for him. By preference a wolf goes for throat and belly, but even a tail feels pain and it is hard to concentrate when lightning quick strikes hit everywhere. Dark Death grew confused, while Blind Seer became more and more concentrated. There was an attacker now and a defender, but Dark Death was not surrendering, and his defensive stance was enabling him to catch his breath.

Losing fury’s white heat had also enabled Dark Death to think more clearly. When he resumed the attack, he went for Blind Seer’s head, striking from the rear when he could, but eschewing several easy holds on neck and ruff to bite at Blind Seer’s skull. Blind Seer kept his ears flattened back, and did his best to force Dark Death to attack from the front, where he would be exposing his throat, but it was evident he was disconcerted.

There was a stir of interest among the wolves. A yearling elk stomped his foreleg in excitement. The ravens set up a chatter, and an eagle shrieked.

Derian muttered almost to himself, “What’s Dark Death about?”

Firekeeper answered tensely. “Blind Seer was hit in head soon before we first come to this island. He was much in pain. Dark Death has remembered and sees if old wound can be made new.”

“That’s nasty!”

“Yes,” Firekeeper said softly. “Very good fighting to go for weak and old.”

Had her climb up the tower walls not broken every fingernail she possessed, Firekeeper’s palms would have been slick with blood. As it was, her fingertips ached in complaint, and Firekeeper forced herself to ease the pressure. What good would she be to Blind Seer if she bruised her hands beyond use?

With shock, she realized that she was anticipating him losing this battle, already planning how she could save him if he preferred death to surrender. She didn’t care what Derian said. She wasn’t going to let Blind Seer die from pride.

Bite and slash. Dark Death rearing up onto his hindquarters to get the elevation he needed to hit from above. Blind Seer rearing back in return, chests crashing together bringing both so close that—lacking a jaguar’s claws—they could do each other little injury so they must fall back again, circle, and strike.

Then Blind Seer failed to make the answering rise. Instead, as Dark Death reared up, he dove down and under. In a move almost too blindingly fast to see, Blind Seer clamped his jaws tight onto Dark Death’s left hind leg, high above the joint. He pulled back, jerking his unbalanced opponent hard onto his back.

Releasing the leg, which was bleeding heavily, Blind Seer straddled Dark Death and grabbed his throat in his jaws. He shook once, threatening. Knowing there would be no second warning, Dark Death went limp, his tail curling between his legs and every line of his body signaling absolute surrender.

Instantly, Blind Seer stepped back, and scraped contemptuous dirt over his fallen opponent.

“Someone,”
he sniffed,
“might look to this fool’s wounds.”

Limping slightly, Blind Seer went over to Firekeeper, his head held high with a triumph that left no room for pain. Kneeling, she gave him an exuberant hug; then she began inspecting his injuries. There were a good number. Derian went without being asked to bring a bucket of the boiled water being kept for cleaning Rahniseeta’s, Questioner’s, and Wiatt’s injuries. Derian then excused himself to go sit with Rahniseeta for a while.

Blind Seer huffed a bit at being cleaned and medicated at a time he clearly wanted to strut around, but he submitted with the wisdom of one who has survived his share of battles and knows the value of the physician’s arts.

Firekeeper was no healer, but she had learned everything she could from those who were, and even had the skill to shave and stitch the longest of Blind Seer’s slashes.

“My work may rob you of a scar or two,” she told the wincing wolf, “but we both have enough of those that none may doubt our courage.”

By the time she had finished, Hope brought report of Dark Death’s condition.

“He lives and will walk again, but he’ll do so without that hind leg for a good while to come. Healer used a bit of her power to knit the worst tears, and has asked any other duelists to hold their challenges until she has had time to recover.”

Firekeeper looked up in shock, appalled at the thought there might be others, but saw that Hope was joking about this last.

“From what I have heard, both of you have made your preferences clear enough that none here will challenge you,” the bird-woman said reassuringly. “Dark Death wishes to speak with you. Will you come?”

