Wolfs Soul

by Jane Lindskold

  “If they even cared about meeting the Unweaver’s challenge,” Laria retorted, the violence of her feelings surprising her. “Ranz, you still have no idea what having raw power you don’t need to work for does to people.”

  Ranz looked startled, but whatever he might have said in reply was interrupted when Firekeeper began laboriously checking off points on her fingers

  “First,” Firekeeper said, “we take gate to Rhinadei, from there to Mount Ambition. At Mount Ambition, we get the scent of Kabot.” Looking queasy, she lowered her hand to press two fingers over her lips, but managed to finish articulating her thought. “How then we get to him fast without wearing you spellcasters to uselessness?”

  “We can use the mana surge,” Wythcombe said with tremendous satisfaction, “at Mount Ambition. Hopefully Kabot will not have acquired the fourth thread, and so the balance between us will be the same as before. Actually, we should have the advantage, because we have four spellcasters to control our portions, while Kabot has lost his allies and not yet acquired others.”

  The need to reach Kabot before he retrieved the final fragment was what convinced Varelle to let them leave without delay for Mount Ambition. “If we summon the emergency council, at least Orten and Bordyn will argue that the time has come for Wythcombe to turn the pursuit of Kabot over to others less biased. While I might be persuaded on that point, I don’t think Blind Seer and Ranz will be. Moreover, portions of Sykavalkay are in Blind Seer and Firekeeper’s possession. I can’t see them handing the artifacts over to Orten or Bordyn”—her many-colored eyes actually twinkled—“or even to me, who they like so much better. Therefore, we would delay going after a real danger in favor of fighting among ourselves. I suspect the wolves have a proverb about the stupidity of such behavior.”

  “While the pack fights, ravens strip the kill,” Firekeeper interjected in her “Blind Seer voice.”

  “So there we have it,” Varelle agreed, nodding in satisfaction. “I will make explanations. Move along, and quickly. You have very carefully withheld where you intend to go next, but there will be obvious places to check. Some are not as difficult to reach as they once were.”

  I wonder if she guessed, Laria thought, then shrugged. That hardly mattered. Checking Mount Ambition—Kabot’s last stronghold on Rhinadei, as well as a mana surge—would be a logical choice.

  “I take your warning to heart,” Wythcombe said, sounding more like a courtier than a potato farmer. “Then, if you will excuse us…”

  “Go,” Varelle said, making shooing gestures with her long fingers. “May Rhinadei be with you.” She paused, smiled mysteriously, then said, “By the way, based on what you’ve told me, how the threads are named for the lands to which they are tied, I would guess that what you seek is called ‘Guulvalkay.’”

  Kabot had not been at Mount Ambition; the wolves were sure of that. Now Firekeeper stood beside Arasan while Blind Seer and Ranz assisted Wythcombe as he searched for any lead to where his boyhood friend might have gone. Laria had been enlisted as well, and was drawing lines and placing a variety of peculiar items where indicated.

  Based on her scent, Laria had mostly given up on Ranz as a romantic prospect but, ironically, seeing Laria in danger had made Ranz almost courtly. He wasn’t precisely being romantic, but he was a lot more inclined to pay her attention. Laria was not so “over” Ranz as to not be flattered. For her part, Firekeeper enjoyed seeing the younger woman blossom. Nonetheless, when she considered what they still faced, the wolf-woman grew somber.

  Tilting her head in a wolfish query and lowering her voice, Firekeeper asked Arasan, “Have you taken scent of this other Meddler?”

  “I have tried not to do so,” came the prompt reply. “I trod the edges of the spider’s web before because we had no other way to find Laria. Now that we’re closer, and Wythcombe can hopefully get us where we need to go, I’m taking great care not to alert the spider. That doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten her. I’ve been thinking hard about why Kabot’s meddlesome friend might have chosen to get involved. The more I consider possible reasons, the less I feel good about what seems most likely.”

  He paused and Firekeeper made an encouraging noise deep in her throat.

