Free Wolf's Blood by Jane Lindskold Page B

enough she could do. In any case, she and her allies would find out soon enough. Firekeeper knew that many of the winged folk, the ravens, crows, and seagulls who could thrive on the relatively barren island even in winter, continued to spy on the Old Worlders. The ravens in particular had been fooled once by human trickery masquerading as meekness, and were not likely to forget that lesson.
    Firekeeper turned back to listen as Harjeedian took his leave.
    “I am not needed to brief the gate watchers,” he said. “Instead, I will go and speak with Urgana.”
    “What?” Derian asked. “You mean about Firekeeper’s request?”
    Tiniel, who had not been part of their earlier discussion, looked puzzled. Firekeeper found this interesting. Isende had known something of their plans, but clearly Isende had not told her brother.
    “Precisely,” the aridisdu said. He looked over at Truth, but the jaguar did not warn him away from his projected course. “When we spoke before, I said I would need an omen to guide me in my decision. Moments later, Skea gives us this report.”
    “How is omen?” Firekeeper asked.
    “You tell me that we may need to bring in reinforcements someday, but that we cannot because we cannot risk exposing anyone new to querinalo. Moments later, we are reminded that despite our precautions we are still vulnerable. That is omen enough for me, and Truth does not gainsay it.”
    Truth said, “Tell him for me. Truth does not gainsay it.”
    Firekeeper did so, and Harjeedian nodded.
    “So I go and I will do my best to convince Urgana to aid us. I cannot promise, for I will not order her against her better judgment, but I can be persuasive if I try.”
    Blind Seer panted silent laughter. “Oh, yes. We remember. Indeed, you can be nearly as persuasive as the Meddler.”
     
     
     
    THAT EVENING, KING Bryessidan told his wife over their private dinner table what Amelo Soapwort had discovered. He told himself that this confession came not from weakness but from political sensibility. He would need his wife’s cooperation if he was to carry out his current plan.
    Despite the songs the minstrels loved to sing, kings did not marry for love, especially kings of kingdoms whose neighbors had not forgotten former warlike impulses, and who wanted to remind the heir apparent not to follow in his father’s footsteps.
    Soon after being bottled in for the second time, King Veztressidan found himself politely besieged with offers from his erstwhile enemies to provide a wife for his then fifteen-year-old son and sole heir. Many young ladies, and many not so young, had visited the Kingdom of the Mires, straining royal hospitality with the need to properly entertain them.
    Of this, too, did the conquerors approve, for they felt the resources expended on gifts and banquets would not be available for other, more martial ventures.
    Bryessidan acted as he was expected to do, grateful that his father did not betroth him to a stranger. Veztressidan did, however, make quite clear that the choice of a bride was not to be Bryessidan’s own, but did say that, if it were at all within his power, Bryessidan would not be wed to someone he despised.
    “After all,” Veztressidan had said, dripping a little more of the very fine brandy one suitor had brought with her into his cup, “if this marriage is to encourage mutual respect and unity of purpose …”
    Bryessidan had grinned. Those phrases kept recurring in formal speeches of introduction, to the point that the Mires’ court wondered if all the foreigners crafted their speeches over one table.
    “Well, if there is to be anything like respect and accord,” Veztressiddan had said, “you must at least tolerate the woman.”
    And so, for accord, Bryessidan had been married a moonspan after his seventeenth birthday to a woman two years older than himself. Gidji, whose surname translated as Daughter of the Hammer, came from a people who were as tall, big-built, and fair as the