Wolf Hunting (46 page)

“But we cannot follow!” Firekeeper said.

She spoke loudly and in Pellish, and the two humans who had been unaware of the argument in progress looked away from their inspection of the stone wall in astonishment. Firekeeper switched to the language used only by the Beasts.

“I do not wish to turn away,” she said. “Plik is gone. We owe him more search than this.”

“I agree,” Truth said. “This is my suggestion. I will wait here and guard. You and Blind Seer go and do a fast scout of this building’s interior. When you are assured there is no one else here, then perhaps Harjeedian and Derian can search. They may find some indication of how this gate is opened.”

Firekeeper translated this, and the two humans agreed.

“In any case,” Derian said, “we need to decide where we will camp. I’d say here, but those clouds look like rain—and I’d rather not sleep out if we can get under a solid bit of roof.”

“One suggestion,” Harjeedian added. “Can Truth go and tell Eshinarvash what we have learned?”

Truth nodded after the human fashion, then added to Firekeeper, “Tell the humans I will go after you wolves have assured us this stronghold is empty of all but ourselves.”

Lovable made a surprisingly soft coo for a raven.

“May I come with you, to see my Bitter? You carried Firekeeper, and I am much smaller.”

Truth considered. “I think I can do it easily, especially if you perch on my back.”

The wolves’ scouting confirmed that the group was alone in the stronghold. They also reported having found where the twins had apparently set up their housekeeping.

“The area has been cleaned out pretty thoroughly, Blind Seer said,”but the scent lingers.”

“Proof,” Harjeedian added when this was translated for them, “that the twins left of their own choice, not by some accident.”

“I’d like to be so positive,” Derian said. “but they could have gone through, then this Smelly Herb Man or whatever Blind Seer calls him came back and took their stuff.”

“True,” Harjeedian conceded. “Very well. Then we at least have proof that the gate works both ways.”

“Which,” Firekeeper growled, “we already suspected. Come. We found a room of papers. The twins’ scents are heavy there.”

“Meanwhile,” Derian said, “I’ll set us up a camp here in the corridor. It’s wide enough, and the ceiling above seems solid. We’ll be close to fresh water. We can make our fire in the courtyard, and keep watch on the gate by its light.”

PLIK DID NOT SLEEP WELL the night following his insight into the possible truth of his situation in relation to Isende and Tiniel. All through the long hours of darkness he tossed and turned, unable to find a position in which his limbs did not ache. The room, previously comfortable, if somewhat confining for one who had known the freedom of Misheemnekuru, now seemed unpleasantly hot and close. The air was so choking that he considered opening his window and letting the blood briars in.

Morning brought Tiniel, bearing with him the tray containing Plik’s breakfast, and once again reality as Plik had thought he understood it underwent a transformation.

“I’ve brought you some fresh fish,” Tiniel said, pulling the cloth from over the tray, “and some late season grapes as well. Come along, don’t sulk.”

Plik wasn’t sulking. The fish and grapes both smelled rather nice, but he couldn’t seem to convince himself to move. His stomach growled with hunger, but his throat felt tight, and he didn’t think he could swallow anything, even a grape peeled of its skin. Conversely, he craved something cool and wet, and tried to push himself upright so he could get at the pitcher and heavy stoneware mug that rested on the table next to his bed.

Tiniel moved to his side with unusual speed.

“What’s wrong, Plik?”

“I feel …” Talking made Plik’s throat hurt abysmally, but he forced himself. “Sore. Hot.”

Tiniel reached to check Plik’s forehead as he might have a human’s. He hesitated, then found some unfurred skin above the shagginess of the eyebrows. He touched it with the back of his hand, and frowned.

“You are hot. Your throat hurts. Do you have muscle aches, too?”

Plik nodded, grateful not to have to speak. Tiniel asked several other diagnostic questions, and with each nod from Plik his expression grew more and more grave.

“Tell me,” he said, “and you must answer honestly. Your life could well depend on this. Do you have anything that could be considered a magical talent, no matter how slight?”

Plik, thinking of how the maimalodalum all could sense magic, nodded.