  “Both Uaid and Daylily say that their Voice was the one who directed them to go after Sykavalkay. Gaining a thread or two of Jyanee’s creation was originally presented to the rebels as a way to gain the power and respect necessary to negotiate as equals when they finally made contact with blood mages. That explanation only makes sense until you know the reality of our post-querinalo magical world. All three of the Rhinadei rebels are quite powerful—especially by our current standards. Any of the Old Country nations would have welcomed them, especially since they would have arrived as supplicants, not conquerors. So, although this Voice’s explanation would have made sense to Kabot’s rebels, it doesn’t when you know the reality.”

  “So you are thinking,” Firekeeper said, alert as if she’d just realized that what she’d taken for deer tracks were actually those of some far more menacing creature, “this Kabot Meddler wants Sykavalkay for herself, but needs human sorcerers as hands and feet. Do you think this one is as you was, trapped, looking to be free?”

  Arasan’s head shook hard. “No. That doesn’t feel right. Then I had to struggle just to communicate. Their Voice is flitting all over the globe, rescuing sorcerers, showing far too much flexibility. Did I ever tell you that most Meddlers come to crave immortality? This other Meddler felt very, very old to me. Now consider this: the coming of querinalo, and the subsequent lack of miracles would have considerably dented the organized worship that supplied mana to the Meddlers.”

  “And the mana is what the immortal ones eat,” Firekeeper finished. “I see. This Sykavalkay ties into ridiculous amounts of mana. Finding it would be like a starved yearling stumbling on a gutted moose at midwinter. Would this old Meddler have the sense not to gorge?”

  “I wish I knew,” Chsss said. “I’d like to believe so, but hunger and dread are a bad combination. If this friend of Kabot’s knows we’re on her trail, then I’m not sure how wise she’ll be.”

  “If this Kabot friend gorges,” Firekeeper said somberly, “then she could suck the life not from mere living creatures, but from the land itself. Will we be able to stop such a one?”

  Chsss shrugged, but with somewhat less than his usual insouciance. The worry lines around Arasan’s warm-brown eyes deepened. “I don’t think we have a choice. It’s stop her or see much of what we love be destroyed.”

  Dinner—as Kabot chose to think of his glorious meal, having no idea what time of day it actually was—gave Kabot enough energy to set out to find where the entrance to the subterranean complex was.

  “You can’t just lead me there?” he asked after they had searched one wing of the building.

  “I’m sorry. I can’t. This place has been remodeled since I was last here. I did show you where the entrance from the wine cellar used to be.”

  “True enough,” Kabot admitted grudgingly. “You did.”

  In an area rife with mana surges, magical means of detection were all but useless. Kabot had to resort to measurement and routine architectural logic. Zazaral’s tip about the wine cellar was useful in one way—Kabot had been able to rule out a large portion of the sprawling palace as unlikely. He was about to expand his search parameters when he found the false back to a larger than usual supply closet. Using spells routinely taught in Rhinadei, he inspected the backing section by section until he found the alarms that would go off unless the proper opening sequence was followed. Worse, in addition to physical locks, there were magical ones as well.

  “This is going to be a pain,” he said, rocking back on his heels. “Whoever set this up probably had a key or keys, maybe even actual physical keys, since they might have wanted to make sure someone without magical ability could get in here.”

  “Sorry, I don’t have keys, physical or otherwise.”

  “Well,” Kabot said,
shoving himself to his feet and putting his hands behind his head for a joint-popping stretch, “then we’re going to need to do this the slow way, undoing each spell and lock in sequence. Before I can do that, I need something more to eat and then some sleep.”

  “There’s ample mana to tap here,” Zazaral reminded him.

  “There’s ample water in the ocean, too,” Kabot snapped, “but if you want to use it to put out a fire, you still need buckets. I, my dear immortal, am your humble bucket. If you don’t want me to leak, I need to restore my focus.”

  Kabot expected Zazaral to offer some caustic reply, but there was nothing but silence.

  Although Laria had paid careful attention as Wythcombe muttered and murmured his way through various workings, she was startled when Wythcombe announced that he was ready to create a transportation spell.

