Wolf's Head, Wolf's Heart (57 page)

"Sleep well, ducks?"

"Well enough, mother," Waln replied politely. "Do you think Longsight will see me today?"

The crone cackled mirthlessly.

"Oh, yes, he'll see you. The question is will you be wanting to see
him
again once he's done with you."

D
erian was amazed how the deeper they traveled into New Kelvin the less he felt he understood the country. It was as though this strange and uninviting land had receded farther away now that they rode their horses across it.

In an effort to fight this sensation of alienation, Derian paid close attention to the terrain. He forced himself to notice how the land began to rise as they turned north toward Dragon's Breath, how the towns became more infrequent as the land became rockier.

Their first day or two out of Gateway, the little group had ridden through farmland or through forest. The style of the houses and barns had been odd—functional, but built with a different sense of beauty. The colorful facial decorations worn even by field laborers out mending fences or attending to some other routine task had made the New Kelvinese seem like drawings brought to life rather than living, breathing people he might understand.

Their group seemed to be the only ones on this stretch of the road who weren't purely local travelers going from one town to the next. Moreover, the New Kelvinese didn't seem to like strangers, ignoring Derian's pleasant greetings or at most responding with a grunt.

Even the innkeepers, who might have been expected to be more friendly, even if only for reasons of business, were taciturn and curt. Privately, Derian was glad that Elise wanted to practice her New Kelvinese. He could stand back a few steps and let her bear the brunt of the foreigners' rudeness.

Certainly, their situation didn't seem to trouble Elise nearly as much as it did him. Derian wondered if that was because everything about this journey—from spending the day mostly in the saddle to doing without a personal maid—was weird and different.

After the first two days of travel, the farms had been markedly smaller, devoted to kitchen gardens, poultry, and flocks of sheep or, later, goats. Terraced fields challenged the mountain slopes, revealing the extent of the labor needed to grow anything at all in this inhospitable land. Had it not been for Firekeeper and Blind Seer, their band would have been reduced to eating goat cheese and turnips—that being all the inns had to offer, or at least all they were willing to sell to foreign travelers.

Rooms seemed to be in short supply as well, but Derian had made certain they would be prepared for camping. Usually Elise could find out which landowner wouldn't be offended by their pitching tents. Yet, although food and shelter could be dealt with, Derian was almost overwhelmed by the burden of being quartermaster, guide, and, by default, leader of their expedition.

Doc might have had seniority, but except in medical matters he was not inclined to take charge. Elise possessed noble rank but was completely inexperienced. Firekeeper was Firekeeper-impossible and unpredictable—one moment as tractable as a lamb, the next vanishing for hours.

As the road to Dragon's Breath became lonelier and the winter skies more overcast and bleak, Derian realized he was beginning to rely on Wendee Jay as something like a second-in-command. Wendee, at least, had lived on the road without servants—she was, in fact, like him, more a servant than a master. Without a second thought she would comb and braid Elise's long hair, chivy Firekeeper into line, stir a supper pot, and handle a hundred other small tasks that weren't evident until they went undone.

She was also far better than Derian at delegating responsibility—ordering Doc and Elise to attend to jobs Derian would have taken on himself. Somewhere deep inside, Derian was still in awe of those two, not so much for themselves as for their titles and noble connections. Wendee seemed to feel no such awe, telling Elise to mind the fire or sending Doc to fetch water from a stream.

Moreover, Wendee was an accomplished entertainer. When the monotony of travel grew too great, Wendee would recite from plays or poems, tell them anecdotes—some rather risque—from her days in the theater, or, often in response to Firekeeper's pleading, relate what she knew about New Kelvin.

She was doing just that one afternoon as the horses and mules toiled their way up a particularly steep stretch of road that would eventually lead through a tight pass that Derian privately worried would already be snow-blocked. A trader back in Gateway had told him that this was often the case, but Firekeeper had been impatient to arrive in Dragon's Breath, not wanting to take the longer route that would avoid this particular pass.

