Shadowlands (9 page)

“Tell Badger it’s her job to find out what’s happened, not just report it.” Fox deliberately waited until Claw had ducked his head and was turning to leave, before he reminded his Pack mate that they had other business.

“What about the girl?”

“Lost her again.” This time the other Hound did cringe away, and even lifted his arm, partly to bare his belly in submission, and partly to block a blow to the head. Fox’s hands (paws) formed fists (hooves), but he held back.

“How?” His throat quivered with the need to howl.

“The scentless ones, they got in the way, drew her off, and muddied the scent.”

Fox rubbed at his lip again. “So why don’t these humans Fade once we’ve fed on their
dra’aj
?” He looked at Claw. “Catch one, bring it here. And tell Badger that when she’s learned what she can, she’s to gather her Five and come to us here. And, Claw—”

A commotion at the entrance made Fox curl his lip back from his teeth. He was gesturing at Claw to deal with it when the two from the bottom of the stairs appeared with a Rider between them. Neither of them had been able to hang on to their own form, and even Claw flickered as he backed away. The Rider was Sunward, and his
dra’aj
shone from him like the sun through clouds. No wonder the others hadn’t been able to control themselves. The surprise was that they hadn’t simply drained the stupid Sunward fool before he got to the top of the stairs. Fox ground his teeth together, gripped the armrests of his chair, and held his shape.

The strange Rider approached, and inclined his head. “I am
Longshadow,” he said. “My mother was Lightstorm, and the Simurg guides me.”

Fox blinked, and his mouth fell open in a grin. This Starward one thought he was a Rider! For a moment the blood pounding in his ears blocked out all other sounds. In an instant Fox saw his advantage and took it.

“From the Lands, huh?” he said. “The Basilisk sent you back to collect his doggies? What if they’re my doggies now?” He hadn’t returned the courtesy of giving his own name and Guidebeast, and Fox wondered what the Starward would do about it.

“You will not have heard, then.” If Longshadow was offended, he hid it well. “The Basilisk has Faded. The Lands have a High Prince, and the Cycle is turned.”

Fox pulled his lip back. Well. That was news indeed. “And those with him?” He wouldn’t ask straight out about his brother; Riders didn’t seem to be able to distinguish one member of the Hunt from another. But he had to know what had happened.

“Some are Faded as well. Some follow the new Prince.”

“And those who don’t?”

“Some of us have given
dra’aj
oaths.” He cleared his throat. “Some of us have gone too far down the Basilisk Prince’s path to follow the High Prince now.” The Starward Rider rubbed at his lower lip. For the first time, Fox saw the tremble in his hands, the sweat on his brow. Saw, and
smelled
it for what it was.

The Basilisk’s path, is that what they were calling it? Fox smiled, and even Claw flickered into his Rider form long enough to bark out a short laugh. That was a path they knew all about. That path brought you to the Hunt. If Stump was really lost, then Badger would need someone new to complete her Five.

“We don’t care about Princes here,” Fox said aloud. “But we can get you what you need.”

The Sunward licked his lips, his eyes flicking from side to side as he tried to watch the Hounds around him. Finally he nodded.

“Claw.” Fox crooked his finger at his Hound. “Take our new Pack mate and show him where he can feed. Feed yourselves while you’re at it. Claw!” The three Hounds stopped their circling of the Rider at the whip in Fox’s voice. “I’ll want to see our friend Longshadow later, so make sure you look after him. And make sure you
look after those little jobs I’ve given you, before you eat your dinners.”

He waited until they were all at the top of the stairs before he stopped them again. “And, Claw? Find the girl. Follow her, but don’t get caught. She smells like Rider, and I need to know where she fits in this Hunt.”

Claw scampered away, changing into a dog, a dragon-shaped wingless thing, and back to a Rider before reaching the doorway.

Fox relaxed enough to let his Rider form change, and melted back into the shadows of the concrete cavern to think. As soon as Longshadow had completely turned, Fox could question him about Stormwolf. He
had
to find out what had happened to his brother. Had he Faded with the Basilisk, or would Fox have to fight him now for the leadership of the Pack?

On the other hand, the Horn was obviously gone—lost or broken—and there might be other potential Hounds among the abandoned followers of the Basilisk. Maybe even another Five. Maybe more. And as for those who weren’t changing, they might still be allies—as long as they didn’t have the Horn.

Hounds or allies, Fox could increase his numbers. A must if the plan that was forming in his mind was going to work. He’d need a way to persuade this new High Prince that coming after them would be too costly. That it would be easier to just let the Hunt keep the Shadowlands for themselves.

What
was
this human girl? If the old Rider valued her as much as it looked, maybe he could use her to make the Riders listen.

Wolf stepped through the crossroads into a quiet darkness smelling of cooling metal, of diesel exhaust, of cold stone, of cleaning fluids. There were no sounds, no people, and precious few lights to be seen, and yet this was the right crossroads, this was Union Station in Toronto. What could it mean? In both Rome and Madrid the train stations that sat on the crossroads had been full of light and sound and humans.

All he saw in the semidarkness was a large empty room, numbered exits and entrances, silent escalators waiting to take absent people to the other levels. Wolf shut his eyes and shook his head before opening
them again. There was no hidden message here, no unexplained tragedy. It was simply that the station was closed. Like so many things, paranoia was a useful servant, and a poor master.

Wolf set out into the concourse, away from the crossroads and the Portal, so tempting, from which he imagined he could smell the air of the Lands. He had no excuse to go through. Nighthawk, the old Warden, would carry word to the High Prince that Wolf followed the trail she had set him, and that the Water Sprite, Shower of Stars, had requested aid to return to the Lands; he would carry word even about the Hound. All of which left Wolf free to come to Toronto.

