Wolf's Head, Wolf's Heart

by Jane Lindskold

  The wolf-woman pelted up the stairs after her prey, her booted feet making soft scuffing noises against the stone, her trailing, bloodstained robe torn away in front—for she had ripped it as she ran to keep it from tangling her feet.

  She could feel the short hairs on her neck stand up when she turned down a corridor and saw a partially open door at one end. Noise came through that opening: frantic whimpers and gasping breaths. With shining eyes, Firekeeper ran toward her prey.

  Bursting through the open door with such speed that even had anyone crouched behind or beside the portal she would have passed them before they could strike, Firekeeper spun to a halt on a patch of thick carpet before a low sofa.

  Lady Melina knelt by a fireplace, her hands pressed against the stones. On her right hand, Firekeeper saw a large ring that didn't quite fit and guessed that this was the third artifact. On the stone bench that flanked the fireplace rested a small hatchet, its blade stained with Blind Seer's blood.

  Firekeeper paced forward and Lady Melina stood to meet her, turning rather too quickly, as if she sought to hide something behind her.

  Her face had been painted as garishly as that of a New Kelvinese. Not for Lady Melina the simple scarlet worn for work; this color wove a serpent's path emphasizing the upper portion of her face.

  Searching for the face beneath the paint, Firekeeper sought Lady Melina's eyes. She found them, cool and pale, glittering from the depths of two sinuous coils.

  The wolf-woman felt an odd desire to shout aloud in triumph, but the sight of the bloody hatchet on the hearthstone chilled her spirit. Lips peeling back from her teeth in a snarl, Firekeeper growled:

  "That—" She pointed to the ring. "Give!"

  "Why?" Lady Melina replied almost casually. Then her voice rose slightly, excitement coursing through its controlled notes.

  "Can it be that you know its secret?"

  Firekeeper only stared at her, confused.

  "No, I see that you do not," Lady Melina laughed. "I see that you are merely a dog fetching for her master."

  Firekeeper bristled, but Lady Melina continued on, even pausing long enough to take a seat on the raised hearth.

  "I wonder who sent you, pup? Uncle Tedric? Allister Seagleam? Probably. They seem to command you and yet…" Her voice fell into a silky, insinuating softness. "And yet you do not know that what you seek at others' command holds in it the power to grant your heart's desire."

  Despite her fury, Firekeeper discovered that she could no more keep from listening than she could will the sun to rise.

  "See this?" Lady Melina held out her hand so that Firekeeper could see the ring clearly. "A moonstone held in the jaws of a beast. The New Kelvinese were not slow to pick up on the symbolism, but I think they feared the power we would unleash…"

  She chuckled. "No pun intended."

  Firekeeper growled, but though some part of her clamored that she should seize the ring and be gone—leaving Lady Melina's head on the floor in token of her coming—she could not seem to stir.

  "The moon is an almost universal emblem for change," Lady Melina went on. "Here it is held in the mouth of a beast. Moon/change/beast. It is a simple enough sequence, don't you think?"

  Shaking her head was the hardest thing Firekeeper had ever done.

  "We haven't yet found the trigger," Lady Melina admitted. "I've suggested mingled blood…"

  Blood!

  The word burned through Firekeeper's mind, the thunder of her own blood in her ears was like a storm beating against the shore. Amid the noise, she didn't hear what Lady Melina said next, only knew that the ring was being extended toward her, glowing in the firelight as Lady Melina moved it slowly back and forth, back and forth.

  "Come, Firekeeper, take the ring," Lady Melina urged softly. "You've always wanted to be a wolf, haven't you? This holds the means. Of course, if you return the ring to King Allister, you'll never have that power, will you?"

  The thunder of the waves was ebbing now, being replaced with a gentler susurrus, a sleepy rhythm that held the rocking of a cradle, the swaying of the bough, the caress of waves against a beach.

  Firekeeper half raised her hand toward the ring and wondered at the heaviness in her limbs.

  "Stay with me, Firekeeper," Lady Melina said gently, "stay with me and I will help you find your dreams. We will discover how to awaken the ring. Then you can have all you desire."

