Master Wolf

by Rose Estes

  “You will find nothing wrong with my wagons, my drivers, or my animals. And you forget, wolfman, that you are but the guard. I represent the Guild and have the final word on all matters. It is my decision that we take the direct route.”

  “You may represent the Guild, sir, but I am responsible for our lives, including yours, and I will choose my own path,” Mika said hotly.

  “I should have known that Wolf Nomads lack the courage of their cousins, the Tiger Nomads,” sneered the Guildsman. “When I reach Eru-Tovar I will speak to the Guild and tell them of your cowardice. They will not take kindly to the late arrival of this valuable cargo. I will convince them that we have made a mistake in entrusting our caravans to your craven care. The time for treaty-making is almost upon us. I will see to it that we sign an exclusive arrangement with the Tiger Nomads. They are men and do not run weeping like women at the mere thought of danger.”

  Mika stared at the Guildsman, his thoughts in turmoil. No more than one night out and already he was faced with a terrible decision. Mika looked at Hornsbuck for guidance, hoping that the man would step in and take charge. But Hornsbuck merely twirled his beard between his fingers and stared at the ground.

  Mika thought fast. Loss of the valuable Guild treaty was a powerful threat. Enor would not be pleased if Mika brought the caravan in safely but lost the treaty. It would hardly be a fitting tribute to the memory of his father. And it would scarcely win him a place at the fire.

  Finally, he struck on what he considered to be his only option. “All right, Guildsman, we will take the overland route, but let it be known to all that it was by your directive. If we fare poorly, the blame will rest on your shoulders alone.”

  Hornsbuck sighed at Mika’s words, but the Guildsman smiled coldly and, bowing in mock respect, retreated from the fire.

  “Mika, lad, why did you fall for that old trick? Could you not see that he was prodding you, hoping to bruise your pride until he shagged you into doing his bidding? Go after him. Tell him that we will stick to our original plan.”

  TamTur looked from one face to the other, sensing something was wrong. His large, intelligent hazel eyes reflected concern, and he stared after the Guilds-man and growled.

  “No,” said Mika, regretting his decision. “I must do as I said. We cannot afford trouble with the Guild. We will take the overland route. We will leave at dawn. We must make certain that all waterskins are filled and that the men ride armored and fully armed.”

  Hornsbuck nodded unenthusiastically and rose to give the new orders, a glance of contempt over his massive shoulders indicating that the earlier camaraderie had cooled. Probably the man considered Mika a fool, but the Guildsman’s threat to the caravan treaty could not be ignored.

  “Great Mother Wolf, what have I gotten myself into?” Mika muttered, kneading his forehead with his fist. Then, unwilling to sit in the firelight, a clear target for the certain hostility of his men, he rose and stalked into the darkness that lurked on the far side of the wagons.

  He roamed for an hour or longer in the forest, the fragrance of ferns, pines, and roanwood a soothing balm to his troubled mind. He paced the unfamiliar forest floor with little or no thought to the carnivores whose home it was, or to the savage, aboriginal humans, thought to be the remnants of the original Flannae Folk, who lived in the forest and attacked with deadly stealth.

  TamTur was well trained and could be depended on to scent out all danger and prevent it before it occurred. It was a pity, though, Mika reflected, that the wolf could not monitor his wayward tongue as easily as he warded off physical risk.

  One day, Mika’s hasty words might place them into a situation that neither he nor Tam could handle. Once again, Mika resolved, albeit once again too late, to think before he spoke.

  Chapter 7

  THEY BROKE CAMP well before dawn, hurriedly downing chunks of dry mealybread and mugs of steaming coffee.

  The mood was sullen and tense as the men turned the caravan away from the shelter of the forest and headed out onto the open plains.

  All day the party watched their back trail, and scouts rode before them and to either side, searching for threats that did not materialize. They were lucky, and as evening drew near, they found a large pool of clear water in a depression at the foot of a small hill covered with thick sweet grass. The loosely hobbled horses and mules drank deeply and ate their fill and, their bells tinkling pleasantly, settled down to graze through the night.

