Wolf's Eyes

by Jane Lindskold

  Overhead, Elation circled easily above the neat square and rectangular plots, occasionally stooping upon some luckless rodent. The first few times the huge bird had plummeted from the sky, she had scared the wits out of the gardening staff. Now that they had grown accustomed to her, they were rather delighted in having a creature usually reserved for noble sport take part in their routine. They had nicknamed her “Garden Cat”—an indignity the falcon accepted with her usual arrogant grace.

  Firekeeper heard a shrill call from above.

  “Company coming! Elise and Doc! They'll be upon you in a moment.”

  Firekeeper sniffed the breeze, but it was blowing from the wrong direction. Even if it had not been, she doubted she would smell anything but the heavy scents of dirt, manure, braised leaves, fresh vegetables, and hot sunlight.

  Carrot in her hand, she rose, turning to face the gate in the stone wall. She greeted her friends as they passed through:

  “Elise, Doc,” she said with measured solemnity. “What brings you here?”

  “Our feet,” Jared replied with equal formality. “What else?”

  Firekeeper grinned then. “I've been picking…”

  “Pulling,” interrupted Holly, who, like the rest of those Firekeeper named as friends, believed it was her job to correct the wolfling's speech at every turn.

  “Pulling,” Firekeeper repeated obediently, “carrots. For the root cellar, for the castle, for the winter. Also for the kitchen today and so that the carrots still in the ground can grow wider.”

  She shook her head, still amazed by the varied wonders of gardening. Elise broke into a broad smile that Firekeeper far preferred to the strained and weary look that had been on Lady Archer's face when she had entered the garden.

  “Will you introduce me to your friend?” Elise asked, this both a real request and a subtle prompt for Firekeeper to practice her social graces.

  Firekeeper nodded, straightened, and gestured with the carrot. Unconsciously, she adopted the mannerisms of Steward Silver, a woman she quietly admired for her ability to always know the right way through the tangled maze of human social customs.

  “Lady Elise…” She paused, glanced at Elise. “Or should I say Lady Archer?”

  “Lady Archer is best if you want someone to know my social connections,” Elise explained. “Lady Elise if you think they already know them, since you know that I prefer to be called simply Elise.”

  Firekeeper still felt uncertain, a state of mind not helped by Blind Seer's quiet sniggering from under the crab-apple tree. The wolf would not admit that he, too, found human customs fascinating, secure that he at least would never be forced to use them. Doc came to her rescue:

  “In such circumstances, Firekeeper, I have found that it is always better to err on the side of greater formality.”

  Elise nodded. “Tme.”

  Holly Gardener had been watching this byplay with steady, earth-rooted calm, her hands still busy sorting fresh-picked squash into that which would be sent to the castle kitchens and that which would go to the canning sheds.

  Firekeeper began again, “Lady Elise Archer, Sir Jared Surcliffe—may I have the pleasure of presenting my friend Goody Holly Gardener. Holly, these are my friends.”

  Rising to her feet with the aid of a gnarled piece of thorn wood polished bright with beeswax and long use, Holly curtsied as deeply as her arthritic knees would permit.

  “I am honored,” she said in her creaky voice, “to have the heir to House Archer and a knight of the White Eagle grace my garden. Will you take a bench in the shade along the wall and allow me to send for something cool to drink?”

  Firekeeper shook her head in admiration. She had completely forgotten her duties, but Holly had rescued her with the grace and dignity most of the nobles reserved for their most formal interactions.

  It never occurred to her that for Holly Gardener this meeting might be one of those formal occasions. Firekeeper's own awe of the gardener's skill was so great that she placed Holly's worth far above that of the relatively useless members of the court such as Lord Rolfston or his father, Grand Duke Gadman.

  Elise answered, “I thank you for your offer of a drink, Grandmother, but I see the well just across the way. Let me get the water and you remain where you are.”

  Jared grinned. “Not to be outdone, let me lend a hand so that we won't put you too behind in your tasks.”

