In a Wolf's Eyes

by A. Katie Rose

  “That’s not possible.”

  Kel’Ratan’s low voice broke into my own stunned reverie, echoing the words that rose to my lips.

  Rygel glared at us both, almost flinging Wolf’s arm down in his fury. “Do not dare to suggest what is impossible or possible around me,” he said, acid dripping from his tone. “I do hope you’ll not question my abilities again. One thick-witted oaf among us is quite enough.”

  I sank back down onto my chair, unable to tear my eyes away from the sight of Wolf’s magically healed arm. Lady’s blood, I thought. That is the answer. Rygel could indeed heal Bar. Until now the answer to the problem of how to get a wounded Bar out had ceaselessly nagged at me. If Bar could neither walk nor fly, how could we rescue him?

  Before this moment, I despaired over our plan to free him ever working. I closed my eyes in a brief prayer of thanks to the Lady for surely she sent them to us for this purpose.

  Rygel’s heated voice interrupted my elation. “You are too quick to judge me,” he growled. “You think of me as an evil, as Brutal’s pet wizard. You think I did what I did willingly. Your Royal Highness has no clue, none at all.”

  I stared into his fierce amber eyes, seeing something I never thought I would ever see: pain. The pain in Rygel’s eyes, in the set of his jaw, the grief, the self-loathing, brought a sudden block in my throat. I swallowed, trying to dislodge it.

  “Have you never done anything you regret? Are you so perfect?”

  That stopped me cold. Unwillingly, my thoughts turned back to that bloody day not so long ago when two men died. That terrible, fateful day when a man who loved me committed murder, and I executed him. Both of them died because of me. Of course, I have.

  “You have no idea what it cost me to hurt those people. None whatsoever. I care not for your sympathy or forgiveness, the souls of those people I was forced to torture will haunt me into the grave.”

  “Why—” I began, and had to swallow harder to get my voice past the lump. “Why don’t you tell me.”

  His lip curled, adding to the disdain his handsome blonde looks engendered. “No thanks. Just know this: you don’t know a bloody thing.”

  Fair enough, I thought. Whatever his secret torment, perhaps we might one day trust each other. Or not.

  Kel’Ratan stirred, breaking the chill between Rygel and me, and drew a ragged breath. “Now what?” he asked, gesturing toward Wolf’s unconscious body.

  Rygel looked suddenly weary, raked his hand through his shaggy yellow hair. “He’ll sleep for a few hours then wake as stupidly bullheaded as ever.”

  “Will Bar need to sleep, after?” I asked.

  Shrugging, Rygel sat back down on the floor, resting his head against Wolf’s lax knee. “I don’t know. I have never tried healing a griffin before. He may have the strength to remain awake.”

  “He will have to,” Kel’Ratan rumbled. “There’s no other choice.”

  Chapter 11

  The Formation of a Simple Plan

  I woke to a dark thumping headache and Rygel snoring softly beside me. I found I shared one of the small beds with him while Ly’Tana slept in the other. Four of her henchmen remained in the tiny room, two stood on guard to either side of the door. The other two sat in the far corner, sharpening their swords and talking softly.

  Redhead, or Kel’Ratan I now knew his name to be, sat in my chair and watched out the window, studying the street below. On watch. I surmised the remainder of her little band now bunked in the barn, for I knew the rest of the inn was filled to the rafters with uneasy guests.

  My gut told me it was well after midnight. Kel’Ratan’s warrior instincts told him something in the room had changed and he turned his head slowly to study me. I did not attempt to hide my eyes from the faint sheen of moonlight that came through the window. For a long moment, we held each other’s gazes, locked in what to me was a mutual appraisal, a lifting of hostilities. In that look, we agreed to a truce outside our word given to the Princess Ly’Tana. He then turned away to resume his scrutiny of the city outside.

  Despite Rygel’s occasional elbow thump to my ribcage, I lay relaxed and comfortable, my headache receding slowly. Staring at the black ceiling, I pondered a thought that drifted into my head. I had the beginning of a plan. Would Brutal have anticipated a move such as I considered?

  Hours passed before I slept again.

