Wolf's Blood (31 page)

Bryessidan did his best to hide how his heart had swollen to the bounds of his breast with her praise.

“There will be others who wish the honor,” he said.

“Show them it is no honor,” she countered. “Show them the danger involved. I have looked at the old maps of the complex. Also, I remember what I have seen the times I have passed through. Although the gates are centered on one part of the island, they are not all in one structure. Rather, they are scattered among numerous structures, each of which has its own walls. This separate but joined element of the construction is what we are counting on to make the invasion possible, but it is also the element that might defeat us. Whoever commands the land forces must first find a way to join them up.”

Bryessidan turned away from the window and began pacing back and forth along the length of the room. Conflicting desires warred within him. He wanted the honor and prestige of command, yet he feared that he was not equal to the task.

“You say that your father will be appointed to lead the sea forces,” he said. “and I agree. Perhaps that will work against my winning command of the land forces. Our lands are already closely allied. Might not the others—Hearthome, Azure Towers, Pelland, the rest—feel we already have our share of honor?”

“Not if you keep them from thinking that way. If the matter comes up, point out the honor Hearthome has already secured. Quietly remind those from Azure Towers that their old opponent bears watching. Queen Anitra is probably already thinking that Iline’s offer is meant to mask some move to weaken Azure Towers. As for Pelland … I think if handled correctly they will be content with empty praise paid to their greatness. There is a decadence in that land.”

Bryessidan remembered how Pelland was said to import a great deal of a drug refined from flowers grown in the highlands of Tishiolo. The drug stimulated thought, but at the cost of dulled energy and will to act. He paced faster, thinking out loud.

“The disdum of u-Chival are not likely to join in this venture,” he said, “but even if they do, their aversion to magic will make them unwilling to have one of their own serve as general.”

“True,” Gidji said. “Offer to have one of the aridisdum serve to read omens for the venture, and their sense of honor and respect will be served.”

“I will bring this up when I meet with my ministers,” Bryessidan said. “If they agree, do you think I should make my offer in the same letter in which I accept Queen Iline’s offer to make Hearthome our base of operations?”

Gidji shook her head. “I think not. Better that someone else nominate you. My father would be possible, but even better would be someone else.”

“We could approach Queen Anitra of Azure Towers,” Bryessidan said. “If accompanied by a quiet offer of aid should Hearthome overreach itself, she should be delighted to have her emissary make the suggestion.”

“Not to mention,” Gidji said, “that the very fact that you are offering the Mires’ aid should intensify any paranoia she is feeling about Hearthome’s intent. I had thought to suggest one of the u-Chivalum, but this is even better.”

Bryessidan rubbed his hands together.

“Then it is settled. I was scheduled to meet with my ministers tomorrow morning on more routine matters. I believe some of those must wait until later. This is more important, and more time-sensitive.”

“Time-sensitive?” Gidji asked. “I suppose for locking Queen Iline into her offer, but for the matter of command … Bull Moon is waning. Horse Moon has yet to show her face. My father seemed to think a fleet could not safely sail until Lion Moon, and that comes later still.”

“And before that fleet sails,” Bryessidan said, “my position must be secure. Once the ships leave, then communication between land and sea will be difficult, if not impossible. We cannot waste what contact we will have on political wrangling.”

“True,” Gidji said.

Bryessidan looked at his wife and knew that she, like him, was suddenly realizing the import of the plans they had laid with such enthusiasm. Dreams were one thing, but the reality could well mean his death and her struggling to hold a land that was not hers by birth until their daughter, now only seven, came of age. The struggle would be heightened by the fact that the grandson of Essidan’s claim was hardly based on long tenure or divine appointment, but on a coup that might inspire others to try something similar.

“I can step back,” he said, hardly believing the weakness he was allowing himself to show. “Someone else can have formal command. I will earn sufficient honor commanding for the Mires.”

