The Dragon Queen Read online

  She began to explore, and a few times he was forced to do what parent wolves sometimes do—place a heavy paw on the toddler to keep her fingers out of his eyes, nose, and ears. But after a time she got two handfuls of fur in her grip, crawled partway up his back, and fell asleep, her head pillowed on his side. The pack leader rested his head on his forepaws and dozed.

  The puppies were similarly placed on the female. At dusk, when the wind began to turn cold, she shook off her children, threw an ironic glance at the male and his sleeping charge, and herded her three sons into the den. The pack leader looked annoyed. He laid back his ears, then flipped them forward. Since he was not entirely a wolf, he did not leave his charge alone. One of his brethren might mistake her for supper, a fatal mistake and not just for the child. Whatever powers the priests of these highland peoples were invoking, they would not ignore the child’s death at the teeth and jaws of his pack, however much they would seem to have invited it.

  The she-wolf came out of the den and gave him another ironic glance—she was a sarcastic bitch—and joined the other two males. It was time to hunt. But she paused for a moment before the entrance to the den, head down, waiting. One of his sons was growing very insubordinate. Sure enough, when a short interval of time passed, the puppy’s nose appeared at the entrance to the den. Surprise, dismay, and apprehension chased each other across the baby wolf’s face. His mother didn’t do anything. She stood there, head down, meeting his eyes; but it was enough. The puppy crept back into the den with a soft whimper of apology, and the three grown wolves started out on the night’s hunt.

  The big gray continued to sit in the gathering dusk, the child asleep against his body, until he heard the distant sounds of humans making their way through low trees and scrub covering the mountainside. Then, easing away from the child so slowly and carefully that she did not awaken, he merged with the cover of the pale mauve-flowered bushes that carpeted the rocks at the hilltop. A few minutes later the humans arrived, carrying torches, and stood looking down at the sleeping child.

  Two men and one woman had emerged from the forest into the clearing in front of the den. One of the men was middle-aged with dark hair and beard sprinkled with gray. The other was magnificent: young, blond, lean, and powerfully muscled with narrow hips and waist, broad shoulders, and the pale, fair skin of the northern peoples. The woman, Idonia herself, was old, but the wolf knew she was not as old as she looked. Her face was deeply lined, her eyes sunken and deeply hooded. Her body was lean and spare, her skin leathery and weather-beaten. She wore an underdress of deep blue and an overtunic decorated in complex patterns of flame and gold, a rainbow of reds at the bottom fading into deep blue at the top.

  The dark-haired man went to one knee and picked up the child. She didn’t awaken.

  “I cannot believe it,” said the blond man. “She has taken no hurt.”

  “Hush,” Idonia said. She extended one brown finger and touched the child’s lips. “Milk,” she said. “She was suckled at a wolf’s teat.”

  The woman raised her arms toward the sky in what seemed a ritual gesture, and the wolf saw she held a long blackthorn staff in her right hand.

  “She is chosen,” the woman said.

  “You are all mad,” said the blond man. “So the wolves didn’t harm her. What does that prove? Those stories are all nonsense.”

  “So you say,” the dark man said. He didn’t seem inclined to dispute the matter.

  “Hush,” the blond man said softly. “Don’t move, either of you. I’m going to see if I can get a shot at him. He’s watching us right now.” He had a crossbow, a small one, hanging from a loop on his belt.

  The wolf knew he’d been seen. The blond man was looking into his eyes. The wolf flattened his body lower against the heather and cursed himself for a fool. His eyes had flashed in the torchlight and alerted the man. He was young and looked fast. In a second his hand was on the bow. The wolf knew he had miscalculated. He’d believed the man would raise the bow to fire, giving him a second or two to leap right or left, giving him a fifty-fifty chance to escape the bolt, but the bastard was going to shoot from the hip.

  But just as he touched the weapon, the bolt, without any pressure on the trigger, discharged into the ground. The wolf went straight up and came down in a small grove of poplars just below the hilltop. The blond man swore.

