Wolfs Soul

by Jane Lindskold

  Isende visibly relaxed. Firekeeper didn’t need Blind Seer’s nose to know that she was pleased. And why shouldn’t Isende be? She had no family other than Derian. To remain forever on the fringe would become increasingly painful and might, in time, weaken the budding trust between them.

  “This is all good,” Firekeeper said. “We think everyone will feel relieved. If you can go away from the Nexus Islands, then there is nothing to fear, for they know you would never leave if you did not believe everyone will be safe.”

  Derian tossed back his forelock. “Now, if only I can make myself believe that.”

  II

  “WHY DON’T WE start with sort of the truth?” Laria suggested, when the after-breakfast meeting had gone round and round regarding the best way to approach Queen Anitra without making the audience seem too important. “We’ve opened a gate. We’ve found a new land. The people from the new land want to see where their ancestors came from. Since the people of Rhinadei consider Azure Towers about as close to a homeland as they have, we want to bring them there.”

  There was silence as everyone considered. Then Urgana, who could be trusted to be tart if she thought the reaction was merited, gave a dry chuckle. “Perfect! I suggest we approach Loris Ambler, head of the diplomatic corps, rather than sending a request directly to the queen. We can hint that since Wythcombe and Ranz are the first members of Rhinadei to depart for centuries, they are ambassadors. As such, the queen might want to meet them, but we will leave it up to them to decide.”

  “But,” Firekeeper said anxiously, “what if Queen Anitra doesn’t want to see them?”

  Arasan chuckled. When he spoke, his voice held all of his own natural music and all the Meddler’s guile. “Then we hint that there are reasons Wythcombe and Ranz should meet with the queen. We could even make our request to tour the ruins to Loris Ambler. She’s certain to bring that to the queen, especially if we hint that Wythcombe and Ranz are custodians of a dangerous secret. But I’m willing to bet my favorite thumb piano that Queen Anitra will give them an audience. She has her fair share of human curiosity.”

  While the council worked on the letter that would be sent to Loris Ambler, everyone else focused on finding appropriate attire for court. Wythcombe and Ranz had brought nothing fancy with them, and there was a great deal of debate on how they should be dressed. The Rhinadeian’s equivalent of court dress was not too different from the elaborate robes favored by the thaumaturges of New Kelvin. This was no great surprise, since both cultures had evolved traditions rooted from the same source: the days when the sorcerers of old had been dominant.

  “We could present ourselves as non-magical,” Wythcombe said, “but that would only cause difficulties in the future—and I do not need to be gifted with prophesy to know that once opened, gates are not easily closed. Best not to begin our relationship with deception.”

  One of the two gates that communicated with the New World went into New Kelvin. Contact was made and Citrine Shield, a young woman a few years older than Laria, came through, consulted, then took back with her detailed drawings of what Wythcombe and Ranz required. She returned with the promise that her foster father, Grateful Peace, would be able to arrange for appropriate attire and took measurements. Wythcombe requested that his robes be brown touched with harvest gold and green. The obvious theme for Ranz was white, because of his affiliation with cold and snow, but he balked at something so much showier than what his master would be wearing. In the end, cool shades of blue and the dark green of deeply frozen ice were chosen.

  The only payment Grateful Peace requested for this very expensive commission was an audience with Wythcombe and Ranz at their convenience—and Wythcombe found it convenient to make himself available almost immediately. Both Rhinadeians were eager to meet people from other cultures, doubtless so they could get a better sense for the world their ancestors had left behind centuries before.

  This meant that Laria didn’t see much of either Wythcombe or Ranz for the next few days, but she tried hard not to feel to bereft. It was actually easy enough. Getting fitted for her own court attire was surprisingly fun. It hadn’t been that long ago that she’d been grateful for clothing that wasn’t third or fourth hand. To have something that wasn’t only new, but was made specifically for her, was exciting. The Nexus Islands hadn’t settled on anything like standard formalwear, so Laria was aware that what she wore would set precedent. Right off, Ynamynet insisted that those who had a magical gift display some badge or emblem indicating this was the case.

