"I listened in increasing horror. There was my Golden Feather with his blood being drained from him, telling me what I must do to preserve his life - or so I thought at first. But, although the human trusted that Golden Feather could understand him, and that Golden Feather could translate for him, the human in turn could not understand what my beloved mate said. Thus he did not hear what Golden Feather told me at the last.
"'Night's Terror, you must not agree to this. I only agreed to come here so that I could urge you to fly free. I will die in peace knowing you are safe. Don't you understand? They wish you to warn them of possible enemies - and those enemies are the only chance for freedom the captive yarimaimalom have. Moreover, I do not think these humans will be long content with this small plain. As soon as they are prepared, they will come forth in strength. I would not have you betray our peoples - not to preserve my life. Go. Warn the other yarimaimalom. Tell them bad times have come again.'"
Night's Terror had puffed her feathers as she related her tale. Now she deflated so suddenly Firekeeper expected to feel a gust of wind. There was no wind, only a slender bird glimmering in the shadowed hollow.
"I couldn't do it," Night's Terror said softly. "I couldn't leave my mate to be tortured to death. To buy him life, even captive life, I spied for those who were my enemies. Each moonspan when they brought him out Golden Feather repeated his entreaty, telling me of some atrocity the humans had committed so I might realize that his one life meant little against anything that made these Old World humans stronger. He told me that if he could, he would kill himself so the humans would lose their hold over me, but that when he had tried to starve himself, they had forced food into him.
"For many moonspans, I had little enough to warn anyone about. The yarimaimalom had fled. The humans did not come here. Then one day I recognized purpose in the flight of a pair of ravens. For a moment I thought of confiding in them, but my heart nearly flew my breast at the thought of what the humans would do to my Golden Feather. How was I to know if I was the only watcher? Did they have other eyes watching from within the copse? Might my failure mean a horrible death for Golden Feather?
"Despise me if you will. I went into the copse, and sat in the appointed tree, and that night I said nothing when I saw the blood briars creep upward and begin to strangle the pair of ravens where they slept. I watched the female battle for her mate's life, but though I admired her courage, I could not go to her aid. My mate was wrapped in briars, too, and I think I even hated that raven a little. At least she could fight. I could only betray.
"Now you ask me to fly with you, to be your third set of eyes, to carry information between your groups. I would go. I would risk my life to set my Golden Feather free, and if I cannot free him, I will die with him. But knowing the hold they have over me, can you trust me?"
Firekeeper glanced down to Blind Seer and found his blue eyes raised to hers. She knew his heart and spoke for them both.
"Night's Terror, we know what it is to have your freedom taken from you because you dared make a true bond with another. Once not so long ago I swore that I had been pushed far enough, that never again would I let a hostage be used to force my actions. Wolves accept the risk that their mates may die in a hunt. Indeed, the Ones lead the pack and take the greatest risks. If I could be pressed hard enough to refuse any that power over me - even if it means that the only joy that would be left to me is revenge's cold meat - who am I to deny you that same choice?"
"Then you will trust me?" the owl said.
"Enough that I will let you go with the group that is to free the captive yarimaimalom. Two wolves whose mates are held there run with that pack. I think you will find yourself in good company."
Blind Seer rose onto all four paws and shook. Then he said to Night's Terror, "I have one question for you. In your tale, the human never laid a hand on you. Did they bind you in any other way than through your obligations?"
"You mean did they ensorcell me?" Night's Terror said. "No, they did not. Golden Feather warned me that they had skills in this way, and never did I let them touch me, nor have I been touched by any of their creations or plants. Whatever sorcery was done to make the copse let me enter and leave untouched was done to it, not to me. My mind and will are my own. It is my heart that is not."
"Are any of our hearts our own?" Blind Seer asked softly. "Sometimes I think the only way we know we have hearts is when we lose them."
Firekeeper leapt down from the tree and put her hand on the wolf's head for just a moment. Then she looked up to the hollow.
