Wolf's Head, Wolf's Heart (70 page)

"Well, it's a map," Edlin said, looking at her with concern. "We use it to plan our campaign, what?"

He beamed at her. He had every right to be pleased with his handiwork. The reports of crow and falcon had been transformed into straight walls and curving towers. Colored pencils had been used to tint different structures so they could be referred to at a glance. Guards were indicated in red; areas where people—servants and such—tended to cluster had been shown by green dots.

Somehow what Lord Edlin had created was more than a static map—it was a drawing representing a living community, a reminder that the place they must seek to infiltrate was filled with people going about their daily business.

Elise despaired of their ever being able to get more than ten feet inside the gates without being detected. From those patients she did not send away, she had gathered that even to most residents of the city Thendulla Lypella was a mystery, a fine, secret place where the primes met in conclave, the Healed One resided, and from which the Dragon Speaker coordinated the complex resources of the kingdom.

Even the few who had worked inside or knew someone who had worked in the citadel could tell little. Servants were not encouraged to wander outside of where they performed their responsibilities. Those who waited upon those personages privileged to be given residence within the walls were usually housed within. It was said that the most private areas were tended by slaves purchased from Waterland. These unfortunates never left Thendulla Lypella.

"So we can make plans," Elise said. "Well, very good, let's do just that. Well?"

She realized that everyone was staring at her and had the grace to color. Finally, Derian; braver than the rest or perhaps merely more accustomed to the whims of females spoke:

"We all agree that our target is the tower Lord Edlin has shaded in blue, right?"

There were nods all around.

"Unhappily for us, it is not freestanding. Rather it tops a large, rectangular structure—a structure that may or may not be connected to those closest to it."

Derian rose from his chair, pointing with a slim stick swiped from the kindling basket to the light lines Edlin had shaded to indicate places where the information their avian spies had given them was less than perfect.

Elation, perched on the back of his chair, squawked some comment or protest. Firekeeper shushed her. No one else seemed to notice.

My first council of war
, Elise thought.
How odd. I just realized that this is my first council of war. When I am the Baroness Archer I will be expected to attend many of these
—
unless I want to be dismissed to the ranks of the noncombatants as my mother and Uncle Aksel Trueheart always are. When Sapphire is queen will she respect those who love conflict less than she? King Tedric does, but Sapphire
…

Elise straightened in her seat, recognizing the second component contributing to her crossness. It wasn't just that she was tired. That was part of it, but the truth was, she was afraid, afraid deep down inside, because she knew that whoever was chosen to go inside those walls she must accompany them—she, because she alone spoke the language well enough to pass for a native.

And I want to sit back with the ladies, sit back as I did whenever we went hawking. Ever and always I have left the real risks to others. My grandfather was raised to the ranks of the nobles because of his courage
—
I pray to the green-eyed Lynx that some of his blood still runs in my veins
.

Sir Jared, braced from the several cups of strong tea he had drunk with his dinner, leaned closer to get a better look at the map.

"It seems to me," he said, "and I'll be the first to admit that I am no tactician, that the gate there—south of the big orange building—is the most promising. It has only two guards on it and seems fairly close to our goal."

Firekeeper laughed softly.

"So think I, Doc," she said, "until I go look at it with my eyes. That gate need only two guards because all building near have many windows looking out at it. Also, gate faces on a busy street. It is for…"

The wolf-woman looked at Derian, seeking a word she lacked.

"Processions," Derian supplied, "parades and the like. It seems to be largely ceremonial in function. I can't recall having seen it opened, and a few cautious questions to our young guide seem to confirm that it is used infrequently."

"Just goes to show," Doc said, not at all nonplussed at having his suggestion so thoroughly shot down, "how a map is one thing, but knowledge is another."

Wendee seemed about to offer a suggestion of her own, when there came a knock on the front door. She saw Elise automatically start to rise and pressed her down with a friendly hand.

"Stay put, Lady Elise. You've been answering that all day while I drank tea in the kitchen."

Elise smiled at her gratefully.

