Howl of the Wolf (Heirs to the Throne Book 1)

by Diane Rapp

  Not everything on Drako resembled Earth. A startling shade of blue, the sky was more vivid. The daytime sun tempted unwary eyes to gaze deeply into its rich golden face. Last night a crimson-red sphere the size of a large moon rose in the western sky. She knew it was actually a distant red-dwarf sun that appeared in Drako’s sky for half of the year. Night-blooming flowers thrived in its rays; delicate tendrils stretched to absorb the warmth of the eerie red orb.

  This wild new planet lured Krystal. She felt mesmerized, tempted to explore and find new flowers to plant in her dream garden. The garden would surround her cottage like a pond of shimmering color. The moist soil would cling to her hands, and each day she would watch tender shoots stretch closer to the sky. She realized that the tranquil pastures and clean air of Drako would be her final home. Who needed the immortality of Transfer?

  Chella moved past with graceful strides and her thoughts inundated Krystal. For a moment Krystal considered blocking the mental transmission but sharing her friend’s pleasure seemed appropriate.

  Chella enjoyed exercise. Her mahogany skin absorbed the heat of the sun and her mind filled with quiet thoughts. Drako will be a great place to meditate. I’ve lived so many spans, yet I’ve had no time for myself. Chella seemed amused at the thought. With just one span left, I’ll find time to study, worship, and discuss theology with other believers.

  Krystal noticed Alex trudging along the path ahead. His mind was tightly blocked, but Krystal sensed unhappiness. What kind of life will Alex find on this planet? For spans he’s had his work. Now the Transfer labs and cloning tanks are light-years away. Alex needs interesting work to occupy his brilliant mind. Krystal felt determined to help.

  She gently touched Donovan’s mind. He thought about his collection of antique weapons. I’ve spent years learning ancient skills, and now we’re stuck on a world where skill and speed give me the edge we might need to survive. Krystal will make a wonderful wife and mother. I once dreamed of having a son, but the thought of having daughters—miniature versions of Krystal—seems perfect to me. I’ve got an exciting world to explore, a beautiful woman at my side, and the freedom to raise a family. Donovan felt exhilarated.

  Krystal blushed as Donovan looked into her eyes and grinned. Are you eves dropping? He clasped her hand and she nuzzled against his shoulder. They both imagined a future together.

  ******

  In the desert Jarrack stood before the desert leader’s tent, braced for a confrontation. He’d spent long nights of preparation—sending dreams and molding minds—so he felt ready to rejoin the tribe. Jarrack walked boldly into the tent.

  Steel sang. Guards brandished weapons, but Jarrack walked steadily forward, his gaze fixed on Forshell sitting cross-legged at the low banquet table. One signal from the leader meant Jarrack’s death.

  Forshell’s hooded gaze remained fixed on Jarrack. Flicking his hand, the guards slid their swords back into their scabbards, and Jarrack exhaled in relief.

  “You were expected. Sit. We will talk of many things,” Forshell said. “The man who stole your woman; he is a powerful wizard. What more can you tell us?”

  Jarrack sat and casually plucked a piece of meat from the nearest platter. “Donovan is a man like any other. He possesses luck, but his luck will run out. When it does I will cut out his heart and feed it to the wolves.”

  Forshell spat. “Enough! You tell us nothing new. We followed you, our new shaman, and rode without knowledge of the enemy into a battle. We lost. Donovan shamed our tribe! Lest we charge forward like blundering fools once again, we must understand his power.”

  Silence.

  All eyes focused on Jarrack. He nearly choked on the bite of meat he tried to swallow. Sweat trickled down his spine. He slipped a trembling hand into his robe and held out the black box. “The gods gave me a weapon to stop Donovan. I am not afraid. When the time is right to use this weapon, the tribe will be avenged. His offworld wizardry is no match for mine!” He hit his chest with a closed fist and bowed. “I am the tribe’s wizard.”

  The men of the desert were believers in the power of dreams and remembered his words from recent dreams. Gasps hissed through the tent. Everyone looked impressed—everyone except Forshell, who merely shrugged.

