"Eagle's broad wings forfend!" Doc protested, seeming honestly dismayed.
"We are faced," the earl continued without commenting on Doc's minor interruption, "with—if your report is correct, and I chose to believe that it is…"
"Gracious of him," Blind Seer commented dryly.
"… the potential releasing of forces that we had all hoped were banished from our land."
Firekeeper tilted her head to one side in inquiry.
"You mean these magic things?" she asked, adding a quick "sir" at the end of her sentence when Derian gently booted her—a thing that was fairly easy to do undetected because of where she sat on the floor.
"That is so."
As the earl continued, Firekeeper could tell he was making an effort to cast his thoughts into simple words and phrases rather than the embroidered bardic turns that came so easily to him. Even had he not been the heir to the Norwood Grant, Earl Kestrel would have been in demand as a storyteller—a tendency that made him lean toward elaborate phrasing whenever he felt a great moment was upon him.
"That is so," the earl repeated. "If these objects have been brought to the mainland, it is our duty to recover them."
"My duty," Firekeeper stated bluntly, feeling it was not too early to remind him, "is to take them home."
Earl Kestrel looked momentarily uneasy, but some thought smoothed the unease from his features.
"Before they can be taken anywhere," he said, "first we must have them. We agree on that."
"Yes." The wolf-woman gave a sharp nod.
"And I will give you what aid I can," the earl said. "Cousin Jared's presentation of events has convinced me that sending out an armed body of our local militia would be counterproductive. Their authority would end at the borders of my grant. My neighbors might rightly protest to the king and then there would be awkward questions to answer. Worse, rumors that we know what we know might get back to Queen Valora or to her agents. That, above all things, we cannot risk."
Firekeeper wrapped her arms around her bent knees, content to listen since the earl was saying what she wanted to hear.
"I will make excuses to cover your departure. Cousin Jared has suggested a complication in your old wounds. I think that, given his fame as a healer, that excuse would be seen through too easily. Rather, I suggest that I say that it is Sir Jared who has been called away. You had been feeling housebound, so I agreed to let you go with him. Counselor Derian will accompany you to deal with the mounts—after all, working with my stables was one of the reasons he came here."
The earl permitted himself a small smile. "And it can go unspoken that he is also known for his ability to work with you, my dear."
The affection in that last seemed genuine so Firekeeper gave an answering smile.
"Wendee Jay, if she agrees, will be sent as your chaperon. If not, I will find some other suitable woman to accompany you so that your honor will not be besmirched."
Firekeeper wondered idly what sort of man anyone thought could take advantage of her. Judging from Blind Seer's puffs of laughter, the wolf was having similar thoughts.
"This is good," Firekeeper said, when the earl leaned back in his chair, signaling the completion of his speech. "Thank you."
They left the earl's office well satisfied. Derian went to select appropriate horses. Each of them already had their own mount, of course, but they would still need a couple of pack mules. Sir Jared went to confer with Wendee Jay. Firekeeper returned to her room to inform Elation of the results of the conference.
The falcon could have attended, but the earl had seemed reluctant to have her decorate his study's carpets with hawk chalk. In the interest of gaining Norvin Norwood's goodwill Elation had agreed to stay in Firekeeper's room, where a canvas cover had been spread beneath her perch to facilitate cleaning.
Bursting into her room filled with good news, Firekeeper was surprised to find that the peregrine was not alone. Elise sat in a chair near the window, the book spread open on her lap illuminated by the morning light as it filtered through the loose curtain of her golden blonde hair.
"So the meeting went well?" Elise asked.
"It did," Firekeeper said.
She knew that Doc—and to a lesser extent Derian—were worried about potential complications if Elise insisted on accompanying them. Not only was Elise the heir to a barony, but she was not an outdoorswoman. Riding long hours in cold weather would test her in a fashion that it would not the others.
Firekeeper, with a wolf's cruel view of survival, felt that if Elise wanted to test herself she should be permitted. If she failed, they would leave her at the nearest town or village. If she succeeded, their pack would be stronger by one.
