Wolf's Head, Wolf's Heart (82 page)

"Pigeons," he murmured. "In a few hours at most."

Derian frowned, but Edlin caught on at once.

"Carrier birds, I say! He's right, you know. As soon as they figure out that we're not anywhere in the city, they'll send out messenger pigeons to all the guard posts."

Firekeeper smiled cruelly from where she had perched on a laden mule.

"I send Elation," she said, "for pigeons."

"Not a bad idea," Derian agreed, swinging into Roanne's saddle, "but Elation can't hope to catch every pigeon."

"It's a shame," Elise said, her tartness excusable given how Doc looked, "that your Royal Beasts didn't send you out with a bit more support."

Firekeeper looked as if she agreed.

If the Beasts hadn't sent out much help, nature conspired to offer some unlooked-for—and almost unappreciated—aid in form of ugly weather that swirled down from the mountains later that morning. Light flurries turned into a steady fall of big white flakes. These, as the day warmed, became sleet and freezing rain.

Footing for the horses and mules was—especially on the steeper parts of the road—uncertain enough that Derian frequently called out for the healthy to dismount and lead their animals.

At these times, Derian tossed Roanne's reins to Elise, who rode either beside or behind him, depending on the going, and slogged back to take control of the mules. Firekeeper aided him at these times. Her particular form of encouragement—apparently threats that any mule that so much as thought of acting up would find itself dinner for herself and Blind Seer—might not have been kind, but it was effective.

When she was not harassing the mules, Firekeeper would trot ahead, finding some sheltered point where she could kindle a fire. She had the gift for encouraging a blaze, even in the damp—no doubt why the wolves had called her Firekeeper.

The promise of hot, sweet tea was almost as much of a stimulant as the tea itself, and permitted the group to push on despite lack of sleep. These rest stops, welcome as they were, seriously depleted the supplies Derian had laid in, but he refused to worry. One day—today—was all he needed to worry about. Quite likely the New Kelvinese would make certain he didn't have many more days to worry about if he worried so much about tomorrow that he neglected today.

During that day's long haul Lord Edlin, trained in the harsher weather of the North Woods, earned Derian's undying gratitude. On his own volition, Edlin positioned himself close to Doc—who, though somewhat recovered from his expenditure of talent, was still weak—and to Grateful Peace. When either man showed signs of fading, there was Edlin taking control.

Derian began to wonder if the young lord had some talent of his own, but during a break for a sticky mouthful of honey and nuts, chased by a mug of hot tea, Edlin refused any such honor.

"Too stupid to stay in out of the snow," he said cheerfully. "That's me, what? Good thing, this time, though that I've the experience. Helps, what?"

The same weather that froze their faces inside their hooded cloaks, that sapped their strength along with their heat, also helped preserve them from discovery.

The few travelers they passed were interested only in getting to their own destinations. Whereas in fairer weather they might have paused to pass the time of day and thus noted the foreign character of their fellow travelers, now they only slogged past, encased in their own private misery and layers of ice.

Pigeons, too, would not fly in this weather. Even the homing imperative was nothing against the instinct to survive. Derian suspected that Elation, who had circled back to Dragon's Breath, and the Beast Lore cotes from which a feverish Peace had told them any message was sure to be sent, was likely to be having a thin time of it.

Although in no great shape himself, Blind Seer forged ahead. His eerie howls—transmitting information to his pack mate—became such a familiar sound that even high-strung Roanne ceased to start. For himself, Derian found them a comfort.

When nightfall drew near, Firekeeper asked Blind Seer to find somewhere they might pass the night. As much as they needed to put distance between themselves and Dragon's Breath, they needed even more to eat and sleep, and to give the animals a chance to recover.

The wolf-woman came to Derian as dusk was thickening, making their nightmare progress almost impossible.

"Ahead is a barn, empty. There is hay there and wood."

"How far?" Derian asked.

"Not too," she reassured him.

Despite this reassurance, it was almost too far, especially for those among them who did not, like Firekeeper and Edlin, prefer the out-of-doors. Over and over again, Derian found himself oddly grateful for the very real threat to their lives and freedom. Without this, he suspected that one or more would simply have given up.

