by Robin Hobb
I walked alone through the wintry streets. A storm was blowing up. The merciless wind prowled the twisting streets, promising snow. The same angry cold twisted and churned inside me, switching from anger to hatred to frustration and back to anger again, building to an unbearable pressure. They had no right to do this to me. I had not been born to be their tool. I had a right to live my life freely, to be who I was born to be. Did they think they could bend me to their will, use me however they would, and I would never retaliate? No. A time would come. My time would come.
A man hurried toward me, face shrouded in his hood against the wind. He glanced up and our eyes met. He blanched and turned aside, to hurry back the way he had come. Well, and so he might. I felt my anger building to an unbearable heat. The wind whipped at my hair and sought to chill me, but I only strode faster, and felt the strength of my hatred grow hotter. It lured me and I followed it like the scent of fresh blood.
I turned a corner and found myself in the market. Threatened by the coming storm, the poorer merchants were packing up their goods from their blankets and mats. Those with stalls were fastening their shutters. I strode past them. People scuttled out of my way. I brushed past them, not caring how they stared.
I came to the animal vendor’s stall, and stood face to face with myself. He was gaunt, with bleak dark eyes. He glared at me balefully, and the waves of hatred pulsing out from him washed over me in greeting. Our hearts beat to the same rhythm. I felt my upper lip twitch, as if to snarl up and bare my pitiful human teeth. I straightened my features, battened my emotion back under control. But the caged wolf cub with the dirty grey coat stared up at me, and lifted his black lips to reveal all his teeth. I hate you. All of you. Come, come closer. I’ll kill you. I’ll rip out your throat after I hamstring you. I’ll feast on your entrails. I hate you.
‘You want something?’
‘Blood,’ I said quietly. ‘I want your blood.’
‘What?’
I jerked my eyes from the wolf up to the man. He was greasy and dirty. He stank, by El, how he reeked. I could smell sweat and rancid food and his own droppings on him. He was swaddled in poorly-cured hides, and the stench of them hung about him as well. He had little ferret eyes, cruel dirty hands and a oak stick bound in brass that hung at his belt. It was all I could do to keep from seizing that hated stick and splattering his brains out with it. He wore thick boots on his kicking feet. He stepped too close to me and I gripped my cloak to keep from killing him.
‘Wolf,’ I managed to get out. My voice sounded guttural, choking. ‘I want the wolf.’
‘You certain, boy? He’s a mean one.’ He nudged the cage with his foot and I sprang at it, clashing my teeth against the wooden bars, bruising my muzzle again, but I didn’t care, if I could get just one grip on his flesh, I’d tear it loose or never let go.
No. Get back, get out of my head. I shook my head to clear it. The merchant regarded me strangely. ‘I know what I want.’ I spoke flatly, refusing the wolf’s emotions.
‘Do you, eh?’ The man stared at me, judging my worth. He’d charge what he thought I could afford. My outgrown clothes didn’t please him, nor my youth. But I surmised he’d had the wolf for a while. He’d hoped to sell him as a cub. Now, with the wolf needing more food and not getting it, the man would probably take whatever he could get. As well for me. I didn’t have much. ‘What do you want him for?’ the man asked casually.
‘Pits,’ I said nonchalantly. ‘He’s scrawny but there might be a bit of sport left in him.’
The wolf suddenly flung himself against the bars, jaws wide, teeth flashing. I’ll kill them, I’ll kill them all, rip their throats out, tear their bellies open …
Be silent, if you want your freedom. I mentally gave him a push and the wolf leaped back as if stung by a bee. He retreated to the far corner of his cage and cowered there, teeth bared, but tail down between his legs. Uncertainty flooded him.
‘Dog fights, eh? Oh, he’ll put up a good fight.’ The merchant nudged at the cage again with a thick boot, but the wolf didn’t respond. ‘He’ll win you a lot of coin, this one will. He’s meaner than a wolverine.’ He kicked the cage, harder. The wolf cowered smaller.
