Wolfsbane Winter Read online

  “Was it your idea, or Shea’s?” Brise’s voice was neutral of approval or censure.

  “Mine mainly, I think.” Deryn looked up. “It was all right, wasn’t it? I know you told me to sleep, but I was so—”

  Brise laughed softly. “It’s all right. It might even be written in the rules somewhere as the proper way for an Iron Wolf to spend the night before a battle. And as reactions go, it’s a damn sight better than lying awake worrying.”

  “It’s not just about tomorrow. I’ve had my eye on Shea ever since she got here.”

  “I’ve noticed.”

  “Tonight it just seemed, what with not knowing how the battle would go, there was no reason not to. Maybe that was what gave me the courage to say something. But it wasn’t like I hadn’t been…” Deryn’s disjointed sentences ended in a shrug and a lopsided smile. “Shea’s amazing.”

  “She’d agree with you there. I can’t say I’m quite so enamored of her.”

  “You don’t like her?”

  “You could do better.”

  “But she killed a windigo. The way she rides. She’s just so—”

  “Okay. You could also do worse.” Brise’s tone was one of surrender. “And I admit you’re stuck for choices here. If nothing else, she’s safe.”

  “Safe?”

  “You won’t end up pregnant, and I don’t think she’ll try to kill you when you tell her you’ve had enough of her.”

  “I can’t see that ever happening.” Deryn ran through the implications of Brise’s words. “You think there are some Wolves you don’t trust?”

  “I know there are. This bunch are all okay, but some are”—Brise paused—“people like Martez, for example. When you’re on the Trail together, you’re comrades, and you depend on each other for your life. Then you hit a nasty spot. You sleep together, and suddenly you’re stuck in the wastelands with a maniac and no quick way out. Getting pregnant is the least of your worries, though I’d recommend keeping an eye on the moon and sticking to women when in doubt.”

  “Oh, well, for what it’s worth, I think I like women better anyway.”

  “We all have our preferences, but sometimes you just take what’s on offer. Danger can be like getting drunk. In both cases you can wake up the next day wishing you hadn’t done what you did.” Brise gave a wry sigh. “And I’m speaking from experience.”

  Deryn nodded, although it was now too dark beneath the trees for Brise to see the gesture. “Your sons?”

  “Yup. They’re both due to tight spots when there seemed no chance of me seeing the next day out. Worrying about what would happen nine months down the road didn’t get a look in. I don’t—”

  Brise stopped abruptly. A couple of times it sounded as if she started to speak and then changed her mind. The uncertain manner was so totally out of character that Deryn could not imagine what would come next.

  At last, Brise continued. “You know what they say about being careful what you wish for, because you just might get it? Both times I got pregnant, part of me was annoyed at myself, because it meant I couldn’t work for a few months, which blew my chance of riding the Trail that year. But there was another little part of me wishing for someone to follow me into the Wolves. I used to daydream about teaching my kid to hunt, and track, and shoot. I used to imagine us heading off on the Trail together.” Brise gave a sharp sigh that was trying to be a laugh, and failed. “You’ve met my sons, so you know how that’s turned out.”

  Again Deryn nodded, pointlessly. The two boys lived on a farm with Brise’s brother. She and Brise had spent the winter before last there, passing the slack time for mercenaries. The younger son was about half Deryn’s age. The older fitted somewhere between them. Both boys had Brise’s wiry build and thick black hair. Neither had her agility and sharpness.

  “They’re sweet, hardworking lads any mother could be proud of. And they couldn’t sneak up on a rock without it spotting them. They’re gonna make great farmers. I know my brother’s pleased with them.”

  Although it was too dark to see, Deryn had the sense that her foster mother had reached out to touch her, without completing the gesture. She frowned, wondering where the conversation was going.

  “I remember the first time I saw you, crouching in the bushes with your little bow. When we found out your family had been murdered, and what you’d done, I just felt like it was meant to be. What I’d wished for. Not the child of my body, but you’d be the child of my heart. I didn’t stop to wonder if it was right for you, or what your real parents would have wanted. I wish I could have met them, it—”

  “They’d have been pleased someone was looking after me well.” Deryn broke in. The old sick feeling was rolling in her stomach and she was anxious to shift the conversation. “Do you think it’s dark enough for us to swim across yet?”

