Wolf's Eyes

by Jane Lindskold

  Therefore, the prince made mysterious and cryptic comments to the captain of Wings. These comments made that faithful if unimaginative man quite certain that once again the prince was placing his life at risk for the good of the Crown. Since Wings's captain had repeatedly benefitted from the information that Prince Newell had brought to him, news that had made Wings the most successful ship in Hawk Haven's small navy, he was willing to do without his Commander of Marines for a time.

  If it also crossed the captain's mind that the reserve commander was a less willful man with far fewer highly placed and important connections and thus far easier to overrule in matters of tactics and suchlike, the captain was not likely to say this to Prince Newell.

  Instead, he assigned a couple of sailors to lower the small cutter that was the prince's own property (although Newell was generous to a fault in sharing it with other officers for their need and entertainment), told the quartermaster to grant the prince anything he needed within reason from ship's stores, and bid Newell fair winds and fast sailing.

  Racing before the wind toward his destination, Newell was assisted in his tasks with sail and line only by Rook, his personal manservant. Rook was a sandy-haired, quiet, forgettable fellow, as efficient as Earl Kestrel's Valet, although somewhat quicker with a knife in the back in a dark alley. Newell had caught him robbing the bedchamber of Duchess Merlin during a house party at the Norwood country manse. In return for not being turned over to Duchess Kestrel's executioners, Rook had sworn Prince Newell his abiding loyalty.

  Skin stinging with salt, eyes red with concentration, Newell Shield distracted himself from discomfort by meditating on those things that set him apart from his competitors for the throne. As these were also the qualities he felt would make him a superior king, it was a pleasant self-indulgence.

  For one, he thought, tightening a line around a brace and tacking slightly, they were sheep whereas he was a wolf. All one had to do to be sure of this was observe the lot of them flocking around King Tedric, baaing compliments and waiting for the monarch to grace one of them—or one of their lambs—with title and kingdom. They thought that blood was merit enough.

  He admitted that a few of them, Ivon Archer, in particular, had distinguished themselves for their own achievements. Rolfston Redbriar, though, he was a real bleater—had been since they were all children gathering with the rest of the extended nobility for the Festival of the Eagle.

  Little sister Melina had Rolfston neatly in line. Sometimes Newell was almost certain Melina was a sorceress—not that a woman would need to be one to direct Rolfston. No matter the truth, the reputation had garnered her a certain measure of respect. It was to Newell's own advantage that Melina had never realized that respect based on fear can only go so far, especially for a younger daughter of a Great House with no prospects for inheritance.

  And then there was sweet Zorana. She was a lusty lady. It had been delightful to renew their intimacy. Yet in the final assessment, she had done nothing more to advance her position than bleat and baa—and breed. Four living children! He wondered at Zorana's lack of wisdom. It was not as if she had a great deal to offer her brood in the way of prospects. Purcel would make a good career in the military even before he inherited, but what did she plan to do with the rest?

  Newell laughed and salt spray splashed into his mouth—make them little ladies and lords with a queen for a mama! Doubtless when he was king Zorana would be making sheep's eyes at him and hinting that she'd be quite happy to poison Aksel Trueheart and become his queen—and provide him with a tidy little line of ready-made heirs in the process. The idea would have its merits, but he was going beyond Hawk Haven for his queen.

  The thought of Gustin IV with her long sunset-gold hair, laughing eyes, and breasts like a ship's figurehead stirred him, soaked with cold seawater as he was. She would be somewhere in her late twenties now, ripe but far from withering. There was no way a woman with a body like that could be barren, no matter what rumors said. Her lack of children had to be the rooted in that, effete husband of hers.

  Newell had heard that a woman became lustier in her middle years, especially if she hadn't borne a child, as if her body was telling her to hurry up and be about it. He looked forward to finding out if that tale was true.

  If everything went according to plan he'd be bedding Gustin by this next summer—those Bright Bay folks would just need to be reasonable regarding mourning periods for her late husband. After all, a king shouldn't need to wait about getting an heir.

