Wolf's Blood (47 page)

Firekeeper restrained herself from dashing down into the glade to offer her help. She watched, tension growing into alarm until the Meddler drew her back and away. This time she did not speak, even when they had collapsed on soft clouds that gave way beneath aching bones.

“So,” the Meddler said. “you. knew him.”

“Blind Seer,” Firekeeper said.

“He searches for the secret that will unlock what querinalo revealed to him,” the Meddler said. For once his tone was free from mockery. Indeed, it was almost gentle. “He seeks to discover how to become a spellcaster.”

Firekeeper raised her head and stared dully at the Meddler.

“Then he did not let it burn away?”

The question was useless. She knew the answer. She suspected she had known it from the start. Why else had Blind Seer not boasted of his achievement?

“He did not,” the Meddler said. “Your beloved is a sorcerer. By now he knows what he has long suspected. He is no minor talent. Indeed, because Blind Seer dealt with querinalo as no other has ever done, that blue-eyed wolf may hold within him the most latent power of any who has lived since querinalo burned the Old World rulers into dust. However, he is like a pup somehow born to the size and weight and strength of his father. The raw ability is there, but not the coordination to use it.”

“What about Enigma?” Firekeeper asked, grasping for anything that would reduce the enormity of this discovery. “He is a Beast. He can cast spells.”

“Enigma gave querinalo something else to feed upon,” the Meddler replied. “Enigma did not know that he was preserving a talent for spellcasting when he did so, or else he might have not. Cats are difficult for me to understand.”

Given that the Meddler had believed he could use Truth, Firekeeper could only agree.

She said nothing else, thinking over all she had learned. War was coming to the Nexus Islands. She needed to discover a cure to querinalo, or no reinforcements could be brought. Without those, the Nexus Islands, and through them the New World, might well be doomed.

That was unchanged. What had changed was that the one she had most trusted, the one who she thought of as her other self, now seemed far too likely to ally himself with the other side.

Virim and his people, after all, had the knowledge and the teaching Blind Seer would need to use his talent.

She had no idea when the Meddler left her. She sat there among the clouds, unthinking, until she slipped from waking dreams into the chill chaos of nightmare.

XXIII

  “SO OUR SHIPS have joined the larger fleet,” Bryessidan said, addressing Chelm Charlock. his minister for international trade. “That is good news.”

Like all of Bryessidan’s court, Chelm Charlock had been forced by circumstances to expand beyond his more usual role. With trade via the gates stalled to nothing, Chelm had his assistants developing more conventional routes. Meanwhile, he concentrated on the difficult and time-sensitive task of arranging for sailors, ships, and supplies to join the invasion fleet.

“King Hurwin plans to begin practicing maneuvers while waiting for the rest of the fleet to assemble.” Chelm said. “He says it is too early to sail for the Nexus Islands. The fleet would simply encounter foul weather, and would undoubtedly lose ships. This way the fleet will be accustomed to working as a unit long before they leave safe waters.”

“And how,” Bryessidan asked, “is the fleet performing?”

Chelm glanced at notes he almost certainly did not need before replying.

“The marines Pelland is supplying are, predictably, undertrained and poorly disciplined. Their sailors—drawn mostly, like ours, from a merchant marine—are doing better. The marines from Azure Towers and Hearthome are more skilled fighters, but those from Azure Towers need to be taught to adapt some of their tactics to shipboard.”

Bryessidan waved a hand to forestall further reporting on the condition of their allies’ troops. They would be King Hurwin’s problem.

“And the Mires’ contribution?” he said. “You must have heard rumors.”

Chelm Charlock shifted a bit anxiously from foot to foot.

“Our marines and sailors are reported to be adequate,” he finally said.

Bryessidan smiled sardonically. “Barely so, I am sure. Well, what do they expect when we have not been permitted to maintain a standing army or navy for over ten years?”

He fell silent, brooding over the more serious problem of the land forces. The sailors they had contributed to King Hurwin’s fleet were unquestionably skilled at handling their ships. They also possessed some skill with weapons, although their tactics were more geared to defense then offense.

The land forces Bryessidan was to lead through the gate were more of a problem. Despite himself, Bryessidan was beginning to doubt he could be the unifying commander that Gidji believed he could be.

I almost wish,
the king of the Mires thought, keeping just enough attention on Chelm Charlock’s report that he could nod at appropriate points,
that our situation was different. Gidji would probably make a far better military commander than I. She did not spend the last ten years assuring everyone and anyone that she had no desire to go to war. At least I kept up with my swordplay and archery. I have no reason to feel shame on those points, but what of my soldiers? Most of them are bog farmers and fishers, more accustomed to dealing with wild animals and bad weather than with human opponents—all but those who fought for my father, and even those who were young men then haven’t used their skills for a decade.

On the other hand, if Gidji was to command, then I think the Tavetch would be overrepresented in this action. I have no desire to have my kingdom fall into vassalage even to a friendly ally. No. I must have more faith in my troops—and in myself.

Chelm Charlock departed, leaving a sheaf of documents, mostly maps showing the new trade routes by which his staff had determined at least some of the Mires’ produce might be carried. Bryessidan thanked the minister warmly for his efforts, without which the economy of the Mires would suffer greatly.

Preparing for a war was not an inexpensive option. The guilds were delighted by all the work coming their way. This work, in turn, had stimulated the economy, for both raw materials and able hands were needed. The army and navy, too, had created demands for goods, services, and troops, but even at the “patriotic” pay scale Bryessidan had been forced to instate, the money to pay the troops had to come from somewhere.

