Wolf-Speaker Read online

  They left as Daine was translating his words. She followed them to the cave mouth, to watch as they vanished into the rain. It was getting dark. Behind her was a clatter as Numair unpacked the cooking things. Thinking about the pack and about her time with them, she was caught up in a surge of memory.

  The bandit guard was upwind of a wolf once called Daine. The night air carried his reek to her: unwashed man, old blood, sour wine. Her nose flared at the stench. She covered it with her free hand. The other clutched a dagger, the last human item she remembered how to use.

  He did something with his hands as he stood with his back toward her. She slunk closer, ignoring the snow under her bare feet and the freezing air on her bare arms. Forest sounds covered the little noise she made, though he would not have heard if she’d shouted. He was drunk. They all were, too drunk to remember the first two shifts of guards had not returned.

  She tensed to jump. Something made him turn. Now she saw what he’d been doing: there was a wheel of cheese in one hand, a dagger in the other, and a wedge of cheese in his mouth. She also saw his necklace, the amber beads her mother had worn every day of her life. She leaped, and felt a white-hot line of pain along her ribs. He’d stabbed her with his knife.

  Brokefang found her. She had dragged herself under a bush and was trying to lick the cut in her side. The wolf performed this office for her.

  It is dawn, he said. What must be done now?

  We finish them, she told him, fists clenched tight. We finish them all.

  “I think I know why Brokefang changed so much.” she said. “I mean, animals learn things from me, and probably that’s how most of the pack got so smart, but Brokefang’s even smarter. I got hurt, when we were after those bandits, and he licked the cut clean.”

  “It’s a valid assumption,” agreed Numair. “There are cases of magically gifted humans who were able to impart their abilities to nonhuman companions. For example, there is Boazan the Sun Dancer, whose eagle Thati could speak ten languages after she drank his tears. And—”

  “Numair,” she said warningly. Experience had taught her that if she let him begin to list examples, he would not return to the real world for hours.

  He grinned, for all the world like one of her stableboy or Rider friends instead of the greatest wizard in Tortall. He had begun to cook supper: a pot of cut-up roots already simmered on the fire. Daine sat next to him and began to slice chunks from a ham they had brought in their packs. Kitten waddled over to help, or at least to eat the rind that Daine cut from the meat.

  —This is very nice,—a rough voice said in their minds.—Cozy, especially on a rainy afternoon.—

  They twisted to look at the cave entrance. It shone with a silvery light that appeared to come from the animal standing there. The badger waddled in, the light fading around his body. He stopped at a polite distance from their fire and shook himself, water flying everywhere from his long, heavy coat.

  Daine fingered the silver claw he had once given her. She liked badgers, and her mysterious adviser was a very handsome one. Big for his kind, he was over a yard in length, with a tail a foot long. He weighed at least fifty pounds, and it appeared he could stow a tremendous amount of water in his fur.

  When he finished shaking, he trundled over to the fire, standing between Daine and Numair. Seated as Daine was, she and the badger were nearly eye to eye. She was so close that she couldn’t escape his thick, musky odor.

  “Daine, is this—?” Numair sounded nervous.

  The badger looked at him, eyes coldly intelligent.—I told her father I would keep an eye on her. So you are her teacher. She tells me a great deal about you, when I visit her.—

  “May I ask you something?” the mage inquired.

  —I am an immortal, the first male creature of my kind. The male badger god, if you like. That is what you wished to ask, is it not?—

  “Yes, and I thank you,” Numair said hesitantly. “I—thought I had shielded my mind from any kind of magical reading or probe—”

  —Perhaps that works with mortal wizards,—the badger replied.—Perhaps it works with lesser immortals, such as Stormwings. I am neither.—

  Numair blushed deeply, and Daine hid a grin behind one hand. She doubted that anyone had spoken that way to Numair in a long time. She was used to it. The badger had first appeared in a dream to give her advice sixteen months ago, on her journey to Tortall, and she had dreamed of him often since.

  “Another question, then,” the mage said doggedly. “Since I have the opportunity to ask. You can resolve a number of academic debates, actually.”

