In a Wolf's Eyes

by A. Katie Rose

  I froze, wondering what Ly’Tana would say, without Rygel here to whisper the proper words in her ear. While I doubted he was Zhou, he might know enough of Zhou traditions to set the City Watch on us if he became suspicious. I started to rise, and perhaps say something that would send him away and spare Ly’Tana the possibility of speaking the wrong blessing.

  I’m glad I glanced at Ly’Tana before I got very far. Her sweet, benign smile on the poor man dropped me back into my chair. She glowed with a beatific confidence, a holy air, all her former irritation gone. My one eye wide, I exchanged a long incredulous look with Kel’Ratan. His own eyes had gone round at the change in her, and his mustache failed to bristle.

  “Why of course, my dear man,” Ly’Tana cooed.

  Cooed? I nearly choked. Kel’Ratan made strangling noises.

  The innkeeper dropped to his knees and bowed his head. His thin hands stilled within the folds of his nasty towel. I swear he stopped breathing.

  Ly’Tana waggled her fingers in the direction of his head. “You’re blessed.”

  His instant change astounded me. His head popped up, his face the epitome of happiness. Tears rolled down his cheeks, his bright, happy smile, despite his lack of teeth, made him almost handsome. Crawling forward, still on his knees, he took the hem of her gown and kissed it.

  “Most Holy,” he whispered into her gowns folds. “You have made me a very happy man.”

  “I am pleased then, good sir. And do rise.”

  He obeyed her, staggering to his feet, still bowing, his tears falling freely. I suspected that in that instant he would have cut his own throat at her command. He’d offer her his life for two simple words, “You’re blessed.” Well, perhaps not just that, I thought, glancing at her beautiful face. He’d die for her for those two simple words and her smile.

  I shared that much in common with the man. I think I could have died for her just then. For an instant, a fleet moment, I hated that innkeeper with a hot, jealous fury. I could have cheerfully slaughtered him where he stood and not felt an instant of remorse.

  For she smiled at him.

  “Now, if you don’t mind,” she went on sweetly, her smile luminous, “we are very hungry and I’ve heard your food is better than the Dead Fisherman. I do so hope it’s true.”

  His thin chest swelled. “It’s true. I shall bring you my very best, Most Holy. You have my word.”

  With that declaration, he bowed his way away from our table. I swear he strutted back to his kitchens. I exchanged another incredulous glance with Kel’Ratan, seeing his mustache quivering again, his blue eyes sparkling. Ly’Tana sat in her chair, as regal as any queen, her emerald eyes dancing. She looked down her nose at us. Well, as well as she could, anyway, as we both towered over her, even while seated.

  “You two simply must learn to have faith in me,” she said loftily. “I told you I would make an excellent Lady High Priestess.”

  “All by saying, ‘You’re blessed’?” Kel’Ratan choked.

  I had to bite the inside of my cheek, hard, to keep from laughing aloud, using every ounce of willpower I owned to maintain a stern expression. To help distract me, I glared around the room, causing many a curious face to flush and turn back to their own conversations and dice games. I wanted no eavesdroppers.

  Ly’Tana dropped the lofty expression and scowled at him. “It worked, didn’t it?”

  “Oh, to be sure,” he snorted, obviously reining in laughter. “It’s certainly original. Please bless me, too, Most Holy.”

  “I will not.” The lofty air resumed. “And pray remember that Osimi answers the prayers of her priestesses. I can curse you as easily as I can bless you.”

  “Oh, that’s right. Priestesses are chancy to cross. So enamored of your blessings, I forgot that part.”

  “Pray I do not plague your sorry gut with the piles,” she replied with an irritated sniff. “Be silent.”

  He rolled his eyes, including me in his heaven-help-me gesture. I managed to maintain a faint frown by the barest of margins, needed the distraction of watching the crowd for danger to prevent an insane bray of laughter.

  Within moments of leaving, the innkeeper returned with three mugs of foaming ale and a platter of hot roast pork, fried chicken still smoking from boiling oil, a wheel of hard white cheese, freshly baked black bread and chilled ripe fruit. He bowed the meal onto the table in a move so smooth it barely shifted the ale in the mugs and then bowed himself away, his toothless smile as broad as ever. Ly’Tana served herself first, then Kel’Ratan took his portion, then I took my turn, all as I watched the room and the door with a wary eye.

