Wolf's Eyes

by Jane Lindskold

  “Is all ready?” Newell murmured.

  “It is. We've got a place and Rook even had the sense to rub our boots and clothes with lavender oil so later the wolf-chit won't be able to identify us.”

  Newell made a mental note to reward Rook for his initiative. Despite his own depending on Blysse's tracking abilities and his suspicion that the rumors that she could speak with her wolf were trae, he had overlooked this weak point in his plan.

  “Good. Bide until you can convincingly take us both,” Newell reminded Keen.

  Keen nodded, his brown eyes glittering almost feverishly.

  “Keep your pecker up, boss.”

  Newell had never considered himself an exhibitionist, but the thought of Keen and possibly Rook out there in the shadows watching his lovemaking stirred him strangely. When he returned to her, Zorana had spread a thick blanket on the moss and poured two glasses of white wine. The remainder of the bottle was chilling in the brook.

  Taking his goblet, Newell bmshed his fingers against hers. As he sipped, he locked her eyes with his own, holding her gaze until a blush began to creep up her throat.

  “What are you looking at?” she asked, and her voice was husky.

  “You, lovely lady. Just you.”

  “Want a better look?” she invited and untied the ribbon lacing her bodice. Newell set down his glass and'freed her breasts from their prison.

  The next few moments were a welter of sensual impressions: his hand on her naked breast, her mouth on his tasting of wine and salt, her arms pulling him closer. She was as eager as he was, so it wasn't long before he was bare-assed: naked but for his shirt which she had slid her hands playfully beneath.

  Women's garments were more complicated, but Zorana had made things easier by removing several of the more involved undergarments in preparation. Newell had a moment to wonder if she did this in advance or while he was in the woods; then he was topping her and even the watchers were forgotten in a more immediate obsession.

  He was thrusting his way to completion, Zorana alternately moaning and whimpering her own response, when a hard hand fell on his shoulder and a rough voice said:

  “Enough of that. I've a use of my own for the lady.”

  Newell couldn't stop and despite Zorana's sudden shriek of alarm, he continued where his body led. Hands grabbed him and pulled him forcibly off Zorana. Newell surged to his feet, truly insane in that moment offrustratedneed. He swung wildly and missed. Keen's first blow caught him sol-idly on the side of his face. Newell stumbled backward a few steps, then charged forward again. Keen punched him in the gut and the prince fell to his knees retching.

  Zorana was busy shoving down her skirts, shrieking hysterically. There was a wild look on Keen's face that cooled NeweU's lust and made him suddenly afraid that this neat Uttle plan was going awry. Keen looked as if he could kill him. Newell's next punch was driven with the force of fear and Keen lurched.

  “Damn you,” Newell hissed in the other man's ear. “Get control of yourself!”

  And Keen did. Clubbing his hands together, he effectively battered Newell to the ground. However, Newell could feel that he was pulling the force of his blows somewhat and though there would be braises, nothing should be broken.

  Keen leered down at Newell as the prince fell and dropped a piece of paper onto his chest. ‘Take this to the king. It gives our terms. Got it?”

  Newell groaned. Keen kicked him. Though he didn't put much force behind the kick, coining on top of Newell's other injuries it still hurt.

  “Passed out,” Keen sneered, according to script. “Lily-livered as well as a wimp.”

  Lying on the ground, hurting so much that real unconsciousness would be welcome, Newell heard Keen continue in silky tones:

  “Stop screaming, Lady Zorana, and come with me. I'll take you to a nice place and we'll wait there for the mail to be delivered.”

  Zorana said shrilly, “You're kidnapping me?”

  “Detaining you, rather.” Newell heard Zorana jerked to her feet. “Now come along quietly. If you're a good girl, I may even reward you by finishing the job your inconsiderate friend there didn't.”

  Keeping his eyes shut and his breathing shallow, Newell considered the very real probabiUty that Keen would rape Zorana. It wouldn't be Keen's first rape and he did have provocation.

  Ah, well. As long as Keen wasn't about his fun when Lady Blysse came along. Newell had learned long ago, if you wanted to dance, you must expect to pay the piper.

