Prince of Wolves

by Dave Gross

  I choose to receive his discourtesy as an opportunity to continue my examination of the sword and scrolls. Drawing the curtains, I returned to the bookshelf and removed them from their cache. I lay them upon the map table, in which I could conceal them given a moment’s warning by a footstep in the hall or the turning of the door latch.

  The ornamentation on the sword’s scabbard included the stylized cornflower I had seen in the borders of the Galdana family crest throughout the manor. The blade itself was of an alloy so pale that it momentarily appeared to be made of bone. Upon its blade were inscribed the spirals of Pharasma. They formed a long, tapering trail from the hilt of the blade to a point halfway to its tip. Closer inspection revealed more tiny spirals etched faintly around the originals, each surrounded by its own smaller satellites, and so on to seeming infinitesimal iterations. What charm they invested in the blade I could not know without further study, but my preliminary theory was that it was baneful against the restless dead or, if it were truly powerful, an enchantment assuring the spiritual destruction of the lives it ended. I sheathed the blade and replaced it behind the shelf.

  Inside the velvet pouch I found various substances used in the preparation of arcane spells, each wrapped in a bit of fabric. Among them were a few spiral cones of incense, a bit of horsehair, a pinch of sand, a fragment of crystal, a small mirror, and a tacky substance I am almost ashamed to admit I recognized immediately as bat guano, the material component of the last spell I learned before abandoning my pursuit of wizardry in favor of a life of gastrointestinal comfort.

  The scrolls themselves were the most intriguing enigma. That they were inscribed in my own handwriting was obvious, but I had no recollection of having created them. Furthermore, they appeared recently composed, which suggested either that someone had forged my writing or that I myself had made them after arriving at Willowmourn but had since lost my memory of the event. They were all spells I was theoretically able to cast, if the act of imbuing my mind with them was not so disabling. There were spells of slumber, fascination, and the conjuration of a phantom steed, all of which I had once found simple. One was unfamiliar, and I could not tell by reading its segmented runes exactly what it was meant to do, although those arcane syllables I recognized suggested a mirroring effect. There was even a scroll for the mighty fireball invocation that I once strove to learn before admitting I was not destined to be a wizard. Seeing the spidery characters of its runes inscribed on the vellum reminded me of my fleeting image of fire on the Senir Bridge. I wondered whether it was possible that I had caused the explosion. If so, that would explain in part Tara’s thanks for her safe arrival at Willowmourn. Still, that theory was difficult to accept, since I did not remember preparing such a spell before the incident, but I had no way of knowing what other gaps riddled my memory.

  It occurred to me that I had not yet tested one of the scrolls. I selected one containing a common cantrip and held it as I would the haft of a sword, but with my thumb upon the upper edge. I bent the stack of vellum and let the strips flutter out. As each snapped away, the characters I—or some imitator—had written sparkled and vanished. The ghostly twin of my hand briefly appeared over my real appendage before disappearing. This I had seen before, although never without a tight nausea uncoiling in my stomach. I felt the connection between my own hand and an invisible point of force. It moved where I pointed, and I could feel its location as perfectly as if it were my own finger moving about the room. Mentally directing it across the room, I plucked a book from the shelf and pulled the volume back to my real hand.

  “Ha!” The exaltation leaped from my mouth before I could stifle it. I listened for any sign that my outburst had been overheard. Hearing none, I returned the book to the shelf just as I had taken it.

  What a wondrous discovery! My sudden joy sank as I realized I did not know how to duplicate the effect. It could not be as simple as inscribing scrolls in the traditional manner. During my training, I had naturally explored that craft as an alternative to holding the unreleased magic in memory, as adept wizards do so easily. Unfortunately, even consigning magic to a scroll caused me illness. I had to learn how this mechanism differed.

  If it were I who had crafted the scrolls, then it seemed likely that I had found the secret somewhere within this library. And assuming you had not discovered the trick before me, there was no reason to think I would find the secret among the shelves on which you had placed your research. After concealing the riffle scrolls and Galdana’s sword under the map table, I brought a lamp close to browse the other shelves.

