Wolf-Speaker

Lord Belden was of an age with his wife, a lean, bearded man who showed more interest in his wineglass than in his guests. His brown hair and beard were clipped short. His clothing was equally businesslike, though his maroon brocade tunic and white silk shirt and hose were of the finest quality.

Before the nobles stood a man in rough leather. He bristled with weapons, and held a pair of wolf traps. Yolane fanned herself, trying to disperse the aroma that came from the traps; Maura held her nose. The wolfhounds that sat or sprawled at the hunter’s feet rose when they saw Daine. Slowly they went to her, their wire-haired faces eager. She offered her hands for them to sniff.

‘Here!’ barked the hunter. ‘Them ain’t ladies’ dogs! They’re fierce hunters, and no’ t’ be cosseted!’

Daine snickered as the hunters crowded around her, tails wagging.

‘Yes, you’re fine dogs,’ she whispered, returning their welcome. ‘You’re lovely dogs, even if you do hunt wolves.’

We try to hunt them, the chief of the wolfhounds said. The man would like us to succeed, but how can we, when wolves do such strange things?

‘Tait, take those brutes away,’ commanded Yolane. ‘This is a civilized gathering.’

The huntsman stalked out, whistling to his dogs. They followed obediently, with an apology to Daine.

As they went, they brushed past another man who entered, smiling wryly. He was broad-shouldered and handsome, dressed neatly in a white shirt, brown silk tunic and hose, and polished boots. His brown-blond hair was clipped short over a clean and open face. Coming up behind Numair, he said, ‘I hope you forgive my—’

Numair turned to look at him, and the stranger’s jaw dropped. His hazel eyes opened wide in shock. ‘Mithros, Mynoss, and Shakith,’ he whispered.

Daine frowned. Until now, the only one she’d ever heard use that particular oath was Numair himself.

‘Arram?’ the man asked in a melodic voice. ‘Is that Arram Draper?’

Numair gaped at him. ‘Tristan Staghorn? They told me you were still in Carthak, with Ozorne.’

CHAPTER 3

FUGITIVES

‘Oh, Ozorne,’ the newcomer scoffed. ‘No, I felt too – restricted, serving him. I’m my own man now – have been for a year.’ He and Numair shook hands.

‘Tristan, you know our guest?’ The lady rose from her chair and walked towards Numair, as graceful as a dancer.

‘Know him?’ replied Tristan. ‘My lady, this is Master Numair Salmalín, once of the university at Carthak, now resident at the court of Tortall.’

Yolane offered Numair a hand, which he kissed. ‘How wonderful to find such beauty in an out-of-the-way place,’ he said gallantly. ‘Does King Jonathan know the finest jewel in Tortall does not adorn his court?’

The lady smiled. ‘Only a man who lives at court could turn a compliment so well, Master Salmalín.’

‘But Tristan didn’t call you that,’ Lord Belden said coolly. ‘He called you Arram something.’

‘I was known as Arram Draper in my boyhood,’ explained Numair.

Tristan grinned. ‘Oh, yes – you wanted a majestic, sorcerous name when you got Master status. Then you had to change it, when Ozorne ordered your arrest.’

Yolane and Belden looked sharply at Numair. ‘Wanted by the emperor of Carthak?’ the woman asked. ‘You must have done something serious.’

Numair blushed. ‘The emperor is very proprietary, Lady Yolane. He feels that if a mage studies at his university, the mage belongs to him.’ He looked at Tristan. ‘I’m rather surprised to see you here. You were the best war mage in your class.’

War mage, Daine thought, startled. That’s who Numair said blasted the mines and killed the Riders.

‘I brought the emperor to see reason,’ Tristan replied, looking at Daine. ‘I’m sorry, little one – I didn’t mean to be rude. Who might you be?’

‘May I present my student?’ Numair asked. ‘Master Tristan Staghorn, this is Daine – Veralidaine Sarrasri, once of Galla.’

Yolane’s lips twisted in a smirk. ‘Sarrasri?’

Daine turned beet red. The lady knew it meant ‘Sarra’s daughter’, and that only children born out of wedlock used a mother’s name. She lifted her head. She was proud she was named after Ma.

‘Are you a wizard?’

Maura’s question startled Daine; she’d forgotten the girl was even in the room. ‘No,’ she replied. ‘Not exactly.’

A manservant entered and bowed. ‘Ladies and lords, if it pleases you, your meal awaits.’