  I had barely taken a sip of the bitter yet tasty ale when Rygel entered through the door, a boy of about ten or eleven summers in tow. He saw us immediately and pushed his way through the surging crowd. Most people parted the way eagerly to avoid the potential wrath of the obviously irritated Osimi priestess.

  Rygel nipped the mug of ale from my fingers, taking a deep swallow with a groan of appreciation, and sat in the last vacant chair at the table. I sighed, resigned to an evening without ale, glancing at the boy curiously, my head cocked to see from my right eye. Ly’Tana and Kel’Ratan, too, eyed the boy with a wonder and interest.

  He wore a mop of bright brown hair, tangled, with lively brown eyes and a grin that immediately endeared. He gazed back at Ly’Tana with a kind of frank curiosity, and no fear, his glance taking in her white priestess costume without the slightest concern.

  “This is Tor,” Rygel said by way of introduction. He swallowed another gulp of my ale, wiping his lips on his sleeve. “I saved his life about two years ago, so he owes me a favor or ten.”

  The boy looked pained. “One favor, Rygel. One. We made a deal, remember?”

  “Since I took a knife in the gut saving you from your gambling creditors, you owe me what I say you owe me.”

  Tor’s brown eyes chanced upon me, moved on and then snapped back with awakening recognition. “You’re The Wolf, aren’t you?” he asked eagerly, his smile widening. “You’re my absolute hero.”

  I wanted to groan, despairing that if one street kid could recognize me, then no doubt most of the room had already seen through my “disguise” and sent word to the Federal troops. I caught Ly’Tana’s horrified expression, Kel’Ratan’s genuine scowl. He reached for his sword. I shook my head at him slightly, and saw him relax a fraction; his hand dropped away from the hilt.

  “What makes you think I’m The Wolf?” I rumbled, half-hoping the boy could be distracted by a lie. “I am not he. I’m just a mercenary.”

  “I’ve seen you fight,” he responded, stepping closer. “I want to be just like you.”

  Rygel laughed. Scowling at his stupidity, I turned my famous stare on the lad, lifting my patch to give him the benefit of both eyes, hoping to frighten him into shutting up. “I used to feed boys like you to the lions,” I murmured, leaning toward him menacingly. “For kicks.”

  “I’m not afraid of you.”

  Baffled, I almost sat back. “Why ever not?”

  In answer, his grin widened, showing remarkably white teeth. “’Cause I can run faster scared than you can mad.”

  Stunned, I stared into the boy’s fearless eyes, hearing Rygel’s howl of laughter. Ly’Tana’s expression changed from worry to incredulity to grinning openly. Kel’Ratan took a pull on his ale and said calmly, “I think he’s right on that score, my big friend.”

  I grumbled sourly to myself, sitting back in my chair. How was it I could frighten seasoned, battle-hardened men into flight, intimidate opponents in the arena into pissing themselves, have a reputation as blood-craving predator, but not in the least frighten one small street urchin? I sighed. Maybe I was getting soft.

  “Relax, Wolf,” Tor said, leaning casually against my shoulder. “I won’t tell anyone. You’re Rygel’s friend and Rygel is my friend.”

  “Have some food, Tor,” Ly’Tana invited, pushing the platter toward him.

  “Yes, ma’am.�
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  “Rygel, you too.”

  Kel’Ratan snapped his fingers at the scrawny innkeeper, who immediately brought two more plates, and another mug of ale for me. When Tor began to ask for his own ale, he caught a dark look from Ly’Tana. He immediately subsided, hunching his shoulders in submission as he filled his plate with hot meat and bread, expertly avoiding her eyes.

  “You’re too young to drink, Tor,” she explained. “At least while I’m around.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he answered, his respect for her genuine.

  I wondered if Rygel told him who she truly was, or if he took in and respected her at face value. I sighed again, mournfully. I was losing my touch. I took a bite from a hot roast, enjoying its full flavor. The innkeeper’s boast may not have been a boast. The food here was excellent and put Leoda’s cooks to shame.

  “Tor knows just where Adhas lives,” Rygel said, his mouth full. “Not far from here either. She has a few servants, but your sister is her only slave.”

  Tor started, nearly dropping the chicken leg on which he had been gnawing. He turned toward me, his eyes wide, forgotten chicken in his hand. “Yasmina? Yasmina is your sister?”

  “Is that what she was named?” I asked.

