Wolfsbane Winter

by Jane Fletcher

  Synopsis

  The Iron Wolf mercenaries who guard travelers on the Misery Trail are notorious for their quick and casual sex lives.

  Deryn may fit the stereotype better than most, but she has her reasons. A childhood tragedy has left her wary of forming attachments. If you don't care, then you can't get hurt, but you can still make a mess of things—such as the error of judgment that leaves her with no money, forced to spend the winter on a lousy job in a miserable little backwater.

  There she meets Alana, local healer, vet, and woman of mystery. It does not take Deryn long to find out that Alana is more than she seems, and has her own perilous secret to keep. Yet Deryn still finds herself falling for the woman, so much so that her come-and-go lifestyle is at risk.

  This would be bad enough, but serious trouble arrives for Deryn and Alana in the form of demon magic from the Time of Chaos—revealing that old legends are not merely material for ghost stories around the fire. As the danger increases, who do they need to fear more, the living or the dead?

  Wolfsbane Winter

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  By the Author

  Wolfsbane Winter

  THE LYREMOUTH CHRONICLES

  The Exile and the Sorceror

  The Traitor and the Chalice

  The Empress and the Acolyte

  The High Priest and the Idol

  THE CELAENO SERIES

  The Temple at Landfall

  The Walls of Westernfort

  Rangers at Roadsend

  Dynasty of Rogues

  Shadow of the Knife

  Wolfsbane Winter

  © 2010 By Jane Fletcher. All Rights Reserved.

  ISBN 10: 1-60282-158-5E

  ISBN 13: 978-1-60282-158-3E

  This Electronic Book is published by

  Bold Strokes Books, Inc.

  P.O. Box 249

  Valley Falls, New York 12185

  First Edition: July 2010

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.

  Credits

  Editor: Stacia Seaman

  Production Design: Stacia Seaman

  Cover Design By Sheri (GraphicArtist2020@hotmail.com)

  Acknowledgments

  To Joanie, Ruth, and Jo for reading the first draft and making helpful suggestions.

  To Sheri for the cover.

  To Stacia, Cindy, and everyone else at Bold Strokes for being so wonderful to work with.

  To Rad for making it all possible.

  Dedication

  To Joanie

  A mining camp, 60 miles east of Oakan

  8th year of the reign of King Alvarro II

  Late summer, setiembre 5, midday

  Deryn pulled back the bowstring and locked her hand under her chin. She squinted, lining up the bow with the target, and then carefully relaxed her fingers, letting the string roll off the archer’s tab. Her arrow thudded into the tree, a bare inch from the center of the chalked cross she had been aiming at. Smiling in satisfaction, she reached over her shoulder for her quiver.

  Without warning, a fury of hoofbeats erupted, charging toward her. She barely had time to react before the rider thundered past, crossing so close behind that the horse’s tail flicked her arm. A bowstring twanged and a second arrow struck the tree, this one a hand’s width from the cross.

  Deryn’s heart pounded, in part due to the jolt of surprise and in part due to the sight of Shea, moving as if she and the horse were one, a single fluid entity. At the edge of the clearing, Shea turned in an impossibly tight circle for someone controlling her horse purely by pressure from her knees, and galloped back. Already she had another arrow on the string, ready for her second shot. This one went wider of the mark, clipping the edge of the tree. Shea wheeled around again, her horse slowing.

  A chorus of good-natured catcalls came from the group of Iron Wolf mercenaries who were eating lunch at the other side of the campsite. Shea responded with a laugh and an obscene gesture as she jumped down from her horse before it had stopped completely.

  Shea gave the tree a long, critical stare and then grinned at Deryn. “Okay. Your arrow was nearer, but you were standing still. Do you want to try on horseback and see if you can beat me?”

  “Ah, no. I know I um…couldn’t, it’s…” Deryn stopped trying to talk and settled for a smile that she hoped was not too sickly.

  Shea gave a loud laugh. “It’s all right. You did pretty well, for a scout.”

  “Oh. Thanks.”

  “Nobody is gonna expect anything much in the way of fighting from you. That’s the job of us warriors.”

  “Uh. Yeah.”

  Deryn could not believe how lame she was sounding. Not a single intelligent thought was in her head. Her palms started sweating. She tried to wipe them surreptitiously on the legs of her pants, while praying her body would not betray her in even worse ways, such as by blushing. Shea had joined the band of mercenaries at the mine six days before, and this was the first time they had exchanged more than a one-word greeting, although Deryn had dreamed about it.

  Shea patted Deryn’s shoulder and then strolled to the tree. “Scouts are there just so you know where you’re going, but I tell you, the scout in my last party was a fucking useless waste of space.”

  Deryn’s stomach had catapulted through a loop at the pat and her knees were unsteady. Yet somehow, she managed to follow Shea, who carried on talking.

