“The attacker and the victim, though he didn’t intend to be the latter,” answered Aralorn, deciding to take part in her defense. Myr, at least, had already known what she was. She continued to tell them what she had done and the discovery of the dead guards. “I came to see if Wolf wanted to help track him down and found Edom with his nasty little sword drawn, standing over Wolf.”
An unfamiliar voice asked, “How do we know she’s telling the truth? She could have laid a spell on Master Wolf so that he thinks that she has the right of it. Shapeshifters can do things like that. Edom was just a boy. Why would he attack Wolf? As for magic rituals, I spent three days teaching him how to move a stick without touching it. He didn’t have hardly any magic at all.”
Wolf spoke, and even the most unobservant could see that he was not in control of his temper yet. “I assure you”—he looked at the man who’d spoken, and the man took a quick step back and stumbled over a rock—“I am certain of what took place tonight.”
Silence fell.
Wolf’s gaze found the ropes that had been left tangled on the ground. He gestured and the ropes burst into flame so hot it was blue and white rather than orange. The three or four people nearest them flinched, even Myr.
“Also,” growled Wolf in a voice like a coffin dragged over rock, “the sword Edom fought with was a souleater. It did not belong to me. Aralorn, with her shapeshifter blood, could not have held anything so unnatural for long enough to draw it.”
Good to know, Aralorn thought. In the unlikely event of her running into another one.
Myr said, “Our guards were dead before Aralorn found them.”
Tobin spoke up from his position as Stanis’s shadow, his eyes on the blackened bones. “Edom had a lot of books in his tent written in Darranian.”
There was a brief silence. Aralorn almost smiled as she saw the meaning of Tobin’s words echo in the minds of all present. It was Tobin’s testimony that bore the most weight. A shapeshifter, being, after all, native to the Rethian mountains, was better than a Darranian. If Edom was a Darranian, it put an entirely different light on the events of the night.
All the same, nobody but Myr met her eyes as they left to collect the bodies.
They buried the guards in rough graves dug in the night, as Wolf said that it was the best. He had counteracted the runespell as best he could, but the runes enacted on the living flesh of dying people were stronger than they might otherwise be. He never made clear the exact purpose of Edom’s runes, but he said that burying the bodies would give strength to his own spells.
When the last shovelful of dirt had been spread Wolf raised his hands and spoke words of power and binding. It was coincidence, Aralorn knew if no one else did, that it started pouring rain at the moment Wolf finished speaking.
The huddled group of people stood uneasily for a minute under the rain. The sting of death was no new thing to any of them, but that didn’t make it any more pleasant. They all shared guard duty, and it could have been any of them. None held any illusions that they would have escaped better than Pussywillow had. The magic they had witnessed this night had its effect as well. Most of them were not quite comfortable with magic even though they could work a touch of it themselves.
Gradually, they drifted back to their tents until Aralorn, Myr, and Wolf were the only ones left by the new graves.
Myr hit the stone he was standing near with a clenched fist, hard enough to break the skin. He spoke with quiet force. “I am tired of feeling like a cow waiting for slaughter. If we didn’t realize before this that the ae’Magi is just biding his time until there isn’t something more interesting to turn his attention to, we know that now. Edom is . . . was too young to be anything but a minor servant, and we almost didn’t stop him in time. When we face the ae’Magi, we don’t stand a chance.”
“Edom was older than he looked, and more than a minor servant if he worked the runes that were on the bodies,” commented Wolf calmly, having recovered most of his usual control. “Carrying and hiding a souleater from me is not much easier. Don’t make the same mistake that the ae’Magi is: He is not invincible.”
“You think that we have a chance against the ae’Magi?” Myr’s tone was doubtful.
“No, but we can bother him for longer than he thinks that we can,” said Aralorn briskly. “Now, children, I think that it is time for us to go to sleep. Don’t forget that we have the sanitary facilities to dig in the morning. Wolf, if you don’t mind, I think that everyone would be a little more comfortable if I sleep in your camp rather than the tent I’ve been sharing.” Me, too, she thought, I’ll be much happier here. “Let them meet their shapeshifter in the light of day.”
SIX
Somewhere in the darkness, a nighthawk cried out in defeat, and the mouse escaped for another night. Aralorn sympathized with the mouse, as she knew exactly how it felt.
Edom’s remains had been gone when she’d arrived back at Wolf’s camp with her belongings. Nothing remained of the blackened body except a slight scorched smell, as if someone had left the stew on the fire too long. She supposed that Wolf had disposed of the body somewhere; she hadn’t been inclined to ask.
Now that the excitement was over, it was time to rest, but she couldn’t do it. When she closed her eyes, she could all but feel the not-quite-cold metal cutting her and tearing at more than the flesh of her thigh. Every time she managed to doze off, she had nightmares about arriving too late to help Wolf or the sword’s bite cutting all the way to her soul and leaving her bleeding to death from a wound that no bandage could stem.
As she lay awake in the chill air of early morning, the blankets she used seemed too thin to protect her from the cold and damp. She pulled her legs up and wrapped her arms around them in an effort to get warm, but even that didn’t seem to help. She shivered convulsively and knew that some of it was due to fear rather than the night air.
She sat up and rested her forehead on her knees. She closed her eyes, but that didn’t stop the jumbled images from presenting themselves to her.
If she hadn’t decided to find out what was bothering Sheen, or Edom had been just a little swifter in his work, Wolf would be dead. Not only would that have meant the end of any chance of defeating the ae’Magi, but she would have lost her enigmatic companion. Some part of her was amused that of the two results, it was the second that bothered her the most. Ren would not approve.
She was so intent on her thoughts that she didn’t notice that Wolf had gotten up until he sat down beside her.
“Are you all right?” he asked softly.
She started to nod, then abruptly shook her head—without lifting it from her knees. “No. I am not all right. If I were all right, I would be asleep.” As she spoke, still without looking up, she scooted nearer to him, until she was leaning against his shoulder.
There was a pause, and then he slid an arm around her shoulder. “What’s wrong, Lady?”
He was so warm. She shrugged.
“Is there something I can do?”
She let go of her legs and snuggled closer until she was almost sitting in his lap. “You’re already doing it, thanks. I’m sorry. Just jittery after the fight.”
“I don’t mind.” He sat still, holding her almost awkwardly—but his warmth seeped in and alleviated the cold that blankets hadn’t been able to dispel.
Aralorn relaxed but felt no pressing need to move away. “I must be turning into one of those women who moan and wail at the first chance they get—just so a handsome man will take them into his arms.” Yes, she was flirting. It didn’t seem to bother him.
“Hmm,” he said, apparently considering what she had said. “Is that why they do it? I have always wondered.”
“Yup,” she said wisely, noticing that he wasn’t holding her as stiffly. As if he wasn’t used to someone so close. She’d snuggled down with the wolf sometimes—although rarely. He seldom invited touch. “Then,” Aralorn continued, keeping it light, “she has her way with him, and he has to marry her. It’s nice to know that I haven’t fallen to that level . . . yet.”