Grand Duchess Rosene nodded, for once too surprised, or perhaps merely too upset, to reply.
Elise turned to her parents, leaving Rosene out of the matter.
"The grand duchess does have a point," she said seriously. "I am the sole heir to the Archer Barony. If something happened to me, there would be chaos and scrambling for position. We all saw how that upset the kingdom last year when the issue was who would inherit from King Tedric. I think we owe our tenants the assurance that they will not suffer similar unrest on our account."
Baron Archer's nod seemed casual, but he was clearly interested. Elise noticed that the brandy had stopped its restless swirling.
"My hope and dream is to inherit our land and to administer it as I have been trained to do since birth," Elise went on. "The same sense of responsibility, however, makes me realize how foolish it is to leave me without an heir. I dearly hope the ancestors can do without you, Father, for a long time to come, and I hope that even if they should call you, Mother would continue in her place aiding me as I adjust to my new role."
This last was a less than subtle jab at Grand Duchess Rosene herself. Rosene had relinquished to her son all practical administrative work within the Archer Grant almost the moment Purcel had died. Rosene had claimed that her grief made her unfit, that her son was more able than she, but Elise had always felt that Rosene's real reason was that she preferred to be thought of as the king's sister rather than the baron's widow.
Baron Archer gave a wry smile.
"I am glad to hear you are not eager to have me join the ancestors," he said. "I have felt myself dead and buried at times during today's discussion."
Grand Duchess Rosene was not enjoying this turn of the conversation at all. Elise had a sudden insight why. All her childhood, Rosene had been an heir in waiting to the royal throne. True, she had been at the end of a long line, but the sense that she was somehow-special had been there. As her actions the summer before had shown, any means, no matter how tenuous, to get her blood on the throne was to be seized.
Now here was Elise offering, in effect, to weaken her own claim to her ownùadmittedly lesserùinheritance. For all the grand duchess's threats, she clearly had never expected this response. Elise seized hold of her grandmother's temporary confusion to keep control of the conversation.
"Of course, Aunt Zorana may not like this plan at all," she said. "If something happened to both you and me, Father, the law would make her Baroness Archer and her children would follow after in turn."
Ivon nodded.
"However," he said, "Zorana would be less than perfectly trained for the position. Deste is young enough to be malleableùI hope."
He grinned at his daughter. "I understand she's pretty good with a bow, at least."
Elise answered his grin with one of her own.
"We could promise that no matter what happened, we would dower Deste. Aunt Zorana's resources are stretched rather thinùeven with Purcel's death."
"What do you think about Kenre?" Ivon asked.
"From the point of view of teaching him his new duties and responsibilities," Elise said, "Kenre would be even better than Deste, since he is quite a bit younger, but Aunt Zorana has lost one son. It would be too much to expect her to give up the other."
"Still," Ivon said, glancing over at Aurella to gage her reaction, "I believe I will offer Zorana the choice of either child. She may have thoughts we have not considered. After all, she is their mother and knows them best."
Aurella nodded her agreement. Interestingly, given that she had initiated this discussion, it was Rosene who raised a protest.
"And if Zorana will not agree at all?" she asked, her voice a bit shrill.
"Well," Ivon replied, "we will have time to discuss the matter, to bring her to our way of seeing things. However, if Zorana cannot be convinced, I am certain I could get the Crown's permission to adopt from another family. I would simply prefer to keep the land within the blood descendants of Purcel Archer. However, Mother, you have been wise in pointing out how tenuous that line is, especially with both Elise and myself devoted to the service of our monarchs, no matter how dangerous that service may prove to be."
Rosene sputtered something wordless, but Elise ignored her, rising and embracing each of her parents in turn.
"In any case, Father, Mother, I hope that this safeguard will be unnecessary. No matter what some may think," and she could not keep her gaze from straying to Rosene, "I will not behave in any fashion that will make the question of my reputation a matter for the gossips. If the scandalmongers talk, well, at least you will have the assurance that there is no truth to the scandal."