Numair offered his arm to Yolane. She accepted it and guided him towards a door in the back of the room. ‘Would you explain something? We heard you were at the attack on Pirate’s Swoop last year. Wasn’t it from an imperial fleet? I was surprised His Majesty didn’t declare war on Carthak.’

‘He nearly did,’ replied Numair. ‘They used Carthaki war barges, but the emperor claimed they were sold to pirates. As the king was unable to prove we were attacked by anyone other than pirates, he was forced to drop it.’

Tristan offered Maura his arm with a mocking bow. The younger girl sniffed and took it. Belden, who appeared to spend much of his time in a brown study, followed them and left Daine to bring up the rear alone. For the first time in many, many months, she felt like a complete outsider. She did not like the feeling.

The dining hall was large enough to seat a household. Daine had been in many homes in the last year where servants and lords ate together, but tonight, at least, Dunlath’s nobles dined alone. Four other guests were already seated at a table placed lower and at an angle to the main board. They rose and bowed when the nobles entered. Daine saw Numair halt, dark brows knit in surprise.

Tristan said, ‘Numair, I think you know Alamid Mokhlos, and perhaps Gissa of Rachne?’ A man in a silk robe and a dark, striking woman bowed to Numair, who hesitated, then bowed in return. ‘They were on their way to the City of Gods and stopped to pay me a visit.’

‘My lord’s hospitality is so good, we fear we shall be here forever,’ the woman said in a heavily accented voice. ‘It is good to see you again, Arram.’

‘Not Arram any more,’ Tristan corrected her. ‘Numair Salmalín.’

‘That’s right.’ Alamid had a high, cutting voice. ‘We’d heard you were the Tortallan king’s pet mage.’

Tristan introduced the remaining two men in plain tunics as Hasse Redfern and Tolon Gardiner, merchants. Yolane and Belden had taken their places at the main board, and waited with polite impatience for the introductions to end. A maid gave Daine a seat beside Maura, at a table across the room and opposite the four less important guests. Tristan steered Numair to a place next to Yolane. Daine was interested to see that Numair’s seat was so far from Alamid, Gissa, and the others that he wouldn’t be able to talk to them during the meal.

Her own place beside Maura was entirely out of the stream of conversation. If they strained, they could just hear what was said by the adults on the dais.

‘If you’re waiting for them to talk to us, you have a long wait,’ Maura informed her at last.

Daine came to herself with a jerk. It occurred to her that she was being rude. ‘I’m sorry,’ she apologized, and tasted her soup. It was cold.

Maura correctly interpreted the face she made. ‘My sister doesn’t want servants eating here, as they did when our father was alive. She says the king doesn’t eat with his servants, so we won’t, either. That made the servants angry, so they take their time bringing meals.’

A mouse was exploring Daine’s shoe. She broke off a scrap of bread and fed it to him. When he finished, he whisked out of sight. ‘Why should the way the king eats decide how you take your meals here?’

‘We’re his closest relatives – third cousins or something like that,’ replied Maura, eating her soup. ‘Yolane says if he hadn’t married and had children, she might be queen today. If you’re from Galla, why do you live here? And what was your name again?’

Daine looked at her dinner companion, really looked at her, and smiled. The girl’s brown eyes were large and frank under a limp fringe, and freckles adorned her cheeks and pug nose. Perhaps to preserve her ivory skin Lady Yolane never went into the sun, but her sister was a different kind of female.

‘I’m called Daine, for short,’ she replied. ‘And it’s a fair long story, how I came to Tortall.’

‘It’s to be a fair long meal,’ said Maura. ‘She insists on having all the courses, just like at court.’

The mouse had returned, with friends. The feel of their cold noses on her stockinged legs made Daine smother a giggle.

‘I keep telling her, if she likes court so much, why doesn’t she live there all year, like some nobles. She doesn’t take the hint. Uh – Daine, don’t jump or screech or anything, but there’s a mouse in your sleeve.’

Daine looked. A pair of black button eyes peered up at her. ‘That’s hardly a safe place,’ she commented.

The mouse replied he liked it there.

‘Who are you talking to?’ asked Maura.

Daine blushed. ‘The mouse,’ she explained. ‘I understand what animals say, and they understand me. Oftentimes I forget that we aren’t speaking as humans do, and I talk to them as I might to you or Numair.’ To the mouse she added, ‘Well, if a cat sees you, there will be all sorts of trouble.’

‘No cats in the dining hall,’ interrupted Maura. ‘Yolane hates ’em.’

