months ago, if he wanted."

"Like worlag sweetmeat," the first one retorted sarcastically. "He wasn't ready before. The venges showed him that." "You think he's ready now? The Ariyen will put up a hell of a fight-he, of all people, should know that... "

NeVenklan's voice cut into theirs, silencing the group. The voices, when they spoke again, were too soft for her to hear. She bit her lip, as if that tiny pain would bring more focus to her mind. But the voices of the wild wolves, once they were called, seemed to hold on to her thoughts. She bit her lip harder. There was a snarled response in the packsong. Then the gray wolves curled like snakes around her thoughts, pressing in from all sides. "Aranur... " she whispered.

She didn't know how long she stood there, her mind clouded with fog. It wasn't until she heard neVenklan's voice and the door opening in the room below that she was able to focus again.

Dion couldn't help the sudden jump in her heartbeat. But the footsteps, though light, were not Aranur's-he would not have walked so easily past a roomful of raiders. She waited, and the man below crossed to the stairs. But when the raider came in sight, the wolfwalker's eyes widened.

"Aye, Dione," he said. "It is I." Those dark blue-gray eyes, the shallow seams in his face. Wide shoulders; heavy, gnarled hands; and gray-peppered hair... It was the raider who had tried to take her before out on Red Wolf Road. The one who had herded her away from the venge, then said her name like a promise. His eyes had been in her nightmares; his face, hanging over hers, while he powered her back... She took a half step toward him, her face tightening into a snarl as

the noose brought her up short. In her head, the gray voices gathered.

The tall man untethered the noose from the wall, flipped it out of the roof hook, and let the line fall slack on the floor. Then he waited.

"What do you want?" She forced the words out.

"Where is your wolf?" he asked.

"How's your hip?"

Slowly, he smiled and stepped forward. "The wolf, Dione. Where is it?"

Her weight shifted fractionally.

Bandrovic kicked her almost negligently, anticipating her attack. The blow,

flickeringly fast, caught her on the thigh, smashing her like a mallet. She staggered back, her face blanched, her teeth clenched to keep from gasping.

Only the wall kept her from falling. She stared at him, then slid to a half- crouched position as her right knee slowly gave way.

Bandrovic studied her. "That's all the fight that's in you?" He glanced at the guard, who shrugged. Bandrovic took Dion's shoulders and stood her up again, balancing her firmly as her scarred leg refused to hold her weight. He pulled her to him and grabbed her chin, tilting her face up. When he kissed her, his lips were dry and hard against hers.

She shook back, instinctively revulsed, and Bandrovic stared deeply into her eyes. Then he kissed her again, deeply. She made a choked sound and struggled, but it was Bandrovic who pushed her away.

He stared at her with narrowed eyes. "This is it? This is the great Healer Dione? The ghost of the forest? The Gray Wolf of Randonnen? The Heart of Ariye? Where is your fight, woman? Where is your fire?"

He hit her then, hard, on the cheek. Her head rocked back, but there was no sound except the smack of his hand on her face. It was calm, calculating, and the raider's expression was intent, as if he judged her will by her lack of reaction. He hit her again. The third time, she raised her head from his blows and spat blood on his boots.

He eyed her almost curiously. "No cursing, no crying. No fury of the Gray Ones... Where is the fighter who refused to die? Where is the legend I've followed? Or do you simply face your path to hell with the stoicism of a stone?"

She forced her words out between clenched teeth. "There's no fear of hell

in me. I've already faced the moons."

"So I heard. You died in Still Meadow, and the wolves pulled you back.

That, Dione, must have been interesting." He studied her intently. "It touched you, didn't it-your death?"

She couldn't answer.

"Your eyes-they're almost dark now. There's little life left in them. Your face is drawn. Your expression set, not fierce... Whatever you found on the path to the moons has painted your soul with blackness." His voice trailed

off, as if he spoke more to himself than to her. "You'll be no figurehead like this. You'll be no use to me."

He raised his hand as if to strike her again, but she didn't blink. Slowly,

instead, he ran his hand through his hair. The gesture was somehow so like that of Gamon that Dion's eyesight blurred. Bandrovic saw it and nodded.

"That's it, Dione," he said softly. "Call your wolf. Call her and your mate to help you."

Abruptly, she focused.

He pulled a knife from his belt and held it to her throat. She didn't flinch.

Abruptly, he jammed the point of the blade under the noose. The rope tightened, and Dion choked horribly. Then the rope slit and fell away. The ring of reddened, half-torn flesh that was left behind burned in Dion's mind.

Blood dripped down her throat. Her eyes shifted with the sudden wash of gray feet that padded through her skull.

Bandrovic, without taking his gaze off her, said to the other man, "Go up

and check the flags. They'll be coming soon."