Tiniel rose. “I must go and consult … someone. I will send Isende to you.”

“Might catch,” Plik managed.

Tiniel smiled grimly. “If you have what I think you have, Plik, we’ve already had it. It isn’t the type of thing you catch twice. Either you live through it—or you die.”

XXII

NOTHING CAME THROUGH the gate that night, and Firekeeper did not know whether or not to be relieved. She would have enjoyed having someone to hit, someone to ask the many questions that troubled her. The area within the copse felt dreadfully confining, all the more so for the reminder that they could not be certain what was as it appeared, and what might be overlaid with some nearly invisible web, the touching of which could have unpredictable but doubtlessly unpleasant consequences.

The paper-filled room had proven to be the remnants of a library, as Firekeeper had thought, but Harjeedian did not hold forth much hope for it producing an answer to the workings of the gate.

“Even if that information was here once,” he said, “the twins must have found it and used it—and then carried it away with them.”

“But you will look,” Firekeeper said. “You can read this type of writing.”

“I can. Much of the text is in what you like to call Liglimosh. Much, unhappily, is not. I’ve asked Derian to examine those documents I cannot identify, but he has found no Pellish. He thinks a few documents look as if they are written in New Kelvinese script, but those are unintelligible to us both.”

“The twins’ father’s people?” Firekeeper asked.

“Who knows?” Harjeedian said. “What I do know is what slim chance I have of learning anything is diminished by your interfering with my studies.”

So Firekeeper left. Truth had already sent her away so she could sleep, promising she was trying to dream a solution to their problem. Derian, who had taken the watch before dawn, was napping. Lovable, contented now that she had assured herself that Bitter was well, sat in the apple tree eating grubs and watching the gate.

Restless, Firekeeper paced outside, Blind Seer with her. The light drizzle was a welcome antidote to the closeness inside, and Firekeeper felt her head clearing as they paced the perimeter, looking for anything they might have missed earlier.

They were making their third or fourth circuit of the stronghold when Blind Seer paused. Firekeeper stopped beside him and found him studying the dormant bracken beasts. These remained much as Firekeeper had first seen them, waiting with vegetable patience for invaders who had already taken up residence within the guarded pale.

“I have a thought,” Blind Seer said, “as to how we might manage to open that gate after all.”

“What?” Firekeeper said excitedly. “Tell!”

“Those creations … They are awakened, or so we guess, by someone penetrating the boundaries of this copse.”

“Yes.”

“I wonder, are they the only ones who are alerted? What if the copse also has the means to send forth a howl to those whose scent we have traced?”

“An alarm,” Firekeeper said. “Would that open the gate?”

“It might not open the gate precisely,” Blind Seer said, “but those who were alerted might well come to check what raised the alarm. How else would they get here but through the gate?”

“I like it!” Firekeeper said. “Do we race outside and come back through?”

“You know better,” Blind Seer chided. “I can smell your own trepidation balancing your eagerness. We will do nothing so foolish, even though we both would enjoy pulling the tail of those who have taken Plik and put us in this situation. Rather, let us go and speak with the others, and find out what they think.”

Frekeeper agreed. Once she might have argued, but she had seen the price of her impulsiveness paid by others, and had no desire to see that happen again.

Inside the stronghold, she woke Derian and Truth, brought Harjeedian from the stacks of moldering papers, and almost before all were present set before their gathered strength Blind Seer’s plan.

“So, you see,” Firekeeper concluded, “we need not wait. We set ourselves to pounce, then one goes and comes in the copse wrong. I was thinking Lovable, since she fly and not touch down.”

“But what about the bracken beasts?” Derian asked. “This would awaken them. What about the blood briars? They’re out there, if not in here.”

“There are only the two bracken beasts,” Firekeeper reminded him, “and they are trapped with deadfalls hanging over them. So the trap will be tripped and they will be broken. The blood briars move slowly. Lovable fly fast.”

“But if we try this plan,” Harjeedian said, “whoever comes through the gate will expect trouble. If we wait, they will come through unsuspecting.”