Firekeeper didn’t want to do so, but she knew her manners and, with Blind Seer as entourage, went.

She found Dark Death stretched out on his side, his ribs rising and falling steadily. He was attended by Integrity and Moon Frost, but he had eyes for none but the two who approached.

“I made an offer when I challenged Blind Seer,” Dark Death said proudly, “and I would offer it again rather than have you doubt my sincerity.”

“I never accepted those terms,” Firekeeper said, but Dark Death went on as if he had not heard her.

“When I said you were marvelous, I meant it. Yours is a wolf’s heart, imprisoned in a human body. I would give you the means to set it free—and yet to allow you the freedom to return to the human shape that, as we saw today, grants you abilities wolves do not have.”

Firekeeper met Dark Death’s gaze, not to dominate as might a wolf, but with the frankness humans so valued.

“Dark Death, I never accepted your offer. Once I heard how the first maimalodalum came to be, I thought the practice foul. Even were you to offer your life willingly—as those sacrificed to the ambitions of the Old Country sorcerers did not—I would not accept. Blood magic seems to have a dangerous taste. I think one swallow would only make one hunger for more.”

Dark Death growled.

“My life is yours to use. Take it! Let me at least give you what you desire. If I cannot have you, let me have that.”

“No.”

“Then when I can stand, I will throw myself into the ocean or from a cliff. These breaths I draw are an illusion, for from the moment I surrendered, I gave myself to death. Since I will die anyhow, can you not at least make my death worth something?”

Firekeeper stared at him in incredulity.

“Dark Death, I thought you a wolf, but now I realize you are naught but a pup. Ask Sky if he would have thrown away his life for nothing more than bruised pride. Ask those who are buried beneath the stone.”

She wheeled away, disturbed and somehow disgusted, and Moon Frost limped after.

“Firekeeper,” the silvery wolf said hesitantly. “If you have relinquished your claim …”

Firekeeper put a hand on Moon Frost’s head.

“Win him for life, sister,” she said softly. “There has been too much death.”

She looked to the star-shaped tower where one alone had not emerged after the conference—but into which the maimalodalum had been unobtrusively slipping for some time now.

“And I fear there will be more.”

TRUTH PACED, SHOULDER DEEP in the rivers of possibility. She was in so deep, she could hardly see where the streams split, but could only go where the strongest currents carried her. She was beyond choosing now. The drifting was almost restful, but for the concern that she would be carried in over her head.

The currents carried her through the collapse of the tower of Magic, streamlets flowing from many into one as Firekeeper resolved to save Shivadtmon rather than let him die. Truth felt a certain abstract pride that it was the wolf-woman’s faith in Truth’s own wisdom and goodwill that guided her actions, but this was not enough to pull her from immersion within the myriad ways time could split, to drag her back onto the relative dryness of contemplation.

Other currents flowed into one as Elwyn emerged from the ruins and was accepted, not killed, as the conference met and resolved how they would act on various matters. There was a great tangle where Dark Death challenged Blind Seer, varying from the blue-eyed wolf’s refusing the challenge to the many ways the battle might end, and through Firekeeper’s final decision. When these were resolved, a single current began to dig a deeper course than all that surrounded it. In the way of water, a deep river begins to flood its banks, flowing wide and slowing without losing power.

Truth found herself merely submerged to her knees now, but she would not get out and search for higher ground. From higher ground she might see—and in seeing try to choose and in choosing see and so go back in beyond her ability to control.

Even so, she felt when the swift swimming dolphins caught up to the boat that carried Dantarahma and his adherents south. There were twisted deltas here as lives lost meant lives touched more ways than the mind is fit to contemplate, but Truth was within the river, not above it, and she let the probabilities wash over her until resolution was reached.

Dantarahma’s body was being pushed back to the harbor of u-Seeheera. When it arrived there would be another storm of questions. Each answer, each conclusion would create its own currents, some doubling back into the main, others cutting potential courses of their own.