Baron Archer managed to look both stiff and pleased. Lady Aurella reached up and touched Elise lightly on one cheek.
"We knew that already, dear," she said.
DERIAN WONDERED at Firekeeper's silence and evident unhappiness as they journeyed back east. At first he thought she was suffering from homesicknessùafter all, her visit had been cut short and distorted by the need to deal with the colonists.
When Firekeeper's moodiness persisted beyond a few days, Derian wondered if she was worried about the colonists. Surely, she couldn't care so much about the fate of a group of humans. He knew that Firekeeper thought of herself as a wolf so completely that there were times when he thought of her as a wolf.
Could it be that memories from her childhood were reawakening? Firekeeper had always claimed to remember nothing other than living as a wolf. Sometimes Derian suspected she remembered more than she even realized. She had acquired a command of Pellish, the language of both Hawk Haven and Bright Bay, rather more quickly than even her talent for mimicry could account for. Occasionally, an odd word or gesture hinted at memories buried beneath what she admitted to knowing.
Yet Derian didn't think the wolf-woman a liar. He didn't remember much from when he was small, so why should she? If she chose to deny that those memories were there, then what harm did she cause?
Two days after they had crossed the gap through the Iron Mountains and successfully negotiated the worst of the descent, Derian learned that neither homesickness nor concern for the colonists was behind Firekeeper's bleak mood.
Daylight was fading into evening when she melted out of the brush. Derian had been expecting this. It had become the wolf-woman's usual custom to arrive and inform him that she had selected a place for him to camp. She often brought something she had caught for his dinner at the same time, or told him that she had already built a sheltered fire and that his meal was cooking under Blind Seer's watchful gaze. It was a luxury that Derian knew he would miss when he went back to traveling with humansùalmost as good as having an inn waiting.
, On this evening, Firekeeper walked along with him, chivying the tired mountain horses into new energy, and annoying Roanne. When they arrived at the designated spot, she helped him pitch his tentùan unusual gesture. Usually she sprawled comfortably on the ground, teasing him about his dependence on such things. This evening, however, Derian had the impression that she wanted him quickly settled.
Tonight, his meal was a duck wrapped in clay and baked in the fire. Race Forester had taught Firekeeper the trickùone that eliminated the need for removing the feathers before cooking. She liked things that saved time and effort, and if she was a bit forgetful about spices and tended to ignore flourishes like side dishes Derian wasn't about to complain. He'd taken to foraging along the trail, filling a small canvas sack with greens or mushrooms that cooked quickly when he made his camp.
Tonight, as always, Firekeeper refused to eat with him. Derian tried not to think about what she did eat and just how long she bothered to cook it. She'd survived for ten years without his nursemaiding. He'd just have to trust her to continue now.
Derian's impression that something was up increased when Firekeeper hunkered down at the edge of his camp where the firelight would not ruin her night vision, her arm flung around Blind Seer. The wolf's remaining, despite the nervousness he created among the horses, said
louder than words that Firekeeper was tense and needed his support.
Derian didn't press her, going about the routine of cooking his mushrooms, checking the duck for doneness, heating a few potatoes he'd roasted in last night's fire, and waiting for her to get around to whatever was troubling her. He'd cracked the mud from around the duck and found the meat well cooked when she finally spoke.
"Fox Hair," Firekeeper said, and her voice was hoarse, as if she was feeling her way into the words, "I need to tell you something."
Derian pulled a bit of meat from the duck, sucked on his fingers when he burnt them, and nodded encouragement.
"You don't mind if I eat while I listen, do you?"
Firekeeper seemed startled by the routine courtesy. Derian had gotten the impression that wolves let very little get in the way of their meals. It was an indication of how very much a wolf she was this evening that she had apparently forgotten that humans were different.
"No, go, eat," she replied.