Right now that “somewhere” was the royal treasury. Even with what Veztressidan had laid by after his retirement from war, and which Bryessidan had husbanded since, that would not last forever.

And will the Nexus Islands reward us with sufficient plunder to refill our coffers? I know Queen Iline believes this will be the case, but I am less certain. Unless they have opened markets to replace those they have cut themselves off from, they must be living on their supplies. Winter comes early there, and hard. They won’t have forgotten that.

Amelo Soapwort was announced next. The liaison for the Once Dead had been given a formal title within Bryessidan’s advisory cabinet, mostly to keep the notoriously fractious spellcasters from appointing a new liaison every few days. Amelo still wore his elaborate robes, but he had lost a great deal of weight, and moved both more lightly and more stiffly, the result of the physical training he and the other Once Dead were now required to undergo. Bryessidan was not about to have the entire elaborate invasion plan disintegrate because the Once Dead were not up to the exertion that would be demanded of them.

Bryessidan waved Amelo to a seat, waited while the steward served refreshments, then had the room cleared of all but himself and the Once Dead. Even though they were allies now, he hadn’t forgotten Queen Iline’s fondness for knowing everyone else’s business, nor did he think the other nations would have suddenly become more trusting.

After all, King Hurwin commanded the navy. What if he was to turn it against the land? Who would be a better ally than Bryessidan, Hurwin’s soa-in-law? Bryessidan was certain that Veztressidan’s ambitions had not been forgotten.

“What do you have to report?” Bryessidan asked Amelo.

“A fair amount of progress, Your Majesty;” Amelo said with satisfaction. “As you suggested, we have been testing which spellcasters can function best in the presence of iron. As you recalled, tolerance does vary—sometimes considerably.

“What we have learned is that the less versatile the spellcaster, the more likely he or she will be to have some resistance to iron’s inhibiting effects,” Amelo went on. “We have isolated the three with the greatest resistance, and made certain they learned the gate-opening ritual. Once they had it perfect—although, of course, we cannot test their ability without a working gate—we drilled them in performing spells while in proximity to iron. I feel assured that when the date for the invasion arrives, we will have at least one candidate who can be expected to manage a spell while in close proximity to iron.”

“Good,” Bryessidan said. “and I sincerely hope that these candidates are being trained in something other than the gate ritual. After all, getting through will not be the problem. Staying alive once we are on enemy territory will be.”

“True,” Amelo said, “but we do not wish anyone stranded if some element of the plan goes awry. As I said, those spellcasters who are most likely to be able to resist iron are also those who are not as versatile—or usually as strong.”

“In an odd way,” Bryessidan said, “that makes sense. However, that is only one of our difficulties. How is work going on developing a way in which we might more easily communicate with the other land forces, and with the fleet?”

Amelo looked discouraged. “Not as well, Your Majesty. Mind-to-mind communication is very difficult. Focusing on one thing and one thing only is a necessary element. Very few people can manage to achieve this level of focus immediately after casting a spell.”

“But what about all those tales of people being controlled by sorcerers?” Bryessidan asked testily.

“Control does not create the type of communication we would need. In situations where a control spell has been used, the controlled one loses will, sometimes even loses awareness of his or her surroundings. This is not what we need.”

“So putting someone under the control of one of the Once Dead and then shipping them out to sea wouldn’t help.”

“I fear not, Your Majesty. We do have a few possible solutions under way. One involves reading auguries. It is something that our associates in u-Chival rely upon. We are hoping to work something out so that auguries could be cast on a regular basis and when the omens are right we would know that the fleet has arrived within striking distance of the Nexus Islands.”

“That has potential,” Bryessidan agreed, “but it won’t help coordinate the various gate attacks. Right now it looks like picking a date and sending the troops through the various gates at a prescheduled time remains our best option.”

“I fear so,” Amelo said. “If we had access to the winged mounts our ancestors used, we might be able to set up some sort of information relay, but I would not want to rest such an important coordination on a carrier pigeon.”

“What a shame we do not have intelligent birds and beasts such as were said to have been found in the New World,” Bryessidan said. “One of those could carry a message.”

“But we do not,” Amelo replied. “Those intelligent birds and beasts do not seem to have cared to serve our ancestors, nor are there records that any attempts to breed them in captivity were successful. It is possible that some survive in the wild lands, but they would not make themselves known to us.”

“I suppose not,” Bryessidan admitted. “So we will need to rely upon auguries and a timetable. I had hoped for more, but I suppose this cannot be avoided.”

He expected Amelo to rise and take his leave at this point, but the Once Dead remained seated and even looked pleasantly expectant.

“Yes? You have further business with me?”

Amelo all but beamed. “Your Majesty, we have located something that we had thought was lost forever, something that will make your role as commander of the armies of the Mires all the more certain of success. May I have it brought in?”

Bryessidan stared blankly at the Once Dead, then nodded.

Amelo rose and walked briskly to the door. In a moment he had returned with two of the lesser Once Dead, who between them carried a battered wooden chest bound with thick bands of tarnished brass. Bryessidan rose and went to join them.

Amelo bent and opened the chest, revealing something that Bryessidan recognized immediately, but that, like Amelo, he had believed lost or stolen.

“My father’s armor,” he said, his voice soft with wonder.

He knelt next to the chest and pulled out the breastplate, worked in brass, chased in silver. The white metal against the golden yellow highlighted the elaborately worked details, especially the emblem of the Kingdom of the Mires centered on the upper chest. The other pieces were as beautifully done, each one a work of the metalsmith’s art.