  When Holly began to protest, made honestly anxious by the thought of a knight of the realm picking vegetables, he stilled her with a hand on her shoulder.

  “Goody, I may have this fancy title, but I am nothing more than a younger son of landholders of a small, rocky estate on Norwood lands. By helping you, I may help myself someday. Please, don't protest further.”

  Firekeeper held her breath, but there was no need to intervene. Holly settled back onto the low, three-legged stool she used to spare her knees.

  “Thank you, son,” she said, her smile showing only a few missing teeth. ‘Tell me about your lands.”

  “My parents’ land as of yet,” Jared began, “and then my brother's. I am the third bom.”

  Firekeeper knelt in the dirt and started pulling carrots again, pleased as always to learn something more about how “real” humans—as opposed to those who resided here in the castle—lived. Elise came over with a maple bucket half full of cool well water and silently offered Firekeeper the dipper. She was somewhat clumsy in her task, but Firekeeper recognized that clumsiness as something she saw far too often in herself—unfamiliarity rather than ineptitude.

  Jared continued talking while thinning carrots from the row alongside Firekeeper's:

  “Let's see, the land was in our family before Queen Zorana established Hawk Haven. Back then it was just a frontier farm—and not one that was doing very well, either. My ancestors had ambition but not much luck in the land they held. At first they eked out their living selling furs and burning charcoal, but that can't go on forever. The animals either die or get smart enough to leave and you ran out of hardwood.

  “So they had to take to serious farming, a thing that apparently didn't delight my great-great-whatever-grandfather a whole lot. When the fellow who would become the first Duke of Norwood called for volunteers to support Zorana Shield against that skunk, Gustin Sailor, Grandpappy went happily. He did well, too, gaining both booty and honor. When Queen Zorana created the Norwood grant, my family was given the Surcliffe holding in perpetuity.”

  Firekeeper hadn't followed all of this, but enough so that she had a question: “If they not hunt or grow, how did they eat?”

  Doc rose, stretching the kinks out of his calf muscles. “Well, some of them became vassals to the Kestrel family—earning Kestrel credit, some of which was sent home. There's always been at least one member of the family stubborn enough to want to stay and make something of the land. Most recently, my own grandmother decided to set in grapevines. My father has continued their cultivation and we're just getting to the point where we're proud enough of our wine to sell it outside of the Kestrel grant.”

  Elise, sitting on a bench in the shade, the bucket between her feet, asked, “And you, Sir Jared?”

  “Call me Doc, if you don't mind,” he said. “The other is so formal.”

  “Doc, then,” she said, “if you don't mind calling me Elise.”

  “Not at all. I'd be pleased,” he replied. “To answer your question, Elise, right now I'm one of those who's earning money to send home. Earl Kestrel has been a good patron. We're nearly twenty years apart in age and not nearly as closely related as he sometimes represents. My parents are both in good health and hopefully will not become ancestors for a long while yet—they're of Norvin's generation. So I've learned medicine and am trying to see something of the country.

  “Meanwhile, I send home a portion of my earnings or—even better—hunt out interesting vine cultivars and vintnering techniques and send them along. My brother and sister have stayed closer to home. My sister is an attendant upon
Duchess Norwood and my brother apprenticed to a master wine maker for ten years. He's home again now and all afire to put his new knowledge to work.”

  The talk continued in this vein for a while, Holly Gardener contributing a shrewd thought or two from her vast wealth of garden lore. Firekeeper listened, pulling carrots until they were all thinned, then hauling water to the rows.

  After a while, a distant bell announced that the time for the evening meal was drawing near. Elise sighed.

  “Duty calls. I have promised my mother that I would go with her and the queen to a banquet at Duke Wellward's city house.”

  She glanced over at Firekeeper, her blue eyes twinkling, and asked, ‘Tell me, Lady Blysse, what is Duke Wellward's relation to me?”

  Firekeeper growled, very low, very quiet. This new addition to her education, the learning of who were the mlers of the Great Houses and how they related to the players for the throne, made her head ache. Once again, she thought that wolves solved such questions so much more simply. Elise, however, was merciless in her persistence.