  Brise’s hand rested on Deryn’s shoulder and squeezed. “I know you don’t like talking about them. But what I want to say is, I’d seen you as the child to follow in my footsteps. But with each year, I’ve gotten less and less certain, as I’ve gotten to care about you more.”

  “I care about you too. You’ve been a true mother to me.”

  “And I’m talking as a mother now. I know you want to ride the Trail, and you think I worry too much. But you’ve made me realize how dangerous this life is. I no longer think it’s what I want. I’m frightened for you.”

  “You don’t have to be.”

  “I do. This coming fight—”

  “I’ll be careful.”

  “It’s not just the risk of getting hurt. I’m worried you’ll find it exciting. I’ve been there. When the battle’s over, your heart will be pumping and your senses will be twice as sharp as normal. For a few minutes you’ll feel so alive. It’s addictive, but it’s dangerous. Your parents were fur trappers. It’s a good trade. The things you’ve learned with me will still be useful.” Brise took a deep breath. “I don’t want you to become an Iron Wolf. I want you to go back to your parents’ way of life.”

  “It didn’t keep them safe, did it?”

  “The odds are still better than in the Wolves.”

  “Maybe.” Deryn would not discuss it. “But like I said before, isn’t it time for us to make a move?”

  “Yes. You’re right.” Brise sighed. “Think about it. Promise me.”

  “All right. I’ll think it over.” The promise was easy enough to make. Two seconds was all the thinking it would take.

  Deryn heard Brise get to her feet. “We need to strip off our heavy stuff here and leave it behind. We’re gonna be cold while we’re waiting on the island, but wet leather won’t help much anyway. We’ll need our knives, bows and arrows. Most important are the bowstrings. I’ve got them wrapped in waxed cloth. If I keep them under my cap, hopefully they won’t get wet, otherwise we’re dead.”

  “Right.”

  “When you’re swimming, head to the right of the fire. A clump of bushes overhangs the shore near there. It’ll be a good spot to hide and far enough from their horses not to disturb them. The other Wolves will be in position at first light. By then, we need to have dealt with the sentries. It’s too much to hope we’ll get the chance to take them out separately, but the good news is with them standing by the fire they’ll make nice easy targets. We won’t be able to risk talking once we’re on the island, so watch for my signals. On my mark, you shoot the one standing to the left, and I’ll take the other. Aim for the throat or the heart—whichever looks best. I’ll make sure we both have a clear shot when I signal. And just pray we do it without waking their mates, because we won’t stand a chance against all of them. Any questions?”

  “I don’t think so.” Deryn hesitated. “Except, clothes. Do we leave them behind as well?”

  “As long as you think you can swim okay in it, keep your shirt on. It’s dark and won’t show up as much as your skin in the firelight. Use your pants to make a backpack of the rest and tie it on using your belt. And don’t leave your boots behind. Wrap them in
your pants as well. I know they’re heavy, but a stubbed toe can lose you a fight.”

  “Right.”

  Even though she knew it was irrational, Deryn was relieved that she would not be naked in the enemy camp. She quickly stripped off her thick cloak and heavy outer clothing. The night air was cold through her shirt, and it was going to get worse, she knew. She headed for the lake, feeling her way with her bare feet.

  The moon had dropped behind the mountains. Only the outlaws’ bonfire competed with the stars. Two small figures stood in the distant firelight. It was now so dark that Deryn only knew she had reached the water’s edge when she felt the waves lapping over her toes.

  “Ready?” Brise’s voice was the softest whisper.

  “Yes.”

  The water of the lake was even colder than Deryn had feared. By the time it reached her thighs, she could feel her skin prickling in goose bumps. She could only hope that the exertion of swimming would warm her up. Presumably Brise was already on her way, although there was no sound. Deryn sank her shoulders beneath the water and kicked off.

