Firekeeper Saga - Wolf's Head, Wolf's Heart Part 40

He shrugged.

"We chase," Firekeeper repeated firmly.

"So how are we going to find Lady Melina?" Elise asked again. "Even if we don't need to hide, it's not going to be easy. I suppose we could set up a residence and start entertaining on a lavish scale, but I don't have the resources for that. My father, you may recall, doesn't even know I'm here."

Instantly, Elise wished she hadn't reminded them, but no one commented. Derian did nod a bit resignedly, but even he didn't protest. Maybe since Elise had acted as a translator the night before, his reluctance to have her along had begun to ease.

True, Wendee possessed a fair command of New Kelvinese, enough to get by, but her vocabulary was frequently archaic and often she lacked the words for common terms like "chamber pot" or "spoon." Elise supposed these didn't come into use very often in high drama.

"There's a way we could sort of entertain," Wendee offered, "without needing more funds than we've brought with us."

Elise grinned. "Good! I was dreading writing my father."

Wendee relaxed. "We make ourselves a part of local society-a fairly visible part. People should come to us, then."

"Getting to be part of the local culture won't be easy," Derian commented dubiously. "As we've seen, the New Kelvinese don't exactly embrace foreigners."

"Actually..." Wendee paused thoughtfully. "I thought that Doc might hold the solution to all our problems.""Me?" Doc started. Elise noticed that he managed to look astonished, pleased, and worried all at once.

"How could I?"

"Go into practice," Wendee said, "as a healer."

"But New Kelvinese herb lore is respected in every land!" Doc protested. "Some of my best drugs come from here. How could I compete?"

"You have the healing talent," Wendee replied, "and that would make you special in any land."

"They must have their own doctors with the talent," Doc said, not protesting, just stating a point.

"They may or may not," Wendee said with a shrug. "The point is, the talent makes you useful beyond the average apothecary. In any case, I'm not so certain that the talents are common in New Kelvin. Did you ever see The Tragic Romance of Tiliata and Mermetio?"

"I'm afraid I missed that one," Doc admitted. Elise liked how the faint trace of a grin visible beneath his beard made his face light up. "It sounds like quite a show."

"Oh, it is," Wendee enthused. "I played Tiliata in a production some years ago. The play deals with a romance between two lovers..."

"It would," Doc teased, "by definition."

Elise felt a flash of envy. Doc never teased her-but then he might have known Wendee for years.

Wendee frowned at the knight. "This is serious."

"Sorry."

"Tiliata is a maiden, a member of the Sodality of Herbalists. Mermetio-the youth she loves-is a rising member of the Choir of Songweavers. They fall in love-an innocent enough pa.s.sion-but soon after his voice begins to change."

Doc and Derian exchanged sidelong glances, which Wendee valiantly ignored. Her voice took on a certain melodramatic tone as she related the story.

"Desperate to help Mermetio maintain his place-for if his voice broke dangerously he would be forced to find a new sodality, and the pair's hoped-for marriage would be long delayed-Tiliata makes Mermetio a potion. Unfortunately, she is a mere apprentice and doesn't realize that the same concoction that will stabilize his voice will also geld him. Mermetio loses interest in her and she-facing not only her lover's abandonment but the wrath of her superiors-poisons herself."

"And your point?" Doc prompted.

Wendee glared at him.

"My point is that if they had doctors with the healing talent Tiliata could have paid one to cure him. That isn't even mentioned as an option. There are dozens of incidents like that in modern New Kelvinese drama-people maimed or mortally wounded-and never once is a person with the healing talent summoned. That only happens in traditional drama-stories set in the days before the Burning Death-what they call the plague."

Doc nodded, sketching a gracious bow in the air above his saddle's pommel."You have a point, Goody Wendee. I apologize for my doubts. Very well. Let's seek out the local equivalent of the Street of Apothecaries and Healers."

He frowned then. "I wonder if I need a guild members.h.i.+p to practice?"

"I don't know," Wendee admitted. "We can look into that when we get there. I guess if you can't be licensed, we'll just have to do without."