  —Ask.—There was studied patience in the badgers voice.

  “The inhabitants of the Divine Realms are called by men ‘immortals,’ but the term itself isn’t entirely accurate. I know that unless they are killed in some accident or by deliberate intent, creatures such as Stormwings, spidrens, and so on will live forever. They don’t age, either. But how are they ‘lesser immortals’ compared to you, or to the other gods?”

  —They are “lesser” because they can be slain,—was the reply.—I can no more be killed than can Mithros, or the Goddess, or the other gods worshiped by two-leggers. “Immortals” is the most fitting term to use. It is not particularly correct, but it is the best you two-leggers can manage.—

  Having made Numair speechless, the badger went on.—Now, on to your teaching. It is well enough, but you have not shown her where to take her next step. I am surprised. For a mortal, your grasp of wild magic normally is good.—

  Numair looked down his long nose at the guest who called his learning into question. “If you feel I have omitted something, by all means, enlighten us.”

  The badger sneezed. It seemed to be his way of laughing.—Daine, if you try, you can learn to enter the mind of a mortal animal. You can use their eyes as you would your own, or their ears, or their noses.—

  Daine frowned, trying to understand. “How? When you said I could hear and call animals, it was part of something I knew how to do. This isn’t.”

  —Make your mind like that of the animal you join,—he told her.—Think like that animal does, until you become one. You may be quite surprised by what results in the end.—

  It sounded odd, but she knew better than to say as much. She had questioned him once, and he had flattened her with one swipe of his paw. “I’ll try.”

  —Do better than try. Where is the young dragon?—

  Kitten had been watching from the other side of the fire. Now she came to sit with the badger, holding a clump of his fur in one small paw. She had a great deal to say in her vocabulary of chirps, whistles, clicks, and trills. He listened as if it meant something, and when she was done, waddled over to talk with Cloud and the horses. At last he returned to the fire, where Daine and Numair had waited politely for him to end his private conversations.

  —I must go back to my home sett,—he announced.—Things in the Divine Realms have been hectic since the protective wall was breached and the lesser immortals were released into your world.—

  “Do you know who did it?” asked Numair quickly. “We’ve been searching for the culprit for two years now.”

  —Why in the name of the Lady of Beasts would I know something like that?—was the growled reply.—I have more than enough to do in mortal realms simply with keeping an eye on her.—

  “Don’t be angry,” Daine pleaded. “He thought you might know, since you know so much already.”

  —You are a good kit.—The badger rubbed his head against her knee. Touched by this sign of affection, Daine hugged him, burying her fingers in his shaggy coat. To Numair he added,—And I am not angry with you, mortal. I cannot be angry with one who has guarded my young friend so well. Let me go, Daine. I have to return to my sett.—

  She obeyed. He walked toward the cave’s mouth, silver light enclosing him in a globe. At its brightest, the light flared, then vanished. He was gone.

  “Well,” said Numair. She thought he might add something, but instea
d he busied himself with stirring the vegetables.

  Suddenly she remembered a question she had wanted to ask. “I think he puts a magic on me,” she complained.

  “How so?”

  “Every time I see him, I mean to ask who my da is, and every time I forget! And he’s the only one who can tell me, too, drat him.”

  Kitten gave a trill, her slit-pupiled eyes concerned.

  “I’m all right, Kit,” the girl said, and sighed. “It’s not fair, though.”

  Numair chuckled. “Somehow I doubt the badger is interested in what’s fair.”

  She had to smile, even if her smile was one-sided. She knew he was right.

  “Speaking of what is fair, what do you think of the advice he gave you, about becoming a magical symbiote?”

  Most of the time she was glad that he spoke to her as he would to a fellow scholar, instead of talking down to her. Just now, though, her head was reeling from Brokefang’s news and the badger’s arrival. “A magical sym—sym—whatsits?”

  “Symbiote,” he replied. “They are creatures that live off other creatures, but not destructively, as parasites do. An example might be the bird who rides on a bison, picking insects from the beast’s coat.”

  “Oh. I don’t know what I think of it. I never tried it.”