‘I knew there was something about her I didn’t like,’ muttered Daine.

Servants took the soup bowls, replacing them with plates laden with meat and vegetables. Daine was glad to see steam rise from her food, although none came from those that went to the head table. She mentioned it to Maura as she coaxed her mouse friend to sit beside her, rather than in her sleeve.

‘The servants like me, so they try to keep my food hot. It’s just hard with soup – it cools fast.’

Daine hesitated, trying to decide how to ask her next question. While she thought, she continued to feed bread to the mice. ‘You two don’t seem like sisters,’ she commented at last.

‘Half sisters,’ Maura said. ‘Her mother came from one of the oldest families in the realm. She died a long time ago, and Father remarried when Yolane got engaged to Belden. She tells everyone my mother was a country nobody.’

Daine frowned. ‘Forgive my saying so, Lady Maura, but your sister doesn’t sound like a nice person.’

‘She isn’t,’ was the matter-of-fact reply. ‘She cares about how old our family is and how close to the throne we are, not about taking care of Dunlath and looking after our people. And Belden’s as bad as she is. Father said he’s just a younger son, so he has a lot to prove.’

Daine shook her head, thinking you could never tell with nobles. Sometimes they were normal humans, and sometimes they worried about the silliest things.

Maura watched the mice for a moment. ‘I don’t understand. Do they all come up to you that way?’

‘Yes. They like me,’ Daine replied. ‘I like them.’

Maura sighed. ‘I wish they liked me. I get lonesome. She won’t let me play with commoners. All my friends in the village think I’m stuck-up now.’

‘Why should it matter who you play with?’ asked Daine. Go and sit with her, she urged the mice silently, so Maura wouldn’t think Daine felt sorry for her. She’s perfectly nice, you’ll see.

‘I don’t think it should matter to anyone, but she says I have to think of our house and our honour.’ The girl turned a dangerous shade of pink. ‘I care more than she does. She thinks it’s a big secret, but I know what’s going on with her and Tristan. Oh!’ She stared at her lap. A mouse stood there on his hind feet, looking her over. ‘Can I stroke him? Will he mind?’

‘Gently,’ Daine said. She felt sorry for Maura. From the look of things, no one seemed to care what happened to her or what she wanted. ‘They’re shy. If you feed him, he should stay with you.’ Won’t you? she asked the mouse.

If she feeds me, he replied. Please tell her I am partial to fruit. Humans seem to think all we eat is cheese. That’s boring after a while.

Hiding a smile, Daine relayed his words to Maura, who proceeded to stuff him, and his friends. They had gone to sleep in her lap by the time the servants cleared the plates and a bard came in, carrying a lap harp. Taking a seat in front of the nobles, he tuned his instrument as the servants returned to find places around the walls. The bard played traditional songs for an hour or more. Long before he was done, Maura had gone to sleep.

Daine barely listened. Watching the adults at the main table, she realized that here was the opportunity to do what Brokefang expected her to do, deliver his request for a halt to the mining and lumber efforts. She cringed at the thought of giving such a message to these polished, self-assured humans. She also knew Brokefang wouldn’t understand if she held back. Mockery and shame meant nothing to wolves.

I wish they meant nothing to me, either, she thought, making up her mind as the bard ended his last song and left the room. Forcing herself to get up, she walked out into the open space in front of the dais.

Numair looked at her, clearly puzzled. Then he guessed why she was there. He shook his head, trying to signal for her to return to her seat, but Daine fixed her eyes on Dunlath’s lord and lady and ignored him.

Yolane and Belden were deep in conversation. It was Tristan who saw Daine first. Breaking off his talk with Alamid and Gissa, he looked at Daine with a raised eyebrow, then smirked. Gently he tapped Belden on the shoulder. Numair was now pointing at Daine’s seat, giving her a clear order, but she shook her head. He did not have to answer to the pack; she did.

Belden called his wife’s attention to the girl in pink before them. Yolane’s brows snapped together. ‘What is it?’ she asked impatiently.

Daine clenched her hands in the folds of her skirt. ‘Excuse me, my lord. My lady. I’ve been asked to speak to you by the wolves of this valley.’

‘Wolves?’ asked Belden, looking haughty. ‘What can they say to anything?’

‘Plenty,’ the girl said. ‘They live here, too, you see. They take food out of these forests, and they drink from the streams. They told me when they came, this place was near perfect.’ She knew her face was red by now. The huge room had gone completely silent. She’d never felt so small, or so alone, in her life. ‘Then you began digging and cutting down trees. Mine trash has started to poison the northern end of the Long Lake, did you know that? And the digging and the lumbering is scaring the game out of the valley.’

