Jane Lindskold Firekeeper Saga 1 Through Wolf's Eyes

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enigma for their several days of acquaintance rather than less.
Upon their first meeting she had seemed a wild creature that had taken human
shape. By their second, assured of her humanity, Derian had felt proprietary,
even protective toward her. By the third meeting, the very one that had ended
with Earl Kestrel giving Derian charge of her, Derian had felt certain of
Blysse s intelligence and of her peculiar sense of humor.
This day she was a stranger, calm and composed, apparently immune to the human
storm that raged around her as she should be. Although her vocabulary was
growing at an amazing rate, what words she had were mostly nouns with a few
simple additions such as Yes and No, Come and Go.
What do you suggest we do? Earl Kestrel asked Race.
We should tie her, the scout said firmly. It s for her own safety, my lord.
I don t want her arrow-shot by the first gamekeeper who takes her for a
poacher.
You don t? the earl s inflection was ironic, but Derian doubted that the
scout noticed. Race still believed that his envy of the woman s woodcraft was
his own secret.
No, sir, I don t, Race said earnestly. Think of the man s shock when he
finds a bit of a girl dead with his shaft in her breast and him facing your
wrath for doing naught but his duty.
Indeed, said Earl Kestrel dryly, not to mention the pitiable situation that
Blysse should have survived ten years of privation to die so sordidly.
That, Race replied, suddenly aware of his tactlessness, so goes without
saying that I didn t bother mentioning it.
Of course. Earl Kestrel relented. It has not escaped my notice that you
have scouted in the vicinity of the camp following Blysse s return each dawn.
Have you found any sign of where she goes or if she is meeting someone?
None, Race said, superstitious dread deepening his voice. She leaves no
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more track than a spirit would. I ve wondered&
Jared Surcliffe broke in, impatient with the earl s game of cat and mouse with
the uneducated man.
If she s a restless spirit? Nonsense! I ve examined her more closely now and
no spirit would have so many scars not to mention the cuts and bruises she
gains each day. She has clean healing flesh, thank the ancestors of our house,
or she would have died from some injury long since.
If I thought she was a spirit, Race countered defiantly, would I have
suggested putting a rope on her?
My lord, it would be no more unkind than the jesses on a hawk or the leash on
a dog. It s to keep her from harm in my way of thinking, not to do her some.
And can you explain that to her? Earl Kestrel said skeptically. Derian,
could Blysse understand such an idea?
Derian shrugged. She s smart, my lord, but we don t have enough words.
Mime it! Race insisted.
When she s never seen or at least has no memory of the farmers or gamekeepers
you would protect her from? Derian scoffed. How?
In answer, Race lifted a coil of rope and strode over to where Blysse was now
interestedly watching.
I ll show you! the scout retorted defiantly.
He lifted the rope, uncoiled a section and held it out to the young woman.
Rope, she said calmly.
Much to Derian s despair, all items for binding, from the thinnest thread to
horse hobbles to fish line, had, for the nonce, become rope. Doubtless Blysse
thought Race s approach with rope in hand was another attempt to force her to
discriminate. Mentally, he kicked himself for not teaching her the word
pavilion
for Earl Kestrel s larger tent that first night. The lack of discrimination
seemed to have shaped her attitude toward the refinements of spoken language.
With the ease of long practice, Race made a noose. Then, as Blysse watched in
unguarded curiosity, he dropped it over her shoulders and pulled it fast,
binding her arms tightly to her sides.
Blysse looked startled, pushing out with her shoulders against the restraint.
Her expression when she realized that she could not get free became furious:
dark eyes narrowed, lips paling, brows pulled together.
See, my lord, Race said triumphantly, turning slightly toward Earl Kestrel,
leaning back on his heels so that his weight would keep the noose tight. We
can hold her this way and she can walk along or we can set her up on one of
the mules. They ve grown accustomed to her by now and&
He didn t finish for Blysse screamed, high, shrill, and angry. Her second such
cry was echoed by one from the tops of the tallest trees; then a blue-grey
streak plummeted toward the gathered men.
Derian didn t think. Balling himself tight, he launched forward, knocking Race
to the ground, rolling the other man with the force of his tackle so that the
falcon s strike hit the ground inches from where the scout would have been
standing.
Race lost his grip on the rope and, as the falcon was taking wing again,
Blysse clawed her way out of the loosened noose.
Free, she stood poised lightly on the balls of her feet, Prince Barden s knife
in her hand. Her dark gaze darted from Race to Derian to Kestrel then back
again to Race.
A low growl rumbling in her throat, she advanced one stiff-legged pace toward
the prone man, then another.
Derian rose, imposed himself between her and Race, found that cold, dark gaze
now studying him impartially. All their tentative friendship seemed to have
vanished like snow beneath the sun.
Blysse s growl deepened, became louder, and she peeled her lips back from
teeth. The snarl should have looked funny, for her teeth remained blunt, human
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teeth, but the menace in her eyes made the expression anything but.
Queenie, Race s bird dog, had been running to assist her master. Now, under
Blysse s snarl, she dropped to the dirt, rolled onto her back, and whimpered
submission.
Something visceral in Derian understood. He could not demean himself to drop
and roll, but he lowered his gaze and stepped slightly to one side.
Race, he muttered urgently as he did so. Don t get up! Don t reach for any
weapon! If you stay down there, she won t attack you.
What? Race continued scrabbling backward in the dirt and leaves of the
forest floor, but he didn t get to his feet, nor did Blysse attack. How can
you be so sure?
I just am! Derian replied, resisting an urge to growl himself. Stay put!
Lower your gaze! Don t challenge her or she ll have your head!
Race obeyed, at least to the extent of not getting to his feet. After Race had
clawed his way back a few more paces, Blysse halted. With one last snarl, she
kicked dirt at him. Then she shook like a dog after a rainstorm, her anger
vanishing as quickly as it had appeared.
She looked at Derian and grinned, then spoke her first sentences.
Race, dog, she commented conversationally. Then she bent and picked up the
rope and shook it. No rope. No!
Earl Kestrel spoke for the first time since Race had advanced on Blysse.
That, I think, quite nicely sums up the matter.
Then he took the coil of rope from her and tossed it onto the fire. Sparks
flew as the flames engulfed the damp coils.
Firekeeper was in a merry mood the next morning. Today they would cross the
great mountains. Beneath tonight s stars, she and Blind Seer would hunt where
none of the Royal Wolves had hunted in uncounted years. Until then, she had
the progress of humans and horses up the steep incline to amuse her.
For once, Derian had abandoned his care of her, his skill with the horses
needed to coax them up the slope. She admired his labors with the stupid
things, and during a midmorning halt she offered through gestures to assist. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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