  “D’you know, the jerk led us right into the middle of a windigo nest. First thing we knew about it, I was staring at teeth the size of my fingers”—Shea held up her left hand to illustrate, then raised the other one, leaving a scant yard between her palms—“this far from my face. I tell you, I was…” She shook her head ruefully and dropped her voice to a confidential whisper, even though nobody else was near enough to hear. “I was shitting myself.”

  Deryn wished she could make a casual, offhand quip, as one Iron Wolf to another, expressing solidarity for the hazards of their profession, but she had never seen a live windigo, let alone fought one. She reached the tree and pulled her arrow out, which gave her a few more seconds to think, but the best she could come up with was, “That must have been…um…nasty.”

  “It sure was. Luckily, Hagan and Raul were sharp about it. They got the beast’s attention long enough for me to get out of biting range. Then the three of us polished it off.”

  “Good you had comrades on hand you could rely on.” At last she had managed to string a proper sentence together.

  “Too true. It’s more than I can say for that damned scout. Useless fool. I mean, the windigo was twenty feet long, we’d marched bang into the heart of its territory, and the idiot claimed he hadn’t seen any sign of it. What was the point of having him on the team?”

  “Was that when you got injured? I heard you’d been hurt riding the Trail, so you couldn’t complete the journey. Someone mentioned it to me, kind of in passing.” Deryn did not want to give the idea that she had been actively hunting down gossip about the new arrival, even though it would be true.

  “No. That was a completely separate cock-up on his part. The jerk picked a dumb-ass place to ford a river and my knee got wrenched.”

  “That’s too bad.”

  �
�Yeah. I couldn’t ride for a couple of weeks, and the traders couldn’t hang around if they were to get to Sluey and back before winter. Luckily we were near a fortified way-house, where they could leave me. When I was fit to ride, I tagged on with a group heading back to Oakan. But I’d only gotten paid for the part of the journey I’d done. That’s why I needed to fill in for a month with this job here.” Shea glanced around dismissively. “It’s not what I’d have chosen. Way too dull. But you’ve been here some time, right?”

  “Yes. Brise and me came with the miners, when they started, in spring.”

  “Why?”

  “The miners wanted protection. We’ve had a few hungry bears and a cougar sniffing round.”

  Shea threw back her head and laughed. “Yeah, bears. That’s about what I’d expect. Hardly needs Iron Wolves to handle it. But what I meant was, why did Brise accept a piddly, god-awful job like this? She doesn’t strike me as a total waster. She’s not scared to tackle the Misery Trail, is she?”

  Even though Shea was the one saying it, and she had been smiling while she spoke, Deryn felt a kick of irritation. She glanced across to where Brise stood with a couple of miners, one foot on the log they were using as a seat, chatting to them while they finished lunch. A casual pose. Yet always Brise had the air of a cat about her, senses alert to everything and a lithe muscled body, ready to react in an instant.

  “Brise is a really good scout, and she’s ridden the Trail, loads of times.”

  Deryn’s tone must have registered. Shea held up her hands. “Hey, I didn’t mean no disrespect. She’s your mother, right? And like I said, she strikes me as being way more useful than most scouts you meet on the Trail. That’s why I’m surprised she’d spend a whole season here, playing nursemaid to miners. If she used to ride the Trail, what made her stop?”

  “She adopted me, a few years ago. She reckoned I was too young for the Trail then, so we’ve been…” Deryn shrugged rather than finish the sentence, hoping the admission would not make her seem too much like a child in Shea’s eyes.

  “Is she gonna do the Trail again?”

  “She said she would, once I’m old enough. Just another year or two and I can join the Iron Wolves.”

  “You want to?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’ll be a scout, like her?”

  “Of course.” Deryn raised her eyes and met Shea’s level gaze. A whole second passed before Shea looked away. Deryn swallowed and her stomach formed a tight knot. How much eye contact counted as significant?

  “I’ve been a Wolf for two years. You really should talk your mother into doing the Misery Trail next year. That’s a real job for an Iron Wolf. Beats any crap mining camp.” Shea smiled and ran her eyes over Deryn. “You’re adopted, you said?”

  “Yes, five years ago.”

  “Right. That explains it.”

  “What?”

  “That you don’t look much like her. I mean, you’ve both got the scout-type build, like you could do with an extra meal or two. Anyone can see you don’t have the muscles to be a warrior.”

  Deryn let the comment pass, even though she felt she was plenty strong enough.

  Shea continued. “You’re a lot paler than Brise—your skin, straw-colored hair, and your eyes. Are they blue or green?”

  “I’ve been told it depends on the light.”

  “Right.” Shea smiled, and her voice dropped. “You know, I’d noticed them before now. They’re really nice.”

  Deryn’s heart jumped a beat while her palms again grew sticky. “Um…thanks…I—”

  “Deryn. You finished practicing your archery?” A shout from Brise rang across the camp.

  “Ah, yeah.” Deryn spun away from the tree, holding out her bow in a pointless gesture. Brise would be quite well aware that she had been chatting for the last five minutes, rather than doing what she was supposed to.

  “We ought to run a sweep. Come on.”

