Polr bent closer, studying Ewen with a clinical efficiency that spoke of training in the medical arts. He peeled back one of Ewen's eyelids, nodding with satisfaction.
"I think you're with us again," he said. "You've been out for a day's turning and some."
Ewen grunted astonishment.
"You fell hard," Lord Polr said, "and though you've made sounds enough that we thought there was sense left, you didn't seem to know what we said to you. Do you understand me now?"
"Yes," Ewen said or tried to say, but the sound was more a croak than a reply.
"That's fine," Lord Polr replied. "You take it easy."
He waved his arm, gave orders that the doctor be found and brought over.
"You'll be pleased to know," Lord Polr continued, carrying on their onesided conversation with a certain ease that recalled to Ewen his idea of what the social gatherings of the nobility must be like, "that you have no broken bonesùnot even in your skull, thanks to the giving of the earth on which you fell. The doctor wants to watch you carefully for the next several days. There remains a danger you bruised your brain, but even that swelling should recede if we treat you with sufficient care."
Will you? Ewen thought.
"And we will," Polr answered, anticipating Ewen's obvious concern. "Look, man, we're not enemies, not unless you insist on being so. You and your followers overstepped what the king wished. We have been sent to rein you in. You and your people will be relocated with no stigma, no punishment. If you don't make a fuss about it, I don't even plan to report our little disagreement of the other morning.
"If you don't want to return to the town you left, well, I'll help you relocate. I have some land. My brother, Duke Gyrfalcon, can always use skilled craftersùand you people have shown both your skill and your willingness to work hard."
Ewen wanted to spit on Lord Polr's charity, but his mouth was too dry.
"I've heard from your companions a bit of what you all have faced these last moonspans," Polr went on, wonder shading his aristocratic accents. "Crows attacking, wolves and bears as large as horses stalking your walls, fields stripped by deer and elk who held their ground against arrow fire as if they were soldiers! It's like a story from the days of colonization. I'd think you'd be glad to get away from here."
You have land, Ewen thought, glad his mouth and throat would not cooperate with his will. He was afraid of the things he wanted to say. You have prospects. You have title. I can go back to swallowing other people's chaff and sawdust and bowing to your kind. I'd rather deal with the bears and pumas. They at least were honest. They don't "good fellow" you out of one side of their mouths, but expect you to scrape in the mud when they pass you in the street. Give me honest hate any day.
Lord Polr, of course, knew nothing of Ewen's thoughts, but went on talking as calmly as if they were seated in some parlor.
"We move out in the morning," he said. "My soldiers have worked side by side with your people…"
Stop calling them "my" people! Ewen thought furiously, though all that came from his lips was a strangled grunt that Lord Polr took as a request for water. He carefully tilted the canteen against Ewen's lips, still talking.
"And the progress has been amazing. His Majesty insisted that we bring the wheels and axles. They were a heavy load, but worth it. No one need leave anything they wish to take."
Except for dreams and hopes and pride, Ewen thought.
"We're also going to pay for the fowl, a litter of kittens, and probably the dairy goats. From what I understand, they were owned by the community as a whole, so the money will give everyone a start-up. I've also been authorized to pay for those materials you'll be leaving behind: the logs from the cabins and palisades, for example. Again, the funds will be split among the adults.
"We'll use the building materials," Lord Polr said, interpreting Ewen's dismayed cry that soon nothing but a barren meadow would remain of their hard labor as a request for explanation, "to construct the rough beginnings of what will eventually be a stone keep at the gap. Even with having to haul the timberùand we've enough wheels to make logging cartsùthe materials should save us considerable time."
I hope the wolves eat you! Ewen cursed him. I hope the crows pluck out your eyes and feast on their softness! I hope the pumas bite through the throats of your horses!
But he knew they wouldn't. The beasts would be glad to see the settlers leave. They would be glad to see any return west by humans prevented by their own kind.
