Wolf's Head, Wolf's Heart (48 page)

He trailed off then and Elise noted a look of extreme unhappiness cross his face.

"What is wrong?"

"I had dreaded telling you this, but Citrine may have disappeared."

In a few pithy sentences, he reported, beginning with what Firekeeper had learned from the crow: how Citrine had been with her mother, then had not been. He added Derian's suspicions—which he admitted to sharing—that Citrine was being held hostage against her mother's good behavior. When he finished, Elise's head was pounding with angry astonishment.

"If this is true," she said, keeping her voice steady with a great effort, "then Lady Melina is truly depraved!"

Then she frowned. "But will we be any better? I mean if we go after Lady Melina and succeed in retrieving those hateful artifacts we may put Citrine in danger."

"I think Firekeeper is worried about that, too," Jared admitted, "but she's given her word to retrieve those artifacts no matter what. My fear is that if something happens to Citrine, Firekeeper will make certain Lady Melina pays."

Elise shuddered. "Let's not talk about
that
right now. We need to settle the question of what to tell Earl Kestrel."

Jared nodded. He looked vaguely relieved that this particular bit of bad news was out and, at least for now, so well accepted.

Elise continued. "I think your manner of presenting the issue is perfectly sound. If Earl Kestrel somehow sees through it and my involvement arises, well, so be it. I can't stay out of it in any case."

"What do you mean, my lady?"

Sir Jared's question seemed to anticipate a similar one from Ninette, for Elise heard a stifled yelp from where her maid sat.

"I mean," Elise said deliberately, "that I am willing to offer my services in this chase. Certainly, you don't think it would be proper for Firekeeper to run about with no escort other than two young men?"

Sir Jared relaxed slightly. "We'd considered that. We're going to ask Earl Kestrel for the loan of Wendee Jay—Firekeeper's new attendant."

"I've met her! Nice woman. Several children."

Jared refused to be interrupted. "Wendee Jay was once an actress and knows the area well, including certain towns to the east I've only visited rarely. Moreover, she has traveled in New Kelvin and if, as we dread, we cannot intercept our pair before they cross into that land, Goody Wendee could be some help to us."

"As could I," Elise said fiercely. "I speak New Kelvinese. Do either you or Derian? Does this Wendee Jay speak it except for a few phrases of poetry?"

Sir Jared blinked, startled by Elise's intensity.

"I don't know. I suspect that she does, actually."

"That doesn't change the fact that neither you nor Derian know more than a few phrases of the language."

"I don't think either of us knows even that," Sir Jared admitted. "The merchants who visited my family spoke Pellish well enough to get by."

"Well, so there!" Elise said, dropping entirely the polite and measured manner of speech she had maintained and reverting for a moment to the little girl who had kicked her host.

"You do have a point, my lady," Jared admitted after a long pause. "I will raise it with the others. For now, let us keep you uninvolved. The earl will have enough to accept what with our claims of collusion between foreign powers—not to mention Firekeeper's more outlandish claims."

"Do we need to mention those at all?" Elise said, temporarily mollified.

"We must, I think," Jared replied, though from his expression Elise guessed that he would be happy if she could give him a reason he needn't do so. "How else do we justify our need to find Baron Endbrook and Lady Melina? There is no ruling against traveling to New Kelvin—not even in such company."

"True," Elise admitted. "Still, I wish we had some other excuse."

They talked for a while longer, trying to guess what Earl Kestrel's reaction would be; then Elise spoke aloud the worry that had been in the back of her thoughts, present but not completely realized.

"But what do we do when we find them?" she asked. "As you've said, there is no reason they shouldn't travel to New Kelvin. How do we stop them? What do we do if we do?"

Sir Jared looked uncomfortable. "We haven't exactly settled that part. Derian has suggested that we pose as bandits. There will only be the three of them and there will be at least four of us—and Blind Seer should cause havoc with their horses just by his presence."

Elise was momentarily shocked; then she nodded.

"That may be the only way to go about it," she admitted. "If we have no legal recourse, we must act illegally."