Briefly, the wolf-woman told Elise about the meeting.
"But Sir Jared didn't mention my going," Elise replied when Firekeeper had finished. "Nor did Derian Carter."
Firekeeper shook her head.
"Do you mind if I go with you?" Elise asked.
Firekeeper hesitated. "Winter is hard even on those who are winter-hard," she replied. "Many who are summer-strong die in winter."
Elise puffed indignantly, reminding Firekeeper of a squirrel preparing to scold.
"I know that," she said fiercely, "and I still think I can handle it. There will be villages along the way."
"I not stay in villages," Firekeeper reminded her. "Blind Seer not welcome there. Also, if we are to go fast, we may need camp when we can, not stop when a nice inn is shown."
Elise frowned. "So you don't want me."
"I not say," Firekeeper replied evenly. "Only want you to know truth. Truth is sometimes cold as winter."
"And if I am willing to try that cold?"
"Then you must do as we do and tell the earl where you go," Firekeeper said. "He look for you just as he look for us if we leave without saying."
"True."
Elise stood, looking out into the gardens as she considered what Firekeeper had said. The snow from, the day before still clung here and there, evidence enough that the sun's light was not even as warming as a candle flame. Firekeeper watched the young woman, unwilling to either persuade or dissuade.
At last Elise turned away from the window.
"You said Earl Kestrel was in his study?" she asked.
"When we left," Firekeeper agreed.
"I must go see if he can give me an audience," and in a swirl of skirts, Elise was gone.
Derian Carter wondered if he would ever learn just what Elise had said to Norvin Norwood to persuade the earl to permit his honored guest to join their insane venture.
Had Elise reminded him that she was the daughter of a baron and that someday either he or his son would need to deal with her as a near equal? Had she hinted that she might be persuaded to ally her house with his own? Or had she simply stated that she would go where she would go and that if he thought wolves were willful, he would soon learn that they were nothing to highly born ladies?
Or maybe she had argued logically, presenting to the earl as she had to Doc the advantages to the venture if she were permitted to join the company.
Derian doubted that he would ever know, but whatever tactic Elise had employed, she had employed it well, for there was no doubting that she rode in their midst. Her coat was of winter-fox fur, silvery white and lined with lamb's wool. Her gloves and boots were lined with rabbit fur, and her hat was fur both within and without. Despite these trappings, she huddled in Cream Delight's saddle, only her eyes visible above the silk scarf she had wrapped around her face, and whenever the wind blew with particular fury she shivered.
That wind had blown up from the north on the morning of their departure, on the day following their conference with Earl Kestrel. It had carried the scent of snow on its breath. As Derian had moved about the stables readying their mounts, he couldn't help but remember old Toad's predictions when Derian had announced he was going to the Norwood Grant, that winter would be early and bitter this year.
Hunching his head against t
he cold, Derian tried to remember the proofs: something about how many nuts the trees had borne that autumn and something else about how early the wild grape leaves had turned. The final proof had been how thickly the horses' winter coats were coming in.
Derian couldn't deny that Roanne's coat had lost some of its summertime sheen, but he couldn't swear that it was any thicker than usual. Still, he wished that Firekeeper hadn't been so determined to set out before the storm sealed them in.
She didn't seem to mind the cold. Maybe it was because she was pacing them on foot rather than riding. Certainly the exercise would be warming and the bulk of the horses acted as a windbreak, but slogging through drifts that sometimes topped her boots couldn't be precisely comfortable.
Boot tops.
Derian grinned. Those at least had been a victory. When Firekeeper had tromped down the stairs that morning she had looked frustrated but not in the least sullen. At first Derian had credited Wendee Jay with the victory in this often-fought battle. He'd been surprised to learn that Firekeeper credited him with—or blamed him for—convincing her.
"You talk of bare feetprints in the snow," she had said, holding out a foot in front of her, and glowering at the elegant work of the cobbler's art that adorned it as if it were a disfiguring boil. "I no can leave feetprints in boots. Just boot prints and everyone have those."