  Prince Newell smiled into the sun, high and gold like the one on the coat of arms of Bright Bay's royal house. He'd already designed the arms for his new kingdom—a fresh design that eschewed both eagles and suns. He'd already planned so much. Now, at last, he was going to have a chance to make those plans reality.

  “QUEEN? “FIREKEEPER REPLIED, thinking more rapidly than she could ever remember doing before. Un-known to her, for the first time since soon after the fire that destroyed her parents, her thoughts took shape in human words and symbols. A bridge was built.

  “Queen,” King Tedric repeated steadily. “The one who will rule here after I join the ancestors.”

  And Firekeeper thought of power with a greater reach than her single Fang. Of humans groveling before her as a wolf did before the Ones, of the power to command, of that power turned to find the answer to the question that had nipped the edges of her mind as the pack nipped at the heels of an elk, and from that last image came her answer.

  “No,” she said. “A queen should be to her people as the Ones are to the pack: the greatest strength to guide and pre-serve through winter. I could not be a queen. I do not yet have the wisdom.”

  She looked squarely at the king, awaiting his anger, for she knew that he had offered her a great honor and she had cast it away like a too small fish into the stream. Tedric, however, was nodding agreement. Queen Elexa looked hesitant, but Firekeeper thought she was pleased. Only Sir Dirkin maintained a face of wooden impassivity.

  Feeling as if she was stalking some elusive prey, Firekeeper curled her fingers in Blind Seer's raff, awaiting developments.

  King Tedric asked, “Are you certain about this, Firekeeper? Your young wisdom could be guided by advisors until it grew. I would appoint such and many others would offer their wisdom unasked.”

  This was Earl Kestrel's vision voiced. Still Firekeeper must shake her head.

  “I am a wolf. Perhaps two-legged kind take leadership before they can lead, but for a wolf that is folly and such folly is death—not just for the wolf but often for all the pack.”

  Now King Tedric smiled a sour smile. “Would that all my nieces and nephews were raised wolves, Firekeeper. All they think of is the honor and the power, not the responsibility. That is why I must meet this Allister Seagleam. My father laid the foundation for his birth. I must see the structure that has risen on that foundation before I reject it entirely.”

  As Firekeeper straggled to follow the king's imagery, she realized that her afternoons in the gardens with Holly had taught her a great deal. Through them, she had come to understand the hidden preparation that rested beneath so many human endeavors. It was a different way of living from the season-structured roaming of the pack, yet a valid one for frail humankind.

  King Tedric continued, “Yet even as I follow this course, I must be faithful to my own responsibilities. Queen Elexa can reign in my absence, but even with her firmly in charge I cannot leave the relative safety of this castle without naming my heir.”

  “Who?” Firekeeper asked, wondering which of the many will finally become the One.

  The old man bared yellow teeth in an expression that re-minded her very much of a wolf and answered with a question:

  “Can you read, Firekeeper?”

  “No.” She shrugged. “Derian tries, but the black marks on the page won't talk to me.”

  “Or,” laughed Queen Elexa, her thin elderly voice heard for the first time in a great while, “you will not speak with th
em. That is closer to the truth as I have heard it from Aurella Wellward.”

  Firekeeper stared at the queen, her eyes round with indignant astonishment. “How she speak of me? I have not spoken three words with her!”

  “But her daughter is your friend,” the queen replied. “Every scrap of information about you, my dear, has been gathered and traded, shared and twisted every which way. You do not think we have left you to go your way unnoticed, do you?”

  Actually, this was what Firekeeper had believed, for ever since the king had granted her freedom of the castle she had felt herself unimpeded but for the ever-watchful presence of Derian. If anything, outside of the small circle of friends she had been able to cultivate, she had felt herself slighted. Queen Elexa's words revealed a spiderweb of human chatter as complex and useful as birdsong in a spring woodland.