“Honor among our own, yes,” Gidji said softly, “but honor enough to restore the Mires to the place from which your father let her slip? Honor enough to make clear that the Mires no longer lives on the sufferance of her neighbors? Bryessidan, if the Nexus Islands have indeed fallen into the hands of those who bear no gratitude to the memory of the Reprieve, then the Mires will need all the respect and honor—and fear—you can win for her. Otherwise, even the alliance with my birth land will not be enough to keep the Mires from being swallowed by her neighbors.”

Bryessidan stared at her. “You care about the Mires?”

“It is my homeland, now,” Gidji said fiercely. “It is where my child will rule someday. More than that, it is a good place, with good people who do not deserve to live on the sufferance of others. Yes, I care! By your ancestors and the stars that dart and wheel in the heavens, I swear that my dream is to have the Mires once again the equal of her peers, a land from which my children can go out into the world with the strong reputation of their father’s deeds to stand as a shield between them and their grandfather’s failure. Is that vow enough for you?”

Bryessidan gave her a bow as deep and low as he would give to any ruler in the land.

“I think,” he said, “I am only beginning to realize the honor done to me when you consented to be my wife. I am humbled, and I will strive to make your dreams a reality.”

Gidji looked at him, and he thought he saw her blink back a tear. Then she forced a smile, and was all practicality once more.

“Then, you had better get a good night’s sleep before the meeting with your ministers tomorrow.”

“As you command, my queen,” Bryessidan said, offering her another bow before sweeping her into his embrace. “As ever you command.”

WHEN THE MEDDLER spoke, Urgana’s high, shrill shriek of surprise was the only reply—the only audible reply, that is. Firekeeper felt Blind Seer’s hackles rise, the soft fur brushing against her arm. Ominously, the wolf did not growl, did not move from his seat. A hunting wolf howls when the sound might terrify the prey, but strikes from silence when the noise would only serve to warn the intended victim.

Firekeeper placed her left hand squarely at the base of Blind Seer’s neck, reminding him of her presence—and hopefully reassuring him that she remained where she should be, beside him.

Firekeeper knew the Meddler appeared differently to all who saw him manifest. Doubtless, when Harjeedian rose to address the new arrival, he thought he was addressing a man of his own race, and probably about his own age. The Meddler always sought to seem likable, or so it seemed from the various ways he had appeared to her and her friends over time.

To Firekeeper, at this time, in this place, he manifested as he had several times before, as a lean, muscular human with the head of a wolf. She wondered how Blind Seer saw him, but decided not to ask—not now, maybe not ever.

“Meddler,” Harjeedian said, his voice stiff, his intonation formal, “you have been watching us?”

“Not for long,” the Meddler said, shifting slightly, as a real human would, relaxing into a comfortable slouch against the bookcase. “Let us say I have put little markers in place so that I would be alerted when certain events occurred. One of these was when Firekeeper returned from her journey to Misheemnekuru. Since I started her on what has proven to be a rather arduous course of action, I thought it was only polite to come and hear her report. I would have listened without comment, but when I realized I could spare you all a great deal of labor, well … Here I am.”

He smiled a bright, warm, all-embracing smile meant to show them all what a good fellow he was. In Firekeeper’s case, that meant it was the smile of a lesser-ranking wolf—although not a least wolf—reminding the Ones what a good and useful hunter he was. She could not help react to it, but noted that beside her, Blind Seer’s hackles continued to rise around her hand.

The Meddler turned now to Urgana, and Firekeeper could see his legendary charm was having almost as hard a time with her as with the blue-eyed wolf. No wonder. Urgana came from the same general cultural heritage as did Harjeedian, and in their shared lore, the Meddler was regarded as a very dangerous person indeed.

“For example,” the Meddler said, “I could have saved you, dear lady, a certain amount of doubt regarding your skill in calculating dates. Virim is indeed at least as old as those dates seem to show—and he may be a great deal older.”

“How?” Firekeeper asked, her tone challenging. “How?”

“You don’t think that the great sorcerers of old went about strengthening things like window glass against breakage and paper against mold and rot without thinking about how decay might affect their own bodies, did you?”

