Wolf's Head, Wolf's Heart

by Jane Lindskold

  "And," Shad said with a laugh that was a touch too hearty, "she clearly still prefers not to ride."

  "I suspect that when she finds the right horse," Derian said, "her opinion will change. For now, though, most horses shy when they see Blind Seer and prove more a problem than otherwise.

  "The point I'm trying to make, Prince," Derian continued, returning to his original subject, "is that Firekeeper never thought of using animals to do tasks for her—the way we use horses, oxen, hunting birds, dogs…"

  "And," Shad said, understanding more quickly than Derian had thought he would, "she is unhappy with the idea that we might transform her wingéd folk into mewed hawks, her wolf companion into a war dog."

  "Precisely," Derian agreed. "It might be possible, too, but to do so we would need either to befriend them…"

  Images of Elation drowsing on a chair-back in his room flitted through his mind.

  "… Or enslave them. If we did the latter, we would make Firekeeper our enemy. She is my friend, but I can say without hesitation that she would make such a vicious enemy that we would welcome Lady Melina back into our homes."

  Shad opened his mouth as if to protest, then snapped it shut.

  "You may be right. I just remembered how she single-handedly slew all the livestock at Smuggler's Light."

  "And came home laughing and thinking it all a great game," Derian reminded him steadily, "except that so much meat had to be wasted."

  Later that day, Firekeeper came to Prince Shad just as he was dismissing his squad of climbers. Derian had been about to leave with the rest—in addition to the prince and himself there were eight others—when he saw the wolf-woman making her way to the across the meadow. He hesitated, touching Shad lightly on one arm.

  "Prince," he said, "I think you may wish to wait a moment. Firekeeper…"

  He pointed.

  "Red Fox!" Shad exclaimed in soft-voiced surprise. "I never saw her coming and it's broad daylight yet. How did you?"

  "I happened to be looking the right way," Derian said dismissively, "and I've learned to keep an eye open for her. Wolves have a sense of humor, you know."

  "I didn't know," Shad said curiously.

  "They do," Derian grinned. "Mind, it's not very subtle. It falls more into the 'hide behind a tree and jump out at you' category than anything else… so you can understand why I've learned to look for her."

  Firekeeper was close enough that she must have overheard the last, but she didn't choose to comment. Her expression remained serious, holding a trace of the unhappiness Derian had seen earlier. For a moment, he thought she was going to admit defeat, but her first words dispelled that notion.

  "I see your climbing," she said, offering the prince an abbreviated bow. "Good. There will be ropes."

  She outlined her plan then and there. In substance, it was much like what Derian had envisioned. Baron Archer had agreed to delegate archers to break the windows. Bold and Elation would drop the ropes into place, then fly a high guard.

  "Am sorry," she said, "I not get more help, but gulls refused and is no time to find others."

  Shad smiled reassuringly.

  "You've done brilliantly," he said, "and this is best. I'll let the word go out that you're having two of your trained beasts help us."

  A flash of anger lit Firekeeper's eyes. Then she seemed to understand. A small smile chased the misery from her features.

  "That is good," she replied. Then she returned to the more immediate problem. "Still one thing. How to make the ropes hold. Someone in meeting mention something but I not know the word."

  "Grapples," Shad said. He made a series of hooks with his fingers. "Rather like this but made of metal. The rope is fastened to the base. I must see if we have any with us that will be of a weight the birds can lift. If not, the farrier will have to manage something."

  He offered them a weary smile.

  "I had better go. First I need to tell Sapphire and our commanders that I will be taking in a group through the top. Then I need to speak with the quartermaster and the farrier."

  "I'll do that," Derian offered. "You concentrate on the people. I can handle gear."

  Shad accepted with a nod and began to walk toward the encampment. Derian's route was slightly different. He glanced at the wolf-woman.

  "And where are you off to, Firekeeper?"

  "Am going to see Captain Wheeler," she said. "And tell him that I will run front guide through swamp if he wishes."

  "Think he'll accept?"

  She nodded confidently.

  "He rather have me and Blind Seer in front," she said with a wicked grin, "than know that there are wolves in the darkness where he not see them."

  The letter had provided Waln with a way out—though certainly not the way those who had written it must have assumed he would take. It had been delivered into his hands, its passage through the common room shifting attention from Citrine back to Waln himself.

  Breaking the seal, Waln read the long text. Initially, the contents panicked him. He couldn't see a way around the trap that had been laid for him. A strong impulse to fold the letter away took command of him. He was in the very course of doing so when he felt an inkling of the way out.

  He laughed, a deep belly laugh that invited everyone present to join in the joke. A few did, though the laughter tapered off uncertainly as they realized that they had no idea what the joke was.

  Masking his face with a broad smile, Waln shook out the letter. He almost wished he wore spectacles so he could make a production of putting them on. Omitting that, he angled himself so that the best light was on the page.

  "We've received a letter," he said. "I've heard of good gimmicks in my time, but this one about beats them all for brass. Let me read it to you."