Up ahead, Doc—who was taking his turn on point—swiveled in his saddle and called down the line.
"We're closing on a town," he said. "Does anyone have reason to stop?"
Derian gave a slight shake of his head. One reason he'd been riding to the rear was so he could watch the horses. None of them were showing any sign of distress. He'd taped their hocks to give them some added support and the road surface was not frozen hard. Nor was the party setting too fast a pace. Doubtless none of the mounts would resist a warm stall and hot mash, but none needed it.
Elise shook her head sharply, but didn't say a word. Wendee Jay, almost as thoroughly bundled but less obviously uncomfortable, gave a laugh.
"I'd love a cup of mulled cider," she said, "but I can go on without."
Firekeeper spoke last.
"We are fine," she said, adding a trace sternly, "and the sun is young."
"Not so young," Doc said, nudging his horse into a slightly faster walk. "We're rising noon. Still, you're right. I'll divert when we get to town and buy us a flask or two of something warm. Blaze is fresh and we can catch up easily. Anyone want to stop with me?"
Elise shook her head as if knowing that Doc's eyes were on her.
Maybe, Derian thought, she's afraid that if she ever gets into a warm taproom she'll never leave.
Wendee Jay was either less proud or perhaps simply wiser when it came to taking an offered respite.
"I'll stop with you, Doc. I know the innkeeper. I may be able to convince him to give us a good rate on the drinks and not charge too dearly for the flasks."
When they came to the town, Doc and Wendee turned to the tavern while Elise and Derian took charge of the pack mules. The fact that these could not be asked to stand sweating under their burdens was part of the reason for keeping the band moving. Another was that even if the pack animals could stand without stiffening, they should not be pressed to a quicker pace to make up the lost time. Doc's Blaze and grey Patience, who carried Wendee, would have lighter burdens and could be sheltered in a livery stable for the duration of their brief stop.
Firekeeper and Blind Seer had vanished when the first house came into view. Derian knew that the pair were making a wide circle of the area and would intercept the rest along the road once it left the town. Doubtless the wolf would not pass up the opportunity to hunt a bit as well. Blind Seer was keeping clear of the horses—Cream Delight in particular was taking offense at the wolf's presence, though she seemed to take some comfort from Roanne's acceptance of the massive beast. Still, the scent of fresh blood would be an incentive to fear.
Derian fancied that Firekeeper must have said something to the mules, for they were being astonishingly cooperative. Idly, he wondered why she didn't do the same with the riding horses. He must remember to ask her sometime.
When Elise spoke, her voice was stiff with disuse.
"He's humoring me, isn't he?" she asked.
"He? Who? What?" Derian replied, confused.
"Sir Jared," she clarified, and Derian realized that the rusty tone he had taken for disuse was barely subdued anger. "He's humoring me. All this talk about towns and hot drinks. He wouldn't bother if I wasn't along."
"You don't know that," Derian replied pacifically, though the same thought had crossed his mind.
"I do," Elise said. "I'm the soft one. Look at Firekeeper. She isn't even bothering with a heavy coat."
"The coat she's wearing," Derian countered, "is heavier than she has worn in all her life. She's even wearing boots."
"But no gloves, no hat. And Wendee Jay…" Elise sounded, if anything, more offended. "She's a grown woman—a mother! And yet she's riding along like this is a lark. I'd expect such from, say, Sapphire, but from the mother of two?"
"Wendee Jay," Derian said, feeling he was doomed even as he spoke, "spent many years riding the roads when she traveled with the theater troop. This is nothing new to her."
"So you're admitting that Sir Jared is humoring me!"
Derian threw his hands up in disgust, startling Roanne, who punished him with a few dancing sideways steps. By the time he had the mare under control again, Derian had framed his reply.
"What if he is?" he asked, glancing over at the angry eyes just visible over the scarf. "What's wrong" with that?"