  “Now would be a good time,” he said helpfully. “The vegetables will take a while to cook. Why not try it with Cloud?”

  Daine looked around until she saw the mare, still at the rear of the cave with Mangle and Spots. “Cloud, can I?”

  “Cloud, may I,” the man corrected.

  You can or you may. I don’t know if it will help, said the mare.

  The girl went to sit near the pony, while Mangle and Spots ventured outside to graze again. Numair began to get out the ingredients for campfire bread as Kitten watched with interest.

  “Don’t let him stir the dough too long,” Daine ordered the dragon. “It cooks up hard when he forgets.” Kitten chirped as Numair glared across the cave at his young pupil.

  The girl closed her eyes. Breathing slowly, she reached deep inside to find the pool of copper light that was her wild magic. Calling a thread of fire from that pool, she reached for Cloud, and tried to bind their minds with it.

  Cloud whinnied, breaking the girl’s concentration.That hurt, the mare snapped. If it’s going to hurt, I won’t do it! Try it with less magic.

  Shutting her eyes, Daine obeyed. This time she used a drop of copper fire, thinking to glue her mind to Cloud’s. The mare broke contact the minute Daine’s fire touched hers. Daine tried it a second, and a third time, without success.

  It’s the same kind of magic, she told Cloud, frustrated. It’s not any different from what’s in you.

  It hurts, retorted the pony. If that badger knew this would hurt and told you to try it anyway, I will tell him a few things the next time he visits.

  I don’t do it a-purpose, argued Daine. How can I do it without paining you?

  Without the fire, Cloud suggested. You don’t need it to talk to us, or to listen. Why should you need it now?

  Daine bit a thumbnail. Cloud was right. She only used the fire of her magic when she was tired, or when she had to do something hard. She was tired now, and the smell of cooking ham had filled her nostrils. “Let’s try again tomorrow,” she said aloud. “My head aches.”

  “Come eat,” called Numair. “You’ve been at it nearly an hour.”

  Daine went to the fire, Cloud following. Digging in her pack, the girl handed the pony a carrot before she sat. Numair handed over a bowl of mildly spiced vegetables and cooked ham. Kitten climbed into the girl’s lap, forcing Daine to arrange her arms around the dragon as she ate. Between mouthfuls she explained what had taken place.

  Cloud listened, nibbling the carrot as her ears flicked back and forth. When Daine finished, the mare suggested, Perhaps I am the wrong one to try with.

  “Who, then, Cloud?” Daine asked. “I’ve known you longer than anybody.” She yawned. The experiment, even though it hadn’t worked, had worn her out.

  But I am a grazer—you are a hunter. Why not try with a hunter? It may be easier to do this first with wolves. You are practically a wolf as it is.

  “And if I forget I’m human?”

  (“I wish I could hear both sides of this conversation,” Numair confided softly to Kitten. “I feel so left out, sometimes.”)

  The man said you won’t, replied Cloud. He should know. Brokefang is part of you already. Ask the stork-man. He will tell you I am right.

  Daine relayed this to Numair. “She has a point,” he said. “I hadn’t thought the predator-prey differential would constitute a barrier, but she knows you better than I.” He watched Daine yawn again, hugely, and smiled. “It can wait until tomorrow. Don’t worry about cleanup. I’ll do it.”

  “But it’s my turn,” she protested. “You cooked, so I have to clean.”

  “Go to bed,” her teacher said quietly. “The moon will not stop its monthly journey simply because I cooked and cleaned on the same meal.”

  She climbed into her bedroll and was asleep the moment she pulled the blankets up. When the wolves returned much later, she woke just enough to see them group around her. With Kitten curled up on one side and Brokefang sprawled on the other, Daine finished her night’s rest smiling.

  It was damp and chilly the next morning, the cold a taste of the months to come. Breakfast was a quiet meal, since neither Daine nor Numair was a morning person. They cleaned up together and readied the horses for the day’s journey.

  The wolves had gone to finish the previous night’s kill. They were returning when Numair handed Daine a small tube of paper tied with plain ribbon. “Can we send this on to the king today?” he asked.

