Wolf Hunting (62 page)

Night’s Terror squinted her eyes nearly shut Firekeeper knew that Blind Seer’s flattery had not soothed the owl’s ire at being interrupted. No time now though to smooth ruffled feathers. Firekeeper knew she must give her attention to arraying her pack to best advantage.

“Derian,” she said, “humans are coming. Some, perhaps all, are armed. I think we must get the wounded to cover lest they be taken and used as hostages.”

Plik broke in. “We also need to make certain they do not get between us and our gate home.”

“Can we combine the two needs?” Derian said, already moving toward where Harjeedian had set up a makeshift infirmary. “Bring the wounded into the building, and guard that?”

“Good,” Firekeeper said. “You take charge. I need to speak to the yarimaimalom before they scatter.”

“You think they’d run?” Derian said.

“I think they would hunt,” Firekeeper replied, “and from what we have heard of these Once and Twice Dead, I think the hunters would find what looks like a buck in velvet might have very sharp antlers.”

Derian nodded. “I’ll take charge here. Try and let me know what’s going on.”

“I will,” Firekeeper promised, wondering how she could manage it. Her gaze fell on Plik. “Are you up to a run?”

The raccoon-man shook his head. “Even at my best, I am not built for running, and I am far from my best.”

Firekeeper cast around and saw a great reddish brown bear.

“Would you join us?
” she asked.
“My friend here is too weak to run, but he is the only other who can speak both to Beasts and humans. I may need him to carry a message.”

The bear—she-bear as it turned out—gave Firekeeper a long look from deceptively small eyes.

“I might, but I have been guarding my cubs.”

“They will be watched,”
Firekeeper promised rashly.
“Or they can chase on your heels.”

“Hmm,
” the bear said.
“Very well. Comb Ripper, Grub Digger, follow me. I’ll have your ears and tails if you stray.”

The bear cubs, half-grown already, but slim and stunted from their time in captivity, romped up.

Firekeeper left Plik to arrange the details of his transport. She let her ears and eyes probe the darkness, and almost immediately knew the direction from which the humans were coming.

Blind Seer came loping back, panting a little in excitement.
“There are a fair number,”
he said.
“A few carry bows, but shorter than the one you bear. They carry lanterns, too, so their night sight is ruined. We have the advantage, then.”

Firekeeper nodded.
“But advantage in what? What is it we wish to do?”

The wolf tilted his head at her, momentarily puzzled.
“Defend ourselves, of course, so we can get home.”

Firekeeper frowned.
“If we are retreating, then, we should not spread ourselves out, racing around like a litter of excited pups. Everyone should get back to the gate. Find the twins. They can begin the opening. When they have done this, then we will send everyone through. Only those who have had the Plague or proven immune may leave the stronghold. The rest of us must
remain
within.”

The plan sounded good, but some element in it left Firekeeper vaguely uneasy. There was something, maybe several somethings she had overlooked. Yet the sense that the darkness that surrounded her was filled with figures seething toward violence filled Firekeeper with the urgent awareness that she needed to act now, and hope that refinements could come later.

“We should not fight unless we must,”
she said, hoping this was what she had forgotten.
“Remember that these take power from blood.”

“I will find the twins
,” Blind Seer promised.

“And I will send out the order to gather back at the gate building
,” Truth said.

Plik came up, riding directly behind the reddish brown bear’s humped shoulders and looking no more awkward than he did on a pony. The half-grown cubs apparently thought the sight amusing, and kept rearing on their back legs to playfully swat at Plik’s tail.

“Anything for us?” Plik asked in Pellish.

“Will the others listen and gather?”
Firekeeper asked.
“I am not their One to order them here and there.”

“I think they will,”
the bear replied.
“All we want to do is go home, and you offer a means to do so
.
The worst offenders will not offend again. If there is a fight, we will fight, but winter is coming on fast, and my children and I need to go fatten ourselves for the long sleep.”

“Then help Truth tell the rest what we’re doing,”
Firekeeper said.
“I will cry like a screech owl if I need Plik to carry some message to the humans.”