Actually, Firekeeper had not, and judging from the expressions on Derian’s and Harjeedian’s faces, neither of them had thought much about it either. Urgana, however, was nodding thoughtfully.

“I should have considered that,” she said, not giving the Meddler credit, but rather being critical of herself. “I heard such stories when I was a girl. Indeed, several of the Once Dead here on the Nexus Islands were beginning to talk of rediscovering such spells once they held a secure position and had wealth to spare.”

“Oh, they would have found there was far more involved than a spell,” the Meddler said. “A series of detailed and highly complex rituals were involved, and even then they didn’t always take. The person who hoped to extend his or her life might die instead, or suffer some rather nasty side effects. However, the procedure worked frequently enough that those who could manage it often took advantage. Virim was one such.”

“Ah” was all Urgana could manage in reply.

Harjeedian spoke into the thoughtful silence that followed.

“So it seems you do know the sorcerer of whom we speak. Is there anything else that you would care to tell us?”

“Certainly,” the Meddler said. “For one thing, I believe—although I do not know for certain, and I certainly do not know how it was done—that he is a likely candidate for the originator of querinalo. It quite fits in with his personality.”

“Oh?” Derian prompted. “He liked killing people?”

“Not really,” the Meddler said. “Virim was a conflicted and contested person. Urgana read to you how Virim seemed to have ties to both the Old and New Worlds. This was so He was born in the New World, but his parents were both firmly ensconced in the Old World, born of highly ranking families of prestigious magical heritage.

“Now, all of you know the strange fact that until the coming of colonists from the Old World, there do not appear to have been any humans at all in the New World. The New World was the domain of beasts, both those similar to what had been known in the Old World—although often with variations as you might expect given the distance between the landmasses—and those who were markedly different from those usual animals, often being more intelligent, sometimes markedly larger in size, and. finally, gifted with magical talents. That the New World had its own inhabitants who claimed it for their own did not trouble those who came to colonize. Nor did the fact that these inhabitants were physically different have much to do with the colonizers’ attitude. I think you’ve heard enough tales about how life was in the Old World before querinalo to know that the Old World rulers weren’t particularly thoughtful or considerate toward any who crossed their will.

“Virim was the son of two who came to colonize the New World. Over time, he grew to feel that the New World should not be ruled by the Old. From what I recall, he had a liking and sympathy for the Royal Beasts. After some nasty clashes, the colonizing groups made treaties and agreements with the Royal Beasts—or Wise Beasts, whatever you want to call them. I’ll call them ‘Royal’ in honor of Firekeeper’s chosen nomenclature, and because, honestly, I think that name reflects how Virim himself saw them.”

“As Royal?” Derian asked. “I don’t quite follow.”

The Meddler grinned. “I think you just might, Derian Carter. Virim saw them as noble, as mighty, as stronger, wiser, better—and this is important—not only than the other beasts, those Firekeeper so affectionately calls the ‘Cousins,’ but than humans.”

Firekeeper tightened her fingers in Blind Seer’s scruff, thinking not so long before, she would have agreed with this view. Over time, however, she had grown to accept that at least some humans were as fine as any Beast, and that there were some Beasts—she recalled a particularly annoying young wolf called Northwest—who were worse than most humans. The Meddler continued. “As I think your own histories tell, there came a time when the Old World colonists—specifically, those in charge—decided that they were firmly enough entrenched in their new holdings that they need no longer avoid the territory held by the Royal Beasts. New war broke out, but this time the Royal Beasts found themselves at a disadvantage. The humans had larger population bases. The first of the gates were in place and so reinforcements could be brought in more easily. The humans now knew the land, if not as well as the Royal Beasts, at least well enough to take advantage of terrain as they had not been able to in those earlier encounters.

“Eventually, the Royal Beasts retreated rather than suffer complete slaughter. The boundary became the mountains to the west. Not only did the mountains provide a natural barrier, they also contained a high enough amount of iron ore that they caused spells to behave in an unpredictable fashion. This meant that they could not be surmounted by magic.