Wolf Hunting (59 page)

“I will,” Firekeeper said. For a moment she thought about asking Onion or Half-Ear to trade places with Truth or Eshinarvash, so that one of the yarimaimalom who regularly associated with humans would be with the strike party. Then she thought how unhappy she would feel if she were asked to not be part of rescuing Blind Seer or even one of those who had made up her little pack on Misheemnekuru. She would just have to trust that the others would remember her cautions.

By the time these last-minute arrangements were made and the other group had started out, Lovable had returned. Firekeeper had the raven begin her briefing as they headed to where Plik was being held. The raven perched on Blind Seer’s back, reminding Firekeeper of a peculiar knight mounted for war.

“I found the place,” Lovable said, puffing out her feathers importantly. “It is much like we had been told. There is a high hedge into which that horrible blood briar is woven, but there is a gate in the hedge. A human guards the gate”

Lovable went on to describe the human’s armor and weapons far more efficiently than Firekeeper herself could have done. Once again Firekeeper found herself recalling the differences between the Wise Beasts and the Royal. She was rather glad the Liglim seemed to have no desire for conquest. If the yarimaimalom sided with them, they would be formidable indeed.

“Inside the hedge there are two small buildings. I looked in through the windows. Plik sleeps in the smaller of the two buildings. Two who must be the twins sleep in the other.”

Blind Seer had only one question.

“When we arrive, does the guard live or die?”

“Live, if possible,” Firekeeper said. “But not at the price of either our health or our success. Harjeedian gave me rope and a gag for binding him.”

Blind Seer huffed understanding.

“Lovable,” Firekeeper said. “You go over the hedge and into Plik’s house. Wake him. Tell him to tell the twins that we come, and they are to cause no trouble. They will come with us. I will hurt them if they refuse.”

“Shall Plik wake the twins if he thinks they will resist?” Lovable asked.

“No,” Firekeeper said. “Easier to take them without hurting them if they are asleep.”

The raven flapped off.

Soon they arrived in the vicinity of the hedged enclosure. Firekeeper could see the guard standing near the gate. As they watched, he shifted his weight from one leg to the other with the practiced economy of motion of someone who had stood numerous watches. Then he was still again.

Firekeeper actually liked most of the human guards she had met. They made more sense to her than warriors did, because, unlike warriors, their purpose was to preserve rather than to attack. Firekeeper had found many friends among the guards of Eagle’s Nest Castle when they had realized she offered no threat to those they were sworn to protect.

In honor of the memory of those friends, the wolf-woman resolved not to harm the man who stood patiently a few paces outside the wrought-iron gate. This did make her task rather more difficult, however.

She studied the scene for a long moment.

“No one near?” she asked Blind Seer.

“I hear a rapping,” he said, twitching one ear, “but that would be Lovable outside a window. Otherwise, no one is near.”

“We will wait a moment longer,” Firekeeper said. “Then I will go after the guard. If I move quickly enough, he will not have opportunity to warn any others who might be on patrol.”

Using the darkness for cover, Firekeeper moved out and around so that she could approach the guard on a line parallel to the hedge. She was careful to keep out of the reach of the briars that stirred sluggishly as soon as they sensed the heat from her body. She didn’t doubt that the briars were the reason the guard stood a few paces from the iron gate rather than leaning up against it.

Although the air was crisp and cold, the grass underfoot was not yet winter dry. Firekeeper knew she could glide over this smoothly and silently. The guard remained vigilant, but never once did he look behind him. His first indication that something was wrong was when a piece of rope slipped around his neck and tightened just shy of strangulation.

“Not move,” Firekeeper whispered, “or I will pull all the way tight.”

The man held very, very still, his breath coming in little whistling wheezes.

“Blind Seer,”
Firekeeper said,
“come and let him see you.”

The wolf emerged from the darkness and stood before the now terrified guard. Blind Seer’s mouth gaped in what Firekeeper knew was laughter, but the expression showed off an impressive array of sharp teeth nonetheless.

“Now,” she said to the guard, “make no noise or move when I loosen the rope or my friend will hurt you—and he bites very hard.”