‘Oh, he certainly looks as if he will,’ I said disdainfully. I turned aside from the wolf as if I’d lost interest. I studied the caged birds behind him. The pigeons and doves looked as if they were cared for, but two jays and a crow were crowded into a filthy cage littered with rotting scraps of meat and bird droppings. The crow looked like a beggar man in black tatters of feathers. Pick at the bright bug, I suggested to the birds. Perhaps you’ll find a way out. The crow perched wearily where he was, head sunk deep in his feathers, but one jay fluttered to a higher perch and began to tap and tug at the metal pin that held the cage fastened. I glanced back at the wolf.
‘I hadn’t intended to fight him anyway. I was only going to throw him to the dogs to warm them up. A bit of blood primes them for a fight.’
‘Oh, but he’d make you a fine fighter. Here, look at this. This is what he done to me but a month gone. And me trying to give him food when he went for me.’
He rolled back a sleeve to bare a grimy wrist striped with livid slashes, but half-healed still.
I leaned over as if mildly interested. ‘Looks infected. Think you’ll lose your hand?’
‘S’not infected. Just slow healing, that’s all. Look here, boy, a storm’s coming up. I got to put my wares in my cart and haul off before it hits. Now, you going to make me an offer for that wolf? He’ll make you a fine fighter.’
‘He might make bear bait, but not much more than that. I’ll give you, oh, six coppers.’ I had a grand total of seven.
‘Coppers? Boy, we’re talking silvers here, at least. Look, he’s a fine animal. Feed him up a bit, he’ll get bigger and meaner. I could get six coppers for his hide alone, right now.’
‘Then you’d best do it, before he gets any mangier. And before he decides to take your other hand off.’ I leaned closer to the cage, pushing as I did so, and the wolf cowered more deeply. ‘Looks sick to me. My master would be furious with me, if I brought him in and the dogs got sick from killing him.’ I glanced up at the sky. ‘Storm is coming. I’d better be off.’
‘One silver, boy. And that’s giving him to you.’
At that moment the jay succeeded in pulling the pin. The cage door swung open and he hopped to the door’s edge. I casually stepped between the man and the cage. Behind me, I heard the jays hop out to the top of the pigeons’ cage. Door’s open I pointed out to the crow. I heard him rattle his pathetic feathers. I caught up the pouch at my belt, hefted it thoughtfully. ‘A silver? I don’t have a silver. But it’s no matter, really. I just realized I’ve no way to cart him home with me. Best I don’t buy him.’
Behind me, the jays took flight. The man blazed out a curse and lunged past me toward the cage. I managed to get entangled with him so that we both fell. The crow had made it as far as the cage door. I shook myself clear of the merchant and jumped to my feet, jarring the cage to spook the bird out into the free air. He beat his wings laboriously, but they carried him to the roof of a nearby inn. As the merchant lumbered to his feet, the crow opened his threadbare wings and cawed derisively.
‘There’s a whole cage full of my wares gone!’ he began accusingly, but I caught up my cloak and pointed to a tear in it. ‘My master’s going to be angry with this!’ I exclaimed, and matched him glare for glare.
He glanced up at the crow. The bird had huffed its feathers against the storm and sidled into the shelter of a chimney. He’d never catch that bird again. Behind me, the wolf whined suddenly.
‘Nine coppers!’ the merchant offered suddenly, desperately. He’d sold nothing that day, I’d wager.
‘I told you, I’ve no way to take him home!’ I countered. I tugged up my hood, glanced at the sky. ‘Storm’s here,’ I announced as the thick wet flakes began to fall. This would be nasty weather, too warm to freeze, too cold to melt. By daylight, the
streets would be shining with ice. I turned to go.
‘Give me your six damned coppers then!’ the merchant bellowed in frustration.
I fumbled them out hesitatingly. ‘And will you cart him to where I live?’ I asked as he snatched them out of my hand.
‘Carry him yourself, boy. You’ve robbed me and you know it.’