  Later, when the sounds of their footsteps and Zorana's whimpering had diminished, Newell hauled himself to his feet. He staggered to the brook, where he splashed cold water on his face. There was wine left in the bottle and he felt a bit better once he'd drained that to the lees. He hoped that Keen hurt at least a little. Surely at least one of his own blows had gone solidly home.

  Re-bridling and tightening the girth on the red roan took considerable effort. Then Prince Newell pulled himself into the saddle. He'd be to the Watchful Eye by dusk. By using the most convenient gate, he'd also avoid the bulk of the Hawk Haven encampment. He ran his tongue around his teeth, reassuring himself that they were all in place. Then he smiled and urged the roan into a fast walk. Everything was going according to plan.

  XXII

  IN RESPONSE TO KING TEDRIC'S summons, Firekeeper came running to the Watchful Eye. It was some measure of the urgency of the king's summons that the gates swung open upon her approach and that none of the armed and armored guards who stood their posts attempted to slow her or question the lightness of the great, grey wolf bounding at her side.

  Overhead, the falcon Elation soared in defiance of the rales normally governing diumal and nocturnal creatures. Glimpsing her broad wings silhouetted against the orange face of the rising harvest moon, more than one soldier touched an amulet pouch or totem necklace and muttered that the days of black sorcery had returned.

  But Firekeeper had no time for these. King Tedric's message had said for her to come as rapidly as two feet could ran and for Derian to follow at his own pace. They were to speak to no one—not even Earl Kestrel—about the reason for their going.

  So Firekeeper ran through the gate into the stone-flagged courtyard, through the arched doorway into the fortress building itself, then padded quick-foot up the broad stone steps. Silent guards directed her with gestures, and even those with whom she had laughed and thrown dice during the slow journey to Hope said not a word. Grateful she was for their guidance, but Firekeeper could have found her way without it for the scent of the king and the medicaments of his sickroom heralded his presence to her more brightly than tmmpet calls.

  For all the speed with which she had ran, Firekeeper arrived in the king's presence barely winded, only the rising and falling of her nascent breasts beneath her leather vest giving testimony to the speed at which she had flown over the ground.

  Gracefully, she bowed to King Tedric, for she had come to respect him far more than ever she would have dreamed possible at their first meeting. Beside her, Blind Seer stretched out his forelimbs in a deep wolf-bow, but his blue eyes remained alert so Firekeeper would be protected even while she abased herself.

  And when she raised her head, shaking back the wild tangle of dark-brown curls, she saw what her nose had al-ready told her.

  King Tedric had a visitor before her and that visitor was wounded. Yet, though Firekeeper knew that according to the laws of etiquette Prince Newell was due a bow in turn she refused him the homage. There was that about Newell that she did not trust and she would not lower her guard before him, even with Sir Dirkin and his ready sword present.

  Instead Firekeeper said to the king:

  “I am here as you wished, King Tedric.”

  “Do you remember of what we spoke before we left the castle, Firekeeper?” the king asked with the directness she admired in him.

  “Every word, every breath.”

  “One of those things I feared has occurred,” he said, and she noticed how tired and il
l the old man looked. “My niece, Lady Zorana Archer, has been kidnapped—stolen—by men who would exchange her safety for money. She was taken while in the forests to the northeast of this fortress. The mes-sage the men sent said that they will hold her in a safe place until we send money.”

  Firekeeper listened but her gaze rested for a moment on Prince Newell. He had clearly been in a fight. One eye was blackening; his upper lip was swollen fat. Rather than lolling in his chair with die indolent ease she knew was customary for him, he sat stiffly straight as if his body hurt him.

  Beneath the scents of blood and sweat, Prince Newell smelled of wine and of something else that it took her a moment to place. However, she had not slipped her way between the tents of the camp followers without learning the scent of mating humans.

  Blind Seer had reached the same conclusion as she. “This prince is the one who lost Lady Zorana. My nose says they were interrupted at their dalliance.”

