Wolf-speaker (11 page)

“Old White?” she asked, trying to remember if she'd heard the name.

Old White and Night Black are the first wolf and his mate, Brokefang said. They lead the First Pack. And it is unwise to threaten Daine with Old White, he told his mate. If he comes, he will nip you for using his name lightly.

Frostfur bared a fang in wolf disdain, and the pack left the clearing. The pups whined. They were too big to enjoy being left behind.

“You'll get your chance,” Daine told them. “You have to build up your strength and your wind before you can keep up with the pack.”

Her listeners were not cheered. They remained edgy, constantly fighting with one another. They teased Cloud, nipping at her flanks, until she placed a gentle, but still firm, kick on Silly's ribs. Chaser bit Kitten a little too hard, and got a scratch on the nose as his reward.

“If I have to tell you to stop it once more—” Daine warned.

Leaper yapped crossly and raced through a trail that led east, out of the clearing. The other pups followed.

“Goddess bless!” Daine went after them, tracking them down the path and planning dreadful things to do when she caught them. “I should have known any pups of Frostfur's would be a pain,” she muttered, coming to open ground. Here the rocks that hid the wolf camp ended. Between them and the forest below was a meadow with grass so tall that any young wolves could play hide and pounce.

The stream where Daine bathed was near: she went to it and scrubbed her cheeks. As she did, she heard a sour note among the animal voices around her: someone nearby was dying.

Looking around, she found her patient in a tree on the far edge of the open grass. He sat in a knothole, shivering. Walking down the gentle slope of the meadow, she sent love and reassurance ahead until she stood below him. “Come, tree brother,” she called, holding up her hands. “Let me look at you.”

The squirrel opened runny eyes. He was too sick to talk. The source of his illness was plain: deep gashes on his back oozed fluid. He was far gone in fever, and his breathing was wet and difficult. As he ventured from his perch he missed his grip, his claws too weak to hang on. Daine caught him as he fell.

She sat, cradling the animal against her shirt. “You pups stay right here,” she called. “And play quiet for a minute or two. Poor little man,” she whispered.

She leaned back, using the squirrel's tree as support, and closed her eyes. With her magic she looked deep into the body cradled in her arms. The copper light that was the squirrels life force flickered. Goddess, don't let me fail, she thought, and went to work.

The lungs were first. She made her power into liquid fire and poured it in to dry them. The animal's breathing cleared. Next she tended his blood, scorching out illness as she wove through his veins. Turning to his wounds, she burned off all the infection. The flesh was laid open down to the bone, the edges as clean as if cut by a knife.

Stormwing? she asked the squirrel, picturing one for him.

Yes, he replied. One landed on my branch, without any warning at all.

She nodded, unsurprised. Why would a being
that fed on human misery care if it hurt an animal? Just a little more, she told her patient, and concentrated, knitting sliced muscle together. Next came the fat layer, dangerously thin in this squirrel because fever had burned much of it off. Coaxing and pushing with her power, she built it up until it covered the newly healed muscle. Last came new skin to seal his body again.

Finished, she relaxed, enjoying the fresh air and the sun on her face. When she opened her eyes, the squirrel was searching her pockets for edibles. I'm
hungry
, he explained.

Sunflower seeds in my jacket pocket, she told him. The squirrel thrust his head in and began to eat. Looking for her charges, Daine found them seated nearby, watching her and the squirrel with interest.

“Where's Kit?” she asked.

The pups looked past her, and the girl craned around the edge of the tree that supported her back. Several yards away Kitten sat on her hindquarters, staring down the slope of the ground under the trees. Her skin was changing from pale blue to a brilliant, hard-edged silver. It brightened until she actually began to glow. Opening her mouth, she
shrieked
.

Terrified, the squirrel raced up into the safety of his tree. Daine lurched to her feet. Never had she heard Kitten make such a sound, and she was afraid
she knew why the dragon did so now. Ignored during her concentration on healing, a warning drone balanced against a high, singing note in her magical ear. The deep sound was so ugly it made her teeth ache.

