Wolf's Eyes

by Jane Lindskold

  “Haallooo!” he hollered, drawing his own knife, a more utilitarian item meant for cutting rope or minor trimming of hooves. Fortunately, what it lacked in length and grandeur it made up in sharpness. His first blow shced his opponent along the left upper arm—a miss since he'd meant to stab him in the chest, but effective enough.

  His opponent hit as well, along slash down Derian's right side that mined his waistcoat and spilled packets of the farrier's medicines onto the cobbles but otherwise did no damage. They sparred for several moments longer, during which time Derian became aware that Sapphire had joined Doc and the two were deaUng effectively with the remaining bandit.

  Still, Derian wondered if they could reach him before his luck ran out. Practice with sword and shield he had; he'd even been in the occasional tavem brawl, but never before had he been in a close-upfightwith death or maiming as the goal. The thought wasfleeting,passing through his brain as he and his nameless opponent traded blow and counter, dodged and struck as if they were partners in some weird, unchoreographed dance.

  Sometimes Derian felt his blade hit something soUd. Sometimes he was the solid thing hit—and hurt. More often there was the empty swish of air against his knife.

  The dreadful clarity of the first few seconds was fading now, replaced by vagueness. Blood was sticky on Derian's left arm. His own or his opponent's? The face before him kept fading in and out.

  Faintly, Derian heard a low howl, saw his opponent's expression of focused cruelty transform into one of pure terror, and then a dark and terrible shadow leapt onto his opponent.

  When Derian looked again, there was a raw, red hole where the man's throat had been and his body was limp, tumbling onto the street, blood gushing once from that terrible hole, then ebbing to a dribble.

  A slim arm grasped Derian firmly around his waist. He straggled, and a familiar voice said:

  “It's me, Derian!”

  “Firekeeper?”

  “It's me,” she said, her voicefierceand choked. “The fight is over.”

  To his eternal reUef and eternal embarrassment, Derian Carter took one look at Firekeeper, saw the splash of red blood across her face, and collapsed into a dead faint.

  XVI

  FIREKEEPER VANISHED BEFORE THE NIGHT watch arrived so resolving matters with the Hope town guard took less time than Derian had dreaded. Sapphire's three attackers were known criminals, unwanted elements even within Hope's comparatively easygoing structure. Moreover, two of those who had been attacked were members of the Hawk Haven noble class and the third was a personal servant of Earl Kestrel.

  After asking very few questions, the night watch took the thugs away—one dead, two living, though one of these was badly concussed—to the jail.

  At Sapphire's request, the men did not take her to her own tent, but to the Kestrel camp at the fringes of the larger Hawk Haven encampment.

  “I need,” Sapphire explained, “a chance to clear my head. Mother will have questions. I need to know the answers.”

  Derian thought it odd that a woman of twenty-three should be so worried about what her mother would think—especially when the woman considered herself afittingcandidate for die throne—but he was too aware of his place as Sapphire's social inferior to ask any questions.

  Instead, ignoring his own wounds, he concentrated on his duties as host. Guiding Sapphire toward that same hillock on which he had conferred with Doc just that afternoon, Derian explained:

  “We won't wake anyone out here. Doc, go get your gear so you can look at her wounds.”

  Jared Surcliffe took Derian's order as a matter of course, and if Sapphire looked offended at the young redhead's presumption, Derian pretended not to notice.

  “Earl Kestrel,” Derian said, seating Sapphire where she could lean against a rock and trying hard not to notice a spreading stain of blood along her side, “is standing watch tonight with his cavalry force so that one more could go on leave into town.”

  “I heard him being toasted in the tavem,” Sapphire commented, keeping her voice steady. “His men do love him. Strange, for he's such a dour sort.” She paused, “And, by the way, thank you for coming to my aid.”

  “I was just following Doc's lead,” Derian admitted, though her smile made him feel awfully good about himself.

  “ ‘Doc’ being Sir Jared?” Sapphire asked.

  “That's right, Mistress. That's what we called him on our trip west and it just stuck.”

