Wolf's Head, Wolf's Heart (50 page)

Up ahead, Doc—who was taking his turn on point—swiveled in his saddle and called down the line.

"We're closing on a town," he said. "Does anyone have reason to stop?"

Derian gave a slight shake of his head. One reason he'd been riding to the rear was so he could watch the horses. None of them were showing any sign of distress. He'd taped their hocks to give them some added support and the road surface was not frozen hard. Nor was the party setting too fast a pace. Doubtless none of the mounts would resist a warm stall and hot mash, but none needed it.

Elise shook her head sharply, but didn't say a word. Wendee Jay, almost as thoroughly bundled but less obviously uncomfortable, gave a laugh.

"I'd love a cup of mulled cider," she said, "but I can go on without."

Firekeeper spoke last.

"We are fine," she said, adding a trace sternly, "and the sun is young."

"Not so young," Doc said, nudging his horse into a slightly faster walk. "We're rising noon. Still, you're right. I'll divert when we get to town and buy us a flask or two of something warm. Blaze is fresh and we can catch up easily. Anyone want to stop with me?"

Elise shook her head as if knowing that Doc's eyes were on her.

Maybe
, Derian thought,
she's afraid that if she ever gets into a warm taproom she'll never leave
.

Wendee Jay was either less proud or perhaps simply wiser when it came to taking an offered respite.

"I'll stop with you, Doc. I know the innkeeper. I may be able to convince him to give us a good rate on the drinks and not charge too dearly for the flasks."

When they came to the town, Doc and Wendee turned to the tavern while Elise and Derian took charge of the pack mules. The fact that these could not be asked to stand sweating under their burdens was part of the reason for keeping the band moving. Another was that even if the pack animals could stand without stiffening, they should not be pressed to a quicker pace to make up the lost time. Doc's Blaze and grey Patience, who carried Wendee, would have lighter burdens and could be sheltered in a livery stable for the duration of their brief stop.

Firekeeper and Blind Seer had vanished when the first house came into view. Derian knew that the pair were making a wide circle of the area and would intercept the rest along the road once it left the town. Doubtless the wolf would not pass up the opportunity to hunt a bit as well. Blind Seer was keeping clear of the horses—Cream Delight in particular was taking offense at the wolf's presence, though she seemed to take some comfort from Roanne's acceptance of the massive beast. Still, the scent of fresh blood would be an incentive to fear.

Derian fancied that Firekeeper must have said something to the mules, for they were being astonishingly cooperative. Idly, he wondered why she didn't do the same with the riding horses. He must remember to ask her sometime.

When Elise spoke, her voice was stiff with disuse.

"He's humoring me, isn't he?" she asked.

"He? Who? What?" Derian replied, confused.

"Sir Jared," she clarified, and Derian realized that the rusty tone he had taken for disuse was barely subdued anger. "He's humoring me. All this talk about towns and hot drinks. He wouldn't bother if I wasn't along."

"You don't know that," Derian replied pacifically, though the same thought had crossed his mind.

"I do," Elise said. "I'm the soft one. Look at Firekeeper. She isn't even bothering with a heavy coat."

"The coat she's wearing," Derian countered, "is heavier than she has worn in all her life. She's even wearing boots."

"But no gloves, no hat. And Wendee Jay…" Elise sounded, if anything, more offended. "She's a grown woman—a mother! And yet she's riding along like this is a lark. I'd expect such from, say, Sapphire, but from the mother of two?"

"Wendee Jay," Derian said, feeling he was doomed even as he spoke, "spent many years riding the roads when she traveled with the theater troop. This is nothing new to her."

"So you're admitting that Sir Jared is humoring me!"

Derian threw his hands up in disgust, startling Roanne, who punished him with a few dancing sideways steps. By the time he had the mare under control again, Derian had framed his reply.

"What if he is?" he asked, glancing over at the angry eyes just visible over the scarf. "What's wrong" with that?"

"I don't want humoring." The words were fierce and implacable. >

"So I shouldn't have wrapped the horses' hocks," Derian said.

"What?"

Derian took some small relief in that Elise sounded confused rather than angry.