  “The Great She Wolf, mother of us all, is guiding our steps,” Mika ventured as he sat down next to Hornsbuck who was eating a peppery dish of beans and hart meat.

  “One day. It’s only one day. Don’t be getting your hopes up. They’re out there and they’ll be on us in the flash of a wolf’s tail as soon as they spot us. We’re too rich a prize to pass up. Horses. Weapons. Armor. Goods. If you were stuck out here, wouldn’t you risk all for a try at us? After all, what have they got to lose?” muttered Hornsbuck as he shoveled the hot mixture into his beard-shrouded mouth.

  Wiping the bowl clean with a hunk of mealybread, Hornsbuck tossed the dripping piece into the air where it was caught adeptly by his wolf, a great grizzled male named RedTail, which bore an uncanny resemblance to the nomad.

  RedTail’s fur was heavy and thick, a strange shade of reddish blond that Mika had never seen in other wolves. His body was thick and muscular, almost stocky, with none of the long, lean grace normally found in wolves. His muzzle and ears were short and stubby and covered with a network of old scars. His bright green eyes followed Hornsbuck’s every move, and Mika knew that the bond between them was great. Heaven help the mam who tried to hurt Hornsbuck!

  “Too much open space out here to suit me,” Hornsbuck said. “Gives me the shivers.”

  Mika looked out past the fire and nodded his agreement. Hornsbuck was right; the plains were a desolate place, nothing but rock, scree, greasewood, and an occasional salt bush all the way to the horizon and beyond. By comparison, the spring seemed a magical place and one he would be loath to leave.

  “Have you been here before?” Mika asked the older man. “This seems like such a good spot. Why has no one set up a base camp here, used it as a way station or even a trading post? The water is exceptional, sweet and satisfying to tongue and thirst. I’ve told the men to empty the waterbags and fill them with water from the pool.”

  “Water. Pah! I never touch the stuff myself,” said Hornsbuck and setting his bowl down on the ground he poured himself an ample portion of honeyed mead from the large skin that hung from his saddle. He set-tied himself comfortably in front of the fire.

  “As for this place, I dunno, something funny about it if you ask me, which you did. I’ve never seen it before. It’s not on the map, and I’ve never heard anyone talk about it. And there’s no rogues hanging about. Water on the prairie would draw them like trolls to flesh.

  “Only thing I can figure is that there was a rain, just a little one, see, and it filled the pool and brought on the grass. I’ve known it to happen that way in the desert sometimes. Probably this place will be dust again in a day or two. Just luck, that’s all. Doesn’t mean anything. We’ll still have to be on our toes if we want to reach the city with all our body parts attached.”

  The older man’s sour words depressed Mika, and he felt a strong chill of misgiving pass through him.

  “What do you figure is so important about this cargo that it has to reach the city in such a short time?” Mika asked, suddenly losing his appetite and giving the remainder of his meal to Tam.

  “Who knows?” answered Hornsbuck, easing the heavy beaten metal buckle that cinched the leather tunic around his ample girth. “Guildsmen. Merchants. Pah! What kind of life is that for a man, mewling and haggling over cloth and foodstuffs and fancies that no one really needs. And for what, piles of coins! Fie! May the Great She Wolf take them all and lose them in the forest!”

  “You think that’s all it is?” Mika persisted. “I wouldn’t think that even a Guil
dsman would ask us to take this risk for profit alone. It has to be something more.”

  “Don’t go looking for trouble, lad. It will find you soon enough all on its own,” advised Hornsbuck, growing more mellow as he quaffed his brew. “If there were something valuable on board, we’d know about it. Yon narrow-nose Guildsman would have told us to keep a special eye out, but he has not. This caravan is no different from a hundred others. Go to sleep, lad. Save your strength for the morrow.”

  But Mika could not stop thinking, and long after Hornsbuck had lapsed into a nest of deep, rumbling, mead-scented snores, Mika lay awake, his arms laced behind his head, staring up at the night sky, pondering the problem.