He followed the instructions the High Prince had given him and walked through the arrivals concourse toward the closest exit doors. As he walked, Wolf caught the scent of the guardians of the place. One such guard he avoided simply by stepping into the nearest shadow, and used the time it took for the guard to pass on his round to fix his mental image of the place, lest he should he require it again.

Unfortunately, as he neared the glass doors of the exit three men in uniform, holding cups from which came the hot, bitter smell of coffee, barred his way. One man was taking bites from a pastry that even from Wolf’s hiding place in the shadows smelled sickly sweet. Another had an apple in the pocket of his uniform jacket.

“Nirmal should go home if he’s just going to sit in the locker room staring at the walls,” Pastry was saying.

“Leave him alone,” Apple said. “He’s just got that High Park thing that’s going around.”

“He can’t afford to miss another shift,” No Food added.

Wolf waited. Finally Apple drifted away to the east and disappeared behind a wide marble staircase. Wolf glanced to his right. He would have to go that way, as it appeared the remaining two could go on talking about the illness of their comrade for hours.

Swiftly, silently, Wolf darted through the shadows to a set of double doors that had been left ajar and into a food market that smelled of cleaning fluids not quite masking spoiled food. Somewhere beyond the market stalls he thought he could smell outside air.

The exit doors were locked shut, but Wolf used his
gra’if
dagger to cut through the metal of the locks. The
gra’if
glowed slightly in the darkness, but Wolf had it sheathed before it could give him away.
Stepping out, he was faced with a narrow stretch of roadway, another set of double glass doors on the other side. There were streetlights above him, and the sounds and smells of traffic overhead. That would be Front Street. The Prince’s home was in the building on the other side. Wolf eyed the parapet, an easy leap.

He put his hand to his chest, touched through his shirt the key the High Prince had given him.

“Go in through the front doors of the hotel,” she had said. “But use the east lobby elevators and go to the top floor. The apartment is in the southeast corner of the building, and has a silver knocker in the shape of a dragon on the door.”

As if the thought of a Guidebeast triggered his senses, Wolf’s nostrils flared. Somewhere here, in this submerged laneway, there was a faint scent of Rider. He turned, intent on fixing this scent in his mind—and his attackers were on him almost before he knew they were there. Sound more than scent gave them away. Too many shadows, too many conflicting odors, had masked their approach. Two of the three grabbed him by the upper arms and were dragging him toward the darkest corner while the third was dodging in front, trying to reach Wolf’s feet.

They weren’t trying to hurt him, he realized, just secure him, but while they were touching him, he could not Move without bringing them with him. Wolf planted his feet, shrugged off the dark form on his right, flinging out his arm. As that person was still airborne, Wolf spun, swinging the one holding his left arm into the man in front. The impact broke the man’s hold on Wolf’s arm, and he immediately Moved, first to the shadowy spot in the train concourse he had used earlier, then to a safe spot in the market area, behind the juice vendor.

He could hear the people who had accosted him. They were still outside, the one he had thrown groaning. Apparently Wolf had broken some ribs. The High Prince had warned him that humans were more fragile than Riders, but evidently he had not paid sufficient attention. Instead of setting themselves to watch once more, the two relatively uninjured men helped the third away, and the laneway was once more deserted. Now alert, Wolf Moved back to where he had been attacked, immediately leaping onto the parapet, and stepping down onto the wide sidewalk.

In a moment he was across the street and pushing through the
revolving doors of the hotel. He barely took in the vast lobby, as large as the great hall of a prince’s palace. Even at this late hour there were a few people about, but Wolf had dressed carefully in a good suit, though the collar of his shirt was open. Only one woman said, “Good night, sir,” to him as he passed. He nodded at her, and tried to smile. He must have succeeded, for she smiled back.

He had already dismissed the attack. Young men, he thought, likely trying to rob him. What was occupying Wolf’s mind as he pressed the button for the elevator was the faint spoor of Rider he’d detected where they had jumped him.

Later, having settled into the bed of what was clearly the guest room, he dreamed.

He puts his clawed feet to the ground, but they are no longer clawed, and his tentacles, sooty gray, at once scaled and leathery, find no easy purchase. He sees the scent he is following, leading away from him like a ribbon of soft golden silk floating through the air. Reaching away from him into the world. Then he sees them, a Starward male and a Moonward female, and he knows them, smells their
dra’aj
so like his own. They turn and greet him with smiles. They do not see what he is; they do not lock themselves away from him.

Wolf woke up cold with sweat, the sheets damp. Swung his legs over the side of the wide bed, and sat with his elbows on his knees, rubbing his face with his hands, unable to work any warmth into his skin. He thrust his hands into his hair.

“I am the Hound of the Dragonborn Prince,” he said aloud, shocking himself with the harshness of his voice. “My mother—my mother was Rain at Sunset and the Chimera guides me. I am Wolf in the Storm.”

This was by no means the first time he had dreamed about what he had been before Truthsheart had made him real again. Always the same, the same shapes and smells. Always he had returned home, and destroyed what he found there. Though the dreams were getting better, he told himself as he stood under the shower, washing away the fear that stuck to his skin. At least now they stopped before he began to feed.

As he padded back to the sitting room, passing through shafts of moonlight, he stopped and stood looking around him. There
had
been something new. He had never before wondered, while dreaming,
why his parents had not locked their door to him. There was a way, a very simple way. After all, parents whose children could Move still required privacy from time to time.

What did this mean? He could not close the apartment to Moving, or he would lose the use of it himself. But there was something he could do…Wolf went to the door of the apartment, wondering if he would remember the Chant. It had been so long ago, but he had heard it many times. He placed his hands on the door frame, wood and darkmetal and paint. It would have to do. He licked his lips, and began to Sing.