With that he seized up his cage of doves and pigeons and heaved it into the cart. The empty crow’s cage followed. He ignored my angry remonstrance as he climbed up on the seat and shook the pony’s reins. The old beast dragged the creaking cart off, into the thickening snow and dusk. The market around us was abandoned. The only traffic now was folk hurrying home through the storm, collars and cloaks tight against the wet wind and blowing snow.
‘Now what am I to do with you?’ I asked the wolf.
Let me out. Free me.
I can’t. Not safe. If I turned a wolf loose here in the heart of town, he’d never find his way to the woods alive. There were too many dogs that would pack up to bring him down, too many men who would shoot him for his hide. Or for being a wolf. I bent toward the cage, intending to heft it and see how heavy it was. He lunged at me, teeth bared.
Get back! I was instantly angry. It was contagious.
I’ll kill you. You’re the same as he was, a man. You’d keep me in this cage, would you? I’ll kill you, I’ll rip your belly out and tussle with your guts.
You’ll get BACK! I pushed at him, hard, and he cowered away again. He snarled and whined his confusion at what I had done, but he shrank away from me into the corner of his cage. I seized the cage, lifted it. It was heavy, and the frantic shifting of his weight didn’t make it any easier. But I could carry it. Not very far, and not for long. But if I took it in stages, I could get him out of the town. Full grown, he’d probably weigh as much as I did. But he was skinny, and young. Younger than I had guessed at first glance.
I heaved the cage up, held it against my chest. If he went for me now, he could do some damage. But he only whined and cowered back from me into the far corner. It made it very awkward to carry him.
How did he catch you?
I hate you.
How did he catch you?
He remembered a den, and two brothers. A mother who brought him fish. And blood and smoke and his brothers and mother became smelly hides for the boot man. He was dragged out last and thrown into a cage that smelled like ferrets, and kept alive on carrion. And hate. Hate was what he had throve upon.
You were whelped late, if your mother was feeding you on the fish runs.
He sulked at me.
All the roads were uphill, and the snow was starting to stick. My worn boots slid on the icy cobbles, and my shoulders ached with the awkward burden of the cage. I feared I would start trembling. I had to stop frequently to rest. When I did, I firmly refused to think about what I was doing. I told myself that I would not bond with this wolf, or any other creature. I had promised myself. I was just going to feed this cub up and then turn him loose somewhere. Burrich need never know. I would not have to face his disgust. I hefted the cage up again. Who would have thought such a mangy little cub could be so heavy?
Not mangy. Indignant. Fleas. The cage is full of fleas.
So I wasn’t imagining that itching on my chest. Wonderful. I’d have to bathe again tonight, unless I wanted to share my bed with vermin for the rest of the winter.
I had reached the edge of Buckkeep Town. From here, there were only a scattering of houses, and the road would be steeper. Much steeper. Once again, I lowered the cage to the snowy ground. The cub huddled in it, small and miserable without anger and hate to sustain him. He was hungry. I made a decision.
I’m going to take you out. I’m going to carry you.
Nothing from him. He watched me steadily as I worked the catch on the cage and swung the door open. I had thought he would charge past me and vanish into the night and the falling snow. Instead he crouched where he was. I reached into the cage and seized him by the scruff to drag him out. In a flash he was on me, driving into my chest, jaws going wide for my throat. I got my arm up just in time to shove my forearm crossways into his jaws. I kept my grip on the scruff of his neck and pushed my arm hard into his mouth, deeper than he liked. His hind legs tore at my belly, but my jerkin was thick enough to divert most of the damage. In an instant we were rolling over and over in the snow, both snapping and snarling like mad things. But I had the weight and the leverage and the experience of tussling with dogs for years. I got him on his back and held him there, helpless, while his head thrashed back and forth and he called me vile names that humans have no words for. When he had exhausted himself I leaned forward over him. I gripped his throat and leaned down to stare into his eyes. This was a physical message he understood. I added to it. I am the Wolf. You are the Cub. You WILL obey me!