  Deryn glanced at Shea. “Maybe we’ll talk some more when I get back.”

  “Sure. I’m not going anywhere.” Again Shea held the eye contact for a moment longer than normal.

  Deryn turned and trotted away, her heart thumping against her ribs.

  “We’ll start out east and swing by the lake.” Brise set off without waiting for a reply, vanishing into the trees.

  Deryn took two steps but then stopped for a last look around the clearing. The mining camp in the valley was as close to idyllic as could be expected after a dozen miners had spent six months there, digging for gold. A dense forest of pine trees blanketed the flanks of the mountains on either side. A gurgling river ran along the bottom, glinting in the warm sunlight. Birdsong rippled down from the treetops, overlying the shushing of a breeze through the branches.

  Shea had wandered over to join the remaining four Iron Wolves and had lain down, her tall frame stretched on the grass, with her hands behind her head as a pillow. The pose emphasized the width of Shea’s shoulders and the firm muscles of her stomach and thighs. Deryn could not stop herself staring, taking in every detail, as she had been doing since Shea arrived at the camp.

  Initially, the miners had needed guards only for wild animals, but now their store of gold had grown and human predators also presented a risk. The most dangerous time would be when they broke camp, in another month or so, and carted their entire season’s cache to Oakan. Hence, the miners had employed Shea and the two other Iron Wolves who had arrived with the last supply wagon.

  Immediately, the young female warrior had caught Deryn’s attention. Never before had she seen anyone ride in the way Shea could. When added to her athletic body, her relaxed self-assurance, and the scant few years separating them, Shea presented an irresistible lure.

  Roughly a fifth of Iron Wolves were women, most of them scouts or trackers, like Brise. Warriors such as Shea were rare. The raw muscle power required for fighting put women at a disadvantage. Even with her height, Shea could not hope to match a man in strength, but she more than made up for it with her skill on horseback. Deryn felt her skin warm with the memory of Shea shooting at the tree.

  “Hey, Deryn. Where are you?”

  “Coming.” Deryn hurried to catch up with her foster mother and mentor.

  No breeze permeated the dense matting of branches as she and Brise climbed the hillside. The warm air surrounded Deryn like a cocoon. Sounds were muted, colors dimmed. Brise drifted through the gloom, silent as a ghost. Deryn tried her best to copy the stealthy footsteps, while at the same time taking in as many details as she could. Brise would be sure to quiz her later about anything significant they had passed.

  After a mile of climbing, they reached a rocky outcrop, where a recent landslip had stripped away the tree cover below. The spot was a favorite lookout point, providing a view down the valley.

  Brise settled on a convenient boulder, her eyes fixed on the distance. “You and Shea were having a good chat.”

  “Ah…yeah.” This was not the topic Deryn had expected, and she needed a moment to adjust her thoughts.

  “You shouldn’t take what she says too seriously.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She doesn’t know quite as much as she thinks she does.”

  Deryn was confused. What did Brise think they had been talking about? “She was telling me about the Misery Trail. She said we ought to do it next year.”

  “That proves my point. The Trail is no place for children.”

  “I’m sixteen.”

  “Just barely.”

  Deryn tried not to pout. “Shea’s only a bit older than me, and she’s done it.”

  “I’d put her three or four years older. And she got hurt.”

  “It was an accident.”

  “Yup. Accidents are what kill you, and they mostly happen to people who are young and inexperienced.”

  “It wasn’t her fault.”

  “She told you that?”

  Deryn nodded.

  “How many things that have gone wrong in
her life were her fault?” Brise looked skeptical. “Believe me. I know the sort. Nothing is ever her fault or happens because she isn’t good enough.”

  “Shea helped kill a windigo that attacked her party. If I’m gonna become a scout, I’ll need to know how to deal with things like that.”

  Brise laughed. “Most windigos are hulking great things that leave footprints so deep you could follow them blindfolded, without getting off your horse. Believe me, after tracking something the size of a rabbit, windigos will be a piece of piss.”

  “There has to be something I—”

  Brise did not move, except maybe the lines around her eyes hardened, but Deryn knew her well enough to tell that the experienced scout had spotted something.

  Damn. Deryn had gotten too caught up in what they were saying and had let her attention slip. The lapse was not the sort of thing Brise would overlook, nor would it help win the argument over the Misery Trail. She turned and scanned the valley below.

  Two miles distant, a flock of sparrows had risen and were swirling around. The small birds skimmed low over the treetops, settling for a second, only to rise again. Whatever was upsetting them lay below rather than above.

  “Do you think it might be bears or wolves?” Brise asked.

  “Of course not. The sparrows would ignore them.”

  “Something in the trees? A snake?”

  This was a trickier question. Deryn hesitated. “No. The locus is moving. It’s gone about fifty feet while we’ve been watching. That’s walking pace. It has to be people, and they’re making enough noise to upset the sparrows. Nobody from the camp is gonna be over there, so it’s someone new in the area, but I don’t know who.”