  Without further hesitation, he read the letter aloud. Normally, Waln didn't consider himself terribly good at such things, but the same manic impulse that had prompted him to bull this through gave him style.

  He read, not overdoing it, but shifting his tone slightly to make certain phrases such as "no longer to tolerate your illegal residence upon our lands" and "forcible measures" sound vaguely ridiculous.

  When he came to the passages demanding the surrender of himself and Citrine Shield as a guarantor of safety for those who wished to depart, he laughed so hard that he wiped tears from his eyes.

  "As if they'd keep that promise!" he said, before returning to the text.

  He concluded with a rolling recitation of the honors and titles attached to the signatures. Since many of the pirates viewed such nobles' flourishes as unzoranic, these did not intimidate as was apparently intended. Rather they seemed empty braggadocio, like the strutting of a rooster.

  "Pretty good rack for a couple of fawns," Waln commented.

  A brief, heated discussion of the letter's contents followed. By its end, Waln felt that he could sort the company of smugglers into three parties.

  One consisted of those who—although they had heard the letter—did not believe for a moment the likelihood that the terms within would be kept. Many of these had committed crimes in their native lands and had turned to piracy after fleeing. Although a few, like the cannibal cook, might have done nothing illegal in Hawk Haven—other than smuggling, that is—they still did not expect a warm welcome from the local authorities.

  A second group simply didn't like being ordered from what they, with some justice, regarded as their property. These were firm believers in the unchallengeable strength of Smuggler's Light. A few were veterans of the battle during which Princess Lovella had been killed. While the members of the first group viewed the letter with distrust, this group grew angrier the further Waln read. They were insulted that anyone thought they could just be ordered away.

  The third group—and quite possibly the largest—were not greatly swayed by Waln's eloquent reading. They still viewed him as an intruder—the source and the focus of all their immediate woes. They would quite happily have turned him over to Princess Sapphire and P
rince Shad.

  What stopped them was that Waln's surrender had not been all the letter demanded. They would have handed over Waln and Citrine, too. They might even have surrendered themselves and trusted the offer of escape. However, what they could not do was surrender those from the first two groups—those who were not inclined to surrender themselves.

  As many of these were among the largest, meanest, and strongest of the lot, and as the two groups who did not wish to heed the terms set out in the letter equaled or outnumbered those who might have given in, the point was moot.

  It did not take much arguing for those who might have given in to realize that their lives weren't worth the air in their lungs if the others thought they might turn traitor. The more vocal ceased to argue. The less vocal never spoke up.

  Waln noted them, though, noted them carefully. Although he did not single them out, he did make certain that none of them were given guard duty on the ground floor, that none of them were given the best of the weapons from the armory, and, most importantly, that none of them got within arm's reach of him.

  Citrine, however, he kept close within reach. He didn't trust someone—not even among those whose interests were at least technically allied with his own—not to steal her away in order to work some sort of trade.

  Many, he knew, thought that Princess Sapphire would lose her fire for battle when her little sister was returned to him. All Waln needed to do was look at the girl's maimed hand to realize that in his estimation Princess Sapphire was likely to become more eager for his head rather than less.

  If Sapphire offered to leave Smuggler's Light alone in exchange for Waln, Waln knew that his days of leadership would be over. Even he could not expect to bully into submission the assembled might of the pirates.

  Gone were the days that Warn Endbrook had hoped to regain the artifacts or repair his standing with Queen Valora. Right now all he wanted was to keep alive.

  If he could retain the respect of the pirates, he might manage to escape when the sailing weather improved, and to then set up a new life for himself somewhere—maybe to the south, past Stonehold's brutal coast. Waln had heard rumors that there was rich land there, and Lady Melina's necklace would provide him with starting capital. Eventually, he could pay someone to bring Oralia and his children to him.

  But first he needed to survive, and in order to survive, he needed to remain in control.

  Waln was grateful that the letter gave them so much time in which to reply. He spent the first part of the day setting up defenses, working in consultation with the most skillful of the pirates and taking the advice of those who knew the place best.

  There had been some thought of requesting help from those pirates who were wintering in other strongholds. The easternmost edge of the swamp along where it met the ocean concealed several boathouses in which vessels were dry-docked. Getting one of these ready would be a chore, but it could be undertaken. However, an inspection of the seas from the heights of the lighthouse soon caused this plan to be discarded.

  The long-glass showed several ships flying Bright Bay's green and gold flag patrolling the area where the channel from the lighthouse emptied into the ocean. Although a small vessel might have a chance of getting away, one of the size needed to brave the winter swells would almost certainly be spotted, if not by night, then certainly by day.

  With both escape and reinforcements ruled out, Waln found himself well supported as he readied the lighthouse for a defensive battle. He had never really been a fighter, but he had captained ships and managed a large shipping concern. Both took the ability to coordinate others. It helped that Waln also had the talent for making others do much of the work and planning, all the while leaving the impression in their minds that he was the font of great ideas.

  By nightfall Smuggler's light was secure, the residents divided into shifts, what supplies that could be salvaged prepared and stocked away. Drinking water would not be an issue, for a well stood at the heart of the common room, tapping into the same source of fresh water that kept the swamp moist and brackish at all times of year.