  Soon after I began, Felix interrupted me with a knock at the door. Murmuring an apology about the absence of my hosts, he laid my supper on a desk. I was so absorbed in my search that I did not notice his departure. For over an hour I combed the shelves in the library before discovering what I sought in the first place I should have examined: among Galdana’s collection of romances. Its cover disguised it as one of the same sort of adventure stories, but I spied a scrap of paper rising from the top pages. That was exactly the sort of makeshift bookmark I used during research.

  I laid the book beside my cold meal of sliced lamb with wine sauce. Little white crescents of congealing fat swam in the dark pool in which drowned the dejected vegetables. After a cautious sniff, I elected not to sample the latest offering from Galdana’s kitchen, for I detected a familiar odor of decay. It was just as well, for at the moment I had a greater appetite for knowledge than for food.

  Bound within the covers of the romance, bisecting the two halves of the fiction, I found a slim passage of arcane theory. In merely sixteen pages, it outlined an alternative process for producing scrolls of arcane spells whose powers would be released by the riffle process I had uncovered. In answering the question of creating the riffle scrolls, however, the hidden document raised several others. By what dire enchantment had I forgotten finding this secret in the first place? Who wanted me to forget it? Or was it the discovery of riffle magic that I was meant to forget? Probably not, I decided, since if that was the purpose of the thief who had stolen my memory, why leave me free to roam the library where I had first discovered the secret?

  Casomir was obviously antagonistic to me, but I had to consider Tara and every member of the household staff as suspects. It was, after all, Tara who had encouraged me to continue my research into your whereabouts, which in turn led me to the rediscovery of these scrolls I had apparently created.

  Another question came to mind. How much time had I lost? I opened a window, but I could not view the moon from that vantage, and the young wolfhound had remained on guard. His low growl persuaded me not to climb out for a better look. On a whim, I fetched my uneaten supper and flung a slice of lamb onto the sward. Whatever discipline the beast had learned dissolved at the scent. He ran and gobbled it in three quick bites, returning too quickly for me to use the diversion for an escape. No matter the origin of the foul scent I detected on the meat, it proved no deterrent to the canine appetite. An experiment occurred to me then, but I could not conduct it inside the manor. Wrapping one morsel in a scrap of paper and tucking it into my pocket, I threw the remaining meat to the hound. He caught each slice before it hit the ground and wolfed it down.

  Selecting what seemed the more potentially useful of the riffle scrolls, I concealed them on my person. They were small, but not so tiny that I could carry them all without conspicuous lumps beneath my clothes. The rest I returned to the cache where I had found them, beside Galdana’s enchanted blade. Felix arrived moments after I pulled the bell.

  “I trust your studies were fruitful, Your Excellency.” His tone was servile but not unctuous. If I were to allow my imagination to run away, I might have thought it too perfect.

  “It is a start,” I said, thinking it more than possible he would report my words to whoever was manipulating me.

  “Your room has been prepared,” said Felix. “Shall I conduct you there now?”

  “I would rather speak with your master.”r />
  “I regret to inform you he is indisposed, Your Excellency.”

  “And Mistress Tara?”

  “She, too, has retired for the evening.”

  “Then I must follow their good examples,” I said. “But I find that I am not yet drowsy. Perhaps you could bring me a brandy.”

  “As you wish,” he bowed.

  As I followed Felix back to my room, I noticed in several places the absence of swords in wall plaques where one would expect to see them. So it was not only those blades from the trophy room that were missing. Unless Count Galdana brought a small company along on his autumn hunt, it was absurd to think he had taken them. Weighing the value of catching the butler in a lie against the advantage of keeping my observations from my adversaries, I decided to remain silent on the matter.