  “West…” Sapphire looked at him, perhaps saw him as a person for the first time. “You are?”

  “Derian Carter, Mistress,” he said, wishing he didn't feel so tongue-tied. Sapphire was as different from Elise as night from day, but no less captivating. “I work for Earl Kestrel.”

  “That's right,” she said. “I remember you now, the redhaired youth who tends Lady Blysse.”

  Derian privately approved of her presence of mind. He'd heard her call Firekeeper a few more uncomplimentary things when she thought no one was listening. A crunching of boots on grass and a detached star of lantern light announced Jared Surcliffe's return.

  “Valet was awake,” he said, “and had hot water on 10 make some tea to bring the earl. I borrowed some. Now, Mistress Sapphire, if I could attend to your wounds.”

  Inventory and treatment of their various cuts and braises took some time. Sapphire, thanks to sword and shield, had escaped with mostly minor injuries, but a knife slash that had gotten dirbugh her guard and sliced die fabric of her shirt on her right side looked nasty. She also had coundess braises and nicks on her hands caused by wielding her sword and shield without gloves.

  Derian had several small nicks of his own, none impressive, but all painful. His head ached abominably. Doc had escaped virtually unscathed.

  “Mistress Shield,” Doc explained unashamed, “came to my rescue.”

  “After you came to mine,” she reminded him. “Again, thank you both.”

  Jared produced a flask of good brandy from one of his pockets.

  “The lady can use the cap for a cup,” he explained, pouring. “I also suspect that Valet will be here with the tea tray momentarily. Don't worry, Mistress Sapphire. He'll never say a word to anyone—not even Earl Kestrel—the soul of discretion, our Valet.”

  Sapphire accepted the cup gratefully and passed the flask to Derian.

  “It doesn't matter overmuch,” she said. “My mother will know and that's enough.”

  Derian swigged directiy from the flask before passing it back to Jared. The strong liquor cleared his head and made him instandy bolder.

  “If you don't mind my asking, Mistress Sapphire, but how did you come to be out there alone? You've never struck me as one to take fooUsh risks.”

  “I appreciate that,” she said. “I… I went out with my brother, Jet. I wanted to see something of the town and everyone else was going somewhere interesting. Jet didn't want me to go with him, but I convinced him that I had as much right as he did to enjoy myself.

  “He let me come with him—I guess since he couldn't stop me—but I soon understood why Jet didn't want me around. His plan was to get drank and then…”

  It was dark, but in the lantern light they could see her glance down in embarrassment.

  Doc cut in, “We understand, Mistress.”

  Derian thought he sounded offended. Doubdess Sapphire would believe he was offended for her, which couldn't hurt, but Derian suspected Doc's indignation was for Jet's insult to Elise.

  “As soon,” Sapphire continued, “as Jet got drunk enough, he ditched me. I wandered around a bit and found myself in that poky little street. Those men jumped me.”

  “A good thing you had your sword and shield,” Derian said, allowing a slight questioning note to enter his voice.

  “Luck,” came the blunt reply. “I had scarred the paint on my shield during our journey here. The armorer had white paint with him, but not silver. I decided to see what someone in the town could do… “

  Ruefully, she looked at the newly ba
ttle-scarred shield. The delicate silver work was scored in multiple places and there was a large dent the size of a man's head.

  “I understand better now,” she said, false cheer in her voice, “why white is a preferable substitute for silver, at least for in the field. I shall make the change tomorrow and keep die silver field for show.”

  They toasted her choice and as they did so Valet shimmered up rather like magic with tea, cookies, andfruitneady arranged on a tray. He set this on the rock behind Derian and vanished again.

  “A remarkable man,” Sapphire said. “May I pour?” “Please do,” Doc replied.

  “What I would like to know,” Derian asked the listening night, “is how Firekeeper happened to be there when we needed her.”

  Firekeeper stepped from the darkness. Blind Seer, his fur slightly damp, was with her.

