Wolf-speaker (The Immortals Book 2) Read online

  Daine listened until the woman began to repeat herself, then said, “Shut up.” As it went against the grain to be so rude even to Yolane she added, “Please.”

  To her surprise, Yolane gulped, then fell silent.

  Much better, Brokefang said. The wolves had not moved from their circle around the captive. Will you take her alone, or shall we drive her? I think you will need our help.

  “On your feet, milady,” Daine ordered. “We’re all going to walk back to the village. If you behave yourself, you’ll be fine. Just don’t try to run, or my friends will bring you down.”

  Yolane got to her feet. “If they’re going to eat me, get it over with.”

  Daine sighed. “They don’t eat humans.”

  We could try eating one once, Short Snout offered. Just to see what she tastes like. It seems this one isn’t doing the human pack much good as she is. He walked closer to the woman, grinned up into her face, and licked his chops. Yolane backed away so quickly she tripped on her skirts and fell.

  Don’t help, Daine chided her friend. “Let’s go,” she ordered as the noblewoman got to her feet once more. “You walk in front of me.”

  Yolane dusted her rump and passed the girl, nose in the air. Daine followed. The wolves ranged around the humans as they turned east. It was plain they did not mean for the walk to be pleasant for the captive. They often darted in at her to snap heavy jaws close to her hands, then dashed away. Short Snout liked to draw close to sniff and nibble on Yolane’s skirt.

  Daine chose not to call them to order: they had worked hard, and they needed a bit of fun. As far as she was concerned, the woman who had helped to bring so much destruction on Dunlath needed harrying.

  Halfway to the village, riders came to meet them. In the lead were Numair, the King’s Champion, and Sir Raoul. The knights wore armor marked by the day’s hard fighting. The warriors behind them, a mixed company of the King’s Own and Riders, also looked the worse for wear.

  Alanna grinned at Daine when the two groups met. “I hear you can shape-shift these days.”

  “Any ill effects?” asked Numair.

  “I didn’t have my clothes when I changed back. Luckily we were by the caves. How are Tkaa and Maura and Tait and Flicker?”

  “Waiting at the castle,” said Numair. “The squirrel needs some of your help.”

  Sir Raoul dismounted and ruffled Daine’s hair with one gauntleted hand. “Good work,” he said with a grin. “We’ll make a king’s officer of you yet. Speaking of which—” He went to Yolane and put a hand on her shoulder. Voice formal now, he said, “Yolane of Dunlath, I hereby arrest you in the name of King Jonathan and Queen Thayet of Tortall, for the crime of high treason.”

  The pack lifted their voices in a triumphant howl. Yolane shuddered. “I am guilty as charged. Now will you get me away from these monsters?”

  “They have a different idea of who’s the monster here,” retorted Daine. “And I think they have the right of it. Will someone give me a ride? My pads—my feet—are killing me.”

  EPILOGUE

  Daine was in the castle orchard petting Blueness and Scrap one last time when Maura found her. The girl’s eyes were red and puffy. “I wish you weren’t leaving,” she commented, and sniffed.

  Daine smiled. “You’ll hardly know I’m gone. You’ve been that busy, what with Belden’s funeral, and working things out so the ogres have farms and all.”

  “But once the king sends me a guardian, I won’t be busy.”

  “Of course you will. Tkaa and the animals already said they’ll deal with no one but you. You’re the only noble in Tortall with a basilisk, ogres, bats, wolves, and squirrels as advisers on running a fief. Not to mention a golden eagle.” Shading her eyes, she looked at the tower. Branches protruded from the window to Tristan’s workroom. It had been specially widened so Huntsong could use it as a nest.

  “Don’t forget Blueness and Scrap.” Maura petted the cats gently.

  “Cats aren’t special advisers. They advise us all the time, whether we want them to or not.” Daine gently tugged at her friends’ hair. “I’ll visit, I promise. After the Big Cold, though. Twelve years I lived through mountain winters because I had no choice. That’s enough.”

  “But winter here is beautiful,” protested Maura. “The lake’s all hard for skating, and the trees look like they have sugar frosting—”

  Daine shivered. “Enough! You’re too good at describing!”