To her surprise, a rough voice in the rear of the hall called, ‘She’s right, about th’ game, at least. I tried to tell ye m’self, three weeks back.’

Daine looked over her shoulder. She had forgotten that the huntsman, Tait, had come to hear the bard. She ventured a smile, and he winked. Drawing her breath, feeling better, she went on. ‘The Long Lake Pack asked me to tell you they want you to stop. If you don’t, they’ll do something drastic.’

‘How do you know this?’ Tristan’s voice was too even and sincere. His eyes danced with amusement. ‘Did the wolves come to you in a dream, perhaps, or—’

‘She has wild magic, Tristan.’ Numair came to stand with Daine, resting a hand on her shoulder and squeezing gently. She smiled up at him in gratitude.

‘Surely you do not yet insist “wild magic” is real,’ scoffed Gissa. ‘You are too old to pursue fables.’

‘It is no fable,’ Numair replied. ‘You and the Carthaki university people are like the blind man who claims sight cannot exist, because he lacks it.’

‘We lost sight of the point of Mistress Sarrasri’s argument.’ There was a strangled note in Yolane’s voice. ‘A pack of four-legged beasts wants us to stop mining. And cutting down trees.’

‘That’s right,’ Daine said, bracing herself for what she knew was coming.

‘And – if we don’t’ – the choked sound was thicker than ever in the woman’s throat – ’they’ll do something – drastic. Do you know what? No, of course you don’t. Perhaps – perhaps’ – the strangling began to escape her now, as giggles – ’they will piddle on the castle walls, or – or—’

‘Howl at the sentries,’ Tristan suggested, grinning.

‘Has she been mad for long?’ Yolane asked Numair.

‘You laugh at your peril,’ Numair warned. ‘This is a very different breed of wolf you’re dealing with, Lady Yolane.’

Yolane began to laugh, and laugh hard. Briefly she fought to get herself under control. ‘Maybe they’ll bury their bones in my wardrobe!’ she said, and began to laugh again.

Tristan smirked. ‘Suppose for a moment – just a moment – that you are right. Do you think we can’t deal with a pack of wolves? Brute creation is in this world to serve man – not the other way around. This valley is ruled by humans.’

Daine couldn’t believe what she had heard. ‘Is that what you really think animals are here for?’

‘No. That’s what I know they are for. Men do not shape their concerns for the benefit of wild beasts, my dear.’

Yolane had got herself in hand. ‘You are a foolish child. Master Salmalín has indulged you too much. Why, in Mithros’s name, should I care in the least about the tender feelings of a pack of mangy, flea-bitten curs?’

‘Think selfishly,’ Daine said, trying to make these arrogant two-leggers see what she meant. ‘You can’t go on this way. Soon you will have no forests to get wood from or to hunt game in. You poison water you drink and bathe and fish in. Even if you keep the farms, they won’t be enough to feed you if the rest of the valley’s laid waste. You’ll starve. Your people will starve – unless you buy from outside the valley, and that’s fair expensive. You’ll ruin Dunlath.’

Yolane’s eyes glittered. ‘Who are you to judge me in my own castle?’

‘Daine,’ Numair said quietly.

Daine looked at Yolane, Belden, and Tristan. They stared back at her, sure of themselves and their right to do as they wished. ‘Well, I tried,’ she muttered.

Numair bowed. ‘My lord, my lady – with your good will, we take our leave.’

As they walked out, Daine glanced at Maura. The girl had awakened and now watched Daine with a worried frown. Daine smiled, but her lips trembled a little. She hoped Maura wouldn’t think she was crazy.

Servants left the dining hall ahead of them to fetch their cloaks and to bring their horses. Within minutes they were trotting across the causeway.

‘I’m sorry I didn’t keep my mouth shut when you wanted,’ she said, trying to keep a pleading note out of her voice. ‘I had to speak. Brokefang wouldn’t understand if we came back and said we didn’t say anything to them.’

He reached over to pat her back. ‘I know. Please calm down. You aren’t the kind of girl who plunges without thinking. I wish I were more like you.’

She was glad the darkness covered her blush. It was the highest compliment he had ever paid her. ‘But you don’t plunge without thinking,’ she protested.