Doc didn't look happy about this aspect of the plan, but Elise didn't let such a minor wrinkle keep her from being charmed.

"We'll rent a few rooms," she said confidently, "ground-floor ones if we can find them. I'm certain that if Lady Melina is in town someone will tell us-people always tell foreigners about other foreigners."

She spoke with a.s.surance, having witnessed similar exchanges in Bright Bay and even at home in Hawk Haven. People were always asking where you were from and then asking if you knew someone else from the same place.

Suddenly, the days that must pa.s.s before they reached Dragon's Breath seemed an eternity. She longed to thump Cream Delight with her heels and go racing along the roads until they reached the city of sorcery.

Firekeeper seemed to sense her burst of enthusiasm.

"I wish we could fly," she said 'wistfully, "like Elation." The wolf-woman pointed above to where the golden-eyed peregrine s.h.i.+fted lazily on the air.

"So do I," Elise said softly, as if they were sharing a great secret. "So do I!"

Chapter XXIV.

The man who had greeted Baron Endbrook outside Smuggler's Light proved to be Longsight Scrounger, one of the leading figures in the pirate organization. Nor had it been complete chance that he had been waiting to meet the baron. Lookouts had spotted Waln almost as soon as he entered the swamp; reports of his progress had been pa.s.sed along to the lighthouse.

"We might even have pulled you out if you'd blundered into a boghole," Longsight said. "Then again we might not have."

He grinned at his own joke, showing a jagged front tooth, broken some said when he bit another pirate's arm to the bone during a brawl.

Longsight had taken Waln into the lighthouse and encouraged him to bathe and dine. It was only after Waln had suddenly nodded up from a guilty drowse following an excellent meal of fish poached in white wine that he thought to wonder whether the door to his room was locked.

The baron decided not to bother checking. He'd walked into the pirates' lair freely. It was up to them to decide whether he was their guest or their prisoner. For now he needed rest more than freedom, and sleep was not denied him.

Waln's dreams were full of storm-tossed seas through which he piloted a s.h.i.+p crewed by skeletons.Eventually the s.h.i.+p was wrecked against rocks the crystal blue of Lady Melina's eyes.

He swam to sh.o.r.e, where he spent an eternity slogging through swamps in a thick fug of summer heat. He struggled on endlessly, pus.h.i.+ng through vines that wrapped around his limbs, twisted around his throat.

Several times he nearly strangled, but always the pressure relented just before his heart burst from lack of air.

When Waln awoke, clear light was s.h.i.+ning in through the narrow window in his room. A girl with hair the color of fire or fine brandy was seated at his bedside reading a book. Seeing he was awake, she put down the book and dashed away-presumably to fetch some adult. Only when she was gone did Waln realize that the girl had been Citrine s.h.i.+eld.

He slept again before anyone returned to speak with him. When he awoke, the light had dimmed and a man waited nearby. Waln could not recall seeing him before, but judging from how the man reached over and took his wrist to test his pulse Waln thought he must be some sort of healer.

"Fess Bones," the other said by way of introduction. "Here, drink some of this-it's just water."

Waln did as he was told, realizing he felt wrung-out, so weak that he could hardly get his fingers to close around the handle of the heavy pottery mug. Fess Bones helped him, wiping the water that dribbled down Waln's chin as neatly as a mother might.

"You've been sick these past two days," Fess reported. "Fever rose the very night you arrived. You slept the night through and all the day following. Woke once this morning-we thought you were with us-but the fever dragged you down again. It's evening now. How do you feel?"

"Thirsty," Waln croaked. "Weak."

"You can have more water in bit. Let your stomach learn to swallow what you just drank. I'll see if the kitchen has any broth and tell Longsight you're awake and likely to live."

Fess was back some indeterminate time later with a container of warm fish stock.

"Longsight says you're to rest. He'll talk with you come morning."

Waln wanted to disagree. His task was too important. He needed to get news to Queen Valora, but when he tried to speak his throat would not obey him. He let Fess Bones spoon fish stock into him, drank more water, drifted back to sleep.

