The Princess and the Wolf (The Princess and the Hound)

by Mette Ivie Harrison

  “There is nothing human in me,” said True, holding himself taller. His wanting to leave here was not because he was afraid. It was only his duty to his mother that concerned him.

  “So, what do you plan to do? Do we walk up to the castle gates and simply bark and wait for this king you claim you know to come out to us?” asked True.

  “He will,” said Fierce.

  “Are you certain?” asked True.

  “Certain as the day you were born.”

  “I could go call to him and bring him to you, in the forest,” said True.

  Fierce let out a sigh. “That is not the way of things, in the world of wild hounds. So long as I live, I fight to keep my pack safe. And you are my pack.”

  “I could carry you on my back,” suggested True.

  The answer to that came in the form of a nip to his ear.

  True stifled the urge to whine. He was not a child anymore. But it had truly hurt, and it had been so unexpected. His mother had not nipped in so sharply for years.

  “I am well able to take care of myself,” she said.

  It was then that they both saw the figure of the human woman following after the Olde Wolf and his animals. She was not tall, and she wore a skirt that caught easily on each bush and burr around her. But she held her back straight and tall and the way she held her head reminded True for a moment of the golden she-wolf, Golda. But then he shook himself. There was no reason for him to think that.

  “Who is she?” he asked his mother.

  “I do not know.”

  “Should we stop her?”

  “Do you think she is following him as a slave? That she has no power?” asked Fierce.

  True turned back and watched her. There was no question of her strength and power. She had her own reasons for doing what she did, and they had nothing to do with helping the Olde Wolf. “No,” he said.

  “Then we let her go. She has her own quest and we have ours. Perhaps we will meet at some time, but not now.”

  True nodded, and led his way forward to the castle. He kept several steps behind his mother, and she kept pace with until they reached the moat in front of the gates.

  “A leap across and you can rest,” said True.

  “Yes,” said Fierce. She took several breaths and then took a running leap. But her right hind leg twisted behind her badly and she landed half in the moat and half out of it on the far bank.

  It was a cold night, and there were chunks of ice floating in the water along with the creatures in the moat, and the refuse from the castle. It stank of humans, and worse.

  Nonetheless, True leaped across it, landing nearly as badly as his mother had. The water felt as if it were tearing at his hide. The cold numbed him, but did not keep his nose from sensing the smell. He wondered how humans could stand to live around themselves. Why not leave such a place forever and come to the forest?

  Not that he wished them to. If they did, they would only make the forest stink, as well. Leave them here, and hope their noses grew less and less sensitive with each passing generation.

  True climbed out and then turned back to pull his mother out of the moat by one paw.

  “Promise me that you will leave me behind if you must,” Fierce demanded. “The battle against this Olde Wolf is more important than the life of one old female hound. And I would like to believe that you will live on, True.”

  True gritted his teeth together. “I promise you that I will do what a hound should do. I will fight for the good of the pack, not for myself.”

  “And not for me,” said Fierce.

  True was shaking with cold. “And not for you,” he added after a long moment.

  Fierce shook herself off, spraying True with more of the moat water. “I wish your father were here,” she said, her voice faint for the first time since they had begun this journey.

  “You would not make him give you such a promise,” said True grumpily.

  “I would,” Fierce insisted. “And he would know that I meant it.”

  But he would not have followed it, thought True. His father had been the only hound who could out-stubborn his mother. It was part of the reason that True missed him so much.

  There were guards before the gate, and behind them, a fire that was the only light in the darkness. True was startled to see it, and then pulled back for a moment, because it hurt his eyes. He had become used to the complete darkness.

  “And do we call for him here?” asked True.

  “Indeed,” said Fierce. She set her hind legs behind her, and then opened her mouth wide. She lifted her head to the sky and let out a call. The words “King George, you are needed by the hounds of the forest, by the birds of the forest, by the bears and the deer and every animal of the forest. Your magic is needed. I call you to me now, and my name is Fierce.”

  True could see the reaction of the guards. They lifted their spears and swords and stared at the hound so close to them. But it was only a hound, and they were humans. Unless she attacked them, they would simply keep their guard.

  “Did he answer you back?” asked True, after a long moment.

  “What do you think? Did you hear him bark?” asked Fierce in a low voice, not meant to carry as the other had.

  “I didn’t know if I would understand him.”

  “He speaks as we speak. He has the animal magic that allows him to speak to any animal at all.”

  How useful that would be, thought True. “Can he also change into animal form?” he asked, the image of Golda changing into a human suddenly strong in his mind.

  “No, I don’t think he can. Or at least, he does not do it. He remains himself, but he did once change two creatures back into the form that they were meant to take. Animals, both of them, who had been enchanted by humans. But that was long ago, and I do not have the time to tell you that story now.” She seemed tired and annoyed with him.

  True kept quiet and did not ask her more questions.