  * * *

  “How did you change your eyes? And hair?”

  Princess Ly’Tana’s question startled me as I sat on the floor, organizing into a semblance of order tin cups, platters, utensils and a plain wooden tray. I glanced at Rygel, sitting on the bed, yawning and scratching his bristly chin. “His magic.”

  Despite our agreement and the lifting of hostilities, I could not help but feel lingering resentment. Had they come to us, open-handed, and asked our help, I probably would have agreed to help them. A place of safety in Kel’Halla was a tempting offer. As was the gold. What I could do with that much gold…damn. High-handed royalty, I thought. They always used force when a soft touch was all that was required.

  “I see.” She continued to study me as I resumed my work, but her scrutiny caused the blood to rise to my face. Gods, I hated blushing.

  “Those eyes of yours are too unique for safety,” Kel’Ratan commented, sharpening his dagger on a whetstone. “You may have disguised them, but you yourself may be recognized. You’re well known.”

  Not my bloody fault. You came to me, remember?

  Ly’Tana folded her legs and gracefully crossed her legs to sit down next to me. What was the protocol for greeting royalty who sat cross-legged on the floor like a serf? Was I to rise and bow, kiss her hand, prostrate myself? What? I glanced at her serene expression from under the fall of hair over my brow. Again, her striking green eyes set off by her exotic angular features, and thick tumble of hair set my pulse to pounding with an insane beat. Gods above and below. I didn’t know if I liked her or not and yet my pulse danced when she was near. Did this happen normally to men when women were around? Did she know of the effect she had on me? Her astute cousin no doubt did. Or he would unless I took steps to hide it.

  I glanced about the room, eyeing the warriors standing guard around us. Two stood, one to either side of the room, so identical in looks and dress, I blinked. They wore twin sleeveless leather tunics, leather breeches and thin leather browbands holding back black hair the exact same shade and length. Both had slender collars of beaten copper around their throats, a hoop earring of the same composition in their right ears. Both had sets of brown eyes exactly the same shade, cheekbones angled at the exact same slant. Identical weapons of sword, dagger and horsebow set in the same leather sheaths. Both wore the very same blank, fierce expression common with warriors, and held exactly the same amount of neutrality as they stared at me. They even breathed in complete unison. So alike they were in every aspect, I wondered if I saw double. I blinked to clear away any defects in my vision. Kel’Ratan’s next words told me I had none.

  “They are twins,” he said. “If they talk, I’ve never heard it. But they can fight better than anyone I’ve ever seen.”

  He turned an amused smile on me. “We call them Left and Right. They’ve been called that for so long, even I can’t remember their true names.”

  Left and Right made no sign they understood what we spoke of, never blinked, never scratched an itch. Just stared. Kel’Ratan continued, still smiling in a manner more friendly than ever before.

  “If one is injured, the other feels the pain. Aye, they ride identical horses, too. Should one of the horses die or go lame, they find another pair of identical mounts.”

  Left and Right continued to stare at me.

  I shrugged inwardly, dismissing them for the moment. Deciding the princess expected no ceremony from me, I returned to the design I created on the floor. I pondered a moment, added another cup, a spoon and a few unburned twigs from the hearth. Behind me, Rygel shifted his position to lean over for a closer look.

>   “Aren’t you a bit old for playthings?” he asked around another smothered yawn.

  “What are you doing?” Ly’Tana asked on the heels of his question.

  I dared not look at her again if I wanted concentration. Withering Rygel with an irritated stare instead, I picked up a longer twig for a pointer and waggled it over my careful arrangement.

  “This,” I said, “is the arena and adjacent buildings.”

  “Ah.” Rygel lay flat on his stomach to peer over my shoulder, and Ly’Tana scooted closer. Her thigh innocently brushed mine in the small space, making my heart tumble over itself. Too many people in this tiny room, I grumbled inwardly. That was why I felt suddenly hot and sweaty. Should I ask Kel’Ratan to open a window? There were too many people in this room, breathing all the air, adding their warmth to a stifling room. That was it. Even Kel’Ratan left his seat by the window to squat on his heels beside her, creating more heat.

  “You have a plan then?” she asked.