The guard gave a minor inclination of his head, the best nod he could manage with the rope around his neck. Firekeeper maintained the pressure on the rope with one hand while getting out lengths of cord and a gag she had prepared earlier.

When she loosed the stranglehold, the guard kept his frozen silence, but even so, Firekeeper felt it was best to gag him first. Then she secured his hands and feet, and finally roped him to the wrought-iron gate. She allowed the man enough play so that he did not come within reach of the blood briars, but tied him closely enough that he would still appear to be on watch.

The keys to the gate were in the guard’s pocket. Firekeeper opened it only wide enough for her and Blind Seer to slip inside. Then she closed it and latched it, but did not lock it again.

Faint light glowed from the larger of the two cottages, and Firekeeper guessed that Lovable had awakened the twins. There were no screams or cries from anywhere. Events seemed to be progressing according to plan.

If she was honest with herself, Firekeeper had to admit that worried her.

“CAREFUL THERE, Harjeedian,” Derian said softly. “Ground drops off a bit.”

He could hear the aridisdu slide his foot along the path until he found the uneven place, then a brief grunt of thanks.

Night’s Terror and the two local wolves had not forgotten Firekeeper’s warning that neither of the humans could see in the dark, and they had come up with a rather ingenious method of guiding them.

After flying ahead to make sure all remained quiet, Night’s Terror had landed on Derian’s shoulder. For such a large bird, she was very light. More importantly, the grip of her claws was solid enough that Derian could feel it through his shirt. The owl pulsed her right foot to give him warning of something ahead, her left for something underfoot. It was a bit painful, but, then, so would crashing into something be.

There was light ahead now, bright spots at regular intervals. When they drew closer, Derian saw that there were oil lanterns set along the aisles in the menagerie, flames turned up just high enough to break the darkness into twilit shadow. After the darkness between the gate buildings and the menagerie, the area seemed comfortably bright

Night’s Terror seemed to sense Derian’s greater assurance, for she launched off his shoulder and winged ahead. She landed on a gate and turned her white, heart-shaped face toward them. Derian needed no other invitation.

“I’ll start here,” he said, keeping his voice very low. “Show Harjeedian where to go.”

The owl had, not surprisingly, led them first to an aviary. There was another barn owl here, a great homed owl, three young ravens, and a hawk that reminded Derian too much of his long-absent friend, the peregrine falcon Elation. Each was in a cage too small for flight, the floors and perches soiled with droppings, bits of feather; and other, less definable detritus.

The birds emerged gingerly, and Derian guessed that none of them would find flying easy. He didn’t know if they had been held captive long enough for their wing muscles to actually atrophy, but certainly they were out of condition.

The great homed owl seemed in marginally better condition than the others. He—Derian had no idea of the actual gender, but he needed to think of the creature as
something
—hopped over to another series of cages. These held more birds of prey along with a few medium-sized animals: a raccoon, a bedraggled vixen crowded in with three half-grown kits, a spotted wildcat. There were a few empty cages as well. Derian wondered if they had once been inhabited, and if for those inhabitants rescue had come too late.

Subconsciously, Derian had expected the imprisoned animals to snarl or growl, even to slash out with beak or claw, but he had forgotten that these were yarimaimalom, Wise Beasts, and that they knew he was their rescuer. Even so, he was surprised when the wildcat paused in her limping progress out of her cage and bumped her round-eared head against his hand in mute thanks. He felt honored, as he had not felt since those early days when Elation had made clear that she considered him as fit a companion as she did Firekeeper.

Other figures were now milling around in the dimly lit darkness between the cages: wolves, far too lean, flickering in and out of sight as if partially made of shadows. A trio of lumbering bears, their fur patchy, their skin hanging loose. One bear rose onto his back legs to scout, his head rising higher than Derian’s own, his black nose flared, his small eyes watchful.

A golden brown puma came into sight carrying what Derian thought was a kitten in her mouth. Then he realized it was a full-grown lynx, one paw swollen with some sort of infection. The weak-winged birds of prey flapped to ride on the bears’ backs, and not a one grunted protest, though those taloned feet had to be sharp. Here it was as Onion had said, differences of species had been forgotten in their common captivity.

