Wolf Hunting (64 page)

“I don’t imagine that they made themselves too loved among their own people,” Derian said. “Is that why so many surrendered?”

“That,” Plik agreed, “and one other thing. When Firekeeper interfered with that spell, it seems she did more harm than she imagined. I can’t claim to understand how blood magic works, but Zebel told me an interesting detail related to that one spell. It seems that the man and woman who were working it were only two of those who were intended to be able to use the final effect.”

“And that was?”
Truth interrupted.

Again Plik phrased his reply so it would translate the question.

“The spell they were preparing was meant to enable them to channel some form of electricity.”

Harjeedian’s eyebrows went up. “You mean the sorcerers of old really could throw lightning? I always thought that a storyteller’s exaggeration.”

“I can’t be sure,” Plik said. “In this case, it might have been more like a personal shield.”

“I touched something that blocked me,” Firekeeper said. “Maybe this spell then.”

She looked distinctly unsettled by the thought.

“Well, as the doctor explained things,” Plik said, “the initial stages of the spell had been prepared in advance, and one of the preparations had been a solution in which the blood of those who would be using the spell was already mingled. When the spell went wrong, its effect was most noticeable around the caster, but apparently wherever they were, the most powerful of the Once Dead died as their blood was replaced by this electricity.”

“I’m not sure I understand,”
Eshinarvash said.
“It seems a poor protection that kills the one it is meant to protect.”

“The spell didn’t work as intended,” Plik explained. “Initially, they planned to use one of their own to provide the blood to power the spell, but when they took Tiniel back, they thought to use him as an object lesson about the penalties for defiance, and in the hope that any attacker would stop and negotiate to preserve Tiniel’s life.”

“Seems risky,” Derian said dubiously. “I mean, they were under attack.”

“You forget,” Plik said, “they had no idea the extent of the danger they were in. They thought
they
were the attackers, that they were in control of the situation. Who knows? If they had completed their spell, they might have been.”

Derian looked at the scars the out-of-control lightning had left on the landscape and nodded. Plik went on.

“When Firekeeper broke Tiniel from the sorcerer’s grasp before the spell was completed, the spell had too much momentum to simply disintegrate. It found power where it could—and in this case, that was in those who would have used it at no cost to themselves.”

“Nasty,” Firekeeper said, “and I am glad that they died from their own working. Still, I am not sure that Tiniel should have been saved—not after he and Isende betrayed us.”

“I have information about that, too,” Plik said. “You and Blind Seer both mentioned how Tiniel and Isende seemed to lack the will to resist. We had to drag Isende away, not because she was fighting us, but because she couldn’t be made to move on her own. You told how Tiniel just stood there while patterns were carved into his face. I don’t think Tiniel and Isende meant to betray us. I think they were drawn away by sorcery.”

Derian and Harjeedian looked inclined to be convinced, but Firekeeper remained stony-faced, unyielding in her conviction.

“Earlier that same day,” Plik said, “I saw the twins used as translators for the Once Dead. They seemed to understand many different languages, languages I don’t think they’ve had time to learn. Moreover, later, when I asked Isende for her opinion of the interrogation, she was deeply upset and admitted to remembering nothing at all.”

Firekeeper’s expression was softening. “I hear something like that, too. When first I spoke with the Once Dead and told them to give us the twins, they answered, but Isende and Tiniel translated and their voices were very—even too—calm.”

Firekeeper looked happier now, and Plik thought with relief that she had no more liked believing the twins were traitors than he had.

“You put them in their cottage,” she said, “with ravens and owls to watch over them. I am glad.”

Plik knew that by “glad,” Firekeeper meant glad that Plik had halted her initial impulse, which had been to give the pair a very wolfish battering to remind them of the consequences of their actions.

“Are the twins in control of their own minds again?” Derian asked.

“I think so,” Plik said. “Onion and I escorted Zebel there this morning so he could look at Tiniel’s injuries. The twins were badly upset by what had been done to them, but able to talk and reason.”

