Wolf's Eyes

by Jane Lindskold

  “At least,” Vernita added, “until King Tedric's heir is selected. It would be a horror if we were to lose the king while engaged in an active war and no one was prepared to take his place. In the infighting for the crown, Hawk Haven could easily be defeated by outside enemies.”

  “Then,” Derian frowned, “the pressure from Bright Bay may force the king to make his decision before the Festival of the Eagle this coming Lynx Moon.”

  “That,” Colby said, “is precisely how I see it. And it may be precisely what Bright Bay wants.”

  “Or,” Vernita countered, “precisely what they don't want. After all an heir chbsen may rain Allister Seagleam's hopes for the throne.”

  “And we must not forget,” Colby added, a wicked twinkle in his eyes, “that Hawk Haven's allies may be putting pressures on King Tedric that we know nothing about. No ruler can be completely indifferent about those countries along the border—even the friendly ones. They can become unfriendly far too easily if offended. It's all rather like running a business.”

  Derian rubbed his eyes with his hands, thinking of the argumentative and contentious forces gathered at the castle, wondering if any among them could see past the crown's glitter to realize what a tremendous headache wearing it must be.

  “I wish we knew,” he said, “which way to jump and what the consequences would be!”

  “Foresight,” Vernita replied calmly, “is the rarest of the gifts and the least understood.”

  “I wonder,” Derian said with an attempt at humor, “if Lady Melina possesses it.”

  His joke fell flat. Together they sat, sharing in silence the impotence of the common folk when the actions of the great threaten their lives and happiness. Derian wondered what choice he would make if he were King Tedric and was secretly glad that he could leave that choice to the king.

  ABOARD A GREAT masted ship anchored off the shore of a small island in the ocean east of the mutual coasts of Hawk Haven and Bright Bay, Prince Newell leaned against the star-board rail. His hair was concealed beneath a seaman's stocking cap; the rest of his person was equally well disguised in a striped jersey and canvas trousers. The disguise worked simply because no one expected a prince to be so clad—especially as the colors he wore were the blue and yellow of a rival navy.

  If any were watching him, Newell would seem completely absorbed in studying the eddies created when the water splashed against the hull. Actually, he missed nothing that happened in his vicinity. When a slightly built man crossed the deck with affected casualness and came to stand near him, Newell did not look up to see who it was. Instead he asked rather diffidently:

  “Have a good voyage?”

  “Yes, thank you,” said the man, whose name was Tench. He was a trusted advisor to the throne of Bright Bay. “And yours?”

  “Good enough.”

  Newell's voyage had been, as a matter of fact, less than ideal. He had departed the capital of Hawk Haven two days after convincing Zorana Shield that pursuing her own policy with an enemy power was not traitorous. From the capital he had ridden a series of fast horses to the coast, arriving three days earlier than he had been expected. From there he had helped sail a small, swift cutter to rendezvous with this vessel. At dawn, he wouldreturnto that cutter and make the return voyage, all so he could arrive just in time to rendezvous with the Hawk HavenWings, on which he served as Commander of Marines, a task undertaken ostensibly as a means of soothing his broken widower's heart and of giving himself some sense of purpose.

  In reality, the game Prince Newell was playing was far more complicated than any of those who associated with him realized, a game that was meant to make him the next king of Hawk Haven and beyond. The first step in this process was convincing the government of Bright Bay that he favored a peaceful resolution of their conflicts. Thus this meeting and the importance of seeming both confident and invulnerable. So Newell said nothing of his onerous journey, but instead commented languidly:

  “And all remains well with Gustin the Fourth?”

  All the monarchs of Bright Bay assumed the name Gustin on taking the crown, men and women alike. It was a curious custom, one that Prince Newell meant to change when he himself was king of Bright Bay. That violation of tradition, however, would need to wait until he hadfinishedwith Hawk Haven. One thing at a time.