  “Will you write? Tell me what you’re doing, and Kitten and Numair?”

  “I’m not very good at writing letters,” Daine said. The wistful look in the other girl’s huge brown eyes made her sigh. “I’ll try. Honest.”

  Most of their friends—Iakoju, Maura, Tait, the dogs, Blueness, and Scrap—accompanied Daine, Numair, Kitten, and their mounts to the edge of the village, and stopped there. Daine gave Maura and Iakoju a hug and petted each of the dogs. The cats said their farewells to Kitten as Daine took Tait aside. “No more wolf hunting?” she asked him.

  “No need to, since Brokefang promised they’d leave th’ farm animals alone.” The huntsman tweaked her nose. “Weiryn guide your aim, lassie.”

  “Take care of those dogs, and Maura.”

  Tkaa, who carried Kitten, and Flicker, who rode with Daine, stayed with them as the small company of horses and humans took the road south. Each time Daine or Numair looked back, the others were still there, watching until the road along the lakeshore took them from sight.

  Kitten whistled unhappily. She and the cats had become good friends in the three weeks since the capture of Yolane. Tkaa murmured to her in dragon.

  Silently appearing from the trees, the Long Lake Pack fell in step with the travelers. Once the champion and the soldiers had taken their captives south for trial, the wolves had left the populated areas. They had returned to their former habits, now that they had an understanding with the valley’s humans.

  Dismounting from Cloud, Daine walked among her friends, sharing their thoughts one last time, though she fought to keep her shape her own. Changing to wolf form had taken its toll: she had lain in bed for several days, drinking nasty herbal teas Numair gave her to ease the pain in all her bones. It would be a long time before she tried a full shape-shift again. When she did, she hoped her skeleton would be more accustomed to such changes. For now she walked in a universe of keen smells and sounds shared with her by her pack.

  They stopped to eat lunch near the spot where the southern fort had once stood. It was a ruin; no buildings were left inside the blackened remains of the wall. Daine eyed the destruction, awed. “Kegs of flour did this?”

  “Flour heated under pressure explodes,” replied Numair. “They had gotten supplies for the entire valley the day before the barrier came down. Maura couldn’t have done better if she’d burned kegs of blasting powder.”

  Shaking her head, Daine looked at the empty stockade where Blackthorn and his mercenaries had stayed until being taken south with Yolane. With advance warning of their arrival, the King’s Own and the Riders had captured Tristan’s allies with no bloodshed and only a little magical assistance from Numair and the Lioness. Now all that remained to show that mercenaries had come to Dunlath was this rough and empty fenced yard.

  Flicker shared Daine’s lunch, handling food gingerly with his left forepaw. It had been nearly severed in the fight at this fort, when the squirrel stopped a Stormwing from killing Tait. Daine had saved the paw, but nothing she could do would ease the tenderness in the bone. Now she let him go through her pockets one last time. His raiding done, Flicker pressed a cold, wet nose to hers. His whiskers tickled.

  It was fun, he said. We had excitement before the Big Cold. We fought evil. My kits will know it, and their kits, and every other squirrel in Dunlath through all of time.

  “I know. I don’t s’pose you’d want to come with us, then?”

  No, he replied. Somebody has to tell Maura how us “rodents” feel, and the mice won’t do it. They are too afraid of B
lueness and Scrap.

  “Take care of yourself,” she said, wiping her eyes on her sleeve. “You’re getting as many lives as a cat, you know.”

  He gave her a last squirrel kiss, then allowed Tkaa to pick him up and put him in his pouch.

  “Take care of my young cousin,” the basilisk said in his whispery human voice. “Do not let her eat so many potatoes and cookies. She is getting fat.”

  Daine smiled at him, lips quivering a little. “Watch over our friends. Don’t let the humans bully the People the way they did before we came.”

  “I doubt the People will allow them to do so,” Tkaa assured her. He touched her cheek gently, and bowed to Numair. “I shall visit when things are settled here,” he promised.

  Numair smiled at the basilisk. “I’ll collect rocks for your welcome feast.”

  Tkaa nodded—he had expected no less—and set off along the road to the village. Before they were gone from view, Daine saw the squirrel climb onto the top of the basilisk’s head, where he could see better. Kitten chirped softly as Daine’s eyes spilled over once more.