  Thus Firekeeper did not ask how Lady Zorana came to be taken but asked instead:

  “Do you wish me to find her, One, or do you wish me to bring money to her takers?”

  “Find her, bring her back if you can. I would prefer not to pay to redeem her.” Tedric added hastily, “This not be-cause I do not value her, but because then others would think to do the same.”

  Firekeeper shrugged, only partly understanding this but trusting the king's wisdom in how to deal with his own kind. What she did not trust was the small smile that had touched Prince Newell's mouth when the king asked her to find Zorana.

  From what Firekeeper knew of human pride, especially male pride, Newell should be demanding that the rescue was his right. Perhaps he was more wounded than he smelled. Perhaps he had the wisdom to know that a wolf was wiser in the woods than any human.

  “I go,” she said.

  King Tedric nodded. “I will send Derian Carter after you with reinforcements. My counselors and I agree that it is best that as few as possible know that Zorana has been taken. Not even her children have been told. I have sent word that she is visiting with me so they will not worry.”

  “Derian is good,” Firekeeper said, “but Race Forester has eyes to see even in the woods at night. He will know how to find the signs I will leave him for they will be signs he taught. I will send Elation to him if you will write a message for her to carry.”

  King Tedric reached for quill and paper. “The peregrine will fly at night?”

  In reply Elation glided through the open window and squawked complacently, holding out one foot as if to grasp the message once it was ready. Firekeeper grinned.

  “Elation is like Blind Seer, among the greatest of her kind. She will find Race Forester. If you tell him to meet Derian near the wood they will save time.”

  King Tedric continued scratching quill across paper. “I have already done so, Madame General. Sir Dirkin, reach me the sand so I can blot this, then a tube so that this falcon does not crash the paper in her talons.”

  Prince Newell spoke, his speech sounding odd as he forced the words through his swollen lip.

  “Again, I beg Your Majesty, let me go with the rescue party. I realize I would only slow Lady Blysse, but surely I can sit a horse and ride with the others.”

  “You have already done enough this afternoon,” King Tedric repUed with an ambiguity that Firekeeper quite ad-mired. “I refuse your request. You will remain here and a healer will be sent for to tend your wounds.”

  Turning away, eager to be on the trail before it lost its freshness, Firekeeper said:

  “Get Doc—Sir Jared—he knows how to keep silence.”

  King Tedric's agreement in her ears, she fled down the steps and into the gathering night.

  The brilliance of the harvest moon, even though its face lacked fullness, still gave her ample light to ran full out until they reached the forest. BUnd Seer ranged ahead until he found the signs they sought.

  “This trail bears the recent scent of horses. Two went in, only one of those two came out. Prince Newell's scent is here as well. His blood was spilled on the ground.”

  The wolf sniffed more deeply and added, “There is an-other scent here, too, the scent of lavender masking a faint scent of humans — males. At least one smokes a pipe.”

  “Cry that trail,” Firekeeper said as she plunged into the forest, all senses alert, “even as we run. Your nose is keener than mine. I will follow this horse trail and leave marks for Race to find.”

  Breaking slightly from the path, Blind Seer padded silently through the bracken at the trail's edge.

  “Lavender Scent's path followed the others, but he took care to stay from sight. Here I find where he waited behind a tree. Here he paused. Ah! I see why. The ground is open beneath this Grandmother Oak. He waited until the horses were farther ahead before showing himself. In the ways of hiding, this one is a master. Remember that as you run, sweet Firekeeper.”

  “I will,” she promised, “but even my dead nose can smell the reek of lavender and the wind kindly blows toward us. We should have warning before he can leap upon us. I wonder why he took such great care to hide his shape but left his scent so blatant?”

  Blind Seer coughed derisive laughter. “He hid himself from human prey. They use their eyes and ears, but their noses smell nothing. Doubtless this scent he wears is such as those blended by Hazel Healer, meant to adorn the wearer.”

  “Perhaps,” Firekeeper replied, but the worry stayed with her and made her slow her gait sUghtly and watch with even greater care. She wished for Elation, but the falcon could not see anything through the spreading canopy of tree branches. If those who had taken Zorana remained beneath their shelter, the falcon would not be able to find them any more quickly than those on the ground.

