Wolf's Head, Wolf's Heart (92 page)

He bowed over her hand and departed. Elise fancied that she heard him whistling as he walked away, though the sound was cut short, as if Baron Archer realized that such action was beneath his dignity.

She turned toward her own camp. If there was to be fighting, she would not be in the thick of it, but she and Doc would be needed to assist the field-hospital staff. In that case, she must be as rested and clearheaded as any of those who would fight.

Briskly, Elise stepped up her pace, hoping that Sapphire and Shad's bold feint would work and that no more blood would be shed.

T
he next dawn came—the deadline for surrender—but no one emerged from the lighthouse.

No one at all, and that was odd. Smuggler's Light had several doors. One at the side of each of the buildings around the base led out into the gardens or live-stock pens; there was also the lighthouse's original door, a broad, weathered panel now reinforced with iron.

Early the morning before, soon after Firekeeper's sabotage had been discovered by the inhabitants, there had been much activity outside the lighthouse. It seemed that pretty much everyone who lived in the lighthouse had wanted to see the destruction for themselves.

Later, under the direction of a rangy, knobby-jointed fellow, work crews had emerged, some to scavenge edible food, some to dig pits to bury that which was ruined beyond use.

Based on these comings and goings, Captain Wheeler's scouts had been able to make a fair assessment of how many resided within Smuggler's Light. The number of inhabitants had been higher than any had imagined—a fact that no one greeted with particular delight.

Now, however the doors remained closed; the shutters stayed folded over the windows. Deserters had been expected—even prepared for—but not one person had left.

From Firekeeper, who had the news from her wingéd friends, Derian Carter knew that at least some of the smugglers remained inside. The wolf-woman also assured him that no one had escaped via some other route—a tunnel under the moat, for example. All night, she and Blind Seer had restlessly patrolled the swamp, augmenting the watch kept by the more usual scouts. Like them, she had seen no one depart.

Dawn turned into a clear, bright winter morning. When not one shred of pink remained in the skies and the sun had finished mounting from the east, the crown prince and princess called a tactical meeting in their pavilion.

Derian, perhaps in deference to his place as one of King Tedric's counselors, was included. So was Firekeeper.

The wolf-woman whined some, saying she was tired from her long night's vigil, that she would never keep awake through all the human talking. After Blind Seer nipped at her heel, however, she brightened and trotted after Derian.

"Maybe," she said with a grin, "I sleep better because of all the talking. Otherwise, I worry too much."

"Just don't snore," Derian retorted. "Otherwise I'll have to kick you."

The pavilion was crowded enough to be comfortably warm, but the emotional temperature was less pleasant. Those summoned to the meeting milled about, talking in low voices to each other and avoiding the royal couple. Derian could understand why.

Sapphire was clearly not in one of her sweeter moods. Derian would have been willing to bet that she blamed herself for things not going according to plan. She stood off to one side, deep in a heated conversation with the more senior commanders—Baron Archer among them. Only their low voices kept Derian from classifying the discussion as an outright argument.

Standing by himself a few paces away, Prince Shad looked both worried and distinctly worn. Derian felt an outrush of sympathy for the prince. Not only did Shad bear his own concerns, but Sapphire's more personal ones as well. Moreover, Shad bore the additional onus of being from Bright Bay.

Early that morning, as Derian had tried to overcome his private disappointment that the ploy hadn't worked as planned, he had wandered restlessly through the military camp. More than once he overheard fragments of nearly treasonous conversation among the soldiers, the gist of which was that the pirates hadn't surrendered because they had somehow learned that their ocean escape route was guarded by ships from Bright Bay.

Bright Bay, at least as the gossip went, had been—as everyone knew or claimed to know—allied with the pirates before King Allister's War. Now the pirates trusted their former allies to let them slip through the barricade. Why, then, should they surrender? They were just waiting for the right moment and would escape to sea.