  “Er,” I started, fighting another urge to look at her. “Some ideas, perhaps.”

  Using the twig as a pointer, I tapped the wooden tray. “This is the Grand Arena. Where the people come to watch us fight. Over here,” I waved the twig over her bent knee, “is the palace. Underneath the Arena are the slaves’ barracks, the armory, kitchens and, of course, stables for exotic fighting animals that may be pit against slaves or prisoners. Lions, boars, tigers, dogs and the like.”

  I shot her a glance to see if she understood, her quick eager nod encouraging me to continue.

  “Here,” I tapped the largest platter, “is the training arena. Like the arena, it’s open to the sky yet has no underground facilities. There are guard stations here,” I tapped a cup, “here, here and also here. No doubt they brought your, er, pet—”

  “Bodyguard.”

  “—bodyguard through these doors.” I pointed my stick at a tiny twig perpendicular to the platter/arena and between two guard stations/cups.

  I pointed to a table knife that lay between the main arena and the training grounds. “This is an underground tunnel that runs between the two grounds. Past High Kings have used it to bring slaves back and forth out of the public eye and out of the weather. Now it’s still open, but hardly used and mostly forgotten. There are others, here and there, some used still, mostly not.”

  With my stick pointer, I brought their attention back to the small twig. “No doubt the High King expects your attack to come here,” I went on. “It is the only entrance into or out of the grounds and building. I expect it to be heavily guarded and defended, if he hopes you will try to stage a rescue.”

  “What will the guards be armed with?” Kel’Ratan asked.

  “Swords, spears, crossbows,” I replied, glancing up at him. “Perhaps a few stray halberds and pikes.”

  He grunted. “I don’t like the idea of charging straight between them. ’Tis suicide.”

  “And it’s exactly what they expect.”

  I finally met Ly’Tana’s astonished gaze. “They will have more troops hidden behind these fences and shrubbery that line the avenue.” I gestured to lines of spoons on the floor. “You will see only a handful of guards in the stations, a small number to tempt you in. Once your warriors are committed, they will cut you down with crossbows from both sides.”

  “Then this is hopeless?” Ly’Tana asked, her voice rising slightly. “If that is the only way in and they are expecting us—”

  Her voice trailed off as she stared into my eyes. I smiled and gave her the ghost of a wink. “I didn’t say that, Your Highness.”

  “But you said—”

  “Indeed, it’s the only entrance.” I emphasized the word. “It is not the only way into the grounds.”

  Rygel tapped me impatiently on the shoulder. “Then get on with it, you lummox. Stop teasing us.”

  Obediently, I waved my wand to the left of and above the platter at a much smaller dish that once held olives. “These are the quarters of other slaves. They comprise primarily slaves who work outside the palace, gardeners, construction workers, garbage haulers, and the like. Mind you, they are non-combative, mostly owned by the royal family, but also some slaves owned by military officers.”

  I looked up to find every pair of eyes in the room, warriors included, on me. Varying expressions of amusement, annoyance, disbelief and hope stared at me. Ly’Tana’s folk gave up all pretense of ignoring our conversation and stared along with Ly’Tana and Kel’Ratan. Even the twins craned their necks, similar expressions of hope on their matching faces. While I was used to being the center of attention, being the focus of these people disconcerted me. While I did not know why this should be, I chose to ignore them and speak to only one pair of eyes. Kel’Ratan’s.

  I went on. “This originally was a construction hut where workers lived while the Arena was built centuries ago. Deep beneath this building are dirt cellars. The slaves store a few personal possessions there, things they don’t want found as the cellars are seldom searched. Down there is what we seek.”

  “Which is?” Ly’Tana asked, her voice light and eager and much too distracting if I listened too closely.

  “A wall.”

  Rygel snorted. “We risk our lives for a wall? I know you’re pretty thick, Raine, but even you can’t be that thick.”

  I ignored his jibe and continued as if he had not spoken. I scratched at the incessant itch my growing beard caused. “Behind that wall is a tunnel that leads to the training arena. Slaves used it to escape and it was eventually bricked up on both ends.”