  The high encircling mountains cut off the sky so that, while swimming, Deryn could not turn her head enough to see the stars. The cold, black water was one with the night. Only the beacon bonfire provided a reference point. Deryn knew Brise was near, and would hear her if she spoke, yet she had never felt so isolated and forsaken. Time ceased to exist. It would be easy to panic. Deryn felt as if she would be adrift in the formless, icy void forever. The bonfire taunted her with the promise of heat, always sliding farther away.

  When her knee struck something solid, Deryn was caught by surprise. The rhythm of her strokes failed and her head sank beneath the water. Her right hand landed on smooth rocks, and then both knees touched down. She had reached the island. She knelt, half out of the water, while her senses attuned themselves to her surroundings.

  Now she had stopped swimming, Deryn could hear the crackle of flames and soft murmuring between the outlaws on sentry duty. The firelight made a red tracery of the matted bushes, overhanging the pebble beach above where she had landed. The fire also cast its glow across the water, which meant she would be spotted, if one of the outlaws looked her way.

  The urge to hurry into the shadows was strong, but making a noise was the quickest way to get the outlaws’ attention. Deryn forced herself to crawl carefully out of the lake, moving with an irregular action so any splashes would mimic the random sound of the waves. Even when she had left the water, Deryn still had to go carefully, testing the placement of every hand and knee before trusting her weight to it.

  At last the bank at the top of the beach rose over her, shielding her from the firelight. Deryn was starting to relax a little when her hand landed on an ankle—that moved. Brise was already in position, waiting. Working by touch alone, Deryn removed her backpack, pulled on her pants and boots, and positioned the bow and quiver conveniently to hand. Then she lay down beside her foster mother, staring up at the stars and waiting for her pulse to calm.

  The swimming had indeed warmed her up, but as minutes trickled by, Deryn felt the heat seep from her body. The wet clothes clung to her arms and legs, chafing her skin raw. Water had gotten into her boots and now squelched between her toes. The soft voices of the sentries and the occasional snore reminded Deryn that she lay surrounded and hopelessly outnumbered by her foes. She had every right to be nervous, but she was too cold to care. A chill wind off the lake added to her torment. She was racked by bouts of shivering. Would she be able to shoot straight?

  Deryn looked to the east, and there, behind the mountains, the sky was showing the first hint of paling. Dawn approached. Brise shifted beside her and pressed something soft into her hand. It needed a moment for Deryn to identify it as a bowstring. The time for waiting was nearly over, and abruptly, Deryn felt a sense of calm determination sweep over her. The shaking faded as anticipation tapped a well of heat, deep inside. She smiled as she slipped the dry cord over one tip of her bow and then braced the wooden shaft against her foot to complete the stringing.

  The conversation between the sentries had been an indistinct mumble, with only the occasional clear word or phrase. Now one of the bandits, a woman, raised her voice, still no more than a whisper, but enough for Deryn to make out.

  “Don’t get lost.”

  “Yeah, like that’s gonna happen.”

  The second voice was louder than the first and accompanied by footsteps, coming toward where Deryn and Brise lay. However, the outlaw was clearly unaware that they were there. He passed by without a sideways glance. The firelight showed him standing at the water’s edge with his back to them and his legs spaced wide apart. The sound of the waves on the shore was overridden by a sudden burst of splashing.

  Deryn looked around, trying to judge the light and reassure herself that they had nothing to worry about. She and Brise were in the shadow of the bushes. When the outlaw finished pissing and turned around, the fire would be in his face. The paling sky was not yet casting light. Surely he would not be able to see them. Then she realized that Brise was not waiting to find out. The blade of the knife in Brise’s hand reflected the merest hint of firelight as she crept toward the outlaw.

  Deryn remembered the words, It’s too much to hope we’ll get the chance to take them out separately. This was their chance, and Brise was taking it. She rose up behind the outlaw and wrapped her left hand around his mouth. Her other hand was also moving, a harder, quicker action across the line of his throat. The outlaw collapsed with a guttural choking and was still.

  For a moment there was silence, and then a woman’s voice called softly. “You okay, Mel?”