"Come down and ride on my shoulder," she said to Night's Terror. "I am sure you have learned to move in light as I have within darkness, but still, this will be easier."
Night's Terror glided down. Her motion reminded Firekeeper of the thaumaturge Grateful Peace of New Kelvin when his glasses had been broken. There was another who had learned the hard lesson that keeping faith sometimes meant doing what your loved ones would dense.
Blind Seer howled for Onion and Half-Ear.
"We'd better rest," the blue-eyed wolf said. "It's going to be a very busy night."
TRUTH WAS NAPPING, but only she knew how unrestful that sleep was. The Meddler had come to lounge within her dreams.
"So you're going through the gate," he said, "after my friends the twins."
"After our friend, Plik," Truth replied, burying her nose in her flank. 'The twins... Well, they may be useful, but never make the mistake of thinking we are your lackeys."
"A dangerous mistake that would be," the Meddler said, and with her nose buried in her fur, Truth could not be certain whether or not he mocked her.
Truer than you imagine, the jaguar thought, and in this dream space her words came from as speech.
"What must I do to gain your trust?" the Meddler said. "Didn't the map I gave you match on essential points with the details Harjeedian garnered for you from your prisoners? Haven't I led you fair to this point? Haven't I helped you?"
Truth gave up all pretense of sleeping, but rolled onto her back to groom her stomach.
"You have helped us, but always for your own reasons. I don't understand those reasons. I don't understand you."
"But don't the others have reasons?" the Meddler said. "All of them came to find the twins for reasons of their own. Noble reasons, certainly. I admire the desire to gain information that will enable homelands and hearths to be kept safe. Still, those remain reasons."
"That is so," Truth said. 'Tell me your reasons and perhaps I will understand you."
"I have told you. I wanted my freedom. Now I seek to repay you for your kindness in setting me free by offering a little information here and there - an elder's perspective on events, you might say."
"Gratitude is a reason, I suppose," Truth said. "Yes. It can be a good reason, even. Gratitude is why Firekeeper first ventured to help me find the door back into myself."
"Then you understand me now," the Meddler said. "We are friends?"
"Friends trust each other," Truth said. "I do not trust you."
"But why? Haven't I been open and honest with you?"
Truth sat perfectly still for a moment, focusing her will on remembering. "There remains one reason I will not trust you."
"What? Tell me. Maybe I can give you a good answer and so make myself your friend."
"I doubt it," Truth said as at last she felt true sleep claiming her. "None who wished me for a friend would ever carve me in crystal and move me about as if I were nothing but a toy."
XXVII
TO HIS SURPRISE, Derian was actually sleeping soundly when Firekeeper gently touched his shoulder and whispered, "Time is come to go."
Derian sat up, scrubbing sleep from his eyes, and draining the mug of tepid water near his all. He gathered his belongings and stacked them next to the wall. They were only taking what they thought they would need, and that wasn't much: weapons, a few useful tools, copies of Harjeedian's map.
They had decided to have a light meal before
starting, but Derian noticed that neither he nor Harjeedian ate with much interest.
But then, Derian thought, Firekeeper looks as if she's eating as a duty rather than otherwise. Only those new wolves - Onion and Half-Ear - seem to have any enthusiasm for the prospect. I wonder how a wolf came to be named "Onion"?
Had he been with a human army, Derian might have asked, tried to lighten the mood with frivolous conversation. Once again, Derian felt the difference of this company. Here three wolves the size of ponies and an equally disproportionate jaguar shredded some fresh fish. There a horse stood looking with genuine thoughtfulness at some gouges cut into the stone of the freshly swept courtyard floor. In the boughs of the apple tree, two ravens and an owl were deep in what was obviously conversation.
Harjeedian was drinking strong tea and surreptitiously trying the weight of the club he was carrying as a weapon. He had a bow as well, one of those that had been carried by the Twice Dead, but Derian hoped Harjeedian wouldn't need to employ it as more than a threat. The aridisdu knew how to use it, but he wasn't very accurate.