  The guards continued to watch them. A few of them moved, and then a few others moved, in long chain, until three went back inside the gate.

  True watched and wondered if he could leap forward fast enough that he could not be stopped. But Fierce shook her head at him. “We will wait for an invitation from the king. He knows me.”

  “Then why—?” asked True, and then cut himself off.

  Fierce turned to the castle and called out again. “King George, I demand that you answer me. You have long claimed to be a friend of animals. Now we need you against a common enemy, the Olde Wolf. Where are you?”

  The guards once more seemed disturbed by the long howling. One of them thrust a spear into the dirt. Another stomped his feet. One spoke a word that needed no translation. It was a curse, and it was directed at the hounds.

  But before any of the humans moved toward the humans, one of the guards held out an arm and drew the others back. What he said, True did not know. He only heard the soft human sounds.

  A long time passed. The king did not come. True watched as his mother’s head fell, and then it seemed almost as if she had fallen asleep. True itched to do something. How long until the Olde Wolf came back? They must be gone before then.

  “Well, then, we must go to the king,” said Fierce at last. “And don’t tell me that you were right all along.”

  “No, Mother,” said True softly.

  “You must bite one of the guards and then he will chase you. In the ruckus, I will slip into the castle and find the king.”

  “And what of me?” asked True.

  “Do you think you are so slow that a human could catch you if you wanted to get away?” asked Fierce.

  “I meant, shall I come into the courtyard of the castle and follow you? Or shall I wait for you here?” said True.

  “Come as soon as you can,” said Fierce. She moved away from him, toward the gate.

  Could she climb that high on the metal stakes, without hurting herself? He should not doubt his mother, True told himself. And he leaped at the guard wh
o had cursed at him, bit his leg, then ran as quickly as he could around the gate, toward the moat.

  As soon as the guards were running toward him in a line, he slid forward on his forepaws, then made a neat circle and began running in the opposite direction.

  The human guards had no chance. They could not turn as quickly. They had no tail.

  How foolish of them, thought True. When they climbed out of trees and dropped their tails, they lost more than they knew.

  He did not see his mother when he reached the gate. She must already be over, he thought. He leaped as high as he could, then clawed his way to the top of the metal stakes. He did not escape without losing a little blood and fur, but then he dropped to the other side.

  By then he could hear the guards behind him, calling out names. He felt a spear graze his neck. But he used his tail once more and changed direction, and then the guards were shouting. For the gate to be raised, no doubt, thought True. But he and his mother would be long gone by then. No one would know where they had gone.

  True had only to close his eyes and follow his mother’s scent. He found a staircase at the far end of the castle and could see a faint drop of blood pressed into the stone with his mother’s pawprint. He hoped speaking to this king was worth all of this.

  Once inside the castle, True found he could no longer move as easily. The wooden floors were shiny and slick and he could hear the sound of his claws clicking against them echoing in the high ceilings. It made him stop. He could hear the sound of his own heartbeat, as well. It was too quiet here, and the smell was—too clean.

  No, not clean. Clean was a river in the summer. This was meant to smell like flowers, but too many of them all at once, and flowers that would not grow at the same time. Did humans want to live in the forest? Then why did they build these walls? Why not simply go out and live there, in the grass and the flowers—the real flowers—and the trees where they had been born. Why try to remake the forest here, and get it so wrong?

  “This way,” said his mother, moving up yet another set of stairs.

  True nearly collided with a bear. In the castle.

  How was that possible?

  His heart thumped in his ears and he only just kept himself from howling out for his pack.

  Fierce put a hand to his back. “It is not a bear,” she said.

  And when True looked back, he saw his mother was right. That is, it was not a living bear, but the head of a dead one. Why would a man who could speak to animals keep a dead and unspeaking one here? Was it meant to frighten other animals who came here? Or only humans?

  The smell of the bear was caustic and sour, not like a rotting carcass, which would have been covered with beetles and other creatures. But there was a patch of fur falling off near the left eye, and True realized that the bear had been a very young one, not yet fully into its strength. What kind of boast was it, then, to display killing such a creature?

  “Do they eat bear meat often here?” asked True.

  “No, never,” said his mother.

  Which did not answer anything.

  True followed her up the final staircase. “This is it,” she said.

  “How do you know?”

  “The smell of animal magic,” said his mother.

  True wrinkled his nose, but he could detect nothing particularly different here than elsewhere in the castle. “What is it?”

  “It is strange and familiar at once. It is like pines and feathers, like ice and hot blood.”

  Which made no sense to True at all.

  “And also, this is the deepest part of the castle. It is where the Olde Wolf would keep a man who threatens to take back the pack.”

  “Humans have packs?” said True.

  “After a fashion,” said Fierce.

  There were two more guards at the door at the top of the stairs. Fierce snarled at them.

  The younger stood, hands held high. “What is it?” he asked.

  True followed his mother’s lead and bared his teeth. But this time, he did not have to bite into the thin and tasteless human skin.

