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He left the saddling of Spots, Mangle, and Cloud to her. She did it quietly, not wanting to rouse the hostlers. Kitten went into her carry-pack, an open saddlebag on Mangle that allowed her to see everything as she rode. At the last minute Numair gave Daine a handful of rags, and motioned for her to cover their mounts’ feet, to muffle the sound of their shoes on the streets. “Did you leave money for our host?” she asked as she held Spots for Numair to mount.
“With a good tip over that, and a note of apology.” He got himself into the saddle, a process she could never watch without gritting her teeth, and motioned for her to mount up. She did so without effort.
Go, she told Spots. He wants silence over speed, I think.
It is just as well, the patient gelding replied, passing the inns gate with Daine and Cloud close behind. He is so tense, I think if I trotted, he would fall off. What’s the matter?
He’ll tell us, the girl promised. Do what you can to make him less tense.
I am a riding horse, not a god, was Spots’s answer.
When they reached the trees where the road along the lakeshore crossed the river that flowed down from the western pass, Numair dismounted. Kneeling on the northern side of the crossing, he scratched a hole in the road, put something in it, and covered it over, patting the earth down firmly. Walking to the southern branch of the road, he performed the same curious rite.
“If you’re leaving an offering to the crossroad god, his shrine is over there.” Daine pointed to the little niche where the god’s statue rested.
“I’m not,” he replied, dusting his hands. He bowed to the small shrine. “No offense meant.” Remounting, he guided Spots onto the track that led west, and beckoned for Daine to ride beside him.
“What’s all this?” she asked. “Usually you give warning if we have to skip out in the middle of the night.”
“I wanted things to seem normal when we got back to the inn, in case someone was listening. We have to get out of here and warn King Jonathan, but I can’t send a message from under this shield. Even if I were to succeed, Tristan and his friends would know of it.”
“And I guess you don’t want them running off before we can get help.”
“Exactly. Whatever is going on at Dunlath is big. Anything in which Tristan Staghorn is involved is a danger to the kingdom.”
“But he said he didn’t work for the emperor anymore.”
“In addition to his other talents, he is an accomplished liar.”
Hearing iron control in his voice, Daine shivered. It took a great deal to anger Numair Salmalín. She would not give a half copper for the well-being of someone who did make him angry. “Then why let us go? Surely he knew when he saw you that there’d be trouble.”
“He let us go because he dumped enough nightbloom powder in my wine to keep me asleep for a century. As far as he knows, I drank it.”
“Did you?”
He smiled mockingly. “Of course not. Those years of working sleight-of-hand tricks in every common room and village square between Carthak and Corus weren’t wasted. The wine ended up on the floor, under the table.”
“He should’ve known you’d see the potion.”
“Not particularly. When we were students, I had no skill in the detection of drugs or poisons. I knew nothing practical. People are impressed that I am a black robe mage from the Imperial University, but black robe studies cover esoterica and not much else. Yes, I can change a stone to a loaf of bread, if I want to be ill for days and if I don’t care that there will be a corresponding upheaval elsewhere in the world. Much of the practical magic I have learned I acquired here, in Tortall. From the king, in fact.”
“But if it’s just Tristan shielding this place, can’t you break through? Oh, wait—you think those other two wizards are helping him.”
He smiled. “There were five mages in that banquet hall. Tristan called Masters Redfern and Gardiner merchants, but if they are, it is only as a cover occupation. They have the Gift, too.”
Daine guessed, “Another thing Tristan doesn’t know you can tell?”
The man nodded. “From the way the others defer to him, he is in charge of what is transpiring here. That means this affair is the emperor’s business. Tristan has been his dog for years—only Ozorne can tell him where to bite.”
“Nice,” growled Daine. “Then Tristan did for the Ninth Riders?”
“I’m afraid so, magelet. It is probable those missing soldiers met the same fate as well.”
“He’s got a lot to answer for,” she snapped. “And that emperor. But why here? Why take an interest in Dunlath, of all places?”