When all was ready Firekeeper brought the prisoners forth. All of them had their hands bound behind their backs and their ankles hobbled. They made no protest, and not even a stumbling attempt to escape. Quite possibly, the three wolves flanking them and Truth's lazy presence near the gate were enough warning.
Firekeeper addressed Ynamynet and Lachen: "You already tell Harjeedian what we must do. Now tell again, slowly. Remember, no tricks. We not need you so much. There will be others."
Ynamynet shrugged. "We will need our hands unbound."
"All?" Firekeeper asked, a warning growl rumbling beneath the words.
"Not all of us," Ynamynet said, "only Lachen and myself. We work the magic."
Firekeeper cut their bonds without another word.
"Now," Lachen said, rubbing his wrists, certainly for no other reason than to make clear he had resented being tied, for the bonds had not even left a mark, "we need to anoint the gate area with sigils and signs drawn in blood, preferably human blood."
"Human?" Harjeedian asked. "Why human?"
"The spell seems to work better when the blood comes from an intelligent creature," Lachen replied, his tone holding the same lofty notes Derian had heard from snobbish nobles who believed that because they owned good horses they knew something about them.
"Intelligence is not a problem for our volunteer donor," Harjeedian said, "and Eshinarvash can spare a little blood more easily than can any other of us."
Lachen looked mildly startled. Apparently, although the Once Dead had not hesitated to use the blood of the yarimaimalom in some of their creations, they had not adapted their thinking.
That comes from living in a place without Royal Beasts, Derian thought with a curious pride, given that he himself had not known about thinking beasts, Royal or Wise, until a few years ago.
"Yes, the horse's blood should do nicely," Ynamynet said, recovering more quickly than Lachen. "We'll need the small silver cup from my pack, and also one of the pads of clean cloth, and the green stoneware jar of ointment."
Harjeedian had already set these items by. When he brought them over, Eshinarvash walked over to Lachen, his hooves sounding a steady, determined tattoo as they struck the flagstone. When Derian walked to join the Wise Horse, the Once Dead looked puzzled.
"Are you also a donor?" Lachen asked. "You're certainly big enough to spare a bit."
"I'm going to make sure you don't do anything like nick a tendon," Derian said, "or make any other foolish move. If you do, well, then I think we know exactly who our 'donors' are going to be."
The fact that neither of the Once Dead made even a token protest against his threat told Derian far more than he wanted to know about their society.
They seem just as cruel as our legends tell, he thought. I'm sure they're holding out on us. I wish I knew what we haven't thought to ask.
Very, very carefully, Lachen made a wound in Eshinarash's shining coat. He caught the blood that spilled forth with great care so the white hair surrounding the cut was hardly stained at all.
When the cup was full, Lachen handed Derian a clean cloth pad and the pot of ointment.
"Use this ointment to cover the wound, then hold the pad over it until it stops bleeding."
"What is this stuff?" Derian said, pressing the pad to the cut and sniffing the ointment suspiciously. It smelled vaguely familiar, and he didn't much like the memories it stirred. Judging from the raised hackles on the wolves, they shared his aversion.
"It contains the pulp of the blood briar vine suspended in a highly rendered fat," Lachen said. "It will make the wound heal quickly, without scarring."
"Are you willing to swear that's all it does?" Derian pressed.
Ynamynet gave a light laugh and dipped two fingers in the pot, smearing the ointment where Firekeeper's arrow had sliced her.
"Does that convince you?" she said. "Our ancestors first bred the blood briar because the numbing properties in the sap made it very useful for small area surgeries and stitching. Later, the plant was adapted to other uses."
Derian dipped his fingers in the stuff and smeared it on Eshinarvash's wound. The blood had already nearly stopped flowing, but he thought it couldn't hurt.
"Is that all the blood you'll need?" he asked.
"Not quite," Lachen said. His tone was abstracted, and Derian suspected he was already concentrating on the task at hand.
"If we might have the small book bound in pale leather," Ynamynet said, "this will go more quickly."