  Tor shrugged, taking another bite, though slowly and thoughtfully. “Aye. Now that I look at you, she does resemble you. A bit. Something about the eyes. She has dark hair. Like you. Or you used to have.”

  Excitement coursed through me. Arianne. Within the hour, I will see you again. Gods favor you, Adhas, should you stand in my way.

  “Does Adhas treat her well?”

  At this, the boy nearly choked on his chicken, his glance toward me quick and sliding, now clearly afraid. That told me all I needed to know. Ly’Tana’s brow furrowed in an expression of concern as she looked from me to Tor and back again. Kel’Ratan sat up straighter, watching me carefully, as though expecting something, his right hand no longer on his mug. Rygel stopped eating, also watching me with trepidation, bread crumbs on his chin. What had them all bothered so?

  “Well, um,” Tor began, edging away from me slowly, cautiously. “She’s not treated bad, as such. You know, she’s, um, well, she’s a slave, and all.”

  “Aye,” I said softly. “A slave.”

  “Hey, you know, I wasn’t the one who, you know.” Tor spoke hastily, fast, still sliding carefully out of my reach. “She’s a nice girl, really she is. I like her. I’m her friend.”

  “Raine.” Rygel spoke my name softly, quietly, almost soothing. “Braud. Relax.”

  Relax? Why? I am fine. I am not angry. I am not going to rampage through the room, swinging about with my blade. I have full control over the daemon. He is still collared. I am going to enjoy my food and my drink. I will soon see Arianne and we’ll both be free. I am not angry.

  Only then did I notice my hands, both hands, wrapped around the remains of my heavy steel platter. It was no longer recognizable as a plate, round and solid. Now it sat crumpled like so much paper, the remains of my supper spilled onto the table. Roast meat, gravy and bread sprawled on the bare hard planks. Gods above and below. What the hell happened?

  I glanced around at the others, noting for the first time the traces of fear in their eyes. Kel’Ratan eyed me sidelong, his face tense, as though expecting me to spring at him, my hands reaching for his throat. Rygel, my brother of blood shared, made a sign with his long sensitive fingers, perhaps unconsciously, begging for protection from evil spirits. Ly’Tana. Brave, courageous Ly’Tana looked ready to bolt, her hand on the hilt of her sword. They knew me, trusted me, liked me, perhaps even loved me a little. Yet, right now they feared me much more than a little.

  Shame mounted my cheeks, burned through my veins with a hot flush. Out. I had to get out.

  Abruptly, I stood and stalked from the common room, patrons falling over themselves and each other in their haste to get out of my way. They, too, had seen the results of my silent rage. My silent daemon. They wanted no part of me, wanted me out. I knew they wished I had never set foot in their domain.

  Once outside, I took a deep breath of the still, hot night air, feeling the last of my anger ebb away, like the sea’s morning tide. I still couldn’t control it, the daemon within me. That bloody daemon named rage. I cursed fluently, filling my head with every vile oath I could think of. I cursed my fate, the gods, my uncle…none of it did any good. I cursed anyway, bitterly, out of hatred, out of habit. I leaned against the battered daub siding of the tavern, wishing fervently that Rygel had not found me in time. Death was far preferable to life like this.

  I scented her first, scented her clean scent of leather, and lavender and faint musk. She said nothing, leaned against the tavern beside me, patiently waiting. While she might have feared me a few moments ago, I sensed no fear in her now. No fear that I might turn on her like the wolf Rygel said I was. I felt her silent support, her worry over me, and her quiet concern. Strangely, her mere presence acted like a balm to the hurts I felt deep within my soul. Like a soothing salve on a burning cut, the pain eased, dissolved, bled harmlessly away. I wanted to thank her, but found no words, naught to express the new feelings I felt whenever she was near. My tongue snarled upon itself, and I said naught.

  At last, I turned to her, my mouth opening to speak, to apologize. Her hand, sword swift, lifted to rest on my lips, instantly quelling me.

  “Don’t,” she said. “You have nothing to apologize for. Your gods have done you ill, for permitting your slavery. Perhaps one day you will tell me your story. Perhaps you will not. Either way, I am content. I do pray to my Goddess that we are successful in freeing your sister tonight, for I have no doubt she has the same resilience as you. I want to believe…nay, I do believe…we ride to rescue not a beaten slave, but a tough, determined woman.”