  “You may possess power.” Forshell eyed the black box. “While others believe in portents and dreams, I trust in things I can touch. That box is an offworld tool?”

  Jarrack bristled at the tone of ridicule in Forshell’s voice. “It is a tool only I can use.”

  “On Drako possession of such a device warrants a death sentence.” Forshell’s eyes flickered with menace. “We’ll let you assume that risk. You will travel with our tribe to Havenshire for the tournament to choose the next king. Use your magic against Donovan and redeem your honor.”

  Forshell’s hand whipped out of his robe like a snake. A dagger struck the table next to Jarrack’s hand, and vibrated ominously.

  “Be warned! If you fail, you shall die a coward’s death.”

  Despite the desert heat, Jarrack shivered. Of all the tribesmen, Forshell’s mind successfully repelled invasion, making him dangerous.

  Jarrack swallowed. “Donovan is mine,” he said, trying to sound calm.

  Forshell shrugged. Turning his back to Jarrack, he spoke quietly with other tribesmen. Guards stood with razor-sharp blades poised to defend their leader. Jarrack kept alert. He ate slowly and watched Forshell. Mind control was not an option, so Jarrack must find a way to eliminate Forshell. He fingered the black box, too bad he couldn’t use it on both men at the same time.

  *****

  Kriegen listened to the mind of the evil one and his hackles bristled. The law forbids forcing a mind to obey, the worst crime of all listed. What should we do with the evil one? he asked his ancestor voices.

  An ancient mind came forward. Protect other humans from this evil.

  Humans? Do you know these entities?

  The ancient one sighed. The history of our kind is linked with humans. Follow the evil one and we will provide information to defeat him when the time is right.

  Kriegen flicked his ears flat against his skull, disturbed. How could these humans be linked with the wolves? Why did the ancestors hold back important information?

  *****

  Donovan led his group into the main square of a dilapidated village. Livestock roamed unhampered through shabby buildings with gaping holes in shingled roofs, crumbling plaster walls, and doors dangling from rusted hinges. Half-printed words on broken signs, and an empty tourism booth showed that the once-bustling space-town no longer catered to tourists. Expressionless people stared from dirty windows like ghosts afraid to leave their haunts.

  Trenton nudged Donovan and nodded at a man standing at the doorway of the largest building. The man lifted an eyepiece and disdainfully examined Donovan’s group. He brushed invisible dirt from an expensive blue velvet jacket, and then sauntered forward.

  “It’s about time you arrived! As an emissary of the king, I welcome you…and your party…” his sour tone denied the welcome, “to our planet.”

  “Thank you. Greetings are returned,” Donovan said bowing from the waist.

  The man sighed. “King Halder requests your presence at Havenshire forthwith. Personal attendants may accompany you to the castle, but the remainder of your staff shall be housed here until appropriate accommodations are arranged.”

  Donovan bristled. “My crew must remain together.”

  The man ignored Donovan and glanced distastefully at the village. “This meager village lacks creature comforts…but it will do until we determine your status.” The man turned to walk away.

  Donovan said, “I am Captain Donovan. I missed your name.”

  The man stopped, pivoted, and bowed. “Sir Hembly,” he snapped, “You’ve kept us waiting long enough.”

  “We thought someone might greet us as the spaceport.” Donovan shrugged.

  “The spaceport? The facilities at the spaceport have not been use
d in spans. Since you entered through the planetary defense system, we assumed you were aware of our restrictions.” Hembly yawned, patting his mouth with a white-gloved hand. “I dispatched a messenger to inform His Highness that you departed the spaceport. Prepare to leave within the hour. There is no reason for further delay!” Hembly’s glare implied that delay would not be tolerated.

  “My crew must travel with us to Havenshire.”

  “Impossible. The king specified five companions. The rest remain here.”

  Donovan suspected a trap. Hembly wanted them to defy the king’s order—a killing offense? He glanced at Trenton, who flashed an irksome smile. “We need time to arrange housing and supplies for my crew. Three hours should be sufficient.”