“So,”
Truth said with a long and luxurious yawn that showed every sharp and deadly fang,
“did any of the Once Dead survive this spell-storm?”

“Several of the Once Dead did survive,” Plik said. “Three who are, essentially, minimally talented. They did not practice sorcery as such, and were viewed as hardly better than the Twice Dead—or so I am told. Two others survived as well—our prisoners, Lachen and Ynamynet. Either the spell-storm or the yarimaimalom accounted for the rest.”

“There are still a whole lot of people to deal with,” Derian said. The tense expression, which had faded during Plik’s report, had now returned. “I might as well say it up front and get it over with. I can’t stomach the idea of slaughtering all these people. I’m sorry, but I can’t. I’m no coward, but …”

He gave up trying to articulate his feelings and shrugged.

Firekeeper leaned over and patted Derian on the arm. “I don’t want to do this either,” she said. “Killing just to kill, to prevent possible wrong someday … it may be wise, but it is still not right.”

Derian looked relieved. “But what are we going to do?” he asked. “We can’t just leave them here, can we?”

Plik interrupted, knowing that the time had come for him to raise an issue that had been bothering him since they first began discussing their return to the New World.

“I don’t think we can,” he said. “That isn’t the important issue though.”

All eyes had turned on him. Plik went on, hearing his own voice rise with a passion that had been growing since he first realized the implication of these Nexus Islands.

“Not only can’t we just leave these people here,” he said, “we can’t leave this place in other hands. We must take the Nexus Islands and we must hold them, or all we care about will be doomed.”

XXXI

DERIAN INSTANTLY UNDERSTOOD the logic behind Plik’s statement, but it didn’t stop it from shocking him. He decided he was getting royally tired of being shocked.

Firekeeper was looking stubborn again, and Derian didn’t think Plik should be stuck with explaining to her yet again why the course of events couldn’t be as neat and tidy as she desired.

“It makes sense,” Derian said aloud. “I mean, we can go back, and we can do everything we can think of to make sure the gate in the twins’ ancestral stronghold is jammed so no one can ever open it again, but that doesn’t solve the bigger problem.”

“Bigger problem?” Firekeeper asked, glancing at Blind Seer. Derian wondered what the wolf had been saying.

“The bigger problem,” Derian said, “that we know there are other gates from the Old World into the New. I counted eight buildings in this circle. From what the Meddler told us, the gates into the New World were all put in one place. That means there are at least seven other points from here that end up somewhere in the New World. Think about that for a moment.”

Firekeeper did, and from her expression it was evident she didn’t like the implications one bit.

“Not all in city-states, either,” she said, “but probably one in each colony.”

“That’s how I see it,” Plik said, “and the current nations in the New World don’t match the old colonies, not precisely. At least that’s what I’ve gathered. Liglim pretty much has the same borders, but Hawk Haven and Bright Bay were originally parts of one colony.”

Derian nodded, “And I’ve never quite figured out how things were divided up south of the Fox River. Stonehold has two dominant peoples, but I think there might have been more than two colonies there. New Kelvin says it used to own the area that’s now Waterland. Do we count that as one or two colonies?”

Harjeedian frowned. “And if some of the materials in our libraries are to be taken as factual, rather than allegorical, the New World, as we term it, was probably more than one landmass. There may be areas out there with which we have completely lost touch. The Old Country rulers didn’t like their colonists to know too much about anything that might diminish reliance on their founders.”

“Think about what would happen,” Derian said, looking at Firekeeper, “if a gate opened up in New Kelvin. Horse! The thaumaturges would probably declare a major festival. The sodalities would probably tell Toriovico to resign his rulership. I don’t even want to think about what would happen next.”

Truth licked a paw and Firekeeper said, obviously in partial translation, “So if we leave these gates here, it is like standing faithful watch at one side of a rabbit’s burrow when the rabbit has gone out another hole.”

“Gone out the other side,” Derian said forcefully, “turned into a puma and come around to pounce on your unprotected backside. Plik’s right. We’ve got to hold this place. Worse, we’ve got to understand it.”

