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I have to go, she told the eagle hastily. Thank you!
She opened human eyes. Something huge and brown filled her vision and surprised her into a yelp that came out a keening screech. I wish this would happen when I need it, not when I’m rushed! she thought peevishly, and blinked. The brown thing moved to show a patch of hairy skin.
Trying to rush the change was not going to work. With a sigh she began to remember Daine the human. She thought of nights in the Rider barracks hearing stories, of sword practice with the King’s Champion, and of stargazing at Numair’s tower. Under her memories now she felt talons become feet, and wings become arms. When she opened her eyes this time, Tait sat beside her, a golden brown feather in his hand. It was his rough tunic and skin that had seemed so close.
“Sorry. Didn’t mean t’ scare ye, lass” He offered her the feather. “Ye lost one. Actually, ye lost a few. Maura’s got one.”
Daine looked around and saw only Kitten and Prettyfoot. “Where is she?”
“Iakoju took her fishin’.”
Raising her voice a bit, she said, “Kitten, get Maura and Iakoju. Hurroks are searching the valley—they’re coming this way.” To the man she said, “Is there cover around here?”
“The laurel bushes can hide Maura and the dragon.” Tait stood. “There’s a willow by the stream for Iakoju and the pony. The dogs can go where they like—I don’t think the hunters will care about them.”
The ogre and Maura came at a run. All of them listened as Daine explained where to hide. They hid their belongings, too. Daine kept her crossbow and quiver. Tait had a bow of his own, a fine weapon polished and supple with much use. He strung it quickly.
“They hunt me.” Iakoju’s eyes, the dark green of oak leaves, were sad. “They count us in morning, before work. My brother supposed to say I am sick.”
“I guess they didna believe him, lass,” Tait said, patting the ogre’s arm. “Not yer fault. Get under cover. We’ll sing out when all’s clear.” Iakoju tramped off toward the stream with Cloud and Tait’s dogs behind her.
Daine pointed to a spot where a fallen tree leaned against an oak. Where they met, the dirt underneath had worn away, leaving a hollow. From that spot they would be able to see the clump of laurel and the stream. Tait nodded and followed her to it. Flicker was already there, sunning himself on the log.
Sitting next to the huntsman, Daine put an arrow in the crossbow’s notch and secured it, then placed it at her side, ready to fire—just in case. At the limits of her awareness came the first tingling sense that hurroks were near.
Tait had tucked the eagle feather behind his ear. Now he ran it through his fingers thoughtfully. “Can ye change entire?”
“No,” the girl replied, fingering the badger’s claw around her neck. “I can’t even control what changes. I just learned how to turn myself all human again the night before last.”
“Aye. Maura said at first ye thought ye were mad.” Tait’s brown eyes met hers. “She told me why she left home. Do you believe me when I say I’d no idea treason was afoot? I knew things was strange—that’s why I left. But treason…That’s worse than I thought.”
Daine studied him. His was a square, stubborn face. He looked as if he would be as bad a liar as she was herself. “Yes,” she replied, and smiled.
He smiled back. “Truthfully, I’m as glad she’s here and not home. I don’t think Tristan has the grip on what’s goin’ on that he thinks he does.”
“What do you mean?”
The man teased Flicker with his feather as the squirrel tried playfully to grab it. “Two days ago I was in the courtyard when the female mage, Gissa, came out screamin’. She was holdin’ her wrist like her hand turned into a serpent, yellin’ fer someone t’ ‘take it off’ I saw a wee drop of red on th’ hand. Th’ skin was bubblin’, like, and red streaks was growin’ on the back toward the wrist, like they do when a wound’s gone bad. Tristan and Master Gardiner was on the steps, and they just stared at her.” Sweat appeared on Tait’s forehead. “So she run t’ th’ woodpile, grabbed th’ ax, and chopped her hand off.”
Daine stared at him. “She cut off her own hand?”