She was silent for so long that Derian wondered if she was waiting until he finished before continuing with whatever was so obviously bothering her. Then she spoke:
"Fox Hair, I tell you part of why I need to go from my wolves. Is true part," she hastened to add, "but only part. Part I not tell you then for I not want you tell Ewen and his people."
"But you're telling me now?" Derian clarified.
"Yes."
He saw her nod, a motion of dark against gathering darkness. It wouldn't be long before, to his fire-blinded eyes, she and Blind Seer would be nearly invisible. Firekeeper had a way of sitting that hid her bare arms so they didn't catch the light and her face, of course, was averted.
Firekeeper went on. "I not want you to tell anyone, but I need tell you. If I not make it to king, someone should know."
"Is it likely," Derian asked, feeling a sudden thrill of fear, "that you won't make it back to the capital?"
He sensed her shrug.
"I think I make, but…" She paused as if listening, then went on. "There are those who are not happy with humans and these are less happy with me. The road to Eagle's Nest is long and I might not come back."
"And I would?" Derian blurted out.
"Maybe not," Firekeeper admitted. "But they not angry with you."
"I think," Derian said, the greasy savor of the duck suddenly less tasty than it had been a moment before, "that you'd better start at the beginning. Right now, I'm only confusedùand scared."
"Yes," Firekeeper said with a deep sigh. "I try. Words are so slow and need to march in a narrow line."
This was not the first indication she'd given that the manner in which the wolvesùmaybe all the Beastsùspoke was different from human style. Normally, Derian would have probed for more, but this time he remained silent, unwilling to distract Firekeeper from the subject she was circling around, as deliberate yet hesitant as a wolf pack selecting which member of a herd to pursue.
"I tell you," Firekeeper began again, "that the Beasts are not happy with Ewen and his people, that if Ewen and his not leave, then the Beasts may kill them. What I not tell you is that…"
She stopped again and Derian nearly threw a duck bone at her.
"I not tell you then, but I tell you now and I go to tell King Tedric," she went on, "that the Beasts maybe not stop with killing Ewen. Some Beasts think that killing all the humans is a good thing, a thing to be done now, that this was a thing that should have been done when the Fire Plague started the hunt, but was not."
Derian took advantage of her pause to sort through this. He'd heard her refer to the Fire Plague once or twice before and the reference had stayed with him. In both Hawk Haven and Bright Bay, the illness that had devastated all the colonies and had sent the Old Country rulers back to their homelands was referred to simply as the Plague. The New Kelvinese, he had learned, called the same event by a phrase that translated roughly as "the Burning Times."
Not for the first time, Derian wondered if Firekeeper was simply merging those terms or if she was making something of a literal translation of what the Beasts called the Plague. That, of course, implied not only intelligence, but some sort of history that went back for well over a hundred years. He was ready to accept intelligent animalsùhe had the evidence of his own experience on that matterùbut facing that those animals had history, recorded in some fashion, was a leap he was not quite ready to take.
Hesitantly, Derian asked, "You are saying that the Royal Beasts once made a choice not to kill all the humans, that they thought about doing so at the time of the Plague?"
Momentarily, Firekeeper turned to face him and Derian saw the watchful expression on her face. Apparently, however, she thought his question reasonable.
"So my parents say," she replied, "as their parents did to them. The Beasts have many stories and though I am but a pup in their eyes, they are teaching me some."
So this is new to her, too, Derian thought. No wonder she's so tense.
Firekeeper went on, speaking a bit more quickly now.
"They tell me that long ago before humans come from Old World, all this land was for the Beasts. When humans come, first there is…" She paused, obviously seeking a word. "If not peace, not war, and even borders. Humans break this as there are more humans and humans have more need for space."
Derian swallowed a groan. Humans needing space sounded far too much like what had pushed Ewen across the mountains.
"Humans have power then," Firekeeper went on, "the great magic that Queen Zorana the Great hate so much and try to destroy. Humans tell how this power is used on humans. Humans not tell how it is used on Beasts. In time, Beasts go west, leave humans behind. Iron Mountains become new border. When Fire Plague come and humans die too little, then Beasts think to finish what Plague do. They not do, now some are sorry."