  In my room, the chambermaid who had awoken me that morning slid a brass bed warmer between the bedclothes. Even through her sleepy expression, I detected a glimmer of apprehension as she saw us enter. If I was not mistaken, the object of her fear was not me but Felix, who greeted her curtly. “That will be all, Anneke.”

  “Stay a moment,” I said, knowing that the butler could not graciously contradict the wishes of a guest. “I would like you to bank the fire while Felix fetches my nightcap.”

  The servants exchanged a look, and this time it seemed it was I who caused Anneke’s look of trepidation.

  “Very good, Excellency,” said Felix. “I shall return at once.”

  “No need to hurry,” I said in hopes of reinforcing the assumption he must have made about my motives. “Take your time.”

  Felix left the door ajar. I shut it behind him, and Anneke retreated to the fire. She cringed as I approached, but I came only so close as to communicate in a low voice.

  “How long have I been here?” I said. “Do not lie to me. We haven’t time for such charades.”

  “Your Excellency—”

  “We’ve no time for stammering or courtesies, either. Spit it out, girl.”

  “Whatever Master Casomir has told you is the truth—”

  I grasped her arm firmly, but not brutally. “How long?”

  “I don’t know!” she cried. “I was summoned only yesterday.”

  Interesting that her arrival coincided with the gap in my memory.

  “Why? What happened to the other maid?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “Perhaps it was her time.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She was to have a baby,” said Anneke. “The child must have come sooner than she thought.” Her unfocused gaze told me she was searching for a plausible explanation, not a fact she already knew. I released her arm, only distantly regretful of my crude behavior.

  “Where is she now?”

  “I don’t know,” said Anneke. “The village. Maybe the city. Nobody knows.”

  “How can that be?”

  “I don’t know,” she protested. “She was gone when I arrived.”

  I considered the further coincidence that both Anneke and the woman she had replaced were with child.

  “Who is the father of your child?”

  The question struck her like a dagger in the heart. She stared at me, eyes pleading with me to withdraw the question.

  “Tell me,” I insisted. If Felix were fleet, he could be back at any instant.

  She shook her head and looked away, but I heard her whimper, “I was sent away the day he left.”

  “Who? Count Galdana?”

  She hugged herself and shook her head, refusing to answer. I heard footsteps upon the stair. I tousled her hair and whispered, “Unfasten your blouse. Just the top buttons—quickly!”

  The moment I predicted Felix would open the door, I stepped away from Anneke and said, “Willful wretch! Away with you.”

  Whether she was clever enough to follow my cue or simply welcomed the opportunity to escape me, Anneke bolted from the room. I felt the reproachful heat of Felix’s eyes on my neck until I turned to face him, and he lowered his gaze to the salver he carried. Upon it rested a crystal snifter and a small decanter of amber liquid.

  I lifted my chin in an imitation of an especially imperious nemesis back in Egorian. “Well? Set it down and leave me.”

  I listened for the sound of his retreat. When I heard his foot on the top stair, I went to the door and tried the latch. The discovery that it was unlocked did not make me feel better about being trapped in the library during the day, but it was a relief all the same. For a moment I considered following Felix down the stairs, but first I opened the windows and gazed at the southeastern sky. The moon had risen well above the misty horizon, its bright figure veiled in clouds. Recalling its shape the night of our ambush on the Senir Bridge, and comparing that with its waxing gibbous shape, I estimated I had lost seven or eight days to the gap in my memory.

  A week or more, and no memories for it.

  The principal question vexing my thoughts was what exactly had happened in that period. If I had simply lain unconscious, there would be no reason to tell me otherwise. Besides, I had the evidence of the riffle scrolls to tell me I had been awake and active. I felt certain of it now: I had created those scrolls.

  I raised the brandy to my nose and sniffed. As I had feared, there was a cloying, meaty odor beneath the sweet scent one would expect. Recalling the occult material I had found in the library, I recalled that one of the omens of Urgathoa’s displeasure is the corruption of food. I leaned out the window to hurl the offensive liquor out of the glass.