“Back to the meadow!” she yelled at the pups.
“Hide!”
She ran for Kitten, who had yet to stop screeching. Stooping to grab the dragon, she saw what Kitten was looking at, and froze.

Over a dip in the ground appeared one clawed hand. Another hand followed. The claws were bright silver, the mark of an immortal. They groped for a hold on the flat of the ground; finding one, they gripped, digging into the earth.

The creature's head topped the rise. It was reptilian, pointed, with slits for nostrils and deep-set, shadowed eyes. It swung to the right, quite slowly, then to the left. At last it returned to the center of its field of vision: Daine and Kitten.

Daine was cold—very cold. Her breath, and Kittens's, formed small clouds in the air. Neither of them could move. Frost grew everywhere between them and the stranger, as if an entire winter night had been crushed into a few moments.

The monster dragged its long, heavy body over the ridge, taking its time. Its skin was beaded in colors that ranged from emerald to fiery gold, passing through bronze and jade green on the way. Daine shuddered: in mortal animals, such bright
markings usually meant the wearer was poisonous.

Slowly it advanced, moving right fore and left hind foot, then left fore and right hind, in a gait that was half skip, half waddle. The tail that dragged behind it bore a knobbed bone rattle, like that of certain desert snakes.

When it had crossed nearly half the distance between them, the creature opened its mouth and hissed. Its teeth were silver, curved and sharp, predator teeth. Worse, when it hissed, two fangs dropped down on bone hinges. At the tip of one a small drop of silvery liquid formed, grew large, fell.

A shaggy body flew out of the brush to fasten on the green creature's wrist, but jaws that could make quick work of elk bone barely dimpled the green creature's flesh. The pup she'd named Runt snarled defiance as he hung on. Leaper grabbed the creature's other forepaw. Chaser and the pup named Berry darted at the immortal's sides, yapping furiously, while Silly went for the rattle on its tail.

Silly went flying, the rattle broken off in his mouth. Now the immortal used its tail for balance as it rose onto its hind legs. Upright it was barely taller than Daine, though powerfully built. With quick, efficient blows of its head it knocked away the four who attacked from the front.

Kitten darted forward when the creature's eyes left hers. When it swung at her, she seized its paw and bit down, hard. The wolves' jaws had not
marked the thing, but the bite of another immortal had more effect. Dark blood welled up to drip on the leaves, hissing where it struck the ground. With a snarl, the thing hurled Kitten into a clump of mountain laurel ten yards away.

That
gave Daine the angry strength to break its hold on her mind. She flung herself to one side and yanked a large rock from the earth. “Pick on someone your own size.'” she yelled, and threw.

The stone hit the creature's muzzle and shattered. Daine rolled, scrabbling for another rock, but the immortal was on her. Seizing her by the back of her shirt, it lifted her clear of the ground. She had no way to avoid its eyes. Its power caught and held her again. Details fixed themselves in her mind as her captor opened its jaws: dark blood welling from the cut left by her rock, the greens-and-spice scent of its breath, the high, singing note that cut through the harsh jangle in her mind.

Then she heard a sound such as she had never before heard in her life, a rumbling, ear-bursting shriek that make her think of rocky avalanches. Her captor released her; she crashed to the ground. Free, she scrambled away without understanding
any
of what was taking place.

The jangling sound of the fierce immortal was gone, leaving only high singing in her mind. Gasping, she turned to find the enemy. It hadn't moved from where it had dropped her, and it was
no longer green. It had turned gray and dull, looking for all the world like a statue. It was not breathing.

“Horse Lords,” she whispered in awe.

Seeing movement in the corner of her eye, she spun. A new immortal walked by, intent on the statue. Taking him in, the girl decided she must be dreaming. She had seen many strange creatures since coming to Tortall—ogres, trolls, winged horses, unicorns, griffins, and more—but the green thing and this one were entirely outside her experience.

Like her attacker, this immortal was similar to a lizard. Walking on its hind legs, it held its long tail off the ground, reminding her of ladies raising their little fingers as they sipped tea. It was taller than Daine's sixty-five inches, taller even than Numair's six and a half feet. Slender and graceful, it had long, delicate paws, fragile-looking bones, and silver talons. Its beaded hide was the pearly dark gray of a thunderhead, with paler gray belly scales.