How would dumb beasts know what is happening? a mocking voice that sounded remarkably like his own asked. How would beasts know what Lord Polr intends?
A memory swam before Ewen's eyes, a sharp-featured young woman with dark, haunted eyesùtoo scarred and silent to seem even human. She had sat by his fire, eaten his food, played with his children, and all the while she had nursed his destruction in her animal heart. Lady Blysse, that wolf-suckled wenchùshe would be the one to tell the beasts even, as Ewen now realized, as she must have told the king.
A chill shook him, followed by a tremendous wash of heat. Lady Blysse was his enemy, not this prattling noble idiot with his well-meaning words and utterly hollow heart. Lord Polr might not even know that he'd been a lackey not of his king or his own noble family, but of a flea-bitten traitor to the people who bore her.
But there was no touching Lady Blysseùat least not now. Instead Ewen struggled to find some way to save his role as leader and the dignity of this venture. If that last was lost, all hope that they might someday be permitted to settle the western lands was lost.
He cleared his throat and found that his voice was with him.
"Our dead," Ewen said softly. "My wife… the others. We cannot leave them."
Lord Polr's eyes widened as he considered a new contingencyùand recognized that here Ewen had found the means to disrupt this orderly retreat.
"The soldiers at the garrison can make the appropriate offerings," he said, but it was clear from his inflection that Lord Polr knew this battle was lost even before it was joined.
The people of Hawk Haven revered their ancestors, saw them as their continuity with the past, their protection for the future. If anything, the nobles were more devout in this respect than the commoners.
They have to be, Ewen thought bitterly. Everything they have rests upon the deeds of those who bore them.
He didn't say this. He didn't need to. All he did was moan, softly, persuasively, his voice as loud as he could make it:
"Dawn."
THE SETTLERS FELL in so rapidly with Ewen's muttered exhortations that he realized how almost by accident he had tapped into their own sense of failure and betrayal.
Yes, they wanted to leave this besieged place, especially now that a new and more direct opponent had entered the field. Yet to go like a cowed apprentice beneath the master's whipùthey who had dared so much to make a place for themselves where they might prosper by their own workùthat hadn't pleased the bolder of New Bardenville's settlers one bit, especially when the soldiers' bows were unstrung and the immediate threat of attack removed.
Ewen's plea had found a way for the settlers to regain their lost self-respect, a way they could retreat with dignity, if not triumph.
Before long the word had gone round, and the settlers were dragging their heels, no longer so hard at work destroying what they had built. One by one, sometimes in little clusters of two or three, they came to visit Ewen, to tell him how glad they were that he was looking so well, telling him that they had heard about his hope to bring Dawn and the rest of their dead home with them and that they approved.
Some bright mind had carried the matter one step further and now it seemed that the remains of Prince Barden's people must also come home again. Never mind that the grave was communalùfor the members of Earl Kestrel's expedition had found only scattered bonesùand therefore none could be returned to specific families. The settlers had adopted these forerunners as their own ancestors, and as such must bring them home.
> Many looked to Ewen for direction, but though he was feeling much stronger, he stayed meek and docile, directing each to Lord Polr as the one in charge.
By midday, Lord Polr had capitulated. The boards that had not yet been hauled away were set aside to be transformed into rough coffins. A few of the more hearty men went willingly to work disinterring the dead.
Courteously, Lord Polr tried to salvage some of his dignity by offering a few of his own soldiers as laborers, but that offer was curtly refused. This task, ugly as it was, belonged to the people of New Bardenville.
Ewen Brooks lay on his pallet, sipping spring water freshened with mint, and felt well pleased.
MELINA LOOKED at the letter, at the blocky childish print so unlike the graceful New Kelvinese script that had been her reading matter of late, yet she couldn't escape the feeling that this was the most important thing she had ever read.
Dear Mother,
I am here in Dragon's Breath. I am living with Lady Archer, Lord Kestrel, Lady Blysse, and some people I don't think you know. They are very nice to me, but I can't wait to see you. I hope you will let me come visit.