  “Well, Firekeeper?”

  “Duke Wellward is your mother's father,” Firekeeper began, “your grandfather. Your other grandfather is Purcel Archer, the hero who died in the Battle of Salt Water in the Year 85. Your grandmother is Grand Duchess Rosene.

  “Holly,” Firekeeper added inconsequentially, knowing from Elise's approving smile that she had got the complicated scheme of relationships right, “has been telling me stories about Purcel Archer. I think I would have liked him.”

  Jared Surcliffe grinned. “Given how you have taken to the bow from the first time Race showed you how to use one, I suspect that you would have indeed.”

  He got to his feet.

  “Lady Elise, may I escort you back to the castle?”

  She nodded and Firekeeper thought that she saw the faintest hint of a blush touch her cheeks.

  “Thank you, Sir Jared.”

  “Doc,” he reminded, and she smiled. Doc glanced over at Firekeeper. “Are you coming back with us?”

  “I help Holly Gardener carry the baskets in first,” Fire-keeper replied. “Then I hurry to the castle in time for dinner. Will Derian be back?”

  “Not yet. He has permission to remain out until after dinner.”

  Bending to pick up one of the baskets of carrots, Firekeeper watched them leave. Behind her, she heard Holly say softly:

  “I like that Elise. Maybe shewould make a good queen after she has some years on her. She's not too proud to carry water to quench a servant's thirst.”

  “And Doc?”

  “I like him, too,” Holly assured her. Then she added softly, so softly that Firekeeper didn't think she was meant to hear, “He'd be a far better king than that Jet Shield.”

  XII

  THE HOT SUMMER WEATHER prompted Derian's iff parents to suggest a picnic along the banks of the Flin III River, upstream of the city. The entire family rode there in a wagon Derian remembered as being creaky

  T when he was Brock's age, pulled by an old draft horse to whom Colby and Vernita had given an honorable retirement three years before. Once arrived, they staked out a section for themselves and spent the day following quiet pursuits: tossing horseshoes, rolling hoops, singing rounds and collapsing into uncontrollable laughter when someone became tangled in the words and tune.

  Derian drifted into the easy relaxation that came when someone else was in charge and quite capable of doing what-ever needed to be done. Quite willingly, he would have stayed along theriverbankinto the long twilit evening hours, but Brock rather self-importantly announced that tonight was a meeting of the Bear Society and he must attend. In any case, the gnats were rising, making the grassy verge less appealing.

  When they returned to the house, Damita made excuses to go out. She did indeed have a “sweet'a”—or at least imagined that she did, a youth of sixteen who was apprenticed to their jeweler uncle. Next to this beau, the entertainment offered by an older brother—even one who had been living in the king's own castle—had limited appeal. Knowing this, Colby and Vernita gave in with good humor when Damita asked to go out to the nearby market square, where she would doubtless cluster with a group of girls her own age and giggle at the boys.

  Derian's own onetime romance with the baker's daughter had not survived his long absence and his relocation to the castle—especially as he was there in the role of guardian to another girl. His opportunities to cultivate new romances had been limited.

  Unlike Ox and Race, who were clearly classed as servants, his role was more that of an attendant, a subtle distinction that mled out the riotous entertainments the other men could pursue. However, though Derian was slightly more than a servant, he was definitely less than a noble and thus pretty girls like Elise Archer remained out of his reach.

  Sometimes this bothered Derian. He found himself brooding that he would become like Valet, a man who apparently had no interests beyond tending his master. But tonight such worries were far away. Derian was content to remain at home and enjoy these last few hours of peace before he must return to his duties.

  Once Brock and Damita had departed, the remaining three moved out into the garden. Most of the peaches had been picked and enjoyed, but the narrow leaves of the tree created a pleasant, natural arbor. Derian helped Colby move a few slat-backed chairs and a small, round-topped table into place. Vernita brought drinks from the cool room.