  Firekeeper's foot slid forward as if of its own accord. Behind her, a rattling blended into the soft rhythm in her head; even the metallic clink as Lady Melina's left hand slid the hatchet into her grip couldn't break her sense of sleepy peace.

  She would be a wolf, a wolf at last. She and Blind Seer would run through the woods, laughing as they plowed chest-deep through the snowdrifts.

  Something worried at the edge of her tranquility when she thought of the blue-eyed wolf. She saw him haloed in red, but then the red transformed into the glow of the setting sun behind him. Then they stood shoulder to shoulder, singing the moon as she rose.

  Smiling, Firekeeper was stepping forward when the crash of glass against wood and stone ripped through the sound of Lady Melina's voice. A shriek sliced the air.

  "Firekeeper!"

  An intense shock of pain in the vicinity of her right hip, coming almost as one with the shrill cry, jolted Firekeeper from her dream.

  She stood within arm's reach of Lady Melina, but this Lady Melina was anything but tranquil.

  The sorceress still wore the ring upon her right hand, but the blue-white stone was covered by Bold. The crow had perched upon Lady Melina's upper arm and now sought to drag the ring from the woman's hand.

  Lady Melina might have shoved the bird away, but for the fact that she needed her remaining hand to ward Elation from her face. She had dropped the hatchet in her panic and instantly Firekeeper realized what had caused the pain in her hip.

  Neither was Lady Melina a trained fighter, nor had she expected the dual thickness of leather where vest met trousers beneath Firekeeper's tattered robe. Doubtless she had been aiming higher—for the soft abdomen or the vulnerable throat—but Elation's attack had thrown her aim off just enough.

  Firekeeper dove into the fray.

  The peregrine couldn't achieve the height she needed for one of her stooping dives, but she had sufficient room to batter at Lady Melina with her wings. Already, Elation's claws had drawn blood, blood that beaded against the paint on Lady Melina's face, creating the eerie impression that the sorceress's own blood had rejected her.

  Firekeeper staggered slightly as she registered the deep bruise that would be forming where the hatchet had impacted against the bone, but an almost insane fury was replacing the artificial tranquility Lady Melina had created.

  The wolf-woman never doubted that she—like so many others—had fallen prey to Lady Melina's particular sorcery. She recalled her own triumph as she had sought, wolf-like, to intimidate her opponent with her stare and knew that in doing so she had opened herself to her enemy's attack.

  Remember, she is not a wolf.

  Burning with shame, she heard Blind Seer's warning—a warning she had discarded. Had it not been for the intervention of the wingéd folk she would be bleeding out her life at Lady Melina's feet.

  Fang in hand, Firekeeper pushed the peregrine aside. Ignoring the new trickle of blood from where a talon had scored her forearm, she pressed the knife blade against Lady Melina's throat.

  As from a great distance, she heard Bold's hoarse chuckle of triumph as he tugged the ring free. Heard the flap of his wings as he bore away his prize—never knowing how much temptation he was taking out of reach.

  But Firekeeper had eyes only for Lady Melina. Keeping her own gaze away from the fatal crystalline paleness of the sorceress's gaze, she was ready to push the blade home when she heard Elation—who was perched somewhere behind her—say:

  "Citrine."

  Firekeeper stayed the thrust.

  "Where is Citrine?" she asked hoarsely.
/>   Lady Melina did not feign ignorance.

  "Will the information win me my life?"

  "No, but it may win Citrine's own."

  Lady Melina paused; then, to Firekeeper's astonishment, she began to shake—a deep trembling accompanied by the tang of fresh sweat and the faint odor of urine.

  "I don't want to die!" the woman wailed.

  Firekeeper growled, "Tell me!"

  Lady Melina could not crumple—not without driving the knife into her own throat—but her muscles seemed to lose all strength. Close to Lady Melina as she was, Firekeeper could feel the muscles slacken, driven beyond the rictus of terror into the limpness of despair.

  "I'll show you where Citrine is!"

  "No."

  "She's… Please, you can't want to rob a little girl of her mama!"