“Weiryn leave me hungry if I lie.” He wiped his face on his sleeve. “Praise the Goddess the lass wasn’t there. She’d’ve had nightmares for months, what with the blood and Tristan not carin’ about Gissa, but yellin’ if she let ‘it’ boil over they were all dead. He run inside—didn’t even try t’ help Gardiner make the wrist stop bleedin’. He—”
Daine put a finger to her lips, then pointed up. A large, winged shape passed overhead, its shadow falling on the spot where Flicker had lain. Nearby she felt the other hurroks, their presence tainted, as always, with rage. They remained directly above for some time before moving higher on the mountainsides.
“I think if we’re quiet, they won’t hear us,” she whispered. “They’ve gone off a ways, but they might come back.”
“Ye can tell where they are?”
“When they’re in range.”
“More witchcraft, then?”
“Yes,” she replied, and he shook his head. She knew this attitude too well. Some people were uncomfortable with magic; the more things they heard she could do, the more uncomfortable they became. Rather than argue, she changed the subject. “Who’s this ‘Weiryn’?” she whispered. “You mention him all the time, and I don’t think I ever heard of him.”
“A mountain god of the hunt. He’s rooted in the forest and rock, kin to all that walks or swims or flies. On Beltane ye can see him pass in the woods, with his hounds. Got antlers like a deer, he does. All us huntsmen swear by ’im.”
Something about that description was familiar, but she couldn’t place it. “I never had much to do with huntsmen at home. Well, they didn’t have much to do with me. Have you heard of my village, in Galla? Snowsdale?”
The look he gave her was thoughtful, and very sharp. “So ye’re that one.”
Daine felt herself turning red. “I don’t know what you’ve heard, but it’s prob’ly blown way out of proportion.”
“Not after what I’ve seen today,” the man said, and grinned.
They waited for a long time. As they waited, Daine filled Tait in on all she knew, from the wolves’ summons to the orders she’d seen from Carthak. Just as she thought the hurroks were going, she sensed fresh arrivals: Stormwings. Keeping low, she checked on the others and warned them the danger was not over. As she rejoined Tait, screams and snarls exploded overhead. It seemed hurroks and Stormwings did not get along.
“We could get old here,” she whispered to Tait. “What are they looking for?”
“The dragon, perhaps?”
She winced. “Kitten. It figures.” She made herself relax, and took a nap. When she woke, the Stormwings and hurroks were gone, and Tkaa had returned. They all left their hiding places, hungry and stiff. While Maura introduced Tkaa to the huntsman, Daine did some thinking. She did not like the story of Gissa’s hand, not after seeing that oddly colored smoke over the castle. What were the mages brewing there—more trouble, like the barrier?
A touch on her arm was the basilisk.—I am to tell you soldiers are at the southern gate to the valley. Also, the King’s Champion and the Knight Commander of the Kings Own are there. Master Numair says that should cheer you up.—
Hope surged in her mind, and she asked silently, Can he break the barrier with Lady Alanna’s help? She’s a fair powerful mage.
—He said you would ask. He and the Lioness cannot break this working. It continues to absorb what power they strike it with, not reflect it. No mages can be spared from the City of the Gods. Some are riding here from the south, and will be here in four days.—
The girl shook her head. With Tristan up to something, she wasn’t sure they had four days. She had to know more, and that meant entering the castle.
It took time to convince the others to push on without her. At last they agreed to move on toward the western pass until dark, then camp, while
she and Cloud rode to a spot near the village. No one liked that decision, but Daine’s growing fear that something bad was brewing made her overrule them. If Tkaa, Iakoju, and Tait could not keep Maura and Kitten safe, no one could, and only she could wander the castle with no one the wiser.
Cloud worked hard to reach a place near the village before sunset. Twilight had fallen when they halted inside the trees on the town’s fringe. Murmuring compliments, Daine rubbed her friend down. Stop that, Cloud said when she was dry and clean. Go do what you must.
Daine opened her bedroll and lay down under the trees. I don’t know how long this will take, she warned her friend. Cloud was nibbling the grass that grew close by and did not answer.
Daine’s magic flowed out readily, reaching the castle before she had taken more than two deep breaths. Inside its walls she found horses, goats, chickens, geese, and pigs, all nice animals in their way (although she detested chickens), but ill-suited to a search in a human dwelling. She was nearly resigned to asking the mice for help, and praying they would not be seen. Then, in the kitchen garden, she found two cats.