  “Good-byes are sad things,” Numair remarked, voice soft.

  That is why wolves don’t say them, commented Fleetfoot as Daine translated.

  “I always knew your kind was smarter than mine,” the man replied, smiling.

  We knew that, too, agreed Short Snout, making Daine giggle.

  “Enough moping,” she said, getting up. “Let’s move on.”

  They had reached the wide cleft where river and road left Dunlath—the spot where Tristan had planned to dump bloodrain—when a flash of white on a nearby ledge caught Daine’s eye. A giant white wolf stood there, calmly watching them.

  “Brokefang,” she asked, “didn’t you say there are no other wolves here?”

  That is Old White, Brokefang replied. The patch behind him, which looks like a shadow, is his mate, Night Black.

  Calling on a deeper level of her magic, she looked again. When she found Old White and Night Black, they were blazes of silver fire—the same kind of fire that shone from her mentor, the badger. She touched the silver claw at her throat. “I hope you’re happy with all this,” she called. “Just don’t blame me if the People here aren’t as obedient to you gods as they were before you brought me in to teach them things.”

  “Whom are you talking to?” Numair’s question made her look at him.

  “Old White,” she said. “He’s up there, him and his mate.” She pointed to the ledge, but the wolf gods had vanished. “They were there.” Checking for the Long Lake Pack, she found that they too had disappeared in a more normal way, fading into the trees that grew on the mountainside.

  “Good hunting,” she called to them. From the shadows under the trees, she heard her friends wish her the same.

  Numair tousled her hair. “Let’s go home, magelet.”

  More from this Series

  Emperor Mage

  Book 3

  The Realms of the Gods

  Book 4

  Wild Magic

  Book 1

  More from the Author

  Alanna

  In the Hand of the…

  Keep reading for a preview of

  Emperor Mage

  by

  Tamora Pierce

  His Royal Highness Kaddar, prince of Siraj, duke of Yamut, count of Amar, first lord of the Imperium, heir apparent to His Most Serene Majesty Emperor Ozorne of Carthak, fanned himself and wished the Tortallans would dock. He had been waiting aboard the imperial gallery since noon, wearing the panoply of his office as the day, hot for autumn, grew hotter. He shot a glare at the nobles and academics on hand to welcome the visitors: they could relax under the awnings. Imperial dignity kept him in this unshaded chair, where a gold surface collected the sun to throw it back into his eyes.

  Looking about, the prince saw the captain, leaning on the rail, scowl and make the Sign against evil on his chest. A stinging fly chose that moment to land on Kaddar’s arm. He yelped, swatted the fly, got to his feet, and removed the crown. “Enough of this. Bring me something to drink,” he ordered the slaves. “Something cold.”

  He went to the captain, trying not to wince as too-long-inactive legs tingled. “What on earth are you staring at?”

  “Tired of broiling, Your Highness?” The man spoke without looking away from the commercial harbor outside the breakwater enclosing the imperial docks. He could speak to Kaddar with less formality than most, since he had taught the prince all that young man knew of boats and sailing.

  “Very funny. What has you making the Sign?”

  The captain handed the prince his spyglass. “See for yourself, Highness.”

  Kaddar looked through the glass. All around the waterfront, birds made use of every visible perch. On masts, ledges, gutters, and ropes they sat, watching the harbor. He found pelicans, birds of prey—on the highest, loneliest perches—songbirds, the gray-and-brown sparrows that lived in the city. Even ship rails sported a variety of feathered creatures. Eerily, that vast collection was silent. They stared at the harbor without uttering a sound.

  “It ain’t just birds, Prince,” the captain remarked. “Lookit the docks.”

  Kaddar spied dogs and cats, under apparent truce, on every inch of space available. Not all were scruffy alley mongrels or mangy harbor cats. He saw the flash of bright ribbons, even gold and gem-encrusted collars. Cur or alley cat, noble pet or working rat catcher, they sat without a sound, eyes on the harbor. Looking down, Kaddar found something else: the pilings under the docks swarmed with rats. Everywhere—warehouse, wharf, ship—human movement had stopped. No one cared to disturb that silent, attentive gathering of beasts. Hands shaking, the prince returned the glass and made the Sign against evil on his own chest.