Such rumors shouldn't have had the strength of spit and spider silk, but the truth was that many of those who fought for Hawk Haven were uncomfortable with the alliance with Bright Bay. Bright Bay had been the enemy in their parents' day and in their grandparents' day. It was too soon to trust.

Moreover, most of the soldiers had never served on a ship or even been to sea. To them the ocean was an alien element. By association, those who were at home upon the waves were as dangerous and unreliable as the waters themselves.

Something in Shad's posture, a certain level of unspoken defiance, led Derian to believe that Shad had heard these rumors.

The crown prince must feel very alone, Derian realized. His wife—really his only close friend in Hawk Haven—was isolated from him by her own concerns, leaving him to face by himself the growing hostility of those who claimed to be his subjects.

Thoughts such as these made Derian put himself forward more than he might have in another situation. Normally, he dreaded more than anything being thought a social-climbing commoner, an ass-kissing sycophant. Putting those fears aside, Derian crossed to where Prince Shad stood, ostensibly reviewing a map, but really providing an excuse for those who were avoiding him to do so.

"Your Highness," Derian said, offering a deep bow.

Shad laughed a touch stiffly, but he lowered his map.

Derian noted it was Edlin's original of the swamp and the area around the lighthouse. Last night, Edlin had been making rough copies by lanternlight, all the while chatting away about how he hoped that their only purpose would be to provide him with a chance to practice drafting.

"No court manners here, Counselor," the crown prince said.

Derian winked at him.

"I'm just trying to teach Firekeeper her manners, Prince Shad."

As Firekeeper had simply collapsed along one side of the tent, her head pillowed on Blind Seer's flank, Derian had excuse enough for the jest.

One corner of Shad's mouth quirked in an almost unwilling grin.

"She looks beat," he said.

"She is," Derian admitted. "No one is harder on Firekeeper than she is herself. She also cares more deeply for Citrine than most people realize."

Shad nodded a bit absently.

"We won't leave Citrine there," he said, his tone so low as to be almost inaudible. "No matter what people say, we won't leave her in there!"

Derian hazarded laying a hand on the prince's arm.

"I never thought you would," he said. "Neither did Firekeeper. If she did, she wouldn't be asleep now. She'd be awake and trying to find a way to handle this all by herself."

For a moment the grim lines around Shad's eyes softened. He looked Derian directly in the eyes.

"Thank you," he said softly. Then, more loudly, turning to the company at large, "It looks as if everyone is present. Shall we come to order?"

As the mob was resolving itself into a tidy arc facing the royal couple, the prince tapped Derian lightly on one arm.

"If I could impose on you, Counselor, as you are not with the military portion of this operation, I would like you to stay here and hold the map for all to see when needed."

Derian nodded and stepped back a few steps. He remained near to hand, but effaced himself as he had learned to do when serving Earl Kestrel. Grateful Peace's description of his role in the Dragon Speaker's court came to mind.

Very well
, Derian thought, a trifle amused.
Now I am a watcher, too
.

The meeting began with the briefest summary of events that everyone present knew all too well.

But now we all know them in the same words
, Derian thought, wondering if he could explain this to Firekeeper.
Probably not. She thinks too much in emotion and impulse to understand the value we put on words
.

Then he remembered the terrible pain in Firekeeper's eyes when she had admitted to him her discovery that Royal wolves could lie, and he wasn't so certain.

When the meeting shifted from what had been done to what should be done, the tone became acrimonious. In his self-appointed role as watcher, Derian saw things that he might not otherwise. How many of those other meetings had been shaped by his fear that he might not have anything to say if called upon, or worse yet, by his desire to think of something worth saying?

He banished even those self-recriminations and set himself to watching—and listening. Almost mystically he became aware of the patterns of interaction between those gathered: glances exchanged, a nudge with an elbow, a warning kick—gentle as the brushing of an eyelash but as potent as a shout.

These little signs and a dozen more he saw, though he did not comprehend all the subtleties of their patterns any more than a dragonfly lightly touching on the surface of a pond sees the larger pattern caused when ripples interact.