  Deryn’s heart leapt. Her hand tightened in reflex around the shaft of her bow, but before she could move, Brise broke out in a deep, racking cough, accompanied by much spitting, like someone trying to hack up phlegm.

  The sound was loud enough to wake one of the sleepers. “Wassup?”

  The outlaw by the fire laughed. “Mel’s swallowed a fly.”

  “Tell him to keep his mouth shut.”

  “Mel, you hear that?”

  “Yah.” Brise croaked the word out, blending it with another cough. The sound was garbled enough to safely defy recognition.

  Everything in the outlaw camp again went quiet, but the ploy could have gained them no more than a minute. Brise scuttled back and then Deryn felt the light tap of feathers stroke her cheek. The message was easy to decode. Deryn pulled an arrow from her quiver and nocked it on the string.

  The outlaw in the firelight made a clear target, even when viewed through the straggly fringe of bushes. Deryn glanced at Brise. Shadows of leaves blotched patterns across her face, but for the first time since the moon had set, they were able to catch each others’ eye. Brise pointed first to the outlaw and then tapped her own throat. Deryn nodded. Together they drew their bows and took aim.

  The outlaw had been warming her hands over the fire, but now she turned and stared in their direction. She was clearly searching for her absent comrade and was not attuned to anything else. Her eyes skimmed over the bushes where Deryn and Brise were. She placed her fists on her hips while a frown deepened on her face. Concern and doubt were growing. Deryn knew they had mere seconds before she raised the alarm.

  “Now.” Brise whispered the word.

  Deryn’s aim was true. Her arrow hit the outlaw’s throat at the same instant that Brise’s found the outlaw’s heart. The woman collapsed, making no more noise than her comrade. Deryn lowered her bow. Snores continued, unchecked.

  Brise brought her mouth close to Deryn’s ear. “Get her cloak and weapons, then stand by the fire as if you’re her. I’ll be with you in a minute.”

  Deryn did not need persuading. In fact, she positioned herself so close to the fire that she could see steam rising from her wet clothes. The heat soaked into her skin. It felt so good that Deryn had to pinch the sides of her mouth to stop herself giggling.

  Brise strolled up to the fire, dressed in clot
hes from the outlaw on the beach. “It’s all right. We can talk quietly. It’s what the sentries were doing.” She glanced at the sleepers and then prodded the dead woman with her foot. “We should get her out of the way, just in case one of the others wakes up and notices.”

  Together, they rolled the body off into shadow on the beach.

  Brise smiled. “Help yourself to any of her stuff that’s dry. Come back to the fire when you’re done.”

  Deryn set to work. The woman’s dry pants were a huge improvement. Her shirt would have been as well, except it was badly bloodstained, and unfortunately, her boots were too small. Deryn rejoined Brise. A scant few yards away, the remaining outlaws slept, wrapped in their blankets. Most were huddled in the lee of low bushes or sand banks, taking what shelter they could from the chill wind.

  “We could kill some of them now—an arrow through their brains, or slit their throats while they sleep.”

  Brise shook her head. “We can’t be sure one won’t make enough noise to wake their friends. Wait until Faren and the rest get here, then if something goes wrong we’ll have backup.”

  “Will they be ready to come over yet?”

  “I don’t know. We’re earlier than I’d intended, but the guy taking a piss was too good a chance to miss.” Brise’s gaze turned in the direction of the forest. The fire cast a glow over the marsh, but it could not reach the trees lining the nearby shore, and as yet, the light in the sky was too faint to help. “I guess it’s worth seeing if they’re here.”

  Brise stuck one end of a dry branch into the fire. Once it was alight, she waved it up and down three times before dropping the whole branch back in the fire.

  As the seconds slipped by, Deryn was surprised to feel her pulse rise and ice fill her stomach. It was as if, only now the end was so close, she could allow herself to be fully aware that she was surrounded by foes, isolated and hopelessly outnumbered. She had just about given up when, faintly, on the predawn breeze came the distant chink of metal. Still, Deryn could see nothing, but the sound got closer, now mingled with the soft slurp of churned mud. Five figures materialized at the edge of the firelight.