“Expect trouble outside building,” Firekeeper persisted. “Not inside. If this is like spider and web, then spider knows where web is touched. They feel outside web and think we come in there. They not know we have seen outside web and inside both and have pass through without touching.”

“Truth?” Derian said. “Do you or … uh, your advisor … have any thoughts about this?”

Truth stopped licking between her toes and said,
“I have had many thoughts, but never one so simple and direct
.
It must be how wolves think. I do not know
—
and neither does the Meddler—whether this alarm exists
,
but the Meddler admits that it is likely
.
Or rather
,
that in his day such would have been likely. He has no idea what to expect now.
”

Firekeeper translated this, then said, “So, do we try?”

Derian frowned, and Harjeedian looked very uncertain. Lovable had sleeked her feathers down very flat and sat looking small, no doubt contemplating the dangers of flying through that copse and possibly awakening the very blood briars that had come so close to taking her life once already.

“The stories told in my land of the might of those who used magic are frightening,” Harjeedian said. “I have wondered as I read what things other than the bracken beasts the twins—and these others the Wise Beasts have scented—might have rediscovered.”

“If we worry about the elk kicking,” Firekeeper protested, “then we will never have the hunt!”

“We can wait,” Harjeedian said, “and be as spiders inside their web. Surprise will give us an edge over whatever they may bring with them. How can we give up what may be our only strength?”

Derian nodded. “Harjeedian has a point, Firekeeper. Besides, we’ve already discussed that Plik is probably alive and well. Why not wait and see if they will come to us? We have nothing to lose, and a great deal to gain.”

Firekeeper looked over at Truth, but the great cat’s burnt-orange eyes were opaque and uncommunicative. Lovable looked distinctly unhappy, and even Blind Seer seemed to have lost enthusiasm for his own plan.

“We wait,” Firekeeper agreed reluctantly. “But Plik must wonder.”

“Plik is fine,” Harjeedian said. “They would not have taken him alive if they did not intend to keep him so.”

PLIK’S FEVER GREW WORSE as the day went on, nor did it break when evening brought increasing coolness. One of the windows into his room was opened to admit the outside air. When Plik panicked and gestured wildly at the blood briars that twined without, Isende reassured him.

“They are trained not to touch anything on this side of the windowsill,” she said, “and you need fresh air.”

Despite Isende’s reassurances, in his feverish hallucinations Plik imagined he saw the blood briars writhing over the sill, snaking down into his bed, anchoring their claws in his flesh, and siphoning off his blood until their green stems turned scarlet Once he distinctly felt a bite on his arm and cried out in shock and alarm.

Plik’s eyelids—which he had not realized were closed—flew open and in the light of a fresh day he saw a new person standing alongside his bed. He was flanked on either side by Isende and Tiniel, their postures showing both familiarity and some undefinable element of uneasiness.

The newcomer was a human male as fair as Derian, windburned and ruddy, with a long-jawed, clean-shaven face, and sparse black hair on top of his head. Plik found it completely impossible to guess the man’s age. All he could tell was that this was a man grown, but not yet an elder with the detailed network of lines experience would etch in his skin.

The newcomer proved responsible for the biting sensation on Plik’s arm. He was pinching the loose flesh and looking at the mark left by the pressure. He also ran his hands over Plik’s torso in a fashion Plik found overly familiar, even going so far as to bend in order to press his head against Plik’s chest.

The newcomer said something to Tiniel in a language Plik didn’t know. Tiniel took a note on a slate he held, while Isende reached for the water pitcher. As she was doing so, she noticed that Plik’s eyes were open, and drew this to the newcomer’s attention.

The other leaned over and inspected Plik’s features closely, but with a complete lack of recognition for Plik’s new alertness.

He said something terse and clipped.

Isende nodded rapidly, then immediately turned to Plik. “This man is a doctor. He says you should know you have an illness that causes a very high fever. If you hope to survive, you must drink a great deal of water, and permit us to do what we can to keep you cool.”

Plik managed a stiff nod. He actually felt somewhat better than he had earlier, detached and distanced from his body and its suffering. He was old enough to know this was a very dangerous thing.