When Waln awoke once again, darkness had fallen. Someone else sat vigil with him, just visible in the flickering candlelight-a weathered old crone with a scar through her right eyebrow and the top of her left ear missing. She gave him water and broth, helped him use the pot, then settled back in her chair to nap.

Waln himself was at last wide awake. In some ways he felt more alert than he had since meeting with Lady Melina at the post-house, his mind clear, his thoughts cogent. He wondered if his family had missed his letters or had simply believed that some vagary of winter s.h.i.+pping had delayed them, wondered how he could get a message to Queen Valora, wondered how she would take the news of Lady Melina's betrayal.

The queen was certain to be angry-furious. A sudden realization chilled Waln as if the fever was returning. What if Queen Valora took her anger out on him?Somehow the thought had never occurred to him. He'd fled toward her, trusting the queen to avenge the wrongs done to him and, through him, to her. Why had he never seen that Queen Valora would most likely strike out at the nearest person holding part of the blame?

Lying on his back in the dark room, listening to the rasping snores of the old pirate woman in the chair beside his bed, Baron Endbrook frantically reworked his plans.

Before, in some vague fas.h.i.+on he had thought to take s.h.i.+p for the Isles, to let Queen Valora a.s.sume responsibility for the entire mess. Now Waln realized that if he hoped to return home with some shreds of his reputation intact, he must act at once. Fortunately, the very secret nature of his emba.s.sy for her made it unlikely that Queen Valora would inquire after him too publicly lest embarra.s.sing information come to light.

He had time. The thought comforted him. He had time, time to put pressure on Lady Melina, to regain the artifacts, to make his own deal with the New Kelvinese to activate the artifacts or-better-to simply get off this cursed mainland. Queen Valora could find another amba.s.sador.

After he had the artifacts back, then Waln could tell Queen Valora the truth. If nothing had been lost but a little time, surely she would be willing to accept that the heirlooms' secrets had not been unlocked-especially when she realized how close she had come to losing them entirely.

All through the long hours of darkness Baron Endbrook lay awake. When dawn filtered pale and chill through the narrow window the crone ceased her snoring. She moved flaccid lips over bare gums and smiled pinkly at him.

"Sleep well, ducks?"

"Well enough, mother," Waln replied politely. "Do you think Longsight will see me today?"

The crone cackled mirthlessly.

"Oh, yes, he'll see you. The question is will you be wanting to see him again once he's done with you."

Derian was amazed how the deeper they traveled into New Kelvin the less he felt he understood the country. It was as though this strange and uninviting land had receded farther away now that they rode their horses across it.

In an effort to fight this sensation of alienation, Derian paid close attention to the terrain. He forced himself to notice how the land began to rise as they turned north toward Dragon's Breath, how the towns became more infrequent as the land became rockier.

Their first day or two out of Gateway, the little group had ridden through farmland or through forest. The style of the houses and barns had been odd-functional, but built with a different sense of beauty. The colorful facial decorations worn even by field laborers out mending fences or attending to some other routine task had made the New Kelvinese seem like drawings brought to life rather than living, breathing people he might understand.

Their group seemed to be the only ones on this stretch of the road who weren't purely local travelers going from one town to the next. Moreover, the New Kelvinese didn't seem to like strangers, ignoring Derian's pleasant greetings or at most responding with a grunt.

Even the innkeepers, who might have been expected to be more friendly, even if only for reasons...o...b..siness, were taciturn and curt. Privately, Derian was glad that Elise wanted to practice her New Kelvinese. He could stand back a few steps and let her bear the brunt of the foreigners' rudeness.

Certainly, their situation didn't seem to trouble Elise nearly as much as it did him. Derian wondered if that was because everything about this journey-from spending the day mostly in the saddle to doing without a personal maid-was weird and different.

After the first two days of travel, the farms had been markedly smaller, devoted to kitchen gardens, poultry, and flocks of sheep or, later, goats. Terraced fields challenged the mountain slopes, revealing the extent of the labor needed to grow anything at all in this inhospitable land. Had it not been for Firekeeper and Blind Seer, their band would have been reduced to eating goat cheese and turnips-that being all the inns had to offer, or at least all they were willing to sell to foreign travelers.