  “I lost him. My hand must have slipped. Never mind.” He reached down to free the bolt embedded in the soil at his feet.

  “Do not reload,” Idonia said.

  The blond man looked mightily offended. “Are you presuming to tell me what to do?” The blond man looked dangerous.

  “I believe you are a guest of my people,” Idonia said. “Does a guest offend his host?”

  “No,” the dark-haired man said. “He doesn’t. Not if he’s smart.” His eyes met the blond man’s.

  “That was a wolf.”

  “That was a wolf,” the dark-haired man repeated.

  “That was the Gray Watcher,” Idonia said. She reached down, picked up the crossbow bolt, and tossed it out into the darkness.

  The blond man looked annoyed. “What?” he asked. “You give the pests who steal your sheep names?”

  “These wolves never take sheep or children, either,” Idonia said. “Let us return. It’s getting cold.”

  The child stirred in the dark man’s arms. He wrapped her in his mantle very tenderly.

  From his spot among the trees the wolf watched them walk away. He didn’t think for one moment that the blond man’s hand had slipped. Too many strange things happened around Idonia for him to believe that. The gray wolf’s tail waved back and forth and then back, a sign of agitation. He returned to the den and checked the pups. They were all asleep, even the adventurous one. His mate and her brothers were perfectly capable of keeping them fed. The wolf moved downhill toward the Hall of the Hawk.

  He moved at the wolf’s smooth gait, recalling that he’d left his weapons and clothes in a hollow tree. He hadn’t used them in years. He’d hoped he wouldn’t need them again, but he let fly with a few human curses—purely in the mind, as a wolf couldn’t speak in that way—a waste of energy really. He lowered his head and kept going.

  Idonia saw him sitting in the hall at a low table near the door. He had a truculent expression on his face and a cup of beer before him. She knew him at once, though she’d seen him only a few times, and many years ago. She had just returned with her two companions and the child … she realized he’d beaten them back. Idonia asked her steward who he was, wanting to know what the man was calling himself.

  “He says his name is Maeniel, and he is a vagabond by his clothes and a hero by his weapons. He smells of damp mold, and I cannot but wonder if he has risen from a grave somewhere to visit you.”

  “Thank you, Crerar,” Idonia said. Then in an unheard-of gesture of recognition, she walked over to Maeniel and saluted him. “Maeniel,” she said. “I always called you the Gray Watcher.”

  He rose and bowed politely, then asked, “What are you playing at, my lady, to place a child in such a dangerous position? Well you know I would not harm it, but I cannot speak for others of my family.”

  “When they wanted to bring the child to the wolves, I thought of you immediately.”

  “I would thank you, but I cannot think why I should,” Maeniel answered.

  Idonia chuckled. “Join me at the high table. Your rank demands it. Besides, you must meet Dugald and Titus. Dugald is the dark one. He has charge of bearing the child.”

  “And Titus?” Maeniel asked.

  “A Romanized Saxon.” Idonia’s lips curled. “Dugald is convinced he can still treat with the barbarians despite their treachery.”

  “Thank you for defeating his crossbow,” Maeniel said.

  “ ‘Twas neatly done, wasn’t it?” she said sweetly.

  The big hall was dark. The fire in the pit at the center was an incandescence shining through a thin covering of light ash. Outside, the wind began to
rise and in the distance they could both hear the sea. The tide was going out; it roared and muttered in the distance. The wind from the coast battered the building with hammer blows.

  “A storm?” Maeniel asked.

  “Yes,” Idonia said. “I have called one each night since—” she spat on the stone floor “—that blond Saxon snake came. I would rather dine with wolves,” she sneered. “Wolves may claim their share of the prey, but you need not watch your back among them.”

  “You did dine with us, more than once,” Maeniel said.

  “Yes, and feared no treachery. Crerar—seat my friend at my side at the high table,” she called out to the steward. “Come see the baby.”

  He tossed back the beer and followed.