  As a means of displaying his confidence, Waln retired to sleep come nightfall. Yet even here he was not taking the great gamble it might seem. One of his tactical suggestions had been that a couple of large rooms on the second floor be turned into dormitories—so that those of unshakable loyalty could keep an eye on those less trustworthy.

  No names had been named, but he managed to word things so that the mere suggestion that one wanted to sleep in privacy suggested less than sterling loyalties. This done, Waln took a cot by the door. Citrine was given a pallet right next to him. To assure her not going anywhere, Waln put her in a harness, like one might use to restrain a big dog.

  He fell asleep that night to the ugly music of men snoring undercut by Citrine's muffled sobs.

  Chapter XXXIX

  The next morning passed slowly, each moment resonating with a tension so prevalent that it was almost palpable. When noon had come and gone with no further message from the enemy and no action glimpsed on their borders, the pirates grew relieved, then cocky.

  Waln fed this cockiness, preferring it to the tension. As he paced his rounds of the lighthouse—praising some, chiding others into greater vigilance—more than one confidant was privileged to share his "private" image of the young prince and princess wringing their hands and mewling over what should be done.

  Although the lack of immediate counterattack quelled the fears of those who would have surrendered at the letter's behest—and subjected them to a good deal of teasing from their "braver" fellows—Waln was careful not to let vigilance slip. He took advantage of the noonday meal to address those who were not on watch about the need for continued watchfulness.

  "They must do something," he said, "make some little feint in order to save face. How else will they avoid the shame of being called Princess Pig-butcher and Prince Cattle-killer?"

  Waln made his tone fatherly and surveyed the assembled crew—whom privately he viewed as an ill-assorted and untrustworthy bunch—with apparent pride.

  "You are the lords and ladies of the seas, the masters and mistresses of the trade lanes. I would not have one of you shed a drop of blood because we let our guard down. Let them shed the blood! Let them do the dying!"

  A raucous cheer answered him and vigilance through the afternoon was redoubled. Bets were passed as to when the attack would occur, and the coming of the enemy troops as eagerly anticipated as the final lap of a horse race.

  By the second nightfall, some of the headiness had ebbed, replaced by a stoic watchfulness that Waln found more reassuring.

  If this went on much longer, he would send out a raiding party with some of the hottest heads and the most unreliable elements. Trudging through the swamps would cool the hotheads, and if a few of the unreliable escaped they were hardly much of a loss.

  He went to his cot in the dormitory that night quite ready for sleep. No one would attack by night. It simply wasn't done. Even if they did, their torches and lanterns would give them away long before they reached the lighthouse.

  "Sweet dreams," he murmured to Citrine as the girl laid herself on her pallet.

  He even meant it.

  Waln was awakened by a chorus of shouts from both above and below. As he rolled over and shoved his feet into his boots, he realized that the shouting had been preceded by a crashing noise as of broken glass—the sound that had actually pressed him to wakefulness, though the shouting had come close upon it, like thunder after lightning.

  Dragging Citrine along by her harness, Waln rushed out into the corridor, long dagger in hand.

  Behind him other sleepers were reaching for boots and shirts, comparing notes on what they had heard. A few were close behind him.

  The sleeping room was near the staircase—the door of which had been spiked open as a precaution against anyone getting imprisoned on a specific floor, From above, Waln could hear metal clashing on metal, the sound of glass breaking, screams l
ike the shrieks of a hawk. Judging from the muted quality of the sound, it was coming from the top floor, where the light had once stood.

  From the common room below, the sound was more chaotic, as if rather than confronting a specific enemy, the watchers on that level were trying to prevent something. A smutty smell of burning came faintly to his nostrils. A dull, rhythmic booming announced that a ram had been brought into play.

  At the landings of the third and fourth floors above Waln, two of those assigned to watch bolted forth so unconsciously in sync with each other that they looked like pull toys on a single string.

  "What in the deep blue is going on!" Waln bellowed.

  Tris Stone, a woman who it was said had murdered her unfaithful husband in a particularly gruesome fashion, looked at him wild-eyed.

  "An attack! They've bridged the moat on all sides!"

  Waln didn't bother to ask why no one had seen the enemy's approach. There'd be enough time for recriminations and punishment when this battle had been won.

  He didn't allow himself to think that they might not win.

  Without asking, Firekeeper had assigned herself to Prince Shad's wall-climbing team. She felt certain of her welcome. After all, without her help there would be no entry through the upper level. It was her plan and it seemed to her that she should be present to see it through.

  Blind Seer was less than happy about her intentions. He would have preferred her to stay on the ground and fight by his side. However, when Firekeeper explained her reasons he relented.

  "There must be one of us," she said, sitting beside him on the ground some distance from the camp, "who is prepared to do nothing but find Citrine. Prince Shad and his climbers—if I know anything of humans—will be distracted. I will not. When we encounter enemies, I will brush past them and find Citrine. They, worried about questions of courage and 'clear lines of retreat' and other such things, will be delayed."