Rooms seemed to be in short supply as well, but Derian had made certain they would be prepared for camping. Usually Elise could find out which landowner wouldn't be offended by their pitching tents. Yet, although food and shelter could be dealt with, Derian was almost overwhelmed by the burden of being quartermaster, guide, and, by default, leader of their expedition.

Doc might have had seniority, but except in medical matters he was not inclined to take charge. Elise possessed n.o.ble rank but was completely inexperienced. Firekeeper was Firekeeper-impossible and unpredictable-one moment as tractable as a lamb, the next vanis.h.i.+ng for hours.

As the road to Dragon's Breath became lonelier and the winter skies more overcast and bleak, Derian realized he was beginning to rely on Wendee Jay as something like a second-in-command. Wendee, at least, had lived on the road without servants-she was, in fact, like him, more a servant than a master.

Without a second thought she would comb and braid Elise's long hair, chivy Firekeeper into line, stir a supper pot, and handle a hundred other small tasks that weren't evident until they went undone.

She was also far better than Derian at delegating responsibility-ordering Doc and Elise to attend to jobs Derian would have taken on himself. Somewhere deep inside, Derian was still in awe of those two, not so much for themselves as for their t.i.tles and n.o.ble connections. Wendee seemed to feel no such awe, telling Elise to mind the fire or sending Doc to fetch water from a stream.

Moreover, Wendee was an accomplished entertainer. When the monotony of travel grew too great, Wendee would recite from plays or poems, tell them anecdotes-some rather risque-from her days in the theater, or, often in response to Firekeeper's pleading, relate what she knew about New Kelvin.

She was doing just that one afternoon as the horses and mules toiled their way up a particularly steep stretch of road that would eventually lead through a tight pa.s.s that Derian privately worried would already be snow-blocked. A trader back in Gateway had told him that this was often the case, but Firekeeper had been impatient to arrive in Dragon's Breath, not wanting to take the longer route that would avoid this particular pa.s.s.

Derian considered sending someone ahead to scout. Blind Seer would have been his first choice, but the wolf had vanished, as he often did near midday. Elation was drowsing atop one of the packs. He could ask Firekeeper to send the peregrine ahead to report, but the bird saw things differently than the humans did and had proven a poor judge of the needs of the ground-bound.

He weighed his options. If he asked Firekeeper to send Elation, the wolf-woman might decide to go off on her own initiative. Derian decided that he didn't want Firekeeper straying too far off in this unfamiliar land. In fact, if Wendee's stories could keep the wolf-woman close rather than wandering off to find Blind Seer, all the better."They paint their faces," Wendee was saying when Derian stopped worrying and paid attention again, "in many patterns, most of which have deep meanings, though I think some are simply for decoration. The tattoos are different-at least if I've understood the plays rightly. Tattoos mark some big decision, an unchangeable course of action."

"Like a marriage?" Elise asked.

Derian noted that though she didn't color, she also made a point of not looking ahead to where Doc was riding point.

Wendee laughed lightly. "Oh, far more permanent than that, Lady Elise. Marriages end-mine did."

"Did your husband die?" Elise asked. Derian could see she was already feeling sorry for the other woman.

"No," Wendee replied, "we divorced. Turned out we didn't suit."

Elise looked rather shocked. Derian grinned. For all her worldliness in some things, the heir to the Archer Barony could be rather naive. Divorce was not unheard of, even in the upper cla.s.ses, but he supposed it was more easily arrived at by those who were not merging large amounts of property and great names in addition to the lives of the people involved.

"Then you're raising your children alone?" Elise prompted tentatively, as if she were prying into a great secret.

"That's about the measure of it," Wendee agreed, apparently feeling no discomfort at discussing the topic.

"The girls live with me and when I must be away, I make arrangements for their care."

Firekeeper tugged at the cuff of Wendee's trousers.

"You were telling about tattoos," she reminded.

Wendee gave the wolf-woman a tap on the head.