The barn was drafty. The roof was missing several boards on the south side, but there was ample room for everyone on the dry northern side. They set up tents in the open areas, providing not only privacy, but something to hold personal warmth.

The horses and mules provided additional heat as they crowded round, munching on slightly musty hay. Derian made certain that the horses got the better feed. The last thing they needed was a case of colic.

Perhaps the greatest indication of the universal relief at being in out of the weather was that not one of the equines so much as flattened an ear when Blind Seer padded by and took a place alongside one of the two fires Firekeeper had kindled.

Bad weather should have driven the game into cover, so Derian decided not to question just where Firekeeper had found the brace of fat ducks and three plump rabbits she supplied for their dinner.

The wolf-woman was still limping, but she refused to be pampered. Indeed, Derian noticed that she seemed more than a bit unhappy with herself, eager to make amends for sins that no one else had even charged her with.

Doc insisted that everyone eat something before being permitted to sleep. After that, there was a general crawling toward tents, and soon exhausted snoring joined the sounds of the livestock.

Derian was as tired as the rest, but as often happened when he had overexerted himself he could not get his mind to relax. He settled for placing himself on watch.

Doc was also wakeful. Grateful Peace was coming to some sort of crisis, and with a physician's patient watchfulness, Doc had set himself to see the other man through. They were joined by Firekeeper.

"Blind Seer," she said to Doc, glancing with open affection at the sleeping wolf, "say you nearly kill yourself to save him. Thank you."

Doc nodded. "He nearly was killed protecting us and trying to stop Lady Melina. It's all one and the same."

"His eye?" Firekeeper asked, tilting her head to one side inquisitively.

"I don't know," Doc replied. "The swelling could be a good thing, protecting the eye while it heals. There's no great amount of pus, no bleeding, but I can't make promises."

Firekeeper nodded glumly.

"He told me to remember that Lady Melina wasn't a wolf," she said. "And I forgot—twice. Twice she used that to defeat me."

They'd already heard her account of how she had pursued Lady Melina, how Bold and Elation had saved her and regained the ring, how she had let Lady Melina escape.

"Don't blame yourself," Derian said gently.

"Who else can I blame?" she asked bitterly. "Not Bold, not Elation—without them I would be dead. Not Blind Seer—he warned me."

Doc leaned over and touched Grateful Peace's forehead.

"Fever's breaking. Riding in the cold today may have kept him from burning alive, but it will take its toll. How's the soup coming?"

Derian checked the small kettle where the livers and hearts from their evening meal simmered in snowmelt.

"It's taking on color," he said.

"Good. Ladle some into that mug. I want it to cool a bit before I spoon it into him."

As Derian complied, Doc went on:

"Firekeeper, I've been thinking about what Lady Melina told you—about where Citrine might be. She's almost certainly in the eastern part of Hawk Haven, probably down by the shore."

"You think so?" Firekeeper asked.

Derian relaxed from a tension he hadn't even been aware was holding him stiff, for the self-loathing had left the wolf-woman's tone, replaced by the eagerness she always demonstrated when action was contemplated.

"You know that Princess Lovella died going after enemies of Hawk Haven, right?"

"Yes," Firekeeper nodded eagerly, "and you were with her and were made knight for bravery."

"Well, those enemies were pirates and smugglers, allies of Bright Bay at that time, which is why we were so eager to be at them."

"Yes?"

"They had a stronghold, an old lighthouse in the swamps that spread north of Port Haven, near where the White Water meets the ocean. I've been thinking, like I said, and the more I think, the more likely it seems to me that Baron Endbrook may have stored his hostage there."

"Why?"

There was no challenge in Firekeeper's tone, only a desire for information.

"The Islanders have long been allies of the pirates, that's one reason. Secondly, the weather is bad for deep-water sailing, bad enough that I don't think he would have risked her on a voyage to the Isles. I want your help checking this."

"How?"

"Elise gave me the idea."