‘You mean you haven’t seen me do so. What, pray, was entering that castle tonight? If I were more cautious— Enough. What’s done is done.’ Reaching the innyard, they gave their mounts to the only ostler still up, then went to their rooms. ‘Good night,’ he said cheerfully. ‘I’ll see you in the morning.’

Her door closed behind her, Daine used a glowstone from her belt purse to find her candle, which she lit. Kitten, sprawled on the bed, peeped drowsily.

‘You prob’ly would’ve hated it,’ Daine told her, shedding her clothes. Hanging them up instead of leaving them on the floor, a habit she’d learned in months of living in the Riders’ barracks, she then slipped into her nightshirt. ‘The little girl is nice – Maura. But the grown-ups—’ Daine shook her head as she climbed under the blanket.

Kitten, listening, chirped a question. Though she was too young to hear or to answer in mind-speech as older immortals did, talking to her was never a problem. Kitten understood Common better than some humans they had met. Daine was glad this was so, since from all she had learned in months of study, Kitten would be an infant for thirty years.

‘Well, they look nice, but they’re cold and proud. And something’s wrong. Maura says the mage from Carthak is canoodling with her sister – Lady Yolane, she is.’ Daine yawned. ‘If Lord Belden knows, he doesn’t seem to care. Put out the light, Kit, there’s a girl.’

Kitten whistled, and the candle went out. Muttering softly, she curled up with her back against Daine. Within seconds they were asleep.

She was dreaming that she ran with the pack, the scent of elk full and savoury in her nostrils, when a voice boomed in her skull. ‘Daine. Daine.’

Wolf body whirling, jaws ready to snap, she realized she was in bed, waking up. A gentle hand on her shoulder tugged her upright. For a brief moment she saw as a wolf saw, with greys and blacks and white the sole colours of her vision. The shadowy figure over her, lit by pale fire, doubled, then steadied back into one form. It was Numair. He had lit no candles; instead, the shimmer of his magic filled the room with a dim glow.

She felt as if she hadn’t slept. ‘What’s the hour?’ she asked, yawning.

‘Just after midnight watch.’ His voice was so quiet it wasn’t even a whisper, but she heard it clearly. ‘Pack. We’re leaving.’

She blinked, wondering if she still dreamed. ‘Leaving? But—’

‘Not here,’ he ordered. ‘I’ll explain on the road. Pack.’

She tumbled out of bed and did as she was told. Within minutes her saddlebags were ready and she was dressed. Numair poked his head through the inner door, which stood open once more, and beckoned for her and Kitten to follow.

He left the saddling of Spots, Mangle, and Cloud to her. She did it quietly, not wanting to rouse the ostlers. Kitten went into her carry-pack, an open saddlebag on Mangle that allowed her to see everything as she rode. At the last minute Numair gave Daine a handful of rags, and motioned for her to cover their mounts’ feet to muffle the sound of their shoes on the streets. ‘Did you leave money for our host?’ she asked as she held Spots for Numair to mount.

‘With a good tip over that, and a note of apology.’ He got himself into the saddle, a process she could never watch without gritting her teeth, and motioned for her to mount up. She did so without effort.

Go, she told Spots. He wants silence over speed, I think.

It is just as well, the patient gelding replied, passing the inn’s gate with Daine and Cloud close behind. He is so tense, I think if I trotted, he would fall off. What’s the matter?

He’ll tell us, the girl promised. Do what you can to make him less tense.

I am a riding horse, not a god, was Spots’s answer.

When they reached the trees where the road along the lakeshore crossed the river that flowed down from the western pass, Numair dismounted. Kneeling on the northern side of the crossing, he scratched a hole in the road, put something in it, and covered it over, patting the earth down firmly. Walking to the southern branch of the road, he performed the same curious rite.

‘If you’re leaving an offering to the crossroad god, his shrine is over there.’ Daine pointed to the little niche where the god’s statue rested.

‘I’m not,’ he replied, dusting his hands. He bowed to the small shrine. ‘No offence meant.’ Remounting, he guided Spots onto the track that led west, and beckoned for Daine to ride beside him.

‘What’s all this?’ she asked. ‘Usually you give warning if we have to skip out in the middle of the night.’

‘I wanted things to seem normal when we got back to the inn, in case someone was listening. We have to get out of here and warn King Jonathan, but I can’t send a message from under this shield. Even if I were to succeed, Tristan and his friends would know of it.’

‘And I guess you don’t want them running off before we can get help.’

‘Exactly. Whatever is going on in Dunlath is big. Anything in which Tristan Staghorn is involved is a danger to the kingdom.’