She approached the elder, a fat, dignified tom who busily washed the inky black fur of a cat not far out of kittenhood. Since the younger cat objected to the tom’s vigorous methods, he kept her in place with a powerful forepaw as he cleaned her white bib. When Daine interrupted, he stopped washing, but kept his grip on the younger cat as Daine politely explained her errand.
The tom—named by men Blueness—listened with interest. When she finished, he inspected his claws. I am not sure that I am the cat you need, he told her. There are nooks and crannies where a creature of my noble bulk may not go. He looked at the other cat. You take the Scrap, here. Even for a kitten she is most inquisitive, and she can get into anything.
Say yes, pleaded Scrap. Please!
Daine had to smile. Thank you, Blueness.
Do not get dirty, Blueness warned Scrap, or I will wash you again.
I can wash myself, the young cat retorted.
Not as well as I can, the tom replied. Now sit quietly while Daine does whatever she must to ride with you.
Daine turned her attention to Scrap, hearing the cat’s eyes blink, and the soft pound of her heart.
Are you here yet? asked Scrap, breaking Daine’s concentration.
No, Daine said. Almost. Hold still, and hush.
She listened. That was the sigh of Scrap’s lungs, and her heartbeat. Her stomach growled softly, digesting milk a cook had left unattended.
Scrap yawned. Well? she demanded. Are you ready?
Now you know what I put up with, muttered Blueness.
Daine focused hard, and Scrap gave a squeak. Now the two of them scratched an itch, and looked at Blueness with Scrap’s eyes. He was the most handsome tom she knew, his glossy fur a mix of pure white and sable black. She loved Blueness. She would follow him anywhere, particularly if she could attack his tail. She pounced. Blueness, with the ease of practice, whipped the tail clear and gave her a solid cuff with his forepaw.
Come on, Daine said, and showed Scrap images of Tristan, Yolane, Belden, and the other mages. I’m looking for them.
I can find them, but the female will screech and throw things if she sees me, Scrap replied.
Then don’t let her see you, Blueness ordered. Daine, keep her safe.
I will, and thank you, Daine called as they galloped through the kitchen. Why is he named Blueness? she asked as they trotted up a long flight of stairs.
My mama said when he was my age, he fell into a bowl of color the cook uses on food, and he came out all blue. I can’t believe he would be that undignified, but that’s what my mama said, and she knows everything. Here we are. The man with the yellow magic lets the others visit him here.
“I can’t fit the hand if you won’t hold still,” a man was saying as Scrap entered. She went under a table and peered out. The room was big, with shelves of books along the walls and silk carpets to cushion feet from the stone floor. Scrap, heedless of the expense or quality of the carpet that extended under the table, kneaded it luxuriously, sharpening her claws.
Daine examined the humans. The mage Redfern sat with Gissa of Rachne on a sofa. He worked on a metal skeleton hand fixed to the stump of the mage’s wrist, making tiny adjustments to it with instruments from the table before them. Gardiner leaned against the sofa’s back, watching with interest.
“If Gardiner and Master Staghorn had kept their wits about them, this wouldn’t be necessary!” snapped the woman. Pain had aged her face ten years.
“Recriminations are due on your side of the ledger, Gissa.” That smooth, oily tone could only be Tristan, Daine thought, and she was right. He sat in a chair beside the table where she had taken refuge. “You are no greenling, fresh from the country. Letting bloodrain splash as you stirred it was—”
“Tristan!” cried a feminine voice. The door opened and humans entered. Scrap looked out cautiously, and Daine saw Yolane, Belden, and Alamid. “Tristan, Alamid showed us the warriors at the southern pass in his crystal. That’s the King’s Champion out there, and the Knight Commander of the King’s Own!”
“Alamid shouldn’t worry you with minutiae.” There was more than a hint of poison, and meaning, in Tristan’s voice.
“Minutiae?” cried Yolane. “The Lioness and Raoul of Goldenlake are minutiae?”