  Daine nodded, and reached with her magic. Not far from their campsite was the nest of a golden eagle named Sunclaw. Daine approached her politely and explained what she wanted. She could have made the bird do as she wished, but that was not the act of a friend. The eagle listened with interest, and agreed. When she came, Daine thanked her, and made sure the instructions for delivering Numair’s report were fixed in Sunclaw’s mind. Numair, who had excellent manners, thanked Sunclaw as well, handing the letter to her with a bow.

  Brokefang had watched all of this with great interest. You have changed, he commented when Sunclaw had gone. You know so much more now. You will make the two-leggers stop ruining the valley

  Daine frowned. I don’t know if I can, she told the wolf. Humans aren’t like the People. Animals are sensible. Humans aren’t.

  You will help us, Brokefang repeated, his faith in her shining in his eyes. You said that you would. Now, are you and the man ready? It is time to go.

  Daine put Kitten atop the packs on Mangle’s back. Numair mounted Spots, and the girl mounted Cloud. “Lead on,” the mage told Brokefang.

  The wolves trotted down the trail away from the cave, followed by the horses and their riders. When the path forked, one end leading to the nearby river and the other into the mountains, Brokefang led them uphill.

  “If we follow the river, won’t that take us into the valley?” Daine called. “It won’t be so hard on us.”

  Brokefang halted. It is easier, he agreed, as Daine translated for Numair. Humans go that way all the time. So also do soldiers, and men with magic fires. It is best to avoid them. Men kill wolves on sight, remember, Pack-Sister?

  “Men with magic fires?” Numair asked, frowning.

  Men like you, said Brokefang, with the Light Inside.

  “We call them mages,” Daine told him. “Or sorcerers, or wizards, or witches. What we call them depends on what they do.”

  Numair thought for a moment. “Lead on,” he said at last. “I prefer to avoid human notice for as long as possible. And thank you for the warning.”

  The humans, Kitten, and the horses followed the wolves up along the side of the mountains that rimmed the valley of the Long Lake. By noon they had come to a section of trail that was
bare of trees. The wolves didn’t slow, but trotted into the open. Daine halted, listening. Something nasty was tickling at the back of her mind, a familiar sense that had nothing to do with mortal animals. Getting her crossbow, she put an arrow in the notch and fixed it in place with the clip.

  Numair took a step forward, and Cloud grabbed his tunic in her teeth.

  “Stormwings,” Daine whispered. Numair drew back from the bare ground. Under the tree cover, they watched the sky.

  High overhead glided three creatures with human heads and chests, and great, spreading wings and claws. Daine knew from bitter experience that their birdlike limbs were steel, wrought to look like genuine feathers and claws. In sunlight they could angle those feathers to blind their enemies. They were battlefield creatures, living in human legend as monsters who dishonored the dead. Eyes cold, she aimed at the largest of the three.

  Numair put a hand on her arm. “Try to keep an open mind, magelet,” he whispered. “They haven’t attacked us.”

  “Yet,” she hissed.

  Brokefang looked back to see what was wrong, and saw what they were looking at. These are harriers, he said. They help the soldiers and the mages.

  Daine relayed this to Numair as the wolves moved on, to wait for them in the trees on the other side of the clearing.

  “Stormwings that work in conjunction with humans,” the man commented softly. “That sounds like Emperor Ozorne’s work.” The emperor of the southern kingdom of Carthak was a mage who seemed to have a special relationship with minor immortals, and with Stormwings in particular. Some, Numair included, thought it was Ozorne’s doing that had freed so many immortals from the Divine Realms in the first place. He had his eye on Tortall’s wealth, and many thought he meant to attack when the country’s defenders were worn out from battling immortals.

  “Now can I shoot them?” Daine wanted to know.

  “You may not. They still have done nothing to harm us.”

  The Stormwings flew off. Vexed with her friend, Daine fumed and waited until she could no longer sense the immortals before leading the way onto the trail once more. They were halfway across the open space when Numair stopped, frowning at a large, blackened crater down the slope from them. “That’s not a natural occurrence,” he remarked, and walked toward it.