  Hornsbuck’s analysis of the situation appeared sound, with one exception—the heavily laden, squeaking wagon. It was different from the others. True, Mika had not been told to guard it specifically, but the driver was well-armed and looked as though he could protect himself and his cargo if the need arose.

  Mika had continued to observe the wagon all day long and noted that even though it was heavily weighted, it kept pace without difficulty, thanks no doubt to the extra pair of mules.

  Although he could find no complaint with its speed, the shrill screeching of the axle signaled their presence to every brigand and rogue within hearing distance. What could the wagon hold that would weigh it down so?

  Perhaps it was gold. Gold bars were very heavy and would certainly weigh a wagon down and cause the Guildsman to take great risks. No doubt it was being sent to ransom the supposed mysterious princess who had been kidnapped and was being held somewhere by who knows what variety of fiends. Mika would rescue her, slay the brutes, and have the gold—and the royal beauty—as his reward. . . .

  Or maybe it was precious stones being sent to Eru-Tovar to pay homage to a god some nobleman had offended. Yes, that was it. Enor was right. There was no princess. The dead messenger was just trying to sidetrack the Wolf Nomad and appease his gods. But Mika could think of no god who could not be honored in Yecha as well as Eru-Tovar, the gods being much the same, with the exception, Mika shuddered at the thought, of Iuz, demi-god of oppression, deceit, and pain.

  Many of those who worshipped the dark god made their home in Eru-Tovar. But why would anyone make an offering to Iuz? Many answers, all unpleasant, immediately filled Mika’s mind before he could turn his thoughts in another direction.

  “Hornsbuck, you know that wagon, the one that squeaks . . .” Mika began, but only snores replied, erupting from the nomad’s slack lips.

  “Come on, Tam,” Mika said, determined to have a talk with the driver of the wagon. Maybe he could learn something about the cargo and either confirm or deny his suspicions.

  Most of the drivers had abandoned their wagons and were lounging about the central fire finishing their meal. Some few were casting knucklebones with the nomads, thinking them dull country fellows, but Mika knew from long practice, that his fellow nomads could hold their own gambling with any race and likely emerge winners.

  The men crouched on their knees in a circle that had been swept smooth of grass and stone and were throwing a pair of highly polished knucklebones, the ridges of which had been incised with various numbers. The idea was to bet correctly on which combination of numbers would land face up. Nomad pouches would be many grushnicks heavier by morning.

  The wolves were curled up near their chosen humans, licking their rough footpads and grooming their thick pelts. Some were already asleep, noses tucked beneath their thick brushy tails.

  The driver of the squeaking wagon had not joined his associates in their various endeavors but instead sat upon the hard seat of his wagon, alert and watchful.

  “Ho, driver,” Mika hailed the man in a friendly manner. “How went your journey today?”

  “Well enough,” the driver said grudgingly, seemingly reluctant to pass even those few words.

  “Good,” said Mika. “But I think that you would do even better tomorrow if you did not have such a heavy load to pull. Share your load out among the other wagons tonight so that the weight is more evenly distributed.”

  “No,” said the driver in a steady voice.

  “What?” said Mika, startled. Drivers were generally no more than drunkards off the streets or out of the jails who agreed to take the job rather than rot in prison. They had little or no character and usually vanished into the nearest tavern as soon as they reached their destination. There, they drank themselves into oblivion until their funds ran out and they were tossed in jail once more, their only escape another driving job. None had the spine to stand up to a Wolf Nomad, much less defy one!

  Mika gaped at the man, then repeated his request a little less pleasantly, thinking that perhaps the man had misunderstood.

  “No,” the man said quite clearly, not at all intimidated by Mika’s manner. “My beasts are able to bear the load. They will keep up with the rest.”

  “But you are very heavily weighted,” persisted Mika, wondering at the man. “The axle squeals as though it is in pain. Aside from the fact that the strain might break the wheel and cause us to waste valuable time, the noise alone could easily attract just the sort of villains we seek to avoid.

  “Do not be a stubborn man. I am commander of the caravan, and I am giving you a direct order to divide your load among the other wagons. Just what is it you carry that is so damned heavy?”