I held him there staring into his eyes. He quickly looked away, but still I held him, until he looked back up at me and I saw the change in them. I let go of him and stood up and stepped away. He lay still. Get up. Come here. He rolled over and came to me, belly low to the ground, tail between his legs. When he got close to me, he fell over on his side and then showed his belly. He whined softly.
After a moment I relented. It’s all right. We just had to understand each other. I don’t intend to hurt you. Come with me now. I reached over to scratch his chest, but when I touched him, he yelped. I felt the red flash of his pain.
Where are you hurt?
I saw the brass-bound club of the cage man. Everywhere.
I tried to be gentle as I felt him over. Old scabs, lumps on his ribs. I stood, and kicked the cage savagely aside from our path. He came and leaned against my leg. Hungry. Cold. So tired. His feelings were bleeding over into mine again. When I touched him, it was difficult to separate my thoughts from his. Was it my outrage over how he had been treated, or his own? I decided it didn’t matter. I gathered him up carefully and stood. Without the cage, held close to my chest, he didn’t weigh nearly as much. He was mostly fur and long, growing bones. I regretted the force I’d used on him, but also knew that it was the only language he would have recognized. ‘I’ll take care of you,’ I forced myself to say aloud.
Warm, he thought gratefully, and I took a moment to pull my cloak over him. His senses were feeding mine. I could smell myself, a thousand times stronger than I wanted to. Horses and dogs and wood smoke and beer and a trace of Patience’s perfume. I did my best to block out my awareness of his senses. I snugged him to me and carried him up the steep path to Buckkeep. I knew of a disused cottage. An old pig man had once lived in it, out back behind the granaries. No one lived there now. It was too tumbledown, and too far from everyone else at Buckkeep. But it would suit my purposes. I’d put him there, with some bones to gnaw and some boiled grain, and some straw to bed down in. A week or two, maybe a month, and he’d be healed up and strong enough to care for himself. Then I’d take him out west of Buckkeep and turn him loose.
Meat?
I sighed. Meat, I promised. Never had any beast sensed my thoughts so completely, or expressed his own to me so clearly. It was good that we would not be around one another for long. Very good that he’d be leaving soon.
Warm, he contradicted me. He set his head on my shoulder and fell asleep, his muzzle snuffling damply against my ear.
FIVE
Gambit
Certainly there is an ancient code of conduct, and certainly its customs were harsher than ours today. But I would venture that we have not wandered so far from those customs, so much as put a veneer over them. A warrior’s word is still his bond, and among those who serve side by side, there is nothing so foul as one who lies to his comrade, or leads him into dishonour. The laws of hospitality still forbid those who have shared salt at a man’s table to shed blood on his floor.
Winter deepened around Buckkeep Castle. The storms came in off the sea, to pound us with icy fury and then depart. Snow usually fell in their wake, great dumps of it that iced the battl
ements like sweet paste on nut cakes. The great darks of the long nights grew longer, and on clear nights the stars burnt cold over us. After my long journey home from the Mountain Kingdom, the ferocity of the winter didn’t threaten me as it once had. As I went my daily rounds to the stable and to the old pig hut, my cheeks might burn with cold and my eyelashes cling together with frost, but I always knew that home and a warm hearth were close by. The storms and the deep colds that snarled at us like wolves at the door were also the watch beasts that kept the Red Ships away from our shores.
Time dragged for me. I called on Kettricken each day, as Chade had suggested, but our restiveness was too much alike for us. I am sure I irritated her as much as she did me. I dared not spend too many hours with the cub, lest we bond. I had no other fixed duties. There were too many hours to the day, and all were filled with my thoughts of Molly. Nights were the worst, for then my sleeping mind was beyond my control, and my dreams were full of my Molly, my bright-red-skirted candle-maker, now gone so demure and drab in serving-girl blue. If I could not be near her by day, my dreaming self courted her with an earnestness and energy that my waking self had never mustered the courage for. When we walked the beaches after a storm, her hand was in mine. I kissed her competently, without uncertainty, and met her eyes with no secrets to hide. No one could keep her from me. In my dreams.