Dion tried to speak and choked. She pushed herself away from the wall.

Swaying, she had to force the hoarse words out. "What do you want? What are you after?"

He ignored her words, and the guard spoke first. "MaKathru's already up

on the roof."

Bandrovic shook his head. "Send her out on the steps with Rossotti. The

two of them are clean enough to pass muster. And send neBugeya to check the seawall. I want the dinghy ready to sail as soon as we descend."

"What about her?" The raider indicated Dion.

The tall man shrugged. "She's nothing now. I'll use her as bait."

Dion's voice was hoarse. "Bait for whom?" she asked. "For the wolves?

Gray Hishn isn't coming. I sent her away days ago. You're a fool if you

think I'd call her back just to set her up in your trap."

He didn't smile. "I saw your eyes, Dione. You Called the wolves-you couldn't help it. And they can't help their Answer. You Called them years ago, and they Answered. You did it again this spring-the counties were

full of the stories. Time and again, you Call your wolf and others to your side. You're careless, Dione. You're predictable as night after day. When you're in danger, the Gray Ones gather like winter worlags. And Aranur comes running with them."

Dion felt a chill slide down her neck with her blood. "It's not me you want at all," she breathed. "It's Aranur you're after."

"I'd have taken you too, if I could. But there is no heart left in you."

"I'll do what you want." Her voice was almost desperate.

"'I know," he said. Deliberately, he turned his back on her and strode to the shuttered window. He opened the shutters and stared out at the bay where the tall ships rocked at moorage.

She took a half step forward. The raider at the doorway shifted with warning, but she ignored him. "Why Aranur?" she demanded. "Why like this? You could kill him more simply a dozen different ways."

Bandrovic shrugged. "Death is so final, Wolfwalker. There are other, more

useful conditions."

"He'd rather die than be used against his family, his county. He'll be no hostage for you."

Bandrovic closed the shutters. "He'll have no choice," he said.

XIV.

One breath From life to death; One glimpse of fate; One instant that hangs

Forever Before the ax Falls.

Previous Top Next Bandrovic left her alone in the room; the guard had gone upstairs. Dion sat on the floor, her shoulder against the wall. Her cheek throbbed where Bandrovic had hit her; she could no longer feel her hands. She let her eyes close as she sought the mindless distance of the packsong. Aranur... He had been a presence in her thoughts for so long that she still felt as if he hunted her. Even knowing that her mental plea couldn't reach him, she still built a picture of him in her mind and set it in the packsong.

Her forehead rubbed against the wall, and her circlet shifted. Deliberately, she rubbed her head against the wall again so that it loosened around her skull. She reached deeply into her mind. Yellow, slitted eyes blinked back, swamped with the sense of the wolves. Her voice was barely a whisper in the empty, shuttered room. "You took my sword, you took my knives. But you left me my healer's band. You thought like I did-that smooth silver was life, not a knife of death. But the silver and steel are meshed in me. I am both, not one or the other. And I might not escape myself, but sure as the moons can cross the sky, I can and will escape you."

Carefully, she worked against the wall until the circlet was skewed on her head and she could push it off to fall into her lap. Then, gingerly, she worked it until she had it between her knees. It was easy to bend down and use her teeth to rotate the band until the seam was up. Even easier to release the hidden catch.

The tiny blade Aranur had insisted be concealed in the circlet was free. She grasped the headband in her teeth and dropped it against the wall, where her thigh pressed against the wood. Then she tried to allow it to slide slowly to the floor, but she didn't have the right angle. The circlet dropped with a thunk. The small sound made her freeze. But there was no cessation of low voices from below, and she cursed quietly, more in relief than anger. The gray shadows gathered in her mind. "Hurry," she told them. "Find Aranur." They were running now along the side of the road, and their snarls when they passed a short caravan were almost audible to her. It took minutes to get the headband up far enough between her body and the wall that she could hold it there with her hip. She couldn't reach the exposed blade with the ropes between her wrists, but as she strained to stretch far enough, she realized that she didn't have to cut the line there. All she had to do was cut the ropes around the outer part of her forearms-that should loosen the rest enough for her to work herself free. And she could just get her forearms to the wall where her hip braced the circlet's blade.

Five minutes? Ten? She didn't know. Tension made time drag with the effort and race with the fear of discovery. She could feel something start to give. It wasn't a sensation in her hands so much as in her shoulders as her arms parted a fingerwidth.

Noises wafted into the room as people moved along the street. Below her the raiders became quiet. She almost had her arms free when there was a sudden noise overhead, then the sounds of someone descending the steps. She froze. With her arms still behind her, and her body leaned up against the wall as if for support, she looked as though she had hardly moved from when Bandrovic had left her. The raider didn't even bother to give her a second glance before hurrying down the stairs. Dion rubbed harder on the rope.