  “All is well with our honored monarch,” Tench said. He was a foolish-looking man who rather resembled afish,complete with slightly popping eyes and a perpetually open mouth. “She expresses some concern as to the situation in Hawk Haven. Although some of her advisors feel otherwise, she isfirmin her conviction that her cousin Allister Seagleam is the only proper heir to that contested throne.”

  “Glad to know,” Newell said languidly, “that she hasn't changed her mind. Tell your queen that agents interested in her cause have been working busily. Allister Seagleam should soon receive correspondence suggesting a way to strengthen his claim to the throne. Her Majesty should press him to accept the offer.”

  “Duke Allister,” came Tench's stiff reply, “remains diffi-cult. He does not wish to reign in a land that will not wel-come him, no matter how prepared Her Majesty's military is to support him—no matter how much the queen presses him.”

  “Perhaps,” Newell said, “we should find a way to make him a hero in the eyes of both peoples. He would feel himself more welcome then.”

  What Newell actually planned was for he himself to be that hero. King Tedric, sadly, would probably not be present to witness those heroics, but he would hear report of them. The prince was not precisely certain just what heroic deed he would perform, but he had infinite trust in his ability to manufacture situations to his advantage.

  He turned and for the first time looked Tench squarely in the face. “And Stonehold?” he asked, naming Bright Bay's primary ally.

  “Remainsfirmin its support of an independent Bright Bay. However, its ministers are as ever opposed to the uniting of Hawk Haven and Bright Bay. They fear that the larger nation would threaten their own national sovereignty.”

  “And how shall they prevent this union?” asked Newell scornfully. “Surely sending a few troops to support Bright Bay is a peculiar tactic! What if Bright Bay conquers Hawk Haven?”

  “If Bright Bay wins on land,” Tench replied, “the victory will be achieved only with Stonehold's support. In that case, Stonehold is confident that it will be able to dictate some of the terms. I believe they favor a partition of the conquered Hawk Haven lands.”

  Tench added cautiously, “The diplomats from Stonehold have hinted that if Bright Bay permits a marriage alliance with Hawk Haven, Stonehold will be forced to withdraw its military support. Then Bright Bay may be at Hawk Haven's mercy oh land.”

  Fools! Newell thought. Once Stonehold does that, they lose any chance of subtly pressuring Bright Bay into their way of thinking. All that will remain to them will be force. I must make certain, somehow, that Stonehold does withdraw and then re-enter the field as an opponent. An independent threat would be just the thing to unite both Hawk Haven and Bright Bay behind me.

  Aloud he said, “Stonehold's withdrawal, of course, should be prevented at all cost. This is essential for the delicate balance of power we are relying upon to achieve a peaceful alliance between our nations. If Stonehold withdraws, Bright Bay loses in land power and Hawk Haven may be less willing to treat with it as an equal. Suggest to Queen Gustin the Fourth that even the least mmor of Duke Allister's negotiating with Hawk Haven must be kept the greatest secret.”

  “I will do what I can,” the diplomat said dubiously. “Her Majesty is difficult to guide. She is yet young and impulsive.”

  “Make her think this secrecy is her own idea,” Newell suggested. “Let her think she needs to convince Duke Allister. If she must dominate another's will, she will find she must dominate her own.”

  “A good thought,” Tench replied.

  Newell smiled politely. His plans included a future wherein Queen Gustin IV would be his wife. The fac
t that the headstrong young queen was already married was a difficulty he chose to overlook. Political assassination was not a completely unfamiliar tool to him.

  He remembered the days when he and Princess Lovella had squarely faced the terrible consequences that would arise if Crown Prince Chalmer assumed the throne. Despite bearing the name of his illustrious grandfather, Prince Chalmer was an indecisive man. King Tedric had not realized that in the course of educating his son in statecraft he had crashed his spirit as surely as the spirit of a good horse could be rained by being too severely broken to rein.

  Although Chalmer had visited battlefields, he was not a warrior. Lovella was and she feared for her nation if her brother became king. Chalmer's hemming and hawing over the least decision would have meant disaster as hisfieldcommanders waited for orders that came too late or were too frequently countermanded.