"Sure, Wendee. When you're not running off to the market, cooking for a winter-lean household, and taking care of the mending, cleaning, and all else. Then you might have a cup of tea."

Wendee chuckled as she left, saying, "I'll tell them you're not home, Doc."

When she returned a few moments later, her face was oddly pale and all traces of laughter were gone. She closed the door deliberately, but even when the heavy oak was between her and the hallway, she spoke in hushed tones.

"There's a man out there—a rich one I'd say from his clothes. I couldn't see his face—he kept his hood up even when he stepped inside—but there's something about him that says he's used to being obeyed. He wants to see all of us. He knows our names and everything."

"Not a patient then?" Doc queried.

"I don't think so."

Derian quickly pulled loose the pins that tacked the map to the wall and hid it away.

"Do we see him?" he asked.

Firekeeper nodded. "He knows our names, better we know his—and his odor, too—than to go jumping from shadows."

Elise felt herself agreeing and heard Wendee depart. She reentered a moment later escorting the stranger. The cloak he wore was thick black wool, its hood pulled to shadow his features. In the flickering lamplight, it was easy to fancy that he had no face at all.

Derian glanced at Doc and Elise as if expecting one of them to take charge. When neither did so—Elise, still recovering from her momentary fancy, seemed to lack the will—he spoke:

"Greetings. Who are you and what brings you to us?"

The cloaked figure shifted slightly as if studying them all.

"Bold words, blunt and direct, such I would expect from a mere youth who counsels kings."

They waited for the stranger to say more. When he did not, Derian prompted.

"You seem to know us, sir. Who are you?"

Almost reluctantly, the man let his hood drop back. His face had been shaded in degrees of grey and black through which could be seen several tattoos. Like all the upper-class New Kelvinese, his hair was shaved to a point roughly above his ears. The hair remaining was as white as sun-bleached bone. His eyes were impossible to see behind tinted glasses.

Elise judged their visitor to be somewhere past fifty, healthy, but not given overmuch to exercise. She realized that these last assessments were the result of her recent work. Before she would have said that he was too ordinary-looking—if one left out the facial decorations and peculiar hairstyle—to be handsome, but too distinguished to be plain.

"My name," their visitor said, "is Grateful Peace and I come to you in what I hope is shared cause, for I am the enemy of one of your countrywomen—of Lady Melina Shield."

G
rateful Peace looked at the gathered foreigners before him with a consternation he felt certain that he had managed to hide before they detected it.

There were six in all in the group: three women and three men. Additionally, there were three animals in the room. Two were birds—one surely the peregrine falcon of which Grateful Peace had already heard, the other a large, black bird, either a raven or crow. He thought raven from its size, though it seemed to lack the heavier beak of the raven, possessing instead the slimmer lines of the crow. Maybe it was some southern variety he had not encountered.

Peace had little attention to spare for the birds, however remarkable they might be. Xarxius had told him that Lady Blysse, the Firekeeper, was accompanied by a wolf, but no words could have prepared Peace for the reality of the animal who—at his entrance—had risen to its feet and now stood glowering at him with uncannily blue eyes. It was a timber wolf, most surely, its thick coat in hues of grey, touched with brown and bits of white, but a timber wolf the size of a pony.

The wolf filled the room with its presence, yet none of the humans seemed to notice it, none but the dark-haired young woman who sat on the floor beside it, one hand resting lightly on the wolf's flank, the other hovering in the vicinity of a large knife belted at her waist.

Peace was curious about her, but some sixth' sense he had gained as the Dragon's Eye told him that she was not the one to address first. Instead he directed his attention to the others.

The two remaining women were fair. The elder of the fair women was the one who had opened the door to him and spoken with him in New Kelvinese that seemed to mix archaic phrases with the more modern argot of the marketplace. She was quite attractive, possessed of a full, womanly figure and bright eyes that he fancied could show laughter easily.

There was no laughter in her now, however. She stood by the door through which she had admitted him to this inner chamber, having shut it as soon as he had crossed the threshold. She made no move to act further, but looked to her companions for guidance.