  “We have nothing to be ashamed of,” Ynamynet stated firmly. “Also, in this way we cannot be accused of concealing our strengths.”

  Even Firekeeper surrendered to being fitted with court attire with relative grace, although she did insist that she not be swaddled up in a gown or robe—especially when they couldn’t be certain of their reception. No one argued, since Firekeeper’s reputation as a warrior—which the wolf-woman said was undeserved, since she wanted nothing to do with war, and only used her blade and bow for necessary killing—had been not only established but embellished in ballads and tales. Dressing her in fripperies and lace would only raise suspicion.

  “A wolf in sheep’s clothing,” Derian laughed when he was consulted. “I’m glad those days are over. The trauma of lacing Firekeeper into gowns will haunt me to my deathbed. Design something nice-looking with trousers, a shirt that won’t bind or drag on the arms, and maybe a waistcoat after the Hawk Haven style. I can’t see you in buckled shoes, Firekeeper. Will you wear boots? Going barefoot in the palace would probably be considered impolite.”

  Firekeeper wriggled her toes in mute protest but agreed. Laria’s mother, Ikitata, who had continued with family’s cobbling shop after her husband’s death, was soon doing a rush order on custom boots.

  Laria decided to follow Firekeeper’s example, since she was determined to wear Volsyl if at all possible. Everyone knew that Firekeeper had an obsession about not being parted from the garnet-hilted hunting knife she called her Fang. Laria figured she might as well start establishing herself as having similar rights. A partially finished sheath in the shop fit Volsyl nicely, and Laria stamped it with cresting waves, in honor of the rough seas that protected her island home.

  How to dress Blind Seer for court raised a great deal of debate, since Ynamynet insisted that his talent for magic should not be hidden any more than that of the others. Blind Seer refused to wear a collar, stating with a growl that Firekeeper did not need to translate that he would not be taken for anyone’s dog.

  Laria suggested that the great grey wolf be fit for broad leather bands he could wear on his front “wrists.” She stamped these with a pattern of curving lines that she tinted in brilliant blue (for Blind Seer’s eyes), dark green (for the forests) and gold (because it looked good). The final result was very impressive. Best of all, as Firekeeper put it, Blind Seer could eat the bracers if he got hungry enough. She laughed when she said this, and Laria grinned back.

  Loris Ambler’s reply came within a few days. It indicated that Queen Anitra would give a private audience to the new arrivals and their escort at their mutual convenience. After that, it was only a matter of finishing the fancy clothes, then making sure that everyone had supplies, since they might need to leave directly from the palace for the ruins. After some debate, Wythcombe decided to bring Rusty the goat along.

  “They may speculate that he’s my familiar if they wish,” he said with one of the grins that had been all too infrequent since they’d discovered that Kabot had vanished, “but I suspect that having him trailing along will simply make me look harmless.”

  Which I am not, went unspoken.

  Loris Ambler met them as they came through the gate into a room that shared the very old, very new, feeling Laria was familiar with from the Nexus Islands. The stone walls were covered with intricate bas-relief carvings in which the dark veining within the white stone accented the figures and symbols. Such art, common where gates had been built, hinte
d at an ideology that modern spellcasters admitted had been lost in the eruption of anti-magical sentiment after the coming of querinalo. Ancient art was balanced by fresh wood timbers shoring up doorframes, the scent of beeswax used to polish furniture, in the dozens of little ways that the people of Azure Towers had sought to establish their ownership of this barely understood, yet terribly powerful, magic.

  Sometimes, Laria thought, in our efforts to claim ancestral artifacts, we look like children playing dress-up with their parents’ cast-off clothing. We imagine it fits and makes us impressive but, deep down inside, we know we’re a little ridiculous.

  The people of the continent of Pel tended to pinker skin than anyone else, except maybe for the inhabitants of Tavetch. If, like Derian or Firekeeper, whose ancestors had come from Pel, they spent a great deal of time outside, they darkened to a respectable brown, but if, like Loris Ambler, their livelihood kept them inside, they looked washed-out and pale. Loris’s hair was a golden-brown not unlike Laria’s own, and her eyes a shade somewhere between blue and grey. She wasn’t precisely pretty, but she was well turned-out. Her affect as she greeted them seemed simultaneously relaxed and animated.