  “So you know where Kabot went?” Laria asked. “I mean, you’ve told us over and over that you can’t create a transportation spell until you know where you’re going.”

  “True enough,” Wythcombe agreed affably. “Based on the workings we’ve done here, I’m making an educated guess. There’s an old castle in the right direction and general distance that would be the sort of place to attract Kabot. I’ve been there several times, so I can take us there. Like Mount Ambition, it’s located near a mana surge. So if I have guessed wrong, then we’ll have ample mana to draw on for further analysis.”

  He rubbed his chin and chuckled. “It will also take us away from here—which is certain to be one of the locations Orten or Bordyn will check once they realize we have returned.”

  Laria wanted to ask more, but she decided against it. Firekeeper was looking very tense. Chsss had stopped making obnoxious comments hours ago. If Kabot was there, she’d learn more then. If not, getting all the details in advance would have just been a waste of time. She grinned to herself. Firekeeper was definitely having an influence on her.

  Setting up the transportation spell took half a day, even with ample mana to draw on. Ambient mana could save spellcasters from having to draw on their own, but it didn’t replace physical exhaustion or increase the attention needed for delicate calculations. When they were done, Ranz’s and Wythcombe’s usually warm-brown skin was washed with grey. Arasan didn’t get any argument—not even from Firekeeper—when he insisted that they eat and sleep.

  The wolf-woman did wake them at dawn, but insisted that everyone have breakfast, “Because we don’t know when we’re going to eat again.”

  When Wythcombe activated his spell, Firekeeper and Blind Seer dove through the temporary portal as one, with Farborn clinging to Firekeeper’s shoulder. The rest followed nearly as quickly, Wythcombe, who closed up his casting behind him, taking care to erase any signatures that would make it easy to pursue them.

  Laria stumbled slightly when she exited the short corridor created by the spell and her feet encountered rough, pebbly terrain. Ranz caught her arm and steadied her.

  “Thanks!” She flashed a smile up at him, but Ranz wasn’t looking at her. When Laria followed the direction of his gaze, she immediately forgot the warmth of his hand where it still gripped her arm.

  A dark stone fortress crouched atop a craggy ridge like some impossible creature. The fortress had been built of a brown-black basalt quarried from its immediate surroundings, creating the impression that the building had grown there, rather than being built. Maybe it had been.

  The castle’s lines were rounded and wandering, with at least two domes rising like humped backs. There were no watchtowers. Then again, set high on the land as it was, this brooding fortification needed no towers to survey its surroundings. Laria shivered as she imagined Kabot—and even worse, his Meddler—staring down at them from one of the narrow slit windows.

  “Above us stands the Fortress of the Mended Shield,” Wythcombe said, staring into the rough crystal that topped his staff. “Kabot is near, probably within. Varelle and I speculated that this was one of Kabot’s likely destinations, but I had hoped we were wrong, because getting inside is going to be nearly impossible.”

  “The Mended Shield?” Ranz sounded puzzled. “You say that as if we should know the name, but if I haven’t heard it, then certainly our outlander friends have not.”

  Wythcombe sank down to seat himself on a rock. “It isn’t a story you would know, Ranz. Even your parents might not have heard it.”

  Despite her tension, Laria actually laughed. “This isn’t another story about how Rhinadei isn’t quite as perfect as everyone thinks, is it? You know, I think you people have a problem with facing reality.”

  Wythcombe looked shocked, then started to chuckle. “Indeed we may. Make yourselves comfortable while I tell you about the Mended Shield. If the senior counsel doesn’t like my choice, that wouldn’t be the first time.”

  Ranz let go of Laria’s arm and moved promptly to obey. Firekeeper leaned against Blind Seer, who managed to look both alert and impassive. Laria guessed that while the wolf’s ears would attend to Wythcombe’s lecture, his other senses would be gathering information about their surroundings: magical or otherwise. Farborn had been performing an aerial survey. Now he dove down to settle on Laria’s shoulder. Laria felt pleased that not even the Rhinadeians felt a need to ask the merlin if he had seen anything significant. Their trust in his judgement had become unquestioning.