"So I shouldn't have wrapped the horses' hocks," he repeated. "Even though they are prone to sprains and ice might cut them. I'm humoring them."

Elise didn't laugh, didn't smile (Derian had to guess at that last), but her sea-green eyes grew thoughtful, the curve of her brows softening from their scowl.

"I guess you are," she said. "But I'm not a horse. I want to be treated like everyone else."

"We are treating you in the only way possible," Derian replied. "Let me tell you about the…"

He paused to substitute a more polite word for the one he'd been about to use.

"… lecture I got from Earl Kestrel when I tried to show Race Forester that I was just as tough as he was."

Elise listened without comment as Derian told his tale. He didn't exaggerate. He didn't need to—he'd been a proper young idiot trying to match skills with the best forester in Hawk Haven. When he finished speaking, Elise sighed.

"Stiff and cold?" she asked.

"As a board," Derian promised. "And I blistered the living daylights out of my feet walking in riding boots rather than having the sense to change my footwear when I knew I'd be walking."

Elise sighed again.

"I don't like being the weak sister," she admitted. "I'm not used to it, and I did so well between Bright Bay and Hawk Haven."

"Firekeeper wasn't setting the pace then," Derian said dryly. "And the weather was more clement."

Elise went on as if she hadn't heard.

"I mean I never rode or hunted like Sapphire, but I was as good—or better—at the things that mattered."

"Like dancing and writing letters," Derian said.

"Right," Elise agreed. "I know it sounds stupid here and now with the snow falling, but I've never had to think of myself as less than capable. Tell me where to begin."

"Drink Doc's posset when it comes," Derian advised her, "and wrap up against the cold. Otherwise you'll catch something and be sniffling when we need you to translate with the New Kelvinese."

"That wouldn't be much good, would it?" Elise said, and this time he was certain he saw the muscles of her face move in a smile beneath the silk. "Very well, Counselor. I'll take your advice."

G
rateful Peace found the two-and-a-half-day sleigh ride from the Stone Giant Inn to the city of Dragon's Breath one of the most exhilarating yet wearying journeys of his life.

Travel conditions were not to blame for the contradictory state of his emotions. The sleigh runners ran smoothly over the carefully tended roads. The horses—changed at every post-station—were fresh and not yet dispirited from a long winter's hauling. Indeed, they seemed to enjoy how the chill air made the weight of their dragon caparisons negligible, to be rejoicing in the absence of flies and dust.

Nor did Peace have any complaints regarding his attendants. Even the young man who had taken over for the groom murdered by the escaped Baron Endbrook was proving quite satisfactory.

Baron Endbrook—or rather his continued absence—contributed a sizable amount to Grateful Peace's worries.

Although guards had been after Endbrook almost from the moment of his mad dash from the Stone Giant Inn, the islander had escaped and careful searching had not yet discovered him. The searchers had found his horse that first night, but Waln had been nowhere about. The man had vanished as if the legendary White Sorcerers had scooped him up onto one of their traveling clouds and flown away with him to their strongholds at the peaks of the Eversnow Mountains.

After careful consideration, Grateful Peace had not elected to remain at the Stone Giant Inn while the search for Baron Endbrook continued. His primary responsibility was to bring Lady Melina to Dragon's Breath. The execution of Endbrook and the driver had been a mere matter of housekeeping. Therefore, Peace left his guards behind—he knew he could commandeer more at the first post-house he passed on his return to the capital—expecting them to tidy up this loose end without much difficulty.

Peace had anticipated that the rider who arrived at the inn where he and Lady Melina had broken their first day's journey would report Baron Endbrook found, killed (if he had not died already of exposure), and the little matter closed. The thaumaturge had been so irritated at the rider's report of failure that he had almost sent the man out again without permitting him time for rest or a meal.

Only the knowledge that acting out of pique was as foolish as making faces at the moon had caused Grateful Peace to curb his initial frustration—that and the awareness that Waln might have been found in the intervening hours since the rider had departed to bring his report.

The report that was carried to Grateful Peace late the second night—riders could race faster than even the best sleighs, especially with frequent change of mounts—had been no more satisfactory. Peace realized that he would arrive in Dragon's Breath before the next report could catch up to him, especially if the search was forced to spread out over a greater distance and farther to the south.