  Hembly opened his mouth to object, thought better of it, and pulled a silken handkerchief from his ruffled sleeve. He dabbed at imaginary sweat on his brow. “As you will.” Hembly waved the handkerchief and a villager came out of the building. “Bring a tankard of that poison you brew and don’t keep me waiting this time.”

  Glancing furtively at Hembly, the villager rushed away. After dusting a chair, Hembly stationed himself in the shade and watched Donovan.

  “Trenton and I will check out the town,” Donovan said. “Krystal, organize things here and calm the crew. Maggie, Chella, and Alex will all travel with us to Havenshire, so the rest need to settle in here.”

  Trenton nodded. “I spotted a village smithy. We’ll find out everything from him.” He led the way to the blacksmith shop. The smithy doors stood wide open and they heard the smith clang a red-hot horseshoe. “Greetings, friend. I have a problem you might be able to solve,” Trenton said.

  The smith scowled, eyeing Donovan, who stood inside the doorway.

  “I’ve chipped my favorite knife. I won’t let anyone except a true smith see to the repair.” He handed the smith a heavy trapper’s knife.

  The smith scrutinized Trenton’s bronze uniform with displeasure but hefted the knife and carefully checked the edge. “This be good steel. Ye be a trapper? How do ye travel with them sky gypsies?”

  Trenton laughed. “Oh plenty of good men serve in the skies—what with the war. They needed hard muscle and cunning wits to beat the enemy.”

  The smith pumped the forge, pulled on heavy gloves, and stuck the blade into the flame. They admired the fluid movements of the muscular smith as he worked his craft. Sweat trickled soon down their faces, but the smith remained oblivious to the intense heat.

  Trenton sidled over to a bucket and helped himself to a drink. He said, “This reminds me of home—a pretty village with friendly people. What’s this place called?”

  The smith’s brow furrowed. Giving information to strangers was not in his nature, so Trenton flashed a warm smile.

  “Prosperity. In the old days the name fit like a glove. The spaceport gave us good business in them days. Ye haven’t come to tax us again, have ye?” The smith scowled.

  “We’re not here for taxes. We manned a medical ship—nothin’ to do with government affairs.” Trenton chewed on a piece of straw and winked at Donovan. “The council, they don’t like spacemen?”

  “No. They’d gut you given the chance, but the king’s got a soft spot. He’ll treat ye royal if he’s still living.”

  “Sickly is he?”

  “Until the curse struck, King Halder was strong as a bull. The curse came with a devil horse—a horse the king ordered for the prince on his birthday—it brought nothing but death. The prince, the queen, and all the royal family died. King Halder got sick like the others, but he’s a stubborn cuss.” Pride sparkled in the smith’s eyes. “He vowed revenge, but it won’t be long until the king joins his kin. He looks like the walking dead.”

  “Sounds like a new king will be crowned right soon.”

  “Aye and it’s a shame. Halder was a good man, always fair to the likes of us. Don’t know what bastard will take his place. They all be alike, them dandies, raking in taxes from people who work hard to feed their families. None of ’em fit to walk in Halder’s boots.”

  The smith finished pounding and handed Trenton’s knife back. “Ye be careful, son. There’s them that would slit your throat given the chance. It’d be a shame for a good trapper to fall prey to them robbers. Jest a copper for pay.”

  Trenton winked. “Take this for your trouble.” He handed over a gold piece. A delighted expression warmed the smith’s face. “There’s more where that come from—if ye help find good quarters for those we leave behind.”

  The smith bit into the coin and nodded. “Never fear. Long as that dandy’s gone, there be plenty of warm beds for them who pays like this. I’ll see to it.”

  Trenton grinned. “One more thing. You got any leather britches I could buy? I don’t like wearing these flimsy rags.”

  The smith grinned. “Don’t rightly blame ye. They look a might chilly. Yer like unto my son’s size. Give me a spell to speak with him.” The smith chuckled and strode into the house behind the shop.

  “Good work, Trenton. Five more minutes and he’ll offer his daughter as your wife,” Donovan said.

  “Too late! Maggie’s got my troth.”

  When the smith returned with his arms full of clothes, Trenton beamed. “This is brilliant! I get to wear real clothes for a change.” The smith pointed at a back room and soon Trenton emerged, transformed.