"My hope," Sir Jared said, "is that my cousin will give us some legitimate reason to act against them—suspicion of trading in magic is reason enough for a thorough search. If, however, we intercept them outside of the Norwood Grant then his legal right to commission us becomes rather shaky. In any case, Earl Kestrel may not wish to arouse Duke Gyrfalcon's anger. Lady Melina remains a member of that house. For Kestrel to act against her without first appealing to the head of her house could lead to some difficulties."

Elise bit her lower lip as she concentrated on recalling the rules of precedence and such that governed interactions between houses.

"Yes," she said slowly, "there could cause difficulties for House Kestrel—even if Lady Melina was intercepted on the Norwood Grant in possession of forbidden magics. In any case, I'm not certain that Baron Endbrook and Lady Melina will even come this far west."

Sir Jared shrugged. "One of the major crossings into New Kelvin
is
on the Norwood Grant. They could even choose to cross into Waterland and then traverse the Sword of Kelvin Mountains into New Kelvin. They could ford the White Water River into New Kelvin at a more easterly point. If the White Water has frozen, they could even eschew the more legitimate crossings entirely."

"I doubt they'll go into Waterland," Elise said with certainty. "The best means for doing that would have been to take a ship out of Port Haven. Moreover, going that way would lengthen their journey considerably and involve at least some contacts in Waterland. The evidence of their equipment also testifies that they intended a land journey."

"So far, you make a good deal of sense," Sir Jared said. "What else?"

"We need to inquire whether the White Water has frozen," Elise said. "My guess it that this is too early in the year. However, the post-riders report such information—at least they do on my father's lands—so we should learn it easily enough.

"If we knew their destination," Elise continued, thinking aloud, "we could guess where they might cross, but…"

She glanced around, then rose and drew forth from her belongings a flat portfolio containing several maps.

"I brought these just in case," she said, unfolding a map depicting the northern extent of Hawk Haven and something of the countries beyond the White Water.

Running her finger along the sweeping curve that represented the White Water River, she frowned.

"I fear that we have little hope that they will cross in the Norwood Grant," she said. "Dragon's Breath—the capital of New Kelvin—is situated on the northwestern verge of the Sword of Kelvin Mountains. If we assume that city is their destination, then the best route would be to use one of the more eastern river crossings. As I recall, there are some good trade roads heading to Dragon's Breath.

"Even if they are not heading into Dragon's Breath," she continued, trying to anticipate Sir Jared's next question, "there are several smaller towns along those very trade roads. In any case, they would be safer from detection by Hawk Haven forces if they traveled as much as possible along the New Kelvinese road system rather than covering the same distance in Hawk Haven."

"And we must assume," Sir Jared added, "that they will want to avoid notice in Hawk Haven. The New Kelvinese do not share our aversion to magic."

"Or to potentially traitorous members of House Gyrfalcon traveling in company with nobles from the Isles," Elise said.

Sir Jared drummed his fingers on the table with a sudden burst of pent-up energy.

"First we talk with Earl Kestrel," he said. "Then…"

"Head out," Elise said, "even if there has been no further report from Firekeeper's friends. There is a river road running roughly parallel to the White Water. We should head east along it, asking questions as we go. If the falcon Elation knows where we will be, she will be able to find us."

"I agree," Sir Jared said. "Certainly action of some sort will be better than asking Firekeeper to sit here with her hands folded. It is a day's journey to the White Water from here if conditions are good."

Elise noticed that he no longer questioned her participation in the venture. She wondered if he was convinced that they would need her help or merely too wise to argue until matters were settled with the earl. Suspecting the latter, she decided that she, too, could hold her tongue.

After Sir Jared took his leave, Elise refolded her map and tucked it away in her portfolio. Her lips moved as of themselves, supplying answers to Ninette's flurry of nervous questions, but her deeper mind was occupied with another thought.

Lady Aurella had never
told
Elise that she shouldn't marry Sir Jared. Indeed, she had even said that Elise herself would need to do the proposing. True, Lady Aurella had also said that the match was not one which either herself or Baron Archer would want for Elise, but she had not expressly forbidden it.