Derian considered sending someone ahead to scout. Blind Seer would have been his first choice, but the wolf had vanished, as he often did near midday. Elation was drowsing atop one of the packs. He could ask Firekeeper to send the peregrine ahead to report, but the bird saw things differently than the humans did and had proven a poor judge of the needs of the ground-bound.

He weighed his options. If he asked Firekeeper to send Elation, the wolf-woman might decide to go off on her own initiative. Derian decided that he didn't want Firekeeper straying too far off in this unfamiliar land. In fact, if Wendee's stories could keep the wolf-woman close rather than wandering off to find Blind Seer, all the better.

"They paint their faces," Wendee was saying when Derian stopped worrying and paid attention again, "in many patterns, most of which have deep meanings, though I think some are simply for decoration. The tattoos are different—at least if I've understood the plays rightly. Tattoos mark some big decision, an unchangeable course of action."

"Like a marriage?" Elise asked.

Derian noted that though she didn't color, she also made a point of not looking ahead to where Doc was riding point.

Wendee laughed lightly. "Oh, far more permanent than that, Lady Elise. Marriages end—mine did."

"Did your husband die?" Elise asked. Derian could see she was already feeling sorry for the other woman.

"No," Wendee replied, "we divorced. Turned out we didn't suit."

Elise looked rather shocked. Derian grinned. For all her worldliness in some things, the heir to the Archer Barony could be rather naive. Divorce was not unheard of, even in the upper classes, but he supposed it was more easily arrived at by those who were not merging large amounts of property and great names in addition to the lives of the people involved.

"Then you're raising your children alone?" Elise prompted tentatively, as if she were prying into a great secret.

"That's about the measure of it," Wendee agreed, apparently feeling no discomfort at discussing the topic. "The girls live with me and when I must be away, I make arrangements for their care."

Firekeeper tugged at the cuff of Wendee's trousers.

"You were telling about tattoos," she reminded.

Wendee gave the wolf-woman a tap on the head.

"And you shouldn't interrupt."

Firekeeper looked offended.

"Elise did first! You were talking about tattoos."

Derian intervened, swallowing his own laughter.

"Firekeeper
does
have a point, Wendee, and minimal tolerance for small talk."

He was surprised at the chiding look Wendee Jay turned toward him.

"Well, she'd better acquire some then, shouldn't she?" she asked tartly. "If Lady Firekeeper's going to accept the advantages of being an earl's daughter, then she'd better learn more about social graces than that it's not polite to snatch the meat off someone else's plate."

Derian was angry—all the more so because of the trust and reliance he'd vested in the relative newcomer. He'd worked hard to get Firekeeper to even that point! He'd like to know if Wendee could have done as much with the snarling, inarticulate, nearly naked wolfling masquerading as a fifteen-year-old girl that the earl had thrust on
him
!

"You think you know…" he was beginning when Doc interrupted.

"Heads up, folks," he said in the strong, level voice he normally reserved for critical medical emergencies. "I saw something—maybe human—moving in the rocks ahead of us."

Firekeeper bounded from where she had been trotting at Wendee's stirrup to Doc's side.

"Where?" she snapped.

"Left," he said. "Near the rock shaped like a bear."

The wolf-woman darted off the road and vanished into the rocks. Elation shrieked once and sprang into the air after her.

An arrow struck the road in front of them almost before the two were gone. It quivered there, impaled in the dirt, the danger it implied seeming an impassible barrier.

"Grab the mules," Derian ordered, shouldering Roanne up alongside Doc's horse. He didn't pause to see if anyone obeyed.

"Warning shot," Doc said tersely. "Bandits will want our horses and mules. The rest of us aren't so safe."

Derian nodded and swung out of his saddle. None of the others had waited for orders to do the same.

"Keep a horse between you and them," he said rather unnecessarily. "We'll have to trust Firekeeper."

"Should we back up?" Elise asked. She was very pale, but her voice didn't tremble.

Derian started to nod; then he saw the two bandits who stepped out into the road to block their retreat.

They were as ugly as ogres from a tale meant to scare a child into good behavior. Their faces were painted the sickly greenish-yellow of an overcooked egg yolk; their eyes were rimmed in hangover red. Black lines gave one curling cat whiskers, the other bat wings that "masked" the upper half of his face.