  When they returned, the hall was lit for supper. Torches shone on every wall. The big table had been set up to form a horseshoe around the fire pit. The wall hangings that told the history of the hawk clan glowed on the walls of the round room, their colors blazing in the shadows. The woodwork sang with freshly painted images, strange beasts and plants coiled together with Celtic knot work, all enameled in red, green, gold, blue, orange, lavender, violet, and other colors the wolf couldn’t put a name to. Behind the high seat at the closed end of the horseshoe, the hawk screamed, wings outspread, head lifted, beak open.

  Idonia, Dugald, and Titus the Saxon sat together under the protection of the hawk’s wings. The rest of the clan sat at the lower table to take their main meal of the day.

  “I can provide for all of my people one meat meal daily,” Idonia told Maeniel with some pride. “This year and the last were very good.”

  One of the girls serving beer and mead gave a squeak and stepped quickly away from the table. Idonia fixed Titus with a cold eye.

  The young blond man laughed. “She’s a beauty,” he said.

  The girl blushed. Idonia reached over and took the girl’s hand. The girl put her head down near Idonia’s face. The old woman whispered something and the girl nodded and departed.

  “A bit of advice for you, if you care to take it,” Dugald said to the Saxon.

  “What?”

  “The ladies of this house are all girls of good family. They come here to make proper matches.”

  “That girl’s father’s eyes are probably on you right now,” Idonia said. “He is seated among my people, so unless your immediate plans include marriage, I’d strongly advise you to keep your hands to yourself.”

  The Saxon’s face went red with anger. “She should be honored,” he muttered.

  “Possibly,” Maeniel said, “but perhaps not. And even if she is, her menfolk might not share her sentiments. Pay attention to Idonia. She’s trying her best to avoid trouble.”

  The Saxon smiled and said in Latin, “The pretensions of these savages. Everyone knows they have no morals. Even Caesar said they hold their women in common.”

  Maeniel answered him in even better Latin. His dialect was much purer than the one the Saxon had been taught. “What? Do you fancy yourself a Roman? In their time the Romans I knew would have consigned you to the arena, where you would have been required to die bravely for their entertainment.”

  The Saxon went white, and his hand dropped to his sword hilt.

  “And, as for Caesar, he was wrong. True, the customs of this wild people are not yours or those of the Romans, but in their own way they respect and greatly honor their women—especially young girls like that one.”

  The Saxon’s hand tightened on his sword hilt.

  “Don’t,” Maeniel said. “I’ll take that sword away from you and make you eat it.” Then he smiled at the Saxon, a smile that showed all his teeth.

  Idonia was sitting between the Saxon and Maeniel. Maeniel knew she didn’t understand what he was saying, but she caught the undercurrent of hostility and sensed the Saxon was being told off. The expression on her face was one of grim satisfaction.

  Dugald’s face was averted, so Maeniel believed he must be grinning. Just then the food arrived and everyone was preoccupied with getting their favorite. Maeniel was solemnly served the champion’s portion by the pretty young girl the Saxon had been pawing. Dugald looked amazed, the Saxon simply annoyed. Idonia looked smug. It was pork, a whole shoulder of wild boar cooked with quince, honey, and carrots. A buzz of talk broke out among the people seated at the big table. Maeniel rose. He bowed first to the assembled company, then to Idonia, then to the girl, who curtseyed in return. He sat down, carved a portion of the meat for himself, then resigned it to the rest.

  Idonia took a piece for herself. Dugald did the same. The Saxon refused.

  Maeniel was pleased. He smiled at the girl. She curtseyed again. As she passed him, her fingers fell on his wrist, slid slowly up his arm to his shoulder. Then she walked away to take her seat at the table among her kin.

  His eyes followed her admiringly as she passed behind him. She was beautiful, with dark brown hair like old oak and very pale, fair, almost milky skin. “Mmmmmm,” he said.

  Idonia laughed, then whispered, “She’s yours for the night. I made the necessary presents to her family, but you will be expected to be generous in the morning.”

  It was Maeniel’s turn to blush.

  The wild boar vanished quickly, but there was venison, woodcock, fish, three kinds of soup, roast mutton, oatcakes, and barley bread.