"I don't want humoring." The words were fierce and implacable. >
"So I shouldn't have wrapped the horses' hocks," Derian said.
"What?"
Derian took some small relief in that Elise sounded confused rather than angry.
"So I shouldn't have wrapped the horses' hocks," he repeated. "Even though they are prone to sprains and ice might cut them. I'm humoring them."
Elise didn't laugh, didn't smile (Derian had to guess at that last), but her sea-green eyes grew thoughtful, the curve of her brows softening from their scowl.
"I guess you are," she said. "But I'm not a horse. I want to be treated like everyone else."
"We are treating you in the only way possible," Derian replied. "Let me tell you about the…"
He paused to substitute a more polite word for the one he'd been about to use.
"… lecture I got from Earl Kestrel when I tried to show Race Forester that I was just as tough as he was."
Elise listened without comment as Derian told his tale. He didn't exaggerate. He didn't need to—he'd been a proper young idiot trying to match skills with the best forester in Hawk Haven. When he finished speaking, Elise sighed.
"Stiff and cold?" she asked.
"As a board," Derian promised. "And I blistered the living daylights out of my feet walking in riding boots rather than having the sense to change my footwear when I knew I'd be walking."
Elise sighed again.
"I don't like being the weak sister," she admitted. "I'm not used to it, and I did so well between Bright Bay and Hawk Haven."
"Firekeeper wasn't setting the pace then," Derian said dryly. "And the weather was more clement."
Elise went on as if she hadn't heard.
"I mean I never rode or hunted like Sapphire, but I was as good—or better—at the things that mattered."
"Like dancing and writing letters," Derian said.
"Right," Elise agreed. "I know it sounds stupid here and now with the snow falling, but I've never had to think of myself as less than capable. Tell me where to begin."
"Drink Doc's posset when it comes," Derian advised her, "and wrap up against the cold. Otherwise you'll catch something and be sniffling when we need you to translate with the New Kelvinese."
"That wouldn't be much good, would it?" Elise said, and this time he was certain he saw the muscles
of her face move in a smile beneath the silk. "Very well, Counselor. I'll take your advice."
Grateful Peace found the two-and-a-half-day sleigh ride from the Stone Giant Inn to the city of Dragon's Breath one of the most exhilarating yet wearying journeys of his life.
Travel conditions were not to blame for the contradictory state of his emotions. The sleigh runners ran smoothly over the carefully tended roads. The horses—changed at every post-station—were fresh and not yet dispirited from a long winter's hauling. Indeed, they seemed to enjoy how the chill air made the weight of their dragon caparisons negligible, to be rejoicing in the absence of flies and dust.
Nor did Peace have any complaints regarding his attendants. Even the young man who had taken over for the groom murdered by the escaped Baron Endbrook was proving quite satisfactory.
Baron Endbrook—or rather his continued absence—contributed a sizable amount to Grateful Peace's worries.
Although guards had been after Endbrook almost from the moment of his mad dash from the Stone Giant Inn, the islander had escaped and careful searching had not yet discovered him. The searchers had found his horse that first night, but Waln had been nowhere about. The man had vanished as if the legendary White Sorcerers had scooped him up onto one of their traveling clouds and flown away with him to their strongholds at the peaks of the Eversnow Mountains.
After careful consideration, Grateful Peace had not elected to remain at the Stone Giant Inn while the search for Baron Endbrook continued. His primary responsibility was to bring Lady Melina to Dragon's Breath. The execution of Endbrook and the driver had been a mere matter of housekeeping. Therefore, Peace left his guards behind—he knew he could commandeer more at the first post-house he passed on his return to the capital—expecting them to tidy up this loose end without much difficulty.
Peace had anticipated that the rider who arrived at the inn where he and Lady Melina had broken their first day's journey would report Baron Endbrook found, killed (if he had not died already of exposure), and the little matter closed. The thaumaturge had been so irritated at the rider's report of failure that he had almost sent the man out again without permitting him time for rest or a meal.
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