Stopping at the newly made statue, the stranger broke off a finger, sniffed it, then nibbled. The finger crunched like gravel in its jaws.—
Too raw
.—The voice sounded like a whisper of flutes.—
They really must weather for a decade or so before they lose that acrid aftertaste
.—

Kitten had recovered from her unexpected flight. Chattering frantically, she galloped to the newcomer on all fours and halted by its knee.

“Kit,
no
!” Daine called, but her voice emerged only as a squeak.

The immortal cocked its head.—
Little one, you are far from home
.—Something about that sounded male, and fatherly.—
Where is your mother?
—

Kitten rose onto her haunches, gripping the stranger's leg as she peered up into his eyes. From her throat spilled a variety of sounds Daine had never heard her voice before, in tones that rose and fell like genuine speech.

The immortal looked at Daine. His eyes were deep gray with slit pupils, impossible to read. Neither was there any emotion in the voice that spoke in her mind:—
The little one says you are her mother. You have not the appearance of a dragon. Did an experiment go wrong, to trap you in a mortal shape?
—

Daine knelt to cuddle Berry, who had crept to her with ears down, whining. “You're a brave wolf,” she told the pup. To the immortal she said, “Kit's real ma was killed defending my friends and me soon after she gave birth. I've been looking after Kitten—Skysong, her name is really—ever since.”

The immortal looked at Kitten as the remaining pups joined Daine.—
What did you take from the humans, Skysong? Or is it this mortal who stole?
—

Kitten squawked indignantly; Daine's fading blush returned in full strength. “We didn't steal anything!”

—
Then you were foolish to stand between a Coldfang and
thieves
.—The immortal's tone was one of cool interest, not anger or scorn.

Hearing that, Daine calmed down. She pointed to the statue. “What did you call it again?”

—Coldfang. They track thieves in all realms, divine, mortal, or dead, and will guard a thing until the end of time. Men brought this one to the camp where they cut trees, last night. I followed her to see what is going on. She picked up a trail there and kept to it since dawn.—

Daine was about to protest the new hint of theft when she remembered the pack's way to put a stop to lumbering. She took a deep breath and said, “You saved our lives. Thank you.”

—
I did not act for you, but for my young cousin
.—The creature reached down to tickle Kitten's nose. She rubbed it against his paw.

“You're family?” Daine asked, alarmed. The thought of losing Kitten was scarier than the Coldfang.

This time she felt a patient sigh behind the response.—
Only in a remote sense are basilisks and dragons kindred, yet both acknowledge a bond
.—

She gulped. While Coldfangs were new, she had heard of basilisks, immortals who turned their enemies to stone.

A whine made Daine look for her charges. The pups were huddled together nearby, anxiously watching the basilisk. “Are you going to attack us?”

Kitten shook her head vigorously. A wrinkle in
the basilisk's face might have been a frown.—
I am a traveler and an observer, not a killer
.—

Daine looked at the Coldfang statue: it seemed dead enough to her. Still, she knew she could trust Kitten's judgment. She went to check the pups. Silly was worst hurt, his head cut to the bone and one eye out of focus. Runt limped on a sprained paw, and several back molars were loose. Leaper, Berry, and Chaser had only bruises to show for their tussle with the Coldfang.

Daine knelt in front of Silly. “No more tail grabbing,” she ordered, calling up her magic. “He almost knocked you sillier, if that's possible.” The young wolf whined and licked her face. “Enough,” she told him as she cupped his head in her hands. “We'll have you fixed in no time.”

This was quicker work than the squirrel had been. Infection barely had touched the open wound. She seared it in an eye-blink, and brushed through his brain to heal the inner bruises that had put his eye out of focus. The knitting of cut muscle and skin took less than a deep breath, and she was done. She touched the new scar. “I'll let you keep this,” she teased. “The young lady wolves will think you're dashing. C'mere, Runt.”

The sprained paw was easy, the loose molars less so. She had never rerooted teeth before, so she worked slowly and carefully to avoid mistakes.