Musing over that fact, realizing that the choice still remained her own, Elise realized that this made her decision even harder than it had been before.

T
error gave a strange complexion to the events surrounding Waln's flight from the Stone Giant Inn. Afterward, he could never quite remember how he managed to evade his pursuers. On the other hand, small fragments remained extraordinarily vivid. He recalled the exact pattern of bare branches and elegant, almost polished, thorns in the bramble he'd pulled to cover him when he lay in a ditch, holding his breath. He remembered listening to his pursuers thundering off after his horse—which he'd loosed as a diversion—but he could never recall just when he got to his feet and continued south.

There had come a time when he sat on a rock staring down at his boots, which he held in his hand. His feet were wrapped in scraps of fabric he'd torn from the elaborate waistcoat he'd worn to dine with Lady Melina. Judging from the mud caked upon these makeshift slippers, he must have been walking in them for some time, but he could remember neither making them nor walking in them.

All Waln could guess was that he'd decided that leaving boot tracks in the snow along the verge of the road wouldn't be a good idea. He would have liked to depart the vicinity of the road, but he wasn't certain enough of his bearings—clouds having robbed him of the guidance of the stars—to risk leaving it entirely.

Again he came to himself, at midday, to find himself buried deep inside a haystack. Oddly, Waln's first thought was that this was not the best hay—it smelled musty and slightly rotted. Only after he had formed that thought did it occur to him to wonder how he had come to be buried inside a haystack and, even, where he was. He had been too absorbed in Lady Melina's company and the promises hinted at in her smiles to notice details of the local landscape.

His skin felt damp and he guessed that he'd been sweating. Further examination of his surroundings caused him to suspect fever, for his breath—when he cautiously surfaced from the hay—was visible even though the cloud-shrouded sun was high overhead.

Waln lay buried in the hay, wondering where he was, how far he had come, how intent the pursuit might be, and a dozen other things, each thought chasing the other in a jolting circle, like a cat chasing its tail.

He must have drifted off to sleep again, for when hunger awakened him he discovered that darkness had again fallen. His thoughts were clearer now, but a trace of fever-induced whimsy made him feel rather like a mouse as he tunneled his way to the surface.

The night proved to be clear and crisp. The upper layer of hay snapped with frost as he pushed through it. There was no visible moon, but his eyes were already adjusted to what faint light there was.

His haystack stood against the side of a small animal shelter. The shelter was empty now, but smooth, rounded droppings suggested that goats had been kept here. That would explain the condition of the hay, as well as the lack of concern for its keeping. Goats were notorious for eating anything.

At that moment, Waln rather wished
he
were a goat. His meal with Lady Melina had been the night before and his excursions had burnt what little he hadn't purged from his system as a candle flame burns a moth. Although the islander carried extra flesh on his big frame—flesh his body was doubtless consuming even now—his stomach clamored its emptiness, accustomed to being filled three or four times a day whether it needed to be or not.

After assuring himself that he was alone, Waln eased himself from the haystack. He noted with idle curiosity that he was wearing his boots again. He didn't recall putting them on. The muddy pieces of waistcoat were stuffed behind his belt.

Fever mounting again as he exerted himself, Waln was pleased to find that his unconscious self was such an organized and efficient type of person. He rather wished he could just go away again and let that other self take over. However, not knowing just how to call up that other self, he decided he'd better not chance it. He might just fall asleep in the snow and freeze.

There was a hut off to one side of the goat pen. Its door was open, swinging at a drunken angle from the upper pair of a set of leather hinges. The lower hinge was broken or had been eaten by mice or rats.

Waln picked his way over to the hut. He realized that he was tiptoeing—a ridiculous thing as he was moving across open ground. He made an effort to stop himself, but as soon as he stopped he realized he was tiptoeing again—doubtless some attempt on the part of his hidden self to be stealthy.

The hut proved to be empty. The thin dusting of snow across the floor showed only rodent tracks—tiny, eyelash-fine traceries for the feet and a long, narrow track for the tail. These converged around a large hunk of bread, apparently broken from a larger loaf and abandoned with the carelessness of plenty where it had fallen near the open door.