Through Wolf's Eyes (37 page)

Prince Newell chuckled, a dry, humorless sound. His
companion checked to see if the sun was vanishing behind a cloud, for
surely the day had grown suddenly cooler.

"Now, Lord Tench," Newell said, "I have told you what you want to know. Why don't you tell me . . ."

The next quarter of an hour or so was profitably
spent taking notes on the location of certain elements of Bright Bay's
fleet, information that Tench gave freely since the two countries were
not technically at war.

Wishing to seem the patriot, Newell Shield had given out
that
his price for supplying gossip about the workings of the Hawk Haven
nobility was information that would enable Hawk Haven's navy to avoid
accidental clashes with Bright Bay's more powerful fleet. In reality,
he hardly cared about such things, except that in some small corner of
his mind, that navy already belonged to him.

T
HE BOWSTRING MADE
a
sound like a drowsy hornet when Firekeeper released it, but she hardly
heard it, hardly felt the slap against her broad, leather wrist guard.
Her mind was focused on the target, on the blood-red spot that was its
heart. The arrowhead burrowed in three finger widths to the right and
she snarled.

"Easy!" Race Forester cautioned her. "It doesn't do
to lose your temper. If that had been a deer or a man, you'd have hit
soundly."

"Not," Firekeeper replied, "a squirrel or rabbit."

"True," Race agreed, wrenching the arrow from the target. "But at that distance who could know for certain there
was
a rabbit?"

"I," she said with a deliberate calm she did not feel, "would know."

Race nodded. "Yes, I guess you would."

Midmorning had become archery practice time, a thing
Earl Kestrel had agreed to willingly since King Tedric might well
prefer an heir who would lead in battle to one who must conduct
campaigns from the sidelines. For the same reason, Firekeeper was being
tutored in elementary swordplay, use of a shield, and some refinements
of knife-fighting that her hunting had not revealed to her.

Though she had taken to these elements of martial
training with varying degrees of enthusiasm, attempting to teach her
lancework had proven useless. As of yet, no horse of sufficient
strength and energy had been found that would tolerate
her.
The patient grey gelding that had carried her from the keep could be
coaxed into a walk or even a trot, but certainly not into cantering at
a target. Therefore, for now, lancework had been set aside.

A couple of weeks' work had not made Firekeeper an
expert in anything. Indeed, other than with a bow or a knife—weapons
she had more practice with—she was a greater danger to herself than to
any opponent. However, she had learned valuable lessons about how a
sword might damage or a shield protect. These lessons could someday be
enough to preserve her life.

Blind Seer had taken to practicing with her, though
after a few incidents with panicked castle guards they worked together
only in the company of Earl Kestrel's retainers.

"I'm not fool enough,"
the great wolf
panted, lunging to get at her beneath the cumbersome shield she carried
on her left arm, dexterously avoiding blows from the wooden practice
sword,
"to follow where you will lead without learning enough to
defend myself. I haven't forgotten, even if you have, how vulnerable my
flanks are to arrows."

Firekeeper tried a shield bash and Blind Seer danced backward, haunches brushing the ground, tail wagging.

"Up close,"
the wolf continued,
"that's where they'll fear to fire their bows lest they hit their friends, so up close is where I must learn to be."

He snaked beneath the rim of her shield and clamped
his jaws lightly but firmly around her ankle. A single tug and she was
flat on her back. Blind Seer leapt upon her and then she pressed the
blunt point of her practice dagger into his soft underbelly.

"I cut?" she queried, pushing slightly.

"You never would have gotten this close if I had really crushed your ankle!"
the wolf protested.

"Maybe,"
Firekeeper replied,
"but Ox has
told me of the wonders dying men can perform, even when pain should
leave them shivering like a throat-torn doe. You shouldn't allow
yourself to forget how vulnerable your belly can be."

The wolf's blue eyes were hard as ice for a moment; then Blind Seer laughed.

"Call it a draw?"
he suggested.

"A draw,"
Firekeeper agreed.

Derian shook his head in mock dismay at Firekeeper
when the woman came in from the practice field covered with dirt and
sweat, bleeding from a score of scratches. She knew him well enough by
now to know that he really wasn't upset— far from it. He had been more
worried when all she had done was eat and grow soft.

"Ox says," he commented, "that you're getting better with a sword."

"Want to practice with me?" she teased. "I show you how good I am getting."

Derian nodded slowly. "Actually, I would. Ox
suggested that you'd improve with a different opponent—he said you're
learning to fight him specifically, not a general opponent, so I've
been brushing up on what I know. For some reason none of the castle
retainers will fence with you."

From where he lay on a cool section of flagstone floor, Blind Seer chuckled. "
I wonder why
. . ."

Firekeeper booted the wolf in the ribs.

"You know sword?" she asked Derian, pleased to discover that her fox-haired friend had teeth.

"I'm no great expert," Derian replied, though before
he had met real soldiers he had actually fancied himself quite capable.
"My parents insisted that I take lessons when I was younger. Sometimes
it helps if a pack train owner can help with defense."

"From thieves," she said, remembering various
blood-thrilling stories that Holly had been telling her, "and from
bandits, highwaymen, and robbers."

Derian laughed. "That's it," he agreed. "What are your plans for the rest of the day, my lady?"

Firekeeper frowned. Derian's latest self-appointed
task was making her keep track of her own obligations. She had a
sneaking suspicion that this was a lure to make her take her reading
and writing lessons more seriously.

"Bath," she said, hedging for time to remember. "Then
free until late afternoon. Then dancing lessons with Lady Elise and the
other girls. Then . . ." She shrugged. "Then
nothing so important if I can't remember. Right?"