  Now Kel’Ratan snorted. “I am agreeing with Rygel. What use is a passage we cannot use? You’re not making much sense, gladiator.”

  At least he promoted me from “slave” to “gladiator,” I thought with wry amusement. Only Ly’Tana waited to hear what I had to say, her eyes expectant, hopeful.

  “You’re not listening,” I said to them, but my gaze never left her face. “That was done centuries ago. The mortar has all but dried to the consistence of dust. I expect one good kick would bring the entire wall down.”

  At their sudden indrawn breath, I glanced up. “I studied the walls once, years ago, pondering it as a means of escape.”

  “Then why didn’t you use it?” Kel’Ratan asked, now suspicious.

  “You yourself said it: I am too well known. Had I escaped, Lionel would have turned the Federation upside down to find me. Alone, then, I wouldn’t have lasted ten minutes.”

  I could all but feel them weighing the risk of my presence with them, endangering them, my changed eyes, blond hair and beard, or not. All it would take would be for recognition to have the entire Federation about our ears. I shrugged inwardly. Ly’Tana knew of my fame and knew I was also a fugitive. If she had not felt the risk was worth the reward, she would not have come to us.

  Nor did she seem to have any reservations. “What’s in that tunnel?”

  “That’s an excellent question,” I answered. “I don’t know. There may be cave-ins. I suggest we bring along pickaxes and shovels just in case.”

  “And a good pickax might bring the wall down if your kick doesn’t do it,” Rygel commented. “What about the slaves in their quarters? Won’t they raise an alarm?”

  “That where you prove your usefulness,” I replied, amused as Rygel bristled indignantly. “They can’t raise an alarm if you put them under a sleeping spell.”

  “Can you do it?” Ly’Tana asked him, her eyes shining with hope.

  “My dear Highness,” he began in his slow drawl, which I knew was Rygel at his worst. I poked him sharply in the shoulder with my stick before he could draw another breath. He shot me a black look, rubbing the sting out of his shoulder.

  “Aye, yes of course,” he snapped, irritated. “Naught easier.”

  “Why couldn’t Rygel bring the wall down with his magic then?” Kel’Ratan asked. Ready to answer that, I opened my mouth to reply when Rygel forestalled me.

  “Magic isn’t like a bottomless well,�
� he said with more patience than I had given him credit for having. “While I am more powerful than most magicians, healing power takes the most from me. Despite what you know of me, I trained first and foremost as a healer. I must reserve all I have for Bar. He’s big and will probably drain me.”

  “I have seen him after a healing,” I continued for him. “It will take almost all he has to heal your griffin. If we need his magic after that—well, we best not count on it.”

  Kel’Ratan grunted his assent, his brows furrowed. What his thoughts might have been, I had no idea. His blue eyes hid his thoughts and feelings better than most. Ly’Tana merely nodded without speaking.

  “And the gladiators on the other end,” I reminded them. “I do not want them harmed. Rygel must use his powers on them as well.”

  “How big is the passage between?” Kel’Ratan asked, raising his head.

  “I’m guessing by the size and height of the wall three men could walk abreast,” I replied. “How big is, er, Bar?”

  Ly’Tana and her cousin exchanged an uneasy glance. “That may be tight,” Kel’Ratan said. “He’s bigger and taller than three men are wide.”

  “But he can do it,” Ly’Tana said with renewed confidence. “If Rygel can heal him that he could walk unassisted, he will get through.”

  “If it’s open to the sky, can’t he just fly out?” Rygel asked.

  Ly’Tana, Kel’Ratan and I exchanged a glance that none of us needed an interpreter to understand. From the mutual uneasiness I saw in their eyes, I knew I had to be the one to explain.

  “A formerly incapacitated griffin suddenly shooting skyward out of the arena will warn the soldiers,” I explained gently, with patience. “Bring them down on us in force. They must not know we are even there. If we can sneak away through the tunnel, they will go on waiting for us, thinking their trap unsprung.”

  “What’s to stop them from shooting him down again?” Kel’Ratan continued for me. “They won’t have any reservations of killing him then. Or us.”

  “Oh.” Rygel sank back, his face reddening. “Right.”