  Out of the corner of my eye I glimpsed a shadow on the moon, but when I turned to face it I saw nothing there. It could have been a cloud, but a moment later I smelled the unmistakable odor of vinegar and heard a bump upon the roof. It was too solid an impact to have been caused by a bat or a bird, if any remained alive nearby. I looked out once more. Seeing nothing but the usual tenants of the night sky, I shuddered in the chill and closed the windows.

  The longer I remained in Willowmourn, the more I embraced the clichés of the mysteries of Ustalav. It was a strange land even to its natives, and at this rate I would soon be searching for monsters under the bed.

  It was time I became more aggressive in my investigations not only of Count Galdana’s library but also of the puzzles of Willowmourn. I had a mind to slip out of my room and explore the upper floors, but discovery would jeopardize my ability to finish the research left for me. Besides, I had not one but two experiments to perform before I would be confident in my ability to elude the house guards and unravel the local mysteries before setting off to follow your path. One more night’s sleep, I decided, and then I would act.

  Felix woke me and attended my toilet before leading me to the pavilion for breakfast. As we walked across the sward, I spied two of the grounds staff talking beside the paddock. The groom listened as the gardener, Odav, spoke urgently. When the groom saw me, he placed a hand on Odav’s shoulder. I saw by the faintest turn of Odav’s head that the groom had warned him not to look in my direction. Felix also noticed the exchange and attempted to distract me with a banality about the mild autumn morning. I pretended his ploy had succeeded and devised a ploy to speak with one or both of the servants as soon as I could arrange to do so unseen by the butler.

  Casomir rose and bowed as I arrived. “Count Jeggare,” he said. “I am glad to see you are recovering from our ordeal.”

  “Master Casomir,” I said, bowing to him and to Tara. I observed two faint but fresh lines upon Casomir’s face, one of them virtually invisible against his older Lepidstadt scar. “I am sorry to see you are injured.”

  “What?” he feigned ignorance, but his hand rose involuntarily to his cheek. “Trifling scratches from the crash,” he said after a brief hesitation. He was surprised that I could see the wounds, which I gathered had been recently healed by magic. Perhaps his human eyes did not perceive them in the mirror, but my father’s blood gives me keener sight.

  “Speaking of the accident,” I said, “perhaps you can hel
p me remember the particulars. I seem to have suffered a blow to the head and a resulting confusion of memory.” In truth, the only blow to the head for which I had present evidence was a bruise on my jaw, which was unlikely to have caused trauma to my brain.

  “Ah,” he said. “That is to be expected, or so the priest tells me. I had hoped to bring him back here, but the plague demands the attention of all of Kavapesta’s healers.”

  I nodded as if I believed him. “Perhaps if you describe the events after we reached the bridge, you might help me remember.”

  Casomir glanced at Tara, who nodded and said, “Do not worry that you will upset me, cousin. I may seem fragile, but I grow stronger in the care you have shown me since our homecoming.”

  “Very well,” said Casomir. “Unfortunately, my own memories of those moments before our crash are a jumble. Your men cried out that we were pursued by wolves, but we could not see them from inside the carriage. There was certainly something chasing us. The horses were terrified.”

  “I remember the wolves,” I said. “I saw one drag one of the guards from his horse.”

  Casomir nodded. “If we had time to find a defensible location, perhaps things would have gone differently. Before I could act, you had opened the carriage door and cast your spell. There wasn’t enough room, unfortunately, and the blast carried us over the rail and into the rocks on the far side of the bridge.”

  “You saw me cast a spell?” I asked.

  “Well ...” Casomir frowned. “I do not understand magic. My great-great-aunt was a wizard of some renown, but none of the Galdanas since have shared the gift.”

  I opened my mouth, intending to correct his understanding. Wizardry is not a gift, it is a discipline earned by long study and the exercise of intellect. It is sorcery that is a gift—or a curse, depending on one’s perspective. Realizing that my interjection was not only pedantic but pointless, I closed my mouth and nodded to encourage him to continue.