  “So, who's the favorite candidate with the guilds these days?” Derian asked-with slightly forced jocularity.

  The longer he had known Firekeeper, the more he had come to entertain the contradictory feeling that she would be both the best and worst choice for the new monarch. He hadn't been particularly easy with himself when he had learned from his parents a week or so before that the foundling remained high on the list of the people's choices.

  “Well,” Colby drawled, sipping his chilled tea with an appreciative nod to Vernita, “your wolf-woman is still the romantics’ favorite, but those of soberer mind are torn. Some like the idea of Lord Rolfston Redbriar as he is a steady man with a good reputation among his own people. It doesn't hurt that he has a large family, so we won't see a repetition of this uncertainty when he passes on. Others say, and loudly too, that Lord Rolfston is too tightly under the thumb of that sorceress wife of his.”

  “Derian,” Vernita asked, “you've been living in the castle for almost a moon-span now…”

  “Barely twenty days!” Derian protested.

  “Still, long enough to have seen Lady Melina frequently. Do you think she is indeed a sorceress?”

  Derian considered this carefully, knowing that his parents were asking his advice and that they would be certain to repeat whatever he said to their friends and trusted associates.

  “I have seen no absolute evidence,” he said, “but I think that whether or not she is, Lady Melina likes for people to think that she is gifted far beyond those small talents that sometimes crop up here and there. Do you understand?”

  “Perfectly,” Vernita replied. “She values the awe—even the fear with which she is regarded. I wonder if she realizes that she is hurting her own cause?”

  “I doubt it,” Derian said. “I don't think she's the kind to ever think even for a minute that she is anything but an asset. Now that her son Jet is engaged to Lady Elise, Lady Melina has not one but two roads to the throne. My feeling is that she's quite smug about it.”

  “And the young woman Sapphire,” Colby asked. “How is she taking having competition within her own family?”

  “She isn't thrilled,” Derian admitted. “For a day or two she sulked in her room like a child. Then she must have realized—or someone must have told her—that such behavior was notfittingin one who hoped to someday be monarch. She has been much in public since—even invited Firekeeper out for some real hawking and was fairly charming to her, though Firekeeper's Elation did far better than Sapphire's gyrfalcon—but Sapphire's still cool to Elise.”

  “And Lady
Elise,” Vernita asked, a slight twinkle lighting her eyes that her own son should be on such familiar terms with the heir to a barony so as to speak of her by her first name, “how does she view the situation?”

  “I think she regrets the estrangement from her cousin but is resigned to it. Sapphire Shield is a—to speak mildly—strong personality. I'm certain they've clashed before. But you haven't finished telling me about how the common folk view the field. So far my Firekeeper and Lord Rolfston re-main strong contenders…”

  “And Baron Archer as well,” Colby added. “Lady Zorana has fallen behind somewhat, now that there has been an alliance between Lady Elise and Jet Shield.”

  “What about Allister Seagleam?” Derian asked. “Once you said he was favored by many.”

  “A few weeks’ time hasn't changed that situation much,” Colby admitted. “More disturbing are rumors that would seem to indicate that Bright Bay is determined that if Allister wishes to claim his rights he will have support in doing so.”

  “What do you mean?” Derian asked, sitting up straight in his chair.

  “It's the stories coming up the road,” Colby said slowly. “You know that we border Bright Bay all along the Barren River.”

  “Of course.”

  “Now strategically, the Barren makes a good border. It is rocky most of its length and where it isn't, it's still very wide. There are a few places, however, that are more fordable than others and reports say that a greater concentration of Bright Bay's Stalwarts—or their allies from Stonehold—have been seen in these places.”

  “I understand,” Derian said, watching the map Colby had drawn with his damp fingertip on the tabletop dry into in-visibility. “They're watching us, but not yet moving in.”

  “Right. From my conversations with the army's Master of the Horse—he came by to ask on the quiet if we had any draft animals to sell—the king's officers are aware of the situation but are unwilling to move in lest it prompt the very conflict we would all like to avoid.”