  Laria liked that Loris Ambler made no attempt to pretend she wasn’t interested in the strange ambassadorial group. The diplomat even studied Rusty the goat, flinching a little as the goat returned the favor through those oddly perceptive, split-pupiled eyes, before trotting over to nudge Wythcombe for a treat.

  After introductions had been completed, Loris said, “Although I’m sure that it won’t be long before rumors spread that the Nexus Islands has made yet another remarkable discovery, Queen Anitra, in her wisdom, has decided that it would be best for all involved if the revelation be handled as diplomatically as possible.”

  Wythcombe nodded gravely, as if this statement was more than just polite noise. “Absolutely. As Ranz and I explained to the council of the Nexus Islands, Rhinadei is not certain as to whether it would be prudent for us to once again engage in discourse with those lands our ancestors thought best to leave behind.”

  Laria knew this was perfectly true, but she also knew that Wythcombe had chosen his words to make Loris Ambler eager for Azure Towers to make the best impression possible.

  It’s one thing when you think you’re the one being courted. It’s another entirely when the presumed suitor says he may not be interested after all. Wythcombe knows a lot more than just a bunch of spells.

  Loris Ambler blinked a few times as she considered what Wythcombe could mean, doubtless adding subtexts of her own. Then she offered a meaningless smile and said, “The meeting will be small: the queen, General Merial, and Trahaene, one of the queen’s Once Dead advisors.”

  “That sounds wonderful,” Wythcombe replied with an equally meaningless nod. Laria noticed how the archaic pronunciation he gave to some of the vowels had become more pronounced. Was he nervous or was he subtly reminding the ambassador that he was from elsewhere? Laria couldn’t decide. She knew that going after Kabot meant a great deal to the old man—and these were the people who might refuse him permission to do so.

  Since there was no need to rest from their journey, Loris Ambler led them from the gate room, along corridors that were cleared even of guards, up several flights of stairs, until they finally emerged in a windowless room that Laria suspected didn’t appear on most maps of the palace. For all that the room was without windows, it was well lit by magical glow blocks. Once Laria would have seen these as miraculously bright but, after what she’d encountered in Rhinadei, they seemed dingy. The air was perfumed with something spicy and floral that made both Blind Seer and Firekeeper sneeze. Rusty glanced around, as if wondering if the source of the odor was something he could eat.

  “My goat,” Wythcombe said apologetically, “is not house-trained. If you have a place where he could wait without endangering your carpets, that would be wise. You might want to tie him out of reach of any valuable plants, but he won’t raise a fuss if he’s given something—just about anything—to eat.”

  Loris Ambler immediately detailed an attendant, who had appeared as soon as they had entered the secret meeting room, to take Rusty to a garden, “not too far away.”

  Laria wondered why an expression of pleasure flickered across Firekeeper’s face. Certainly, the wolf-woman had shown no sign of disliking the goat. Laria would have said Firekeeper actually appreciated Rusty’s versatility as a pack animal. Then Laria understood.

  With Blind Seer’s sense of smell—maybe even Firekeeper’s own—tracking Rusty would be easy. The goat was as clean as human ingenuity could make him, but he was still a billy goat and, as such, had a strong odor. That meant that no matter how secret the route along which they had been taken to get to this chamber, Blind Seer could lead them out of the building. A little thing, but one that relieved a feeling of being trapped that Laria hadn’t even been aware of to that point.

  A fanfare of trumpets broke through Laria’s absorption. Fighting an urge to cringe and abase herself as she had been taught to do in the presence of the Spell Wielders, Laria offered a respectful bow as Queen Anitra of Azure Towers swept into the room.