Your obedient daughter,
Citrine Shield
The news of this little group's arrival was not new to Melina, for Melina had spies posted at the major crossing points between Hawk Haven and New Kelvin.
Indeed, one of these, Kiero, had sent an express message announcing the company's arrival to herùand had taken it upon himself to arrange an incident that should have removed that nauseating Lady Blysse from the country. Kiero's plan had failed, and Melina thought his removal to Urnacia was only fit. She really couldn't understand why he kept sneaking messages out to her. Did he expect her to reward failure?
No. The group's arrival was not news, but Citrine's membership within it was news indeed. Why had her spies not mentioned this?
Melina unlocked the carved wooden box where she kept her more private correspondence and checked the appropriate missive.
No, Kiero had said nothing of Citrine being part of the group. Had the girl been kept hidden? That was likely or could she be…
Melina reviewed the list of those included in the expedition, pausing to dwell on a single sentence.
"Hired as guide is one Jalarios, a cripple with a small son, also called Jalarios or, more usually, Rios."
Small. How small? Small enough to be a nine-year-old girl in disguise? Now that she knew to look, Melina thought this might indeed be the case. This Jalarios merited attention as well. Either the Hawk Havenese were paying the man a considerable fee to insure his silence or they knew something about him that would guarantee his cooperation or…
Something touched the edge of her mind, and she reached to make it solidify. A New Kelvinese… associated with… a man who would be an ideal guide…
Grateful Peace?
It was too likely a possibility to ignore. Kiero had seen this Jalarios. Easier to ask him what he thought than to raise suspicions. He would be eager to prove himself after his time at the glass furnaces.
Melina reached for pen and paper.
It looked as if Kiero would be getting out of Urnacia, and Idalia might be getting a surprise.
Melina looked down at her daughter's letter again. Could she use Citrine against her annoying associates? It was certainly a possibility.
There were other possibilities, though, ones that didn't rely upon a nine-year-old. Melina had met with what seemed to her an astonishing amount of resentment from some sectors of the New Kelvinese population. Perhaps she could turn this to her advantage.
Ink blotted outward from the tip of her quill while she plotted. Then Melina swept the stained paper to the floor and, placing a fresh sheet before her, began very rapidly to write.
BEE BITER CAME darting to Firekeeper, his blue and red feathers with their black barring quite dramatic in the late-summer light. The little kestrel might lack the peregrine's dramatic stoop, but he possessed a trick as wonderful, for he could hover in the air almost like a hummingbird, a great advantage in hunting his much smaller prey.
The wolf-woman was drowsing in a tree near Hasamemorri's stable. She had tried the hayloft in the stable, but the flies had been too much. Blind Seer was in the tree with her, having accepted her assistance in making his way to a limb strong enough to take his weight. The pair made a startling sight, or would have had the tree's thick leaves not hidden them from everyone but members of the household. Even Hasamemorri's maids were becoming quite accustomed to odditiesùa thing that, in any case, they accepted as normal from foreigners.
Firekeeper awoke instantly, inspecting the kestrel through slitted eyes.
"You've been gone long enough," she said lazily, enjoying a good yawn. "We were beginning to think that someone had drawn you down from the air and we were going to need to rescue you."
Bee Biter fluffed indignantly and Firekeeper laughed.
"Don't be so hurt. At least we would have come and found you. That's some comfort surely. So where have you been?"
"Scouting," the little hawk replied sharply. "Not lolling idle in the trees."
"And what has your scouting found?" Firekeeper rolled slightly, bracing her back against the tree trunk and shifting her position as effortlessly as she would have on the ground.
"At last," the kestrel said, calming as he grew interested in his subject, "I have found the winged folk who dwell in this place. It wasn't easy, nor were they happy to learn you are here and meddling again."