  “No,” repeated the man for the third time as though he had not heard any of what Mika had said. “I will not shift the load, and what I carry is none of your concern.” And his hand tightened on the handle of his knife.

  Mika’s eyes bulged and he took an angry step toward the man, his hand shifting to the handle of his own knife. Tam snarled and paced restlessly, awaiting Mika’s command.

  Mika reached out, intending to pull the man from his seat and thump him on his ears to improve his hearing, which was obviously faulty. But before he could do so, the Guildsman appeared out of the shadows at the rear of the wagon.

  “What’s the problem, now, Master Wolf?” he asked coldly, giving a sarcastic twist to the tide, deliberately removing any hint of respect from his voice.

  “I gave this man a direct order and he defied me!” Mika said in a strangled voice. TamTur started a growl that rumbled deep in his throat, adding his quiet menace to Mika’s words.

  “What’s the problem, Cob?” the Guildsman asked, directing his question to the driver in a normal tone of voice.

  “He told me to divide my load. I said no,” replied the driver, his hand still on the handle of his knife.

  “Quite right,” agreed the Guildsman. “This load is not to be touched until we reach Eru-Tovar.

  “But it is too heavy,” said Mika, his face growing flushed. And he repeated his earlier arguments.

  “No,” said the Guildsman. A sneer spread across the driver’s face.

  Mika started to speak, then stopped, a smile crossing his own lean features. No need to get into a fight that he could not win. Their voices had already attracted the attention of several nomads and drivers. After all, he thought smugly, there was more than one way to skin a rabbit.

  “All right,” he said calmly. “But be warned, if there is trouble and you lag behind, none will turn back for you. You will be on your own.” And as he strolled away, Tam lingering threateningly, he was pleased to see a look of consternation on the driver’s face as he began to speak to the Guildsman with much waving of arms and hands.

  Late that night, after the last of the grumbling gamblers was sound asleep and the fire had burned down to embers, Mika rose from his bedroll as though he were going to relieve himself, and slipped into the darkness that lay beyond the wagons. He paused to make certain that no one had noticed or followed him, then quietly made his way round the perimeter until he was within two wagon lengths of his goal.

  Stealth was a skill that Mika excelled at, somewhat surprising in a man of his great size. But he could rival even TamTur when he set his mind to it, and he did so now
.

  Together, man and beast crept closer and closer to the secret wagon. Mika looked at Tam and smiled, no words necessary. Tam’s tongue lolled out of the corner of his mouth, and he seemed to grin in return. Many was the time that they had crept up on some unsuspecting prey together in a similar fashion.

  It was Mika’s intent to slip inside the wagon and find out for himself what the mysterious cargo was. The value of the secret cargo soared higher and higher with each thinking. It wasn’t that Mika wanted the treasure for himself, it was just that, well, the commander of a caravan needed to know what he carried. Yes, that was it. After all, how could he protect them adequately if he didn’t know what he was protecting? It was his solemn duty to investigate.

  Mika was within one wagon of his objective when he stopped for one last check. The moon was conveniently tucked away behind a dark cloud. Everything was silent other than the occasional cry of a night bird and the dull tink, tink, tink of the mules’ bells as they snorted and muttered through their dull mule dreams.

  Satisfied that none was about, save he, Mika began to slither forward. Suddenly, out of absolutely nowhere, there appeared near the rear of the wagon the figure of a tiny, wizened little old man dressed in a tattered robe! With a start, Mika crouched behind a bush, almost unable to believe what he was seeing.

  How could it be? Where had the man come from? There were no trees or bushes for him to have hidden behind; the land was entirely open except for the small hill that lay in the opposite direction. It was as though the man had materialized out of the night itself!

  The more Mika stared at the old man, the more familiar he looked. Was it? Could this be the same cloaked figure who placed the stun spell on him at the River Fler? The dark cloak was gone, but the posture was the same and with gnawing fear Mika knew the figure at the river and the man before him were one and the same. But why was he here?