But he saw and was captivated by the heady power of watching.

There were those here who thought mostly of what this meeting, this campaign meant to them. There were those who considered further—of what it might mean to the kingdom or even to the region. There were those who could not get beyond their immediate frustration at being ruled over by those they thought of as children.

Nor were these ripples all discrete. Sometimes more than one pattern rippled from a single person.

Derian made himself concentrate on the immediate issue rather than on the subtle patterns of power. Basically it resolved itself into a simple question: What was the best way to respond to the pirates' defiance of the terms set forth in the letter?

Despite variations as to what strategy should be employed, opinions fell into two general camps—either lay a siege or attack.

The greatest argument against a siege was that no one knew how long the smugglers could hold out or, as Sapphire somewhat acidly added, what might happen to Citrine over the course of a long siege.

The greatest argument against an attack was that the smugglers would have the advantage, at least for the first several forays. They held the fortification. Moreover, the dense growth and soft earth of the surrounding swamp meant that siege weapons could only be brought in with great difficulty.

And again there was the question of what they would do to their hostage once battle was joined. Citrine might well be the first casualty.

Derian had a fleeting image of the lighthouse, ringed by its moat, the moat itself ringed by troops in Hawk Haven's scarlet and silver. Over it all, like a grisly banner, hung the crow-picked corpse of a little girl, only recognizable by the gem-stone that still glimmered from beneath the rags of her hair.

He shuddered and hoped that if anyone saw they would think he was taking cold. At least no one had suggested that they give the whole thing up as a bad job and head home.

At least two hours passed in debate as points were repeated and refined. Then Firekeeper woke from her nap. She propped herself up next to Blind Seer. Still seated on the floor, she yawned, ran her hands across the fuzz that was beginning to cover her scalp, and stretched.

Only those few closest to her noticed, and these looked down at her with ill-disguised expressions of disgust, which did not lighten when Firekeeper took advantage of a break in the debate to comment:

"I say we go in. We must for Citrine, but why must we batter at their doors?"

Sapphire looked down at the wolf-woman, her bad temper not in the least mollified by two hours of fruitless discussion.

"What do you mean, Lady Blysse?"

Derian winced internally, though he kept the expression from his face. It was always a bad sign when Sapphire reverted to calling Firekeeper by her more formal name.

Firekeeper leapt lightly to her feet, not in the least put out. She even bobbed something like a bow in Sapphire's direction.

"I mean," she said lightly, "why should be batter at their feet when these are made of stone but their head is made of glass?"

Sapphire frowned; then her expression brightened.

"The lighthouse, you mean. It has a stone footing, but the top floor where the light was is walled in glass."

Firekeeper nodded, remembering enough of her manners not to say something like "What else could I mean?"

Sapphire's momentary cheerfulness vanished.

"But we cannot reach those windows. We don't have wings like Elation does."

Firekeeper nodded. "I am thinking on that. Still, when I went and hunted the place, I stayed near the walls because even if they had seen me…"

Unspoken as the words were, her posture proclaimed a bragging "Not that they would have."

"… they could have done little to hurt me without coming out to me."

Firekeeper's bared teeth—nothing like a smile—and the way she touched her belted Fang made clear what would have happened to any who dared come out after her.

"To go up to the windows," Firekeeper continued, flagging slightly in her unusual burst of eloquence, "we must be close to the rock."

Firekeeper's proposal, inelegantly phrased as it had been, stirred up a brief flurry of debate, most of it—Derian was unhappy to see—centered on debunking it.

Prince Shad, however, was not so easily dissuaded.

"Climbing ropes or rope ladders would get us to the top," he said into the polite silence that fell whenever either he or Sapphire spoke. 'The biggest problem would be anchoring them."

"And getting those who would climb them across to the lighthouse unscathed," said one of the siege's most vocal proponents.

Firekeeper, ever thoughtless of those who had not earned her respect, waved a dismissive hand.