  Maeniel, who liked pork but would now only eat it cooked, particularly enjoyed the roast and occupied himself with trying to figure out how to be generous in the morning. He certainly wasn’t going to turn down Idonia’s hospitality. The brooch holding his mantle at the shoulder was all the jewelry he had with him. It was cloisonné gold set with ruby, garnet, and amber, big around as the palm of a large man’s hand, and easily the price of enough land to feed a family—a hundred acres or so. Yes, that would do.

  The crowd in the hall occupied themselves with the serious business of eating as much as possible, but after a short time he noticed the Saxon studying him covertly, and he was not the only one. Everyone in the room looked at him from time to time. Idonia had seated him in a place of honor at her side, given him the champion’s portion, and shown him many marks of favor. If he was any judge, at least half the people gathered at the table knew he would have exquisite company in his bed tonight. But Idonia hadn’t introduced him or even told anyone his name. Everyone, even the nasty-tempered Saxon, must be dying of curiosity.

  At length even the oldest and slowest pronounced themselves satisfied. Drink was now distributed by the same girls who had served at the beginning of the meal. The dark-haired girl came to Maeniel’s seat carrying a silver pitcher filled with mead. She poured some into his cup and smiled at him, then brushed his cheek lightly with her fingers in a possessive gesture.

  He returned her smile and offered her the cup. She drank and returned it to him. He kissed the spot her lips touched, then drank. She tossed her head, throwing back her long dark hair, then stepped down from the dais and went back to sit among her kin.

  Maeniel sighed deeply.

  The Saxon threw him a poisonous glance.

  Dugald averted his face again, too well-mannered to laugh openly.

  Idonia rose. It was time for business. If there was a serious dispute among her people, a large transaction, an important marriage pending, or even the birth of any child, it was at this time that the matter would be brought before her. It might not be settled here and now, a full assembly might be required, but it would be brought up now and she would be made acquainted with the situation.

  She began walking along the outer edge of the big table, greeting all her people one by one from the eldest graybeard to the youngest child.

  Maeniel sat back in his chair and watched her, wondering how many years had passed since they’d first met. She had once been a young beautiful girl. He had never bothered to count the years, but she was old now—yet the shadow of what she had once been remained. He knew he had outlived most, if not all, humans and all wolves. It was a source of some disquiet t
o him, especially when he met someone he had known as a child who had become an elder, bent and withered with age. He felt his years acutely.

  The elderly seem often to come in only two sizes, scrawny and lumpish. Idonia was one of the scrawny ones—long, lean, and leathery. Her face was cadaverous, eyes sunken, but her mouth was still mobile and happy. She had most of her teeth.

  She made a circuit of the room while everyone drank, then came back to stand before the high bench. She lifted both arms and stood silhouetted against the blazing central hearth fire. “Let us drink to our guests and a fine meal.”

  Idonia had finished speaking and those around the table hammered the wood with their cups, plates, and fists. Only the wolf heard the quark! from among the rafters.

  Maeniel leaped to his feet. His sword was out of its sheath before he thought to pull it. He was going to kill the Saxon first, but then held back for a second.

  His eyes met Dugald’s. He was staring open-mouthed at Maeniel, as was Idonia.

  “Didn’t you hear it?” he shouted into the sudden silence.

  Then the raven flew, circling the hall just above the heads of the people seated at the tables. Ravens are big birds. The shadow it cast touched everyone.

  “To the walls,” shrieked Idonia. “We’re being attacked.”

  The Saxon leaped to his feet. “I swear—” he began.

  “You treacherous bastard,” Maeniel said, but he was loath to use the sword in his hand and breach Idonia’s hospitality.

  Dugald killed the Saxon.

  Maeniel never knew how. He only saw the man drop like a fallen rag to the floor at his feet.

  “Thank you for distracting him,” Dugald said quietly. He was wiping his knife on his sleeve.

  War was constant; weapons were never far from anyone’s hand, man or woman. Everyone rushed from the hall’s four doors into the yard. The attackers were coming over the palisade that surrounded the hall.