"Who would dream that it would be easy to find them?" Firekeeper replied, deciding to ignore the latter comment, though Blind Seer growled. "The wise riders of the winds would not make their presence too easily known, especially in a city where there are those who pride themselves on their beast lore."
She snorted slightly to herself as she recalled that particular New Kelvinese sodality. She had been in and out of their walled gardens repeatedly, Blind Seer with her, and the so-called masters of those places had never spotted either of them. Grudgingly, though, she had to admit admiration for the wide variety of beasts they kept. All were Cousins, at least as far as she had been able to tell, else she would have freed them, but each and every one was healthy and unbroken in spirit.
Surely the Beast Lorists would love to have Royal Beasts for their collectionùand the winged folk who risked themselves keeping watch on the humans for all their people would be particularly vulnerable.
"So you found your brothers and sisters," Blind Seer said from where he sprawled on a broad limb, paws dangling down on either side as if he were some great cat. "What news had they?"
"Not as much as J could wish," Bee Biter replied, turning his head to clean between his sharp curving talons where pink fleshy evidence remained that he had stopped to eat before finding them. "They have watched but have little to report. Melina goes nowhere but within Thendulla Lypella. At first she traveled some, but moons have waxed and waned since last she crossed the gates. The Granite Tower from which you stole the artifacts remains quiet and unused."
Firekeeper hadn't expected otherwise. If Melina had done something noticeable from the outside then surely someone would have reported before this. She sighed.
This was no good news, especially in light of her friends' reports the previous day from both the embassy and the marketplace. The wolf-woman hadn't understood all the fine details, but she had understood enough.
Melina was becoming important and influentialùwith more people than her new mate. The New Kelvinese did not uniformly like her, but she had control over many of those well-placed in the pack. The anger of the lesser ones, rather than helping Firekeeper and her associates, was more likely to give them difficulties as the lesser ones turned their fury with their new queen on those from her homeland, much as a low-ranking wolf might beat up one still lower in the hierarchy.
It all made perfect sense, and made Firekeeper all the more certain that delaying a move against Melina was as foolish as letting a herd of elk form a defensive
circle.
"If there is no news from the winged folk," she said, "who must by their nature watch from outside, then we must go inside."
"Inside?" asked Bee Biter. "Inside Thendulla Lypella? How? You lack wings and, forgive me, wolf-child, but humans' walls are high and well guarded."
"I know," Firekeeper replied. "Had there not been confusion and had I not had Elation and Bold to watch for me, I doubt I would have escaped last winter. I do not plan on going over the walls. I plan on going under."
Blind Seer snorted softly.
"As we did last time?" he inquired. "Those tunnels reeked then and it was the cold season. They may be choking now. And remember, dear heart, then we had a guide."
"I think," Firekeeper said, "that it is time we had a guide once more."
SOME HOURS LATER Firekeeper succeeded in hunting out Grateful PeaceùJalarios, as she must remember to call himùfinding him resting from the heat of the day in the relative coolness of the stone-flagged kitchen. He was alone, and to make certain they were not surprised Firekeeper set Blind Seer and Bee Biter to guard. In as few words as possible, the wolf-woman outlined her need.
"We not learn from outside," she concluded bluntly. "Walls hide too much. Last time you is inside. Now…"
She shrugged. Her point was clear and logical, and she saw no reason to belabor it.
"So you want me to take you into the sewers," Grateful Peace said, "and through them into the areas beneath Thendulla Lypella."
"Yes."
Peace could be as still as stone when he wished, but Firekeeper had noticed that he tapped his fingers together when thinking about something that agitated him, a restlessness he was indulging in now.
"They know we escaped that way last time," he said. "It is unlikely that the ways are as open."
Firekeeper merely cocked a eyebrow at him.
"And it's going to reek. Last time there was some ice."
Firekeeper, though the wolves teased her about being nose-dead, actually had an acute sense of smell for a human. She didn't like the idea of subjecting herself to the contained scent of subterranean filth, but she saw no way around it.
The Dragon of Despair Page 42