  Since King Tedric refused to acknowledge his son's flaws and promote his daughter over him, then another must do the difficult task for him. Lack of decisiveness was not one of Lovella's flaws. With Newell's assistance, she had engi-. neered her brother's death. Afterward, she had honestly grieved for Chalmer, but, as she told her husband,,she had not viewed his slaying as murder, but rather as an execution necessary for the greater good of the state. Simply put, an incompetent commander must be demoted.

  Prince Barden had already been disinherited, so only Lov-ella remained to assist her father. She did her duty well and then, with bitter irony, she died in battle before she could assume the throne, leaving the kingdom in greater peril than it had been in before.

  Many a dark night after Lovella's death, Newell had sat alone with only a bottle of strong brandy for company. In his most miserable, most drunken moments he had wondered if Lovella's death had been Chalmer's revenge reaching out from beyond the grave. When he was sober, those fears dispersed like fog in the heat of the sun. Rapidly, therefore, he learned to stay sober and found himself praised for his strength of character.

  Newell was sober when he decided that King Tedric Jiad wronged him by not confirming him as heir to the throne following Lovella's death. Surely he was suited. Certainly he had risked far more to secure the throne than any of those who were now being considered. If Lovella had lived, Newell would have been king. How had her death changed any-thing?

  Newell was sober when he decided that if his rights were not given to him, he would take them. Sober he had remained as he had made his plans, manipulating the policies of Bright Bay with words dropped into eager ears. Sober he had continued as he had watched the political maneuverings of King Tedric's potential heirs with sardonic humor bordering on scom.

  Certainly it was symptomatic of the greater chaos that Earl Kestrel thought he could foist off a foundling on the king and convince him to name her his heir. Yet, on meeting Lady Blysse, Newell had rather admired the young woman. For all her lack of manners, there was a buried ferocity to her that reminded him somewhat of Lovella. Never mind. This Blysse Norwood would never see the throne. Indeed, she might well be the very scapegoat he needed. As an outsider, resented by the others, she could easily be blamed for the work of his hands.

  Prince Newell chuckled, a dry, humorless sound. His companion checked to see if the sun was vanishing behind a cloud, for surely the day had grown suddenly cooler.

  “Now, Lord Tench,” Newell said, “I have told you what you want to know. Why don't you tell me…”

  The next quarter of an hour or so was profitably spent taking notes on the location of certain elements of Bright Bay's fleet, information that Tench gave freely since the two countries were not technically at war.

  Wishing to seem the patriot, Newell Shield had given out that his price for supplying gossip about the workings of the Hawk Haven nobility was information that would enable Hawk Haven's navy to avoid accidental clashes with Bright Bay's more powerful fleet. In reality, he hardly cared about such things, except that in some small comer of his mind, that navy already belonged to him.

  THE BOWSTRING MADE a sound like a drowsy hornet when Firekeeper released it, but she hardly heard it, hardly felt the slap against her broad, leather wrist guard. Her mind was focused on the target, on the blood-red spot that was its heart. The arrowhead burrowed in three finger widths to the right and she snarled.

  “Easy!” Race Forester cautioned her. “It doesn't do to lose your temper. If that had been a deer or a man, you'd have hit soundly.”

  “Not,” Firekeeper replied, “a squirrel or rabbit.”

  “Tme,” Race agreed, wrenching the arrow from the target. “But at that distance who could know for certain there was a rabbit?”

  “I,” she said with a deliberate calm she did not feel, “would know.”

  Race nodded. “Yes, I guess you would.”

  Midmorning had become archery practice time, a thing Earl Kestrel had agreed to willingly since King Tedric might well prefer an heir who would lead in battle to one who must conduct campaigns from the sidelines. For the same reason, Firekeeper was being tutored in elementary swordplay, use of a shield, and some refinements of knife-fighting that her hunting had not revealed to her.

  Though she had taken to these elements of martial training with varying degrees of enthusiasm, attempting to teach her lancework had proven useless. As of yet, no horse of sufficient strength and energy had been found that would tolerate her. The patient grey gelding that had carried her from the keep could be coaxed into a walk or even a trot, but certainly not into cantering at a target. Therefore, for now, lancework had been set aside.