“Worse?” Harjeedian said with a dry laugh.

“Worse,” Derian said, “because understanding it is going to mean understanding magic, and understanding magic is going to mean spending time with people who, quite frankly, make me want to vomit whenever I look at them and remember the things they’ve either participated in or at least let go on without interfering.”

“Worse,” Harjeedian agreed. “I see your point.”

Completely unexpectedly, Firekeeper said, “I rather like Ynamynet, at least a little.”

Derian gaped at the wolf-woman. “She tried to strand you! She would have killed you if she could have managed.”

“Yes,” Firekeeper agreed, “but she was very brave in how she do this. She risk having herself killed, and she take this risk without any help. She offer herself for her people’s good. This is a wolf thing. I understand it. I like her a little because I can see a little how she thinks.”

“You will never stop amazing me,” Derian said with a sigh. “Next thing I know, you’ll be telling me you want to adopt Lachen.”

“Not adopt,” Firekeeper said, “but maybe we can work with him. The Meddler tell me that Lachen is less brave than someone with his size might seem. These two are sorcerers. They are alive. Let us learn what we can about them before we talk to them, though. Plik, will this doctor talk more?”

“Zebel is trying rather desperately to show me that there are people here worth preserving,” Plik said. “I think he will tell us anything we ask—although I would not count on him to bring up the worst about anyone. What is it we need to know?”

“About where they are from,” Firekeeper replied. “Not the where of body, but the where of inside, of the heart. Like I am wolf …”

Plik nodded reassurance. “I understand. We need to know more about Ynamynet’s and Lachen’s lives, what brought them here, if they are among the ones who have family or children in the community.”

“Right,” Firekeeper said, relieved. “Family would be good to know about. I not want to do hostage taking, but if that is a way to make behave, then we must, but maybe we can find some other hold.”

Plik said, “Truth has raised an interesting point. She says, ‘Let us look at their lairs as well—before we let them return to them. Remember Dantarahma? Remember what was found after he had gone? Sometimes humans give away a great deal with what they keep, what they hide.’”

“Good thinking,” Firekeeper agreed.

Derian rubbed his temples. Ever since he had awakened, he’d had a touch of a headache. It was probably nothing more than the end result of too little sleep, but he wondered if it might be a sign of the onset of querinalo.

“I hate to bring this up,” Derian said, “but if Plik’s predictions are right, before long some of us are going to be very, very ill. Do we try and get back to the stronghold, or do we weather the illness here?”

Plik wrinkled the tip of his nose in a fashion that made him look distinctly raccoon-like.

“How exactly did you plan on opening the gate to get back? You did have a plan for this, didn’t you?”

Derian frowned. “We did. We figured that since the twins had opened the gate at least once, they could open it again.”

“There’s a problem with that,” Plik said. “Querinalo. I’m not sure the twins still possess the ability to make the gates work.”

FIREKEEPER WAS RELIEVED when the others agreed that theorizing among themselves was not the best way to resolve this new complication, not when the twins could be brought forward and given a chance to speak.

She also wanted an opportunity to take a look at the pair by daylight, and to learn what messages the beasts would read in their sweat.

“Let’s go,” Firekeeper said, “and talk with these two.”

Eshinarvash said,
“I am a little large to fit into a cottage. Let me remain here and make certain our allies do not get ambitious in our absence.”

When the others arrived at the cottage, Bitter agreed with Eshinarvash’s caution.
“Lovable and I will join Eshinarvash. Not only do our allies bear watching, but the humans do as well.”

The rest crowded through the wrought-iron gate, awakening the blood briars in the hedge into writhing motion. Firekeeper could see that Derian was torn between simply opening the cottage door and knocking as would be polite. The one would signal their distrust of the twins; the other might leave them in some doubt as to their status.

Before Derian could decide, the choice was taken from him. Isende opened the door and motioned for them all to enter. Tiniel, his face covered with a webwork of red tracery, stood near the hearth.

“It’s warmer in here,” she said. “Tiniel has just built up the fire.”