  Long before the door opened, Blind Seer heard the armed and armored soldiers approaching. The sounds were muffled by distance and a well-fitting door, but leather did squeak and chainmail did rattle. Nor were those who were marching closer doing anything to muffle the sounds of their approach. For this reason, he perked his ears as a warning to Firekeeper, but did not prepare for a fight. Had threat been intended, surely there would have been some attempt at stealth. Either there was no threat intended or those who were now slowing on the other side of the door believed they were strong enough to overwhelm any threat.

  And if that last, they might be surprised, but I do not really think they intend harm. The ramifications for Azure Towers would be very complicated. As we told the Rhinadeians, Firekeeper has made friends in many places, and so have I.

  Although sound said that Queen Anitra was not unguarded, when the door to the secret meeting room opened, only three people came through. Blind Seer tried to perceive the three as his human companions would, without losing his wolfish impressions in the process.

  Queen Anitra was a woman of middle years. In shades of hair and eye, Blind Seer had found that the Pellanders seemed to be more varied than many humans. Queen Anitra was no exception, although in her case Blind Seer suspected that art was assisting nature. The queen’s hair was a soft honey shade, touched with red. Her eyes were a blue nowhere as brilliant as Blind Seer’s own. More important than their color was their thoughtful expression, graven into her features with small lines. Queen Anitra was about Firekeeper’s height, which was average for a human, but much more roundly built. Her scent—although overlaid with a complex floral medley—said she was healthy. Her dominant emotion was curiosity, sparked with fear when she saw Blind Seer. He took the reaction as his due. It was one thing to hear about a wolf the size of a pony. It was another to encounter one sitting, no matter how politely, in one’s home.

  General Merial was not a stranger, having been in charge of Azure Tower’s forces during the recent war. In appearance, the general was not unlike Queen Anitra, which made sense, since Blind Seer understood they were closely related. However, although the general possessed ample curves, there was no softness to her. Her scent held no fear when she saw the wolves, and her eyes narrowed when she saw that Loris Ambler had admitted several bearing weapons into this private chamber.

  Trahaene the Once Dead was so heavily shrouded in elaborately embroidered robes that seeing him as a living creature was almost impossible. He looked more like a yellow and purple fabric cone with a head on top. That head continued the impression that Trahaene was an object, rather than a living thing, by rising to a sharp point. For all his elaborate garb, the Once Dead did his best to efface himself, projecting in many small ways that he was only there in service to his monarch. Despite the heavy musky scent he wore—obviously habitual, sin
ce the robes were saturated with it—the odor of his sweat came through. The message it carried was complex. Trahaene was interested, apprehensive, fascinated, and worried.

  Blind Seer resigned himself to accepting that he’d never know all the experiences that contributed to this complex blend. Emotionally twisted humans often didn’t understand what drove them.

  After introductions had been completed, Queen Anitra suggested that they take seats in the assortment of chairs set near the center of the room. Other than selecting an elaborately carved, high-back seat, she did not otherwise set herself above the rest. Judging from the way she settled in against the cushions, that simply might be her favorite chair.

  The letter which had been sent to Queen Anitra had only contained the most basic information. Therefore, the first portion of the meeting was occupied with telling her about Rhinadei, then about the Nexans’ visit there. There were numerous questions—especially regarding Blind Seer’s decision to study spellcasting—but mostly the discussion remained focused. Arasan had the storyteller’s gift for vivid detail, and had consulted with Wythcombe as to how to lead up to why it was important that Kabot and his associates be found—and stopped.

  After Arasan reached the climax of his tale—their reaching Mount Ambition to find Kabot gone, having left a message for Wythcombe—Queen Anitra quoted Kabot’s words softly: “‘Someday we’ll come back and let the folks back home know how we did. Sadly, you may be dead by then, having grown old while I didn’t age, which is why I’m leaving you this message.’ I don’t know this Kabot, but that message sounds like a challenge to me. Does it to you, Wythcombe?”

  “It does,” Wythcombe agreed, rubbing his nose vigorously. “Kabot was rarely sentimental. That bit about me dying from old age before he comes back… That sounds like a hint I should try to catch up. Why? I’m not certain, and there is only one way I can find out.”