  “Lord Morlieb must have sent them, to soften up the king,” said the older guard, with a missing ear lobe and a nose broken in a fight from long ago.

  “Let them in, then.”

  The older guard got out a key and opened the door.

  The two hounds walked in to find the king sitting up by the fire, his eyes closed, but his hands moving in his lap as though trying to find something important there.

  “King George, I must speak with you,” said Fierce.

  King George looked toward her as if he understood her words, but then he turned away, uninterested.

  “Please, it is urgent,” barked Fierce.

  The king started. “Do I know you?” he asked, his words slurred.

  How long had it been since he had spoken in the language of hounds? True wondered.

  “We have met,” said Fierce. “In the forest. Several years ago. My mate Red was there, as well. This is our son, True. He was still a pup then.”

  King George’s face was strained with the effort to concentrate. “Red. A fine hound,” he said.

  “Yes, but there is a problem now. There is a man, in your castle. Lord Morlieb.”

  “Ah, Lord Morlieb. He is to marry my daughter soon,” said the king, and then began to cough. He coughed for far too long, and blood began to stain his teeth and his lips.

  That was when True realized the scene that had been added to the flowers here. It was the scent of coming death. The king was dying. His eyes were red and his breath was shallow in his chest and his whole body trembled.

  “He is not a man, King George. He is an Olde Wolf in disguise. He has come to destroy you and your kingdom. And all humans, if he can.”

  “What?” said King George.

  Had he lost his ability to speak with animals? He did not seem of any use to them at all.

  “My daughter, Dagmar,” said King George.

  Fierce looked at True. “We saw her.”

  “She must not marry him. I must stop her.”

  “She sees him clearly, King George.”

  True realized that his mother must mean the woman they had seen walking out after the Olde Wolf. Yes, she was not his slave. She meant to fight against him.

  “But—what have I done? Where is Marit? Where is my queen? He told me he would look after her, that she was too upset to see me.”

  “We will have to find her,” said Fierce. “She would be a useful ally.”

  More useful than this weak, dying king, thought True.

  “Your guards,” said Fierce. “Tell them not to allow him. We will have to deal with the animals he has taken with him.”

  “I—they are not my guards any longer. They do not obey me,” said King George.

  “But there must be some men who are loyal to you in the palace,” said True desperately.

  “I do not know where they are. He has a way of speaking—no one thinks of denying him or disagreeing when his words are ringing in their ears. It is hard for me still to see him as evil, when I think of him.”

  “That is his magic,” said Fierce. “He uses the old language of all creatures when he speaks, and there is such magic in those words that all believe what he says.”

  “When he returns—my people—my daughter—” the king choked out.

  True stared at the man. Should they take him with them back to the forest? Would he be of any use there, speaking to animals and rallying them all against the Olde Wolf and his minions? He could easily die before they stepped out of the castle. And there were so many guards.

  “If I were a hound,” said King George, taking a breath after each word. His face was intent, his brows drawn together. “If I were an animal, I would be able to smell the lies on him.” He gasped and his eyes went wide.

  True meant to tell the king that animals were not immune to the Olde Wolf, but there was a buzzing noise around him, and a sharp smell that he could not identify.
/>   “But—” he said, but his voice was cut off in a wrenching twist of his throat. For a moment, True was sure that the guards had returned and had attacked him. He writhed and barked, but then he saw his mother’s face.

  It was clear and full of awe. She had never looked at him like that before. She had never looked at that at anything that he recalled before.

  The pain ripped through him. He could feel it from his nose to his spine and down to each of his legs. He fell back on the ground and trembled and twisted. His head felt as if it had been stepped on, and there was fire spreading from one ear to the other.

  He caught a glimpse of King George, his tongue hanging out, fallen out of his chair, hunched on all fours, with his teeth bared like a wild creature. And the smell of him—

  The pain took True again and he hit his head. He groaned and felt his claws being ripped from his paws, one by one. There was a strange sound coming from his throat, high-pitched and watery.

  He breathed and breathed again, trying to fill his whole chest, but it did not fill properly.

  He turned and saw a hound where King George had been. A graying hound that showed signs of age, like his mother. A hound that smelled of death—and magic.

  True made a sound like gargling. Then he tried to step forward, and he looked down at his hind legs, because they felt very cold.

  They were not his legs.

  They were human legs.

  Hairless.

  Over-long.

  Pale.

  Weak.

  He looked up and met the eyes of the gray hound. They were the eyes of King George.

  “No,” he tried to bark.

  It came out in the language of humans.

  And the graying hound that was King George said in the language of the hounds, “I did not know it would happen to you, as well. I am sorry. I thought I was only changing myself. But I have only used the great magic once before, and there were two involved. One became human. One became an animal. I must have used the same pattern again.”

  “Change me back,” said True. He did not hate humans the way that Lord Morlieb did, but he might come to, if forced to take their shape.