The whiskered one said something in rhythmic New Kelvinese. Derian didn't need a translation to tell him that the bandit was ordering them not to move; the gesture he made was universal. What hurt was that he was laughing at them.

More bandits were coming out from hiding now. At least six were visible, each with features painted in some horrid pattern of red, green, and black.

Bat Mask jerked a mule's lead rope from Wendee's hand and shouted something to someone out of sight. Then he turned to them and spoke sharply in New Kelvinese. At the conclusion, he cupped his hand alongside his mouth and made a beckoning gesture with his free hand.

Elise translated in a low, flat voice.

"He says to call back the boy—I think he means Firekeeper—call her back or he'll, he'll…"

Her voice quavered. Wendee finished.

"He'll gut the carrot-head boy."

Derian swallowed hard. He wished Elise and Wendee hadn't translated anything. They might have played dumb. On the other hand, the long knife in Bat Mask's hand looked very sharp and he might have decided to demonstrate just who his threat was directed against. Derian was acutely aware that only he could be called "carrot-head."

The bandit made a jerking motion with the blade and said something else.

"He says call her now," Wendee reported. "He'd rather not kill anyone. We're young and… something about Waterland."

"Slaves," Doc guessed tersely. "He'll sell us as slaves."

Without a pause Sir Jared then shouted:

"Firekeeper, they want you to come back: They'll kill Derian if you don't! Be careful."

A high, mournful wolf's howl came in reply. Then a human voice called:

"Tell them I come."

Derian's heart sank. If Firekeeper returned, hope was dead. If she didn't
he
was dead. Either way, the situation was grim.

Their one remaining chance rested with the Royal animals—Elation and Blind Seer. The bandits might not have noticed the hawk; they didn't know about Blind Seer. Unfortunately, the giant wolf wouldn't act if doing so would endanger his pack mate. Only if Firekeeper was dead would the wolf attack, and then his vengeance would be terrible.

Firekeeper emerged from a cluster of rocks just as Bat Mask was raising his knife to Derian's throat.

"Stop!" she shouted. "I am here."

Such was the force of the wolf-woman's personality that the knife did drop. Whiskers strode out to drag her over to the rest. She walked more quickly then, defying his right to touch her.

Whiskers pointed to the sky, made a swooping gesture with one hand. Firekeeper tilted her head at him, truly puzzled.

"Elation," Derian said quickly. "He wants you to call Elation."

As if resenting Derian's initiative, Whiskers dropped a rough hand onto Firekeeper's forearm where a hawk would perch. She jerked away and he grabbed for her shoulder. The feral woman was faster than he expected, so all he did was bump against her chest.

This was enough. Confusion then enlightenment were visible, even through the paint.

He guffawed, said something to his companions, grabbed Firekeeper and poked again. She bit him on the hand. When he jerked it back, howling at the pain, Firekeeper walked with dignity to stand between Derian and the bandits.

The other bandits were ridiculing their bitten comrade. Whiskers snarled something at them, then gave a short, angry laugh and grabbed at his crotch. Neither Wendee nor Elise translated the speech he gave then. It wasn't necessary.

Of them all only Doc spoke and he only to curse. Slapping the healer across the mouth, Bat Mask ordered them all to silence. As the bandits herded them along the road, Derian's thoughts swirled in frantic panic.

They know our "boy" is a girl They're going to rape the women
—
Elise, Wendee, Firekeeper. They might have anyway, but they'll do so now for sure. The one Firekeeper bit has to prove he has balls
.

Wendee and Elise were so pale that their own faces might have been painted pure white. Wendee looked strained, torn between anger and fear. Elise was simply terrified. Too brave to sob aloud, still she couldn't keep silent tears from rolling down her cheeks.

She's a virgin
. Derian thought.
I bet she is. I don't think Jet got very far with her
—
that's why he was visiting the camp followers. She's a virgin. I guess Firekeeper is, too, but she doesn't know what they have in mind, won't guess until they start. Will she even understand then
?