Derian wasn't an idiot. He had been spending much of the last year immersed in political game playing. He also understood Firekeeper's choppy, abbreviated speech better than anyone else.
"So," he said, choosing his words very carefully, "now the Beasts see the humans coming across the mountains and don't like it. They also realize that humans no longer have the 'great powers'ùthe strong old magicùand some Beasts are no longer content to let humans live on this land, even east of the mountains. They think to kill all the humans."
"Yes," Firekeeper said, gratitude and dismay equally mingled in her tone. "That is how it is. Many Beasts would die, I think. Many Beasts, especially four-footers, not know how really dangerous humans is. Winged folk know better, but even they think that without great powers humans can be killed so easily."
"And you?" Derian asked. "What do you think?"
"Maybe so," Firekeeper replied. "Maybe so, but many Beasts die and for what? Land we not use from time my pack leaders' own pack leaders not even fat pups? I tell King Tedric, tell him he must make humans stay east."
Derian rubbed his hands across his face.
"I wonder if he can make them," he said.
"If he not," Firekeeper said, "then the humans die and someday the Beasts die."
"I believe you," Derian said. "I think King Tedric will believe you. I just wonder if that one tired old man can make a difference. Sometimes people are pretty stubborn. Even if our people don't go west, what's to stop people in other countries?"
"For now," Firekeeper said, "I have heared nothing of that. True, maybe I not get told. Still, even if fighting must start, maybe it can start in other places."
Her tone became pleading.
"Derian, no you see? If Beasts fight humans then it is my pack, my family who is first to die. Wolves have ever held the land for the Beasts. We watch it as we hunt it, as we raise our pups. My family…"
She obviously could not find the words to clarify what she was trying to explain. Derian wanted to walk over to her, to hold her even as she was holding Blind Seer, but he knew she would not welcome such comfort. He settled instead for words.
"And you want me to tell this to King Tedric if
for some reason you aren't able to do so."
Firekeeper perked up at this.
"Yes. Do. Some of the Beasts not think I am Beast since the last year and the magical things." Her voice dropped. "I was to bring those things to them. I not obey to word, though I think I do to heart… to spirit. Still, that I not obey as pup to One, this for some is reason not to trust that I am of heart with my people."
Derian actually understood. "So you think that some Beastùone of those who wants war with the humansùmight come after you."
Firekeeper nodded. "That is it. And I am small to even the smallest hunter. Even with Blind Seer to help, I might not win. You say war, but from what I learn of human war, war is agreed to like a dance. What Beasts would do would be no war. There would be no dance, no counsel. There would just be deaths, many deaths, and someday humans would understand who is doing the killing, then Beasts would learn of arrows and spears and armor and poison and other horrible human killing things."
From the length of this speech, Derian knew how upset she was, and guessed that some of her silence over the past several days had been her studying on what words to use.
"I understand," he said, hesitated, then spoke his own fear. "But if they kill you, won't they kill me? I'm a human. I'm one of the enemy."
"Yes, they might," Firekeeper said as she had before, not soothing him a whit. "But you have gift of making letters that others read. You can write this story over and over and over. We will hide it on the horses in their bags. Maybe Elation, who is not of this thinking, would carry a message. The words will speak when we cannot. It is worth the trying."
Derian nodded, but as he pulled out paper, quill, and ink, determined to write at least one version of this incredible tale before he went to sleep that night, he thought that Firekeeper might be overestimating the power of her storyùwhether written or toldùto prevent this strange and terrible undeclared war.
Chapter IX
THUNDER WAS SHAKING the canvas walls of the pavilion tent, thunder so loud and pervasive that it was omnipresent, unlike the eye-searing flashes of lightning that periodically lit the interior of the tent. Those washed out the lantern light so effectively that between bolts Elise always felt vaguely surprised to find the lanternsùthey'd lit several both for light and warmthùstill burning.
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