  "You stall. Tell!"

  "A house," Lady Melina gasped.

  Tears now coursed down her cheeks, splashing hot against Firekeeper's hand. Inadvertently, she drew her hand back slightly, but the Fang still remained within easy reach of that vulnerable throat.

  Perhaps mistaking distaste for mercy, Lady Melina gulped out a few words.

  "To the east of Hawk Haven, near the swamps. That's where we left her. I don't know…"

  Her voice trailed off into racking, panicked sobs. Then, as if her bones had melted, she slid from the hearthside bench onto which she had been pressed.

  Lady Melina raised her face to Firekeeper, but she did not try to meet the wolf-woman's eyes, keeping her own downcast in fear. Her posture eloquently spoke of her vulnerability—exposing her throat to the killing blow.

  "Please," the sorceress whimpered. "Spare me! Spare me…"

  The last was barely audible.

  Firekeeper tried to raise her Fang to drive it into that soft, white throat, but she could not make her hand move.

  This time, however, there was no external control at work. In her deepest heart, Firekeeper was a wolf, and no sane wolf ever killed an opponent who had surrendered.

  "I can't…" she said to Elation.

  "You can't let her live. This one is mad. She left her daughter to die. She tried to kill Blind Seer—he is sorely wounded."

  "I can't…" Firekeeper moaned.

  Lady Melina, eyes still downcast, arms outstretched, rose on trembling legs. She backed until she stood pressed against the stone, her fingers scrabbling as if she would dig herself a burrow there.

  "If you can't then," Elation shrieked, beating her wings and rising into the air, "I can!"

  But there was not space, even in this large chamber, for the peregrine to stoop and dive as she would have outside. As she floundered, seeking to adapt her strike, there was a loud click.

  Lady Melina cried out, this time not in fear but in triumph. A portion of the stone slid from behind her and she backed into a tunnel—doubtless one of those very tunnels of which Grateful Peace had bragged.

  Firekeeper recovered swiftly from her shock at seeing surrender transform into flight. Lady Melina darted into the darkness on the other side of the wall.

  When Firekeeper would have dashed after her, Elation landed so heavily on her shoulder that the wolf-woman was thrown off balance.

  "No!" Elation shrieked. "We have the ring. We know where the child is. Don't throw your life away."

  Firekeeper staggered under the weight of the bird. Her hip shouted its own argument against an extended chase through unknown territory.

  "The others," she asked. "I told you to get the others away."

  "They are away, but needed no help from me to see the wisdom of retreat. Bold saw them beginning their descent from the tower. Blind Seer," the peregrine added in response to an unasked question, "was with them. By now—unless Grateful Peace has betrayed them—they should be clear of this place and on their way outside the walls."

  Firekeeper nodded. "Then we, too, must be away."

  They eschewed attempting to return to the tunnels, even though the Granite Tower was unbelievably quiet. Elation flew around it and reported that the top floor held two people quite definitely bound, while the next held four sitting down who might well be bound. The next lower floor remained dark—and so presumably empty—while the bottom floor of the tower proper was empty on one side. The other held a room full of people who seemed to be splitting their energies between arguing and trying to pry open a window that might not have been opened for centuries.

  Firekeeper thought about finding another cellar and seeing if there was another trapdoor, but in her heart of hearts she was soundly tired of stone buildings, sewer tunnels, and all the rest. Instead, Elation bore the rags of Firekeeper's robe to the top of a shadowed portion of wall, far from where the commotion was centered.

  With the cloth to pad the top where someone had strewn glass and other unpleasant things, Firekeeper struggled over the wall. Alternately staggering and limping, with the birds flying ahead to warn her of strangers, the wolf-woman made her weary way to where she could only hope her friends would be waiting.

  They had appointed an old sheepfold well outside the farthest outskirts of Dragon's Breath as their meeting place. It was a good choice, far enough that they should not be noticed, not too far to be reached by people on foot.

  The only problem, Derian thought, with meeting places is that first everyone has to get there.