“That’s an excellent question. I would like to have it answered. Ozorne does nothing unless there is something in it for him. What could Dunlath offer the Emperor Mage?”
A half-familiar whisper made Daine look around, then up. Suddenly she felt exposed on the riverbank. “Where can we get under cover?”
“I see trees over there—”
Mangle, Spots, the trees, she ordered silently. Fast!
The horses leaped forward. Numair almost fell before he grabbed his saddle horn. I thought we broke him of not holding onto the reins when he rides, Daine said to his mount as their group hid under the trees.
I thought so, too, replied Spots.
Dismounting, the girl went forward until she could see the sky. A pair of odd shapes reeled overhead, outlined by moonlight, their presence an unpleasant shadow in her mind. It took a moment to identify what she saw: bat wings, spread wide to lift a body not made for flight. Long, wedge-shaped heads craned, searching the ground below. Only when the great creatures gave up and flew north did she see them clearly against the just-past-full moon. They were horses, and something was wrong with their feet.
She had met winged horses. They were shy creatures who tended to keep out of human sight. She sensed them as she could other immortals, and their presence in her mind was never unpleasant.
Returning to Numair and the horses, she asked softly, “If a winged horse is an evil immortal—if something’s wrong with one—would it have a special name?”
“Hurrok,” Numair said. “The name is a slurring of ‘horse-hawk.’ They have a carnivore’s fangs, and claws, not hooves. Their eyes are set forward in their skulls, as a predator’s are.”
“Goddess bless,” she whispered, her skin prickling. “That’s awful.”
“Is that what you sensed? Hurroks?”
“Yes,” she said, remounting Cloud. “And I did once before, too. I think it was the first night we were at the wolves’ meeting place.” Listening to the animal voices all around, she heard familiar ones. She called to them, and they agreed to come. “Let’s wait a moment,” she suggested. “The pack’s near.”
“Daine, I want to be out of this valley by dawn.”
“Don’t worry,” she told him. “I said they’re close, didn’t I? We can ride a little more if it will make you happy.”
“It—stop.” He held up a hand, as if he listened for something. “They know we’re gone,” he said at last. “They’re searching along the net.”
A lump formed in her throat. “What do we do?”
He smiled. “Unveil our insurance.” He raised his hands. Black fire that sparkled with points of white spilled out of his palms, arching up and around him and Spots, who shook his head.
I wish he wouldn’t do this when he’s on me, the gelding said nervously. It’s really very upsetting.
Daine could see his point, but told him, If you’re a wizard’s horse, you should be used to it. And you are a wonderful mount for him—patient, willing, gentle. I know he couldn’t manage without you.
Spots blew through his nose, pleased by the compliments.
Wrapped in a shroud of glittering fire, Numair pointed to the northern road below. Black fire shot from his finger like a lightning bolt, crackling as it flew downhill. Shifting his aim to the south, he loosed a second bolt.
“What was that?” Daine asked, startled
.
“Those things I buried at the crossroads? Once activated, as I just did, they release simulacra of a man shrouded in my Gift, riding hard on the road. Now Tristan has three of me to chase, and the ones that ride north and south will appear much more like the real me than I do.”
But they will see Daine with only one of you, Cloud pointed out. The girl passed it on.
The look on Numair’s face was one of smug satisfaction. “The magical cloak on my simulacra is very large, and very sloppy, enough to cover more than one person. Just the thing a sheltered academic like me would have for concealment, since I’m unused to fieldwork.”
“But they know you,” Daine argued. “They know you handle immortals for the king. Wouldn’t they see you must have learned something practical by now?”
“Magelet, one thing I have learned is that humans cling to their first knowledge of you, particularly if they have no experience of you once you’ve changed. Tristan, Alamid, and Gissa knew me in Carthak, when I was a book-bound idiot.”
Daine shook her head. She thought her friend placed too much trust in the enemy mages’ stupidity.