  Before she had time to contemplate this further, King Tedric was speaking:

  “Although you do not read, you seem to understand the idea of reading—that the black marks on the page talk with the voice of the writer.”

  “I do.”

  “Then this is my intention. Before I leave, I will write the name of my heir on a special document called a will. Two copies shall be made. One will travel with me. The other will be sealed and locked away, to be opened only if I die. If I do not, then I am free to change what is written. If not, I have fulfilled my responsibility.”

  “How,” Firekeeper asked, tentative before these mysteries, “will they know one piece of paper from another?”

  “The marks of writing are distinct from person to person,” Tedric said.

  Like scents on a trail, Firekeeper thought. All deer smell like deer, but one deer smells more like itself than it does like all others.

  “Furthermore, both copies of my will and the boxes into which they shall be locked will be impressed with my personal seal. No other will be able to forge those marks.”

  “I understand,” Firekeeper said, having seen similar arrangements on the documents that Duchess Kestrel sent to her son. “Why not just tell before you go?”

  “For two reasons,” the king replied. “One is that I may decide that Allister Seagleam is die best person to be king after me. If I publicly designate one person as my heir, then renounce him or her for no reason other than I have found another I think would be better, I may create a feud between factions.”

  “But better is better!”

  “Not all see this as simply as you do,” the king said sadly. “And they are more correct than you are. Rulership of humans takes more than strength and wisdom. Sometimes it takes more uncertain qualities like charisma or political allies.”

  “If you say,” she agreed.

  “I do.”

  Momentarily, the king looked so stem that Firekeeper had to resist the impulse to lick the underside of his jaw and beg forgiveness. Then he continued:

  “The other reason for not naming my heir openly is that I will create a danger for myself.”

  “Why?”

  “Once I name my heir, I become a danger to that heir because I could change my mind and name another. The heir personally might not fear my changing my mind, but there would be others who would think it wisest to end my life before I could select a rival. Needless to say, I hope that whoever I choose would not countenance such behavior, but the heir might not even know what was done for his or her benefit.”

  Firekeeper shook her head, feeling it buzz with undesired complexities. She could not believe Elise—for example—would wish her great-uncle dead, but eager, watchful Ivon Archer was another matter and he was nothing beside sour, spiteful Zorana.

  Sir Dirkin broke his own silence to add, “There are too many plausible ways that an elderly monarch could die while traveling or in an unexpected spate of battle. I have vowed to protect King Tedric from these, but that restricts my own freedom greatly.”

  “Therefore,” King Tedric said, “I have a request to ask of you.”

  Firekeeper was surprised/She had thought that once she refused the king's offer to make her queen he would be finished with her. She had not realized that all the talk that had followed was anything more than the tongue wagging of the type Earl Kestrel was so fond.

  “Ask,” she said, remembering the courtesies offered from Royal Wolf to Royal Wolf. “You have fed me and I have grown fat in your keeping. If I can feed you in turn, I will.”

  A small smile flitted across King Tedric's face, but instantly vanished and he replied with equal formality:

  “Come with me to Hope. Be ears and eyes for Dirkin and myself. Those skills your upbringing granted you have not escaped my notice. One of the difficulties I suspect will result from my naming my heir only in my will is that many of those who believe themselves potential heirs will choose to join my train. Those who believe themselves the chosen one will wish to stay close so as not to lose in comparison to Allister Seagleam. Those who are less certain will still wish to be nearby in case some valorous deed or great service to me might bring them into my favor.

  “I cannot refuse any of them without causing more speculation. Those who were refused would plot behind me—wondering if they were left behind to preserve them from danger or merely because they were no longer of use to me. They would envy those who went in my train. I wish I could refuse them all, but to do the latter would rob my forces of three able commanders—Norvin Norwood, Ivon Archer, and Purcel Tmeheart—and in my heart I dread that these negotiations cannot end without bloodshed.”

  Firekeeper nodded solemnly. “I will go with you.”