Harjeedian knew exactly which book she meant. Indeed, Derian had seen him leafing through it earlier, but when Derian had taken a peek at the pages the symbols that were neatly drawn, one or two to a page, meant nothing to him. Now the group all watched in relative silence as the two Once Dead painted emblems around the area where the gate should open. From time to time, Fire-keeper would nod thoughtfully, and Derian took comfort in this. Apparently, Onion and Half-Ear had been present when the other side of the gate had been prepared. Fire-keeper had asked them to review the process, and indicate if they noted any distortions.
Derian suspected that the wolves would not know if different signs were being drawn, but they certainly would notice if the Once Dead told the company to do something completely different - like take off their clothing or set aside their gear. So far, whether out of fear or merely from resignation, the Once Dead were holding true to their agreement.
Eventually, more blood was drawn from a fresh cut in Eshinarvash's hide. This was set in small, round-bottomed silver pots that balanced perfectly in the gouges cut in the courtyard paving. More was used to make a translucent wash over the bare grey stone where the gate would open.
All the preparations went smoothly, the Once Dead working with little discussion, the Twice Dead watching in sullen silence. The rest stood alert, attentive to any betrayal.
The only hitch in the detailed process came when Harjeedian explained that he wanted the two Once Dead to pass through the gate while on Eshinarvash's back. Lachen frowned, shaking his head, and Ynamynet actually took a step back.
"We shouldn't do that," Lachen said. "We've never transported more than two at a time. You see those ovals drawn to either side of the gate? That's where the blood of each passenger must be spread right before the transit. Then the appropriate words are said, and powders tossed in the brazier, and the gate opens. If three were to go through, we'd need to reconfigure everything and... honestly, I don't know if it would work."
There was no doubting their sincerity. Firekeeper spoke up in confirmation.
"These wolves say they never see more than two go."
Harjeedian frowned and pulled out the roster he had made on a wax tablet. He did some rubbing out and scratching in, then looked at the Once Dead.
"You said, I believe, that you need to do some small workings before each transit?"
"That is correct," Ynamynet said.
"Then one of you
must be in the last pair..."
"With me," Firekeeper said. "Derian first with Blind Seer. Both are good at fighting. I wait. Come through with Ynamynet last. She not give me any trouble."
Harjeedian pursed his lips, considered, and rewrote his roster. "Very well. I have it so Onion and Half-Ear will be the second group. That way there will be four of our own on the other side before the first of the prisoners is brought over. We'll bring the Twice Dead, each with a raven, then Lachen with Eshinarvash, Harjeedian with Night's Terror, Truth alone, and finally Firekeeper and Ynamynet. That way Firekeeper will have backup until the last minute."
Derian thought Firekeeper might protest this insult to her prowess, but she was busy giving Blind Seer a hug. She crossed to Derian and said, "Have bow ready, and sword. You not know if trouble come close or far."
Derian nodded a little stiffly. The original plan - made before they realized that one of the Once Dead would need to be among the last to pass over - had assigned the final passage to himself and Harjeedian. It was a touch unnerving to find himself instead set in the vanguard.
A fleeting memory came of the first battle he had witnessed, and how hurt and angry he had been that he would not be among those on the "field of honor." He knew better now, and almost wished for the prideful confidence that had been his only a handful of years before.
There was no helping it, though. Other than Firekeeper, Derian was the best of their company at fighting a human-type fight. He also spoke at least a few words in three languages, and so could communicate as, say, two wolves could not.
He strung his bow and made sure his sword was at hand.
"Ready?" Lachen said, sounding mildly amused.
Blind Seer padded up to join Derian, standing to his left so as not to block Derian's sword arm. The blue-eyed wolf glowered at Lachen, and any amusement faded from the man's expression.
"I'll need to cut you," Lachen said to the wolf, his tone suddenly apprehensive.
"I do," Firekeeper said, stepping forward. "For all the Beasts I do. Give me little pot."
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