There was a yip nearby, and the pack streamed out of the trees, Brokefang in the lead. They gathered around the horses, tails wagging. Kitten stuck her head out of her pack and chirped to Russet. Mangle held still unhappily as the wolf braced himself against the cob’s withers to lick Kitten’s nose.
Where are you going? Brokefang asked. Why are the horses’ feet covered?
“The humans are up to no good,” Daine told her friend, speaking aloud for Numair’s benefit. “We have to warn the king, and for that we must get out from under the magic they put over the valley.”
Brokefang backed up so he could see both Daine and Numair. You are leaving?
“To alert the king,” Daine reassured him. “He will stop the mining and the tree cutting.”
I do not know your king. I know only you. You said that you would help us.
“But I am helping,” Daine protested. The other wolves, looking worried, sat down to listen. “We’re going to get help.”
That is help for two-leggers. You are needed here.
“Daine, we have to go,” said the man quietly.
She hesitated. There was something odd in Brokefang’s eyes. Dismounting, she knelt before the chief wolf, tangling her hands in his ruff. Eyes closed, she opened up her mind to his, and his alone, listening hard to the tumble of ideas and images in his skull.
Brokefang was afraid. New thoughts came thick and fast now, more every day, and he did not understand them all. It had taken him this way before, after the girl-who-is-Pack left, in the time when men drove them from their home. Then he had no one to turn to, no one in the pack who would understand and explain these thoughts. He had borne them alone for months, until they slowed to a trickle. The trickle he could bear. Then the girl had come again, and new thoughts roared through his brain like a flash flood.
“Poor Brokefang,” she whispered, rubbing her friend’s ears. “I don’t s’pose wolves get headaches, but if they did, you’d have a grand one.”
“Daine, those simulacra won’t last after dawn!” hissed Numair.
She looked at him. He was keeping an eye on the road to the village and trying not to grip Spots’s reins too tightly. She had to make a decision, and make it fast. He didn’t need her to do what was necessary—she would only distract him. On the other hand, she was the only one who could help this wolf.
Going to Mangle, she undid Kitten’s pack and the pack that held her things. “I can’t go with you,” she said as she worked. “Brokefang needs me.”
“This is no time for sentiment! Here you’re in danger until help comes!”
“And they aren’t?” she asked, indicating the pack. “They’re changed because of me, Numair. Me. I didn’t even know I had magic when this pack saved my life, but my head must have been wide open, and all the magic spilled out. Now they need help to deal with what happened to them when I didn’t know anything. I can’t let them down, Numair. I’m sorry.”
“So you’ll let me down?” He was so worked up that Spots was shifting position nervously. “What if something delays my return?”
She smiled at him. “You know I can fend for myself in the woods better’n most anybody. I’ve my crossbow. I’ll be fine.”
He drew a deep breath. “I could make you come with me.”
She knew only grave concern for her would make him voice a threat, so she bore him no grudge. “Maybe you could and maybe you couldn’t, but while we found out, Tristan would see you doing something your whatchumacallems weren’t.”
“Simulacra,” he corrected automatically. “Whatever.”
He stared down at her, eyes shadowed. “You are too stubborn for your own good,” he said at last.
“That’s what Ma told me, all the time.” Smiling, she added, “If it was you in my shoes, you’d say the same.”
He sighed. “Very well. Stay on the mountainsides. Keep moving. Leave the forts alone, the castle, the village—everything, understand? Otherwise I will chain you in the worst dungeon I can find when I get my hands on you again.”
“Yes, yes,” she told him. “Now scoot. The sooner you leave, the sooner you can return.” Mangle, go with him, she added. It will get you away from the wolves for a day or two.
Thank you, the cob said gratefully. He trotted off, heading for the western pass, and Spots turned to follow.
“Wait,” Numair said. “How will I find you, when I return?”
“Spots will know. Please leave. You still have a ride to the pass.”
The man reached a hand down, and she gave him hers. He squeezed it gently. “Be careful. Stay out of sight.”