  Sir Dirkin reminded her, “You will be placing yourself in danger. There are those who will hate you for this meeting, believing that the king has selected you his heir. Those who would resort to assassinating a king would think still less of assassinating a rival.”

  “Let them try!” Firekeeper said, hand falling to the knife at her waist.

  Blind Seer—who had learned enough of human speech to follow this talk, though the shape of his mouth would not let him speak it as well—growled fierce agreement. If the falcon in the tree outside flapped her wings in agreement, only Dirkin, silent and watchful, noticed.

  “I will watch my Firekeeper!” Blind Seer said in wolf-speech and it almost seemed that the king and his advisors agreed.

  “I know you will take care,” Tedric said, “and that your companions, human and otherwise, will guard you. Still, the danger is real and must be accepted.”

  “I accept it then,” Firekeeper said with a shrug, “but I will still come with you and help Sir Dirkin watch.”

  “And I would have you watch my kinfolk as well,” King Tedric said, “for the death of even one under suspicious circumstances could create the very feuding I am hoping to avoid.”

  Firekeeper nodded agreement, but she could not resist saying:

  “Wolves solve these matters more simply.”

  “But wolves are not humans,” King Tedric replied, “and 1 am hoping that my humans are not wolves.”

  EARLY ON THE MORNING following Firekeeper's meeting with King Tedric, Derian Carter was sent into the city by Earl Kestrel. Although he had a list of errands to ran, he was also at leave to visit his family.

  “The earl is a fair master,” he explained to his mother around a mouthful of freshly baked oatmeal cookies, the fat, round cookies lavishly supplied with raisin. “As he plans for us all to depart along with the king's train, he has given those of us who will attend him leave.”

  “Does Earl Kestrel simply continue trailing in the king's wake, hoping for him to select your Firekeeper as his heir?”

  Derian shook his head. “Some perhaps, but he has also volunteered his services as a commander of cavalry and the king has accepted them.”

  “And you?” Vernita asked eagerly. “You ride as lightly as foam on the crest of a wave—are you going as a member of Earl Kestrel's unit?”

  “No,” Derian replied. “I continue as attendant upon the Lady Blysse.”

  A
mixture of disappointment and relief flitted across Vernita's pretty face. She asked carefully:

  “And are you content with this?”

  “Perfectly, Mother,” Derian assured her, although at first he had been hurt and angry, knowing from his moon-span of residence in the castle that he rode as well or better than most of the King's Horse. He could even shoot a bow from the saddle, though his skill with a lance was less expert.

  Patting his mother's hand, he repeated to her what Earl Kestrel himself had,said when Derian dared protest:

  “Earl Kestrel says that I am the only person Firekeeper truly trusts. The earl hates admitting this, but it's true. She has made a few friends, but I am the one she returns to again and again for explanations.”

  “Is it not perhaps time for her to learn to trust others?” Vernita hazarded.

  Derian shook his head ruefully. “Mother, three and a half moon-spans ago she was a wild animal, eating raw meat, sleeping in the open, drinking blood as readily as water. We have succeeded in putting a veneer of civilization over that animal, but the animal is there, ready to burst free.”

  “I have seen her,” Vernita said doubtfully, “just once and that from a distance as she rode in an open carriage with the Lady Archer. One seemed as much the lady as the other.”

  A full-throated laugh burst from Derian at the comparison between delicate Elise and Firekeeper.

  “Oh, Mother, appearances are deceptive. I remember that day. Firekeeper had been invited to dine with Duke Peregrine and his family at their city manse. A house guard, improperly prepared for her or perhaps merely determined to show how he would dare what the King's Own Guard would not, tried to take her knife. Quick as breath Firekeeper punched him squarely in the nose, then followed through with a kick that nearly shattered one of the man's knees. Then, pretty as could be, she curtsied to the shocked duke, apologizing for spilling blood on his carpet.”

  Vernita's green eyes widened in shock. “As well she should!”