  “You will not be surprised,” Wythcombe began, rubbing one short-fingered hand over his brow as if his head ached, “to learn that Kabot’s cabal was not the first group to attempt to depart Rhinadei for lands where the anathema art was still practiced. During one of those departures—whether by accident or on purpose—the shield that separates Rhinadei from the world without was damaged at this very location.”

  He waved his hand toward the castle. “I will not go into how many anchor points there are for the shield. That is neither necessary nor politic. What you do need to know is that after the shield was damaged and repaired, additional defenses were erected. A variation of the shield was extended to keep anyone from getting inside the fortress. Lowering this from the outside takes collaboration from an assortment of high-ranking sorcerers.”

  Ranz shook his head in evident dismay. “I agree with Laria. I think those of Rhinadei could be taught a more honest version of our history. Maybe I need to become one of these

  ‘high-ranking sorcerers’ and work to change that policy.” The grin he flashed was both impish and impudent, but faded instantly. “Do you think Kabot plans to break the shield?”

  Wythcombe nodded sadly. “That seems likely. My divinations show that, as we suspected, the last portion of Sykavalkay is here. If Kabot combines it with what he already holds, he’ll have ample mana to shatter not just this point, but the entire shield. Or perhaps he’ll choose to leave the shield intact and take some twisted vengeance on Rhinadei. I no longer feel I know him well enough to do more than dread.”

  When Kabot next awoke, he departed the small apartment, then wandered about the complex until he found a window. Based on the light, he guessed it was about dawn. Which dawn of what day was anyone’s guess. Despite a growing sense of unease, Kabot returned to the apartment and made himself eat a decent meal. Then he availed himself of a chance to properly clean his teeth and wash. If all went well, he’d be leaving here today. Who knew when he’d have such pleasant accommodations again?

  Zazaral had been very quiet since their disagreement but, as Kabot was packing up his belongings, she spoke. “I’ve been doing what I can to scout for Wythcombe and his group. No sign of them yet.”

  The “yet” was slightly emphasized, but Kabot ignored that. Instead he replied with a punctiliously courteous “Thank you very much.”

  He considered whether or not to ask Zazaral if she was planning to accompany him into whatever was hidden behind the false door of the supply closet, then decided not. What would he do if she said “No” or insisted on renewing their disagreement? After all, whether or not she came with him, he knew where he must g
o.

  Two good meals and some real sleep had done a great deal to recover Kabot’s confidence. Once in the supply closet, he tapped into a thin stream of mana that he suspected had been channeled into the palace to facilitate domestic arts. If he had more time, he would have tried to learn if the stream was older or more modern. For now, he decided to be grateful that it was there.

  Disarming the wards and locks that held the false back onto the supply closet was easily done. Most Rhinadei mages learned such tricks when on reclamation missions. The sorcerers who had ruined the land had never believed that they were facing a final, destructive catastrophe, so they’d locked up behind themselves, much as a housekeeper heading off to market might, fully expecting to return.

  The corridor behind the panel was dimly lit by a pair of glowing ribbons, one near the floor, one higher up. Kabot channeled some of the ambient mana to brighten the higher ribbon, and inspected his surroundings with vision attuned to both magical auras and his more mundane sense of sight.

  “Looks as if this corridor was cut relatively recently,” he said, not knowing if Zazaral would answer. “The signature is that of a more modern spell.”

  “Probably done during the remodeling,” Zarzaral replied, “when the entry I was familiar with was sealed off.”

  Kabot placed a hand on the floor, seeking a magical pulse similar to that of the two threads he possessed. Finding it was akin to isolating the voice of a single singer in a choir when you were not even certain if that singer was participating. One by one, he silenced the pulses that could not be the one he sought, then, faintly—when he was about to resign himself that this was not the route to where Guulvalkay was being kept—he felt it. Guulvalkay’s vibration was muffled but not sealed, as that of Palvalkay had been. This was closer to how Xixavalkay had felt when buried within that macabre statue: dormant, but in use.