But the disappearance of Baron Endbrook was not the only thing troubling Grateful Peace. Lady Melina Shield herself was responsible for both a large amount of his worry and a sizable portion of his exhilaration.

Superficially, she had been the very image of cooperation. She had given over to Grateful Peace the sealed box containing the three magical artifacts—suggesting that it not be opened until they were safely in Dragon's Breath.

Peace had agreed. Doubtless Baron Endbrook had safeguarded the artifacts in some way and Peace himself was not skilled in traps and locks or their undoing. By day the artifacts rested in a cabinet beneath the seat of the sleigh in which Grateful Peace and Lady Melina traveled. By night, he slept with them as an uncomfortable pillow.

Suspecting that Lady Melina had used her physical charms to distract Waln—the serving girl at the Stone Giant Inn had made this more certainty than suspicion—Grateful Peace had politely ignored Lady Melina's tentative overtures.

As soon as was possible—he found excuse during a discussion of his personal facial markings—Peace had explained his renunciation of any woman other than his long-lost Chutia.

His self-esteem was slightly dented when he sensed relief on Lady Melina's part at his announcement. Even a man who suspects he is being used wants to believe that the attraction is sincere.

Oddly, it was only after Lady Melina had abandoned her attempts at sexual enticement that Grateful Peace realized that he found the woman rather fascinating. Her naked face both interested and repulsed him, though she was neither beautiful nor ugly. Rather her eyes were what drew him.

From a distance these were unremarkable, a pale shade that might be blue, might be grey, fringed with blonde lashes that did nothing to make them distinctive. Seen from close up—as Grateful Peace had ample opportunity to do during their long sleigh rides each day—the irises proved to be a clear, crystalline blue, an incredibly pure yet elusive shade.

Grateful Peace found that he had to struggle not to be drawn into the depths of those pale eyes. He wanted nothing more than to stare, to find the wellspring of that hint of color. More than once he caught himself doing just that and had to jerk himself back to awareness of himself and his surroundings.

In his efforts to avoid being transformed into a gawking fool, Peace found himself responding to Lady Melina's myriad questions with rather more readiness than would be his usual wont. He found himself explaining how his name was atypical when she referred to the Dragon Speaker as Rusting Iron—a literal translation of his name into Pellish.

"No, never call him that," he said, rather shocked.

Iron was the metal antithetical to magic, and so never mentioned if at all possible. Even Apheros's name more closely meant "Eater of the Grey Metal that Turns Red." It was a very powerful name and showed that his parents had ambitions for him from birth.

"No?" she asked, all innocence.

"Names are not translated. Names are
names"

"But you introduced yourself to me as Grateful Peace—not as Trausholo."

Peace nodded. "That is because my parents named me for a concept or a hope—my name is the idea, not the words. This is not the case with most names."

"No?"

"Well, what does your own name mean?"

Lady Melina blinked. "It's simply a pleasant sound. We have a good many of those, traditional names from the Old Country."

"It is the same with us," he said. "I am sorry that my own name led you astray, but pray, take care."

Lady Melina nodded and changed the subject. It seemed that the lady was interested in everything to do with New Kelvin. She questioned him with an avidity the thaumaturge might have found unsettling in another person.

From her, however, such interest seemed only reasonable. Was she not a reputed sorceress, though born in a land that abhorred the art? Might not New Kelvin seem a welcome refuge?

Lady Melina's comprehension of his explanations both astonished and discomfited Grateful Peace. He was accustomed to foreigners who made no effort to understand the ways of the New Kelvinese, who stopped trying to understand as soon as they had learned what basic courtesies they must know in order to trade in silk or exotic drugs. In contrast, Lady Melina gave evidence of ample prior knowledge—far more than could be credited to her one long-ago visit.

As a man who had learned the power of information from his earliest days as an Illuminator, Grateful Peace might have been inclined to lie to Lady Melina, but he had no orders to do so. Moreover, evading a direct answer proved to be quite difficult. Lady Melina seemed to remember everything he had told her and to weigh one fact against another, rephrasing her initial question until she received a precise reply.