Harjeedian hurried over to the injured lynx, muttering about infection and amputation. Derian looked around for Onion and Half-Ear.

He found them in the midst of a milling throng of wolves. Derian did not need to have spent the better part of these last four years associating with Firekeeper and Blind Seer to know that the snapping and snarling was not the usual ebullient greetings wolves shared among themselves. This was an argument, and he thought that Half-Ear and Onion were losing.

Taking a deep breath, and hoping the wolves would respect him for the fear they couldn’t help but smell on him, Derian waded into the swirling reddish grey sea. The wolves stopped their bickering. One by one, eyes in shades of gold and amber focused on him, their stares cold but not without curiosity.

Derian located Half-Ear, grateful as never before for that truncated appendage which made identification certain.

“What is it?” He spoke softly, remembering a long-ago lesson that whispers carry as low voices do not. “We were to lead everyone to the gate.”

Half-Ear tilted his head to one side, a gesture indicating puzzlement; then he nudged Derian’s arm. When the wolf was certain he had Derian’s attention, he pointed with his nose toward a darkened building at the end of the long aisle of cages. Instantly, Derian understood.

The building was a solidly built cottage, probably containing two rooms and a storage loft. Undoubtedly, those responsible for the yarimaimalom’s daily care resided there, close to their charges. The reason the yarimaimalom were not fleeing was also immediately evident. Pinned to the outside of the cottage walls were the spread hides of various animals: several wolves, a bear, a pair of what Derian thought were lynxes, an eagle …

His stomach turned as he realized what he was seeing. These were not just the tanned hides of animals hung to finish curing. These were the hides of yarimaimalom, skinned, tanned, and hung to dry as a reminder to their kin of the penalty for disobedience.

Red anger flashed before Derian’s eyes. He bent over, not certain that he could keep from vomiting. A damp nose against his cheek brought him to himself.

“I understand,” he muttered, his voice shaking with rage. “I couldn’t leave the bastards who did that either. Come on.”

Derian glanced around and located Night’s Terror, over atop a cage, nuzzling the owl he assumed was Golden Feather, her mate.

“Go,” he said. “Tell Eshinarvash and Truth we’ll be delayed a moment. Then tell Firekeeper.”

Harjeedian had noticed the delay and come over. Like Derian, he needed no explanation. His skin seemed to tighten over his high cheekbones, as lips curled in a snarl of contained rage.

“There’s evidence of mutilation among the living,” Harjeedian said, keeping his voice low with difficulty. “That lynx is missing toes. One of the fox cubs lacks a tail. What they did to one of the eagles … Be careful—and try and keep it quiet.”

The cottage door was latched but not locked. What was there to lock it against? Derian eased up the latch and opened the door. He felt a bump against his leg and looked down. Several of the wolves had already streamed past him.

The front room, illuminated by a lamp burning low on a table, proved to be empty. A small falcon flapped with painful labor to the loft and with his lack of interest in the contents indicated that it was also uninhabited.

A wolf with pale, almost icy fur was snuffling near a door. She raised her head and looked at Derian. He crossed over and lifted the latch as quietly as possible.

This room was darker than the outer room, but his eyes were well adjusted by now. He saw three beds set exactly equidistant from each other. Each appeared to be occupied. What he hadn’t expected was for them to be occupied by women.

He couldn’t make out the details, but he was sure. Maybe it was some scent in the air, maybe the lack of strong male odor, but Derian was absolutely certain. The one who lay curled on her side on the far left had skin as dark as that of Skea the Twice Dead. The one in the middle was huddled under her comforter—a bear-fur comforter, Derian noticed with increasing unease. The one on the far left was sitting up, her sheet falling back from milky pale, naked breasts.

The woman made an exclamation in a language Derian didn’t know, and then the icy wolf was upon her. Two other wolves moved almost as quickly, and dark wetness stained the bedclothes. A new smell entered the closed room: the mingled odors of blood and bowel.