  A couple of weeks’ work had not made Firekeeper an expert in anything. Indeed, other than with a bow or a knife—weapons she had more practice with—she was a greater danger to herself than to any opponent. However, she had learned valuable lessons about how a sword might damage or a shield protect. These lessons could someday be enough to preserve her life.

  Blind Seer had taken to practicing with her, though after a few incidents with panicked castle guards they worked together only in the company of Earl Kestrel's retainers.

  “I'm not fool enough,” the great wolf panted, lunging to get at her beneath the cumbersome shield she carried on her left arm, dexterously avoiding blows from the wooden practice sword, “to follow where you will lead without learning enough to defend myself. I haven't forgotten, even if you have, how vulnerable my flanks are to arrows.”

  Firekeeper tried a shield bash and Blind Seer danced back-ward, haunches brushing the ground, tail wagging.

  “Up close,” the wolf continued, “that's where they'll fear to fire their bows lest they hit their friends, so up close is where I must learn to be.”

  He snaked beneath the rim of her shield and clamped his jaws lightly but firmly around her ankle. A single tug and she was flat on her back. Blind Seer leapt upon her and then she pressed the blunt point of her practice dagger into his soft underbelly.

  “I cut?” she queried, pushing slightly.

  “You never would have gotten this close if I had really crushed your ankle!” the wolf protested.

  “Maybe,” Firekeeper replied, “but Ox has told me of the wonders dying men can perform, even when pain should leave them shivering like a throat-torn doe. You shouldn't allow yourself to forget how vulnerable your belly can be.”

  The wolf's blue eyes were hard as ice for a moment; then Blind Seer laughed.

  “Call it a draw?” he suggested.

  “A draw,” Firekeeper agreed.

  Derian shook his head in mock dismay at Firekeeper when the woman came in from the practice field covered with dirt and sw,eat, bleeding from a score of scratches. She knew him well enough by now to know that he really wasn't upset—far from it. He had been more worried when all she had done was eat and grow -soft.

  “Ox says,” he commented, “that you're getting better with a sword.”

  “Want to practice with me?” she teased. “I show you how good I am getting.”

  Derian nodded slowly. “Actually, I would. Ox suggest
ed that you'd improve with a different opponent—he said you're learning to fight him specifically, not a general opponent, so I've been brushing up on what I know. For some reason none of the castle retainers will fence with you.”

  From where he lay on a cool section offlagstonefloor, Blind Seer chuckled. “I wonder why…”

  Firekeeper booted the wolf in the ribs.

  “You know sword?” she asked Derian, pleased to discover that her fox-haired friend had teeth.

  “I'm no great expert,” Derian replied, though before he had met real soldiers he had actually fancied himself quite capable. “My parents insisted that I take lessons when I was younger. Sometimes it helps if a pack train owner can help with defense.”

  “From thieves,” she said, remembering various bloodthrilling stories that Holly had been telling her, “and from bandits, highwaymen, and robbers.”

  Derian laughed. “That's it,” he agreed. “What are your plans for the rest of the day, my lady?”

  Firekeeper frowned. Derian's latest self-appointed task was making her keep track of her own obligations. She had a sneaking suspicion that this was a lure to make her take her reading and writing lessons more seriously.

  “Bath,” she said, hedging for time to remember. “Then free until late afternoon. Then dancing lessons with Lady Elise and the other girls. Then…” She shrugged. “Then nothing so important if I can't remember. Right?”

  “Then dinner,” Derian said seriously, “with Duke Gyrfalcon, his family, and—if ramor is to be believed—emissaries from the court of New Kelvin. This is very important. House Gyrfalcon is important in its ownright—notjust as a source of potential heirs for the throne. Earl Kestrel is working very hard for your cause, trying to show Duke Gyrfalcon that you could be as good a monarch as the duke's own niece or nephew. Furthermore, the New Kelvin emissaries will take report of you back to their rulers, so you must make a good impression.”