  “You know what it is?” asked the captain.

  “I’ve never seen—wait. Could it be—?” Kaddar frowned. “There’s a girl, coming with the Tortallans. It’s said she has a magic bond with animals, that she can even take on animal shape.”

  “That’s nothin’ new,” remarked the captain. “There’s mages that do it all the time.”

  “Not like this one, apparently. And she heals animals. They heard my uncle’s birds are ill—”

  “The world knows them birds are ill,” muttered the captain. “He can lose a battalion of soldiers in the Yamani Isles and never twitch, but the gods help us if one of his precious birds is off its feed.”

  Kaddar grimaced. “True. Anyway, as a goodwill gesture, King Jonathan has sent this girl to heal Uncle’s birds, if she can. And the university folk want to meet her dragon.”

  “Dragon! How old is this lass anyway?”

  “Fifteen. That’s why I’m out here broiling, instead of my uncle’s ministers. He wants me to squire her about when she isn’t healing birds or talking to scholars. She’ll probably want to visit all the tourist places and gawp at the sights. And Mithros only knows what her table matters are like. She’s some commoner from the far north, it’s said. I’ll be lucky if she knows which fork to use.”

  “Oh, that won’t be a problem,” said the captain, straight-faced. “I understand these northerners eat with their hands.”

  “So nice to have friends aboard,” replied the prince tardy.

  The captain surveyed the docks through his glass. “A power over animals, and a dragon… If I was you, Highness, I’d dust off my map of the tourist places and let her eat any way she wants.”

  At that moment the girl they discussed inched over as far on the bunk as she could, to give the man beside her a bit more room. The dragon in her lap squeaked in protest, but wound her small body into a tighter ball.

  The man they were making room for, the mage known as Numair Salmalín, saw their efforts and smiled. “Thank you, Daine. And you, Kitten.”

  “It’s only for a bit,” the girl, Daine, said encouragingly.

  “If we don’t wrap this up soon, I will be only a ‘bit,’” complained the redheaded woman on N
umair’s other side. Alanna the Lioness, the King’s Champion, was used to larger meeting places.

  At last every member of the Tortallan delegation was crammed into the small shipboard cabin. Magical fire, a sign of shields meant to keep anything said in that room from being overheard, filled the corners and framed the door and portholes.

  “No one can listen to us, magically or physically?” asked Duke Gareth of Naxen, head of the delegation. A tall, thin, older man, he sat on the room’s only chair, hands crossed over his cane.

  The mages there nodded. “It’s as safe as our power can make it, Your Grace,” replied Numair.

  Duke Gareth smiled. “Then we are safe indeed.” Looking in turn at everyone, from his son, Gareth the Younger, to Lord Martin of Meron, and from Daine to the clerks, he said, “Let me remind all of you one last time: be very careful regarding your actions while we are here. Do nothing to jeopardize our mission. The emperor is willing to make peace, but that peace is in no manner secure. If negotiations fall through due to an error on our parts, the other Eastern Lands will not support us. We will be on our own, and Carthak will be on us.

  “We need this peace. We cannot match the imperial armies and navy, any more than we can match imperial wealth. In a fight on Tortallan soil, we might prevail, but war of any kind would be long and costly, in terms of lives and in terms of our resources.”

  Alanna frowned. “Do we have to bow and scrape and tug our forelocks then, sir? We don’t want to seem weak to these southerners, do we?”

  The duke shook his head. “No, but neither should we take risks—particularly not you.”

  The Champion, whose temper was famous, blushed crimson and held her tongue.

  To the others Duke Gareth said, “Go nowhere we are forbidden to go. Do not speak of freedom to the slaves. However we may dislike the practice, it would be unwise to show that dislike publicly. Accept no gifts, boxes, or paper from anyone unless they come with the knowledge of the emperor. Offer no gifts or pieces of paper to anyone. I understand it is the custom of the palace mages to scatter listening spells through the buildings and grounds. Watch what you say. If a problem arises, let my son, or Lord Martin, or Master Numair know at once.”