This came not from the redhead who had spoken to him on his arrival, but from the second of the fair-haired women—a young woman, barely out of girlhood and showing the potential for great beauty.

It was this woman who, despite her youth, recovered first from the evident shock of the announcement with which he had greeted them. Rising from her seat, she addressed him in his own language.

"I am Lady Elise Archer," she said, "as you already seem to know."

"I know the names, certainly," Peace replied, "but am grateful to have your aid at attaching them to their correct owners."

Actually, Xarxius's briefing, augmented by a report he had fetched from his own chambers, had given Peace a fair idea of who must be who. The formality of introductions, however, should give everyone a moment to adjust to the implications of this sudden meeting.

"And, please," Peace added, "while I deeply appreciate the courtesy you do me in addressing me in the language of the land, I am fairly fluent in your language and am willing to continue our conversation in it—more than willing. I would prefer it. I have no idea what spies may watch your house, but I feel assured that few will speak your language well. My people are… reluctant to learn other languages."

Lady Elise shifted tongues easily.

"Very well," she said. "Let me continue introductions. This—the lady who met you at the door—is Wendee Jay, a retainer of Duchess Kestrel and our trusted advisor."

Peace offered a bow after the fashion of Hawk Haven, and Wendee Jay responded with a graceful curtsy.

"Pray, Goody Wendee," Peace said, hoping he was selecting the correct tide, "be seated."

Wendee did so, perching at the edge of her chair, as if she expected to leap to her feet any moment.

"This," Elise continued, gesturing to the third woman, "is Lady Blysse Norwood, granddaughter of the duchess, daughter of her heir, Norvin Norwood."

The third woman rose from the floor with a lithe grace that spoke of strength in its easy motion. One hand remained on the wolf, the other near her knife. She was dressed after the fashion of neither Hawk Haven nor New Kelvin, but in some style all her own. Her feet were bare, as were her arms where they extended from a fine leather vest. She wore trousers rather than a skirt, and these too were leather and showed evidence of hard use.

Yet it was not her strange manner of dress, nor even her self-contained watchfulness, that made Grateful Peace study her in slightly horrified fascination. There was a manner about this woman—Lady Blysse, as she had been introduced—that did not seem human. In some ways her body language was as contained as that of an Illuminator before a desk covered with priceless paints and liquid leaf, yet when she did move, as when she rose to greet him, it seemed as if her muscles had been trained in another school and only reluctantly yielded to human constraints.

Lady Blysse nodded at him, acknowledging the introduction, but not bothering to reply. Yet even as Lady Elise moved to her next introduction, Grateful Peace was aware that the dark gaze of Lady Blysse did not leave him—nor did the blue-eyed gaze of her wolf.

Next to be introduced—in strict order of precedence some small part of his mind noted—was Edlin Norwood, Lord Kestrel. This young man ruined the favorable impression granted by his rather handsome angular features by observing events with a slightly open mouth and an expression of mild, foolish astonishment. He, it transpired, was the heir to Earl Kestrel, elder brother to Lady Blysse.

Sir Jared Surcliffe, the healer, came next. He showed some family likeness to Lord Kestrel, though only when one looked for it. There was an air of competence about him that Peace—who had not expected either such a small or such a relatively youthful group—took comfort in.

Mentally, Grateful Peace made note of the investment House Kestrel had put into this expedition. Two children of the house, one near relation, one servant. Clearly, New Kelvin's neighbor across the White Water had some interest in the matter at hand. It meant that Peace would need to take great care, for he had no desire to spark a retaliatory strike from over the border. The Gateway to Enchantment, though a small town, was a vital economic center.

Last, Lady Elise came to the tall red-haired youth who Peace had already deduced must be Derian Carter, the advisor to King Tedric. Like Lady Blysse, Derian had risen when Grateful Peace entered, but this was not a nervous gesture. He retained a poise that Peace quite admired in one of his years. Although Derian was clearly interested in their guest, he showed neither the awe of Lord Edlin nor the nervousness of Wendee Jay nor even the guarded watchfulness of Lady Blysse.