  “Ye look a might more civilized. If ye have a mind, come back and visit. The wife will treat you to a fittin’ meal.” The smith extended a rough hand. “Ask for Gunther.”

  Trenton shook the hand. “Trenton and Donovan, my captain.”

  Gunther gave Donovan a nod. “Well met, Trenton,” he said. “Trust us to look after your friends.”

  “What do I owe for the clothes?”

  Gunther waved off another coin. “We’re set, mate. Take care and watch your back.” He turned to his work. The hot glow of the flame made the sweat on his muscular arms glisten as though the smith merged with his fire.

  “Can we trust him?” Donovan asked as they walked back.

  Trenton nodded. “He gave us his name. A name is a powerful thing on this world, so he offered his trust. We returned the favor. We’ll leave gold coin and the crew will be set. Institute script is worth nothing.”

  “I’ll see to it,” Donovan said.

  Krystal, Maggie, Chella, and Dr. Alexander sat on horses, ready to depart. Two more horses waited for Trenton and Donovan.

  Donovan tossed a bag filled with coins to the ranking officer remaining behind. “a smith named Gunther will help get you settled. “Take up local dress right away, and you’ll be fine until we return.”

  Alex eyed Trenton’s leather garments. “I hope they don’t include vermin.” Trenton shrugged unconcerned but scratched absent-mindedly. “We have a supply of repellent in the supply case,” Alex said with a smile.

  Most of the crew seemed happy to stay. Sir Hembly paced impatiently, and Donovan cringed at the thought of spending much time with the sour man.

  A few hours into the ride Krystal said, “I get fleeting thoughts from Hembly. The king assigned him to accompany us as some kind of punishment.”

  Donovan leaned forward in his saddle. “The guards pretend not to hear or answer in monosyllables when I ask questions.”

  “I’ll gently probe their thoughts. I need to find out how we should act at court. It wouldn’t do to make a blunder,” Krystal said. “Trenton’s not much help. In those clothes he’s thinking and acting like a trapper.”

  “He’s whistling again.” Donovan nodded. “The tune is beginning to make the guards smile. I wonder what words accompany the melody.”

  “I’d rather not know. I’d probably be scarlet for the rest of the trip,” Krystal said.

  On the fifth morning, Hembly summoned Donovan’s group. “We arrive at the castle soon. You should understand our rules.” He shifted in his saddle, looking as if he resented instructing underlings.

  “Our government outlawed technology many
years ago. Using technology is strictly prohibited. Lower class people might slay anyone caught with offworld equipment. They deem the items instruments of witchcraft.”

  Hembly sniffed at his handkerchief. “We higher class people realize the truth, but we foster the notion to maintain control. You’d be best advised to follow our rules if you wish to survive.” He turned as if to dismiss them.

  Donovan erupted in anger. “Why did you wait to tell us? My people back in Prosperity need to know this information. By holding back, you put them at risk.” Donovan clenched his fists, trying to remember what equipment they carried into the village. Would the locals do violence against his crew?

  “Your crew! Yes, I see how that could create a problem.” Looking as if he enjoyed the thought, Hembly waved his handkerchief to a nearby guard. “Dispatch a messenger to the spacers in Prosperity. Explain the law forbidding technology.” He turned to Donovan. “A pity you didn’t think to ask earlier. We’d hate for you to lose any of your crew to superstition, but it’s the best I can do at this late date.”

  Donovan glowered but restrained himself. “What does the king have in mind? Does he want to destroy us?”

  Hembly’s eyes widened with genuine surprise. “Destroy you? King Halder is your only ally. He sent me under threat of death to bring you back safely—his little joke it seems. The king has connections offworld…if he executes a devious plan to hand this planet over to the Institute, I will fight the scheme with every ounce of power I can muster!”

  Hembly’s gaze turned menacing. “I fulfilled my duty. We do not welcome ilk spawned by the Institute on this world. Be warned! When Halder dies, leave quickly or die!”

  Hembly whipped his horse and rode away.

  Krystal said, “He hates us.”