  What could I say? I had naught to say to that. For in her simple, honest, forthright way, she said it all. I shut my teeth on useless words, and I took her slender hand in mine. Her soft yet strong-boned hand inside my scarred, sword-calloused fingers felt so right. Bending, I lifted it to my lips and kissed it. First, the back of her hand, like a courtier. I then turned it over, and kissed her palm, like a lover. Her fingers closed briefly in a small caress of my bristly chin, her eyes shadowed in the dim light of the moon and the weak firelit lamps. I felt them tremble slightly against my skin, as though she were afraid, or ill.

  I straightened, gazing down at her, her body separated from mine by a mere hand’s breadth. Her face lifted to mine, I saw by the faint light, a single tear course down her cheek. With my finger, I lifted it as though it were a precious jewel, and touched the tiny drop to my lips.

  I brushed her hair from her cheek, lifting her face to mine, kissing her with passion reined sharply in check. Passion I never felt before, feelings that brought both joy and a sharp grief within the depths of my soul. For by right of birth, she could never be mine. I would give anything hold her, to love her, to build a future with her, see her bear my children.

  I knew such could never be. Ly’Tana would be Queen one day, the Queen of an ancient and noble land. Me? I was naught but a slave and an outlaw. Ly’Tana needed more than that. I had naught to offer her, and the bitter pain sank its fangs into my heart. I tasted her sweetness, felt her confusion, knew the doubts in her own heart. The same doubts that mirrored my soul.

  My resolve hardened as I released her mouth from mine. The sooner I got her back to her father and me out of her life, the better.

  “Wolf,” she murmured, nestling her face into my shoulder. “I wish…”

  Whatever she wished for, it remained locked in her heart and she said nothing further as I held her tight to me, for what might well be the last time. Never wish for the unattainable. I broke that simple rule rather quickly, I thought. You are indeed as thick as an oak stump as Rygel said. You are a stupid, stupid fool.

  None of the others spoke when they filed from the tavern a few moments later and found us locked in each other’s arms. I saw Tor’s eyes
widen with awe, but he wisely said nothing and half-hid behind Rygel. Kel’Ratan moved to stand near the deserted street, as though watching for enemies. Rygel half-turned away, gazing up at the stars as though searching them for answers.

  Concealing a sigh, I looked down at Ly’Tana’s red-gold hair, and brushed my lips against its softness. She looked up at me, smiling a little, her eyes in shadow.

  “Since they’re here, I’m guessing we need to move on,” I said to her.

  “Aye,” Kel’Ratan said gruffly. “We created too much notice in there. Some of the mercenaries were looking at us suspiciously.”

  I took note with bitter irony of what he did not say: that my uncontrolled rage and sudden departure caused the suspicion in the first place.

  “Tor told me Adhas is but a mile or so from here,” Rygel added quietly. “He knows this city better than anyone. He agreed to show us the way.”

  “And then we’re even?” Tor asked, looking up into Rygel’s face, peering anxiously into the darkness. “We’re square?”

  Rygel grinned and ruffled his already tousled hair. “We’re square.”

  “Damn it, quit that.” Tor pulled away from his hand in annoyance. “You know I hate it when you do that.”

  I pulled the eye patch from my head, feeling nearly instant relief from the plaguing headache it caused. I rubbed my eyes, glad to be able to see from both eyes again.

  “Wolf,” Tor began tentatively, “I’m sorry if I, well, you know, if I upset you.”

  I tried a smile, which seemed to have worked, for Tor’s face brightened considerably. “She’s a slave. Why should I expect her that she’d be treated like a princess?”

  “Come on, then,” Kel’Ratan growled. “Let’s be off before someone calls for the Federates. They may already have. I saw a squinty-eyed bastard head for the kitchens.”

  “Maybe he works here,” Tor offered.

  “And maybe he slipped out the back,” Kel’Ratan returned sharply.

  Taking Ly’Tana’s hand in mine, I led the way back toward the horses, not quite willing to lose contact with her immediately. Rygel took Tor up behind him on his black gelding, while Kel’Ratan mounted his bay and walked him into the street to watch. Once more, I lifted Ly’Tana into her saddle, her fingers lightly trailing around my neck. With a final smile for me, she wheeled her buckskin to stand beside her kinsman. I vaulted into Rufus’s saddle, feeling him dance beneath me, ready to run, despite the long day behind him.