  “Tea?” Sapphire asked the newcomer, unable to keep a slightiy frosty note out of her voice. “I see that the remarkable Valet has supplied a fourth cup.”

  “Thank you,” Firekeeper said, accepting the proffered cup and hunkering down on her haunches.

  “How did you happen to be there, Firekeeper?” Jared prompted.

  “I follow,” the wolf-woman said, “practicing cities. It isn't too hard at night once the people go inside, but in the crowds…”

  She ended with an eloquent shudder.

  “And Blind Seer?”

  “He stay in the narrow places between buildings mostly,” she said. “Is there a word, Derian?”

  “Alley,” he supplied automatically. “Why didn't you join us sooner?”

  “You were doing so well,” she said with a fey grin. “I not want to hurt your fun. Then the man you fight hit you in the head…”

  “Is that what happened!” he muttered, remembering how everything had gotten dreamy.

  “And Mistress Sapphire was giving a good fight to her man, so we came to help.”

  “We?” Derian asked carefully, remembering the nightmare vision of the bandit with his throat torn out, of Firekeeper's face smeared with blood.

  “Blind Seer kill the man,” Firekeeper said with indignant self-righteousness. “You tell me this not a thing to do!”

  Sapphire had softened at Firekeeper's compUment to her skill. “Were you hurt?” she asked, refreshing Firekeeper's tea.

  “No.” Firekeeper looked almost disappointed. “I not get to fight.”

  Sapphire looked at her own dented shield, at the bandages on her side and hands. “It isn't nearly as much fun as it looks.”

  Jared and Derian nodded agreement. The wolf-woman did not seem at all convinced and the great shaggy beast at her side opened his fanged jaws in what Derian could swear was laughter.

  BARON IVON ARCHER HAD TAKEN full advantage of his rank to insist upon a good position for the Archer paviUon, although he himself would be splitting his time between his command and numerous conferences, re-turning there only to sleep. Given her strained relations with both Sapphire and Jet Shield, Elise had ample reason to be grateful for this.

  Along the road, she and Ninette had shared a fairly small tent pitched between her father's tent and Aunt Zorana's. It was a very proper arrangement, one that offered some protection from Jet's increasingly impatient advances, but one that also guaranteed that she would hear every noise in the surrounding tents.

  Her father, she discovered, snored—as did his manservant. Aunt Zorana insisted on being sung to sleep by her maid. Ninette rose repeatedly during the night to answer nature's call. After these intrusions, Elise felt a certain guilty pleasure that the heir to a barony could command not only room for a large paviUon, but a certain degree of space surrounding it. Ninette still chaperoned her—and Elise was glad for her company—but at least with her on the other side of a curtain Elise was not so aware of the other woman's nocturnal micturitions/

  On the first morning following their arrival, Elise woke after the sun had risen. She was trying to guess the hour by the position of the sun shining through the pavilion's canvas when Ninette lifted the dividing curtain and peeped around it. The other woman's eyes were shining with excitement and Elise was certain she had some interesting gossip.

  “Good morning, Ninette.”

  “Good morning, Elise. I have water on for tea. Would you like some?”

  “I'd be grateful,” Elise said, swinging her feet to the carpet at the side of her cot.

  The camp bed had been an improvement over sleeping on pads on the floor of a tent barely large enough to stand in, but still some of her muscles protested. Stretching and enjoying the luxury of being able to spread her arms over her head, Elise slipped into her morning robe and went to join Ninette in the pavilion's common area. The curtain in front of Baron Archer's sleeping niche was lifted, revealing the section to be empty.

  “My father?” she asked Ninette, crossing to where tea is brewing in a cozy pot.

  “Rose before dawn,” Ninette replied, “and has gone to inspect his men. He said to remind you that the contingent from Bright Bay is expected this evening. You are to stay within the bounds of our encampment unless expressly summoned into the city.”

  “As if,” Elise said, sipping the raspberry leaf tea, “I would want to go there. Doubtless it'5 full of rascals looking to take advantage of this situation.”