When the others had left, Firekeeper continued listening to the sounds of the advancing humans. They were closer now, coming over the rise. They were moving quietly for humans, with only a little jingling of metal and squeaking of leather. As Blind Seer and Truth had reported, they carried lanterns, but these were shielded so that the light fell low and mostly served to illuminate their trail.

Fuekeeper bent her bow, stringing it as she tried to think what she had overlooked. She had a full quiver, and since Race Forester had first taught her this art, she had rarely missed her mark, even when shooting at night.

She was trying to gauge the distance between her and the nearest lantern, thinking that shooting it would certainly make the advancing group move even more slowly, when Blind Seer loped up. He was panting hard, and shedding little tufts of fur, a sure sign he was anxious.

“What is it, sweet hunter?” Firekeeper asked.

“The twins are gone,” Blind Seer replied.

“Gone?”

“I sought them where we were all meeting. They were not there. The scent trails were muddled with so many coming and going. I found them at last by dropping below the area nearest to the gate building and circling the area. By bad luck, I went the wrong way—I thought they might head in the direction of their former lair, perhaps to bring some forgotten thing away. Never did I think they would head toward those who still believe they are sneaking up on us, undetected.”

“They went to the Once Dead?” Firekeeper said, aghast. “They would warn them?”

“They did speak of some who had been kind to them,” Blind Seer said. “Perhaps they felt some duty.”

“Duty to those who kept them prisoner,” Firekeeper growled. “I will show them duty … . Can you lead me? We must bring them back before they are with the others, else we will have no one who can open the gate.”

There is the Meddler,
she thought.
Would he barter for another favor?

Then she remembered that the Meddler had said he could not reach this place, that it was shielded against such as him. He might have been lying, but that was a slim branch along which to slide her weight.

Blind Seer had indicated his willingness to lead her with a nudge of his nose against her hand. Slinging her bow over her shoulder, Firekeeper followed, and as she trotted after her guide she gave a barn owl’s cry. As she had hoped, Night’s Terror dropped out of the sky.

“We have been betrayed,” Firekeeper said, and succinctly gave the owl the details. “Tell the yarimaimalom. Also tell Plik. He can tell Derian and Harjeedian. Blind Seer and I will go after them. Tell the others to stand ready.”

“I will!” the owl said.

“You knew she was close,” Blind Seer said. “I am impressed. Even I did not hear her on the wing.”

“We damaged her sense of importance,” Firekeeper explained with a dry chuckle. “I hoped she might be near, looking to redeem it.

“Now,” Firekeeper said, “we can run at speed and possibly intercept the twins before they reach their masters.”

“And if we cannot?” Blind Seer asked, breaking into a lope, his nose to the ground so as not to miss a nuance of the trail.

“They are our key to returning to the New World,” Firekeeper said. “I suppose, although I would like nothing more than to leave them, we must do what we can to get them back.”

XXX

THEY WERE CLOSE ENOUGH now to hear the murmur of human voices, but they had not overtaken the twins.

“Can you make out what they’re saying?” Firekeeper asked Blind Seer, knowing the wolf’s hearing was far better than her own.

“I can make out words,” the wolf said, “but not the sense of them. Another language than the ones we know.”

“Humans,” Firekeeper commented, not for the first time, “are overly complex when it comes to language. Robins all know each other’s songs. Wolves hear howling and understand the nature of the cry. Why do humans need to make communicating with each other so hard?”

Blind Seer glanced up at her, his teeth gleaming in a panting laugh. “For no other reason than to make life difficult for a certain Little Two-legs, no doubt.”

Firekeeper kicked at him without pausing in her stride, but the wolf dodged easily. After a time, Blind Seer indicated that they should stop.

“We’re too late,” he said, letting out his breath in a shuddering sigh. “I cannot understand the words, but I know the voices. Tiniel and Isende are amid those who carry the lanterns.”

“Are you sure?” Firekeeper asked. “You have only known them for a short time.”