"Then dinner," Derian said seriously, "with Duke
Gyrfalcon, his family, and—if rumor is to be believed—emissaries from
the court of New Kelvin. This is
very
important. House
Gyrfalcon is important in its own right—not just as a source of
potential heirs for the throne. Earl Kestrel is working very hard for
your cause, trying to show Duke Gyrfalcon that you could be as good a
monarch as the duke's own niece or nephew. Furthermore, the New Kelvin
emissaries will take report of you back to their rulers, so you must
make a good impression."

Firekeeper snorted, more disgusted with herself than
for any other reason, but she didn't anticipate another formal banquet
with any joy.

"Must I go?" she pleaded.

"Yes," Derian said firmly. "Earl Kestrel is quite delighted with this notice."

"Very well," she said, "to make my guardian happy, I will go."

Derian patted her sympathetically on one shoulder. "I
have the tub ready in my room. Hurry and bathe. If you don't take too
long, you should be able to spend an hour or so in the garden with
Holly. Just don't get filthy all over again."

Firekeeper had a wolf's fastidious nature—a thing
that might surprise those who thought of the carnivores as filthy,
ravening beasts delighting in blood and gore. In reality, if water was
available, wolves bathed after a kill or after eating.

Freshly scrubbed, her hair caught up in a queue
behind, dressed in a pair of leather trousers and matching vest,
Firekeeper hurried off to the gardens. Holly was resting on one of the
benches, enjoying a tumbler of well water seasoned with crushed
spearmint.

"I thought you were coming," she said, patting the bench beside her. "Your falcon arrived a moment ago."

"Elation," Firekeeper said seriously, "is not my falcon. She just stay with me."

"It works out to about the same," Holly replied peacefully, "as I see it."

"What are you doing today?" Firekeeper asked, eager to learn more of the mysteries of gardening.

"Mostly resting, child. It's hot this afternoon. I wonder that you don't wear something lighter."

Firekeeper stroked the leather possessively. "It protects. If not wear clothes to protect, why wear at all?"

"I," Holly said with a soft, secret laugh, "would think that you had figured that out by now, but if you haven't . . ."

Firekeeper had heard that type of chuckle before and
said scornfully, "I know about mating. This is not the season. I do not
need fine plumage."

"For men," Holly replied, a hint of warning in her tone, "it is always the season. Never mind, child . . ."

"What are you doing today?" Firekeeper repeated,
feeling that this conversation was taking her out of her depth and, as
usual, not liking the feeling at all.

"I was weeding around the acorn squash, but now I'm
resting." Holly sipped her drink. "I don't have your energy, child.
After all, I'm old enough to be your grandmother."

"Is there still weeding?"

"Always."

"Where?"

Without leaving her bench, Holly gave Firekeeper
directions. Once Firekeeper had settled into pulling the runner grass
from between the rows of squash vines, she asked, hoping to prompt a
story:

"You say you old enough to be my grandmother. Do you have grandchildren?"

"I do," Holly replied. "Do you recall the head gardener?"

Firekeeper had met the intense little man with his
fussy manners, had noted his nervous way of eyeing Blind Seer as if he
expected the wolf to dig up the rose gardens at the least notice. She
was not certain at all that she liked the head gardener but had learned
enough castle etiquette not to openly question those in positions of
authority.

She grunted a noncommittal "Yes."

"He is my oldest son."

"No!"

"Yes. Once upon a time, I was the head gardener, but
when
my knees got creaky, King Tedric permitted me to pass the title on to
my son, even as my father once passed it to me. It's an inheritance
after a fashion, as real as property or money."

"Head Gardener is your son?"

"That's right."

"But he's so . . ." Firekeeper waved her hands, mimicking the head gardener's mincing motions.

Holly laughed, not denying the truth, but not condemning the man either.

"But he is also a very good gardener. I suspect he
will learn to relax as he ages. Being around gardens does that to you.
In any case, Timin—that's my son's name—has three children of his own.
The elder two are already learning the craft. You may have seen them
about: Dan and Robyn."

Firekeeper had seen them, hardworking towheads
dressed in matching smocks and sandals. Her estimation of Timin
Gardener went up a notch. At least he didn't spare his children work to
their eventual detriment. The two gardener sprigs took their tasks
seriously and if they paused to chase a butterfly or admire a spider's
web, they didn't expect others to make excuses for them just because
their father was the head gardener.

She'd seen something of what such sloughing off of
responsibility could do in Citrine's sisters, Ruby and Opal, and in
Kenre's sisters, Nydia and Deste. Those middle girls were becoming
spoiled weak things who didn't seem to have any purpose in life but
learning how to be noblewomen. They seemed to think a good marriage the
best they could do for themselves, unlike Sapphire and Elise, whose
training as heirs had made them value themselves for what they could do.

Firekeeper sighed, remembering that the middle girls
would be at dancing practice today. She dreaded their sneers and
giggles at her missteps, at her inability to hear the guidance the
music offered her feet. To distract herself from that dreary prospect,
Firekeeper asked:

"Do you have any other children or grandchildren?"

Holly nodded. "I have a daughter who married a fisherman
and
lives by the seacoast. She has two children and I expect will have
more. My younger son hasn't yet married—too restless. He's in the
military."

A sad expression flitted across Holly's wrinkled
face. "And I had another daughter who is now dead. She was among those
who followed Prince Barden across the mountains."

"Oh!" Firekeeper felt strange. "Then I may have known her when I was very small."

"I had thought of that," Holly admitted. "I suppose
that's why at first I was so glad to make your acquaintance. In a way,
you were a link to my daughter."