  “Your cousin Sapphire,” Ninette said, lowering her voice and glancing at the canvas walls for shadows that might indicate listeners without, “went to town last night. She had quite an adventure.”

  With Elise's encouragement, Ninette told the full story of Sapphire's encounter with the bandits. She'd already been over to Earl Kestrel's encampment and coaxed a few details from Derian—prompting him to tell her the truth by offering him some of the rumors that were already circulating within the small servants’ community among the nobles’ pavilions.

  “Lady Melina,” Elise said thoughtfully, “must be furious. I wonder whether she's more angry at Sapphire for getting attacked or at Jet for leaving his sister?”

  “I couldn't say, Elise,” Ninette admitted. “I have gone out of my way to avoid her. Lady Melina's lady's maid had a red mark on her cheek the shape of a hand and little Opal had clearly been crying.”

  “Wise,” Elise said. “What time is it?”

  “An hour past full sunrise, my lady.”

  “And we are not expected anywhere?”

  “Sir Jared Surcliffe indicated that he would be at the hospital center until midday. After that, he would be happy to continue your and Lady Blysse's tutorial in the treatment of wounds.”

  “Send him a message saying you and I would be glad to take him up on his kind offer. Say that unless we hear otherwise we will meet him at the Kestrel encampment.”

  “Very good.”

  “Then why don't we have breakfast here in the pavilion?

  Afterwards, perhaps, we can use the luxury of being stopped in one place for longer than a night to bathe and wash our hair.”

  Having finished these pleasant domestic tasks, the two women, their hair still wet and scented with the marigold petals and rosemary leaves with which they had rinsed it, stole away to a natural solar created by a grouping of boulders near one edge of the camp. By cUmbing over the outer rocks, they found a little hollow, perfect for two, open to sun and sky though invisible from without. The walls of the Watchful Eye loomed to their south, between them and the river. Wise tactics dictated that a clear zone be kept around the fort, so no troops were stationed anywhere near their refuge.

  “Doubtless,” Elise explained to Ninette, spreading her hair on a flat rock to speed its drying and pillowing her head on one of the cushions they had brought with them, “the army - would have removed these rocks but for their great size and their distance from the walls. Even a good archer would be pressed to make an accurate shot from here.”

  “I hadn't thought of that, Elise,” Ninette said, spreading out her own hair to dry. “I simply noticed these yesterday when we were pitching camp and decided to investigate,
thinking they offered possibiUties for discreet privacy within limits.”

  Elise, knowing her ever-romantic cousin had been thinking of rendezvous with Jet, colored slightly. She hadn't quite been able to explain her changing feeUngs toward him, even to Ninette—perhaps especially to Ninette, knowing how the other woman dreamed of Elise as queen.

  She settled for murmuring something grateful but noncommittal and gazing into the sky. There was much to consider, both regarding her own personal predicament and the im-pending conference. Elise was weighing the advantages and disadvantages of being invited to the initial conferences when voices interrupted her meditations.

  Ninette started to her feet, but Elise cautioned her to silence with a finger raised to her lips” There had been some-thing in those voices, something familiar, something angry, that made her wish their presence to remain unknown. Rolling over, her drying hair chill against her neck, Elise crept to one of the gaps between the towering rocks and peered out. Sight confirmed what her ears had told her. Lady Melina Shield stood without preparing to pass judgment on her son and daughters.

  Already it was too late to make a graceful exit, for the words streamed from Lady Melina, pungent and furious. In any case, Elise was not certain she wanted to depart. Jet had taken advantage of his position as her betrothed to Usten at Archer family conferences. Certainly she had as much right as he did!

  Ignoring Ninette's trembling gestures that they could get away by cUmbing over some other rocks, Elise instead motioned for her to begin braiding her wet hair.

  “We will not skulk away,” she said softly into Ninette's ear. “That would be a confession that they have greater rights than I do—and no matter how well Lady Melina thinks of herself, they do not!”

  Ninette subsided and began plaiting Elise's long hair into a pair of thick braids. Elise ignored the tugging at her scalp, all her attention on the drama unfolding without.