  At length wolf and woman came to a small clearing tucked off to one side of the trail. The dapple-grey palfrey tethered to a tree to one side jerked against her rope when she smelled Blind Seer, but her relief at human company—even that of so dubious a human as Firekeeper—outweighed her fear.

  Giving the mare a brisk pat on one shoulder, Firekeeper told Blind Seer—for the wolf would never lightly speak to a horse— “This frightened one says that there are no humans here. She is alone and afraid but we must leave her behind. She would only slow us. The others can gather her up.”

  Blind Seer was busy snuffling the glade. “Prince Newell came here with Zorana. They rutted upon the blanket and were interrupted by Lavender Scent. They fought. Here is Newell's blood on the moss and here again. I do not smell that of Lavender Scent.”

  “Here is something else,” Firekeeper added, pointing.

  Pinned to a tree trunk was a piece of white bark on which black marks had been made.

  “This was done with a burned stick,” she said, sniffing. “Alas, it cannot speak to me. We will leave it for the others. Perhaps it will hasten their trail. Come. We have learned all we can here. Can you catch their trail when they left?”

  “As easily as you breathe,” the wolf boasted, leading the way. “There are two trails now — Zorana's is added. No, there are three! Here a second human/lavender scent joins the first. This one was waiting in the tree.”

  Firekeeper padded after Blind Seer and noted the marks left on the ground. She made a broad arrow sign in the dirt that Race would be certain to see, and followed.

  “They hunt in a little pack, then. This second one was not needed for the rutting Newell was easy prey.” Firekeeper snorted in derision. “I hope I am never so human as to be ruled out of season by my loins!”

  Blind Seer laughed. “You are human, Little Two-legs, but even humans can moderate themselves. Most simply do not care to do so.”

  They ran in silence then, Blind Seer easily guiding them and Firekeeper leaving sign for those who would follow. At times this was hardly necessary for Lady Zorana had left pieces of her clothing behind her. The first time Firekeeper spotted a scrap, she thought the bit of fabric had snagged accidentally on a jutting twig. By the third bit, she kne
w that Lady Zorana was deUberately marking her trail. The tiny shreds of lace could be torn from her riding habit fairly soundlessly and yet their whiteness shouted the way.

  “Good for her,” Blind Seer said when Firekeeper told him. “She always struck me as having some heart to her.”

  Sometime later Firekeeper said, ‘7 smell smoke.”

  “Burning pine,” Blind Seer added, “such as two-legs use for torches. Walk slowly now, with care. The lavender scent is heavy here. They may have dug traps or set snares.”

  They found nothing so subtle. Soon flickering lights, like grounded stars, could be glimpsed through the trees.

  “What madness is this?” Blind Seer said as soon as they were a bit closer. “Do they shine their denning to all and sundry?”

  Once Firekeeper would have agreed that this was madness. There in the center of a well-cleared glade was a game-keeper's cabin, the cages in which the pheasants and grouse were kept lighter forms surrounding the solidness of the central building. Lashed to every sizable tree were makeshift sconces holding brightly burning pine torches. But Firekeeper had come to understand humans far better than once she did.

  “No, there is wisdom here. Humans see little in the darkness. Any who could track them this far at night would follow that trail to its end. Thus Lavender Scent and his pack mate have lit the grounds all about the den wherein they keep Zorana. Their eyes will be accustomed to the fire brightness, but those like us who come through the darkness may be blinded.”

  “And even,” Blind Seer agreed, “if both see the same, those within are at advantage, for all who cross into the lit space will be seen before they can reach the cabin. This is a good game, sweet Firekeeper!”

  She agreed. Her heart was pounding within her breast and every nerve was as alive as ever it had been. She could hear muffled voices from within the cabin: deep male and the sobbing of a female.

  “How do we take Zorana away?” Blind Seer asked. “Shall we wait for Derian and the others to join us?”

  “No,” Firekeeper said decisively. “/do not like the sound of Zorana's cries. There is terror in them and despair. The others may be long coming yet.”