Tristan sighed. “My dear Yolane, calm down.” He went to a wine table and filled the goblets there, bringing one to her and keeping one. “If I faced Lady Alanna and the Knight Commander with weapons they have mastered, I might feel some concern. I am not such a fool. Believe me, we were prepared for this. In three days they will cease to be even a mild irritation.”
Belden went to the wine table, drank the contents of one of the goblets Tristan had filled, and poured himself a second drink. “Why?”
“My colleagues and I have prepared a little something to welcome the king’s representatives. It’s called ‘bloodrain.’You might say Gissa already tested the brew for us, and that was before it reached its full potential.”
“She cut off her own hand,” Yolane said.
“It was my hand or my life,” snapped the female mage. “If the poison had gotten into my blood, I would have rotted from the inside out.”
“But how will you poison them?” Yolane asked. She finally sat down in the room’s biggest chair. “Surely they’ll have magical protections on their camp.”
Tristan sat on the chair’s arm, sipping his wine. “I don’t plan to go near them. At sunset the day after tomorrow, I will take the bloodrain to the southern pass, where the river runs through the barrier, and dump it in.” Gardiner shivered. “By sunrise of the next day, there won’t be a living soul in that camp.”
“Or anywhere else for ten miles,” Gardiner said.
Yolane looked at him. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Bloodrain will kill anything that uses moisture from the river.” The cold, metallic voice was Alamid’s. “Animals, plants—it doesn’t matter. The zone of destruction will extend nearly five miles on each side of the river, and ten miles downstream.” All the hair on the cat’s—Daine’s—back stood up.
“For how long?” Belden finished his second cup of wine and poured a third.
“The effects begin to fade after seven years or so,” Gissa replied softly.
“It’s necessary,” Tristan said firmly. “Our departure for the capital is scheduled for a week from today. Nothing can be permitted to interfere.”
“What if they’re warned?” demanded Yolane. “They might withdraw”
“If they do, they should meet the two companies of mercenaries we have been keeping across the Gallan border,” replied Tristan. “I took the liberty of calling them up in your name, and they will be at the southern gate in three days. Gardiner, tell Rikash to warn Captain Blackthorn to bring his own food and water supplies.”
“And Numair Salmalín?” Belden’s drinking hadn’t affected his hands or voice
as he poured another refill. “He’s still in the western pass, isn’t he?”
“I have a net I will use to bottle him up. The emperor wants him alive. It is always a good idea to give His Imperial Highness what he wants.”
“I don’t like it.” Yolane’s face was white under her makeup. “I swore an oath to keep Dunlath safe, when my father gave me his signet. This bloodrain—”
“My dear, you are overscrupulous.” Belden’s tone was scornful. “It isn’t going to kill anything in Dunlath proper, is it? And what will you care, once you sit on Jonathan’s throne? Dunlath is a long way from Corus. Besides, you heard Master Staghorn. It will all grow back in less than a decade.”
Tristan picked up one of Yolane’s hands and kissed it. “Yolane, leave command decisions to your generals. As queen, you must get used to sacrificing the lives of a few for the good of all. Think of this as a masterly stroke, which it is. In one move you deprive the king of his champion and the commander of his most personal guard. Those are tactics you need. You have to convince not only your enemies, but your allies, that you deal promptly with opposition.”
“Believe me,” Gissa added, accented voice quite dry, “once they see what is left of those who interfered with you here, they will hurt themselves for the chance to be the first to swear to you.”
Yolane looked at all the mages, frowning. “Why does it have to wait two whole days? Why can’t you kill them now?”
“Bloodrain takes time,” Redfern told her. “Once combined, the ingredients must brew for three full days and three full nights.”
Tristan smiled at Yolane in a way Daine thought Belden should object to. “You see, Majesty? Everything is under control. You chose your generals well.”
Yolane looked as if she were about to object again, but Tristan put his finger to her lips. She sighed and looked around the room. Her eyes rested on Daine, and her mouth went tight. Picking up her goblet, she hurled it at Scrap, who ducked out the door, soaked in wine. “If I see that cat again, I’ll kill it!” Daine heard her snarl as Scrap raced down the stair.