Derian grinned slightly as Doc's tone warmed slightly, the way it always did when he spoke of Elise. Apparently, seeing her unwashed, half-shaved, and cranky had done nothing to diminish his admiration.

"Earlier, she mentioned that the Beasts should have given you more help. Well, I found myself musing over what we could do if we had a few more of your wingéd folk. Then I thought, well, we still have Bold with us and I've gathered that there are others who keep an eye on things."

Firekeeper nodded.

"If Bold would go ahead of us, down to the swamps, maybe talk to some of the seagulls or something…"

From Doc's tone, Derian could tell that despite the fact that he'd nearly killed himself to save Blind Seer, he felt ridiculous suggesting asking animals to do a job that would take conscious thought and planning.

"They could check if Citrine is at the lighthouse," Doc concluded. "That would save us a considerable amount of effort and then, if she is there, if a bird or two would carry messages to both King Tedric and King Allister…"

Doc swallowed hard.

"Well, not only could we rescue Citrine, maybe we could finish what Princess Lovella started, maybe we could put out Smuggler's Light."

O
wl Moon had been showing her first quarter when Baron Endbrook had sent a messenger to Dragon's Breath with a box for Lady Melina Shield. When Owl Moon had shone fat and round, he had imagined the lady receiving the box and its grisly contents. By the time Owl Moon had waned to a quarter once more, Waln was eagerly awaiting her reply.

Yet he had not been idle as those days passed.

Though pirates and smugglers by profession, scofflaws by choice, killers when needed, there were few among those hardened men and women who dwelled in the Smuggler's Light who had not been shocked by Waln's cool mutilation of young Citrine Shield's hand.

That he had done the deed himself, rather than ordering some lackey to do it for him, had only raised him in their estimation. Given the lives they led, the pirates often mistook the sensation of fear for that of respect.

Since his days as a gutter bully, Waln had learned how to capitalize on others' fears. He would not let the opportunity escape him now.

Even as Fess Bones was binding up the weeping girl's hand, Waln had swaggered down into the common area that occupied the second story of the lighthouse.

Longsight Scrounger, who to this moment had reigned supreme over those gathered in this illicit stronghold, didn't like seeing his vassals shrink from another. Had he been a dog, his hackles would have risen and his lips curled back from his teeth.

Longsight and Waln had been fencing with each other from the moment Waln had arisen from his sickbed, but to this moment neither had struck decisively. They had growled and snarled, snapped and sniffed about for weaknesses, but neither had attacked.

Had Longsight been a different kind of man, Waln might not have even challenged him—he had no desire to be a pirate king. Longsight, however, could not work with anyone else. Either he worked
for
others or, preferably, they worked for him.

Perhaps the shadow of Queen Valora's influence as much as anything about Waln himself had cautioned Longsight to hold back any attempt to openly dominate Waln, but now faced with what he perceived a challenge to his authority Longsight forgot queen, wealth, and title.

Without their ennobling aura, he saw only a large man, somewhat pale from illness, a man who dared strut into Longsight's hall as if he owned it.

"I must admire you, Waln," Longsight Scrounger sneered, his voice silky as a whiplash drawn lazily over the skin it anticipates cutting, "for how you discipline little girls. So firm! So direct! No wonder Queen Valora uses you for her errand boy. She must recognize a well-trained nursery hand."

Waln didn't speak a single word in response to this taunt.

Never pausing in the lazy stride with which he'd entered the common room, Waln strolled over to where Longsight sat in a high-backed cushioned chair at the best table among those arrayed about the hall.

Right until Waln raised his hand, Longsight might have thought the other man too flustered to fight back. Then lightning strike of Waln's hand as he brutally backhanded Longsight across one side of his face gave answer.

Longsight's head snapped back and impacted with the hard wooden back of his chair. For a bare breath it seemed that he might have been stunned; then Longsight rose to his feet, pushing the chair behind him so that it toppled over and crashed to the floor.

The common room of Smuggler's Light was decorated rather after the fashion of a large tavern. Now it resembled one more than ever as tables were dragged back and chairs scooted aside to open a makeshift arena for the combatants in the center of the floor.