“Long enough,” Blind Seer said. “Long enough. It is them.”

“How do they sound? What is the note that underlies their words?”

Blind Seer pricked his ears forward to listen more intently. “There is no note. Neither joy nor sorrow. The words come with even rhythm and cadence. That is all.”

The pair stood watching the flickering lights, then Blind Seer tossed back his head.

“You see differently than I do, dearest. Take a look. Those lights were holding still, but now …”

“They have begun to retreat,” Firekeeper replied, “back to where they came from.”

“If they take the twins to one of those buildings of which the Meddler spoke,” Blind Seer said, “getting them out again alive and in one piece will be very difficult.”

“If not impossible,” Firekeeper agreed. “They are out in the open,” Firekeeper went on after a moment of further consideration. “Here the advantage is ours. Shall we attempt to take back our keys?”

“Just the two of us?”

“I suspect we will not be alone for long,” Firekeeper said, “especially if sounds of fighting are heard. Night’s Terror should have spread her message by now.”

“We need to get close enough that we can cut the twins from the greater herd,” Blind Seer said.

“I have an idea how to slow them,” Firekeeper said. “Without light, even the bravest humans become very cautious.”

She fit arrow to bowstring and took aim. There were six lights there, brighter now, for the humans had clearly decided that they need not hide their retreat as they had their advance.

“What if you miss?” Blind Seer asked. “Your arrow might take out those we seek to rescue.”

“Only one,” Firekeeper said with calculated brutality. “We only need one of the pair to open the gate. Run light and low, off to one side. See if you can spot our strayed pups and perhaps drag one away.”

She drew back the bowstring and aimed at what seemed to be the nearest lantern. Without waiting to see if she had hit, Firekeeper reached for another arrow. Her fingers were on the fletching when she heard glass breaking and saw a brilliant yellow-orange flare. Then the lantern was dropped.

She wasn’t watching. Her attention was for the next lantern. She got that one and one beyond before the last three pools of light hit the ground and went out, dropped by holders who had finally realized what made them targets. She didn’t think any of the arrows’ momentum had carried them through and into the clustered group, but from the fuss the humans were now making she couldn’t be sure.

“To me! To me!”
Firekeeper howled, inflecting the call so that Blind Seer would know it was meant for reinforcements, not to bring him back. She heard answering calls, and knew that within moments she and Blind Seer would have a pack that could more than rival the humans milling in the night.

“I have come for the twins!” Firekeeper called out, first in Pellish, then in Liglimosh. “Give them to me and go your way unharmed.”

She heard a male voice answer in a language she did not recognize. Then so closely behind that his words overlapped the first speaker, Tiniel spoke.

“You will not have them,” Tiniel said, puzzling Firekeeper by this peculiar way of referring to himself. Then she recognized that he was translating for that first voice.

Despite the familiarity of Tiniel’s city-state-accented Liglimosh, Firekeeper found the timbre of the young man’s voice curiously flat. Something wasn’t right here.

“What is to stop us from taking them?” Firekeeper asked defiantly.

“We’ll kill them,” Isende’s voice came, speaking on the heels of a stiff female voice. “We’d prefer to keep them alive. They’re interesting, and a true font of knowledge, but rather than give them to you, we will kill them.”

Firekeeper’s shoulder was suddenly heavier, and Night’s Terror spoke.

“She’s not lying. One of the men has a knife to the one’s back, another holds a blade to the other.”

“And if you kill them,” Firekeeper said, “what is to keep us from killing you? Be wise. Give us the twins, and walk away with your lives.”

Isende spoke again, prefacing her comments with a dry, harsh laugh. “We have done some spying on you in a fashion you could only begin to comprehend, wolfling. We know how you came through the gate, and I do not think that key will work again. We only need to keep you here for a day or so more. Then you will be too ill to do anything to resist us. As I said before, we would prefer to keep the twins alive, but to seal you here, well …”

It was strange to hear Isende talk about her own death in such a dispassionate fashion, but the cry that came from Tiniel at that moment was in the youth’s own voice.