Read Online The Dragon of Despair by Jane Lindskold - Free Book Online
Authors: Jane Lindskold
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tidiness made Firekeeper look, somehow, all the more untamed.
A heavy leather belt held her sheathed knife on one side, a canteen on the other. An embroidered bag of fine white doeskin—a gift from Edlin Norwood—held her flint and steel for fire making. This meager equipment, Derian knew, was all she had brought for a journey that would take them outside of civilization and across mountains that would have barely shaken off winter’s grip.
Blind Seer was nowhere to be seen and Derian, whacking the restive mule with his riding crop, was grateful. The pack animals were jumpy enough, just from catching Firekeeper’s scent. He didn’t doubt she smelled of wolf, of raw meat, and of other things equally unwholesome to a conservative herbivore’s nose.
“Hi!” Firekeeper said by way of greeting, and Derian could hear the laughter in her voice.
She trotted across to the lead mule—apparently not minding the cold mud that stuck to her bare feet—pulled herself up onto the mule’s back in one easy motion, leaned down, and growled into the beast’s long ear.
The mule froze in place, then slowly, carefully, as if it had suddenly become aware of a stinging bee on its ear, it swiveled its head to get a look at the wolf-woman. She smiled and there was no doubt in Derian’s mind that this smile was no friendly gesture but rather an arrogant baring of teeth.
The mule seemed to melt into itself, its muscles losing their tension all in an instant.
“There,” Firekeeper said happily, moving down the line of pack animals and slapping each one heartily on the shoulder, “they should be good now. I not say they not go crazy if Blind Seer come out, but they have some idea. Not bad to start.”
“Not bad,” Derian agreed.
They moved along briskly after that, the pack animals frantically eager to please. Derian wondered what Firekeeper had said to them—for he had no doubt that she had said something that had put her on top of their little hierarchy. It didn’t bother him. Out here, she was in charge and he was grateful for her expertise.
He also enjoyed the wolf-woman’s high spirits. In many ways Firekeeper reminded him of a horse coming home to a familiar stable—not that he’d ever share the comparison with her. She just might find it a deadly insult. But her manner was much the same. He almost expected to see her ears prick forward.
Firekeeper’s cheerfully arrogant queen-of-the-woodlands mood did not last for the entire journey. Horse Moon had died and Puma Moon was beginning to show when she grew somber, disappearing for long stretches both night and day. Derian didn’t worry. He knew she was safer here than she was in any city in the land. Blind Seer was with her and he had caught glimpses of Elation from time to time, though the peregrine seemed to be attending to her own business rather than following Firekeeper.
For that matter, Derian himself felt fairly safe. As long as he didn’t do anything stupid like lead the pack train onto a bad trail, he was unconcerned about the dangers of the wild. Firekeeper protected him, and every evening as he pitched his camp she brought him some sort of wild delicacy—rabbit or pheasant or fresh fish—for his meal. Often she added a handful of mushrooms or a bundle of spring greens to augment his supplies further. In some ways, Derian was more comfortable on this trip than he had been with Earl Kestrel’s expedition, because his only concerns were for his immediate needs.
Puma Moon was rounding fat and full the night before they were to cross the gap in the Iron Mountains into the wild lands where Firekeeper had been brought up. The wolf-woman came into Derian’s camp that night—an unusual thing, for she had been exploring most nights—and squatted with her back to the fire.
“Fox Hair,” she said, “there are humans going this way.”
The emphasis she put on the word made quite clear that she did not think this a good thing at all.
Derian nodded. The
A heavy leather belt held her sheathed knife on one side, a canteen on the other. An embroidered bag of fine white doeskin—a gift from Edlin Norwood—held her flint and steel for fire making. This meager equipment, Derian knew, was all she had brought for a journey that would take them outside of civilization and across mountains that would have barely shaken off winter’s grip.
Blind Seer was nowhere to be seen and Derian, whacking the restive mule with his riding crop, was grateful. The pack animals were jumpy enough, just from catching Firekeeper’s scent. He didn’t doubt she smelled of wolf, of raw meat, and of other things equally unwholesome to a conservative herbivore’s nose.
“Hi!” Firekeeper said by way of greeting, and Derian could hear the laughter in her voice.
She trotted across to the lead mule—apparently not minding the cold mud that stuck to her bare feet—pulled herself up onto the mule’s back in one easy motion, leaned down, and growled into the beast’s long ear.
The mule froze in place, then slowly, carefully, as if it had suddenly become aware of a stinging bee on its ear, it swiveled its head to get a look at the wolf-woman. She smiled and there was no doubt in Derian’s mind that this smile was no friendly gesture but rather an arrogant baring of teeth.
The mule seemed to melt into itself, its muscles losing their tension all in an instant.
“There,” Firekeeper said happily, moving down the line of pack animals and slapping each one heartily on the shoulder, “they should be good now. I not say they not go crazy if Blind Seer come out, but they have some idea. Not bad to start.”
“Not bad,” Derian agreed.
They moved along briskly after that, the pack animals frantically eager to please. Derian wondered what Firekeeper had said to them—for he had no doubt that she had said something that had put her on top of their little hierarchy. It didn’t bother him. Out here, she was in charge and he was grateful for her expertise.
He also enjoyed the wolf-woman’s high spirits. In many ways Firekeeper reminded him of a horse coming home to a familiar stable—not that he’d ever share the comparison with her. She just might find it a deadly insult. But her manner was much the same. He almost expected to see her ears prick forward.
Firekeeper’s cheerfully arrogant queen-of-the-woodlands mood did not last for the entire journey. Horse Moon had died and Puma Moon was beginning to show when she grew somber, disappearing for long stretches both night and day. Derian didn’t worry. He knew she was safer here than she was in any city in the land. Blind Seer was with her and he had caught glimpses of Elation from time to time, though the peregrine seemed to be attending to her own business rather than following Firekeeper.
For that matter, Derian himself felt fairly safe. As long as he didn’t do anything stupid like lead the pack train onto a bad trail, he was unconcerned about the dangers of the wild. Firekeeper protected him, and every evening as he pitched his camp she brought him some sort of wild delicacy—rabbit or pheasant or fresh fish—for his meal. Often she added a handful of mushrooms or a bundle of spring greens to augment his supplies further. In some ways, Derian was more comfortable on this trip than he had been with Earl Kestrel’s expedition, because his only concerns were for his immediate needs.
Puma Moon was rounding fat and full the night before they were to cross the gap in the Iron Mountains into the wild lands where Firekeeper had been brought up. The wolf-woman came into Derian’s camp that night—an unusual thing, for she had been exploring most nights—and squatted with her back to the fire.
“Fox Hair,” she said, “there are humans going this way.”
The emphasis she put on the word made quite clear that she did not think this a good thing at all.
Derian nodded. The
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