“Ill be fine,” she assured him.
Spots trotted quickly after Mangle, muffled hooves thudding on the ground. Daine watched them go, feeling a bit forlorn.
FOUR
BROKEFANG ACTS
He mustn’t worry, Brokefang said. The pack will keep you safe.
“I know,” she whispered. “Besides, who needs humans?” she added more cheerfully, looking at the wolves’ faces. “All they do is slow me down and screech when they see my friends. Most humans, anyway.”
I like the stork-man, protested Brokefang.
So do I, added Short Snout. Fleetfoot, Russet, and Battle yipped agreement.
He is a good pack leader for you, Brokefang went on. Humans are like wolves. We all need a pack. He looked at Cloud, and added, Or a herd.
“Not me,” the girl said, fastening her things to Cloud’s saddle. “I can hunt alone.”
No, Brokefang said. It is not just for food that you need a pack. It is for warmth, and the pack song. The wolf who sings alone is not happy.
We could chat all night, Cloud put in tartly. Or we can get away from here. The first thing the humans will do when they cannot find Numair is send hunters.
We will move faster if you ride, Russet said. Kitten can ride on me, if she promises not to scratch.
The young dragon chirped and tried to climb out of her carry-sack. Daine helped her, and placed her on Russet. Gently Kitten gripped his fur in all four paws, balancing herself comfortably. Daine looked at the odd picture they made, shook her head, and mounted Cloud. Brokefang trotted to the head of the line. The pack followed in single file, with Daine and Cloud bringing up the rear.
They reached the wolves’ meeting place shortly before dawn. Frostfur and the pups were there to greet them. As the wolves celebrated the reunion of the pack, Daine unsaddled Cloud and rubbed her down. The girl noticed that Kitten, still on Russet’s back, ended up as part of the ceremony by accident. To her amusement, and Kittens’s pleasure, the pups waved their tails slightly at the dragon this time, even if they still would not approach her.
Once Cloud was tended, Daine removed her boots and crawled into her bedroll, though she wasn’t drowsy yet. Sharp Nose and Frolic took the pups for a hunt. Most of the others settled around Daine, while Frost
fur lay at the pond’s edge, within earshot. Kitten stretched out by the girl and went promptly to sleep.
Now, Brokefang said, did you speak to the two-leggers?
“Yes. They won’t do anything. They laughed at me. I told you they would.”
Why? Longwind wanted to know. What is there about you that is funny?
“They don’t see me the same way you do. To them I’m only a girl-child. They think they know all there is to know,” Daine told them. “They think they don’t have to listen to me. Would you try to tell an eagle how to hunt?”
No more than eagles would tell a wolf how to hunt, replied Battle.
“To the castle lords and Tristan, I am a wolf telling an eagle how to hunt.”
Did you try? inquired Russet. Did you say they are driving off game and killing fish?
“Yes. They don’t care. They say they can use the valley as they please.”
I didn’t think you would be much help, Frostfur said tartly. What are you good for, except to talk to?
That stung. Daine glared at Brokefang’s mate. “I’d like to see you do any better, Mistress Know-it-all.”
Frostfur bit a flea that was nibbling her backside and did not answer.
“The king will help,” Daine said to Brokefang, wanting him to believe and wait for aid, not try something on his own. “The two-leggers are up to something bad here, and he will set it right.”
I do not know of kings, the wolf replied. To me they are just two-leggers.
Exactly, Fleetfoot said. We have yet to see two-leggers fix the harm they do. To Daine she added, You are not a two-legger to me—you are People.
Longwind sighed. Brokefang’s uncle, he was the oldest of the pack, with gray hairs in the black fur of his muzzle. You were right to act, Brokefang. I questioned you, until you made me submit. I was wrong. At least now we have made a beginning.
Daine sat up, suddenly wary. “What d’you mean, you’ve made a beginning?”
It was fun. That was Russet, whose eyes shone with delight. You should have been with us. Can I show her? he asked Brokefang. Please?