  Initially, frantic preparation had kept his mind too full even for worry. Not only did he and Edlin need to pack every item belonging to their household, but there were supplies to lay by and—because Derian was an honest man—payment to leave for Hasamemorri as an apology for raiding her larder.

  The horses—and more especially the mules—had resisted being packed and loaded at such a peculiar hour. Sleepy, stable-warm, well fed, the last thing any of them wanted was to be dragged out into the crisp, chill night.

  Roanne had nipped Derian on the sleeve, snaking her ears back against her skull to express her disapproval.

  Skilled as he was at dealing with both horses and mules, Derian found himself missing Firekeeper. A few words from her—or a growl from Blind Seer—would have reminded the hoofed stock who was in charge.

  Firekeeper, Derian thought wryly, but I wouldn't be arguing.

  One pleasant surprise, however, had been Lord Edlin's competence. Derian had expected to need to chivy him along at every stage, but, although Edlin could act like the greatest idiot ever to walk the earth, he proved remarkably steady once a crisis was at hand.

  I should have expected that, Derian thought, chiding himself. Edlin came through when the bandits captured us. It's just so easy to forget he has any skills at all when he spends so much of the time walking around with his mouth half open.

  Moreover, the hunting expeditions that were Lord Edlin's passion had honed his skills with both riding horses and pack mules. He might never be Derian's equal—Derian, after all, had been working in the trade since he could toddle at Colby Carter's heels—but he was an apt partner.

  "If you ever get tired of lording," Derian said to Edlin when between them they had convinced one particularly obstinant mule to accept its load, "I'll speak to my father about giving you a job."

  Edlin, grinning foolishly, actually looked pleased.

  I wonder why Earl Kestrel didn't take Edlin west, Derian thought. Maybe he wanted him to learn how to run the estate without Daddy near, but maybe Earl Kestrel hasn't had the chance to see what Edlin can do.

  Getting past the city guard had been its own form of torture. Derian had rehearsed his spiel over and over as they led their pack train through the nearly deserted streets. He felt that he had to say just enough to sound casual, but not so much that later he would be singled out for his panicked babbling.

  It was something of a pity that neither Elise nor Wendee could be spared to go with them, but Derian firmly agreed that those who could understand what was being said around them needed to go into Thendulla Lypella. After all, it wouldn't do to have someone ask a question or snap a command, then for no o
ne but Peace and one other to understand what had been said.

  Still, it meant that he and Edlin would be remembered as foreigners when alarm was raised. That would set pursuit all the more swiftly on their heels.

  As much as Derian had dreaded it, their encounter with the guards proved to be anticlimatic. Drowsy and cold, the three guards didn't much want to leave their warm gatehouse or the game they were playing.

  Derian caught a glimpse of an elaborately painted board covered with polished stones in various colors when he went to the gatehouse to turn in his paperwork. The guard—having no orders to keep anyone from leaving Dragon's Breath—barely glanced at the documents before thrusting them into a wooden tray by the door.

  He did, however, give Derian's naked face a second glance, his own white-and-light-blue-patterned features awakening momentarily with an expression of mild distaste.

  Heart still pounding and head light with relief, Derian swung back into Roanne's saddle and urged the lead mule into a fast walk, certain that any moment he would hear a voice calling out for them to halt.

  Then had come the long, tense ride to the sheepfold. He and Lord Edlin hadn't dared press the animals too rapidly.

  Frozen ground invited all manner of catastrophes—strains, sprains, and even broken legs. To insure against disaster, they kept to the margin of the road where packed snow offered better footing than did the carefully tended sleigh course down the center.

  Three or four sleighs passed them within the city limits, but once they passed beyond the outskirts, not even the road custodians seemed to be up and about.

  The worst part of that part of the journey was neither the cold nor the sleepiness that threatened to steal over Derian now that the demands on his attention had eased. It was worrying that he and Edlin would arrive too late—that they would arrive and find the others waiting impatiently or, even worse, that they would arrive and find representatives of New Kelvin's weird government waiting for them.

  Derian fretted over such contingencies, his thoughts beating out this rhythm of fear with some of the same steadiness that the horses and mules tramped over the snow.